Chapter Text
It was hot. The kind of humid, sticky hot that came when July bled into August and the air started to stagnate, breezes a faint memory, everything slick and damp and muggy. So it only made sense that Bucky would want to spend the last days of his summer break lounging by the pool at his parents’ house on Long Island, sunning himself like a cat, taking a dip in the cool water when things became unbearable.
After all, he had just under a month left before he was set to begin his sophomore year at Rutgers. And so what if it was his fifth choice school after Yale, Columbia, Cornell, and Dartmouth turned him down. Him. James B. Barnes. Tarnished golden son of George and Winnie Barnes, world-class attorneys at law. How had they ended up with such a lazy, good-for-nothing kid, they’d like to know (and had asked him often). Their firstborn, who crushed their hopes of the Ivy League and ended up in Jersey.
Oh well. They still had Becca. Becca, with her straight As and her straight teeth and her fourteen different extracurriculars. Becca was going to Harvard and Becca was just so polite and Becca hadn’t been caught dealing pot out of her backpack junior year of high school like some children George and Winnie had brought into this world.
Whatever. Not a productive line of thought. He had other things to focus on. Like his pool. His headphones. His Ray-Bans. His tan.
Not that he could think about any of that thanks to the sound of the goddamn house painter hauling his squeaky ladder around.
Because in their infinite wisdom, George and Winnie had hired some schmuck kid - the son of a friend of a friend, apparently - to paint their house. Their gigantic house. By himself. In hundred degree heat.
They were real humanitarians, his folks.
Bucky was finding it difficult to enjoy his morning of doing absolutely fuck-all when every time he opened his eyes he saw the kid sweating it out with a roller and a bucket of the world’s most boring eggshell white.
Skinny, blond, hanging precariously off the ladder. Idiot. He’d probably fall. Or faint. One or the other, considering the temperature.
He was giving Bucky a guilty conscience.
Bucky hated that feeling. How was he supposed to enjoy a swim when that poor chump was seconds away from falling to his death? And God, he was little. Considering his size, it would probably take him the rest of Bucky’s precious summer to get the house painted.
Bucky’s parents sucked.
The kid took a break eventually, leaving the ladder up against the house and crossing the yard to one of the big trees near the fence. He sat down in the shade and proceeded to pull an honest-to-God brown paper bag out of his backpack. Was he an actual Dickensian orphan? Bucky was going to die. He couldn’t stand it anymore.
So he got to his feet, not even the slightest bit self-conscious as he walked over in his bare feet and navy blue swim trunks, forgoing a shirt because it was his house, after all. And fuck, the kid was eating maybe the saddest sandwich Bucky had ever seen. Two slices of Wonder Bread with peanut butter in between them, absolutely no jelly. No wonder he was so skinny.
“Hey…” Bucky said, fumbling. He was pretty sure his parents had told him the guy’s name, but now he couldn’t remember. Because he was an asshole.
“It’s Steve,” Steve supplied.
“Uh, yeah,” Bucky said. “Hi, Steve. You can eat in the house if you want.”
Steve glanced down at his paint-splattered shorts and t-shirt, smiling wryly before shaking his head. “No thanks.”
“Okay…” Kind of weird, but sure. “You want some water or something?” he offered instead.
“Nope,” Steve said, indicating the full bottle at his side.
“I mean, I could get you ice for that…” he attempted, and why did he even care? Stupid, stupid guilt.
“I’m good, thanks so much,” Steve said with a bit more finality. Like Bucky was somehow unreasonable in asking him. Steve, it seemed, was the kind of guy who looked gift horses in the mouth, and Bucky was done offering.
“Suit yourself,” Bucky replied.
“Will do, boss.” Steve was almost smirking at him, and then he gave him a mock salute. Which...was this guy serious right now?
“Hey, cool,” Bucky snapped, annoyed. What kind of stubborn prick turned down ice water? “You wanna suck my dick instead?”
Okay, he wasn’t proud of that. He’d meant it to come out cool and unbothered like he didn’t give a shit. Instead, it came out peevish and annoyed because Steve had gotten to him. Bucky didn’t get ‘gotten’ to, damn it. He was the one doing the getting. Or whatever.
One corner of Steve’s mouth turned up and he raised an eyebrow before taking another bite of his sandwich. “No thanks,” he said. “You wanna suck mine?”
Bucky blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. But. Okay. If this asshole thought he’d never sucked a dick before, he had another thing coming. Bucky Barnes was a fucking professional. He’d been giving head since he was fifteen years old and he was damn good at it.
So he shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”
Steve hid his surprise well, but Bucky caught a brief flicker passing across his face before he played it down, shrugging, just as casually as Bucky. “Cool,” he said. “Right now?”
If it was a game of one-upmanship, Bucky was going to win. “Sure,” he said. “Might as well do it here, since you won’t come in the house.”
(And yeah, okay, he was lucky Becca had a job and they had a privacy fence, but if Steve was going to be a jerk about Bucky’s hospitality, Bucky could be a jerk right back.)
“Alright, then,” Steve said, popping the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and getting to his feet. He wiped his hands on his stained shirt and looked at Bucky expectantly.
Damn it if Bucky didn’t find that the slightest bit endearing.
Finding Steve endearing was not part of the plan. So he scowled, taking a step closer to crowd the kid up against the tree. His baser instincts were screaming at him, wanting him to show Steve he was bigger and tougher than him. That stupid voice faded when Steve’s eyes widened and Bucky realized he was actually nervous. Like he might be expecting Bucky to do something cruel. Hit him or worse. Shit. He hadn’t meant to do that.
Instinctively, he dropped to his knees. Steve let out the breath he’d been holding in a big whoosh of air. Bucky didn’t want to think about why he’d gotten so tense, why he was so prickly and defensive. So he brought a hand up to pop the button on Steve’s worn cargo shorts instead, pushing his shirt up and dragging down the zipper. The shorts were too big for him, and it only took one tug to get them down, leaving Steve clad in his plain, white boxers.
“Ahh…hey,” Steve managed, as though he’d maybe thought Bucky was kidding about the whole thing.
Bucky pulled back, looking up at him from under his lashes in the way he knew most guys liked. He’d been told it was cute. Bucky prided himself on being real fucking cute. He got away with a lot more that way. “You want me to stop?” he asked, chewing on his bottom lip.
Steve hesitated, his cheeks flushed pink. “I...no,” he said quietly. “But I’m not…”
Bucky raised an eyebrow before hooking his index and middle fingers into the waistband of Steve’s boxers. He pulled the material away from his body and noted the problem with a grin. “Huh. Performance anxiety?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Steve said gruffly, trying to jerk away. Bucky held on tight.
“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky said. He could get Steve hard. Just had to get him over the nerves. “Bet I can help.”
He didn’t give Steve the chance to overthink it as he leaned in to close the gap, nosing against the hair at the base of Steve’s prick, breathing him in. He smelled like paint and sweat and musk. Something masculine that Bucky would definitely not be jerking off to later, thank you very much. He just kind of liked it when guys smelled like they’d done a day's work, was all.
“Shhhit,” Steve hissed, his head falling back against the tree trunk. Bucky took the opportunity to swipe his tongue out for a taste, running it along Steve’s length. Steve’s cock twitched in immediate interest, and Bucky wasn’t going to argue with results, so he did it again. It didn’t take much to get Steve hard, all told. Some kissing and teasing and licking, a little attention paid to the balls and there he was, springing into action. So to speak. As a connoisseur of all things dick-related, Bucky found that he liked Steve’s just fine. Average length, maybe on the smaller side, cut, with just a bit of a curve. It was, well, he’d call it cute, but he didn’t think Steve would take that as a compliment.
So he wrapped his mouth around it instead, flicking his tongue against the slit as he used both hands to push Steve’s boxers down to his ankles. Steve had gotten over his earlier reservations, his breath coming heavy and fast as he made a funny little moaning sound in the back of his throat. Bucky liked that sound. It was a good sound. He was proud of himself for being the cause of it.
Bucky moved his right hand up to circle the base of Steve’s cock with his thumb and forefinger before sliding his mouth down as far as he could get it. It was pretty far because he was a talented guy. And yeah, he could probably swallow Steve, considering his size, but he needed to work up to something like that. Also, maybe Steve didn’t deserve all of Bucky’s talents. He’d turned down ice water, after all.
But Steve was sweet in spite of all that. Bucky could feel Steve’s heartbeat pulsing in time with the vein atop his tongue. He hummed a little, low in his throat, gratified when Steve inhaled sharply. Bucky would have smiled if his mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied, and he began to bob his head in a steady rhythm, along with his hand, trying to figure out just what else Steve liked.
Eventually, Steve’s moaning turned into something coherent, his bitten back cries starting to form actual words. One word in particular bled through with some frequency. “Please...please...please…”
That was...cute? Yes, cute. Another cute Steve thing. Bucky didn’t know what he was pleading for, but as long as the plea involved Bucky’s mouth and his ability to swallow, he was sure he could fulfill it.
Bucky wasn’t expecting it when Steve’s hand came down to grab his hair, pushing at the back of his head. So he spluttered in surprise, causing Steve to jerk his hand away like he’d been burned. As though he’d done something wrong. Which, yeah, the timing hadn’t been great, and a guy liked a little warning, but Bucky hadn’t hated it.
He didn’t always like it, sometimes it freaked him out if the guy was too intense. But Steve, hell, he was little. Bucky could get away from him easily enough. And maybe there was a part of him that was curious about what it would be like to be face-fucked by Steve. Ugh, now he was going to have to jerk off to that idea later, too.
“Sorry, sorry…” Steve panted, and he sounded so fucking guilty that Bucky almost rolled his eyes. He didn’t appreciate apologies during his suck jobs. Reaching up with his free hand, he sought out Steve’s arm, dragging it back and maneuvering his palm so it was carefully arranged against the back of Bucky’s head once more.
Pulling away just enough that he could talk, he looked up at Steve with a gleam in his eyes. “Be fucking careful,” he said. “If you choke me, I’ll bite your dick off.”
Steve’s eyes widened. Bucky plunged back down before the idiot could formulate a response. As it turned out, he didn’t have anything to worry about. Steve was spectacularly lousy at directing a blowjob. That was mostly because he didn’t seem to have much control of his reactions. Or any sense of rhythm. He pulled Bucky’s hair a lot, thrusting against him artlessly, and any initial seduction techniques Bucky might have been employing seemed for naught as he realized that this kid had all the experience of a wet mop and he was going to blow his load frustratingly quickly.
Steve lasted less than ten minutes, coming with a bitten back yelp and no warning whatsoever. Bucky pulled away when he realized what was happening, which meant he got the last bit of Steve’s bitter spunk right across his cheek. “Aw, shit,” he said, swallowing what was in his mouth before sitting back on his heels.
“Sorry…” Steve said, breathless. Apparently, that was all he knew how to say, as he leaned against the tree and cupped a protective hand over his softening cock.
“It’s fine,” Bucky replied. And it was, mostly. He wasn’t going to lecture Steve on appropriate blowjob warning etiquette because nobody wanted to be lectured in the aftermath of an orgasm. Plus, Steve looked kind of sweet, all debauched and pink-cheeked, shorts pooled around his ankles and his lips bitten raw.
Bucky took the opportunity to wipe the jizz off his cheek with the back of his hand, which he then rubbed on the grass. He couldn’t help staring as Steve hitched his boxers back up, though of course, Steve glared at him just for looking.
“What?” Steve snapped. Jee-suz, so much for gratitude.
“Nothing,” Bucky said immediately, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. Gross. His knees were a disaster, indented with the patterns of the grass and the twigs that had been underneath them. Eh, that’s what showers were for. “You’re welcome.”
“Oh,” Steve said, reaching down for his shorts, his face bright red. “Sorry. I mean, um, thanks.”
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “It’s cool. I’ll uh...let you get back to work.”
“Yup. Thanks.”
Steve was a weird kid. Bucky wasn’t going to think about him for the rest of the day. Nope, he was going to go inside, shower, play video games, fuck around on the Internet, and definitely not spend any time thinking about Steve.
Thirty minutes later, he approached Steve’s ladder holding two cold bottles of water and a paintbrush he’d grabbed from the garage. It took Steve a second to notice him, but when he did, he scowled.
“Oh my God,” Bucky said. “Would you just get down here?”
Steve looked as though he might want to argue about it, but his better angels apparently won out and he descended the ladder to take the water Bucky was offering.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “I uh...you don’t have to help me. If you feel like...guilty. Or whatever.”
“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Bucky replied. “It’s my house, I can paint it if I want to.”
There was a tiny flicker of a smile at the corner of Steve’s mouth, and he glanced down as he twisted the cap off his water. “Okay,” he agreed. “Thanks.”
“Not charity,” Bucky said. “My house.”
Another little smile, Steve looking up at him. He seemed kind of sheepish and Bucky wasn’t sure why until he opened his mouth.
“So uh...your name’s James, right?”