Steve hates nerds.
Okay, not all nerds and he certainly doesn’t actually hate them; but he does hate James Barnes. A lot. Like, so much that he can’t even fathom being stuck in the same room with the smug bastard acting like he knows more than Steve just because he’s in AP everything or calling Steve rude names for being a jock. The little jackass is literally a few inches shorter than the blond and at least seventy pounds lighter and missing an arm yet Steve is actually intimidated when the nerd starts going on a rant about how stupid Steve is compared to him.
It’s a known fact that they can’t stand each other, even teachers seem to catch on and encourage the two to be partners for almost any project them have going on - some fruitless idea that they will suddenly get along is always crushed when it ends with James pushing all of Steve’s stuff off his desk and telling him to fuck off while he finishes. Then they get an A and that’s the end of that until another teacher thinks that they would make a great pair for another group project.
However, Steve does admit at times that he deserves the anger that James unloads on him every chance; ever since the football team heard word that an amputee nerd was annoying Steve, the team stopped at nothing to make the brunette’s life a living hell during school. Insults, shoving, pranks, hate mail, everything. It actually surprises Steve that Rumlow would even go that far to pester James, seeing how he and Steve have had all but two conversations in parties that usually started with asking where the booze were and then ending when they went to get said booze. At first, he thought that James was strong enough to withstand the bullying enough that he didn’t really try to do anything to stop it.
But it changed the day James tripped in the hallway between classes, his glasses falling off his face and onto the polished floor amongst his broken binder and papers scattered everywhere. Rumlow and his friends were there at the moment, laughing their asses off with gusto before stepping onto the lens hard enough to shatter the frame completely under his foot before walking away. Steve was about to shrug and dismiss the whole thing, completely convincing himself that Rumlow didn’t notice the glasses until he heard sniffling coming from his right.
Sure enough, there was James sitting on his calves as he held the broken frame in his only hand and his small shoulders shaking from the force of holding it all in. He didn’t get up when the bell rang either, didn’t even seem to acknowledge anything outside of his broken glasses that were hanging a tad limply from his fingers. A teacher had tried to make him get up, but only when Natasha Romanoff strode in with a cigarette behind her ear and boots that thumped heavily against the colorful standard tiles were they able to get him to get up before the bell rang signalling the end of class. She whispered something to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him up, leading him away while Clint Barton picked up the binder and backpack behind him.
Since then Steve had a sort of mutual understanding with James’ outbursts. He didn’t like it nor did he like him, but he understood why James would look at him in disgust whenever he walked into class wearing his letterman, pushing the middle part of his new glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose with a very inappropriate finger.
Steve sighs into the frigid air of October in a puff, hands stuffed as far into his letterman pockets as physically possible while he hunched his shoulders up to his ears. His cheeks are numb from the cold, no doubt probably flushed scarlet in this weather as he walks the sidewalk briskly. He regrets not bringing gloves along with him when he agreed to drop off his mother’s homemade cookies to the women’s shelter, but in his defense he didn’t know it was going to start pouring the moment he stepped foot outside to walk back home. The street is barren now, the only souls walking in the hazy streetlights are him and a bunch of sex workers standing under the cloth hood of a cafe, cherry lips wrapped around cigarettes as they spoke to each other in even tones. Some looked to be in their forties and experienced, makeup caked on by the pounds in heavy blush and heavy looking fake eyelashes to match - others looked to be college students trying to pay off their loans with a quick buck or two from a sloppy blowjob.
He passes a group standing near an ally, stopping when Vivian calls out his name enthusiastically. The rest of the girls turn around and waves at him, smiles stretching along their faces when he jogs under to share the hood with them while Vivian rummages through her hand purse. “I’m glad I ran into you!” she says into her bag, pushing everything aside to get whatever it is she’s looking for. “Your mother stopped by yesterday and said you got accepted on a sports scholarship!”
Steve laughs nervously, running a numb hand through his dripping hair. “Yeah, I did,” he replies in kind, smiling at Kit who is trying to get her lighter to work against the blowing wind. It sparks in the foggy darkness, lighting up her face with a beautiful light that Steve wishes he can take a picture of to draw later. Vivian raises her head high enough to smile at him, a red curl falling from under her blonde wig as she pulls out a piece of paper towards him.
“There we go,” she smiles, watching Steve unfold it with excitement.
In a large font it declares that he’s holding the deed to a star, telling him that the coordinated star listed is officially named ‘Steven Grant Rogers’ with Vivian’s handwriting at the bottom corner wishing him luck in college and signed with a smiley face. “Now I know it isn’t anything important, but I want you to know that you’re a star and I will be watching the sky every night, mister, so don’t you forget to say hi to me!” she giggles, coral lipstick leaving a mark on his cheek when she kisses him.
“Vivian, this is … amazing, thank you,” he breathes it into the open air and watches the fog drift with the breeze, folding the paper back up and fitting it into his pocket. “I’m going to frame it in my dorm, to remind me not to forget the little people,”
Vivian rolls her eyes with a smirk, hitting his arm playfully while Kit shakes her head and scans the street for any clients. There’s practically no one there, all probably at home lounging in the warm of their homes while Kit and Vivian stand out in the cold trying to earn a few extra bucks so they can move to San Francesco together like they dream to. Kit takes the stick from between her lips and blows into the air away from Steve, squinting her eyes dangerously at the pavement. “There’s nothing tonight. Nada, zilch, absolute ghost town out here,” she sighs out with a grimace, taking another drag. “Only one getting any work tonight is that twink. I tell ya, Viv, men disgust me,”
“Kit, be nice. At least be glad he’s getting work,”
“He?” Steve pipes up, crossing his arms across his chest to conceal some warmth. “I thought only women worked this neighborhood,”
Ever since his mother has been involved with the shelter, Steve has grown close to the women working the streets in their high heels and flawless strut towards cars that would pull up next to the curb. In a suburban neighborhood with white picket fences and emerald lawns, mainly the girls get work from businessmen who want a little something on the side besides their wife - nervously shoving handfuls of bills into the woman's’ hands when their phone starts ringing with another woman’s caller ID displayed. It’s a pretty Christian neighborhood too, so to hear that a male worker has been on the streets and actually getting work is pretty shocking.
Vivian nods exaggeratedly, hoop earrings swaying with the movement. “New kid, just started working this corner a few weeks ago but word is he’s been in the game for a little over a year now. Very young, too,” she pauses for a moment, eyes downcast before looking back at Steve. “He’s real popular with the older men,”
Kit scoffs, shaking her head once more. “Disgusting. He’s a fucking kid, total jailbait!”
There’s a sound coming from the alley near them, a man emerging from the darkness with a shaky demeanor as he looks at Kit and Vivian, licking his lips before dabbing a handkerchief over his sweaty forehead. He eyes Steve up at down as he licks his lips hungrily, walking towards the them with the occasional glance over his shoulder. Vivian pulls Steve’s bicep to put him behind herself and Kit.
The man takes a step back. “S-sorry,” he grunts out, “I’m looking f-for Winter? M-my colleague told me I can f-find him here,”
Kit takes a long drag of her cigarette with dark eyes trained on the piggish man. She purses her maroon lips together before she puts out the bud against the brick wall, stuffing her hands into her denim jacket. “Winter ain’t here at the moment,” she flips her head a little to get her bangs out from her eyes, “If you wanna leave a message, I’ll be glad to give it to him when Hell freezes over, ‘kay?”
The man glares her down but Kit isn’t phased, merely shrugging towards him with wide eyes daring him to speak back to her. Vivian stands behind her with her arms crossed over her scarlet coat, legs separated in a dominant stance. The girls around here protect their own because they know no one else will - Steve has seen the full rage of sex workers when a client gets handsy, witnessed first-hand when Lana pulled out a gun and gave a warning shot towards a pervert’s hand when he tried to grab one of the other girls. Though, Steve does find it a tad interesting that they are even more protective over this ‘Winter’ when he’s only walked the block for a few weeks.
Pervert clears his throat, adjusting his suit jacket. “I am prepared to pay a-a generous amount to each of you l-ladies if you can direct me to Win-”
“No need, cowboy,”
Steve turns around and finds him face to face with Winter. He swallows thickly through the sudden dryness in his throat. Because before him is James, yet not-James.
The James that he knows from school usually came to class dressed from head to toe with clothing - usually a collared shirt under a knitted sweater vest and khakis. Hair unstyled in an array of chocolate curls that sat upon his head. His glasses round and thin-framed, usually slipping off his nose whenever he looked down to write notes down. He walked the halls with his head ducked, dodging masses of students while shouldering his large backpack on his hunched in shoulders that no doubt pressed against his ear. The James that never spoke unless spoken to.
Now, however, in the hard pounding of the rain around, Steve could seen why he had a large clientele. Long gone are the sweater vests and khakis, replaced with torn up onyx skinny jeans that hugged his legs enough to show off the magnificent figure form of his hips and a royal blue thin v-neck that dipped all the way to the bottom of his chest. His sneakers are replaced with unlaced beat-up combat boots that thumped against the cement with every confident stride he took closer to them. His hair is parted on his left side, combed straight with gel except for two stray strands that fall limply against his forehead. Glasses are gone, substituted by smudged eyeliner.
However, the moment that he gets close enough for Steve to get a better look does he realize that James is completely soaked and has obviously had a rough night - if the blossoming bruises on his neck and wrists are anything to go by. One side of his cheek is littered in pinprick cuts that could easily have been from gravel or the rough surface of a wall. The brunette comes to a halt next to the stranger, tongue licking at the split wound on his bottom lip with a wince.
“I’m right here, big boy, but I’m done for the night,” he muses out in a thick and low voice, raising his chin with a hooded gaze. “You’ll have to come out and play tomorrow, hun,”
The pervert’s jaw jumps a little, stuffing a hand into his coat to take out a thick roll of dollars held together with a rubber band. James exhales loudly from his nose, eyeing the wad with contemplation. “Tomorrow my wife gets back from her parents, this is the only night I can do this,” he pleads, dabbing the sweat from his brow again, “My co-worker said you are willing to spread your legs for anything if you are offered money, so here. Take it, and let me fuck you,”
James closes his eyes for a moment, thick eyelashes fluttering against his pale cheeks as his body lets out a small tremor when a slight breeze picks up once more. Steve prepares himself to witness James Barnes to go off on a pathetic mess like this man, waiting for him to do to the man with words that that Steve is dreaming to do to him with his fists. The younger man stands still for a moment, no doubt thinking of all the insults he can conceive on the sp-
The smaller male takes the wad, half-lidded eyes staring down at it in his hands silently while the man already starts to touch James’ wrist greedily. “I guess one more couldn’t hurt ….”
It goes red across Steve’s vision for a moment, just a fuzzy edged shot of pure aggression and rage engulfing his body like flame to gasoline. One moment he’s standing in front of James, and the next he’s staring down at the man who groans and presses his hands against the pooling blood accumulating as it trickles down his wrist. Vivian gasps loudly, almost muffled by Kit’s own “Whoa!” that mixes in with James’ yelp of surprise as he steps around the men on the floor. Steve takes the wad out of James’ hand gently, ignoring how his skin tingles when his fingertips brushed against James’, and holds it up to eye level. “He’s keeping this,” he mutters, handing it back to James.
The teen stares up at him with completely confusion, pouting lips gaping slightly while Steve admires the slight crooked bottom teeth. James licks his lips and ducks his head. His fist containing the roll pushes itself against Steve’s toned abdomen with a shy look from under James’ eyelashes. His palm opens as he offers the money to Steve.
The blond shakes his head, sighing loudly as he moves his hands to firmly grasp James’. “If you want to pay me back, do it by just going home,” Steve says, ignoring Kit’s laughing as she nudges the guy with her stiletto heel. James chews his bottom lip, shaking his head.
“Can’t,” James flicks his head as water flies off, “My sister’s home, ‘m not allowed inside when she’s staying over,”
Steve stays silence, chewing on his thoughts for a moment before he sighs again. “Do you have nowhere else to stay?”
“I was gonna stay in a motel ….”
“No, you’re not,” Steve growls out firmly, shedding his letterman quickly and wrapping it around James’ shaking shoulders. The smaller teen is trapped between Steve and the jacket, almost pressed up with his own chest on Steve’s much bolder one, eyes watching Steve from under thick eyelashes. “I’m taking you to my house,”
“Steve …” Vivian starts, staring at James and Steve like trying to communicate something that just isn’t getting out. Steve ignored her, throwing a smile over his shoulder at Kit and her as he starts walking quickly in the chilled rain with James following suit like a puppy.
They stay quiet for the rest of the way into the suburban neighborhood, Steve’s hands holding both of James’ shoulders as he glances around. No one is out in this weather, no doubt cuddling up at home in their warmth to enjoy each other’s company and will hopefully disregard the two teens walking down the street towards the Rogers’ household. It’s common knowledge that his Ma works with the sex workers on the weeknights, usually standing out with them and making sure to alert any officers of any commotion going on. The PTA moms don’t seem to like it though, usually telling their children to not get candy from their house on Halloween for fear that it has cocaine or some bullshit like that.
Unlocking the door, Steve first lets James inside before himself to soak in the warmth that generates from inside the living room. The teen moans softly under his breath, pulling Steve’s wet jacket better against himself to ward off more of the shivers rolling off his body. He sheds the jacket and hangs it up on the coat hanger, moving towards the couch like he owns the place just before he’s stripping out of the v-neck and throws it at Steve.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Steve asks, marching over to James with the shirt in hand. The nerd simply stares at him for a good second before his fingers snake in the belt loops of his pants, pulling Steve’s crotch close against his own and Oh God is that not heavenly. Even though he’s completely drenched and covered in cuts and bruises, Steve almost moans when he feels James moving his hips gently against his while his teeth worry on Steve’s ear lobe. James chuckles deep in his throat, nuzzling his cheek against Steve’s jaw until his lips were kissing the shell of his ear.
“How about a freebie, hm?” he whispers, letting out a small moan, “I’ll do you just nice, honey, all you gotta do is sit back and watch. It’ll be our dirty little secret,”
Steve shakes his head to clear his thoughts of doing absolutely filthy things to James that almost all involve dominating over him in bed. He needs him. The blond steps back, jeans still held by James’ finger as he leans over near the couch to take the fleece blanket and wrap it around the sex worker until the only thing visable are his blow pupils.
He sits on the cushions heavily, looking up at James’ confused gaze before he starts shaking all over again. It’s quiet for a moment, the only sound being the rain pounding against the windows and roof. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, James sniffs and lets out a hard gasp. “Don’t,” he pleads in a shaky voice, getting onto his knees in front of Steve and pressing his forehead on Steve’s knee. “Please, just tell me what you want. Just … just don’t tell the school what I do,”
“Why would I do that?”
James is silent again, hiding his face within Steve’s knee. His lips brush on the jeans when he says, “... because you hate me. Why else would you bring me home with you? Tell me what you want, it’s free, I promise,”
“I don’t want anything, James,”
“Don’t call me that!” the smaller teen hisses, hand flying to Steve’s calf to give it a bruising squeeze. He’s weaker than Steve, but he manages to arouse a slight flinch from the football captain when he does. “You see? All my friends call me Bucky, and you call me James so obviously you aren’t one of them, are you?!,”
“Only because you’re the stubborn bastard that is always mean to me!”
“It’s because of your friends that I had to work a whole week to buy new glasses! It set my family behind on their bills!” James huffs, turning around so that his back is towards Steve while he sits on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest. The awkward silence returns, filling Steve’s chest with lead before he finally gets up off the couch and nudges the teen forward. James gets the idea, shuffling out of the way for Steve to sit next to him.
James looks at him with icy eyes, and Steve’s mouth goes dry as almost all his blood rushes down only to be intercepted by the constant thought of football.
“Look,” Steve starts, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Those guys aren’t even my friends, they just like to use any excuse to bully anyone smaller than them. And I’m letting you stay the night here because no matter how incredibly annoying you are, I actually like you …. a-as a friend! I don’t let my friends sit out in the rain waiting for some creepy old guy to have sex with you,”
“.... I didn’t want to be a prostitute ….”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,”
“.... I say ‘no’ at least twice a night,”
“It’s okay now,” Steve smiles, patting his lap until the brunette slumps over in exhaustion to rest his head against Steve’s thigh. James curls his entire body into a ball, flinching a little when Steve’s hand comes to rub the knobs of his skinny back but otherwise mute as they enjoy the peaceful warmth and safety that Steve’s house emits.
James’ body tremors slightly as he buries his face in Steve’s thigh, sniffing with his hand gripping the denim of the blond’s pants. They sit comfortably for a while, just trying to loose the tension that built up since Steve socked the jackass. The only sounds in the house now were their soft breathing, and the occasional sniffing from James. Steve started to doze lightly when a key scraped in the lock of the front door, sending James bolting up immediately with his eyes wide as dinner plates. The blanket flies off his shoulders when he stands still just as the door pushes open with Ma walking in and trying to close her umbrella outside.
“Woo! It’s raining cats and dogs out there, ain’t it?” she giggles in her thick Irish accent, fitting the umbrella in the bin next to the door and taking off her thick coat that hides her warm striped sweater that Steve’s grandmother sent her from Ireland. “Almost slipped and messed up my wrist! If I knew it would be raining this much I would’ve t-”
She stops in her tracks, staring at James’ shirtless form as Steve raises from the floor with the blanket still in his hands to wrap around James’ shoulders once more. Steve shrugs to his mother, a guilty innocent smile on his face as he steps back to fit his hands in the back pockets of his pants. “Ma, this is James,” he starts, “He’s a-”
“Prostitute,” James finishes, an air of defense rolling off of him as he stares down Steve’s mother. The blond woman opens her mouth to say something, but closes it as her left thumb starts fumbling with her wedding ring.
“He’s one of Vivian and Kit’s friends,” Steve adds, watching relief flood over her senses as her hand goes up to her chest as a clear sign that the worst possible scenario in her head isn’t true.
“Oh! Well, I hope you did tell those lasses you took him home! You know how protective Vivian gets,” she muses, turning her heel towards the kitchen with a rather amused smile. “I’ll start getting snacks for you boys …. Steven, why don’t you show James to the bathroom, hm?”
Steve nods, waving at her to leave once her excessive smiling gets a little awkward for both teens and laughing when she snaps out of it and hurries into the kitchen. He tugs James along up the staircase, keeping his pace slow when he just realizes James’ pinched expression with every step. A wave of protectiveness blossoms in Steve’s chest when his vision flashes white at the thought of all the men using James without a care that he is actually human and not some sex toy.
Once in the bathroom, Steve sits James down on the lip of the bathtub as he starts rummaging through the medicine cabinet for the rubbing alcohol and the first aid kit in one of the drawers by the sink. He sets them down on the closed lid of the toilet, moving out with a “I’ll be back, hang on,” as he crosses over the second floor to his room to find something for James to wear. All his clothes might be too big, considering that James looks starved by three meals, but he still fishes out a pair of sweats and another sweater Steve’s grandma had knitted and sent to them for Christmas.
He gets back to find James in the same position he left him in, hunched over himself as his plump lips start to get back their crimson hue from where it had turned blue in the cold. The captain sits on the toilet with the clothes on his lap, blush already starting to creep up his cheeks. “I, um, got you something to wear,” he squeaks out, setting it next to him as James closes his eyes. Either out of pure exhaustion or from not being able to actually compute the situation like Steve, he doesn’t know. What he does know is that James looks really freaking handsome up close now that he’s still enough to actually get a good look at his features instead of snarling most the time.
“Thanks,” James whispers, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. Steve grabs the supplies and starts to put the rubbing alcohol on the cotton ball in his hand. He then rests one hand on James’ neck - clenching his teeth to suppress a moan when James leans into it to bare the other side out to Steve, God Almighty - and dabs the cotton onto the crescent moon cuts along the column of the brunette's elegant neck. The man before him flinches when Steve nurses a particularly nasty bite, causing Steve to also flinch.
“Sorry,” he mutters, continuing to work on the other cuts. “Shit, James, what did they do to you?”
He shrugs. “It’s not all that bad,” he says, “I get paid good for the marks, so …”
“You know, Vivian makes them pay extra for every mark they leave on her body. Johns don’t like it when someone is marked up like this,”
James is quiet for a moment. “Shit, that’s a good idea,”
“If you don’t mind me asking … why do you do it?” Steve asks in a leveled tone, grip moving to hold James’ elbow to start tending to the other imprints on his wrists.
“I …” James starts, swallowing against before opening his eyes. “My dad went out to get milk five years ago and never came back. Since then, my mom has been supporting my sister and I. It was okay for a while, for the most part we were happy until my mom got disbarred last year for getting involved with one of the judges,” he sucks in a sharp gasp when Steve accidentally turns his wrist too harshly to review for more cuts, “We were about to be sleeping on the streets until I saw this documentary about prostitution and … and I thought that if I can at least support us until my mom finds a new job, we won’t have to be on the streets. It seems really easy. Just stand around until someone pays you for sex and then you repeat …”
“It’s not like that, huh?”
James laughs bitterly. “No, I ended up crying when the guy started undressing me. It got real then, that I was actually selling myself. You imagine your first time to be at least intimate, not squeezing your eyes closed until it was over. But then time passed and it got easier for me to just … strip, fuck, and get payed. I got payed about $600 a night. Then my grades started to suffer and with it, I had to cut my hours to study. I want to be someone one day, someone my sister can look up to,”
“Then what happened?”
James ducks his head, “My mom … she started getting into gambling and would gamble our money away. Got to the point that I had to stay with a man for three months when she bet me and lost. The last straw was when my sister got food poisoning from some food my mom won in a poker game. It had rat poison in it, Steve, rat poison. What kind of mother doesn’t check food before giving it to their kid? Anyway, that night I just … lost it. We didn’t have insurance or money for a hospital bill, and I got scared. So … I let five men fuck me for three thousand a pop. I hated every second of it, thank God I was high or el-”
“You take drugs?” Steve didn’t mean it to come out that harsh, but he’s seen too many of the ladies down at the shelter fall into misery after getting hooked on anything. He’s seen women downright steal his mother’s jewelry off of her to pawn for money, one even tried to go for her wedding ring. It’s the only thing that his mother has of his father other than Steve himself.
The sex worker freezes, eyes staring at Steve with a mixed concoction of fear and determination. Finally, he reaches into his pocket to pull out a plastic bag of what looks like a colorful array of candy,but on closer inspection, Steve realizes that it’s ecstasy. “I’m not hooked on the stuff, I promise,” James pleads, holding it out for Steve. “I just take some before fucking, I swear. If I don’t, I can’t, Steve, I just can’t do it,”
Steve grabs the bag out of James’ hand, standing up from the lid of the toilet and dumping the tablets inside. The thought of James laying on his back on a filthy motel bed, pinned down by some sack of shit abusing his body for his own enjoyment while James stares up at the ceiling not even knowing what’s happening as he rides his high. He flushes them down and gets down to his knees, wrapping his arms around James’ middle and squeezing the body close to his own with his ear against the teen’s stomach.
He hears James gasp, one arm going to Steve’s hair to steady himself. “Bucky, you’re welcome to stay here whenever you want. Don’t you dare ever take drugs again, we’ll figure something out. We can find you a better job, one that doesn’t have you in constant danger. Just please promise me you’ll never take those again,”
James crumples.
Steve can’t see him from where his face is pressed against James’ - Bucky’s - abdomen, but he can feel his one arm wound around his neck to hold Steve impossibly closer, wet sobs pouring out of him and into the taller teen’s hair. The body in his arms shakes with the force of his crying, even more so when Steve turns his head so he can plant small reassuring kisses on Bucky’s stomach and ribs. He mutters soft words of encouragement to let it all out, to not be ashamed to let it out. Let out all the pain Bucky has been through and stuffed down for the sake of being strong when everyone around him broke down. He tells him promises of staying by his side and helping him when he needs it, chuckling to himself when he makes a joke in reference to when Steve annoyed Bucky so much during class that he actually almost stabbed his arm with a pencil.
By the time Bucky was finished, the whole house smelt of his mother’s cookies. Probably got bored waiting for them to come downstairs and in an effort to give them their space, starting baking cookies with whatever she could find. It seemed to be an O'Brien women tradition of doing so.
Steve manages to wrestle Bucky into the sweater once his body is covered in band-aids, pressing a caring kiss to his forehead once it was released from under the sweater while blush started to cover every surface of the brunette's face. He was right, his clothes are too big on Bucky to the point that he had to pull the drawstrings all the way to tighten the sweats and the cuffs of the sweater covered Bucky’s entire hands. “Aww, look how adorable you look,”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Look at you! You’re like a little kid!”
“You’re luck I don’t have my glasses on or else you’d be sorry,”
“Sure, sure, whatever you say, big boy!” Steve laughs, walking into his roof with a gentle wave towards Bucky. The other teen grumbles behind him, muttering to himself while Steve tries to find another pair of sweats for himself. He’s just about to undo his button when he feels Bucky’s hand snake up towards his pecks from behind, a wet and hot mouth moving along Steve’s shoulder as he moans in the back of this throat. Bucky’s lips are up near Steve’s ear again, fingers moving down abs and towards the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“Big boy, hm? Let’s see which one is the real big boy,” Bucky chuckles, his fingers just barely reaching into Steve’s boxers as they move around the band teasingly. Steve groans again, uttering a string of curses when Bucky’s hand moves past his aching bulge and towards his right thigh to knead the flesh there. “This is what you get for being mean to me,”
A sharp pain erupts on Steve’s ear as the body on his back disappears along with the hand. He yelps in surprise more than pain, turning around to face Bucky laughing on his bed. “Did you just bite me?!”
“I don’t like being called a little kid,” Bucky retorts, smirk on his lips as he turns around and plops down on Steve’s bed with a huff. “Oh fuck, I love your bed,”
He’s sprawled out on his stomach on top of Steve’s comforter, his head a mass of dark curls on the pristine white pillowcase as the stump of his left arm moves to take up more space on the bed. Steve laughs at the moan that erects from Bucky, sitting down on the edge of his bed as Bucky looks at him through thick locks of chocolate. “God I’m so tired,” Bucky muses into the pillow, eyes dropping with every moment that he’s forcing himself awake. Steve leans back down so that his head is pillowed by Bucky’s back, reaching his hand out to grasp the brunette's in his interlocking fingers.
Rubbing his thumb on the soft flesh of his backhand, Steve watches with a smile as Bucky’s features smooth out as his whole body gives into his exhaustion. His shoulders sag first, going limp and soft before his mouth parts a little to allow air to pass between plump lips. Then, his eyes are slits staring at Steve as if refusing to fall asleep with Steve’s say so. The blonde nods and the teen before him finally drifts off, snoring a little in moments.
Steve’s Ma comes into the archway slowly, peering inside to find Steve laying on Bucky’s back horizontally and sets the plate of cookies on his nightstand. Steve smiles up at her, trying to communicate a thank you that she receives by smiling back before tiptoeing out of the room. The captain moves around the bed a little, letting go of Bucky’s hand as he situates himself next to him. He shushes the whine of protest from Bucky by pressing a kiss to his nape, wrapping his arms under Bucky’s armpits to pull him half way onto Steve’s chest.
The teen rests his head over Steve’s heart, a sprinkle of drool falling onto Steve’s bare chest but he ignores it in favor of running his fingers through Bucky’s hair for the rest of the night, content to know that Bucky is safe in his arms for now.
He’s kinda falling in love with him.