Chapter Text
The mission is taking too long. There's nothing else to be said about it. He hates being away from Bucky for so long, and he's worried.
Worried that he's not eating properly.
Worried that he's not sleeping properly.
Worried that he's not showering like he's supposed to.
He knows it's silly. He shouldn't worry so much. Bucky is a big boy. A big boy whose been out of Hydras clutches for a total of nine months. He's only been back home for four of them. It doesn't seem possible that it's only been nine months, when he thinks back though, because for all intents and purposes, he's doing really well. The therapists aren't as supportive as he thought they would be though. They've both heard a lot about how "dependent" they are on each other--particularly Bucky. Bucky, who treats sex like it's a date. Not that Steve really minds, because they've got a lot of time to make up for, but he wants his lover to be healthy and happy. Bucky says that the only time he feels like he's really Bucky Barnes, is when Steve is balls deep inside of him, and Steve--well...he's always been happy to please. Especially Bucky.
So Steve had returned to missions much sooner than he'd planned on--if he was planning on it at all. Because missions give them "space". It gives Bucky a chance to spend time with other people without Steves influence, and it allows them to put space there. To take a step back and decide where to go from there, but together. They do everything together now, if possible.
But this mission...
It's taking too long. He's been gone for what seems like an eternity--and that's a really long time for a guy who spent seventy years in the ice, most of which he was awake for. (He still can't stand to willingly submerge himself in cold water) Even if it has only been a week...
It's almost a full two days before he's able to slip into the closet of the room he's sharing with Sam, literally in the middle of the day, and hunker down with a pair of earphones and his tablet to watch the video. He puts his back to the wall of the closet and settles down between a safe (why is there even one in here?) and Sams suitcase, his knees pulled up into his chest, facing the door. Because if Sam wakes up, he doesn't want his friend to know what he's doing. And maybe he's a little possessive of Bucky. If he knows his boyfriend--and he does--this video is bound to be intimate it some way.
He closes the closet door and pulls up his email.
And he plays the video.
To Steve, Bucky draped in that sweatshirt is the sweetest thing he's ever seen. It actually brings tears to his eyes, seeing Bucky right now. Because he's been away for so long, so he misses him. He refuses to dwell on it for too long, because Bucky is alive and he's beautiful. His voice is sweet and sinful, and in the back of his mind, he's wondering how he was ever supposed to live in a world that didn't have Bucky Barnes.
He actually finds himself nodding along to answer Buckys question, because yes, he does remember Bucky dragging him into that porn store. He remembers the Captain America vibrating dildo, and he remembers turning beet red at the insinuation that it might be bigger than he was. He forces himself not to whimper when Bucky pulls the box on screen with lube and instead bites his bottom lip. A habit he can thank Bucky for.
He ignores the eager twitch of his cock when Bucky starts taking his clothes off, and he pauses the video--just so he can take a look at Bucky naked. Fuck, not only is he beautiful, but he's filled out a little since the last time Steve saw him. This is good, this means that he's sticking to his schedule and eating when he's supposed to. And just look at him...the way muscle lays under the skin, the way his back is arched, the curve of his dick. Hard. For him.
Well, Bucky wasn't the only one.
He plays the video again, his hand sliding down to the front of his tactical pants where his cock pressed insistently against the firm material, the heel of his hand rubbing across that hardness just one time while he watches Bucky. While he takes in no particular part of him and all of him at the same time.
He's fully hard and completely lost when Bucky settles back down and begins teasing his skin. Steve wishes those hands were his. Wishes that he was there to give Bucky what he wants, to suck bruises into his skin, and taste every inch of him. He can almost taste him on his tongue now, if he concentrates really hard, but there's not really enough blood for his brain and his cock at the same time, so he lets it go. Focuses on Bucky.
He's caught. Enraptured by the way Bucky arches his body up, by the way he wriggles until Steve is staring at his favorite plug. Nestled right between his cheeks, sitting perfect where Steves cock wants to be. Slowly, he exhales a deep breath, acutely aware of the fact that Sam is sleeping on the other side of the closet door. He's resisting the urge to lick the screen--though barely. He's holding it up with one hand, so close to his face he can't focus on anything except Bucky. His other hand is still resting just on top of his cock through his pants, slight pressure, but nothing compared to what he needs to get off.
Buckys filthy moan almost evokes one from him too, because fuck that is just too much. He watches intently as Bucky twists the plug and begins pulling it out. It feels like his heart is trying to hammer out of his chest as the plug slides free and Bucky makes a comment about how loose he is. Steve bets he could just slip right into him too. His cock gives another throb that says it wouldn't object in the least. Fuck, if he keeps watching this, he might just make a mess in his pants. He's completely breathless by the time Bucky is done fucking himself with his fingers, Buckys charming Brooklyn drawl crooning in his ear. He's breathing too hard and the hand that's resting on his pants moves, almost of it's own accord. Sliding slowly down and then back up and he can feel the pre-come soaking into his underwear. He's so hard it hurts.
He feels very much like a horny teenager.
As Bucky coats the vibrator, he shifts a little, leaning against the safe more than Sams dufflebag, unable to take his eyes off the screen of his tablet while his free hand carefully undoes the button on his tac pants and slides into his pants, fingers wrapping around his cock at the base and squeezing lightly. The pressure is just barely enough to keep him from coming while Bucky examines the dildo and makes a comment about how wrong they got Captain Americas cock. If he wasn't ready to lose his mind before, he's literally on the edge of tipping over to insanity by now.
It feels like the video moves in slow motion. It's the sound of that familiar, endearing nickname half moaned from Buckys lips that makes reality snap back into focus. He has to squeeze the base of his cock again to keep from coming on the spot when Buckys hips thrust helplessly, his mouth falling open as a rush of air leaves his lungs. His brunette fucks his fist in the video and his heart skips a beat, because he can't wait. If this mission doesn't end soon, he might end it for them. He knows how important taking Hydra down is, but at this moment, nothing is more important than the other half of his soul back in New York, sleeping and waking up alone.
He fights back a whimper--and isn't entirely certain that he succeeds--as the video continues and he watches Bucky thrust and shift and moan and whimper, slurred words barely sinking into his consciousness. It's beautiful. It's sinful.
He's helpless to keep a groan from slipping through his parted, dry lips, as Bucky slurs about bending over the kitchen counter, and if he closes his eyes he can imagine that, but he can't. He's a man possessed, hypnotized by the way Bucky moves. The thrust of his hips, the color of his lips, the way his whole body gives into the experience of pleasure, it's fascinating. Not only as Buckys lover, but as an artist. It literally makes his fingers twitch with the itch to draw, to capture these moments on paper. Paper only for him.
He's greedy. He knows he is. Bucky is his own person, can do and think and say and feel however he wants, however he sees fit, but he still chooses to give this part of himself to Steve. There are billions of people in this new world they live in, but Bucky still chooses Steve Rogers. Just like he says...til the end of the line.
His right hand is still around the base of his cock, attempting to alleviate some of the ache that's building in his abdomen, slowly sliding up and down his length, but it's not enough. It won't be enough until he's back home, with Bucky bent over the kitchen counter--just like he promised--and he's buried deep inside of him, completely and totally lost in the sensation that he can't tell where Bucky ends and he begins. Two halves of one person, coming together to be whole. This ache in his groin, the insistent need is only made worse when Bucky comes and then proceeds to lick his fingers clean.
He's just getting to the part where Bucky is telling him to be safe, and he's making fun of himself the way Steve does when they get on skype calls when the closet door slides open, and he comes face to knees with Sam Wilson.
"Steve, what are you--OH COM'ON MAN." and he practically stumbles backwards, away from the closet, which is still half open.
For a moment, Steve is completely dumbfounded. He's been caught, literally with his hand in his pants and Buckys video pulled up on his tablet. Not that Sam can see the video--which just seems to make it worse for him--but oh GOD.
He hadn't been planning on masturbating, and he technically wasn't (since his actual goal was just to get himself under control without coming) but he still blushes like he was. Color floods his face, all the way down into his chest and he twitches his hand away from his groin, like it was something he just thought to do.
"Sam! It isn't what you--I wasn't--It was!" he probably looks distressed, but his friend just shakes his head and holds his hand out.
"The video from Bucky, huh?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and pointedly not looking down at the front of Steves pants, which are open, but thankfully still up. Sam can't see anything except where the material bunches and it's pretty obvious that he's desperately hard under the fireproof tactical pants.
All Steve can do is nod his head, tablet still held in his other hand.
"You're buying me a new duffle bag when we get back to the states." he says, eyes glinting with what Steve can only assume is faint amusement and non-judgmental loathing. "I don't care if you ARE Captain America, I'm not letting you put your dick all over my stuff and get away with it." he laughs and then reaches out to close the closet door all the way, effectively leaving Steve in the darkness again, feigning privacy. "And Natasha owes me fifty bucks too!" he says, and Steve can hear the sounds of footsteps as Sam leaves the room.
He's completely mortified as he does up the front of his pants--still hard and wanting, but no longer in need of something to alleviate that ache in his groin. It isn't gone, by any means, but there's no way in hell he's going to masturbate now that his friend has some idea of what he might--or might not have--been doing in the closet. Before he exits the closet though, he does take one moment to look at how Bucky signed the e-mail, another mortified sigh leaving him.
In trouble...oh no, Bucky's the one whose gonna be in trouble when he gets home...