strong grip
Thursday Morning:
steve rogers: james we have an issue
Bucky's heart jumped at the text, because maybe something happened or maybe Steve just doesn't like him or maybe-
steve rogers: french toast or waffles?
Bucky let out a breath that he didn't even know he was holding in.
me: jesus i thought u were dying or some shit ok no more using alerting words for u
Bucky put his pen in his mouth, and ignored the papers in front of him on his desk. He was literally sitting there, staring at his phone and waiting for Steve to text him back. Bucky didn't know he was that desperate- go figure.
His phone starts ringing. Bucky's breathing stops when he sees Steve's name pop up on the screen. Why was Steve calling him?
Bucky swipes to answer and puts the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Okay, first of all," Steve's voice pours out from the phone, "if there was an emergency that left me in danger, why the ever loving fuck would I text you 'hey we have an issue'? I would be too busy dying."
"Oh- well yeah, that's true."
"Second of all, I need an answer because the waitress is giving me a dirty look."
"Steve, why are you calling me?"
"Why not?"
"Okay true, valid point. Also, waffles, obviously," Bucky says, and he smiles because Steve was thinking about him and Steve called him and just... Steve, man.
"I need a reason, James," Steve says, and there's a clang in the background, presumably a waitress collecting someone's dishes or some shit.
"Because I love waffles, and you asked me which one, so if I were there I would get waffles," Bucky says, as-a-matter-of-factly.
"Speaking of, why aren't you here?"
"Because you didn't invite me," Bucky says with another smile.
"I should've invited you," Steve says with a snort. "At least we have tomorrow!"
"Yeah, at least we have tomorrow," Bucky repeats Steve's words with a soft voice, and a minute later, Steve hangs up saying he needed to do homework and Bucky is sitting at his desk again, staring at the papers scattered.
***
After their breakfast on Friday morning (which involved a lot of awkward blushing and mouthfuls of- no, not each other's dicks- waffles and also a lot of flirting), Steve and James planned on meeting the next Wednesday evening. This meant, for Steve, five days until he would see the blue-eyed boy again, and Steve was just a little grumpy about it.
You see, every time he saw James or thought of him, he just had to flirt- like it was a natural thing, second nature. Steve just sees James and he has to make him blush and smile because dammit, the pretty boy deserved it. And Steve knew it was risky, hell, it was scary for him to just talk to someone like James-all pretty and shit- and Steve knew it was risky. Because maybe James would get upset at the flirting or just uncomfortable or mad or grossed out and that is literally the last thing Steve wants in the world. Besides, Steve doesn't know if James is even interested in guys- like, he could obviously have anyone he ever wanted. But James hasn't mentioned a guy, or a girl or anyone like that- just his roommate Sam, but that was it.
Steve was still apprehensive, yet when he saw James or thought of him and texted him, it just sort of falls out of his mouth, not by choice. And the best part was, James didn't care that it might've been weird; he responded in a flirty way, too! So Steve figured that he may as well go all out- well, not all out, but he isn't going to hold himself back all the way, at least.
But five days was too far away, and Steve was frustrated, and stupid class wasn't helping at all. After class ends, he walks to his car and promptly begins to drive as he speed-dials Clint.
"Hey, fucker," he says when he hears a sigh.
"Why are you calling me, loser, I have-"
"Okay, I'm bored as fuck with no more class today and I'm in a bad mood and I need alcohol," Steve mutters.
"Dude no fucking way, I am not going out with you again, especially not at a bar, no way," Clint whines.
"Aw, come on, fucking please?" Steve's voice went up an octave.
"Only if we bring Nat-"
"She isn't gonna sleep with you if she drinks alcohol, the girl can drink a whole bar and still walk straight," Steve retorts, and turns the street down to their block.
Clint snorts, "very funny, but I know you're gonna want a quick fuck and I don't wanna be bored while you hit up some idiotic freshman at the bar."
"I am not going to-"
"Oh, please, save the drama for your diary, Steve-"
"ITS A JOURNAL AND YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T MAKE FUN OF ME," Steve groans, and turns into the driveway.
"Can I bring Nat, then?"
Steve stops the engine. "Fine, but only Nat and no one else," he insists.
"Not even-"
"Nope."
"But what about-"
"No."
"Fucker," Clint grunts, and Steve slams the car door behind him. "You're home?"
"Yeah, outside," Steve says as he walks toward the entrance of their complex.
"Don't come in my room," Clint grunts again and hangs up the phone.
"What the fu- whatever," Steve rolls his eyes and walks up the steps to their floor. When he opens the door of their apartment, he decides that Clint probably isn't jerking off or some shit and so Steve, expecting nothing but stupidity, walks into Clint's room.
Clint is standing on top of his desk in his pajamas and bare feet, with his body faced toward the wall and brow furrowed in concentration. He doesn't hear Steve come in his room and goes about his business. He takes a step back and jumps, pushing himself off the wall and trying to- the narrator assumes- land on his bed with his two feet.
"PARKOU- oh fuCK!"
Clint, the idiot, lands on his stomach on the floor in front of him, and then notices Steve standing by the doorway.
"What the fuck are you doing, Barton?"
"I was watching American Ninja Warrior or whatever the fuck it's called, and I decided that parkour is my true calling," Clint mutters, and props himself up on his elbows. "You weren't supposed to come in."
"Believe me," Steve starts turning away from the doorway, "I wish I hadn't."
"I'm so cool, don't lie!" Clint calls from behind Steve, and Steve rolls his eyes.
"Keep telling yourself that, Barton."
***
The club was, in every aspect, trashy. The floor vibrated, the music was loud as hell, and people were on top of one another, everyone covered in sweat and desperation and it was everything Steve despised. Yet, here he was, with Clint and Nat, standing at the bar and nursing a shot in his hand, apprehensive at the sight of people grinding on people. But, Steve thought, it was either pining over James, or drinking some damn alcohol.
Steve downed the shot.
"Rogers, you okay?" Nat practically screamed in his ear after she downed her respective drink. Steve nodded, downed two more shots, and walked away from her and Clint, toward the dance floor. He immediately blended into the crowd, and all eyes would, in the midst of the dancing, find their way to Steve at some point during the night, who was unaware of the attention he brought onto himself as he swayed his hips lightly to the music.
Steve felt nothing as he danced, and watch the people around him and felt the hands on him. He didn't care. He let some girl grab him close and move their hips to the beat together, and he let himself indulge in the touch of some tall guy who wouldn't keep his hands off of him.
It was a few minutes into Steve dancing with this stranger, when he grabbed his wrist and slowly led him off the dance floor. Steve, not really caring and practically stumbling over himself (he was quite the lightweight), let the man lead him where he wanted. On the way to wherever they were going, he spotted Clint with his arms on some tall blonde's lower back, and Nat sitting at the bar and talking to some girl.
The stranger had a tight grip on Steve's wrist. He led him to the back of the club, and dragged him to the wall where no one was, which was weird, because the rest of the club was not li-
The stranger suddenly had his mouth on Steve's, forcing his tongue into Steve's mouth and Steve didn't resist because he didn't care. The stranger pushed Steve's shoulder against the wall, and had his entire body against Steve's as he paced their kissing faster and rougher and Steve started to lose his breath and felt as if he was suffocating and pushed the stranger away.
"Hey-"
"This is- it's all, too-"
"C'mon, who cares," the stranger insists, and pushes his body back on Steve's and Steve just feels uncomfortable as the stranger pushes his tongue back in Steve's mouth, and his hands are on his hips. They feel warm against Steve's skin, which suddenly felt cold and the stranger was running his hands up Steve's torso and Steve's heart started beating faster and faster and the stranger had one hand on his chest and another tight on Steve's hip.
"Stop."
The stranger looked at Steve as he tried to wiggle out of his grip, and pushed him against the wall again. "Please, stop."
"Shut up, man, just-"
Steve was wriggling his wrist from the stranger's grip and pushed himself off the wall, looking around frantically.
"I have to go find my friends-"
The stranger pushed him against the wall again, and Steve didn't resist, knowing it would help the stranger's persistence. He lets him kiss him again, but his head starts rushing and his body feels cold as the stranger has a tight grip on his shoulders and he feels trapped and he pushes the stranger away again.
"Please, I can't do this."
"Fucking stop it and let me-"
"You heard him, get the fuck off him."
Clint was standing a few feet away, looming above them with his arms crossed and looking directly at the stranger, who turned around at the sound of his voice.
"Fuck off, this isn't any of your business, asshole," the stranger says, and takes his hands off Steve's shoulders. Steve looks at Clint, who has a look on his face that would read as neutral to anyone else, but Steve knew it was a deadly look.
"Well actually, asshole," Clint imitates the stranger's raspy voice, "it is damn well my business when my best friend is being forced against his own will and is too fucking scared to stick up for himself."
Steve felt his face go red, because he knew he could've stuck up for himself but he didn't care. He felt ashamed, he felt disgusted with himself.
"So get the fuck off of him, or I won't hesitate to get my hands on you, motherfucker," Clint threatens, and the stranger walks away from Steve and toward Clint.
"Oh, really? And what could you fucking do, you pussy?" He was up in Clint's face, and Clint had his hands at his sides as he cleared his throat.
"Are you really sure you want to find out?"
The stranger glares, and all Steve can do is watch as Clint steps into the stranger's space, and gets shoved back into a wall.
"You motherfu-" Clint spits, and then the blow lands. Steve wants to move, he does, but his body won't let him and he starts feeling dizzy. Clint's hand is gripped on the stranger's second fist, and he shoves him back. He jumps up and charges toward him confidently, and the stranger takes offense and jabs his fist into Clint's stomach, which is returned a few seconds later.
The stranger is clutching his stomach, and Clint balls is fist and grabs the guy by his t-shirt and shoves him up against the wall and starts punching- punching everywhere, and the stranger can't fight back.
Steve can't see straight, can't see anything and he's on the verge of a panic attack and his body is shaking as he falls to the floor and he can't stop shaking because he's watching his best friend beat up this guy and-
"Clint, stop it."
Nat had pulled him back by his shoulder, and the stranger had slumped against the wall and practically falls to the floor. Clint is breathing heavily, and Nat pushes him further away and runs toward Steve, who is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the stranger, with his hands balled up so tight, and his knuckles and the rest of his body practically as white as a fucking cloud.
"Rogers, you're not okay," she says softly, even over the loud, thumping music.
***