Stucky4ever

Bucky's wild eyes found Steve's. Blue blue blue. Blue like the sky above Bucky's outstretched hand. He was reaching grasping, please please please, this can't be the end.

He knew he was falling before he fell. He knew because he saw realization hit Steve's eyes. Saw the helpless terror in them.

For a split second, along with fear so cold his lungs froze, crazy uncontrollable glee spread through him.

Right when the iron rod gave way under his grip, right when he slipped, he saw something in Steve break beyond repair. He saw a part of Steve die right in front of him and sticky, charred satisfaction pounded through his veins.

That's right.

You loved me too.

“Looking real different from when you last saw me, huh?” Bucky mutters.

He’s right. Not only is he skinnier from war, he’s less polished. Letting his hair sit naturally, a little stubble on his face, dirt on his skin, dog tags around his neck drawing eyes to his chest hair. Steve’s always found Bucky attractive, and always tried to suppress it, but it’s a little harder now, seeing him in this new, disheveled state. He’s scared that Bucky can read it all over his face, so he replies, “Still a stunner,” with a grin, only half joking, lifting his hands off of Bucky’s skin.

“You, too, Stevie,” Bucky says, a small smile on his face. “Handsome as ever.”

It's just an innocuous comment, that's how it starts. Bucky elbowing him in the ribs, leaning in. The two of them in a bar, drinking whisky even though it won’t touch the sides, not for Steve at least. He’s not sure about Bucky; seems like it could go either way. Bucky’s got hollows under his eyes but he’s very sharp, very bright, throwing back drink after drink and letting his words slur a little like the whisky is doing something for him.

He's not even sure why he says it; it's too much, entirely, pushing things too far, but— “It's not—one and done, you know? I got, uh. Stamina.”

“Stamina,” Bucky repeats, flat. “Uh huh.” And then he's throwing back the rest of his drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, turning to Steve and squaring his jaw all challenge. “How many times?”

“How—”

“Yeah. How many times. In one go.”

“I—” Steve starts, flushing so hot he feels like he must be a beacon in the bar, shining through the grey-out. Bucky's still looking at him, curious, and something else under it, something Steve can't place. “Four,” he says, compulsively too-honest in the face of Bucky’s gaze, and Bucky's eyes widen.

They hadn’t slept indoors since, well, Bucky couldn’t actually remember. The convent was a welcome surprise to all of the Howlies. Even Steve, who didn’t really get cold anymore, was visibly relieved. Here, deep behind enemy lines, were women who welcomed them with gentle smiles and firm hands. They’d gotten a hot meal and the opportunity to clean themselves of all the mud and sweat and blood.

---

Steve faltered for a moment, and Bucky almost broke the reverie to tell him not to stop, that it was okay, that this was catharsis, this was relief, that Steve hadn’t hurt him even though Bucky kind of wanted him to—but he didn’t have to. Steve leaned down and pressed his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck and Bucky felt his skin grow hot with Steve’s tears, because of course he understood, of course he felt the same, of course.

Or, two weeks after Steve rescues Bucky from the Germans after Azzano, they catch up properly. It hurts in new ways.

Mostly porn with feelings! A lot of feelings!