#also. the one further down the line is me getting laid but dw i think this is funnier

[iammissingautumn]

[a-splash-of-stucky]

some nights (i stay up)

Read this on AO3 Square Filled: Hurt/Comfort Ship: James “Bucky” Barnes/Steve Rogers Rating: E Major Tags: Nightmares, Blood, Angst and Smut, Top Bucky, Bottom Steve Word Count: 3578 Summary:

“They—they gave me a gun,” Bucky says, “I could…watch them torture you some more…or I—could end it. Sh-shoot you.”

In which Bucky has a nightmare and Steve comforts him as best as he can.

Created for @mcukinkbingo​

Notes: Day 2 of my Steve Rogers' 100th Birthday Celebration.

I couldn’t resist slipping in the little IW reference, hehe. Leave me a comment if you spot it (dw, no spoilers are revealed).

Also, I’ve realised that for all the Stucky fics that I’ve written, I’ve never actually posted an in-depth description of them having penetrative sex. So, boom: this fic marks a first, for me.

Something drags Steve out of his slumber. He’s pulled into that state of half-consciousness, floating in between the realm of the living and the world of dreams. Steve rolls over onto his left side, throwing an arm out to pull Bucky closer, hoping that snuggling with his husband will be enough to lull him to sleep.

His fingers close around empty sheets.

Frowning, eyes still closed, Steve scrabbles his hand around Bucky’s side of the bed. The sheets are slightly warm to the touch, but Bucky is most definitely not there. Now that he’s more awake, Steve realises that he can’t hear Bucky’s steady breathing either.

With great reluctance, Steve opens his eyes.

Their bedroom is still dark. Steve squints at the clock on Bucky’s bedside table; the digital display tells him that it’s a few minutes past four in the morning.

Steve flops over onto his back, wide awake now. With a quiet grunt, he kicks off the covers and heaves himself out of bed. Steve stretches his arms above his head and rolls his shoulders, then hitches up his boxers, which are riding dangerously low on his waist. He notices that their bedroom door is slightly ajar. Using his toe, Steve nudges it further open.

The rest of their home is shrouded in darkness.

Steve pads down the corridor to their living room/dining room/kitchen area. Perhaps Bucky’s decided to have a midnight (early morning?) snack.

He turns a corner and freezes, pulse skyrocketing when he spots a dark silhouette sitting on the couch. Though the back of the couch obscures most of his view, from where Steve’s standing, he can make out a head of dark hair and a flash of metal, glinting in the sliver of moonlight spilling in from the window. Bucky seems to be staring at the floor.

Oh.

It must be one of those nights.

Nightmares don’t plague Bucky as often as they used to, and for that, Steve is thankful. However, Steve’s inclined to think that the nightmares that Bucky does have are more vivid and intense; they seem to linger with him for a while, after, leaving him quiet and withdrawn.

Softly, quietly, Steve walks over to the couch, careful not to make too much noise, as he doesn’t want to startle Bucky. He’s under no false impressions here, of course Bucky’s aware of his presence, but it can’t hurt to be a little cautious.

Steve stands by the side of the couch, arms folded over his chest, assessing the situation. Bucky doesn’t look up or acknowledge him, in any way. He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him. His head is hanging limp on his shoulders, like it’s too much effort to hold it up. His dark hair falls in a thick, shaggy curtain around his face, obscuring his beautiful features from Steve’s sight.

Bucky is clothed only in a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms. The scraps of moonlight streaming through the window paints strange lines across his bare back.

Steve stands there for a long moment, waiting to see what Bucky will do. When he does nothing, Steve decides to bite the bullet; gingerly, he perches on the couch on Bucky’s right side.

It’s a conscious decision on Steve’s part to sit on Bucky’s right – if Bucky wants to hold Steve, then he’ll be wanting as much skin-on-skin as possible. Steve is careful to keep a few inches of space between them, as he’s not sure what kind of mood his husband is in. Touch may or may not be appreciated right now.

Though physically, there might only be a few inches of space separating them, Steve feels like Bucky is miles away – he’s closed off and tucked into himself, having retreated to some deep recess of his mind. Steve yearns to wrap him up in a nest of blankets and chant some voodoo magic spells to ward off the evil beings that haunt his dreams.

Steve’s not sure how long they sit there, but it’s long enough for him to doze off momentarily. He comes awake with a quiet gasp, whipping his head from side to side to shake off the sleepiness.

Bucky hasn’t moved.

Steve sighs quietly and blinks several times, trying to clear the haze of sleep from his brain. Despite his best efforts, Steve can feel his eyelids drooping shut again, heavy with fatigue. He jerks awake when Bucky’s hoarse voice cuts through the silence between them.

“You should go back to bed, sweetheart, s’early still,” Bucky says softly, still looking at the floor.

“Nah,” Steve mumbles, knuckling his eyes. “I’ll head out soon, maybe go to the gym.”

Bucky doesn’t respond.

Steve chews on his bottom lip. “Do you…wanna talk about it?”

He’s met with silence.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, nodding as he closes his eyes again. “S’okay, you don’t have to, m’just gonna be here.”

“Can I—,” Bucky blurts out, before abruptly cutting himself off. Steve hears his metal arm clicking and whirring the way it does when Bucky’s clenching his fist. Steve sits up straighter, scrubbing a hand down his face and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“What is it, honey?” Steve asks.

Bucky exhales a shuddery breath. He lifts his head minutely, turning to look at Steve through a curtain of hair. “Can I—hold you?”

Hearing Bucky’s hesitant tone, Steve’s heart breaks a little. “Of course,” he whispers, shooting Bucky a small smile. ��Don’t gotta ask, Buck, you know you can, anytime you wanna.”

Bucky grunts as he sits back, slouching into the couch cushions. He holds his right arm out, allowing Steve to arrange himself against Bucky’s side. Steve, somehow, makes himself small enough to wedge his body underneath Bucky’s arm, curling against him so tight that not even a sheet of paper could be slipped between them. Bucky drapes his arm over Steve’s shoulders, and Steve pillows his cheek on Bucky’s collarbone. He twists his body so that his legs are draped over Bucky’s lap.

Steve gently grasps Bucky’s metal wrist and guides his hand until it’s resting in Steve’s lap, allowing Steve to fold both of his hands around it. Bucky hums quietly, turning to rest his cheek on top of Steve’s head. His breath ruffles Steve’s hair.

There’s an unnatural tension in Bucky’s muscles, a buzzing that is reminiscent of a wild beast trying to claw its way out of his body. Steve can’t do anything about it besides being there for Bucky, so to pass time, he idly swirls patterns on Bucky’s bare torso with the tips of his fingers, keeping his touch feather-light. It’s a small gesture to let him know that Steve is there with him, that Bucky is safe.

“I always get the same dream,” Bucky murmurs, his voice causing Steve’s moving hand to still. He doesn’t interrupt Bucky, just squeezes his metal hand gently in encouragement.

“Well, actually, not quite the same, but kinda…I—they’re about you,” he says tightly, like it’s a struggle for him to get the words out.

Steve makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat but otherwise, gives no other response.

“I—it’s…you were…I came home,” Bucky says. “I—I came home, and you weren’t there, and I just knew that they took you.”

When Steve flattens his palm over Bucky’s chest, he can feel Bucky’s heart thumping against his ribs, like a caged bird demanding to be set free.

“They?” Steve echoes.

“HYDRA,” Bucky spits, the plates in his metal arm clicking unhappily as they recalibrate. He’s shaking like a cornered animal, so Steve tries to soothe him, petting his skin and stroking his arm, pressing soft kisses against Bucky’s neck.

Bucky takes a shaky breath before continuing.

“I searched,” he whispers, “I searched and searched and searched, but I couldn’t—find—”

He heaves a dry sob. Steve hugs Bucky tighter, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that have unexpectedly welled up in his own eyes.

“Then I knew,” Bucky says darkly. “They took you, so of course they’d’ve put you there. I found you—” he breaks off again, a pained noise ripping free of his throat. Steve’s heart clenches; the noise makes him want to rip the spine out of every single one of the fuckers that laid a hand on his Bucky.

Bucky’s rubbing his palm in wide circles on Steve’s back and pressing his nose into Steve’s hair, as if trying to ground himself in Steve’s scent. Steve lets him do whatever he needs to do, wishing he could do more to take this pain and suffering away.

“They’d…hurt you,” Bucky says, voice tense. He’s silent for a long time, after saying that, perhaps unsure of how to go on.

“Where’d you find me?” Steve prompts.

“An old base,” Bucky answers, “One where they used to keep me. I—you were in a room. It was dark, and mouldy, and you…you were tied to a chair and they’d hurt you, Stevie – there was so much blood—”

“Bucky,” Steve says, voice trembling as he clings on a little tighter, like an octopus to a rock.

“They gave me a choice,” Bucky whispers. Steve stills, knowing in his gut that he’s not going to like this next part.

“They—they gave me a gun. I could,” he pauses, swallowing to clear his throat. “I could watch them torture you some more…or I—could end it. Sh-shoot you.”

He’s trembling, Steve realises. He’s shaking so hard that Steve can feel the tremors in his teeth.

“I-I couldn’t do it,” Bucky breathes, voice rising in panic. “I—couldn’t think my way out of it—couldn’t—there were too many of ‘em and—and if…what if they hurt you?”

Fat, wet tears are rolling down Steve’s cheek and dripping onto Bucky’s chest. He wants to brush them away, but that would involve letting go of Bucky, and Steve can’t bring himself to do that.

Bucky takes another breath, like he’s bracing himself. “Then…they uh—then they put me in the chair, again. There was pain. A lot of pain.”

Steve whines in distress, digging his fingers into Bucky’s skin, gripping him so hard that he’s sure to leave bruises.

“They sent me on a mission,” Bucky says, his voice wobbling. “Gave me a place, a gun, told me to wear a suit and tie. My orders were to go to the location, wait in the audience and kill the man in white when he shows up. There will only be one.”

“I—was him,” he explains. It doesn’t take a genius to realise which ‘him’ Bucky is referring to.

“I mean, I know I am him,” Bucky amends, “But…he’s not-me enough for him to be him, rather than me, y’know?”

Steve hums, giving Bucky the verbal encouragement that he seeks.

“I—so I go, and there’re a lot of civilians there,” Bucky says. “It’s a fancy place. No one notices me. Him. I—slip into a seat and wait for the target. There’re a lot of guys there, no one in white. There’s a…I guess a stage, at the end of the room.”

Steve frowns, noting the change in Bucky’s cadence, the slightly clipped nature of his sentences. It’s like he’s reliving the memory of the dream but stating the facts objectively, as if he’s trying to distance himself.

“And then—then I see ‘im. The target. He comes in from the side, walks through the audience. I take out my gun – I can’t see his face.”

Bucky pauses, breathing heavily. “I take the shot – it’s not a headshot, and I don’t know how I missed, but—but the man turns around and—”

Steve knows what he’s going to say.

“It’s you,” Bucky whispers brokenly, “I killed you.”

Steve can no longer sit by and do nothing. “Oh, sweetheart, baby, no, no,” he whispers, clambering into Bucky’s lap, straddling his thighs. Steve grabs Bucky’s flesh hand and presses it over his heart, allowing Bucky to feel the strong, steady beat of his pulse.

“I’m real, see?” he says, voice breaking on a sob, “I’m real and I’m here, in our home, with you.”

“It felt so real,” Bucky sobs, surging forward, pressing his forehead to the base of Steve’s throat as his arms snake around Steve’s body. He pulls Steve close, like he’s afraid that Steve might crumble to dust in his hands. “Steve—Steve, I—”

“I know, it’s okay,” Steve soothes, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair, cradling the back of his neck. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re safe now, I promise, Buck.”

Bucky starts mouthing wet kisses along Steve’s collarbone, tongue darting out to taste Steve’s skin, his breath hitching on a sob. Steve continues to murmur soft words of comfort into Bucky’s hair, not really paying attention to what’s coming out of his mouth. Bucky continues to kiss his way up his throat, over his jaw, until his lips finally close over Steve’s.

The kiss is hot and wet and frenzied, Bucky’s tongue pressing insistently against Steve’s lips until they part for him. There’s a manic undertone behind Bucky’s actions, an impatience and an insatiable need that vibrates out of his skin. Bucky kisses Steve like a man starved of oxygen and dying of thirst. Steve kisses him back with every ounce of passion in his body, moaning into Bucky’s mouth when Bucky nips on his bottom lip.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, “Stevie, honey, I—I need you. Please, I need you.”

“Yeah,” Steve gasps, “Okay, yes—you have me, I’m here.”

Blindly, Bucky roots around in the couch cushions and pulls out the bottle of lube that they’ve stashed in there. He squirts some into his flesh hand before shoving it down the front of Steve’s boxers, closing his fingers around Steve’s cock. Bucky brings him to full hardness with short, sharp strokes. Steve’s fingers spasm, gripping onto Bucky’s shoulders tightly as he groans into Bucky’s mouth.

With clammy hands, Steve gets some lube onto his own fingers. His hands are shaking, a physical manifestation of his need to comfort Bucky. He pushes his boxers down his thighs and widens his knees, roughly shoving first one, then two fingers into his hole. He grunts at the sudden stretch and burn, but the discomfort is temporary, quickly giving way to a dull fire. He spreads the lube around as efficiently as he can, needing Bucky to get inside him as soon as possible. Bucky’s lips are sucking bruises along Steve’s collarbone, teeth nibbling on Steve’s skin. When he feels that has loosened up enough, Steve pushes in with three fingers, hissing as his tight rim struggles to adjust to the stretch.

“Sweetheart, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, kissing along Steve’s jaw, his thumb flicking over the head of Steve’s cock. “Need you, baby, need’ta feel you.”

“Buck,” Steve breathes raggedly, “Yeah, c’mon sweetheart, m’ready.”

It takes some fumbling, but together, they manage to get Steve’s boxers off his legs and Bucky’s pyjama pants down his thighs. Steve tucks the waistband underneath Bucky’s balls, then squirts more lube into his palm, slicking Bucky up hurriedly. Bucky moans against Steve’s mouth, tongue lazily flicking around the corner of Steve’s lips.

Steve grabs hold of both his ass cheeks, spreading them apart, shivering as the night air blows over his exposed, sloppy hole. Bucky steadies the base of his cock and guides the tip to Steve’s entrance. Steve holds his breath as the head breaches his rim, the burn more acute than normal due to his rushed prep job. He groans low in his throat as he sinks down, impaling himself onto Bucky’s shaft. Bucky gasps and holds his waist tight, breathing wetly against Steve’s throat, muttering curses into Steve’s skin.

“Stevie, Stevie,” Bucky chokes out, like he can’t believe that Steve’s really here, in his arms.

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve whispers, threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair, using his grip to pull his head back. He crushes their lips together, teeth and tongues colliding in perfect harmony. Steve gives his body a moment to get accustomed to Bucky’s girth, then starts rolling his hips back and forth, pulling carnal moans from them both. He’s not really bouncing on Bucky’s dick, just holding it deep inside him, safe and warm and protected as he grinds into Bucky’s lap.

Bucky can’t do much with Steve’s weight pinning him down like this, but that’s okay – this is Steve’s chance to take care of him, to show him how safe and loved he is. Bucky’s metal arm is tight around his waist, whilst his flesh hand gently cradles the back of Steve’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. Their noses bump against one another occasionally, and their mouths are so close that they’re breathing in the same air.

“Fuck, Stevie, fuck,” Bucky groans, tightening his grip on Steve’s waist, pulling their chests flush together. “So good to me, sweetheart—so fuckin’ good.”

“I love you,” Steve gasps, “Bucky—love you so much.”

Bucky hums, mouth claiming Steve’s once more. “Love you too,” he mumbles against Steve’s lips.

Steve starts to move his hips faster, gasping each time Bucky’s cock nudges against his prostate. He can feel his orgasm starting to creep up on him, a simmering fire at the base of his spine. Steve keens, high in his throat, when Bucky closes a fist around Steve’s leaking cock, jerking him off roughly.

“Gonna come for me, Stevie?” Bucky growls, nipping Steve’s bottom lip. “Gonna make me messy, make me yours?”

“Buck—Bucky,” Steve pants, going cross-eyed with the pleasure. His rhythm falters. Steve grabs onto the back of the sofa and uses his grip as leverage, heaving himself onto his knees before slamming down onto Bucky’s dick, his ass meeting Bucky’s thighs with a resounding smack.

“Yeah, that’s it, Stevie,” Bucky croons, his sinful tongue tracing the line of Steve’s jaw. “C’mon, make yourself come, baby, wanna see it.”

“Bucky—m’close, shit,” Steve moans, his channel clenching around the intrusion inside it. Bucky grunts in response, his hand making loud squelching noises as he jacks Steve’s cock even faster.

“I know y’are, sweetheart, I know,” Bucky whispers, “C’mon, Stevie, let go for me, yeah? Lemme see you come, baby, lemme see it.”

“Bucky—Buck—oh!”

Steve body tenses up, a broken cry tumbling from his throat as his climax crashes through him. Hot, wet pulses of come spurt from his dick, spilling over Bucky’s hand and smearing between their bodies. Steve grinds himself onto Bucky’s cock, keeping just the right amount of pressure on his prostate. He’s white-knuckling the couch cushions, gripping them so hard that he worries that the fabric might rip.

“So good, Stevie, so fuckin’ hot, fuck,” Bucky whispers fervently, mouth laving over Steve’s sweaty skin. “Goddamn, baby, goddamn, so hot.”

“Bucky,” Steve says weakly, his body slumping forward. Bucky’s cock is still hard inside him, a warm, unyielding weight. “Buck—c’mon, you wanna—"

His breath whooshes out of his lungs as Bucky flips them around, throwing Steve onto his back in a lightning-fast manoeuvre. His dick slips out of Steve’s ass in the process, making Steve whine in protest. Bucky bullies his way between Steve’s thighs, yanking them around his waist. He pushes his cock back into Steve in one hard thrust, forcing a shout of surprise from Steve’s lungs. Bucky plants his elbows on either side of Steve’s head, taking his weight on his forearms as his hips slam into Steve at a brutal, unforgiving pace.

Steve moans heatedly, one hand clawing at Bucky’s back, his nails digging in hard enough to draw blood. His other hand clutches Bucky’s ass, trying to pull him closer, take him deeper.

“Yeah, Buck—sweetheart, c’mon, let go, I got’cha,” Steve pants, tightening the muscles of his channel around Bucky’s cock, doing his best to bring his husband to orgasm. Bucky groans, pounding into Steve with renewed vigour.

Bucky twines his fingers through Steve’s hair and forces him to look up, to meet Bucky’s wild gaze.

“I can’t lose you, Stevie,” he says desperately, “Can’t—can’t be without you,”

“You won’t lose me,” Steve promises, his hand coming up to cup Bucky’s jaw. “You won’t.”

“Promise me you’ll – fuck, oh – promise you’ll stay safe?” Bucky gasps out.

“I promise,” Steve tells him, “I will—fuck, yes, Bucky, yeah—oh, that’s it, sweetheart—”

“Steve,” Bucky says urgently, dropping his forehead against Steve’s shoulder, his hips working frantically as his cock plunges into Steve’s heat, again and again. “Steve, Stevie, fuck, m’gonna come, m’gonna come—”

“Yeah, that’s it Buck, let go,” Steve urges.

Bucky bites down into the meat of Steve shoulder, muffling his cries of pleasure. His hips slam into Steve’s ass, once, twice, three more times, before holding still, burying his cock to the hilt. He empties the contents of his balls into Steve’s hole, his dick spurting out thick ropes of come. Steve moans, tightening his legs around Bucky’s waist and winding his arms around Bucky’s back, holding him close as he shakes through his climax. Steve whimpers and breathes shakily as Bucky’s warmth fills him up.

In the aftermath, they lie there, wrapped up in each other’s arms, trading soft kisses and even softer touches.

“Promise you’ll stay safe?” Bucky asks again, as he intertwines the fingers of his flesh hand with Steve’s.

Steve brings their joined hands together and presses a reverent kiss to Bucky’s knuckles.

“I promise,” he whispers.