#shrinkyclinks

Both Natasha and Pepper share a look before turning back to Steve.

"Exposure to what? Being apart?" Pepper asks.

"I would've thought that you'd spent long enough apart..." Natasha adds.

Steve shrugs.

"Guess we're a bit codependent," he murmurs. "Buck gets anxious at these kinds of things, and part of his therapy is to practice mingling with strangers — I've asked Sam to help break the ice since I can't."

Both girls nod, but then Natasha's brows furrow.

"And your therapy?"

Now, Steve glances up from his sketchbook and smiles at her.

"Letting him be anxious." When he receives odd looks, he chuckles. "I'm a little invasive to his recovery process; he's supposed to be finding his social footing again, and I accidentally prevent him from doing that when I try to keep him from getting stressed. So, I'm supposed to sit here and allow him to be nervous and awkward for a couple of hours so he can figure it out on his own."

"Yikes," Pepper murmurs. "I dunno, I always thought it was kinda sweet that you two were inseparable."

Steve purses his lips and glances across the room at where Bucky and Sam stand among a group of strangers. He softens at the sight of his partner, stoic, nodding sagely when someone speaks to him while Sam is all smiles right by his side.

"I love him a lot, 'n I wanna be around him, but I also want him to be his own person again," Steve says. Glances back at the girls and crosses one of his legs over the other. "He used to love these kinds of things. Loved going out dancing, talking to different people — all of it. I just hope he can find his way back to that, y'know? At least somewhat."

Natasha glances over at Bucky and spreads an empathetic smile before she turns her gaze back to Steve.

"He'll get there, just give it time."

Steve hums. Returns his attention to his sketch, adding shading around the vase to give it dimension before he starts to sketch fractions of the table.

The girls chat. Get up and meander off elsewhere, and Steve closes in on the page until his pencil is dull sometime later.

He shifts, reaching for his leather-bound pencil case and retrieving his sharpener just as a shadow spreads over his lap. He glances up to see Bucky standing beside the armchair with his hands in his pockets, peering down at the open book in Steve's lap.

"Looks like a damn picture..." Bucky murmurs. "But I'm guessing it's not finished, right?"

Steve lolls his head back against the top of the chair, twisting the tip of his pencil in the sharpener.

"Doesn't feel finished yet. I need to add something that isn't really there, like maybe something in the background or a smudge right in the middle."

"You're funny, always messing up your perfect drawings on purpose," Bucky muses. "Should hurry up so you can sit by me on the couch."

Steve spreads a smirk.

"Giving up so soon?"

Bucky blows a raspberry with his lips and sits against the armrest.

"Stark's about to start shooing people out, so I figured I'm in the clear," he says. "Besides, you looked cute sittin' over here by yourself, and I wanted to see what you were doodling."

"You mean you wanted to see if I was doodling you?"

"Naturally," Bucky lilts, nudging Steve's shoulder with his elbow. "I'm your muse, aren't I?"

Steve chuckles.

"As a matter of fact," he begins. Sets his pencil down and picks up his sketchbook, flipping to the previous page and tilting it toward his lover. "I might've thought you looked a little cute earlier yourself."

Bucky leans closer to inspect the drawing; he, Thor, and Sam in the middle of a conversation. The other two men are slightly less detailed, which has Bucky furrowing his brows.

"Jeez, is that really what I look like?" He frees one of his hands from his pocket and smooths it over his abdomen. "Please tell me that the gut is one of your fake additions."

Steve pouts.

"Honey, you look fine," he coos.

"Stevie..."

"I added a ribbon to Thor's braid."

Bucky sighs and shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the drawing after a beat.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "It's a good drawing, I just..."

"It's okay, I understand," Steve soothes. He folds his sketchbook shut and tucks his pencil and sharpener back into the case before rolling it shut. "Pick a spot on the couch and I'll come love on you."

The brunet does as he's told. Stands up and eases into a seat on the sofa adjacent to the armchair, looking sullen while he waits patiently. Steve pushes himself up, wincing as he reaches for his cane to help prop himself upright. He sets his art supplies down on the coffee table and crosses the short distance to the couch before he carefully lowers himself down into a seat.

"You’re gorgeous," Steve croons. Props his cane up against the sofa and leans into Bucky's side just as a big arm stretches around his shoulders. "Always been my big boy..."

He unfastens the button at the front of Bucky's blazer and sweeps his hand over the subtle curve of his abdomen.

"Guess I just haven't seen myself from certain angles," Bucky murmurs.

"It suits you, I promise."

Steve rests his head against his shoulder, and Bucky buries his nose in his hair before he huffs a small sigh.

"If you say so."

They sit together like that for a few minutes, basking in each other's quiet company. When a few other figures enter the lounge, Steve glances up from where his head had been resting.

Clint, Thor, and Sam find their respective seats on the sofa on the opposite side of the coffee table.

"You lovebirds didn't take very long to link yourselves at the hip," Sam muses. He nods at Steve once. "Buck handled himself well tonight."

Steve smiles and pats Bucky's chest.

"Yeah?" he lilts, glancing up at his lover. "Maybe we can have a slice of pie to celebrate."

The brunet gives him an exasperated look before he lolls his head back.

"You're doing this on purpose..."

There's a chuckle from across the coffee table.

"Doing what on purpose?" Clint muses. "Offering you pie?"

Bucky points at the sketchbook sitting atop the table, drawing everyone's eyes to it, and Steve snorts.

"He's being dramatic." Steve loosens Bucky's tie and tilts his face up to kiss the corner of his jaw. "How 'bout I sketch you again when we get home? I'll make it look real pretty, I promise."

"Don't sketch me again 'til I lose about twenty pounds, how's that?" Bucky huffs.

He whines when Steve thumps his sternum.

"Better fix your tone or you'll be sleepin' all by your lonesome tonight."

"Yes sir..."

Bucky lifts his head, smiling as he rubs up and down Steve's arm and noses a kiss into his hair. The blond surrenders to the affection and lays his head down against Bucky's shoulder again, lacing his arms around his torso.

"I really do think you look nice," Steve murmurs. "Breaks my heart that you don't wanna have pie with me 'cause you're too worried about the calories..."

It's quiet for a moment. Then, Bucky sighs.

"'Course I'll have pie with you, Stevie," he coos. "What kind do you want?"

"Mm, apple."

"M'kay." Bucky plasters two more kisses into Steve's hair before he shifts and stands up. "Be right back."

He saunters out of the lounge, Steve's eyes following him the whole way. The blond smiles when he looks across the coffee table and sees their friends staring at him amusedly.

"Tough love," he muses.

Thor huffs a laugh, crossing his arms.

"That was tough love?"

"'Bout as tough as I get." Steve nods his head to the side, smiling to himself. "He's a softie; he usually lets me win the silly little arguments like that, so I never really have to get onto him."

"He's not a softie," Sam lilts. "He's soft for you. There's a difference."

Steve purses his lips in thought.

"That man would walk on hot coals if you asked him to, but he's very hard-headed when it comes to anyone else," Clint adds.

"He's most pleasant to be around when you're by his side," Thor says, nodding his head at Steve. "Of course you would think him to be sensitive; that's who he is with you."

When Steve looks to Sam for confirmation, Sam nods his head to the side.

"This is the most he's spoken all night," he supplies. "The most he's smiled, too."

Steve's brows draw together for a moment.

"Thought you said he was doing well earlier?"

"He was — he's just more open around you because you're his comfort person, y'know? He'd been checking his watch all night, waiting for the time to pass so he could be near you again."

The blond's expression softens, and his lips draw into a frown.

"I'm pretty sure Tony started encouraging people to leave a little early because of how much he deflated in that last conversation," Clint adds. "His social battery was obviously runnin' on empty."

The other two nod in agreement, and Steve shuffles his thumbs together in his lap while he thinks. Glances up when his lover returns to the lounge with two plates in his hands.

Bucky sits, his weight sinking the sofa cushions down enough that Steve is pulled closer to him by gravity. Then, he's offering out a plate with a fork.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Bucky wonders.

Steve accepts the plate, huffing a laugh when Bucky elbows him softly, and shakes his head. Raises his eyebrows when he notices that the brunet's plate holds two large, thick slices of blackberry pie.

"Nothin'," he says. Lolls his head back against the couch cushion and glances idly up at Bucky, spreading an easy smile. "I'm really proud of you. Y'know that, right?"

Bucky sections off a bite of pie.

"Uh-huh." He smirks as he slides the fork into his mouth. "Even though you're mean to me."

"How am I mean to you?"

"You call me fat and threaten to make me sleep on the couch."

Steve scoffs playfully and elbows him back, which Bucky feigns injury from.

"I do not."

"'N now you're hurting me, too..." he sighs, lolling his head back over the top of the sofa dramatically. He only lifts it again after a moment when Steve reaches out to stab at his pie with his fork, taking a bite off of Bucky's plate. "And stealing my pie."

"'S what you get," Steve huffs.

He sticks the fork in his mouth, smiling when Bucky leans over to place another kiss in his hair.

"I love you," Bucky lilts, "very much."

"I love you too."

"Very much?"

Steve chuckles and nods his head, snorting when Bucky nudges his arm again.

With two, thick fingers plunging in deep and curling erotically as they're pulled back to tug on his rim, Bucky finger-fucks Steve like he's trying to force him up and down the bed—sensually, pleasurably friction burned with his head knocking against the headboard when Bucky's fingers slllide deep inside only to be brought back down the mattress, through the mused, fucked-up sheets, by the filthy way he hooks his fingers inside and rubs at his spread-open, ruined hole from the inside.

Guh.

Plunging deep. Pulling out. In. Out. In out.

Guh.

Every pull back, Steve's body shudders uncontrollably. Really, he can't fucking move, though. He's barely ninety pounds with two hundred and sixty pounds flattening him, face down against a sweat-soaked, sex-smothered bed, he can't get anywhere. He can't get anything done. He can't think.

Straddling his obscenely wide spread thighs, pinning him by sitting on the backs of his poor knees, to say that Bucky is overpowering him would be an understatement. God. Steve wants it, though. Every lube-drenched, aching slide of his fingers takes Steve apart more.

More.

More.

That's why he's fucking here. Pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard.

Bucky.

Bucky's so much heavier. So much bigger. And there's no way to say it, other than to say it, his cock is no fucking exception. His fucking cock. Jesus Christ. It has to be more of a hindrance than anything. Steve has never felt the saying hung like a horse before the way he feels it now—

With the other man's huge, fat cock—too huge—lying so heavy and thick against the back of his thigh, slathered obscenely in lube (from an optimistic attempt to stick it in him earlier) and dripping pre-cum into the downy, soft blonde hairs at the back of Steve's pale, lithe thigh.

More than fingers, mass, and cock, Bucky has a goddamn mouth on him—

A mouth that is running.

“You're so fucked up, aren't you, doll?” Steve can hear the dangerous grin he's wearing. The only thing he's wearing right now.

Miraculously, more than hearing his cocky, mind-melting hot voice, Steve processes those words and. Fuck.

Steve doesn't want to know what sound rips out of his drooling, gaped lips. He knows it's pornographic and humiliating. That's enough.

Whatever it is, it apparently sounds close enough to agreement that Bucky keeps talking his talk, suave bastard, “mmm-hmm, darlin’. My lil’ freak. Think about it.” Steve can't. He can't think. Still, deep inside him, fingering him until he's so open, lax, and boneless he'll never move again, Bucky demands he does. He demands he choke on pleasure and opens wide for his double-the-size body (probably more and, oh god, doesn't that just make Steve clench tight, thinking that Bucky is literally more than twice his size). “Imagine if your friends could see you now, hmm? Should'a listened to them, Stevie baby.” He purrs. “They told you I was bad news. They knew this would happen.”

Steve is unfathomably red from his forehead plastered with his sweat-soaked hair to his curling toes. He loves it.

“They knew your dirty little secret, didn't they?”

There isn't a shot in hell that Steve can respond. It doesn't matter. He isn't a participant here. He's a toy. An object. A fleshlight. Meant to be stretched and filled.

“They knew you were greedy and you wouldn't be able to help yourself, honey. You're too greedy. You just can't help yourself, I know. I know.”

He's gurgling on his own spit, overflowing just from fingers. How and why did they even try cock before? This is sofuckinggood. He is liquified. Quivering as a puddle—an ocean soaking into the bed like it's nothing but a sponge.

Sweat.

Lube.

Drool.

Tears.

He can't help himself, Bucky's right.

“You wanted it so bad. And ‘m so sorry we couldn't make it fit in ya, honey. But…” he lowers himself down flatter, closer, cock absolutely plastered against Steve's body, crushing him, and whispers, soft lips and sharp stubble dragging sensually over Steve's burning ear, “I know you like it anyway. You're getting off on this.” It isn't a question.

He is.

He is.

It's so fucking boiling hot that when Bucky peels himself off of Steve, sitting back up, all Steve can do is writhe, desperate, totally blind and deaf to all that isn't in this room, on this bed, within reach of Bucky. Right here. Right now.

Yes.

“You’re so fucked up, aren't you?” His fingers do something devastating inside. “You're so greedy for it, huh? It doesn't fit and you like it. You like that it hurt.”

Steve cries out, just at the reminder. It did hurt. It hurt so bad that tears just gushed out of him and his mouth started to water involuntarily like, impossibly, his gag reflex was triggered. So deep inside him. It hurt. But it was all he's ever wanted, the hot sting of pain and the excruciating fullness of being, just, stuffed full. To the teeth.

“You held out to the fucking last minute, didn't you, you stubborn son of a bitch. You moaned like a whore for it, trying to get me to shove it in more anyway. I bet if your tight little ass was a fucking tiny bit looser I could've fucked right from your ass into your throat, hmm?”

Steve thrashes.

“You wanna choke and cry on it, honey?”

He is losing his mind. He has lost his mind. Already. This can't be real. Holy shit.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know you fucking do. Tsk, tsk,” he clicks his tongue, pawing at his ass, “just look at you—look at this hole. This fuckin’ hole wants more than it can take. I know. You're hungry. You're greedy. You're so fucked up, gagging for it even though you know it's not gonna fit. A little freak like you? What're you gonna do with all this cock anyway?”

“Hmm?” Bucky purrs, pleased to destroy him while remaining so composed that unless Steve couldn't feel his huge cock rutting against the back of his thigh, he wouldn't know this is turning him on at all. “What was that?”

It just fucking bursts out of Steve then, choked and through chest rattling sobs, blindly clawing at the tangled sheets around him, he blabbers, “a-AH-ANYTHING.” It's a dam breaking. Suddenly, there is a flood. “Any—anythng, mmnngh, pluh-please! Pluh-z, pl'z, put—”

“Puh-put! Put it in meee!” Tears rush down his sizzling hot cheeks.

And at the same time that Bucky rapidly, smoothly pulls out his two fingers to replace them with his thumb, shoving into his slick, sore, pried-open hole to abuse his prostate even more, he simply states, “no.”

And the denial, the meanness, the pleasure, the ache—

GUH.