#collabble

Steve Rogers is:

Theta Phi junior class president -- and, as such, in charge of planning every kegger.

Is from Brooklyn but is a Red Sox fan (because fuck the Yankees, of course, but also his dad’s from Philly so fuck the Mets, too).

A young hunk, but no dorito. Benches 190. Tells everyone he benches 240.

That row of guys at the football games with their chests painted “W-I-L-D-C-A-T-S”? He’s the ‘W’.

Is totally, completely straight. Completely. Eats pussy like PacMan.

“Lucky Bucky” Barnes is:

Senior star cornerback on the football team. Student body celebrity. 

“Lucky Bucky” was famously in the right place, right time when he recovered a red zone fumble in the last 10 seconds of the fourth quarter (first ever game he started), ran it 80 yards for a touchdown to win the game 24-21. 

Jacked as shit. Benches 290. Tells everyone he benches 240.

Has a 2.9 GPA. Would have had a 3.5, if he didn’t intentionally fail econ to throw people off the scent that he’s actually not an idiot jock.

Not a frat boy, and rarely attends their parties, but when he does he's the Guest of Honor and arrives with a full entourage.

Tousled shoulder-length hair that always looks like he just took his football helmet off. 

Likes what he likes. Has even let a few of the team’s freshmen suck his dick in the showers.

Probably looks something like this when he fucks:

Theta Phi’s got a big party coming up next Saturday, and it’s gonna blow the fucking roof off, because -- as Steve’s just learned -- there’s going to be one very special guest in attendance...

Read Part 1 Here on tumblr

Read the Story Here on Ao3

We really hope y’all are gonna like this, it’s something new for us both! Make sure to follow both @the1918​ and @howdoyousleep3​ for collabble updates :)

And then a few seconds or weeks or something of the like pass by in silence and locked stares before Bucky breaks out in a fit of deep laughter. He throws his head back and his eyes crinkle at the edges, and even though Steve still feels like a deer in headlights he finds himself smiling, too, like a mirror that can’t help but reflect what’s in front of him.

“You’re something else, punk,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a chuckle. 

Bucky looks into his near-empty cup before tossing back the last of the contents, stubbled neck exposed, and Steve’s brain is like a circuit board underwater. Bucky swallows and smiles, chucks the red plastic cup into a nearby trash can before slinging his arm around Steve’s shoulders like it’s something they do all the time. Before Steve can even react to the gesture, Bucky raises up his free hand, slides the index finger under Steve’s chin, using the leverage to tilt Steve’s face up half an inch. He does all of it like it’s the most casual thing in the world. It makes Steve’s spine melt like an ice cube.

“Relax, Rogers. Let’s get back to your party.”

***

They do return inside, and Steve spends the next hour in a near catatonic state. Bucky separates from Steve but never strays very far, always in the same room, always within eyesight. Steve watches as Bucky falls back into all the easy conversation he’s demonstrated all night long, and Steve makes himself return to some half-assed version of his regular kegger hosting duties. He throws out a couple of Pi Kapps that aren’t supposed to be there. He yells at Tony for Iron-Man’ing Rhodey for the second time that semester because “tin foil ain’t as cheap as you little rich boys think it is, dumbass.”

But Steve’s attention is never on any one thing for too long, because Bucky’s eyes are on him. Bucky’s eyes are on him. From his place across the room Steve watches someone hand Bucky a bottle of the good craft beer and Bucky takes it with a charming smile, and then Bucky’s nodding and chatting but he’s looking over his companion’s shoulder until he’s staring right at Steve. Steve looks back.

Bucky’s lips wrap around the neck of the bottle. He swallows a healthy gulp, and his throat bobs with it. Steve watches. Bucky winks. Steve likes pussy and lipstick and big tits. His feet trip over absolutely nothing. 

Steve’s night doesn’t get any less confusing after that. He always makes a point to never get completely smashed at his own keggers, but tonight he finds himself maintaining nothing more than an even buzz. He doesn’t feel the usual need to constantly heft a drink up to his mouth, to imbibe and numb his mind to anything but fun. But he does find that he feels drunk in a completely different way, knows it’s not from cheap alcohol but from the weight of Bucky’s attention. Steve certainly does stumble like he’s drunk when Bucky comes up behind him and cups a warm hand at the back of his neck as he’s passing by, on his way to the bathroom.

He’s so caught up in living his bizarre new reality that Steve is floored when he looks at his phone to find that it’s already one in the morning. The party is by no means over but it’s definitely winding down, so it’s no surprise when he sees Bucky’s crew start to group up again and pat each others’ shoulders, obvious exchanges of ‘you ready to roll?’ passing between them. Steve’s stomach sinks with an explicable volume of disappointment.

And it’s like Bucky must sense what Steve’s feeling, because when he walks over to Steve to say his goodbye he’s got this look on his face that could almost be apologetic, if not for the odd twinkle in his eye.

“Stevie,” he drawls. His voice is deeper and throatier than it had been early in the night. “I know I said it before, but you throw a hell of a kegger, punk.”

Before Steve can respond Bucky throws an arm around his shoulders, for the second time that night. He does it exactly like he had earlier on the porch, right after he had ruined Steve’s life with the news that Steve’s got lips made to slide a dick between.

“Yeah, uh. Thanks, man.” Steve can feel the absolute meatball expression on his own face. 

Bucky doesn’t take his arm away like Steve expects. He tightens it instead, bringing Steve’s body in closer, and Steve falls into it easily. Bucky acts like they’re the only two people in the room when he moves his lips in until they’re just inches away from Steve’s ear.

“Really, though. I had a real fucking good time tonight.” Steve can’t see Bucky’s face from this angle but he can feel the breath against his cheek, the way it clearly takes on the shape of Bucky’s smile. “I seen you been quiet for awhile. Gettin’ sleepy?”

Steve laughs nervously, shakes his head. “Nah, just--” He hiccups, for some ungodly reason. “Opposite, actually. Never can sleep after these things. Probably gonna go upstairs soon and light a spliff just so I can shut my eyes.”

At that Bucky makes a low, interested noise into his ear before pulling back a little, leaving the hand on Steve’s shoulder but moving so he can face him. His left eyebrow has an astoundingly charismatic arch to it.

“That so, Stevie?” he says. Steve starts to wonder if it’s possible to die from a nickname. “Don’t suppose you’d wanna share some of that bud, would’ya?”

The hand on Steve’s shoulder squeezes down on his flesh for one full second longer than meets the definition of a regulation Bro Squeeze. Bucky’s lips are tilted sideways into a smile that says that he wasn’t actually asking Steve a question. Steve’s brain feels like it’s lagging behind reality in a way that makes him think he might already be high.

“Uh, sure-- for sure, yeah. Bro. For sure.” Steve’s mouth is so, so dry that when Bucky licks his own spit-slick lips it feels like he’s just bragging. “Come on up, if you wanna. S’ plenty.” 

Bucky’s half-grin grows. It splits his face. The hand on Steve’s shoulder falls away and brushes against the entire plane of his bicep and forearm on the way down. 

“Yo, Dum-Dum!” Bucky hollers back towards the door. He turns his head to get his crew’s attention. “You guys head on out.”

A couple of ‘o-kay’ hand signs are thrown their direction and the front door is opened, the entourage that Bucky had arrived with hours ago shuffling out. 

When Bucky turns back to Steve his blue-gray eyes look darker than before. His lashes are lower. Steve feels like he’s about to be told a secret, something that Bucky didn’t want to say until there were fewer eyes on them. The points of Bucky’s canines look sharp when he smiles.

“Lead the way, Stevie.”

(credit to the incredibly resourceful @mareviils​ for the perfect DSL photo find)

---

@howdoyousleep3​