#stepbro!bucky

Sleep never came easy for Bucky.

Ever.

Most nights he laid with his head on the pillow, hair messed from tossing and turning, keeping his eyes shut until the morning light reflected orange over the lids.

Tonight was more or less the same. Weeks of classes and study sessions with Steve and Sam in the back corner of the library, results unknown, grades totalled up in red marker, sitting on the desk of his professor's desk — all of it accumulates in his head. Even while he's tucked in comfortably, duvet pulled over his shoulders, his face pressed into his pillow and his eyes stayed closed, counting up and up until numbers repeated and jumbled into thoughts of college and classes, and you.

A break was supposed to be nice, just a couple of weeks to let yourself rest — to see family and lie in for a few more hours than usual. Instead, Bucky's brain has been rewired with your presence.

Just a few years after your parents married, his mom had moved both you and your father into his house. Bucky's studies had been too important to let go, meaning the wedding went on without his attendance — he barely even looked at the pictures before he was back home. A home that no longer felt the same.

It felt as though every object had shifted one inch to the left. Bucky went on through the hallways with a furrowed brow, shoes toed off at the door, kicking his bedroom door shut and sliding his duffel bag off his shoulder.

That was the last time Bucky properly got some sleep.

After he had woken up, his mother greeted him with a knock on his door and open arms, making him follow her to the kitchen where she was cooking dinner. He tagged along, sleep still stirring through his movements and words as he recalled the last semester, but once his mother hopped into action beside you, chopping vegetables at the countertop, he paused.

You both looked at each other for a split moment too long before your step-mom held your shoulders and introduced you both, urging you forward to shake his hand. A tight and shy smile on your face, you mumbled a quiet 'hi'. He repeats the greeting, holding out his hand and shaking yours. Bucky knew he was well and truly fucked.

He still is. A few years into his studies, he'd learn about your own course and studies at college, your favourite songs and movies, what shirt you wear more often than others. You both created a bond, something close to friends, only there was an added wall of propriety. Some nights were still spent at the kitchen table, or your bedroom floor, talking about absolutely nothing or listening to you rant about your group project — only they'd linger on into silence, looks that last too long, or just soft musings that get either one of you bashfully shoving the others knee.

During these nights, Bucky would sigh and turn over, and repeat the same routine, so on and so forth. Until his eyes ached with the will of keeping them shut and his ceiling took on a more interesting role. But no, his pillow suffices, as with the speckled blackness behind his eyelids and the soft, warm embrace of his pillow and sheets.

It isn't until a rattled creak of the old floorboards, Bucky realises that the universe had granted him permission to rest, only for it to have been snatched from his hands. He sighed, tired, exhausted, and pressed deeper into the pillow, stretching out his legs and praying that sleep could come before the sun rises and the rest of the world wakes up.

But the sounds press again, footsteps, slow and steady, trying not to press on the faulty wooden boards and wake someone up. They get louder with each pass, and soon Bucky's head connects. It's you, with how close the steps were, how they don't sound like they want to take up space, methodically tiptoeing down the hallway, and closer to his door.

He counts the steps, body locking up and refusing to react when his door quietly creaks open. And he doesn't move at first when your voice sounded.

“Bucky..?” His eyelids twitched, humming under his breath. You itch closer to his mattress, voice mumbling a little louder, “Buck? Are you awake?”

With a groan, he stretches, eyes half closed, cheek pressed against his pillow as he looked up at you. Even blanketed in dusk, he can make out your sweater, worn and stretched over the neck from use and the fabric frays at the wrists where you fiddle. Your legs bare, covered by tartan sleep shorts that dust over your mid-thigh — boxers to be exact, something your ex left behind ages ago, and the more Bucky thinks about that possibility, the more he struggles to stop his eyes from rolling.

“I am now,” he mutters, smiling a little dumbly, involuntary as he stares at your face. “Wha’s the matter?”

“I had a nightmare,” you gulp, stepping back, “it’s stupid, I should go back—“

Shuffling around, he moved to the other side of his bed, holding himself up with an elbow, the other flipping the blanket up for you. “S’not stupid. C’mere.”

Floorboards creek and the mattress dips with your weight, knee first before sliding down and underneath the covers. As Bucky folds the duvet over you, his arm grazes your shoulder before moving back, pressing both hands into the line where his thighs meet.

He watches the silhouette of you getting comfortable. Shuffling, sliding your hand under the pillow, scooting backwards until suddenly it all stops. Midnight never felt more quiet. Fuller in a way. Warmer with bodies in one bed, its nothing like Bucky had known before.

Sleep almost evades him, eyes slitting down, brain dozing off, but your quiet voice catches his chest.

"Buck?" you start, mumbling into your pillow.

"Hm… Wha's up?"

Sighing sleepily, you ask. "Can you… Can you hold me?"

Pausing for a moment, the quietness swells and the only thing he can hear is the trees swaying with the wind, mixed with blood rushing through his body.

"Mmh… What?"

"Doesn't matter."

He follows your orders from before. Protective arm slung around your middle, pulling you into his front and keeping you there. Firm and tight, and so completely warm. Nosing into your hair, he murmurs again, drowsy in newfound tiredness only your comfort can bring.

"Jus' go t'sleep, s'okay, I got you."

Even in rest, your stomach twists at his soft slurs. Jumbled murmurs, something only sleep can make up, his lips pressed too close to the pillow. But his warm breath teeters so close to your ear, and his arm flexes autonomously around your stomach, tighter.

It's warm. It's safe. All the tension from the dream earlier on eases from your shoulders and all that's running through your brain is the tight hold he has around you, body and mind. You seem to drift off like that. Guarded by the safe hands of Bucky and his easing breaths behind you.

Only a few dreamless hours later, the room still silent and dark with midnight, does Bucky's mind wake him up.

Torrid, almost, and warm. A soft body against his that he does not recognise and his subconscious self seems to have awoken him as a result, alarmed at the new sight and feeling of your presence.

His hand now rested on the side of your waist where your sweater had ridden up, and the skin on skin contact got his heart racing in a millisecond. He dared to move even a twitch, forcing his lungs to ease back into a rhythm even as his pulse beat like a drum against your back.

So soft and plush. Your skin soaked in heat and silk so perfect he felt as if he were still hooked beneath his sleepy eyes, stuck in a deep sleep.

It's until you shuffle back into his hot chest with a sound. Light and airy, a soft kind of noise that just pulls out of your throat, unable to hold it back as sleep evades, but Bucky's mind holds it and he feels like a deer who's just heard a twig snap.

Your spine fits perfectly against his front, cradled into him like a puzzle piece, your ass nuzzles into his crotch.

It's not intentional, he has to remind himself, body stiff, mind blank and dumb at the first place of your warm back. You're asleep, leaning into him for safety, a subconscious movement of security Bucky mentally rebukes himself for the initial shock. How his breath stuttered, lungs trembling to a stop. You were so close, so soft and even though the room was dark with hues of black and blue, he thought you were beautiful.

Thoughts after 10 P.M. cannot be trusted. He remembers his friend Nat told him that once while at a group hangout — Steve and Sam laughing with their legs stretched out, Tony whispering something into Pepper's ear, arm on her shoulders, Nat sandwiched between both Bucky and Clint. Empty beer bottles tipped over, dribbling into the already sticky second-hand carpets, truth or dare slowly turning into a group discussion, and Steve gets a little too giggly and mouthy after a couple drinks.

Sobriety has never felt so awful before. Bucky's hand instinctively pulls, tightening over the torrid skin of your side and he regrets it instantly. How plush you are, how soft your skin feels, how you move back into him again and this time theres no hiding the evident twitch in his pants.

"Shit." He hides behind a sharp exhale of breath, a little lunge of noise from sleep. But his hips already begin to move. Shakily, unceremoniously. His movements are uneven, softly unsure and slow, just enough to let his cock swell and perk with interest. Half hard, thickening beneath his sweatpants. Clothes rustle. Your shorts to his pants, making the hem glide down with each uneven drag his cock pulls on the swell of your ass.

"Jesus… fuck." He whimpers as his weeping tip gets caught between your legs. Dragging his chub up from the heat staining between your legs, and through the valley of your cheeks, his cock slaps against his abdomen as he lets go.

The force of the drag has his tip on display, precum catching the damp air from beneath the coverings and he curses himself for wearing sweatpants without underwear that night. The ache that courses through his hips moves him like a marionette.

He keeps moving like that for a couple minutes more — hand firm to yours hip, and his cock dragging across your ass and the hem of his sweatpants, caressing the underside of his head with each hump. His jaw hangs open, only to shut on particular thrusts, hissing through his teeth as the need for more drenches his mind and body.

It isn't long until his pants are hastily pulled off, thighs shaking, body and hands trembling with excitement, need and desire, and immorality.

You asked for safety and he brings you… this?

"I'm sorry." Bucky whispers breathlessly into his bedroom, directed to you, and your content, sleeping self, but the words lose meaning once his dick drags hot and bare across your ass.

A moan cracks through his throat which he quickly catches with a quick snap of his jaw. Heaving breaths and hums caught inside, between his teeth and under his tongue.

Becoming desperate now, his hands slide from your hip and over your middle, holding you tight into his hold, praying the metal wont disturb you from your sleep, and you don't stir fully. Your body grants him a sound, something tiny and almost lost within the deep breaths he expels from his nose, and you shuffle back into him

It hurts. Everything. But all the conscious thoughts about depravity and carnality are quickly drowned out by the newfound rustle of your shorts being pulled down by his thumbs.

Warm, new skin to explore. His hips move away to let the rippled hem slide from the swell of your ass, down to your thighs. He almost keeps it as such, but he's already here.

They pool at your feet, and before he can lean down to shuck them off, your leg moves. Pulling one up to an angle, laying on your front, your foot slides from the leg of the shorts easily for him, only to have your cunt on display.

Bucky's stops breathing. He's close, too close, to your pretty pussy, and he doesn't want to wake you with a sudden air sticking to you.

But you're wet, glistening with the soft light that peeks from outside. He licks his lips involuntarily, and he can almost taste you. He cant, not now, that's too much, you cant wake up with his face buried between your thighs, what if you make too much noise…

His cock twitches against his thigh as if to remind him of where he is, a pulse that stickies his tip, a bead of precum pearling over him. He grips the base of his erection, tightening his fist around his shaft, cutting off an orgasm already, he sits with the scene you present him with.

His free hand gently rubs the globe of your ass, awaiting some kind of response, a push back into his palm, a sound, but nothing rumbles past your lips, so he keeps going. Fisting his cock, squeezing at the tip and dragging down, spreading his arousal across his shaft, he spreads your cheeks. A firm grip tightens over his base again, mouth wide open, and the hand that occupied your ass slaps over his mouth while he forces himself back.

Head back on the pillows, blankets over the both of you as if you both were just merely sleeping, he snakes his arms back around your torso again, hips dragging across your ass with shaky exhales, and his cock finally traps between your thighs. A pause lingers while he lets himself feel, dragging his dick in and out, coating himself with your arousal.

"Please, please, please — holy shit." He whispers and whines against your shoulder. His movements sharpen a touch, forcing your ass to jiggle as his hips slap against it.

A hand snakes between you both, and he can't take it much longer. Both middle fingers find the soft underside of his head as he ruts, softer than before, and pushes in. It takes a few moments. Dragging his cock down, pushing in, only for it to catch at the last second and swipe up to your clit.

His tip juts in, enveloped by your tight, sopping hole. Pausing his movements and easing his breathing, he sighs sighs; pulling out and pushing himself back in, easing his size inside of you in slow, thick, increments.

Bucky holds you through the ordeal. Willing his body not to get ahead of itself and ram his cock inside, to bury himself balls deep and rut inside of you without repercussions. His hips twitch with the need, stretching out without a thought.

The need worsens when you begin to understand.

Around his arms, Bucky feels your ribs stutter and pause, only to breathe out tightly. Your cunt pulses too. Your walls begin to mould around his shaft, now squeezing with the intrusion as if trying to figure out what's going on. Slacking and tightening around him, letting his dick fuck slowly inside of you before finally his balls press to your ass. He lets go of a deep breath, forehead to your shoulder, holding your hips to his, hugging you tight into his back, to keep himself from falling off the edge of relief.

And your noises. Bucky presses his lips to your skin, brows taut, distressed. He had whipped his forehead from your shoulder when his ears perked up with the sound. The gentlest of breaths sharpening against your pillow as pleasure gets the best of you.

"Stop, stop, stop," He mouths his pleas to your shoulder blade, voice lost as he stays inside of your tight heat.

"Can I fuck you?" He hates himself for asking — shaft soaked with your arousal, balls pressing tight against your cunt — but he cant stop himself.

The smallest of humps, a reflex of muscle, a jerk of his hips rips a growl from his throat. The ruts keeps coming, humping his size inside of you, pulling out not even an inch, to keep you stuffed full over and over again. But he keeps asking.

"Please… Please, can I?" His mouth clicks with spit, whispering and dragging his cock through your walls.

Your body moves for you. A wracking heartbeat that Bucky can feel as his lips press on your back, rustling ribs and trembling thighs.

As your unconscious body comprehends, Bucky starts to gain confidence. Moving his cock out and pressing it back in, easing half of himself out just to ram his tip up to your cervix. He begins thrusting his length out, keeping his tip snug and warm inside of you and thrusting back in.

You begin to hum. Melodic and shaky, uneven sounds that shudder out of you with each clap his balls make to the backs of your thighs. Then your arms move. Tight holds to his hands around your stomach, following up to his bicep and shoulder.

"Bucky..?" You whisper, eyes still closed, but your brows pull with question. Your mouth slacks with breaths, and he eases his face closer until you're breathing him in.

"I'm sorry. I'm right here."

It's then your eyes open. Slacked from the sleep he pulled you from, adjusting, blinking in the scenery. You hum again, and gasp as his cock drags over your spot.

"Is it there? Was that it?" He asks, like an excited dog. He pants on your shoulder, grinding himself against you.

It's too much. One minute you're asleep in Bucky's arms, his bed, and the next he's learning how your body reacts from the inside out.

Before you could counteract, trying to move yourself forward, try and gain semblance, his hand pulls you back. Trapping your body with an arm to your chest now. You don't speak, too full from emotions, from his cock. The sensations he's giving you, from his breath that seeps through the fabric of your shirt, and how the hand that palms your breast.

"What're you doing…" Its rhetorical, he knows this, but the night makes him dumb. Or maybe that's just your tight pussy.

"Wanted to make you feel good," he says softly. "You fit so nice on me, backed into me… m'sorry, I couldn't help it."

As his voice dissolved from whispers to moaned mumbles, your back begins to slack. The sudden pressure of his hand to your tit sends shivers down your spine, hardening your nipples. They drag sensitively against your shirt, and your breath gets deeper.

Bucky keeps fucking into you, rocking his pelvis up, only now theres an added pleasure as he tweaks your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, trapping it under your shirt.

You moan, gulping around it, trying to suppress it. It feels so good, you pulse around him.

"Fuck, don't do that," his hips begin to stutter, and dick twitches inside of you. "Gonna cum if you keep doing that, please—"

You do it again. Out of resistance, a weird kick of superiority — you clamp your pussy around his weeping cock and he growls between his teeth. Hands tightening over your middle, fingers trapping your nipple, you convulse around him again with the shock.

Both of your sighs fall into shudders as his hips stutter. What already soaked the inside of your thighs with sticky arousal and humid sweat, now accumulated together with an additional heaviness.

His hands tightened their grip on your waist, humming behind a locked jaw and shut eyes as he came inside of you. Hips pumping up with each spurt, dragging inside of your wet heat desperately thrusting to get every last drop of him inside.

Only when the pleasure subsided — the haze of his orgasm waning and your momentary shock of how full he pumped you, how desperately he held you, and had you — you realised now the heaviness wasn't just his tacky cum coating your walls, dripping from between you both.

He was still hard. Achingly so.

When Bucky's head fell from the clouds of pleasure and ecstasy, he let out the smallest whine of realisation, maybe even embarrassment or fear, of releasing inside of his poor stepsister unprotected. But his hands moved before you could ask.

"You didn't cum…" He whispered against the cool shell of your ear. His soft lips and rough stubble, already growing after a day, had you clenching around his thick cock, pulsing out around his shaft, releasing his stickiness to sit and slide down his balls.

"I…" You swallow around the words, trying to find a fixture to settle, to open yourself from this daze and clean yourself up quick before your dad and his mom wake up. But Bucky still lingered in a foggy shock. Almost as if he knew the damage was done, his dick was still hard and drooling, nestled inside of you like it was made to be there.

Before you could actually speak, one hand moved to the inside of your thigh, opening it up and holding it around his hip to spread you open. While the other moves down and locked to your stomach. Holding you close to his front, he uses his elbow to keep your leg from falling shut.

“Want… Want you to cum.” He mumbles, stroking his fingers down to where you meet to feel how stretched out he has you. To fumble at the slightest touch of his cum drowning your pussy, gliding the release up to circle your clit.

“Bucky—“

“Fuck, please,” his breath skims hot against your neck, nudging his head against your hair. “God, please I need you to cum.”

He kept moving. Even after coming, hard for that matter, his hips kept driving into you and his fingers played deftly. Staying in deep, humping himself against your ass like a dog.

You couldn’t protest, not when his own spend drips out between you, when his cock fills you so fucking good, arms wrapped around your middle to keep you close, fingers tight on your clit, breathing small and quick on your skin — he sounds so good, feels so good, its all too good to let go.

“Buck… What if someone hears?”

He wheezes, “We—We gotta be quiet… huh?"

A sharp thrust hits you closer than expected, making your throat contort in a whine and clench around him involuntarily.

"Geez, wha'did I just say?" He whispers sharply. The hand that splayed protectively against your stomach itched upwards, skimming up your navel, to the edge of your ribs, the plush of your tits, until he clasps around your mouth. Four fingers to one cheek while his thumb strokes the other. Its a contrast with how much force he puts into pushing his palm onto your lips, forcing your head back into the pillows, onto his shoulder, and his hips never let up their grinding, even as the rhythmic squeak of the bed frame begins to flow.

You whine a little more openly now, eyes lazily rolling shut, hoping the covering of his hand blankets the sounds that would have poured loud through the four walls and down the hallways. How much worse the wet sounds of your joint pleasure sounds dull through the duvet, how you clench tighter around him, heartbeat stuttering in your lungs and cunt alike as he draws teasing lines and circles around your slick, puffy clit.

Bucky smiles into your shoulder, enamoured completely with how precious and pliant he has you. He could cum again, he wants to so fucking bad with how soft your walls pulse around him, but he can feel your nub twitch and harden beneath his wet fingers, the pulsing easing faster as you mumble garbled nonsense through the cracks of his fingers.

"You like being shut up… you like this, don't you?"

As a confirmation, added to the validation of a nod, you hand comes up to grab a hold of his hip behind you, fisting at his side, nails digging crescents. Its snakes lower to hold his ass in your hand, a bruising sensation that only has him rutting in deeper, hiding his own noises into the damp skin of your neck. Leaning into your space, wiping his hot breath down your throat, lips dragging up and down, teeth nipping.

"Are you close? You're so fucking tight, I can feel your heart beating… so fast. Did I do that?" He whispers, balmy on your jaw and cheek.

"Can I cum inside you again? I'm sorry, m'sorry I didn't ask before, it was an accident. I didn't mean to cum inside you, didn't mean to fuck you…" Bucky can't stop mumbling. With the tight grip your pussy holds him in, wet and hot, his balls sticky, plapping against your ass, drawing up in pulses similar to your own. It's the only way he can strive off his second orgasm.

It's lucky for you, the sensation of his cock humping inside of you, his fingers stroking your clit and his hot breaths and whiny words have you so, so fucking close.

"Bucky—" you whisper behind his palm. Eyelids drooping, fist still curled into his glute like a vice.

"M'so bad, so, so bad. You jus' felt so good, looked so fucking pretty, I'm so sorry, I love you, I really do an' I'm sorry for that, but… fu-huck, I already did it once."

Your free hand whips up and curls around his wrist as you begin to cum. Hips moving back into his own on their own accord, twitching and shaking as your pussy contorts, choking his cock. You hum shakily into his palm, holding it to your mouth, even though his own hands begin to tighten, teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder as he chases your orgasm with his own.

It's disgustingly wet. Two creampies, sticky and white, coating your thighs, his own too. A ring of arousal at the base of his cock, laying like honey, dripping down his balls.

He keeps fucking you like that. Already finished, dragging out the last of your orgasms even as you lay there, bare, trembling with aftershocks. Overstimulated bucks of your hips as he keeps dragging his fingertips over your abused nub, the fist that occupied his ass now quickly held onto his wrist, prying it off with a sigh of relief, shutting your legs from around his thigh.

"M'sorry, m'so, so sorry."

Both his hands move to keep you close, wrapped around your middle like a teddy bear. His dick stayed trapped inside of you. Softening, lightly twitching still, and his hips, they keep softly rolling with the smallest of movements. You believe he has no clue he's doing it.

Minutes drag by like that. Breathing evening out, his hips pumping minutely against the soft swell of your ass, easing to a final stop, slipping out with a small, tired sigh. It sounds sad. You can almost see the dip between his brows as he keeps his arms tight on your middle. His cock rests soaked between you both, stuck to the mattress, warm and slick to your ass cheek.

You keep staring into the void of his bedroom. His curtains closed, apart from the tiny slither of outside where trees danced with the wind and stars twinkled. A world moving onward.

"You love me?"

Bucky moves up then, the warmth of his front half lost as his head cocks to, and his hands leave your stomach to instead pull himself up. "What?"

"You," you begin, still not moving from your place, but your voice never wavered from a whispered hiss. "Said you loved me."

He huffs deeply. It swirls against your ear, and lays cold and delicate against the spit slicked area he licked clean on your jaw and neck.

"I'm sorry—"

"You keep saying that like you mean it," your voice hardens slightly. "But I don't think you are."

"Christ, can you at least look at me?" He whispers, a hand falls to your bicep, he squeezes but almost immediately, he tears it away.

"I can't. Your cum will spill everywhere." It comes jokingly, light, a hint of a toothy smile on your face as you say it.

It aggravates Bucky. It makes him groan, palms, still smelling of you, wiping and digging into his eyes before he could find any semblance of himself. But he turns you over anyway. Your hole makes a sound that makes you retreat, shutting your legs and eyes tightly, lips pulled into a line, cringing, but Bucky doesn't register.

He kisses you. Its a soft question at first, his lips touching over yours mid retract. Thinking it's a block, your body unwilling under the weight of sex and sleep, he pulls himself off from you.

Your eyes meet for one second. Pupils wide. His cock swung bare between his legs, against your thigh. One second of your mind telling you to keep joking and irritating him, poking at wounds. But his hairs messy, all rugged from the pillow, and your hand runs over it, straightening it out, only for you find yourself tugging him into your open mouth. Spit slicked and uneven.

His lips are so unfairly soft as they move over yours, his tongue gliding over to taste and explore. Trapping your top lip between his, slowing down to savour the warmth and your soft gasps fanning over his chin.

"If you have a nightmare again, you can always come to me." He mumbles against your lips, kissing and sucking through the words. His hands hold the sides of your face, guiding you through the movements and its intoxicating.

"Okay."

Your own whispers get lost down his throat and into the spit slicked sounds. Bucky's lost in it, mumbling through each press of his wet lips across your skin as if this is the last moment he'd get. Dragging kisses from your mouth to the corners where your lips meet, to your cheeks and nose, your temple where his nose drags across your hairline, the scent of your shampoo and sweat accumulating and messing with his senses.

"An—And if you can't sleep, you can always come to me," he presses the words to your forehead, reverberating across your hairline. "Is that okay?"

There's nothing else for you to do but nod. You can't do anything but nod. Your body still teeters between the now and thirty minutes ago — both of you still bare from the waist down, tingling with sex like supernovas beneath your skin, and you're still wet and sweaty, soaked with fluids now drenching the bed sheets.

But everything's lost under his cherry red, kiss bitten lips, his soft asks and hands, so gentle over your cheeks. Bucky pulls away, enough for the tip of his nose to touch yours and his forehead to brush your own. He makes a sound, strained almost, a sigh.

"It doesn't have to be," he whispers and it glues to your lips. "Okay, that is."

"It isn't," you begin. Feeling Bucky's muscles tighten, and sharp inhale, your hands reach for his face, copying the same movements as him, stroking across your cheeks with the smallest touch of your thumbs. "It's a weird situation. Maybe we can work something out."

"Work something out." He repeats, and you nod.

"When we go back to college, maybe," you whisper, dragging a hand over his hair, stroking it back. "The logistics are…"

"Weird."

"Very," With eyes locked to his, you keep playing with the strands of hair between your fingers, and his own hand follows to yours, stroking a warm palm across your hairline. "We should probably get cleaned up."

"Probably." He repeats.

You lick your lips, nodding. "And put our pants back on."

He nods with you, as if the notion would will you both from the weird sanctuary you created for the night. Savouring the hot feeling of your skin touching one another, his thigh pressed to yours, how natural everything felt, how none of you were shy about the nakedness of your legs and eyes.

"Are you gonna regret it?"

It mulls over your head, sitting on it. It has Bucky's heart beating faster in his chest, tweaking with pangs as the seconds pass by before you answer.

"I don't know, Buck." Its truthful, and Bucky doesn't mind how it calms him down. It's warm here, so stay in the present.

He doesnt have to speak, neither do you. The silence says everything. As does the soft rustle of the trees and the crickets, the creak of the bed when one of you moves that you both don't ask about. His head hits the pillow, and this time you sink into a dreamless sleep with legs tangled and a new excitement for classes to start.

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