Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn't like Steve hadn't seen Bucky naked before. He saw his body plenty of times over the years – shirt off in the hot summer sun; only tight jockeys on before getting ready in the morning; and nothing on before taking a shower and heading off to bed. Steve made a point to not have his eyes linger. After all, it wasn't natural for a man to look at another man. And of course, it was impolite to stare.

However, moving in with Bucky increased the number of times Steve saw Bucky naked; and because Steve was human, his eyes just wandered sometimes. Getting ready in the morning before work, Bucky would slip between their small shared bedroom and the bathroom, or the bedroom to the kitchen space, with nothing but his jockeys on. The tight elastic of the shorts wrapped around just right to cause the softness at his hips to pillow above the band. And the fold in the front of the shorts left nothing to the imagination, Bucky's cock nestled sweetly behind it, the outline of his head and shaft shifting with every move. Steve's fingers would twitch at his side, his tongue would trace over his lips, wanting nothing more than to touch, to lick, to taste.

But that wasn't natural.

So Steve ignored the ever-growing desire for his eyes to soak up every inch of Bucky in those soft moments. Instead, he focused all that energy into his art, a job to give those twitchy, eager fingers. When Bucky was home, Steve finished odd and end jobs that he managed to snag – old women wanting drawings of their old husbands, young couples asking for art of them together, and the rich man a few blocks over having very specific requests. Bucky always came over to Steve on the patched couch, asking every question imaginable about what he was drawing; and Steve happily obliged.

Steve never pulled out the other notebook that he took out when Bucky was at work because that artwork was for Steve's eyes only. Pages and pages of men and women, all different shapes, sizes, and colors, inspired from the world around him. It was the woman at the corner one night, her breasts sticking out of her dress, desire covering her face. It was the couple in the one bar, their lips pressed together and their limbs entangled, not a care about who was looking. It was the man coming out of the alleyway, his shirt rucked up and his shaky fingers on his pants, the smell of sex around him. And then, it was Bucky, the soft lines of his thighs, his hips, his arms; the dimples on his cheeks and his chin when flashing a smile; the roll of his stomach over his shorts when he bent down; and the thickness of his cock behind thin fabric just waiting to be slipped off.

Regardless of nameless people or Bucky, Steve stared at the drawings long after he finished them, his eyes hungry for the details he wished to memorialize. The women were stunning, their breasts and legs and curves visions that Steve was happy to behold; but it was the men, the men that Steve stared at the most. He stared to the point where his fingers traced the forbidden lines of their lean muscles and hung dicks, and that same ache to touch settled keep inside Steve. His stomach turned hot every time, and his cheeks flushed; and his cock grew in his pants, tenting obscenely and leaking just enough for Steve to whimper. If his hand slipped down his jockeys and relieved the building pressure, then that was just fine. Because Steve was alone and the world was none the wiser. The real thing wasn't natural, sure; but these were just drawings, and that was just fine.

But the denial to which Steve desperately clung was built on a poor foundation.

On an afternoon before Bucky went to work, Steve drew bodies with no faces when Bucky shouted from their bedroom, "Stevie, my shorts are still dryin', and I gotta eat somethin' before work; so you're jus' gonna have to tough it out!"

Still coming down from the nickname that always left him flushed, Steve didn't have a chance to holler back before Bucky swung the door wide open. He walked down the narrow hallway to the living space, his naked body drinking in the sunlight pouring in from the windows. Under his tanned skin, a faint blush covered Bucky's body, warmed from the shower he finished. Steve couldn't help but follow that flush straight down to Bucky's cock, hanging thick and limp and heavy between his legs. If Bucky caught him staring, Steve didn't know, only ripping his eyes away from Bucky when he sauntered into the kitchen, ass facing Steve instead.

"It's gonna be a hot one today," Bucky voiced, his hands rummaging through the cupboards. "But once th’a sun goes down, wanna head to that place a couple'a blocks ov’a? Heard there's a good crowd there." He found what he was looking for, set it on the counter, and turned back to face Steve. He leaned on the counter-top, arms crossed over his bare, hairy chest. "Wha'd'ya say, Stevie?"

Steve’s tongue lay heavy in his mouth, all the spit and saliva wicked away. His drawing book went slack in his hands and fell to rest neatly on his crotch, masking the signs of his cock thickening. Steve choked out a noise, meant to be a sound of agreement; but it came out high and strangled. Bucky caught his gaze, looked at him oddly, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Steve cleared his throat, tightened his grip on his pencil. “Uh, yeah, Buck; I think that’d be swell, yeah.”

Bucky finished that smirk, his eyes storing something wicked. “Alright.”

He spun back around, his cock moving with the motion; and fleetingly, Steve imagined his face pressed against Bucky’s upper thigh, nose and lips close to his circumcised tip, taking in the musky scent that was uniquely Bucky. He shifted his hips, his swelling cock rutting against his notepad; and Steve’s other hand flew up to his lips. He stifled a groan that rumbled inside him; and as Bucky started whistling a tune in the kitchen, Steve envied how Bucky had no idea what he was doing to him.

Bucky scarfed down his quick meal and lazily walked from the kitchen back down the hall to the bedroom. Steve kept his eyes down, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his notebook. He knew his face was flushed, his ears beet red; but if Bucky saw, he didn’t say anything. Steve didn’t think he could manage a second of Bucky’s playful bickering, not when any rebuttal would die on Steve’s lips, crushed to dust because Steve’s attention would be elsewhere. And as the bedroom door finally shut tight, Steve exhaled, a weak moan climbing out of him.

He didn’t know where to go, didn’t know what to do, so Steve continued to sit on the couch, half-hard cock covered with his drawings. He tried to think of anything, something else, that could strip the image of Bucky’s naked body from his mind, but the warmth settling deep in his stomach wouldn’t budge. Instead, his eyes glazed over, his mind replaying the details he missed – the small birthmark sat right above Bucky’s right nipple; the dark hair dusting all over his chest and arms and legs; the thick curves carved straight down his thighs; and the width of his shoulders hiding lean muscles beneath.

Steve’s fingers could only trace over the images he drew so many times before desire struck deeper, a necessity to touch the real thing latching hold. In Steve’s afternoon daydreams, he imagined tracing every line on Bucky, mapping out every mark and scar and divot. And thinking of that now did nothing to quell the heat, the desire; so Steve bit his lip, packaged it up, and waited patiently for Bucky to leave. If Bucky wasn’t home and there was no one around, it wasn’t a problem.

Minutes passed, and the bedroom door opened again. Bucky had on his work attire, a couple layers on for work down at the factory. Though his muscles and curves were hidden, Steve still caught the way the shirt hugged his hips and the pants turned tighter around his thighs. Cheeks burning, he muttered something about seeing Bucky tonight, and being the best pal he could be right now, Bucky didn’t comment again. Just shared the same sentiment and headed off, the front door shutting behind him.

Steve didn’t even wait to hear Bucky’s footfalls as he left their apartment block.

He tossed his drawing book on the couch beside him and gasped at the air that hit his clothed cock. He looked down at himself, his skinny legs sticking out from his shorts with his dick outlined against the white fabric. By his tip, a growing wet spot formed, and he choked at the sight. He tried not to think of how that evidence was proof that Bucky – his roommate, his best friend, his Bucky – did that to him. He tried not to think of how just thinking of another man even caused him to come undone as he shoved his hand down his jockeys.

Steve wrapped his hand around his cock, and he groaned, eyes rolling to the back of his skull at the pressure he’d been missing. With his other hand, he tugged his shorts down, pooling them underneath his balls. He looked at himself – blond hair trailing from his lower stomach, cock red and leaking, balls tight against his body – and he imagined at some point he’d feel shame. But even with the windows open and the door likely unlocked, Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care.

He threw his head back on the couch, eyes welded shut and mouth hung open. With his thumb, he traced over his tip, swiping up the precum there. He dragged it down his cock, the liquid surprisingly cool against his hot skin; and the glide was just enough to get him going. Steve jerked his hand in quick and uncoordinated movements, the act of getting off more important than the time it took to get there. Behind his eyelids, Steve saw Bucky with his thick, limp cock; and he covered his mouth to mute a groan.

It didn’t take much to change the image, to see Bucky leaning there, his dick stiffening. Steve had seen it before, when they were younger. Bucky brushed it off as nothing, just a morning stiffy he couldn’t get rid of, as he confidently walked from his childhood bedroom to take a piss. Steve thought of it too much even then, but now, with Bucky’s frame filled out and his body that of a man’s, Steve leaked at the thought of Bucky’s cock flush against his lower belly. A bit of precum would drip in the hair trailing from his chest to his dick, and Steve would lap it up, savor every drop.

At the image, his body shook, a shiver splitting down his spine. Steve’s eyes flew open, the rumbling of an orgasm building low and fast. His cock was red, harder than Steve had ever felt before. Precum spilled down his tip, and with his hand, Steve dragged it down, slicking up his shaft. His legs shook as his finger found the thick vein underneath, and he rubbed over it, feeling every inch of himself. His other hand cupped his balls, fondled them, felt them tighten under his touch.

Steve wasn’t a prude – of course not, on account of what he drew – but not many people did a second glance in his direction. No one had ever touched his dick except himself, so as the tip of his cock appeared and disappeared with every pump, Steve imagined how it’d feel to have Bucky’s hand on him instead. Bucky’s hands were big, calloused from years of hard work. The thought of the drag of those rough hands on his soft-skinned cock rolled a wave of heat deep in Steve’s body. He wanted to see his pink cock disappear in that palm, wanted to feel Bucky grip him with just enough pressure, wanted to watch him go for Steve’s dick, eager to wrap his mouth around his leaking tip.

“Oh, god,” Steve breathed out, his head falling back again and his eyes drifting shut.

He pumped quick, tight, the slick of his precum the only relief from the friction he chased. Behind his eyelids, Steve saw Bucky on his knees, rosy pink lips wet with spit, a dastardly twinkle in his eyes. His daydream Bucky leaned forward, shifting his hand lower on Steve’s cock to press a kiss right underneath his tip.

“Holy shit, Buck.” Steve slipped his finger there, massaging the bundle of nerves at his most sensitive spot, blood rushing in his ears. “I’m gonna–”

Steve pulled on his cock once, twice, three more times before spilling all over his chest, his cum dirtying his white shirt. He groaned loudly and obscenely thought every pulse, tightening his hand and milking himself through the orgasm. As he came down, the last bits of cum leaking from his cock, the quietness of the room settled around him. Lazily stroking his dick before over-sensitivity sunk in, Steve opened his eyes, squinting at the sunlight still pouring in.

As he let go of himself, still basking in post-orgasm bliss, a floorboard creaked to the right of him. Cock and balls still out, Steve turned his head and met Bucky’s eyes. He stood in the doorway, hand still on the knob, mouth hung open and face covered in a beautiful blush. Steve scrambled to get his shorts back on, snapping the elastic back to his waist; and the sound pulled Bucky out of his daze.

“I – uh – sorry, Steve.” Bucky stepped back out into the hallway, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Not knowing what else to do, Steve stood up, palms facing outward at his sides, waiting for the next pin to drop. But nothing happened. Steve heard Bucky in his work boots clomping down the hall, hitting the stairs, and descending. Minutes passed, the ringing in Steve’s ears subsided, and he relaxed his shoulders.

“Shit,” Steve said to an empty apartment with cum drying on his shirt and hand. The room smelled of sex and lust, and Steve didn’t know how long Bucky was standing there. He could have seen – heard – everything.

Steve huffed, ripping his shirt off over his head. “Shit.”

He tossed it aside and fell back on the couch, waves of embarrassment and disgust rippling through his body. His fantasies were for him alone, and if they stayed with him and only him, Steve didn’t have to dwell on it, didn’t have to think about what they said about him. But now someone else witnessed it – not to mention, it wasn’t just someone, it was Bucky – and now those thoughts were public. If Bucky heard Steve utter his name, then his best friend would know he’s not all that right in the head, that he’s got something wrong with him. Because men didn’t think about men like that.

Between pacing in the apartment and cleaning up himself and his clothes, Steve resigned himself to say something to Bucky when he got back home. He didn’t know exactly how he’d explain himself, but Steve was an act first, ask questions later kinda guy.

But by the time Bucky made it home after nightfall, Steve couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

“Steve, you don’t gotta explain it to me,” Bucky answered, cutting Steve’s apology off in his throat. “I shoulda knocked, just forgot somethin’. Won’t happen again, cross my heart.” He mimed a small ‘x’ over his chest.

“But Buck–” Steve started again, growing desperate, before Bucky shut him down the final time.

“Ah, ah,” Bucky said, wagging his finger at Steve. “Knock it. Don’t worry about it. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I get it, Stevie.” Bucky raised his brows at Steve, that sly look on his face. “Let’s hit the town.”

Chapter Text

Bucky met a dame at the club. She was wearing a tight dress, her hair done up with make-up on. Bucky slunk over to her like a cat in heat, and Steve became their third. Two drinks of hard liquor deep, and Steve wallowed at the bar, vehemently ignoring Bucky's form towards the back, arms crowded around the girl, lips on her neck. Steve didn't even go over to him to announce his goodbye. He just pushed off the bar, hands deep in his pockets, and headed out the door.

By the time he got home, Steve stopped dwelling on it, didn't let it stew. Sure, most days, Steve looked at Bucky like he hung the stars. But so did everyone else. Almost every woman in the Brooklyn bars they frequented had eyes for Bucky. And of course, Bucky had eyes for them – Steve would have had to be blind to not see that – on account of how many dames Bucky kissed. To Steve, this was a known fact, just like the sky was blue; so dwelling on the fact that Bucky didn't have eyes for men and wouldn't have eyes for Steve didn't do Steve any good. So Steve passed out under the covers with his one hand on his drawing book and the other one down his pants, dreaming of some unnamed man and forgetting all about Bucky and his women.

Until Bucky woke him up in the morning to announce that he was heading out to a lunch date with the same dame from the bar. Steve looked surprised – casual dates after a one-off meeting weren't typical for Bucky – but he grinned at his friend all the same, wishing him luck. Steve figured something burrowed deep inside Bucky, and that something had dark brown hair with full lips and big tits.

By the time Steve crawled out of bed, Bucky was long gone, having went to the corner store early to "get somethin' nice" for her. Carrying on his mantra from last night, Steve didn't let jealous thoughts wash over him. Instead, he did his morning dues, ate some breakfast, and got dressed to head out for the day. Steve needed to get a jump start on some jobs, and some of his best work came during afternoons in the park. By the time he made it to the park down the street, Steve's well-loved bench seat was available. He sat down, cracked open his notebook, and let his fingers drift.

After a few hours, Steve got up and stretched, his creaky joints cracking one by one. His feet carried him home, and when Steve unlocked their front door, Bucky's boots were by the entrance. Steve shucked his shoes off and tossed his notebook on the couch. He opened his mouth to holler out to Bucky, say something witty about his date being over too soon; but soft grunts floated through the apartment. Steve snapped his mouth shut, following the sound and stopping outside their bedroom door. The grunts were deep, short, determined, Bucky's timbre written all over them.

Steve's mind drifted to what happened yesterday, how Bucky walked in on Steve. The thought that it was a happening in reverse sent a thrill down Steve's spine. He knew he shouldn't, should respect Bucky's space; but Steve couldn't help pressing his palm against the bedroom door and pushing it open just enough to peak in.

His eyes landed on Bucky's bed, and immediately, Steve moved away from the door. Twisting around, he pressed against the hallway wall, his hand flying to his mouth. His flush covered more than just his face, his ears reddening and his heart beating in his throat. Bucky wasn't alone in that room, and now, beyond the heartbeat thumping in his ears, Steve listened closely.

Between every one of Bucky's grunts, there was a softer, quieter one, a uniquely feminine one. Hers were breathy but growing louder by the second. As the noises grew more frequent, the unmistakable sound of the bed-frame squeaking hit Steve's ears. Had he come home seconds later, he would have realized, would have never opened the door.

But now, seared behind his eyelids was the image of Bucky bent over a woman, fucking deep and hard into her. The sounds were enough to make that image move in his mind, seeing how Bucky pushed into her, how her breasts jiggled with every thrust, how his arm muscles strained above her. Listening to the sloppy wetness, to skin hitting skin, Steve palmed at his cock, hard and aching in his pants. The image in his mind wasn't enough – he needed to see more.

Steve held his breath, turned, and leaned into the crack of the open door. The faint afternoon light coming in from behind the shut blinds was enough for Steve to see everything. The dame from the bar was sprawled out beneath Bucky, legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Her eyes were shut, her mouth hung open, breathy moans coming out of her. Her breasts moved with every thrust, her nipples hard and engorged; and the softness at her belly folded with every one of Bucky's drives into her.

Arms straight above her and hands pressed deep into the bed, Bucky knelt between her legs, his hips flush against the inside of her thighs. His arm muscles were taut from holding up his weight, and his thighs contracted with each thrust. Determination settled on Bucky's face, and he looked hungrily down at the woman. Bucky folded his arms, dropping down on his elbows, coming flush against her body; and he kissed her eagerly. She kissed back, tangling her hands in Bucky's hair, moaning into the kiss.

Steve wasn't so much looking at the girl – she was pretty enough – but his eyes were all over Bucky. The way his stomach clenched, the way his back muscles tensed, the way his defined arms and thighs held himself over her – Steve wanted that. He wanted to experience it first hand, to trail his hands down Bucky's biceps, to drape them over his back. Steve stared at the little space between them, the area where Bucky's cock thrust into her; and the wet noise coming from it, coming from their sex slamming together made Steve mad with lust. He rubbed at his own dick, palming it against his clothes. The relief it afforded him from the pressure building in his lower stomach was brief, and his cock just grew heavier with every rub, undoubtedly leaking in his shorts.

As Bucky bent up on his knees, hitching her hips up with him, Steve bit his lip, choking back a groan. He saw Bucky's thick cock, just part of it, as it slipped back inside her. From the little sun in the room, Steve could still tell how wet she was. Bucky fucked her at the new angle, his thumb coming down to her hard clit, rubbing it off with the slick between them. Her stomach tensed and her head rolled back into the pillow, a shaky moan tumbling from her mouth. Bucky watched her, corner of his mouth up, massaging her clit with every thrust.

Bucky was unrelenting, and more moans and grunts came out of the dame's mouth. The way her stomach clenched, her eyebrows furrowed, Steve could tell she was close; and he chased his release same as her. Steve stuffed his hand down his pants and into his shorts, wrapping his hand around his cock. He bent at the waist slightly, his pants tenting forward to leave just enough room; and Steve stroked himself quick and dirty, precum leaking into his shorts. He fucked his hand at the same pace as Bucky's thrusts, as the same pace as Bucky's thumb rubbing her clit; and Steve almost came, his cock leaking messily in his pants. But he waited, listened, watched.

Out of the woman's mouth, she muttered Bucky's name like a prayer, over and over again. Smug look on his face, Bucky leaned over her just enough to take his other hand to her breast, cupping her tit and pinching her nipple. She gasped out, and he adjusted his angle, fucking her deeper. Two more thrusts and a good rub of her clit and nipple, and she groaned, her legs tightening around Bucky's waist. Steve's stomach and balls tightened.

Bucky grabbed her hips, bottoming out in her as she orgasmed. "Oh, god, honey. Holy shit." Bucky's fingers dug into the soft fat on her hips; and he shut his eyes, pleasure covering his face as he came.

Steve followed right behind, his orgasm hitting hard and fast. One final stroke and he spilled into his pants, relief washing over him. He pumped his dick with his cum-covered hand, relishing in the cool drag across his hot and heavy cock. As Steve milked out his final drops, Bucky pulled out of her, collapsing on the bed beside her and rolling over. His softening cock laid wet on his lower stomach, and Steve imagined wrapping his mouth around it, taking in the taste of both of them. He even thought of licking her dry, dragging his tongue up and down her engorged slit. The thought startled Steve, realizing something new was turning on inside him.

But Steve tucked away the arousal sparking at the base of his spine before he got caught. With both Bucky and the dame still breathing heavy, Steve stepped away from the door, pressing his back to the wall again. He pulled his hand out of his pants, encroaching shame all over his cum-covered hand. He ducked into the living space, then kitchen, grabbing the first hand towel he could find. Steve tried to clean up the evidence, but he wreaked of sex. He tossed the towel by the pile of clothes to be washed in the living room, grabbed a pair of dirty – but cleaner than what he had on – shorts and pants, and fixed his shirt.

Steve tried to figure out if he should leave and come back later; but he needed a shower and he didn't want to risk getting caught leaving. So he wandered over to the front door, opening it and closing it just loud enough for Bucky to hear in the bedroom.

He cleared his throat and yelled out, "Hey, Buck; I'm home."

Steve shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants and dropped onto the couch. He heard the gentle rustle of clothing slipping on skin and the hinge of the bedroom door swinging open. Bucky stepped out into the living space, hair a mess and cheeks flushed pink; his shirt was untucked and his belt was unclasped.

"Hey, Stevie," he breathed out, a lopsided smile on his face. He ran his hand through his hair. "Uh, hope you don' mind. I had some company – she's just about'a leave." Bucky turned his head back to the bedroom. "Ain't that right, honey?" A muffled voice of agreement came from down the small hall.

Bucky turned back to Steve, his face apologetic. "Sorry 'bout this. Thought you wouldn't be back so soon."

Steve shifted slightly on the couch, his oversensitive cock brushing his shorts. He choked a gasp, adjusting himself with his hands still in his pockets. "All good, Buck. Hope you had fun." He knew Bucky did, but the sentiment came out strained even to his ears.

But Bucky didn't seem to notice, just smiled at the ground. "I did. She was somethin'."

Steve didn't wait for Bucky to say anymore or for her to come out. He simply excused himself and walked past Bucky. He couldn't help but smell Bucky as he passed, taking in the musk of sex; and Steve slid into the bathroom before any questions were asked. He ripped off his clothes and stepped into a cold shower, not even bothering to wait for it to warm. Steve shut his eyes and let the water trickle all around him, washing away his own sex-addled smell, with images of the girl and Bucky forever seared on his eyelids. And if Steve got off again in the shower, that was only between him and the water.