Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: T
Words: 1,321
Tags: Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Humor, Crack
Summary: When the villain of the week gasses Steve with a serum to remove all inhibitions, Tony is in for a surprise.
Reasons why I love it:
I wanted to kick this list of with something fluffy, and this is just about the sweetest thing I've ever read. Steve, you precious bean, you are a trainwreck and we love you for it. And of course Tony is enjoying the hell out of it. I adore this fic, and if you haven't read it already, I hope you give it a shot!
it's been a long year (since we last spoke) by Anonymous
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: M
Words: 4,803
Tags: Skrulls, Brief Non-Con, Getting Together
Summary: Steve gets sent the link to a video of Tony kissing a Skrull that looks like Steve.
Reasons why I love it:
I'm so glad that Steve took the initiative to make things right between them, because those idiots deserve each other. I love the angst, it makes the eventual romance all the sweeter. And Steve's inner monologue is super well written, I really felt for him. I love this fic, and I bet you will to, so please give it a shot!
Meeting the Avengers by firstpynch
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: G
Words: 2,132
Tags: Protective Tony, Sad Steve, Protective Peter
Summary: Today, June 18 2019, is a day that will go down in history because today is the group cheerily being dubbed as the ‘Rogue Avengers’ by the media will be making their not-so-triumphant return to American soil after years of being on the run.
Peter was looking forward to it about as much as he looks forward to his visits to the dentist. That is to say, not very much.
or, Peter meets the Avengers.
Reasons why I love it:
This fic is the beginning of a series, and it kicks it off with some excellent angst. I love how torn Peter is between his excitement at meeting his childhood heroes and his resentment after the Civil War. It got me hooked instantly, and I'd not only recommend this one fic but the entire series, because it's excellent!
May 3rd by nanasekei
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: NR
Words: 4,818
Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, Misunderstandings
Summary: “So,” Steve asks, his shy grin clearly nervous, and Tony takes a moment to forget the dinner and the flowers and the world at large to marvel at how insanely good he looks in a navy-blue three-piece suit, complete with an adorable bowtie. “What do you think?”
Tony swallows, steering his thoughts back from how fantastic that suit would look on his bedroom floor, and stares at Steve’s expectant face. “It’s… It’s perfect.” He says.
And it’s true. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, it’s... Tony has no idea what this is about.
-- Having a boyfriend with a superserum enhanced memory certainly makes for a lot of romantic special dates. Sometimes Tony finds it a bit hard to keep up.
Reasons why I love it:
Aaaah, this fic is the absolute cutest! It feels like they've already been married for a thousand years. All those little snippets of their relationship make me so happy, I would read a billion more words in this universe. Please do yourself a favor and check this one out, it's so good!
Another Chance (The Complete Honesty Remix) by laireshi
Pairing: Steve/Tony
Rating: T
Words: 2,721
Tags: Truth Serum, Fix-It, Getting Together
Summary: Steve and Tony talk about what happened in Siberia. The only issue? Steve's under the influence of truth serum, and Tony's forced to accept his answers.
Reasons why I love it:
The dialogue in this is absolute perfection, I love it so much! It's painful and raw but with just the right amount of hope to make me think they're going to be alright in the future. This fic is wonderful, and I highly encourage you to go and experience it for yourself!
Summary: You keep playing phone tag with your hero-turned-fugitive lover. When you find yourself working the same mission in the same place, can your paths cross and bring you together once more?
Pairing: post-CA:CW!Steve x Agent!reader
Word Count: 3175
Warnings: brief cursing, brief mention of violence, some more melancholy (I can’t resist the angst, you guys)
A/N: This is my second submission for @pellucid-constellations love letter writing challenge. (Read my Bucky fic here.) I really hope you love it! Post Civil War, Steve’s on the run and hard to pin down. Thanks so much for reading!
⍟⍟⍟
Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, distracting you from the very exhausting briefing presented at the front of the conference table. Something about Hydra, always something about Hydra, and after the year you’ve had, you were ready for a bit of a break. You pulled your phone out to glance at the screen, and felt that warm, familiar kick of giddy excitement at the name on the Caller I.D. Him.
“Something important, Agent?” Your superior halted his presentation with a frustrated sigh, and you silenced the buzz of your phone and re-pocketed it.
“Not at all, sorry, sir.” You grinned.
You loved sending Him to voicemail. Him being Captain Steve Rogers, known hero-turned-fugitive, secret lover to yours truly. He hated being sent to voicemail, always rambled awkwardly until someone, usually Natasha, told him to hang up already, her voice a cackle from the background. But his ramblings were honest, more honest than his phone calls, even at the latest hours of the night when he had you to himself. He was softer then, almost more shy. He could be honest when he knew you’d react and respond at a later time.
So you often intentionally silenced his call, opting instead to play phone tag from across timezones. He was never in the same place twice, and neither were you anymore. Maybe if you’d bother to answer, the two of you could meet up, tag-team a Hydra mission and spend the night wrapped up in his arms like he’d always promised. But maybe that scared you more than you’d admit, so for now, phone tag was the name of the game.
You exited the conference room a half hour later with a stack of manila folders, a recon mission in the Balkans, and a lower level agent chattering your ear off. It seemed fairly self explanatory, in-and-out. Your agency was making a bigger deal of it than it probably was, and you were waltzing down winding corridors with a smug look on your face knowing what was waiting in your back pocket.
—
Your bags were already packed, and you were on a flight Eastward before you could stop for a breather, however, and it was a good few hours before you got time alone again. Throughout the flight, beyond the chatter of your teammates, you looked at the voicemail notification. And, as the you chased the sun to rise again, you unlocked a hotel door room with a keycard and collapsed onto zillion thread count sheets, finally a moment’s peace to sit and listen.
You tapped the notification with your thumb and pressed the phone to your ear, allowing your eyes to slip closed with exhaustion and jet lag as you listened to the dulcet tones of that man’s sweet voice.
“Hey, it’s me… Steve. Think I’ll ever actually talk to you on the damn phone?” He chuckled. “Anyway, I just wanted to call and let you know I’m alive, and I’m thinking about you. I miss you like crazy. How long has it been? Three months? Four? Jesus. War didn’t even feel this long.”
He let out a deep sigh, and you imagined him falling back onto the comfort of his own soft bed, somewhere safe, somewhere warm.
“Okay that’s dramatic. War sucked. But this sucks too. I just want to see you.”
Your stomach ached for him. It had been a while, five months actually, since you last lay your fingers upon that chest cut from marble, since you’d last snuck a kiss between headstones in a Cleveland cemetery. You’d found a few Russian operatives, and Natasha had made the set up. Only a handful of moments, lost like the fireflies between dancing tree limbs, but it had been worth it to feel his arms around you again, his fingertips through your hair and yours clenching the rigid kevlar of his suit.
“I’m in Greece, I think. Somewhere in the Balkans. Hydra mission. Sam said it’s worth looking into, so it’s worth looking into. Don’t worry, we’re being careful.”
You sat upright in your bed, nearly dropping your phone to the pillow below, and you scrambled. There were several seconds left of the call, several before someone eventually cut him off, but you’d listen later. Frantic, you grappled the buttons, punching in his contact to return the call.
Ring. Ring. Ring. You glanced at the bedside table. It was nearing 4AM. If he was there, now, he’d be asleep, or out on the mission.
“Hey, you’ve reached Steve. Leave a message.”
You sighed out a laugh, pushing off from the covers to pace, barbered carpet scratching your aching feet. “Hey, it’s me. I’m in the Balkans. I’m on that mission. I’m annoyed that your phone doesn’t have the option for texting, and I’m even more annoyed that you didn’t wake up to answer my call. It’s 4AM, you’re a hundred. Shouldn’t you be on your morning run? Anyway, call me back immediately. I want to see you. I’m at the…” You read off the stationery on the side table. “Room 704. I’ll be here until noon. Call me back.”
You clutched your phone into your hand and peered through the peep hole of the room, as if he’d listened and appeared like a magician outside your door. No such luck. You pushed off from the door and found the window. The curtain opened to a stunning cliffside view, the sea miles beyond, a vast stretch of nothingness. Just the heavy lids of your eyes, and the panic in your chest that this may just be another missed opportunity.
You rolled out of your travel clothes and brushed your teeth, staring at your phone on the countertop. And then you made your way back to the too-soft bedding for an expertly timed nap.
—
The hot sun fanned your cheeks, undeterred by the cabana umbrella and the ice melting in its glass atop your bistro table. You covered your eyes with a flattened hand, which provided some added shade, but your upper lip continued to bead with brine. Your targets talked a handful of feet away, at their own table, ritzy in linens and rings that clanked when they shook hands.
You’d poured over your book for hours, never reading a word, half-focused on the cell phone beside you, half on the tabletop beneath the Hydra-elite, under which you’d planted a listening device at the beginning of your dip into the pool. You maintained to face away from them, the clear in-ear bugged into your right hand side. They spoke in thick accents, in a language you’d wished you’d bothered to learn more of. You caught the occasion phrase, but knew the recording headed back to your own base in the States would be translated as necessary. You were only there to retrieve the information.
Kids played in the pool nearby, encouraged by their au pair while Mummy got a tan, and you found your focus zero in on them as the third child, a bit older, walked back outside from the restroom. He was lanky, in that awkward phase, and wet hair was beginning to dry in curls around his ears. He wore a white towel, emblazoned with the resorts’ logo, and he brought his hands to his chest to begin to sign.
You recognized it immediately as ASL, one of the few language that had stuck in your training. Your heart trilled with delight as the boy teased his siblings, and then sunk with panic as he turned to face you. He pointed to the device in your ear and you realized the men near you silenced.
“You speak ASL?” The boy signed, and you smiled and nodded, setting your book face-down on the table beside you. You could feel eyes on you from the nearby table.
The boy grinned and pointed at the doors. Then, he signed, roughly, “A big man inside paid me to tell you he’s here.”
Your heart rattled in your chest, and you tried to chuckle away the chill. “A big man?” You signed back, and the boy nodded. With a deep breath, you thanked him. The boy turned and went back to his family, and you made about gathering your things, though the adrenaline of an incoming encounter coursed through you.
Seemingly satisfied by the interaction, the men nearby started their conversation back up, softer than before, a low rumble in your ear, and you glanced their direction through your sunglasses as you stood from your table, flashing a polite smile as one of them caught your gaze and quickly looked away. You left your book, where the pages had already begun to soak in condensation from your glass, and the towel you’d been laying on.
The air conditioner instantly rocked your skin in gooseflesh, nearly freezing the bits of you pooling with sweat, and you let out an exhale the moment you rounded the corner and out of sight of the pool. The secondary lobby area was vast, high ceilings and guests moseying between pillars, and you ducked behind one and removed the throwing star that attached the bits of your sarong to each other. You tucked your knuckles around the two points and prepared for a punch.
At least, you were prepared until a dark hand came out of nowhere and wrapped itself around your wrist. You maneuvered around them, tried to headbutt, but your assailant ducked out of the way with a startled, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, tiger!”
Sam Wilson grinned back at you, all white teeth and perfect warmth. He ducked his head, waiting for another attack, but instead you put your finger to your lips to silence him.
Then, you put your hand to your in-ear and mumbled, “For the record, I’m using the restroom.” And heard the soft beep of the system shutting off.
Sam waited expectantly, eyebrows raised, and arms outstretched, and you sunk into his embrace. He smelled of coconut and sweat and Sam, and you could have sobbed at the rumble of his chuckle against your cheek. ”How you been?”
You pulled away with a nod, and you couldn’t help but scan the crowd over his shoulder. With every strange face came the twinge of heartache, the twinge of almost-was, of hope. “Good,” you relaxed your shoulders. “You?”
Sam gave you a knowing smirk, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, you don’t care about me.”
“Shut up,” you laughed. “Of course I do.”
He nodded to his right, and you glanced to see the cracked door to a laundry room. The black plaque restricted access to anyone who wasn’t an employee, and your stomach flipped three or four times, imagining what could be just beyond.
“I’ve got eyes on the Hydra guys,” Sam smiled. “I’ll give you guys, what? 7 minutes?”
You shot Sam a look, but couldn’t help the smile that ached at the corners of your mouth. The wingman winked, and stepped aside to grant you access. The linoleum felt cold under your trembling fingers, and you raked them against the surface before pushing. The heavy door swung open just enough for you to slip inside, and you heard it latch behind you.
The room was white, sterile, full of the tumble of several washers and dryers doing their daily turn down services. Washing machines to the left, dryers to the right, and directly dead center, five machines down, leaning against a cart full of white sheets, was Captain America himself. Him.
He pushed off from the cart to stand, awkward, sheepish, hardly recognizable under a growing mop of hair and a full, dark beard.
“Have you always been that tall?” You cocked an eyebrow, the tone of your voice much braver than you felt.
He sucked in his cheeks and shook his head.
The two of you took slow steps toward one another, a scrape of rubber against tiled floors. You fought back the grin threatening to form, and he swung his arm until you were almost at arm’s length, and then he waited for you to take his grasp, and he pulled you in.
He was bigger than you’d remembered, a bear of a man that lumbered his frame around yours, all biceps and pectorals and hair. You raked at the length at his neck and the sides of his face, and he groaned into your neck, and you melted into him as though he were a sponge and you the popsicle in the hot Balkan sunlight.
“Did you get my voicemail?” He asked, knees bent to prop both of you against the only washing machine out of service.
You laughed at that, pressing your lips to his cheek, wherever you could find purchase without a mouthful of hair. The wrinkles at his eyes crinkled, and you kissed them before pulling away to look at him, really look at him, without all the pixels messing up the perfection of it all.
There were greens in his blue eyes, and you saw your admiration mirrored in his own gaze. Both of you laughed, realizing you were doing the same thing, observing one another, being present in the moment, soaking it in. His cheekbones remained high, unaging, and the fur around his lips sheltered the strength of his jaw and softened his fingers. You ran your fingers through it like the coat of a Labrador, and he pursed his lips into the affectionate gesture.
“You like it?”
“Haven’t decided yet,” you pursed your own.
He chuckled, but you watched his eyes darken as his gaze found your lips. He licked his own, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose. You smiled and let you eyes flutter closed, and you sighed as he closed the distance with a kiss.
God, you’d missed that, the way he just gave in. Like every kiss might be his last. It was the gentle intensity of it all, the way he held you around the middle, a large hand reaching to cup your neck and face, thumb circling your cheekbone. It was the rise and fall of his shoulders as he leaned into it, deepened it. It was the press of the small of your back until your abdomens found one another, his carved from marble against your own soft edges.
His beard was the only thing you hadn’t remembered, bristly and soft all at once. It tickled beneath your nose and in the crevice of your lip and chin, but you didn’t mind. It smelled of him, and you couldn’t get enough. When he pulled away to breathe, you dove back in for more, hitting beard when he ducked for a laugh.
“I missed you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously, and his large fingers tucked themselves under your sarong, a graze of skin against your own that sent your back arching.
“I missed you,” you spoke through gritted teeth, clawing at the collar of his civilian shirt. You hadn’t noticed the silky fabric until now, his best attempt at a disguise.
“I don’t have any time,” he said, and you looked up from the navy fabric to see his features fall.
You released his collar and flattened the creases against his collar bone. “If I got injured on this mission, they’d give me a vacation.” You offered it as a ridiculous solution, something both of you knew wouldn’t happen. They’d be suspicious if you got hurt. They’d go looking for him.
“Soon,” he bonked his forehead to yours. “Okay? I promise we can be together soon. I’ll have Nat plan something longer than happenstance.”
You nodded against him, feeling the emotion well. Voicemails were easier. Voicemails didn’t disappoint. The pain of feeling him under your fingertips, of breathing him in, was too much. It wasn’t fair. A soft knock from the doorway beat into your skull, your clenched jaw, your tightened fists. You pushed off from Steve, and his hold on you faltered.
His hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwined, and you led him past the dryers to the door.
“Hey,” he whispered with a gentle tug. You turned to face him, and he leant in for another Earth shattering, knee-weakening kiss. This man, this fugitive, the bane of your existence and the reason you breathe, a sponge to mop you heart that had spilled all over the tile floor.
—
He left you with several mumbled promises and a sad smile. Sam offered the same look of regret, a wave goodbye from across the lobby. You went one way as they went the other. Your mission wrapped up, bad guys on their merry way, information obtained. But the rest of the day, packing your things, the long flight home, it all took a backseat to the veil of heartbreak that lay overhead, the fear sinking into your bones that you’d never be able to be with him, never be able to touch him or kiss him for longer than a moment in time.
You deplaned to more chatter, congratulations on good work. You slipped between coworkers, ordered a ride share home. You unlocked your apartment, did a routine check for intruders, heated up a bag of rice on the stove top, pretended to eat it. Too aching to care.
You showered the sunscreen from exhausted limbs, scrubbed the makeup from your face, rinsing yourself of any essence of him, anything that could have seeped into your skin, and you tiptoed into pajamas and curled yourself under your covers. Relief didn’t find you until you heard the familiar ding of a notification. You scrambled for your phone, discarded on your nightstand the moment you’d gotten home.
1 Voicemail from Him.
You clicked play and laid back against your pillow to hear the low tenor of his voice.
“Hey, it’s me. We just landed in Wakanda. Snuck off to find Buck so I thought I’d call. I’d love to show you this place some day. It reminds me of you. Warm. Beautiful.” He took a pause, his voice low, like he’d been afraid of getting caught. “It was good seeing you today. You looked amazing. Did I mention that? You did. You looked incredible.”
You smiled at his rambling. You missed his rambling.
“I love you.”
You stopped breathing. Three words. You hadn’t said them, not to each other, not yet. You felt them, of course you felt them, but saying them aloud made them real, gave them weight, made the distance hurt more.
“I do. I love you. And I was too chicken shit to say it earlier, but I’ve been thinking it for ages. Probably since the day I met you. I love you.”
You sat upright in your bed. There were several seconds left of the call, several before someone eventually cut him off, but you’d listen later. Frantic, you grappled the buttons, punching in his contact to return the call.
Ring. Ring. Ring. You glanced at the bedside table. It was nearing 4AM.
“Hey,” he answered. There was a smile in his voice.
Warning(s): Pregnancy(?), implied smut, mention of nightmares (kinda angsty?)
----------
Dear Steve,
Did you listen to the heartbeats? Oh, aren’t they just precious!! I sobbed when I first heard them….. Oh, Steve, it isn’t a dream! Our baby is really growing inside me…..
Are you still in Wakanda? Is Bucky doing better? He is beating himself up, isn’t he? Give him my love, will ya? And I was thinking…. Would you ask him to be the godfather? Because I can think of no better person for the job! And I was thinking we could ask Natasha and Aqsa, my best friend, to be godmothers. What do you think?
Oh my God, Stevie!! I just felt our baby move! They kicked, Steve! Oh, my darling, how long is it going to take for you to come back to me, to us? You should’ve been here to feel it….. Well, you probably wouldn’t have felt it for a few more weeks, but it makes me so melancholy to think that you’re missing this.
Oh, Steve, I miss you so much! I miss your touch. I miss the way your lips would mold against mine, as you ran your hand down my arm. You would pull me closer, your arm around my waist. I miss the way you used to kiss my neck, making me moan. The way you used to cup my bosom and kiss my clavicle. The way you used to move down and finally, touch me. The way you used to make love to me….. Slow, gentle, all-consuming…... And the way you used to groan, “Y/N, doll..” as you came….. Oh, darling……
The pregnancy is making me so horny, Stevie! If you were here, even your legendary super-stamina would be put to test!
Write to me, Steve, please…. As soon as you can. I’m going crazy with worry. I keep having nightmares, the worst….. Oh, Steve I don’t even want to put them in words! If something were to happen to you…. No, Steve, please, let me know that you are safe. Please.
I love you, my sweetheart. Remember, that you are not at leave to be reckless anymore. I depend on you. Our kid is going to be dependent on you, soon. Please, be safe.
Your worry-wart doll,
Y/N
P.S.: I’ve attached some more photographs and a pen-drive.
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A/N: I hope you liked it! And do let me know your thoughts on this. What did you like about it, what did you not like about it? Please interact and leave comments, guys!
Okay, back to my impulsive fucking thoughts: what about disaster, retired stucky that is composed of a touch starved Bucky (because he was always touchy- feely but HYDRA just made him want touch more) and horny Steve (because when is he not? And what's better of a time killer than getting off)? Steve is as restless as he's been in his fucking life in their retirement. Bucky is equally amused and exasperated by this.
Bucky- whining, grabbing Steve by the shoulders and shaking him a little "if you wanna fuck me again, Rogers, you have to stay still for at least an hour after. Minimum. Cuddling time is non-negotiable."
Steve- while making puppy dog eyes at Bucky and shifting his weight from foot to foot like a kid who's about to piss themselves rather than a very big, very grown man who's outrageously horny and bored (a deadly combination), "why can't I fuck you and then, like, carry you around afterwards? That counts as cuddling right? And I can uhhh- do stuff?"
*cue Bucky's sigh and look straight into the camera*
Helmut Zemo had gotten a lot of visitors (interrogators, negotiators, visitors, it was all the same in the end) early on, but they had tapered off with his steadfast disinterest in speaking to them. Six months in his cage, and a break in the routine was almost notable. Not quite, but almost.
He watched the guards double check the security measures, turn on the communications system and wheel in a surprisingly plush and comfortable looking office chair. Most visitors sat in a simple folding chair or paced menacingly. After things had been quiet for a while, a man came in and sat calmly in the chair.
It actually took Helmut a moment to recognize him. Every other time he had seen Tony Stark, he had been worn down looking and stressed, if not actually injured. It seemed the collapse of the Avengers had unexpectedly been good for the man, as judged by his healthy color and relaxed disposition. Well, his vengeance had been against the organization, not the individual members, so he let it go.
"So I was wondering," Stark said suddenly after they had mutually studied each other in silence for a minute or two. "Are you precognitive all the time, or was it a special deal for your overly complex revenge plot?"
It’s a good thing he’s already an atheist, Bucky thinks as he presses his lips together to suppress the slightly hysterical laugh he can feel bubbling up in his chest, because this alone would be enough to turn him into a non-believer. Outside of the 70 some odd years he spent as a brainwashed assassin for Hydra (which he’s been trying very hard to pretend didn’t happen, even though his therapist tells him that facing the past is the only way to let go of it, but how many times did she have her memory wiped and her body shoved in a glorified freezer? None, thank you very much), this has got to be one of the top 10 worst moments in his life. Because of course, of course, he’s sporting his first erection since he fell off that goddamn train in 19-fucking-45. And his traitorous body couldn’t decide to get it up one night when he’s happily alone in his Wakandan hut. No, that would be too fucking easy. Better to wait for the awkwardest possible moment for his dick to remember how to work.
It’s not like he hadn’t tried before now. He was a little busy at first after his memories starting coming back, trying not to lose his fucking mind at the onslaught, and then trying not to get killed or arrested before he even had a chance to live with said semi-functional mind. But they woke him up from cryo a month ago, and he’s had plenty of time alone in his hut since then to try to get reacquainted with his dick.
No luck. He’s tried everything, every trick he knows and some new ones he found on the internet. Nothing’s worked. Eventually, he’d been forced to conclude that his dick had permanently shut down and honestly, given how many times he’d been frozen and defrosted, he’s surprised any part of his body is still functional.
He’s more or less accepted that any potential for a sex life is nonexistent and let’s be honest, people aren’t exactly lining up to fuck the guy who’s responsible for the deaths of countless people. It’s just, apparently his dick didn’t get that memo because he’s currently lying in bed next to Steve Rogers with a dick hard enough to poke out an eye, because his luck is shit and the universe hates him.
It’s the first time he’s seen Steve since they took him out of cryo. Bucky had called him right away when he woke up, but Steve had been on a mission, some undercover shit in the middle of nowhere, and it dragged on for longer than they thought it would. Steve had flown straight to Wakanda the second the mission ended, and had shown up at Bucky’s hut in the middle of the night, exhausted and bleary eyed but claiming that it had been a torturous month and he wasn’t going to wait a second longer to see Bucky. Bucky had laughed at that; told him he’d clearly gone soft in his old age, and tried to pretend his insides didn’t do funny things at Steve’s words coupled with the sight of him in his uniform.
Bucky had fed him (because he knew Steve well enough to suspect that he probably hadn’t eaten in way too long and super soldier or not, Steve always got crabby when he was hungry), sent him to shower, and then climbed into bed with him. He hadn’t thought twice about it - they used to share all the time when they were younger and why should either of them sleep on the couch when he had a perfectly good bed that easily fit the two of them? He’d turned out the lights and Steve had rolled onto his side, thrown an arm over Bucky, squeezed him and said softly, “I really missed you, Buck.”
And that was when Bucky’s dick decided it would be an excellent time to make an appearance.
After a few seconds of near hysteria, Bucky manages to gain enough control of his body to respond with a highly intelligent “Nghh.” He immediately feels his face flush but the embarrassment has no effect on his dick, which continues to strain against his pants.
Steve’s quiet for a moment, his arm still draped across Bucky’s chest and Bucky realizes with a start that Steve can probably feel how fast his heart’s beating right now. Can probably hear it too, goddamn super soldier ears. He forces himself not to squirm like a fucking teenager and tries to calm his breathing.
“Buck?” asks Steve, “are you okay? Did I say something? Oh shit, should I not -“ He snatches his arm back from Bucky’s chest. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think, did I-“
“Steve, it’s fine, I’m fine,” says Bucky quickly. “It’s not- you can touch me, I’m not- I’m fine.”
He’s not fine, but his panic is coming from mortification, not trauma, and he doesn’t want Steve to worry. (As if that’s possible, Steve is the biggest worrywart he’s met, with the exception of Mrs. Milton from their old apartment building in Brooklyn.)
“Okay,” Steve says cautiously, and Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs Steve’s arm, draping it back across his chest. Which he immediately regrets because Steve’s fingers graze his nipple and fucking hell, that is not helping the situation in his pants. His cock twitches at the feeling and Bucky feels his body shudder involuntarily.
“Bucky,” says Steve, “what’s going on? Why do you keep..twitching?”
This would be a good time to die, Bucky decided. He’s pushing 100, nobody needs to live that long. Take me now, he thinks, the hysteria back in full force. No lightning bolt comes to relieve him of the humiliation that is his life right now however, so he says to Steve, “I’m fine, really. It’s just, uh, it’s been a while and uh, don’t worry about it, it’ll go away.”
“The twitching?” Bucky can hear the confusion in Steve’s voice and he groans quietly which only seems to heighten Steve’s alarm. “Is something hurting? Can I help? What do you need?”
Bucky can feel Steve start to sit up next to him and he grabs his arm and says in a rush “it’s fine I’m hard don’t worry about it I’m so sorry fuck my life it’s not- it’s fine” and then bites his lip hard as his mind supplies, “can you fuck me, Steve?” because yeah, he remembers that he’s always had a crush on Steve for as long as he’s known him but he’s kept that a secret for a century and he’s not about to spill it now, not when he only just got him back.
He feels Steve freeze next to him and then lay back down slowly. Bucky hardly dares to breathe, his whole body burning with embarrassment.
“So that uh, works then,” says Steve awkwardly and Bucky hears himself snort because Jesus fucking Christ are they really having this conversation right now?
“This is actually the first time since..well, since 1945, I guess,” admits Bucky, who’s still hoping for that lightning bolt to show up and end what has to be the most uncomfortable conversation he’s experienced in decades. Possibly ever. “I thought it was, you know, broken, but surprise surprise.” He laughs wryly, covering his eyes with his hand and deciding that dignity is overrated anyway.
Steve is silent for a long moment and maybe there is a god after all because Bucky feels his dick start to soften and he’s trying to come up with something to say to change the topic when Steve says, “do you want me to- I could- I mean, do you want me to help?”
In an instant, Bucky’s hard again, his pulse skyrocketing. “Fuck,” he manages, “Steve, you don’t have to do that, I’m fine, really.”
Another long pause, Bucky feels his heart hammering in his chest because now all he can imagine is Steve’s hands on his cock and fucking hell, has he ever been this hard in his life?
And then Steve says, “what if I want to?” and Bucky is sure he’s entered an alternate reality because there’s no fucking way this is happening in real life. He turns to look at Steve, whose eyes he’d been studiously avoiding and finds him much closer to his face than he’d realized.
“Steve,” he whispers, and that’s all he gets out because then Steve’s lips are on his and his brain promptly explodes into what can only be described as fireworks. Steve’s lips are soft and perfect, gently pressing against Bucky’s and it takes a second before Bucky’s brain turns itself on again and he kisses Steve back, reaching his hand up to grab the back of Steve’s head and pull him closer. Steve gasps and the sound sends chills running through Bucky’s body.
He sucks at Steve’s bottom lip, and Steve opens his mouth for him, as one of his hands finds its way into Bucky’s hair. Steve tugs gently as he pushes his tongue into Bucky’s mouth and Bucky groans and arches up, his whole body tingling and desperate for more contact. Steve seems to take the hint and without breaking the kiss, suddenly straddles Bucky, one knee on either side of his thighs, hovering slightly above him as he continues to do wicked things with his tongue that repeatedly fry all of Bucky’s remaining brain cells.
Bucky’s not going to break goddamnit, Steve doesn’t need to treat him like he’s fragile. Growling slightly, he grabs Steve’s hip and yanks him down until he’s pressed against Bucky. The feeling of Steve’s hard cock against his own is almost too much for Bucky and he gasps against Steve’s mouth as his hips jerk up of their own volition. Steve starts to grind his hips against Bucky, who meets him thrust for thrust. Soon they’re panting into each other’s mouths as they move faster, Bucky gripping Steve’s ass and Steve pulling on Bucky’s hair.
All too soon, Bucky feels the orgasm building in his lower back, the feeling spreading through his insides as his moans become louder and his rutting more frantic. “Come for me, Buck,” whispers Steve, and Bucky comes, arching up off the bed as the orgasm hits him in waves, shuddering into his release. Steve holds him through it, still grinding against him and before Bucky even finishes coming down from his orgasm, Steve’s crying out and jerking against Bucky as he comes.
Through his post-orgasm haze, Bucky focuses on Steve’s face as he comes and decides that it’s quite possibly the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, his head tilted back, mouth open and a look of sheer ecstasy stealing over his features.
With a soft moan, Steve rolls off Bucky and collapses next to him on the bed, both of them panting. Bucky’s brain starts to catch up with him but before he can get a good panic going, Steve turns toward him, kisses him gently and says “I’ve wanted to do that since we were sixteen, Buck. I love you, always have.”
And Bucky thinks that maybe this isn’t in the top 10 worst moments of his life, after all. In fact, it might be one of the best.
After coming so close to losing against Thanos, the Avengers have decided to set aside their differences and work as a team again. Well, they’re trying… But there are a lot of hurts that haven’t gone away, and a lot of things still unsaid, and a lot of tension…
And that was BEFORE Tony accidentally ended up on an undercover mission with Steve as his fake boyfriend - at what turns out to be an alien sex club.
If Civil War hadn’t happened, Steve and Tony would’ve been together when Thanos arrived and IW wouldn’t have happened the way it did. I’m not saying this makes Steve and Tony soulmates but it does heavily imply it
