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Bucky Barnes had always been good with the dames (and the fellas, too, for that matter, though wooing another man was something of a lost art, in the period when he and Steve had grown up). Granted, he never had much of an eye for any of them. Never had an eye for anyone but his Stevie, as far as Bucky was concerned, and so, naturally, that night in their dingy little Brooklyn apartment--midnight air laden with whispered confessions, moonlight shining down upon faces streaked with the tears of emotions that had been pent-up inside them both for far, far too long--was the one that took Bucky Barnes off of the market, period.
Even before, though, when Bucky’s dates came regularly and the gals (and the occasional fella) even more so, he knew something was off. With as many of them as there were, willing--eager, even--to let Bucky under their skirts or into their pants, he should’ve wanted to oblige at least one of them, right? And they were attractive, mind you; bright red lips, coated with lipstick, beautifully done hair, firm breasts, and frankly gorgeous legs, showcased by the short skirts they wore.
He did it, of course--it’d be rude not to, and Bucky Barnes was good with the dames, goddammit; he had a reputation to uphold. So, yes, he did, opening (and letting himself be opened, once or twice, when the fellas were into that) each partner with a tight expression and moving with short, measured thrusts, suppressing the urge to gag.
Steve was so sickly and life was moving so fast--with the war and the depression and all--that, by the time they were actually together, the pair never got the chance to go much further than a few heated makeouts before Bucky fell.
Now, though, it’s all these decades later, and Bucky is starved for Steve, for his best friend, for his lover, for a kind touch. Things should be easier now, right? Besides, this is Steve--Steve, who’s meant everything to him from the time they were kids in grammar school. So, surely, Bucky will want it, now. Of course he will. That’s natural, normal, that’s what he’s supposed to be.
It’ll be better with Steve. It will. It will.
A night comes, a few months into Bucky’s recovery, when a particularly bad nightmare--a memory, really; another kill as the Winter Soldier, more blood spilled on his hands--hits, and he startles awake, trembling and struggling to breathe steadily, clutching at a still-sleeping Steve, who’s head is pillowed on Bucky’s chest (though it took a while to get used to the contact, cuddling with Steve has become what is arguably Bucky’s favorite thing to do). He runs his fingers through the fluffy blond mess on Steve’s head, drawing in deep gasps of cool air, trying to prove to himself that the man on top of him is, in fact, here with him and not another delusion.
Steve shifts at the movement, nuzzling his face into Bucky’s neck and mumbling sleepily.
“Mmm, Buck? What’s the matter?”
“Bad dream,” Bucky pants, tightening his grip on the blond, running a hand down his back in a gesture that soothes himself more than the man above him. "'M fine, Stevie. J-Jus’ need a minute.”
Retracting from his boyfriend, Steve sits up in the bed they’ve shared for the last few months. He leans over Bucky, brushing sweat-dampened chestnut locks away from his face before pressing a kiss that melts Bucky’s heart to his temple.
“You’re okay, Buck,” he whispers, and the prevalence his accent always takes when he’s sleepy grounds Bucky more than should be possible for something so insignificant. “‘s all over now, yeah? Jus’ you ‘n me, now.”
Bucky nods, earning himself a peck on the lips from the blond above him.
“There ya go, Buck,” Steve encourages. "'M gonna go getcha some water, okay?”
The brunette nods again, and the man above him moves to leave the room. Bucky lets out a high pitched whimpering noise the moment Steve’s presence moves away from him, curling in on himself as the thought of being alone in the room suddenly becomes too much for him to handle, despite having just agreed to it.
“Buck?” Steve asks, concerned. He’s stopped in the doorway, posture slumped in tiredness, one of Bucky’s t-shirts (they don’t swallow him whole like they did, once upon a time, but Steve still loves the feeling of being engulfed in nothing but Bucky, and Bucky definitely doesn’t mind losing a shirt or two if it makes Steve happy) hanging slightly off of his frame.
“D-Don’ go,” Bucky mutters, and, just like that, Steve is crossing the room again, crawling back into their bed, and pressing himself into his boyfriend’s arms. Bucky lets out a sigh, relieved, and pulls the blond into his chest, holding him tightly, as though he was going to be taken away from him.
“Okay?” Steve mumbles, tracing absent-minded patterns along the brunette’s ribs. Bucky nods against his hair.
"'M sorry, Stevie,” he says, after a minute. “Jus’ need to feel you.”
The blond presses himself impossibly closer at his boyfriend’s words, winding his arms around his back and leaning over him so that they were nose to nose.
"'M here, Buck. See? Right here.”
He presses their mouths together, at that, in a slow, sweet kiss that soon becomes heated. After a few minutes of it, Steve slides over so that he’s straddling Bucky’s waist, pulling Bucky’s hands up to rest on his hips before grinding them down into his boyfriend’s pelvis. The motion elicits a surprised gasp from Bucky, and he lets out a low groan as the familiar sick sensation plants itself firmly in his stomach.
Steve grins, taking the sound to be one of pleasure rather than discomfort. “Waddya say, Buck? Ya wanna feel me?” He grinds his hips down again.
“St-Stevie…” Bucky mumbles. He’s not quite sure what to do; it’s obvious that Steve wants this. Bucky should want this.
Steve grinds his hips down again, and continues to speak just as Bucky decides to go through with the sex; if it’s what Steve wants, then he deserves to have it.
“Dunno ‘bout you, but I wanna feel you, Buck. Wan’ you inside me, wanna be all filled up with your come, wanna make you feel good.”
It’s that last bit that sends Bucky over the edge, sends a few tears leaking down his face that he rushes to wipe away. Steve must notice as he does, though, or maybe he catches the subtle hitch in his breathing and realizes it’s not one of pleasure, because he’s off of Bucky in an instant, wiping away the tears himself, his whole demeanor shifting into one of pure worry for his boyfriend.
“Buck? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
His accent is fading, Bucky realizes dimly. He’s becoming more aware, more guarded, the way he is in the daytime. The knowledge of having caused this floods Bucky’s heart with a sudden wave of guilt, and he kicks himself for being so stupid, so weak, for not controlling himself well enough to hide it.
“Bucky, talk to me. Please? What’s the matter?” Steve’s voice pulls him out of his head.
"'M s-sorry, Stevie. I jus’--I can’t.”
“Okay, Buck,” Steve says, nudging his nose against Bucky’s and pecking his cheek. His hand wanders down to where Bucky’s flesh one rests, entwining their fingers together.
“That’s okay.” He kisses their knuckles. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have tried--”
“No, Steve, I can’t. Never could. There’s somethin’ wrong with me. I-I hate it. Makes me sick, makes me wanna throw up… I thought it’d be better with you, but--”
His voice breaks. "'M sorry, Stevie. I-If you wanna leave--”
Steve squeezes his hand, pulling him to sit up in their bed, speaking as he does.
“Don’t even finish that sentence, Buck. I’m not leaving you, ya idiot. ‘End of the line,’ remember? No matter what.”
A high-pitched little whimper sounds from somewhere in Bucky’s throat, and his face shatters. Steve tugs him forward and Bucky follows, soft and compliant, desperate for touch. He sinks to his knees in front of the blonde, and hesitates for only a moment until Steve’s arms envelop him before sinking into the slightly smaller body, burying his face in the warm hollow at the base of Steve’s throat.
Big hands run up and down Bucky’s back, soothingly, as reassurances are whispered in his ear.
"'M not leavin’, Buck,” Steve murmurs, letting his accent creep back in.
"'M right here, okay?”
“I’ve gotcha.”
“I love you, Bucky.”
Bucky lets out a little whining noise at that, and Steve just squeezes him tighter.
“‘S okay, sweetheart.”
After a while, Steve pulls away a bit, and Bucky, mourning the loss of contact, peers up at him.
“How ‘bout we lay back down, mmm? Get nice and cozy?”
Bucky nods and is rewarded with one of Steve’s blindingly bright smiles. The blond laces his fingers into Bucky’s metal ones and tugs him gently back toward the headboard, settling himself down on his back and holding open his arms in invitation. Bucky falls straight into them, resting his head over Steve’s heart. Steve tugs the blankets up and over them, before lacing his strong arms around Bucky's body, heavy and reassuring.
A few more minutes later, Bucky raises his head to look up at his boyfriend.
Baby blue eyes peer kindly down at him.
“Okay?” Steve asks, reaching up to thread his hands through Bucky’s soft locks.
“Yeah. 'M sorry, Stevie. I was jus’... scared you wouldn’t wan’ me anymore.”
“Never, Buck. ‘specially not over something like… like sex. I don’ care if we never do it; I jus’ wan’ you.”
Bucky nods, settling himself back over Steve’s pulse and throwing his flesh arm across his waist.
“I love you, Stevie,” he murmurs, after a moment.
“I love you, too, Buck,” Steve answers, pressing a kiss to his head.
The brunette nods, letting out a small sigh. The pair lays still for a moment, content, until Steve speaks again.
“What you are isn’t wrong, you know.”
“Of course it’s wrong, Stevie. I’m not normal. I should--should wan’ it.”
Steve presses his mouth back to Bucky’s crown before responding.
“You know what an ace is, Buck?”
“Huh? Like--like the card?”
Steve snickered.
“No, Buck, ace. As in asexual. As in experiencing little to no sexual attraction.”
Bucky raises his head again, startled.
“There’s a word for it?”
“There’s a whole community of it, Buck. People like you. Some of ‘em even get that sick feeling you’re talkin’ ‘bout. Sex-repulsion; that’s what it’s called. ’S normal. ‘S common. ‘S okay, Buck. There’s nothin’ wrong with you, okay?”
Bucky isn’t quite sure how to respond. He’s at once numb with the surprise of it and exhilarated by the relief of it all, by the weight that had just been lifted off of his chest. Instead of struggling to find the words, he surges forward and kisses Steve, long and hard and with no fear of having to go any further than that. Steve presses back with just the right amount of intensity, hands rising to cup the brunette’s face.
By the time they pull away, both are breathless and grinning.
“Thank you,” Bucky whispers, face pressed into Steve’s neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“I haven’t done anythin’, Buck,” Steve chuckles, but pulls him closer anyway.
“You didn’t leave,” comes the answer, broken by a yawn.
“Of course I didn’t,” the blonde smiles. “I’d be stupid to give you up.”
Bucky snickers at the compliment, pressing his face further into his boyfriend’s neck and yawning again.
“How ‘bout we get some more sleep, mmm?” Steve offers.
Bucky nods, sighing. “Yeah, but… Do we have to move? I like this.”
The smaller man lets out a great, loud laugh that cuts straight through Bucky’s chest to his heart. He tightens his arms around the man atop him and shakes his head.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Buck.”