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Steve went looking for Bucky after the mission, but he didn’t particularly expect to find him in that alleyway. He expected even less to see Bucky leaning against the brick wall, his left arm looped up through the rusting fire escape and his right hand resting casually on the light brown hair of the slim young man sucking his cock.
Bucky’s hand didn’t tighten when he saw Steve, although his lips pressed together in a scowl. He didn’t speak, but he lifted his chin and stared at Steve: cool, aggressive, almost mocking.
Bucky said something, probably in Polish; they were in Poland, after all. The young man shifted on his knees (and Steve saw, then, that he was straddling one of Bucky’s shins, trying to rub himself off against it, and Steve felt a punch of heat in his gut). The guy was clumsy about it, off balance: he had his hands behind his back, not bound in any way but crossed.
He swallowed Bucky’s cock down, pressing his face against the rough weave of Bucky’s black jeans. Bucky’s hips rippled slightly, but he didn’t look down, just looked right at Steve. He smirked.
His mouth opened when he came, and Steve’s face flushed at the sight. The young man slid off, finally uncrossing his wrists to catch himself as he fell forward on the pavement, gasping.
Bucky zipped his pants closed and said something else in Polish, still without looking down. Then, to Steve, a sneer twisting his lip: “Want a turn?”
Steve felt hot, and then cold, and his ears roared, and he couldn’t tell if he felt desire or repulsion. It was so intense it hurt. He could feel, almost, the bite of the rough pavement beneath his knees; his own hands, clasped together behind his back; his own unsteadiness, the rough fabric of Bucky’s pants against his cheek, zipper catching on his lip maybe, yeah, and Bucky’s hand resting on his hair – and the feeling resolved, then, into desire –
And Bucky laughed, and said something, and the young man shrugged and got to his feet and left; and Steve realized that Bucky had been offering to arrange a blowjob for him, and the firestorm in his stomach fell away.
Bucky crossed the alley to him, moving in that big cat way he had on missions. He walked right up into Steve’s space, crowding Steve back against the wall, and Bucky planted his left hand against the bricks just inches above Steve’s head and leaned in. “Why are you following me?” he snarled.
“I’m not – ”
Bucky smacked his hand against the wall. Even through the leather glove, the metal clanged against the brick, and brick dust showered down on Steve’s head.
The transparent attempt at intimidation annoyed Steve. He pushed himself off the wall, forcing himself into Bucky’s space so Bucky would have to back up. But Bucky didn’t back away, and for a moment they stood chest to chest, so Steve could feel the heat rising off Bucky’s body, practically feel Bucky’s heartbeat, and his own face went red with a confusion of embarrassment and arousal.
Steve pushed past Bucky, and then they were facing each other across the width of the alleyway. “Fucking judgmental asshole,” Bucky snarled. “What the fuck is wrong with you, who the fuck stops and stares when they stumble on someone getting a blowjob, anyone else would’ve gone back around the corner and given me some fucking space!”
Snarling back at Bucky never accomplished anything but making Bucky louder and more vicious, so Steve tried to stay calm, to explain. “I just – ” was paralyzed by lust. Oh, fuck.
Bucky still wasn’t listening. “Like you never saw a guy getting sucked off in an alley in Brooklyn!” he stormed. He started walking, his boots crunching on the crumbling pavement as he strode. Steve hurried to keep up. “Just because you’re happy living like a vestal virgin,” Bucky continued, and he was so furious that he was almost crying. “It doesn’t mean everyone else has to live like one. And now you’re gonna tell Coulson and he’s going to think I’m a freak – ”
“I’m not,” Steve said.
“Sure you aren’t!”
“I’m not!” Steve said. “I don’t report on you to Coulson. He probably wouldn’t trust my judgments anyway. Which is – ”
What I wanted to talk to you about, Steve wanted to say, but Bucky snapped, “Fuck you! You think I’m going to believe you were following me for shits and giggles? I bet he put you up to it – ”
“I wasn’t following you!” Steve yelled.
Bucky spun around, crowding up in Steve’s personal space again.
Steve’s instinct was to push right back: lurch into Bucky’s face, see how he liked that. But he held himself back. As calmly as he could, he said, “Coulson’s never asked me to follow you. And I wasn’t following you; I was looking for you because I want to talk to you.”
“What about? My bad life choices?” Bucky sneered. He started to walk again.
Steve fell in step beside him, trying not to sound exasperated. “Bucky – ”
Bucky stopped again. “You’re following me now,” he said.
How else was Steve supposed to talk to him? But they weren’t going to be able to talk, not when Bucky was in a mood like this, and the thought vexed Steve so much he wanted to shout.
He took a deep breath instead. “Do you want me to leave you alone?” Steve asked.
“Yes!”
“All right,” said Steve. “I’ll meet you back at the Bus.”
Bucky stared at him for a moment, like he didn’t quite believe Steve was giving in like this. Then he turned and walked away, not looking back, and he ducked out of sight at the first turn.
Steve let out a breath. He rolled his shoulders to work the tension out of them. That had gone – well, not like he had hoped – but then, he hadn’t expected the conversation to begin quite like that –
He felt his face reddening, his whole body heating as the memory played out across his mind. Bucky leaning against the wall, so cool, so in control, like a lounging tiger. That absentminded hand on the young man’s head –
Bucky had never stroked Steve’s hair.
No, that wasn’t true. He had. Once. One time. One time and one time only, Steve had pleased Bucky enough that Bucky had petted his hair.
Steve turned abruptly and walked back the way he’d come. He needed to walk this off before he got back on the Bus.
***
When Steve got back to the Bus, Bucky was already there, sprawled over the couch in the lounge and scowling. His eyes rose at Steve’s entrance, and Steve hoped that if Bucky wasn’t happy to see him, he would at least be interested by the brown paper bakery bag that Steve carried.
Normally Bucky didn’t let irritation interfere with the acquisition of sweets, but he didn’t stir from his place on the couch when Steve began to unpack the paczki onto a plate, not even to look around to see what all the rustling was about. He sniped at Hunter, which was par for the course; but when Simmons came into the lounge, he sniped at her too.
Simmons didn’t seem to notice; she had deep circles under her eyes, like she had come off a two-day-long inventing binge. But Bucky seemed thrown by it, and when Simmons drifted toward the electric teakettle, Bucky slipped off the couch and headed toward his quarters.
Often when Bucky was in a bad mood, he just dug in his heels and took on all comers. It seemed like progress that he would actually retreat to regroup.
“Paczki?” Steve asked Simmons, inclining the plate toward her.
“Gladly,” she said, and made them both cups of tea to go with it. Both Simmons and Fitz seemed to automatically make tea for anyone in the vicinity whenever they made tea for themselves; Steve knew that Bucky sometimes went down to the lab to take advantage of that habit.
Steve drank the tea and nibbled one of the paczki and chatted with Simmons about her latest ICER prototype. By the time she headed back toward the lab, carrying a second pot of tea and a plate of paczki to share with Fitz, Steve figured he’d given Bucky enough time to calm down. He’d drop by Bucky’s cabin with the last few paczki in the bag.
Bucky’s door was open. Steve didn’t move forward enough to look into the cabin, just stretched out his arm to knock on the doorframe.
“Steve,” said Bucky, which was a little unnerving, given that Bucky couldn’t see him from this angle. “What do you want? We have nothing to talk about.”
Probably he was concerned that Steve had completely forgotten that the plane was bugged and wanted to chat on about the back alley blowjob. “I’m not here to talk,” Steve said. “I just – ” He stepped into the doorway and held up the bakery bag. “I got you paczki,” he said, and when Bucky made no move to take it, Steve tossed the bag gently onto the bed.
Bucky transferred his unwavering gaze from Steve to the crumpled brown pastry bag. For a moment, Steve thought that Bucky meant to shove the bag to the floor; but then he levered himself up on one elbow and opened the bag, smelling the sweet pastries and frowning.
Moments passed, one breath, two. Bucky’s frown darkened for a moment, and then he forced a smile and glanced up at Steve. “Thanks,” he said, and the smile relaxed into something more natural as he sat up and took one of the paczki out of the bag. “We used to have these at the dacha,” he told Steve, and took a bite.
It surprised Steve, all of it. It wasn’t that Bucky was never grateful or cheerful; in fact, Bucky was often cheerful. The problem had always been that Bucky could be nearly as impossible in a good mood as a bad one.
But the last time Steve had seen Bucky consciously try to pull himself out of a bad mood must have been 1945.
The plum filling oozed out as Bucky wolfed down the paczki. He licked it off his fingers, quite unselfconsciously until Steve shifted uncomfortably and looked away. Then Bucky’s mouth twisted up; he stuck his sticky thumb in his mouth and sucked loudly, then pulled his thumb out of his mouth with an obnoxious pop.
“You want one too?” Bucky asked, grinning wickedly. Steve stared. Bucky gave the paper bag a startlingly loud rattle.
Steve started guiltily. “I already had one,” he said, and blushed, and stared at the nubby carpet on the floor, and felt himself turning redder. “I should – ” He backed out of the door, trying desperately to think of something he should do. “Shower.” Always good to shower after a mission.
Usually he took a hot shower, but a cold shower would get him clean too.
“Steve?”
Steve was already halfway down the hall, but he turned back at Bucky’s voice. Bucky was standing in the doorway of his room, one hand on each side of the doorframe. He leaned out between them. The position arched his back slightly, pressed his jacket against his shoulders and chest.
His hair was coming out of the stubby ponytail that he wore on missions, falling in his face. Steve wanted to push the hair back, touch Bucky’s cheeks (stubbly now from two days on the mission), kiss Bucky’s lips and run his hands over Bucky’s chest to settle at his hips, push him gently back in the cabin; and in his daydream Bucky was smiling, laughing, hooking his thumbs through Steve’s belt loops and pulling him in –
Behind the screen of hair, Bucky was looking at the floor. He looked hesitant, embarrassed. Even through his haze of arousal Steve couldn’t mistake it for coy. “Thanks for the ponchiki,” Bucky said, pronouncing it in what must have been the Russian way.
“Anytime,” Steve said, and hurried off to take his shower. Cold as the Bus could make it.
***
And that would have been that, except that later that night, Steve woke up with a hard-on.
He slammed his head back against his pillow a few times, not so much because he thought it would help as because he had to express his frustration somehow.
He felt as if his body had betrayed him, and that feeling was an old, old enemy: familiar from asthma attacks but also from the hard-ons of his youth. They had all laughed about anti-masturbation pamphlets at school. The more ridiculous claims – you’ll go blind, you’ll grow hair on your palms – had to be lies, they all figured.
But Steve worried about those pamphlets too. Masturbation was supposed to cause exhaustion, enervation, to stunt growth. Maybe it was his own fault he wasn’t growing big and strong. Maybe if he had better self-control –
Steve clenched his hands on the sheets. He felt much too hot. He thrust the blankets off, then nearly dragged them back into place at the embarrassing sight of his own erection pressing against his boxers.
He used to worry about God watching him masturbate. Nowadays he figured that God wasn’t going to sweat it, but if someone else was watching…
The Bus was wired for sound, but he was pretty sure that only the Cage had cameras. Well, and maybe the common areas. Possibly the lab. Not the cabins. Probably.
And Coulson had to have better things to do these days than watch Steve sleep.
Presumably.
Steve clenched his eyes shut. After all, it was just a physical need. Nothing to be ashamed of. Hunter probably jerked off every single night that Bobbi wasn’t on the Bus. And Steve had been on the Bus for over a month and hadn’t jacked off, no wonder he got so fucking turned on when he found Bucky in that alley.
Steve’s erection had been fading at the thought of the bugs, but the vivid Technicolor memory of Bucky leaning up against the brick wall of the alley sent a painful wave of arousal through his body. Usually Steve tried not to jerk off to the thought of Bucky – it seemed disrespectful, and somehow even more so after Hydra – but fuck it. Steve had given Bucky all those hand jobs, he deserved a fantasy orgasm.
So. He’s back in the alley, and Bucky’s leaning up against the wall, his left arm hooked through the fire escape, pulling his jacket taut against the smooth hard lines of his body. Fully dressed, except his fly’s unzipped; he’s just come, his cock soft and slick with the other guy’s spit.
He’s looking at Steve, eyelashes lowered, smirking a little. “Want a turn?”
And this time, Steve doesn’t just stand there and stare. He crosses the alley and falls to his knees. (The other guy has evaporated, the way unnecessary people do in fantasies.)
“Not what I meant,” says Bucky, amused. He’s looking down at Steve from way up above and smirking. “You want it?”
And Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s hard thighs, the muscles jumping under his palms, and –
No. He doesn’t touch Bucky, not yet. He’s kneeling, he’s still got his hands clenched on his own thighs, he’s looking up at Bucky and kind of pleading with his eyes, because he can’t quite bring himself to say I want to suck your cock. His own cock is chafing against his jeans, he wants it so bad, and Bucky’s cock is right there in front of him – soft, he’d just gotten off, after all. But he’s a supersoldier. Getting off a couple times in a row isn’t going to be any trouble.
Bucky’s cock is already twitching, and Steve swallows convulsively, licks his lips, stares right at it then lifts his eyes up at Bucky’s face – and God, the miles of Bucky’s body in between. His jacket’s open, he’s wearing a t-shirt that clings to the hard ridges of his stomach, his chest, the way he’s holding his left arm up pulls the jacket to the side so Steve can see his left nipple taut against the fabric –
Steve whimpers. Just a little. His hands clench convulsively, still pressed against his own thighs. He wants to touch.
Bucky is grinning. “Maybe I better not let you have it, Stevie,” he says, laughing. “Don’t know if you can take it.”
And now Steve’s able to talk, at least. “Sure I can,” he says, rebellious, like he’s always been when someone says he can’t. “C’mon, Buck, I can get you off as good as anyone.”
“I dunno,” says Bucky, pretending to think about it, but it’s a lie. His cock’s hardening up just from Steve’s hot breath on it. Bucky’s chest is heaving: he’s breathing hard, he wants it bad.
Steve darts forward, touches a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s cock. Bucky catches him by the hair, pulling him back; not brutally, but rough enough that the pull thrills through Steve’s body, electric. “Haven’t made up my mind yet,” Bucky says; and Steve cracks, he says, “Bucky, please – ”
And of course that just makes Bucky hold back more. He strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair, holding him back, tilting back Steve’s head just a little. Steve stares back at him, slackens his jaw: he can’t swallow like that and he’s drooling and that makes him blush, and he closes his mouth and swallows and his face is on fire.
Bucky lifts up his foot, nudges the toe of his combat boot against the crotch of Steve’s jeans, and Steve’s so hard he almost sobs. “Well,” says Bucky. He’s drawling, playing at reluctance. “If you’re sure you want it. Maybe I’ll give you a shot.”
Steve nods, fervent, and Bucky’s grip on his hair tightens till Steve understands and holds himself still. Then Bucky’s hand relaxes, petting, and he touches his cock to Steve’s lips, lets him take it in his mouth, just the tip, just a taste –
On the Bus, in his little cabin, Steve came. He felt tired and satisfied and a little annoyed with himself, because the fantasy wasn’t even close to over yet.
Then again. He didn’t have to stop. He didn’t usually bother when he was just jerking off, but he could come more than once easy enough. Steve and Peggy had done a little testing, and they got up to six times in one night, and once the next morning to make lucky number seven.
It was on one of Steve’s leaves in Britain. Peggy took him to a townhouse that a friend had abandoned for the duration, an opulent place – at least, by Steve’s standards. The red velvet curtains were moth-eaten and the rooms lightly frosted with dust, but the four-poster bed seemed like a movie set to Steve. It had made him a little shy at first. Peggy got him over that easy enough.
Bucky hadn’t been there, of course. Peggy had set him up on a date with another nice SSR girl, in fact. And they’d all had to report for duty at seven a.m. sharp the next morning, but…Steve furrowed his brow, letting the fantasy build.
Pretend Peggy arranged for a full weekend’s leave for them all. They don’t have to report anywhere at all. Peggy and Steve spend the morning lazing around in bed like they’d wished they could, and Bucky shows up in the afternoon, a surprise. Maybe Peggy arranged it.
It’s late afternoon and they’ve got the curtains open, just enough to let in a shaft of light. The sunshine’s picking out dust motes in the air, slanting over Bucky and Peggy. They’re resting side by side on the pillows, and Bucky’s got a hand up, trying to shield their eyes from the light, and they’re laughing about it, Peggy and Bucky. Steve would be laughing too, but he’s got his mouth full; he’s down between Bucky’s thighs, Bucky’s cock in his mouth.
Bucky’s already gotten off once, so there’s no urgency to it; he just likes having Steve down there. And he’s not ignoring Steve exactly, stroking Steve’s hair and maybe his ears, but he’s not paying a lot of attention to him, either.
He’s stopped trying to block out the sun now, admiring the way it shines on Peggy. She’s got one arm up behind her head, the other hand resting against her skirt, not touching herself but there in case she wants to. She’s mostly dressed, uniform skirt and jacket, but she’s got nothing underneath the jacket and it’s unbuttoned and pushed open to frame her breasts, which are, God, fucking magnificent.
“Peggy the Pin-Up Girl,” says Bucky. He starts singing the Glenn Miller song, low and sweet and obnoxious in Peggy’s ear, and she takes one of the little bolster pillows and whacks him with it a few times, slow and lazy. Bucky’s fending it off with one arm, laughing, leans over and cradles one of Peggy’s breasts in a hand, and she sighs and lets the pillow drop. He strokes the soft skin on the undersides of her breasts, gently pinches the nipples, massages the sides. She sighs, arches her back.
“Maybe you’ll let me have a ride, Sergeant?” she says, and she – fuck – she’s got Bucky’s balls in her palm, stroking Steve’s cheek with her fingertips while she’s at it.
“Mmm,” Bucky hums, and Steve can feel the vibration thrum through Bucky’s body. “But he’s having such a good time down there, I hate to make him move.”
Both Bucky and Peggy smile down at Steve, and he doesn’t know which way to look, he’s pleased and embarrassed and blushing, and that makes them laugh again.
And maybe – yeah – Bucky scratches Steve behind the ears, cupping the back of his neck just for a moment. Peggy runs one bare foot along Steve’s side, and Steve starts to giggle (it tickles) and takes his mouth off Bucky’s cock and noses at Bucky’s balls, hiding his face.
Bucky leans over and nuzzles at Peggy’s right breast, takes her nipple in his mouth the way she always liked. She slides her arm from behind her head to run her fingers through his hair, cradle the back of his skull, and Bucky looks up at her with his cheek against her breast and they’re smiling at each other and they’re both so happy –
Steve’s throat tightened, and he suddenly became aware that his face was wet with tears. His whole body tensed with mortification. If there was one thing worse than jerking off in front of a hypothetical army of listeners, it was crying while he did so.
Okay. Back to the alley. The alley wouldn’t hurt like that.
Steve’s in the alley, on his knees; it’s great how the rough pavement never hurts in daydreams. Bucky just let Steve have the head of his cock. Bucky’s still not all the way hard yet, still recovering from his earlier blowjob. Steve wants to take all of him in his mouth, feel Bucky get hard against his tongue, but Bucky won’t let him, God. Steve wants it so bad he’s drooling, and Bucky’s still holding him back.
His hand’s not in Steve’s hair anymore. On his face now, cupping his cheek, tilting his chin to get him at a better angle to suck. “You ever done this before?” Bucky murmurs, and he’s stroking his thumb over Steve’s cheek.
Steve can’t speak. He’s afraid if he lets Bucky take his cock out Bucky will never put it back in. He’s almost too shy to shake his head, but his blushing face is speaking for him, and Bucky laughs at him. “You’re not doing too bad,” he says, and he pushes himself a little farther in Steve’s mouth, pressing his cock into Steve’s cheek against his own fingertips. Steve’s drooling, tries to swallow, and Bucky pulls his cock out of Steve’s mouth, pop, and Steve gasps.
“You want it back?” Bucky asks.
Steve’s nodding, gasping for breath.
“You want it back?” Bucky asks again. His hand is in Steve’s hair again, tilting Steve’s head back to look him in the face: he wants Steve to say it.
“Yes,” Steve gasps.
“Yeah? You want it?”
“God, you’re an ass,” Steve says, and Bucky whoops out a laugh, but he’s not so distracted that he doesn’t catch Steve when Steve tries to take Bucky’s cock back in his mouth. Bucky’s cock is all the way hard now, red and glistening with Steve’s spit, and Steve is – fuck – painfully hard in his jeans. He’s running his hands up and down his thighs, as if that will help, as if that will do anything but make him harder, and Bucky sees and takes pity and slides his boot between Steve’s thighs again, tilting it up so he’s got his toe under Steve’s balls.
“You like that?”
Steve nods. It’s not nearly enough, it’s driving him nuts, he wants more.
“C’mon, Steve, I wanna hear you say it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I like it,” Steve says, babbling, nearly frantic. “Please, Buck, please, let me suck your cock.”
And just like that Bucky lets him have it back, just the tip again, and Steve’s licking at him. He’s sweet and gentle and pleading at first, and Bucky’s liking it; but Steve doesn’t just want Bucky to like it, he wants to drive Bucky nuts. Now that he’s lulled Bucky with all that gentleness, he bears down and sucks hard.
And Bucky – yeah, fuck it, this is Steve’s fantasy – Bucky goddamn moans. And maybe he was planning to feed Steve the rest of his cock real slow and steady, but Steve just slides right down, takes Bucky’s whole cock in his mouth, and Bucky’s moaning, “Steve, Steve – ”
Steve doesn’t do anything fancy, doesn’t even suck, just holds Bucky there in his mouth now that he’s got him where he wants him. Bucky’s running his hand through Steve’s hair, breathing hard, moans again when Steve swallows around him. Steve’s got his hands on Bucky’s thighs now. The muscles tremble under his palms. He wants to stroke Bucky’s thighs, feel the muscles jump, slide a hand under Bucky’s balls; but it’s so much fun to make him wait like this that Steve doesn’t do anything just yet.
Bucky’s breath is shuddering out of him. He’s got his hand all tangled up in Steve’s hair, not moving. It’s like he’s paralyzed till Steve lets him move, and Steve savors it, sucks his cock gentle and slow, and Bucky trembles all over and lets Steve suck him real quiet and sweet.
Steve could probably get him to come just from this, but he doesn’t want to, not this time, anyway. Steve massages Bucky’s thighs through his jeans, strokes his hands over Bucky’s jeans right the inside of his thighs, fits his thumbs through Bucky’s open fly to stroke over Bucky’s balls. Pre-come drooling out of Bucky’s cock at the touch, bitter on the back of Steve’s tongue.
“Steve,” Bucky says, begging, but if he wants more than that he’s gonna have to ask, and even in a fantasy Steve can’t quite see Bucky asking.
Bucky gives a quick heavy shudder and he’s moving again, he’s stroking his hand down through Steve’s hair, cradling the back of his head to keep him there. He’s fucking into Steve’s mouth, just quick little twitches of his hips. Maybe doesn’t even know he’s doing it, he’s so far gone.
Steve will have to hold him still, then. He runs his hands over Bucky’s hips, and it’s frustrating, the feeling of cloth where he wants skin; but Bucky’s pants have ridden down, and Steve gets his hands up under his shirt and presses his palms over Bucky’s pelvic bones, pushing his hips to the wall. He can feel the start of Bucky’s abdominal muscles, all taut with arousal, so beautiful, and he wants to tell Bucky so but he’s got his mouth full.
Bucky’s so close now, shaking with it, and if he can’t bring himself to ask out loud he’s asking with his hand, stroking over Steve’s face so he can feel Steve’s cheek hollow out as he sucks. His hand slips lower, curving around the side of Steve’s throat, not pressing at all but he’s got to feel Steve’s pulse pounding, and he – God – he massages Steve’s throat, and Steve swallows convulsively and that’s it, that’s too much, Bucky’s coming in his mouth, and Bucky’s saying, “Steve – Steve – ”
And in the cabin, on the Bus, a little surprised to find he was not in an alleyway after all, Steve came too. He let go of himself, gasping as if he really had just had Bucky’s cock halfway down his throat. Fuck. He wiped his mouth with his clean hand, and fuck, he had been drooling in real life, too.
Figured that even in Steve’s fantasies, Bucky was still the one who got to come.
He cleaned himself up with a handful of tissues from the bedside table, then leaned back against his pillow. His galloping heart slowed down, and his breath grew calmer, too.
Never mind cameras. All that panting would have been audible on any halfway decent bug.
Somehow that thought, which had seemed so embarrassing earlier, didn’t bother him as much now. He felt pleased and heavy and tired, his breath evening out, his heart rate slowing nicely, too tired for more than a faint blush at the thought of seeing Bucky in the morning.
Not that Bucky would know what Steve had been fantasizing about. Or, Steve thought, suddenly rueful, that Bucky was likely to mind if Steve fantasized about begging to be allowed to pleasure Bucky.
If Bucky had been half as responsive and a quarter as capable of good-natured teasing in real life as in fantasy, Steve probably still would have been giving him hand jobs.
But if either of those things had been true, Bucky probably would have offered an occasional hand job in return…
Steve was drifting now, half asleep. He pulled the sheet back up. The Bus was climate-controlled, but it always seemed a little chilly. Steve closed his eyes, and for once he slept well, without nightmares or dreams.