Chapter Text
Steve's standing in front of the mirror, completely naked, when Bucky knocks on the bathroom door. It's a good thing he hasn't picked up his razor yet, because he jumps and almost drops his shaving brush into the sink.
"Uh, hang on," Steve says, and hastily secures a towel around his waist before he opens the door just enough to see half of Bucky's face—one blue eye, dark smudge under it like a bruise, and the corner of his mouth quirking up in something between a smile and a smirk.
Steve asks, "Do you need something?" and just like that Bucky's eye goes sleepy-looking, eyelashes fluttering down as the corner of his mouth ticks up.
"Can I come in?" Bucky asks, but his fingers are already curling around the edge of the door, and Steve backs up before he thinks it through, fisting one hand in the end of the towel where it's tucked against his hip bone.
Bucky walks in—walks right into Steve's bathroom while Steve is in it, which is so unexpected he can't find the words to protest—and drags the tips of his fingers across Steve's bare belly as he walks past him. Steve's stomach tightens, inside and out, and he hears himself suck in a startled breath. He suddenly feels way too warm, despite the fact he's only wearing a towel he's now hanging onto for dear life.
Bucky ambles over to the bathtub—an old-fashioned clawed monstrosity that is one of Steve's favorite things about the apartment—and perches on the edge of it. He hooks his hands over the side and smiles slowly at Steve, while Steve tries to not look as dumbfounded as he feels.
He's wearing one of Steve's T-shirts, the one he slept in, but he's put on his own pants and boots; Steve recognizes the pants, the same obscenely snug black leather things from last night. The first thing they need to do is go out and get him something else to wear, Steve thinks. Some clothes that don't make him look like—like what he isn't anymore.
"I was just about to shave," Steve says, mostly because it seems like someone should say something.
Bucky shrugs and stretches his legs out in front of him. "Don't let me stop you."
This is weird, Steve thinks, and there's something off about it, something wrong, but he has no idea what to do or say. He goes back to the sink, tucking the towel in a little more tightly, and picks up his brush and his mug, starts to work up a nice lather. Shaving suddenly becomes a welcome ritual, something to focus on, and he tries to ignore what's happening behind him, but it's not very easy. He feels Bucky's eyes on him the whole time, as tangible as the soft tickle of the brush on his face, the smooth glide of the soap, the cool scrape of the razor as he clears away the stubble.
Steve can't help it, his eyes keep finding Bucky in the mirror, and it's impossible to miss the way Bucky's looking at him, eyes drifting across the width of Steve's shoulders, down his back to where the towel covers him. Even before Bucky meets Steve's eyes in the mirror and gives him a frankly inviting look, Steve's figured out Bucky is trying to pay Steve back for taking him in, for letting him spend the night and eat a hot meal in comfort. The realization leaves his stomach twisting and his blood roaring in his ears.
This isn't what Steve expected—and certainly not what he intended—and he wants to protest, but he's too busy watching Bucky slither down into the tub and spread his legs a little wider, gaze innocently up at Steve as if he's not completely aware how he looks like that.
The razor takes a nick out of Steve's face, right over his cheekbone. He winces at the sting but keeps going. It'll be healed by the time he's done.
He takes his time wiping his face, checking for any spots he missed, hoping against hope that Bucky will just get up and leave, but he doesn't. He props his head on his arm and says nothing at all with words. It's all in the welcoming slant of his mouth, the lazy way he runs his thumb along the curve of his leather-covered knee, the way he took the time to put on his own pants but is still wearing Steve's shirt. If things were different, if Bucky didn't think he owed Steve this, Steve would—
But things aren't different.
Steve hangs the small face towel on the hook next to the sink and finally turns toward the tub, then steps closer until he's looming over Bucky, just to prove to both of them that he's not intimidated. "I need to get in there," he says.
"I agree," Bucky says. He reaches up and hooks his fingers over the top of Steve's towel, right below Steve's belly button, right above his—
Steve grabs Bucky's wrist, harder than he means to, and just in time, because Bucky is done being passive. He tugs at the towel, but Steve comes with it, pitches forward until he catches himself with his free hand on the wall. Steve looks down and instantly regrets it, because now he's braced above Bucky; above the enticing length of him there for the taking, above his upturned face, his pretty mouth.
"Alone. To get clean," Steve manages to breathe out. The backs of Bucky's fingers twitch against the tight skin of Steve's lower belly, and Steve tries not to moan. His thumb digs into Bucky's wrist until he feels something grind unpleasantly against something else. He realizes what he's doing and lets up, strokes the pad of his thumb across Bucky's skin in apology. But he doesn't trust him enough to let go.
Bucky's eyes drift down to their hands, to where Steve's thumb is still moving in a small circle, then back up to Steve's face. His mouth curves in a cat-like grin that makes Steve's toes curl against the floor. This is so wrong, and going somewhere it shouldn't, somewhere Steve desperately does not want it to go. He doesn't.
Bucky lifts his chin, and his nose bumps against the corner of Steve's mouth, nuzzling. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, a pleased hum, as the delicate curve of his upper lip brushes against Steve's chin. Steve closes his eyes and tries to gather the strength to pull away, even manages to flex his fingers against the wall, but he never gets any further than that before Bucky bites lightly at his chin and murmurs, "You know what I think, Steve? I think you need to get dirty. I think you've never been really dirty."
And maybe that's true, Steve thinks, as he feels Bucky's mouth close over his lower lip, sucking softly before he slowly, so slowly pushes his tongue into Steve's too-willing mouth, but he's never felt dirtier than he does right now.
The End
[Image Description: Sebastian Stan in a bathtub wearing black leather pants. No, really, that's what it is. And I still didn't write any sex in this story. I need help.]