Archive of Our Own

Steve doesn’t remember the feeling of his skin being sliced open, nor does he remember the feeling of deep red blood thickly soaking the blue leg of his suit or sliding down his skin from the wound, hot and thick. He was perhaps more focused on the painfully loud gunshots ringing around him, ringing through his ears, and the clang of metal on flesh or the disgusting sounds of fleshy crunches (not unlike that of the sounds produced by squishing bugs); fighting has never been louder than it is after the serum. 

However, Bucky notices the cut and the blood as if he felt it as it happened, wincing and hissing, but only waiting to mention it once they regroup, targets eliminated and space cleared. The Sargent points out the injury with something like mild anger or disappointment in his voice, asking what the hell is that from? And when Steve can’t answer, Bucky was, of course, lecturing him about how he’s gotta be more fucking careful than he is, shithead. (Much to the rest of the Howling Commando’s amusement, a Sargent bitching at a Captain, what a sight!). Yet, without more heads of HYDRA appearing in the moment after this one had been sliced clean off, there was nothing to be careful of. 

Besides, it couldn’t’ve been that bad (or that deep) because blood stopped oozing out of the wound within the first few minutes of their march back to camp. Then, in some amount of following minutes, the blood that had already come out of his laceration dried. Crusting over and… his wound too. Clotting. It felt warm, tingly, and tight with the forming scab already pulling at his skin. 

Steve hid his hiss of discomfort when one particular step pulled too hard, tearing the wound back open. 

It will close back up again just as fast as it did the first time, no point in babying it, Steve told himself. Continuing to resolutely ignore the feeling all the way to camp, then all the way through the mission debrief, as well as through offered medical attention. He’s fine. It’s just a cut. There are men that’ve much worse and need the limited supplies. The laceration needs to be cleaned, of course, but he can do that when taking a quick swim in the river he spotted on the north side of the camp. He needs a shower anyway. Might as well. 

On the way to the river, Steve stops at his captain’s tent, gathering the precious bar of soap Bucky and he have been sharing between them, as well as his towel, and a change of clothes that isn’t exactly clean but aren’t the clothes that he’s got on his back so… they might as well be clean. Maybe he should take the downtime between missions to wash his clothes in the river too? Maybe he should get all of the Howlies to wash what they’re not wearing? He can order them to if he needs to. He doesn’t want any of them to get sick from the filthy conditions of war… 

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do, he nods to himself. 

Approaching the river, Steve is pleased to see that it runs swiftly but not threateningly so; he shouldn’t get swept off his feet unless he intentionally wants to, lifting them, and even then… he could probably swim against the currents, or just drift off to the side and make it onto a riverbank because it’s not hugely wide, a handful of running strides across at most. 

Grass fades to dirt and fades into slick, slate-grey, and blue-ish river rocks under Steve’s tired feet as he comes up next to it. The smooth, wet rocks coat the sides and belly of the rushing waterway entirely. The water is pale blue, almost entirely clear except for where it bubbles and foams around rocks that stick up out of its path, cutting through its surface like thorns. On one side of the river - the side Steve is approaching from - there is relatively open land. A tree here or there throughout their camp, but not many. Not like there is on the other side where a forest sprawls out before him. A forest full of dark trees, tall and thin as they shiver in the wind, needles rustling as they brush up against one another. Both charming in beauty, nothing like the sights of Brooklyn back home, yet also a little hair-raising… it seems like every forest out of a storybook, luring children in for its seeming bright, sparkling magic, only for said magic to turn sour and dim. Luring them deeper and deeper until they’d never find their way back out with the trees turning to claws, raking the children in and never allowing them to leave. Forest creatures appearing with large eyes that glow in the darkness falling under the canopy, opening gaping maws that’re filled with yellowed, twisted teeth. 

Steve shakes his head, clearing the over-imaginative ideas. It’s just the war getting to him, the paranoia of never knowing who is out to hurt you and who isn’t, the lines of good and bad blurring as you always look over your shoulder. That’s all. Dumping his supplies out close enough to the river that he’ll be able to keep an eye on them but not too close, Steve distracts himself. Thinking about how he doesn’t want his towel or change of clothes to get wet, not about what’s maybe or maybe not out there that he cannot see. 

Finally stripping down, Steve gently palpates his injured thigh, some of the dried blood flaking off and some of the dried blood (along with some leg hair) ripped off with his suit. He’ll have to take it to Howard so he can fix it with whatever kevlar and fabric mix his loud red, white, and blue uniform is made from. Other than that though… huh. 

Certain he’s seeing things, Steve wades into the water in his underwear, eager to wash away what he can to see if it really is-

Steve gasps, already up to his ankles and, shit, that’s cold. He curls his toes- his entire body breaking out in shivers. Okay, fuck, maybe Steve won’t go for a swim. Maybe he’ll just… yeah. That’s an idea. Maybe he’ll just splash water up over his body because, fuck, this river is cold. The color and temperature… maybe it’s from a glacier? It’s gotta be, right? 

Either way, Steve uses his palms to cup handfuls of water and splash it over his skin, working his way up from his ankles to his thighs, up and up and up, sparingly using the limited soap he has for his wound and then his crotch and underarms. His wound doesn’t even sting. Which must mean, yeah, woah-

There is nothing but a line of pink, shiny new skin under where all that blood and scab had just been. There’s not even a scar starting to appear where it should! Just new skin. 

He doesn’t have time to further investigate now though - the water is too cold - briskly washing off sweat and grime and blood from the mission. After a moment of hesitation, Steve also decides to dunk his head in too, wading out a little further, the water rising to his knees; lathering soap between his chilled fingers and then scritching it through his wet hair. Rinsing right after with the bubbles washing away instantly, carried down river. Standing back up leaves freezing water running down his face and neck in streams of his own. Steve shudders, walking, arms hugging himself, back to shore, eagerly drying himself off with his thin, scratchy sun-dried towel. Starting with his hair because, shit, that’s cold. So cold, he’s a little surprised he hasn’t gotten a headache from it. Either way, Steve redresses himself in his uniform, speeding through and swapping his underwear while no one is in sight. 

Almost in a daze, because of the cold water or the amazement of his body being able to just…. do that now, Steve wanders back to his tent. Soap, damp towel, and combat uniform in hand. His tent is further away from the rest of the camp just like Colonel Phillips’ tent is. Of course, his tent is not as far away but he still enjoys the luxury of some thinly veiled privacy. And once in his tent, Steve strips down again, folding his clothes neatly, relying on his muscle memory from boot camp to do so seeing as his mind is elsewhere. None of his uniforms are exactly clean and it’s a warm-ish day outside his double-layered (re: “insulated”) tent so… he might as well when he knows he won’t be bothered unless it’s an emergency, enjoy feeling somewhat clean without said unclean clothes. Although, Steve does keep his underwear on. 

Bucky isn’t occupying the tent because even though he was dismissed from debriefing at the same time as Steve and the rest of the Howlies, he went to medical for his own minor injuries and a general check-up because he doesn’t have the secret luxury of the serum (nor the luxury of Stark and other… higher up… people saying they have to believe Captain Rogers if he refuses medical attention, dancing around the serum without outright telling them the classified information). And unfortunately, Bucky will probably be there for a long while amidst the nurses, doctors, and other soldiers especially considering they’re one of the nurse's favorite to poke and prod- he’s so charming and always makes them laugh (but also he is one of the rescued soldiers from Azzno so… yeah. They have a particular interest in him there too.)

Alone, Steve plops down on his cot, trying not to think about how uncomfortable it is and instead focusing on how good it is to rest his feet as he peers down at the healing wound on his thigh. It isn’t even a wound anymore. Somehow it’s even less pink now than it was at the river. But, the cold could’ve done that, right? That’s a thing, he’s pretty sure. Cold soothes things… right? 

Carefully, Steve trails his fingers over the slice of pink through his thigh and is taken ahold of by goosebumps. Just the same reaction he had from the cold water. He doesn’t feel cold now though. It’s just… just the raw sensation of fresh, thin skin. It’s tingly and just weird. Sort of a good feeling. Sort of not. It’s confusing. 

Confusing enough that Steve waves it off, assuming he’s just extra tired and therefore can’t wrap his dulled mind around it. He’ll lay down for a minute. That’ll be good. On his back, focusing on breathing in and out (still vaguely amazed at how effortless it feels in his new body), Steve lies still. 

Still. 

Still… 

Steve isn’t and hasn’t ever been very good at staying still. Not unless he is literally so sick and exhausted that he cannot move, at the mercy of his exhausted, fighting body. Today is no exception. With his eyes passively shut and his breathing evened out, Steve’s hands itch to move enough though the rest of him is focused on falling into a quick catnap. 

He curls his hands into fists. He relaxes them. 

Ugh. 

It doesn’t help. 

After some minutes of restlessness, Steve allows his hands to do as they please. Exploring. His feet move too, kicking out from where he had been lying straight as a pencil- a soldier at attention even in sleep. It’s more comfortable with his legs out and his hands on his stomach, crossed one over the other, the fingers of his top hand drumming across the back of the other.

If my thigh is that sensitive, what about the rest of this new body? The thought floats down to Steve seemingly from nowhere. It’s not the first thought he’s had about exploring his new body but… it is one of the most compelling. He has evidence of how different his body has become right behind his eyelids. Recent and fresh. 

Beginning with a sigh, Steve starts by just touching himself. Innocently. Exploring. 

Incidentally, it does not stay innocent for long as his fingers trace languidly up his thighs, to his hips, the v-cut of his hips, and to the lines of his abs which twitch, clench, and move when he touches them, almost tickling himself yet not paying attention to the funny, flickery feeling in favor of being purely amazed by the power that lies under his skin now. Thick, hard muscle beneath skin that feels thicker than it’s ever been before. Every part of him. Muscle. Every part of him is sturdy and thick.

Steve exhales, deflating where he lies on his bed. 

Up up up, his fingers still climb. 

They reach the center of his sternum and the bones of his clavicle- which are still able to be felt unlike the rest of his bones that used to be visible, sticking out awkwardly, but are now covered in muscle. Hidden. Protected. The pads of his fingers explore his throat. Tracing lightly. He swallows, feeling the rise and fall of his protruding larynx. It causes him to shudder, strange. His left-hand touches his right arm, going from the back of his hand, his knuckles, up to his wrist, forearm, elbow, bicep, and finally his shoulder. The little hairs catch under his finger, blonde and fine enough they can’t really be seen. He can feel them though. 

Then, his right-hand touches his left arm, going on the same journey. And as indulgent and… weird as it seems, almost like he’s showing off to himself, Steve flexes, but truthfully, he’s not. He’s just trying to piece together the mental image of his own body without a mirror handy. Plus, he wants to know the difference in feeling between lax, soft but dense muscle and engaged hard, bulging muscle. He wants to know: where is his muscle the thickest? Where is it the thinnest? Has he always been able to see the bumps of his veins as he can now? And if he could… could he always hover his fingers over them and feel the thrum of his blood through the passageways? 

He touches and touches. The tips of his fingers. Just his fingers. All of his hand; nails, fingers, and palm. 

Steve touches his new body until he gets hard. He doesn’t mean to. It’s not that he’s realizing how, like, attractive he is with muscle packed onto his overall larger frame, it’s just the sensations. The feeling of nerves more awake than they’ve ever been; uncaring about who’s touching his skin when it’s so gentle and teasing, all that matters is that someone is touching him. Waking his body up. Getting him hard. And holy shit does that happen faster now, plus the size increase impacting him too- he’s so large and getting hard so rapidly that it’s as if he can feel his blood rushing straight to his dick. It’s making him a little dizzy. Dizzy enough that it crosses his mind how it’s a good thing that he’s lying flat. Steve breathlessly laughs, feeling good. Feeling off-center in a pleasant way. 

Even as he spins in place, Steve cannot stop. In fact, he pauses to carefully tug down his underwear, blushing just at the thought of what he’s doing. After his underwear is tangled, pulled halfway down his thighs, Steve doesn’t touch himself there. He can’t. Not yet. Instead, he teases his own fingers up and down his arm, playing with the way his muscles bulge and flex. Pausing in one place, Steve feels his own pulse beating in his skin. He squeezes his shoulder to investigate the larger shape. He finds how soft and thin the skin in the ditch of his elbow is compared to anywhere else on his arm. Eyes shut, focused wholly on the way it feels. 

Then-

Then he accidentally brushes his nipple with the heel of his hand and his wrist; while investigating one arm with the opposite hand, he accidentally brushes his nipple. And the unexpected sensation makes him gasp, back arching because, oh, wait, the touch is crackling it’s so electric. 

Electric. 

It feels- 

It feels like electricity zipping through his muscles under his flesh, pooling and lighting up low, low in his gut. Steve arches his back in surprise so significantly that his cock smacks back against his lower belly, suddenly throbbing. Squirming under the echoes of the touch, Steve can feel himself blush harder because, well, he just touched his… yeah… and it felt so good.

What? When? It- it was never like that before-? He never felt especially sensitive but-

Now, just after brushing his chest, he can feel his blood rising to the surface of his skin making his face and neck and chest glow pink yet he can also feel his blood, hot and thick, thrumming and working itself deeper and deeper into his dick. Heat radiates from within him in a way it never did before. 

A fever spiked.  

Overwhelmed and in shock with what this new body can do - both heal itself and explode in good, knee-weakening pleasure without warning - Steve lies absolutely still for a moment. The only thing that is moving is his chest. His chest is heaving. He almost doesn’t want to risk touching his nipple again, it was so intense. Yet he shuts his eyes tight. And he thinks about it too hard for too long, thoughts loud, before simply deciding, fuck it, he can’t stop and grazes his own chest intentionally with his faintly shaking fingers. 

He gasps.  

“Oh.” He mewls to himself. No one else here. Thank fucking God. Just him. Just himself… making himself feel this way. Would he be less embarrassed if there were someone else here, making him react this way instead? Maybe, but, he can’t think about that. He can’t think.  

It feels just as good. Actually- shit. It actually feels better. The intentional touch, that is. Rubbing his first two fingers in a circle around and over his peaked, tight nipple rather than just brushing past. It feels like more.  

More sparking pleasure. 

Steve bites down on his lip, jaw trembling for a moment because- 

Oh, God.  

At the same time that he goes for it harder, rubbing with more intent and using both his hands to touch his chest on both sides at the same time, he can feel his dick start to leak pre-cum. Throbbing. He’s fucking wet and throbbing. Fuck. He wants to moan out loud but he can’t- he can’t be loud because then someone will come in and see him and see what he’s doing and, and-

Ngh. God. 

That’d be fucking terrible. 

Someone coming in and seeing him- him in this body; muscles flexing, sweating, flushed red, and not even touching his own dick yet. Just. Just his chest. Yet already a mess. Enough of a mess that his blood is boiling and he’s biting down hard on his lower lip, eyes squeezed shut tight as he’s spread out all over his cot. 

However, the thought of being caught can’t stop him. As he touches, Steve finds himself marveling over how pinching his nipples and grabbing the thick, round muscles under his seemingly thicker skin actually compares to having a hand on his dick. It’s giving him so much pleasure already, sharp and buzzing, that it’s basically just as good. So good he can feel himself getting harder and harder, closer and closer like a roller coaster hitching and jerking its way, slllllowly, up the first hill. It’s just that- 

It’s like a direct line to his cock. The grazing, light touches over his chest but also his thigh. His other hand moves down again, magnetized to that fresh, pink skin on his leg. Petting it. Stroking it. And it’s a line of hot fire straight to his dick. Sensitive and good. 

It’s not just those two points though, it’s all of his skin. Everything. Everything goes straight to his dick but especially this. Especially those two points of contact. Red hot target that he didn’t know existed until he hit them accidentally and came crashing fucking down. 

God. 

And it’s- 

It’s so good for him in terms of pleasure but also so good in literal sensation, his skin is soft the skin over bulging, hard muscle. His nipples especially are soft. And so easy to access now that his chest is full, they’re right there, high and peaked. Tight. They feel so tight. Almost like he can’t breathe. He’s so, so turned on all he can do is pant. And, shit, even if it didn’t feel as good as it does, Steve would still be touching himself like this, pleasantly acknowledging the textures. But it does feel good. 

It feels really good. 

And between the feelings in his chest, the buzzing in his thigh, and the hard throb of his cock Steve finds himself gasping and squirming more and more without trying to. Touching himself and writhing moving around. Embarrassing as it is, he can’t stop what he’s doing, stroking one hand up and down his extra sensitive, healing thigh with the other hand touching his nipples alternately, making his toes start to curl, climbing the last little bit of that hill, almost ready to roar down the other side screaming in the coaster car, when-

Bucky walks in. 

“Steve? Are you-”

Bucky stops talking, sharply cutting off whatever question he was going to ask before the canvas flaps of the tent even shut behind him with a snap. Separating them from the rest of the world and opening their own. 

Steve can hear the other man inhale sharply. He can feel his eyes burn over his body like a physical touch, dragging down. Hot and intense. 

Across the tent, frozen in place, Bucky groans. Steve shivers. Bucky gets more of a hold on himself and grits out, “Christ, honey, are you really-” He loses his words before he can even finish his sentence. Words trailing off into a sound Steve recognizes as a growl.

Steve whines in primal response, baring his throat on his cot by pressing his head back into the makeshift pillows. He can’t stop touching himself though. Even with Bucky’s eyes scorching on his skin, making his blush so much worse and making his embarrassment so much worse, hell, embarrassing him so much he might fucking die. He cannot stop. As if possessed, his hands move on their own, only knowing pleasure. Only chasing pleasure. Wanting more. More. More. 

The tension between them is so thick it might as well be visible in the air. Holding up the charged silence. 

Steve is the one to break it. Touching himself with badly shaking hands, he finds his head lolling to the side for a better view of Bucky, leaving his neck wide open still. He just can’t take it. So shocked by Bucky’s sudden presence that his orgasm got scared away. He was so close. He whines, dreamily looking at the other man. He needs-

“Fuck,” Bucky prowls closer, coming up to the side of his cot with eager steps, asking, “babydoll?” with a carefully soft voice as he stands over him. 

Bucky’s hands hover over him as if he doesn’t know whether or not he’s allowed to touch and, oh, Christ, if his own hands feel like this he can’t imagine how Bucky’s hands will feel. Guh. His long fingers that’re perfectly thick and calloused from working at the docks and now from firearm use. Strong. Hands so fucking strong but so gentle. They always worked magic on him before their deployment so surely-

Steve whines. 

Surely it would feel so, so, so good with the serum running thickly through his veins, causing his body to run fever hot and his nerves to be on edge. Sensitive.  

Steve wants Bucky to touch him so badly. He wants Bucky to touch him and discover how sensitive he is after the serum for himself. He wants it so fucking bad that pleads for those hands lay on the tip of Steve’s tongue, but-

All that comes out of Steve is a gasp as his body curls over onto its side, shyly coming toward Bucky like a flower following the sun. He is unable to speak. Only do. He can’t beg with his mouth, so he will with his whole body instead. 

“Ohh, baby,” Bucky’s interest is audible in his voice, assured and cocky, “lookit you,” the sensation of Bucky’s fingers just barely, barely stroking his hip makes Steve’s abdominal muscles clench. He twitches up hard into Bucky’s touch. A grin grows like a weed over his handsome face, “what’ve you been doin’ without me, sweetheart?” 

Steve wants to melt through his cot in embarrassment. He could. It’s just the right outside of himself that hasn’t melted down, everything inside him is nothing but heat. Bucky knows what he’s doing! He doesn’t need to ask! Not that Steve meant to-! He just-

“You couldn’t wait for me?” Bucky focuses his eyes on him, making sure they’re wide and soft. His lips are soft too, pouting at him.

Steve whines, shutting his eyes against his begging puppy-dog face because c’mon that isn’t fair. He can barely weakly reply with, “I- I didn’t mean t’do anythin’-” 

Bucky just makes an oh-really sound. Continuing to rub his thumb back and forth over the hill of his adonis belt. 

Shudders take Steve’s muscles, moving him and inspiring his tongue, he will do anything to have Bucky fucking touch him more, “th-this body, Buck,” he gasps, “it’s this body, everything’s so sensitive,” he whimpers out the last word, dripping with desperation. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-! ” 

“Shh,” his hand moves - making Steve realize his eyes are still shut because he jolts when he starts touching him again - carding through his hair that was damp from the stream but might be just as wet from sweat by now. Pressing up into the touch feels nice. He knows Bucky is here. Bucky is gonna take care of him. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” his voice is like honey, sweet and warm. Steve knows he must be switching sounds because of how strung out Steve looks. And how purely strung out he is. It’s just how he feels. Everything is so much. He doesn’t know what’s happening. Spinning while lying flat on his back. “Jus’ maybe warn a fella before I come back to our tent and have a goddamn heart attack again, okay?” Bucky tacks on at the end. 

It has Steve fidgeting, trying to focus his eyes on Bucky when he’s so close while he imagines leaning over to whisper to Bucky immediately after a debrief is dismissed, murmuring, I’m going back to the tent because I need to jerk off. You’re welcome to follow in ten if you want, otherwise, see you when you get back. 

Oh, God. 

In front of all those people-? Saying that. Even just in Bucky’s ear? Lips brushing his skin, his hand pressed to Bucky’s lower back through his uniform, whispering… 

Steve wouldn’t survive. He’d combust, overflowing with embarrassment before the words could even come out of him. 

Fuck. 

More heat curls tightly inside of him. Choking him, it’s so tight and so hot. 

“Now,” Bucky shakes him from his vivid imagination in which he can feel everyone's eyes on him, knowing what he’s saying to Bucky- what he’s going to go do, dirty and naughty, so fucking needy for it since the serum… Bucky combs his hair away from his face with his fingers some more, asking, “how can I help, sweetheart? You all achy for it, huh? Need some help, don’t’cha? Yeah, yeah, I can see how your dicks leakin’ real bad. All wet for me, hm?”

Steve squeaks, reminded of, God, yeah, how hard he is but also- Bucky saying it like that. That he’s all wet. Ngh. He can’t take it. Writhing on his cot. 

“Well,” Bucky chuckles, “I don’t need to ask do I? I can see it for myself, right here-” he trails one fingertip down the shaft of his cock faintly. Hardly touching him. 

But it doesn’t stop Steve’s cock from twitching violently.

Bucky chuckles again. “So sensitive-” he hums, sounding pleased with his hot breath washing over Steve’s sweaty skin. Blearily, he thinks, you have no idea, but again, his mouth is malfunctioning. So all he does is whine when Bucky pets his throbbing dick again. Then follows Steve’s own lead by dragging his fingers up his hips, up his abs, and up his chest. Steve convulses, breath stuttering, shivering, and arching his back when Bucky touches his chest especially. Getting so so so close to his sensitive nipples as he cups the underside of the round muscles of his pecs. 

“Hmm-” Bucky cocks his head to the side, thinking out loud. 

Uh-oh, Steve thinks drunkenly before Bucky zeros in on his chest based on his reaction. And he is not playing around as he circles his nipples and then pinches them.  

“Oh-” Steve moans, uncontrolled as it flies out of his mouth. Too loud and too obvious for the middle of a fucking camp with soldiers and officers crawling all over it. Someone is gonna hear and know exactly what’s happening. Steve is sure he colors an entirely new shade of red, brighter and more urgent. More urgent like the desperation inside him. It’s screaming now. He needs, guh, he needs-!

Bucky laughs, joyful and surprised. Yet he still slaps a hand over Steve’s mouth, telling him once more, “shh-” Although, he fucking does it again anyway. Thinking he’s fixed the only part of this that is bad. That someone else could hear them. 

He keeps touching. He pinches both of his nipples one after the other. There is no time for recovery between the sharp stabs of pleasure. Steve’s thighs tense, pressing together tightly then flying wide open when it puts too much pressure on his balls, forcing a blurt of pre-cum out of the throbbing, hot tip of his cock. His sound of both agony and pleasure is muffled by Bucky’s palm. Muffled some. Probably- maybe not enough. He can’t help it though. He can’t help it when Bucky’s fingers are roughly rubbing and pinching his nipples, leaving him to light on fucking fire.  

And he fucking laughs again! He keeps laughing. Enjoying the pleasurable torture he’s forcing to rip through Steve. 

Closing his eyes tight enough to see starts, Steve sucks in oxygen through his nose at the same time that Bucky flicks his right nipple. 

FUCK!

Steve might wail through his hand over his mouth. And now his chest is heaving. Really heaving. He can’t breathe. The pleasure lights up like fire burning and burning just under his skin, filling his entire chest and torso from the base of his throat to the base of his engorged dick.

“You are sensitive, huh, baby?” Bucky’s words seem unbothered but his voice is very affected. Breathy as he finally climbs on top of him. In his boots and uniform and everything. Looking immaculate while Steve is torn apart - sweating and squirming - he settles himself on top of Steve, sitting on his spread thighs, not even sitting on his dick and giving him something to grind up against. He’s fucking evil. 

Steve whines needily. He can feel the throb of his cock like a drum feels the mallet hitting it. It hurts. It feels so good. 

“So sensitive, right?” Bucky eggs him on, looking for an actual answer and not more turned-on nonsense. 

Steve nods wildly under his hand, moaning while muffled and grateful for it when he keeps going; rubbing his fingers back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across his nipple, and his hand on his face… over his mouth, God, his thumb keeps rubbing across his jaw… it feels- it makes-

It makes him weak. 

Again, he had no fucking idea that that part of his body could light him up with so much pleasure and push so much lust into his system but here he is. Here he is drowning in the hot sparks of it. His nerves have never been more alive. Drunk on the sizzling heat and sharp sensations of everything, Steve lets his tongue flick out against his lips, licking them, then, it’s kind of gross but- unable to stop himself, he licks the palm of Bucky’s hand. Something about the wet, hot drag of his tongue over Bucky’s skin makes him moan; he can taste Bucky. He can taste Bucky. 

Steve- 

Steve himself doesn’t know what he wants from licking Bucky’s hand, he just knows he needs to do it, but Bucky knows what he wants. Bucky always knows what he wants. He groans as quietly as he can, pressing his thumb between Steve’s lips and giving him something to suck on. Occupying the previously empty space in his mouth. So empty. Now full.  

Just as Steve’s eyes flutter shut, satisfied by the fullness of his thumb between his lips-

Bucky swaps nipples, circling and touching and rubbing the other one just as greedily as he had been touching the first. 

Ah! Oh! 

Steve’s dick leaks majorly, twitching, and he can’t stop from breathing hard, chest heaving as he swallows noises again and again even though all he wants to do is let them go, let the whines and cries and moans out of his tight, tight, tight chest because he needs something. He needs some sort of release. Something. Anything. Because at the base of his dick he can feel fire and lava building, tighter and tighter. He can feel his orgasm winding up, almost ready to snap like a rubber band stretched too tight. Readying him to explode. All he needs is that last push. Yet, he can’t tell Bucky. His mouth is busy with better things than making words-

He’s overwhelmed. He needs- 

But he can’t. 

He can’t do anything but need. Nothing but lust. He can’t say anything. He can’t do anything. He needs to cum. He needs to cum so fucking bad. 

Bucky swaps his thumb for two of his fingers, his index, and middle finger pushing into his mouth. Longer and thicker than just his thumb. More satisfying. Still desperate though, Steve hallows his cheeks around the intrusion of his fingers, sucking, licking, and lapping at them anew. Chasing the taste of Bucky. Yet, still, he needs more! 

With eyes watering, so desperately in need of friction, Steve humps up into nothing but empty air. Bucky is sitting on his legs but his weight is no longer enough to keep Steve down, not with the serum inside him. He just needs friction, he needs something- anything. Snapping his hips up just to make his cock hit painfully against his own body is even better than not. Pre-cum splatters his lower belly and abs. God. He chokes around Bucky’s fingers. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease is all that is going through his head. He needs-! He needs to cum! Just to be pushed off the cliff and come crashing down over the other side. 

Yet, all the while, Bucky does nothing to ease his wonderful, wonderful pain except let his most wolfish grin show. The sight lighting up Steve inside even more. So handsome and teasing that it’s obscene. Obscene how he’s smiling and talking down to him, saying, “you don’t need it.” He flashes dark eyes down to his pathetically moving hips, making it clear what it is, before yanking them right back up. Unbothered by Steve’s newly strengthened muscles essentially try to buck him off in a desperate search for friction. The pale blue of his eyes feels scorching on his naked body. “C’mon, baby, show me,” he whispers, sultry, “you don’t need it,” he repeats. “Show me what this body can do. Cum just ‘cause your mouth is full and your pretty nipples are being touched. I know you don’t even need to touch that pretty cock. Just this. You need just this.”  

The words cut something loose inside Steve, he sucks harder at Bucky’s fingers, eyes tearing up terribly, half rolling into the back of his head, and he presses harder into his touches at his chest. Flicking. Pinching. Rolling. Rubbing. Chasing more. More, more, more of Bucky’s fingers on him. 

And always aware of what’s going on inside Steve’s head, Bucky gives him more. Just… frustratingly, not what he needs most. No friction. But he does give Steve another finger, three deep in his mouth, guh, just the same amount he’d use to stretch Steve’s ass open for his cock. Plus, his other hand goes for it. Harder as he flicks, pinches, and- 

“Mmmmgh!” Steve wails through Bucky’s fingers. 

Twisting. 

Moaning and thrashing under Bucky, Steve can’t tell if he wants more or less suddenly. If he wants- if he wants him to never stop or if he wants it to end right now. Does it hurt more than it feels better or does it feel better than it hurts? He can’t tell, crying. He’s so sensitive. It’s too much. Too much. Like pouring more and more boiling water into the already full basin so it overflows. 

It overflows. 

His entire body is covered in goosebumps and sweat. Shivers have possessed his muscles and won’t let go; he’s haunted. His toes are curled tight enough that cramps in the soles of his feet have begun. The cramps are not enough to stop him though. He can’t tell if he’s even still breathing or if he’s just straight-up fucking died. He has no idea. He, he-

Then, just as he’s already on the precipice of crashing through his orgasm with destructive force, Bucky leans down and bites his pec. Taking a big chunk of muscle between his teeth and squeezing his jaw until Steve wails, still loud and needy even though he’s muffled with three (three!) fingers stuffed into his mouth. 

He’s gonna bruise. 

He wants to bruise.  

He wants to have his skin covered in Bucky’s marks under his uniform so he can press down on them through his clothes (or not through them… in their tent again later…) and feel hot and shuddery and sensitive but more. More. 

So sensitive and tight and-

Steve cums. 

Ohfucking-

Holyfuckingshit.

Steve orgasms hard. It blindsides him. Harsh and everything he needs- painting his clenching, rippling abs with hot, white release that nearly makes it to his collarbones there’s so much of it and so much force behind it after finally, finally being allowed to have his release. It feels like an impossibly thick rubber band snapping. Cutting him loose. Except, all the surprising pain of the snap is replaced entirely (and then some) with pleasure. Pleasure that leaves Steve moaning with a lax mouth, Bucky’s fingers wet as they trace the hot, wet gape of his swollen and red lips. It’s no use trying to muffle him when his mouth is wide open, lax with pleasure while at the same time fighting for air. 

Steve convulses. Feeling so much at once. 

Too much feeling. 

So much feeling compounded inside him - pleasure peaking then draining as Bucky softens up on him - that there’s a moment of nothing. Steve’s brain is blank. His body working only on autopilot. Heart and lungs only continuing to function because, because… well, can they even stop with the serum inside him? He has no idea what the answer is. 

Will he live forever? 

Fuuck, it feels like he could live forever in this moment just like he could stay on the blank, hazy cloud he’s floating on, living in the ripples and echoes of pleasure and…

Steve shivers again. Without meaning, without thinking about it. His body just does it all on its own, shaking the last clinging bits of paralyzing pleasure off minutes (hours?) after soaking in it.  

Steve’s eyes blink heavily, slowly open and there’s Bucky’s goofy grin, looming over him, “hey, sweetheart,” he murmurs, petting his cheek and jaw with wet fingers. Fingers that’re wet with Steve’s own spit. He can’t have been gone for too long then. It felt like a lot longer. Time suspended in pleasure. 

Either way, once more Steve can literally feel where the blood in his body is rushing. And this time it’s his face. He’s blushing. Blushing hard thinking about the wetness of his fingers that were just in his mouth and the, uh, for lack of a better word, floozy-like performance he just gave Bucky. His… performance not lasting long at all. Oops? 

The other man is not impressed, laughing, “don’t gimmie that.” Chiding him playfully. However, Bucky leans down to kiss him anyway. So his blush can’t be that offensive. 

Steve sighs happily into the kiss, melted underneath Bucky. His strength and bones have both melted completely away.  

“You just made a goddamn mess of yourself an'-” he explains, his blown eyes flicking down to indicate where the mess is but he catches more than just the cum splattered against Steve’s skin, cocking his head to the side and mumbling, “huh.”  

Steve has no idea what has caught his attention this time, he can’t think, but his gut swoops, and his knees somehow get even more weak than they already are. He glances down too, investigating. 

Oh.

Suddenly the desperate throbbing between his legs comes back full force. No longer remaining in the background, waiting, watching.  

Without even realizing it himself, Steve has stayed hard. Through his orgasm, he’s stayed hard. 

He’s still hard now. 

Oh. 

He’s hard enough that it hurts. A whine has already begun to bubble up in his throat in protest, squirming with his underwear in a tangle at his knees. He… he needs to cum again. It feels- it feels tight and achy and like he hasn’t cum at all- like he didn’t just cum. 

And, of course, Bucky has noticed that he’s hard. Resulting in Bucky attacking his previous topic of conversation with a new tone; switching back to sultry, not playful, and clearly, wanting to do something about Steve’s state of still being hard. Bucky rips his skivvies all the way down, finally, and throws them across the tent impatiently. He purrs, “you just made a mess of yourself all because I was touching your new tits and-”

Steve can’t help the sound he makes at that word. They’re not-!

But Bucky’s ears all but perk up, knowing exactly what his stiffened reaction means judging by the way his grin grows even more devilish. “Hmm,” he hums under his breath, just to himself, then, louder, “well, then, what else would you call these things, babydoll?” Bucky cups his pecs with both hands. 

Steve’s breathing hitches. Finding himself suddenly pinned in place, Steve can’t even shrug his shoulders, forest fire hot flames working themselves way back up inside him from coals. His eyes must be comically wide. 

“‘Cause I’d call ‘em tits. I mean…” staring down at him, Bucky uses his cupped hands to squeeze Steve’s chest together, giving him legitimate cleavage, “they look like tits.” 

Oh, God. 

Steve squeaks and squirms under Bucky’s weight, finding it harder now than it was before his first orgasm. He can’t get away. All he can do is turn redder and redder. Mortification runs thickly through his veins, mixed so much with his lust that he can’t tell one from the other so much so that he wants more of it. He wants Bucky to keep talking and telling him about his… his chest. He wants to squirm and writhe and shy away from it because he, fuck, he’s so fucking hard. Ngh. 

Bucky’s fingers dig into his flesh next, making a soft noise squeeze out of Steve’s chest like he’s been punched. Bucky whispers, low and slow, “they feel like tits.” 

A debauched moan that Steve will never admit to as long as he lives, slips out of his mouth. 

Bucky ducks forward, putting his face right up against Steve’s chest, nose nestled in the cleavage he’s made out of Steve’s pecs, pushing them together. He lifts his head just enough to trace the right mound of his chest with his nose, teasing as he half-laughs, half-seriously says, “they smell like tits.” 

And even though Steve knows what comes next, it still shocks a gasp out of him when Bucky opens his mouth and lavs his tongue over his chest. Licking him. Then kissing his chest sloppily. And then sucking a hickey into his chest, just over one of his nipples. 

“God. Fucking- ohgod,” Steve whines breathlessly, head spinning. 

Bucky lets his pouty lips brush Steve’s chest as he proclaims proudly, “and they sure as shit taste like tits.” 

Steve feels faint. Static crackles through him. Oh. 

Oh. 

He moans wordlessly because suddenly, he never ever fucking wants anything else other than hearing Bucky call his chest th- that and he never wants to feel anything other than Bucky mouthing at him. At his chest. It feels like… like nothing else. It’s so good. So sensitive as if his nerves are extra raw there. Like, shit, Steve almost feels as if he needs to bring his own hands up to his chest, pressing his palms against the skin in order to get it to stop ringing with Bucky’s teasing touches. Echoes of pleasure keep shuddering through him. He can’t stop the feeling even as Bucky repositions himself- 

With his thumb tracing over Steve’s lips, then lifting his chin (when did Steve crane his neck uncomfortably far down to try to look at himself?), Bucky smirks, face-to-face with him now, “plus-” he licks his own lips. Steve follows him in unconscious obedience, licking Bucky’s thumb where it lies against his full lower lip. Shivering. “-They seem just as sensitive as tits. Are they sensitive, baby?” 

Steve knows he knows the answer to that. He glares at Bucky as much as he can while so fucking overwhelmed. 

“C’mon,” Bucky challenges, breathless now too, “I want you to say it. I want you to tell me your shiny new tits are so sensitive you can hardly handle it. I want you to tell me that you just came ‘cause I touched your tits just like you needed. I want you to say. Please, darlin’?”

His lips feel glued shut. His tongue a million dry pounds in his mouth with mortification crawling up the back of his throat, heavy as a stone wider and taller than a person. 

“Tell me you like it, at least?” He fixes Steve with his best puppy-dog eyes. 

Steve swallows thickly, weak as always against his begging face. “I like it,” he whispers. 

“Mmm-hmm,”   Bucky hums, “you sure fuckin’ do. I can see it in your eyes. We should get you a mirror, sweetheart, that way you can see how dark and big your eyes are. But I can tell ‘cause you’re blushing too, blushing all the way to these tits-” he pokes them with one finger, and even that- even just that! Has Steve sucking in a needy breath, cock twitching needily “-and then further down too…” 

That finger traces down the underside of his pec, over his ribs, and onto his obliques. 

A tiny little shudder rolls through him. It alone could break Steve, just that little quiver. He’s so close to shattering apart. 

“You’re blushing so much ‘cause y’like it.” 

Steve turns his head to the side, he can’t look at Bucky. There is nothing inside him other than heat and embarrassment and pleasure. It feels so good. Why does it feel so good? How did he never notice how everything in this new body is connected to his dick? Every place Bucky touches him seems to be an erogenous zone. Each of them more sensitive than the last. Well. Other than his, his… chest. 

“You’re still hard ‘cause you fuckin’ like it.” 

This time, face pressed into his makeshift pillows the best he can while still on his back, Steve nods jerkily, feeling the balled-up wool fabric scratch against his cheek roughly. Bucky has stopped touching his mouth, needing to hold himself up as he leans over top of him but Steve doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. He doesn’t know if it was too overwhelming or not enough stimulation. 

He is still hard. 

Leaking.  

Throbbing. 

“Say it,” the other man murmurs again, lifting his hand from stroking his waist to running lines up and down his throat as if he can physically tease the words from Steve’s body.

Steve swallows a pathetic sound. It feels like Bucky is dragging his nails up and down his skin. He’s not, but Steve’s skin is telling his brain he is and he… he wants it. He wants more bright pink marks. More sensitive bright pink marks to press down on with his fingers, sending shuddering, sharp stabs of pleasure through his gut. 

He wants it. 

“Say it and I’ll try putting my mouth on these things some more-” Bucky leans back, cupping his chest with his hands. Pressing down. Smooshing his pecs together. 

A gasp falls out of Steve as his body undulates underneath the other man’s weight without his brain telling it to, arching his back, and shoving his chest into his hands. A glutton for punishment. For pleasure. 

“Okay,” Bucky clicks his tongue, seeing his stubbornness written clearly over him underneath his reactions, “how about one better, Rogers? Jus’ to get that pretty mouth workin’ again. How about I put my mouth on your tits and let you grind your cock-” he flicks Steve’s heavy, hard shaft. Steve wails with how the feeling cuts him open and splays him out. Hot and raw. It hurts. 

“OH. Nnngh- guh,” Steve struggles, useless when drowning in the sensation of his throbbing, throbbing cock. Red fucking hot under another flick from Bucky’s magical hands. 

Bucky chuckles darkly, shushing him. Then, “how about-” he says it nice and slow as if he’s trying to get Steve to understand him when English is his second language rather than just having gone dumb from arousal “-I put my mouth on your tits and let you grind your big, new cock up against my stomach until you cum. Not that you need the extra help. But you can have it… if you ask for it.” 

There’s a heated, tense moment of silence. Crackling between their rising and falling chests. 

“Ask for it.” 

“Please,” the definite order does something to Steve, maybe he’s still in soldier mode, even like this, or maybe it’s the hungry, predatory look in Bucky’s eyes plus the steal in his voice forcing his mouth to move. Either way, it does it for Steve. “Please,” he begs again, voice fragile and cracking. Needing. Needing so, so bad.  

“Ask me better than that,” he teases, “I know you can, babydoll.” 

“Please, Bucky, please-” suck on my tits is what he wants to say. But he can’t. Tears well in his eyes, embarrassment choking him. Making him unable to say what he wants to. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Bucky asks, grinning. 

Shakily breathing, almost sobbing, Steve nods frantically. He tries again, clumsy with his all-encompasing desperation, “I, I want- please!” he cries. “Please, Buck. Please put your mouth on… on my-” tits. 

He can’t! 

His lips tremble. Upset with himself for being unable to even whisper the word. 

He can’t say it.  

“Aww,” Bucky’s hungry expression has him trembling and leaves the heat inside him curling up into a tangled ball, tighter and tighter, “I get it, honey,” he takes pity on him, cooing, “don’t worry. You want my mouth on these nice, perky tits of yours, huh?” 

“Yes, yes- yes please!” He whines, boiling over. 

“Ohh, okay, well- why didn’t you just say so?” He adds the last part just to be a dick. And speaking of dicks-

As he finally gets a move on, sliding down so his face is level with Steve’s chest, Steve really feels how hard his pulse is throbbing through his cock as the sensitive, sensitive flesh catches on Bucky’s uniform; the vaguely rough fabric rubbing against him and forcing those welled-up tears in his eyes to overflow. Oh, God. It’s too much. It’s- it’s choking him. The friction after so long of wanting it but not getting it- 

It’s… it’s indescribable. Steve doesn’t know if he wants it or not. It’s burning. So, so hot. In a good way but also- 

“Ah!” 

It hurts. He’s so raw and so hard that anything against his flesh is painful. Painfully good. Painfully not enough if it isn’t there but when it is there… painfully too much. 

“AH!” Steve moans recklessly. Then he begins sobbing when the pleasure of the friction of his cock against Bucky’s fully clothed body is joined by the pleasure of Bucky’s mouth leaving sizzling, hot, wet kisses down his naked skin… first his throat, then over his collarbones, and finally onto his chest. 

His crying only gets worse - louder and more hysterical - when Bucky’s mouth lands on his nipple. Licking. Lapping. Sucking. Using just a hint of his teeth. 

“OH!” Steve’s hands curl tightly into Bucky’s thick, carefully styled hair. Ruining it. Tugging hard. “Oh!” he moans again, helpless to the way it falls out of his mouth. Shocked. He thought- 

He knew- he knows he is sensitive there from his time alone just before this but he didn’t realize how sensitive. He didn’t realize how sensitive he was until right fucking now. Fuck. He thought he knew what it was to be sensitive, but this is giving him a whole new definition of the word. An experience he’s never had before. How-

“Unghh-!” Steve moans stupidly, throwing his head back and struggling to breathe. Bucky’s weight on top of him isn’t giving him breathing problems, it’s- he’s perfect; it’s all the pleasure. The pleasure that’s sunk its fangs into him and is pumping his lungs and stomach and organs and veins full of its venom. All consuming and good. So, so good. 

He’s drowning in pleasure, Bucky’s tongue and teeth and lips wicked with the way they touch him. 

He can’t stop crying. He can’t stop moaning. He can’t stop grinding his hips up into Bucky’s uniform even though he’s undoubtedly ruining it with the pre-cum that’s gushing out of him (not to even mention the cum that’s already messy, spread all over his glistening skin) but he can’t stop. He can’t control himself. He’s gutted. Burning up. Falling apart. 

He’s-

He’s cumming already.

He’s gonna cum again. Already. 

And it causes a fresh wave of embarrassment to choke him. Not only is he so fucking sensitive but, of course, he’s quick on the draw too. It’s just… just that it’s so good and he can only handle the heightened pleasure for so long, even though he’s already cum once. He can’t-

Whining, panicked, Steve’s fingers scramble through Bucky’s hair, trying to pull his mouth away from his skin or trying to push him closer so he keeps going… Steve doesn’t even know what the hell he’s fucking doing. There’s not a single damn idea of what he’s trying to accomplish within his own head, all he knows is that his nails as scritching through Bucky’s hair, and his legs are kicking out, restless, spreading wide but then curling tight around Bucky’s waist. He’s so sweaty. When did he start sweating so much? He’s dangerously feverish by this point, he has to be, sweating buckets with the bedroll on his cot, making it stick to his back. And under his melting skin, nerves sizzle. Smoke must be pouring out of his ears. 

Bucky licks and licks over his other deprived nipple, then he lets his teeth drag over it, and sucks almost like he’s trying to give him a hickey over his nipple. Lightning crashes through him. Frying his nerves and muscles and brain. Steve whines frantically. On. edge. And all the while Bucky’s hand is covering his other nipple, flicking and rolling and twisting it, leaving him in the best- the fucking best kind of agony. 

Steve can’t hold on any longer. 

With a hardly stifled shout, he spurts wet, hot cum against Bucky’s belly, against his uniform. It goes on and on and on. Ruining the fabric without even being able to care. 

Steve’s eyes roll to the back of his head. His back arches so harshly that Bucky makes a shocked, turned-on sound as his hands frantically search for a grip on Steve’s body, holding him bruisingly, wanting anything else but to be thrown off of his body as he spills. And spills.

It feels so good. 

It feels like a knot not violently unraveling after being fought against for so long; it feels like a knot being ripped apart. Snapped. Torn. Frayed. White hot and blazed with pleasure like the rays of the sun cooking him from the inside out. 

Without Bucky’s hands on him and his weight pressing him down, Steve really would fly apart into a million, billion pieces. As is, all the tension leaves him. Broken. He melts back into the cot again. This time it’s so much more aggressive. So much more melting. Feeling like he’ll never get up again no matter how hard he tries. He’s pretty sure he’s never moving again. He’s useless now. Hazy, barely holding onto the real world like fistfuls of sand trying to drain through the cracks between his fingers. 

Bucky collapses on top of him after a few… seconds? minutes? hours? With his cheek to Steve’s chest, Steve becomes aware of his own heartbeat all over again… it’s beginning to slow down. Less thumpthumpthump and more thump. thump. thump.

In who knows how long, a thought surfaces in Steve’s cotton candy brain- “you, uh,” Steve pauses, blushing as he tries to get his feet back on the ground, “you want yours?” He offers to Bucky, a tiny bit awkward even after all that they’ve just done. 

And now it’s Bucky’s turn to blush when Steve lifts his head, glancing down at him, “no, no, I-” he licks his lips, Steve’s cock twitches in trained response, “I came in my, um, my uniform pants while you were, y’know, occupied,” 

Steve laughs. Steve laughs hard enough that he’s gasping for breath as he says, “good. Good. I don’t wanna be the only one-” 

Bucky laughs too, catching his hysteria from being so close, knowing what he’s getting at without Steve having to spell it out. Usually… usually he’s pretty good at lasting; this time it seems like neither of them could though. Too caught up in the moment. In the heat. And it seems like… if Steve isn’t careful to not continue to ride the wave, he could stay caught up. Huh.