7659 words
The Grand Canyon was only a few short hours away, even going a snail’s pace of only fifty-five miles an hour and stopping twice to let Punk out and stretch their legs. They were much closer than Steve thought, and he was almost surprised to pull into the Grand Canyon visitor center RV parking lot at the south rim. “We’ll see the north rim after we go to Vegas, which I figure we should visit while we’re over here,” Bucky had mentioned a while ago when Steve had been looking at the Grand Canyon website online.
Bucky was brimming with excitement that was getting Punk all riled up, yapping happily and wagging his tail as Bucky let out a truly adorable squeal. Steve stood up from his seat, intending to go get Punk’s leash and maybe the Birkin, but was stopped by Bucky, who grabbed his hips.
“Buck, what –” he managed to get out before Bucky started to undo his belt and jeans. Despite his shock, Steve swiftly grew hard. He was bent over, since the other bed was above the driver’s seat, his back hunched and uncomfortable. He didn’t dare say anything, though, for fear of Bucky stopping.
He gritted his teeth and tried not to blow his load in the first second when Bucky got his mouth on him. Then he heard a child shrieking outside and remembered that people could probably see them, imbuing him with a sense of mild panic.
“B-Bucky, maybe we should do this… in the bed, w-where people won't see us,” he gasped out. The only reply Bucky gave was sinking his mouth and throat all the way down on Steve’s cock to bury his nose in Steve’s pubic hair, making him let out a shout and clench his fist around one of the buns on Bucky’s head.
His other hand grabbed the back of his headrest as he tried to withstand the blissful assault of Bucky’s mouth, gasping and moaning as Bucky powerfully sucked him off.
It was possibly the worst position to ever be given a blowjob, which was probably the most spontaneous and surprising one ever given, for that matter, but it was Bucky, and Steve almost sobbed when he released into Bucky’s mouth, helpless not to under the pleasure. The whole thing lasted maybe a minute, if that.
He was way too oversensitive to tolerate Bucky’s downright ferocious sucks, and whined as he tried to pull Bucky off. “Mercy, mercy, please,” he cried out, not above begging.
Bucky finally relented and pulled off with a wet pop that made heat rise to Steve’s face.
When he was finally able to stand up straight and collect himself, he turned around to face Bucky, who was licking his fingers, his dress pulled up to reveal his spent cock and fishnets.
Steve gaped at him, feeling much dumber than usual due to the blowjob.
Bucky hopped up after he finished cleaning his fingers and readjusted his dress, a wide, happy smile in place. “Come on, Stevie, let’s go!” he said, impatient, like Steve had been the one delaying them.
Steve walked out in a daze, feeling almost drunk. Bucky came out a few seconds later with Punk in the Birkin, his little head sticking out comically, his ears perking up as a child ran past, their family trailing behind.
Steve flushed as he realized he must look like he just got done receiving a blowjob. As they entered the visitor center, he felt self-conscious as all eyes fell to them. Bucky shifted closer to him under the attention and Steve didn’t hesitate to pull him into his side, puffing himself up like he did when he thought people might be nasty to Bucky.
They grabbed a couple of pamphlets, activity sheets, bus schedules, information about camping in their RV parks, information about hiking on the trails, and premade itinerary suggestions for families and couples alike, depending on how long they were staying. Bucky stuffed them all inside the Birkin and they made their way back outside, this time headed for the back where Mather Point was, five minutes away.
The view, which stretched out for miles, was utterly jaw dropping and they were both completely blown away.
Steve was wearing his sunglasses at Bucky’s suggestion, and he was glad he had: it was very bright out, being almost midday. He had his ever-present cap on, and it was still absolutely blinding. Bucky himself had his hand in a salute over his eyes, shielding the top of them from the sun.
“You’ll have to wear a hat, unless you wanna do that all day. Cover that hair up,” Steve told him teasingly, earning a look from an unamused Bucky.
“Don’t lie, I know you like my hair. Used it as a handhold when I gave you that blowjob, didn’t you?” he pointed out smugly when Steve opened his mouth to tease him again, making him quickly shut it, his cheeks heating up.
They stayed there for what was probably an hour, taking pictures and having fun posing. Steve took a picture of Punk balanced on Bucky’s head and Bucky took a picture of Steve holding him with a smile that was more of a grimace as Punk tried his best to attack him, several versions of his enraged face, his maw opened to bite, his teeth on furious display, murder in his eyes. Bucky had stealthily taken a video where he had directed Steve to turn this way and that and to smile more convincingly under the guise of taking pictures, Punk doing his level best to attack him all the while. It was hilarious. Bucky had even made it seem like Punk had taken a few selfies, doing his best to hold him up in his metal hand and take the pictures with the other, since Steve’s involvement ruined his cute expression with snarls. Luckily, Punk was small enough to rest his butt in the palm of his hand, balancing upright, while Bucky held his paw between his pinky and ring finger as he snapped a couple of photos with the Grand Canyon in the background.
He posted one of them to twitter, to Steve’s surprise, with the caption “world’s largest bathroom” and an emoji that turned out to be poo and not the chocolate ice cream Steve always thought it was.
“You didn’t know I had a twitter account?” Bucky wondered as they left to go eat lunch somewhere in the Grand Canyon Village.
Steve shook his head, feeling suitably chastised. What other things didn’t he know about Bucky?
“It’s nothing big, I only have a few thousand followers. I just post silly shit about whatever I happen to be thinking about and wanna put on the internet. JuicyBottomBitch is my handle if you wanna look me up. No spaces.”
Steve raised his eyebrow at the username, but obediently pulled his phone out to have a look for himself, needing to download the twitter app onto his new phone. He waited until they were seated at a table inside the dining room at the El Tovar hotel to go through Bucky’s… blog? Page? Wall? Whatever twitter had, Steve went through it. He was torn between laughing and getting onto Bucky for his completely ridiculous bio.
Juicy Bottom Bitch posts whatever he wants to. Juicy Bottom Bitch does not give a fuck. And neither does his SIG-Saur P226 SCT. He/him(specific) they/them(general)
He realized that the username started with the same letters as his name, and he knew it had to be on purpose, which was… encouraging. More than anything, Steve wanted Bucky to get his identity back, the identity that hydra had stolen from him. His recovery was important, and whatever steps Bucky wanted to take were fine with Steve, even questionable, promiscuous twitter names. The pronouns were helpful and finally answered Steve’s question from yesterday, and he carefully filed the information away to use later, supportive even in this. Especially in this, since Bucky’s identity included his gender identity as well.
Bucky’s pinned post read: cigarettes and grande granadas, just what you’d expect inside his new Gucci cartera. Then there was a string of emojis: a cigarette, a grenade, a purse, and one of nails being painted. There was also a picture, and Steve stared at it, feeling laughter bubble up. It was his pink Gucci purse, and inside was a pack of cigarettes, sandwiched between two huge grenades.
It had several thousand likes and a few hundred retweets.
Someone named Halsey had retweeted it, the tweet pointed out, and Steve followed suit, liking and retweeting it. And bookmarking it, too, for good measure.
He scrolled through the rest of Bucky’s page, liking and bookmarking all of his posts, and retweeting a few that he thought were really funny, not thinking much of it. He retweeted all pictures of Punk, since he was adorable when he wasn’t snarling at Steve. Especially when Bucky posed him so well and captioned him so angelically. For the umpteenth time, Steve wished he could pet him without getting bitten.
He was really proud of Bucky, who had earned his small group of nearly seven thousand followers by posting cute, witty things, whereas Steve had made his account, created a post saying that he was Steve Rogers and that this was his twitter account, and had immediately gained two million followers and a blue check mark next to his name overnight just because he was famous. That experience had put him off of the website and he hadn’t used it since, until now.
“Steve, what are you doing?” Bucky asked in exasperation as he put his fork down halfway through their meal.
Steve froze, and then quickly recovered, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Nothing, sorry. I shouldn’t be on my phone anyway.” He had always disliked how people nowadays did that on dates when they should be making conversation as they ate and paying attention to their date, because this was definitely a date.
Steve didn’t want to mess this one up like he had the other one.
“Uh huh,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, before pulling his own phone out, making Steve freeze again.
Steve had only lied because he was embarrassed to be caught retweeting and liking and bookmarking every single one of Bucky’s posts, and it didn’t occur to him that Bucky would be able to find out anyway (because he was dumb like that).
Nor did it occur to him why Bucky would respond the way he did.
“Steve,” he said slowly, and years of being in trouble to that particular tone of Bucky’s made Steve freeze again in a Pavlovian response, a guilty expression on his face. “Why did you like every single one of my posts? I'm willing to bet that you also bookmarked all of them, too. You retweeted… twelve of them. And you followed me. I am the only person you follow.”
“Because I love and adore and worship you?” he tried, his mind working in overdrive to figure out why Bucky was angry. Because he was angry. Very angry.
Behind his sunglasses, Bucky closed his eyes. “That’s what I feared. It makes it so much harder to be mad at you if you have such good intentions. If you were a dog, you’d be a golden retriever with precisely one braincell pinging around like a Pong ball inside your dumb skull. Cute, loveable, and so very stupid.”
Steve swallowed thickly, his heart pounding. “I can delete them if you don’t like them. And unbookmark and unlike everything. And unfollow you.” Even though he didn’t understand why, he’d do it in a heartbeat, not wanting Bucky angry at him.
“No, no. Don’t bother.” His voice was light and easygoing. It sent a prickle of fear down Steve’s spine, because there must be a really good reason for Bucky’s anger. “The damage has already been done. I now have hundreds of more retweets, thousands of more likes, and a hundred thousand more followers. You're up to five million now. All from retweeting my posts, fuck.”
Steve hesitantly licked his lips. “Isn’t… isn’t that good? You deserve more recognition; your posts are really funny and more people need to know how great you are.” His voice was earnest, his eyes full of sincerity as he looked at Bucky.
“God help me,” Bucky muttered under his breath as he did something to his phone. Steve resisted pulling out his own to see what. “There. I’ve just made my twitter private so I can take the time to encrypt my information better so someone doesn’t find out who I am and doxx me. Or track me down, god forbid.”
Steve felt even guiltier, awash with horror. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn’t mean to expose you. I'm sorry.”
“Steve,” Bucky began, his teeth gritted. “Just shut up and eat your goddamn gourmet food.”
He complied instantly, picking his fork back up and spearing some green beans, which he didn’t even taste, too consumed with guilt.
When the waitress came around again to check on them, Bucky ordered a margarita, citing that he needed a drink after having to put up with men, who were all stupid, dumb cunts. The waitress looked like she agreed, pressing her lips together as she glanced at Steve when she left. He flushed, mortified.
“Can I feed Punk a bite of my steak?” he asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be quiet.
The withering glare Bucky gave him was reminder enough and he slumped in guilt. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid, so thoughtless. What if someone found him? What if whatever members of hydra still existed found him? Whatever punishment Bucky wanted to give him wouldn’t be strong enough, in Steve's opinion.
He was subdued when the waitress brought Bucky his drink with a comment about hoping he enjoyed it. Steve hoped so too, and watched as Bucky snuck the flask from his Birkin and poured in a few more drops than he probably should have, his thumb over the opening.
As it was, Steve couldn’t enjoy his own food, despondent with his own shame and guilt. He had ruined their trip to the Grand Canyon.
“Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes,” Bucky told him after Steve paid a huge amount, all too happy to do so to make up for his truly moronic blunder. He stood up, wobbling away as Steve watched him, concerned.
With a weird thrill of anticipation, Steve stood up after exactly five minutes and walked into the bathroom.
Steve glanced at the man standing at a urinal, hesitant to call out to Bucky. He heard a soft throat clearing noise, audible only to his enhanced hearing. It came from the third stall and he hesitated outside it, unsure. What did Bucky even want? Were they going to argue about it more? Surely they weren’t going to… He couldn’t even think it.
Steve slipped in and closed the door behind him, grateful they were full doors that went all the way to the ground. To his amusement, Punk was hanging from the hook on the back of the door, securely zipped up in the Birkin so he wouldn’t bark or poke out.
“You goddamn dumbass,” Bucky snarled at him, and that was all the warning he received before Bucky was on him, kissing him harshly, fast and rough. Steve tried to withstand the onslaught, but it was no use. Bucky bit his lower lip harshly, making him wince. Then he sank to his knees, and Steve gaped down at him, his eyes wide as saucers.
Oh dear god. They were going to do that.
Bucky gave him a heated look as he unbuckled Steve's belt and undid his jeans before pulling his cock out. He kissed the shaft of it, unexpectedly sweet, and it made Steve swallow.
The sweet treatment didn’t last, and Bucky was back to sucking on the side of his shaft and nipping him until he was hard and leaking. Then Bucky swallowed him right down to the hilt, fast and merciless. Steve choked back a shout, and Bucky pulled completely away to do it again, and again. And again.
Steve felt like he was going to go crazy from the treatment, driven mad and coming unhinged.
He was the loose thread in the sweater that Bucky had plucked and then yanked on, and he was unravelling down into atoms.
He clamped his jaw shut, all he could do to stop the noises, both of his hands on Bucky’s head, messing up his hair as Bucky fucked his mouth down around Steve's dick, rough and brutal and violent.
Steve was coming down his throat without warning with a silent scream, nearly going blind and mashing Bucky’s face into his groin, unable to help it.
When he was done orgasming his brain out through his dick, he pulled Bucky off with a loud gasp, cum trailing from Steve's dick to his mouth.
Holy shit.
Bucky leaned back in to lick and suck him, slow and gentle. He smiled up at Steve as he nuzzled his cock, sweet and angelic. He helpfully tucked him back in and did up his pants, so nice and kind.
It gave Steve whiplash, the contrast.
Bucky stood up then, and guided Steve behind him so he could slip out, grabbing his Birkin as he left. “Wait five minutes to leave,” he told him, not that Steve really comprehended human speech just then, not after getting his brain sucked out through his dick.
It took him the whole five minutes to realize that Bucky hadn’t cum.
Bucky was waiting outside, smoking on a cigarette and licking his palm, his flask out, ignoring the looks of distaste a group of middle-aged white men and women were giving him. He looked freshly fucked, his mouth swollen and his hair all messed up, his cheeks flushed an attractive pink.
Steve went up to him cautiously, a little unsure where he stood with Bucky. Was he still mad at him?
Any doubts over how Bucky felt about him right now fled when Bucky looked up at him and scowled. “You goddamn motherfucker. You ruined my hair.” Then Bucky tugged him down into a kiss, passionate and forceful. Steve thought he may have made a squeaking noise.
He quickly hopped on the program, wrapping his hands around Bucky’s waist, letting out a low moan when he felt the bare skin of Bucky’s back. That dress was indecent. Bucky was indecent. They were both being indecent and it was a test of his willpower to break away, but he didn’t want anything to happen should they not, thinking of the group of homophobic people standing not far enough away. They could be on the moon and it still wouldn’t be far enough, as far as Steve was concerned.
“I think we should do this elsewhere,” he said to Bucky, who gave him a look.
“What makes you think we’re going to continue this?” His voice was a little too loud, since he was as drunk as he was.
Steve raised his eyebrow. He couldn’t resist teasing him. “I just bought you a thousand-dollar lunch, what makes you think we’re not?”
Bucky smiled slyly at him. “Is that what you are? My sugar daddy? You buy me stuff and I let you fuck me?”
Steve’s mouth went dry at the thought. He glanced around, his cheeks immediately flaming when he realized that probably everyone heard them, judging from the scandalized looks they were shooting them. The group of homophobes were outright glaring at them now, and Steve scowled at them.
He quickly led Bucky away, grateful for the cap, sunglasses, and beard, which hid how embarrassed he was. Bucky stumbled against him and Steve wrapped an arm around that bare back, his skin smooth and warm under Steve’s hand.
They had to make a detour to the RV so Bucky could fix his hair and move the buns down to his ears so he could wisely don a hat. While he was there, he took the time to make sure no one had hacked into his twitter account.
Steve was surprised when Bucky suggested that Steve should let him secure his own account, so people wouldn’t make the connection that he had found Bucky, the only person he would follow and retweet and like and bookmark all his twitter posts.
Even through his drunken haze, Bucky had gone still, staring at Steve’s phone, which he had a death grip on.
Steve craned his head to see why, wondering aloud, “what’s wrong?”
In his inbox, there was a message.
Interesting twitter activity. ;) I expect a call to catch up. :)
Natasha.
“That’s the black widow,” Bucky stated.
“Yeah.”
“Fucking great,” he snarled out, sounding like it was anything but. Steve winced.
“She’s only concerned about me,” he went to placate. “She doesn’t wanna hurt you or bring you in. She knows what you’ve been through. She went through the same thing.”
That captured Bucky’s attention. He looked up at him, revealing his face. His eyes were worried and scared, and Steve instantly melted, going to sit down on the bed.
“I promise you, Buck. She doesn’t want to hurt you. She trusts me to help you out. That’s what she said when I explained that I was going off to find you by myself, that I would be good for your recovery and that some time off would be good for me. I trust her with my life. I trust her with yours,” he added, to drive home the point. He stroked Bucky’s knee softly through his fishnets, trying to soothe him.
Bucky regarded him for a moment, his eyes still worried. Steve watched as they resolved into a look of mollification, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“My friend Sam might get in touch with me, if that’s okay?” he wondered, making sure Bucky approved.
He snorted at Steve. “I ain’t your fuckin’ puppeteer, Rogers. If people wanna message you, they can. Just don’t bring me up in conversation and we’ll be fine. And if they message me, they’re gonna have a problem.” His voice was slurred, soft and unworried.
Steve sagged in relief. “Deal,” he said with a smile. Bucky returned it lazily. His legs fell open, his dress shifting up, exposing himself, his soft cock and smooth balls. Steve’s mouth went dry and then watered.
“You wan’ a lil taste? We hafta leave soon, don’t wanna miss the two o’ clock tour at the Yavapai museum, but you have time for a taste. I figure it’s the least I can do, after you bought me that fancy schmancy lunch. Whaddaya say, Daddy? Wanna taste your baby?”
God help him, Steve groaned at the coquettish look in Bucky’s eye, at his soft, slurring words. He was going to kill Steve, who would surely suffer a heart attack any second now.
Still, he was a red-blooded man that wasn’t about to turn down an offer of sexual contact coming from the one he’d been in love with since he could remember. He laid down on his stomach, settling between Bucky’s legs, his own hanging off the bed.
Bucky looked like a Hollywood starlet above him, all dressed up in his disguise, his huge glasses and wide brim black hat that had a bow on the side. Only his cute little nose, sinful lips and razor-sharp jawline were visible. Steve loved him so much.
He tried to translate this to the blowjob, licking and sucking on him softly, nuzzling him gently, the taste of his skin addicting. When Bucky failed to get hard, Steve drew away, concerned.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he wondered, his brows pulling together. Bucky shook his head with a smile.
“No, you're perfect, Stevie doll. Sometimes I just don’t get hard when I want to. Not very often, just… sometimes. This time might be cause of the alcohol, since it definitely isn’t because of you. You should keep sucking me, though. I like it.” He reached up to stroke his hand through Steve’s hair, and it made him lean into the contact, his eyes fluttering.
Steve gave a mental shrug and easily complied with the suggestion, which he thought was a great one. It was a little odd to suck and lick, since there was no conclusion to reach, but it wasn’t off putting or anything like that, and Bucky’s cock fit perfectly in his mouth, like he was made for it. The purpose was to make Bucky feel good, regardless if he was hard or not. Steve moaned around his soft member and had the fantastic idea to work Bucky's balls in beside his cock. It was a tight fit and left Steve craving the fullness of his cock in his mouth while erect. He moaned again, yanking Bucky closer and suckling on him.
“Daddy,” he mewled out as he clenched his hand in Steve’s hair, and Steve would do anything to hear that noise again.
Unfortunately, it did not seem to be in the cards today, since Punk took this to mean that Bucky was being attacked by him, and lunged for Steve’s face, growling.
Steve jerked away, terrified of the three-pound animal.
Bucky stopped him from eviscerating Steve by grabbing his leash and pulling him into his chest, staring him in the eye, to the dog’s obvious embarrassment. “Why are you like this? Mood ruiner. I was getting my dick sucked and you ruined it. I should just take you to the edge of the canyon and chuck you over, silly little boy.” He belayed this threat by kissing him all over his face, to Punk’s delight. Steve watched in amusement, unsuccessfully fighting a smile.
“Alright, back into the Birkin bag you go, Punk,” Bucky said as he stood up, his dress falling back down to cover his groin. Jesus Christ, how was Steve going to suffer through the day, knowing that Bucky wasn’t wearing any underwear, taunting him?
It was mostly impossible, and Bucky being drunk and unable to achieve an erection only made it more fun and risk-free for him to brush up against Steve like one big sexy cat intent on driving him insane. It left him hard and having to hide his very noticeable erection more than once, flushed and embarrassed. They went to the Yavapai Point Geology Museum and saw all the exhibits there, which were real, real swell. Steve’s favorite was the topographically accurate miniature model of the canyon, and the huge window that let them see the panoramic view of the sheer vastness of the canyon. It was breathtaking, even if the noisy crowd cut into their reverie.
Bucky remedied any annoyance Steve might have felt by slipping in front of him and winding Steve’s arms around his front as he stood with his back to Steve’s chest, both of them staring out the window. “I love you,” Bucky breathed out as he wiggled his ass into Steve’s crotch.
Steve huffed with sexual frustration. “You sure do act like it.”
“I'm comforting you. I can stop if you don’t appreciate my efforts,” he said with a haughty sniff.
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Steve replied, a bit too quickly. And for good reason: he was starting to become hard. Bucky no doubt felt this, as his voice was full of smugness when he responded.
“If you're sure.”
Damn him.
“I'm sure,” he gritted out through his teeth.
All day it went on like this, as they walked the rim trail from the museum to the Verkamp’s visitor center, which took them a couple of hours, on account of Bucky’s level of inebriation. Punk was allowed to walk around, and so he did, having the time of his life sniffing and barking at everything he saw. He hated children, to Steve’s mild comfort, and more than once he snapped at a kid who reached for him, wanting to pet.
“Why don’tcha learn to ask before ya try to pet some stranger’s dog, kid? Not all dogs are friendly and pettable, and they don’t hafta be.” Bucky growled out, fed up with it, since it was the fourth time that he had to yank on Punk’s leash to prevent him from biting, which Bucky hated doing, especially considering Punk’s previous owner had abused him like that. He crouched down carefully to pick Punk up, who went belly up in submission at the sight of Bucky looming over him, an inadvertent display of dominance, as Bucky had explained to Steve when he had wondered aloud why Punk did that. He stumbled when he straightened, and Steve reflexively steadied him, earning a smile for his helpfulness.
Steve watched in amusement as Bucky held his tiny dog in his arm, his smile setting off Punk, who bared his teeth at Steve in response. The sight made it even harder to suppress his smile, but he did try, looking away at the view.
The canyon was beautiful and so expansive as it stretched out for miles and miles and miles. Steve couldn’t get over how absolutely enormous it was.
Bucky had come prepared, and when Steve’s stomach gurgled as it often did, he withdrew a few snack bars to tide them over until dinner. He had also packed away a couple of water bottles in the Birkin, one of which he gave to Steve, who took it appreciatively. They ate their gay little snack (as Bucky lovingly coined it) on a large, flat rock that sat beside the trail, warm from the sun.
Bucky took the opportunity to spread out like a starfish and sun himself, however ineffectively. Punk laid down beside him, shooting Steve wary looks every now and then, a loyal, watchful sentry. They could have used a hundred of him in the war.
“Oh, to be a small lizard sunning themselves on a rock in the desert, unbothered by everything,” Bucky intoned wistfully, making Steve let out a snort. Then he reached for his phone, which was inside the Birkin. Steve glanced at it as Bucky typed something. There was a blue oval in the top right corner that said tweet and Steve frowned.
“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” he asked, concerned. “I thought you made your account private so no one would track you down.”
“Yuh-huh,” Bucky replied glibly, apparently unconcerned. “My account’s private, not deactivated, ya dumbass. I can still tweet shit, it’s just that no one will see it. I have to manually approve my followers, which I'm not going to do right now, just you. I can do you if you want.”
Steve’s mind went to the gutter, due to the Bucky’s phrasing. “Yeah, do me,” he blurted out unthinkingly, and then flushed in embarrassment.
Bucky looked up at him, smiling goofily. “Yeah I’ll do you,” he said nonsensically as he pulled Steve down into a kiss. A growl came from Punk and he hastily but reluctantly withdrew.
“Just don’t retweet any of my posts, for crying out loud. And private your likes. How embarrassing,” Bucky muttered to himself under his breath.
“Um,” Steve began, not sure how to do that.
“You are so hopeless. You are lucky that I love you. Lucky, I tell you. Now hand me your phone.”
Steve passed it to him with a wide smile on his face.
They resumed walking on the trail after that break, and Steve had to fight not to trip over the steps, too distracted by Bucky’s bare lower back and clothed ass as it jiggled with each step after he decided to walk in front of Steve. Punk, facing backwards in the Birkin, bared his teeth like he could somehow tell what Steve was thinking, endowing him with a sense of healthy paranoia.
When Bucky became tired of walking, too drunk to continue and too irritated to put up with anymore shrieking kids, they decided to step off the trail and go into the village in search of more souvenirs.
When Steve had asked if the ones they bought at the Yavapai point museum weren’t enough, Bucky, sounding scandalized by the question, had replied, “You can never have too many, and I’ve been waiting a long time to see that crack in the earth, I ain’t gonna squander it.”
That had shut Steve up, and left him thinking about Bucky and their new relationship. Well, their old relationship with a new twist to it.
His mother had once said that the best lesson ever learned was the one that cost the most. Now that he had Bucky again, he was never going to take him for granted or squander him. He would cherish each day, each hour, each minute, each second with him, even if he was cursing Steve out for being stupid or was in one of his moods. He loved Bucky like crazy and he would surely be damned if he were to waste a single second being anything but absolutely grateful for this miraculous second chance with Bucky that he somehow had.
With that realization, another one slotted neatly behind. He should ask for Bucky’s hand. In marriage. He should marry him. They should be husbands. It made total, perfect sense to Steve, a clarity that he had rarely, if ever, achieved.
It also instantly instilled him with panic, because he couldn’t ask. He stuttered and fumbled over words and said ‘uh’ too much, like a big, dumb idiot that wasn’t even literate. The effect was even worse around Bucky. He could feel his speech coach that he’d had during the war rolling in her grave. How could he ask Bucky such an important question like marrying him? There was also the matter of the ring. It needed to be deserving of sitting on Bucky’s finger. It needed to be huge, blinding, as big as the sun. He needed to get it engraved.
Bucky should be able to take one look at it, and think, ‘Goddamn, this man fucking loves me.’
Any ring not capable of that was completely unacceptable, in Steve’s mind.
Then there was the matter of the dress. He couldn’t make Bucky pay for his own wedding dress. Or his own party, however small it would be. Knowing Bucky, pretty small. Natasha and Sam would have to come, because they would actually murder Steve if he didn’t invite them to his wedding, and besides, he wanted his two other best friends there. Maybe they could go to a buffet somewhere so they didn’t have to pay for a food vendor or whatever.
Then Steve remembered that they were headed to Las Vegas after this, and thought about the small chapels that Las Vegas was known for. It would be perfect for them. Afterwards, they could go to one of the casino buffets and eat until they were stuffed. And there had to be pawn shops that sold men’s gold bands at a discount, right? And places to rent a cheap suit? That way, Steve could save a little money on his and go all out on Bucky’s ring and dress.
The music was equally important, knowing how much Bucky loved it. They would have to have a DJ or something. Maybe they could rent a jukebox. Bucky seemed pretty taken with the idea of dancing to one if they went dancing. They were going to have to do that sometime, too. They could even do it at the reception, have a real swell time. If Bucky said yes, he would probably have different plans, something completely different in mind for how their wedding should be.
Throughout dinner that night, Steve was nervous, constantly thinking about the future, about what would happen if Bucky possibly said no. Steve would be content to live in blissful, unwedded sin forever, but he would much rather be able to call Bucky his husband. Just the thought of it made his chest swell with emotion. Plus, he didn’t think his poor heart would survive it if Bucky told him no, if he thought it was a dumb idea to get married.
They saw the sunset after dinner, and it was almost as beautiful as Bucky’s expression of awe.
Steve nearly fell to his knees right then and there before he wrestled himself back under control.
All through the week, Steve fought tooth and nail not to blurt it out, made almost impossible when Bucky got him into bed the night before they were going to leave. They had been trading blow jobs back and forth, which was great – amazing, even. It was just that they hadn’t had sexual intercourse yet, and Steve was nervous of why.
Did Bucky not want to? He hadn’t pressured Bucky at all, content with blowjobs, but maybe there was a reason behind why Bucky had never escalated sexual relations between them. Maybe the reason was Steve’s cock. It was something he’d always been self-conscious of, ever since receiving the serum, which had jacked up his already generous penile proportions to truly huge ones. He knew it would hurt, and maybe the size of it intimidated Bucky.
He was hesitant to accept this as the reason, however, since Bucky had blown him several times with no problem.
The other possible reason Steve absolutely hated to contemplate.
Hydra.
In the end, Steve’s concern over Bucky waiting evaporated in a puff of smoke when he dragged Steve into bed, making him settle on top of Bucky, in between his spread legs.
When Bucky pulled away, he said those three little words that made Steve’s heart stop:
“Please finger me.”
He canted his hips upwards wantonly to emphasize the point, and Steve nodded frantically as he withdrew to do just that. Bucky halted him, a hand on his shoulder. “Like this,” he said quietly, not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. Steve softened, realizing that Bucky was just as nervous as he was, which was comforting since it meant he wasn’t alone in what he was feeling.
“Yeah, okay. Anything for my best guy.” Bucky smiled at that, and Steve took it as a good sign to continue, reaching his hand up under Bucky’s skirt. Bucky was hard, stretching the fabric of his dark blue silk underwear that matched the dark blue silk dress he was wearing. Steve tugged the mere scrap of fabric down off his legs, tossing it somewhere before laying his hand on his thigh.
He kissed Bucky again, trying to calm him down and it worked like a charm: Bucky sighed and melted under him. Steve inched his hand steadily closer until he was gripping the base of Bucky’s dick, and Bucky let out a light moan at the contact. Steve was gentle as he touched him, stroking him with slow and soft pressure until Bucky was writhing around, begging for it.
“Please,” he gasped out helplessly, “touch me. With your fingers inside. Wanna be spread open for you, ruined by your thick fingers and thick cock. Daddy, please,” he begged, his voice husky and deep with his yearning. Steve was going to have a stroke, and he didn’t hesitate for very much longer after that.
He touched his fingertip to Bucky’s hole, rubbing the pucker to test it. It twitched under his hand and Steve’s cock twitched in his jeans.
His heart nearly stopped when he realized they didn’t have any lube.
“Bucky, do you have any lube?” he questioned, almost frantic. Bucky squirmed under him, wanton with need. He didn’t even look like he knew what lube was. Steve started to pull away, only to be stopped by Bucky, who reached out with his metal hand and grabbed Steve’s wrist, pulling Steve towards him, pulling Steve inside him.
Steve choked around nothing at the shock of feeling how warm and soft it was inside Bucky’s ass.
“Told you,” Bucky slurred out, drunk on sex, “Wanna be ruined by you. Want you to ruin me. Please, Daddy, won't you ruin me? Don’t you wanna ruin me?”
Steve was going to lose it. He said the word ruin like it was the word love, like he thought Steve would be crazy not to. Suddenly, Steve couldn’t think of a good argument, or any argument at all, nor find it in himself to be all that concerned about accidentally hurting him, not when Bucky wanted it so much. He shoved his finger deeper into him, watching as Bucky fell apart under him. Without thinking too much of it, he added a second finger, and Bucky made a strangled, choking noise as it slid into him. It had to be too dry for him, because it was too dry for Steve, but he didn’t seem like he noticed, looking so blissed out.
Steve crooked his fingers upwards into his prostate and watched as Bucky convulsed from it. He thrust his fingers in and out and then crooked them upwards again, eliciting the same reaction. He did this until Bucky was keening out, whining softly.
He inserted another finger, squeezing it in besides the other two. It was such a tight fit, and Bucky gasped as it slipped past his rim. Encouraged by the noise, Steve shoved it forward to the hilt, filling him up. It was like a vise around Steve’s fingers, and he watched with wide eyes as Bucky tensed up, but before Steve could withdraw, thinking he’d done something wrong, Bucky shuddered under him, fluid erupting from his cock.
Steve gaped at him, unable to believe it. His fingers moved by themselves, with no input from Steve’s brain, which had gone offline. They crooked roughly up into Bucky’s prostate without any mercy, making him unravel like a spool of thread, sobbing and begging and crying.
“Daddy, oh god, Daddy, Daddy, please, oh god, oh fuck, please, Daddy!”
Steve could barely hear him over the pounding of his heart, the sound of Bucky’s pleading going straight to his head, making him feel almost dizzy.
Before he really knew what he was doing, Steve was withdrawing his fingers from Bucky’s body, scooping up his cum, undoing his belt with his other hand and pulling his dick out, which swung heavily into the air, rock hard and leaking. Bucky eyed it like a man possessed as he watched Steve spread the cum onto his cock, chanting yesyesyes like he was being driven mad by the sight.
Emboldened by the chanting, Steve settled back between Bucky’s thighs and pressed the head of his cock to Bucky’s hole. He buried his face into Bucky’s neck as he pushed forward, splitting Bucky open around his long, thick cock, making a place for himself inside Bucky’s body, forcing himself into a place that wouldn’t fit, forcing Bucky’s tight, vicelike hole to accept him. And accept him it did, miracle upon miracles, right to the hilt, buried inside Bucky, snugly sheathed like nothing else.
“Oh, god, Daddy, please,” Bucky choked out when he stopped moving forward, scrabbling at Steve’s shoulders, his voice wrecked.
Fire soared through his blood, turning him savage as he listened to Bucky's reaction. Steve was consumed by it. He bared his teeth in a wordless snarl and when he spoke, his voice was tight. “You wanted me to ruin you, right?” Bucky made a whine that may or may not have been confirmation. Dauntless, Steve continued. “I'm gonna split you open, tear you apart, fucking destroy you for anyone else. You’re mine, baby doll, and I'm gonna prove it to you by taking what belongs to me.”
He punctuated his statement with a hard thrust of his hips, and Bucky wailed. He did it again, and again and again and again. It was rough and frenzied and perfect.
Steve’s hips slapped against Bucky’s ass hard, resulting in lewd noises echoing around them, although he was deaf to anything that wasn’t the man under him. Steve propped himself up on his elbow so he could see Bucky’s face, which was transfixed in an expression of pure ecstasy, his mouth hanging open, his brows pulled up, his eyes unseeing. They fell to Steve, and he was almost too overwhelmed by the eye contact to keep looking at Bucky.
“I love you,” Bucky choked out suddenly, and Steve sobbed, his eyes growing wet. He blinked and tears fell. He damn near asked Bucky to marry him in that moment. Instead, he leaned in to kiss Bucky, clumsy and mostly ineffective. Bucky reached for Steve’s hand that was wedged under his left shoulder, and Steve released it, letting Bucky bring it to his – sweet mother of god.
Bucky arranged Steve's hand on his throat, heavy and possessive as he gripped the smooth column of Bucky’s neck. His heartbeat was thundering under Steve's fingers, and Steve blinked, unable to believe it.
“Daddy, won't you choke me? Show me how much you love me?” For all the money in the world, Steve couldn’t see how those two were connected but he wasn’t in any position to figure it out – even while it simultaneously made complete sense to him in the moment – and could only helplessly obey, tightening his fingers until Bucky’s face went red and his eyes rolled backwards as he trembled and came with a choked cry.
Jesus Christ.
At the glorious sight of that, Steve grunted Bucky’s name like a prayer as his own orgasm crashed into him with all the suddenness and force of a Mack truck, making him go blind. Like an angel from grace, into Bucky he fell. He was a heathen for Bucky and for Bucky only, knowing of no other god or heaven than this blissful paradise and would gladly welcome eternal damnation if he got to have Bucky in this way. No other god could damn Steve under Bucky’s power, no other could touch the heart of him.