nothing, just. Steve taking Bucky in front of a mirror, so that Bucky may watch them.
Bucky standing naked and warm in Steve's arms, unable to tear his gaze away from their reflection, blood thrumming in his veins. it's like being entirely surrounded by Steve, back and front - everywhere Steve's worshipful body touches his, at his back, and the heated gaze watching them both, watching Bucky, from the silvery surface of the mirror placed before them.
there's nothing but Steve. the voice murmuring praise in Bucky's ear. the soft gasping breaths caressing the length of Bucky's neck when the rolling of Steve's hips seats him deep, just so, perfect like this, every last inch of him enveloped in Bucky's warmth and pulsing with need inside him.
the sweat slicking Bucky's back, his own or Steve's, he couldn't say - it's salt from their skin, mingling together and rolling slow and delicate down the curve of Bucky's spine until it spills over into the crease of him, there where they're joined, where Steve slides himself in and then torturously out, and the salty moisture of them wets the thatch of curls crowning his cock and brushes against Bucky's hole, claiming them both. their sweat, one sweat. their scent, one scent. one salt. one body.
the mouth laving kisses up Bucky's neck, over the cut of his jaw - and this is the first time he has seen Steve's glistening red lips capture his earlobe and suckle on the flesh as though it were made of sugar, pliant and sweet and delectable, and Bucky couldn't look away from that mouth if his life depended on it.
the hands running over his body - he can feel them, and he can watch them, watch himself underneath their touch, watch the hard, flushed body arching in the mirror while Steve's big palms clasp his hips, when Steve's fingers knead his flank, when Steve's hand skates down the fluttering planes of Bucky's stomach to find the sweet treat between his legs, to stroke it, coo softly over it, tease it, straining and proud and heavy in the blissfully tight grasp of Steve's fist.
the fire in Steve's eyes, right there, across from him, behind him, locking with Bucky's gaze in the mirror, hungry and satisfied all at once.
Steve, panting hotly against Bucky's cheek, "Do you see?" his voice like gravel, like honey, like a blade scraping Bucky's nerve endings raw until it can sink right into the core of him and wedge itself there, mercilessly tender, "Do you see that? Do you see us?" and Steve shows him, shows him exactly what they look like, skin to skin. shows him how perfectly their bodies fit together; how easily they move as one, in a way that cannot be taught, can only be learned, can only be felt.
it feels obscene, to stand there and watch himself part his lips and moan, to watch the ripple of his own hips as he fucks back onto Steve's cock and to feel it, too, fat with pleasure, making room for itself within Bucky's clenching walls, kissing at the sweet spot hidden inside him.
it is debauchery, to watch Steve's mouth descend upon his shoulder, and find the ugliest portion of Bucky's scarred body; to see the red of Steve's tongue trace it with slick strokes, and feel the soft wet graze of it on his skin, reverent, loving, raw - and wonder, if only for a moment, how those ridged marks ever seemed ugly at all.
it nearly drives him out of his own skin. it's a circle: Steve everywhere around him, inside him, trickling down his skin, watching Bucky watch them; and Bucky caught in the heart of it all, burning, breathless, transfixed.
"Don't look away," Steve begs him, his voice ruined, broken, waves crashing against the shore. "Keep your eyes on me, keep looking at me, just like that... Yeah... yeah..."
so Bucky does. Bucky can do nothing but reach back and sink his fingers in Steve's hair and grasp him close, needy and laid bare as he is,
and how can he feel at once so small, so held, so perfectly contained within Steve's arms, and yet larger than life, broad and powerful, a god amongst men, with one man's life clutched safely in his own hands? he doesn't know. he can't begin to unravel the tangle of it all. but when he comes, hard and hoarse and desperate, he does so while looking in Steve's eyes, with Steve's husked praise pouring hotly on his skin; and that is enough.
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