A/N
I don't own Marvel, it's characters, or pretty much anything.
This is for my mom. We ship Stucky... a lot. And I've always wanted to give my try at somewhat smut. I have inspiration from a few stories on AO3, but this fanfic is mine and is nothing like them, it's just Bucky is a demon and that's literally the only thing in common. I hope you enjoy reading it.
R&R, Please.
*Edit* I have added little transitions to the chapter to make it easier to interpret. They are the little "oOo" things.
Demons. While the topic is mostly a standstill on modern views, the existence of demons is irrefutable. They are, however, a crucial part of society- from being the enemy humanity fights against, to being their weapon. The very fabric of reality is warped by these creatures, whom for a lack of a better word, are fiends. Most demons are what you'd expect, twisting masses of darkening, horrendous flesh, horns, tails, gruesome facial features, the entire package. These are known as lower class demons. The entire class is made of demons of primal emotions and urges, with low intelligence and their only desire is cause harm, destruction, and feed on the souls of humans.
The class above it, residing in the middle of the scale, is made of elementals. Fire, water, air, earth, and shadow. The elementals can scale from first class damage to rounding about to the class above, in terms of the destruction they can cause. Elementals have forms you'd expect of golems from mythology, fire-types either molten beings or nothing but flames with a personality. Water-types can vary, from ice, to being water themselves, bending water to their will, and sirens and mermaids also fit into that category. Earth types are nothing less than you'd expect- nature and the ground beneath it. From rock-like beings, to hills themselves being slumbering demons, to beings made of vines and blossoming flowers, the earth class is the strongest- in terms of durability. Luckily, earth-classes do not actively seek human souls- rather they are more protective-types, some even protecting entire groves. Throughout history, humans have sought out blessings from earth-type demons, from protecting their crops to allowing safe passage through a forest. Air-types are a broad category, from harpies, to wyverns, to any type of avian-demon and any air-borne being. Some air-types can bend the air to their will, using wind at amazing speeds sharpening the compounds to something no razor can never compare. Air-types do not seek human souls as well- rather they only feed on other demons and are extremely territorial. And finally, shadow. Shadow-types are in a tight, narrow class. Only ever to be observed in ethereal, non-solid forms, shadow demons are mainly seen as masses of dark, swirling energy. Their abilities remain unknown, yet it's to be in theory-, they use shadows. Shadow demons hardly make appearances, only a select few ever recorded in history. There are less than a hundred shadow-demon related incidents throughout history, and the shadow-type remains shrouded in mystery. Electricity would have their own class, however the abilities show up in other classes and is quite rare. It's not a normal thing for demons to be able to control electricity, and therefor is just a factor in their abilities.
It's simple knowledge that a majority of demons do not have human-like forms. This is reserved for the highest tier, and even then there are only a select few that have human-like appearances. Succubi and Incubi, known as sex demons, have the main appearance of a human. Yet Succubi retain their wings, tails, and horns. Below the knees they have goat-like legs, with hooves as a finish. Yet devoid of fur, rather the skin is mainly smooth- until slightly above the hooves, where it turns into scales. Succubi have colorful, shiny scales on their hips, traveling up and dipping slightly into the curve of their waists. Their tails are smooth, with very small scales ontop of the epidermis, adding a layer of protection they typically lack. The tips of their tails have short, yet fluffy tufts of hair, the color of their hair. The base of their wings peeks from only from their shoulderblades- the leathery appendages similar to that of a bat's. It varies from succubus to succubus, some have scaled wings, others, wings with fur. The horns of a succubus can begin directly above their elf-like ears, or on the top of the head only an inch or two from the hairline. The horns of a succubus are typically curved, like a ram's. However for a select few- mainly those stronger than the general masses, have straightened horns that peek from their hair, standing four or five inches tall.
Incubi are basically succubi, only with a male appearance and anatomy. They are a male equivalent, and are extremely rare. The race of sex-demons is mainly female, and are entirely shameless when it comes to who they seduce. Feeding off the sexual energies of humans is easier when they are unconscious, asleep after the toils of their day.
The highest class of demons is made of extremely powerful, intelligent demons. Succubi, Icubi, Fae, Dragons- the list goes on and on. They are the most-human like when it comes to their personality and their minds, tricksters at heart. Rather than causing masses of destruction and blindly attacking to consume souls, they lure humans into their metaphorical webs- then strike when they are most comfortable. Except for Dragons. They just hoard things and will burn you alive if you try to take their treasure. There's been some cases of Dragons hoarding cars from the 60's. Seriously, don't try to take things from a Dragon. They may be old and radiate wisdom, but they turn into three-year olds throwing a tantrum if you take their shiny. Do not try and take things from a Dragon. I'm serious, it won't end well for you.
oOo
A slow, steady inhale. That's all he needed to focus, even with the hundreds of words on the pages in front of him blurring and overlapping. Running his fingers through his bangs for the umpteemth time, Steve sighed deeply as he slowly closed the notebook. He'd been trying to make sense of the scripts in the textbooks for six hours- and has, finally, concluded he won't be able to. Leaning back in his chair, Steve let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. Thoughts of his research still plagued him, symbols and history nothing but blurred masses of knowledge. He hummed a small tune that suddenly came from his subconscious, unintelligble words whispered in his ear.
oOo
"Look at me." Lips pressed to his flesh, breath hot against him. Fingertips ran along his spine, pressing into every dip and curve of his back. A tongue swiped against the shell of his ear, sending shivers crawling up his body. He tilted his head to the side, blue orbs meeting a storm. Hues of silver and gray clashed against white and the lightest shade of blue, surrounding a cat-like pupil. Long wisps of brunette hair framed contoured cheekbones, with bursts of reddish-gold highlighted in the sunlight. Those attractive, swirling orbs looked up at him, framed by long lashes.
"That wasn't so bad, now was it?" The demon hummed against his shoulder, gaze never leaving his face. Steve didn't feel uncomfortable pressed against that warm body, rather it was calming. His tension melted away being held by those tattoed arms, feeling those sculpted abs press against his back. Rough palms traveling up the curve of his spine, the slimming of his waist, the soft flesh of his thighs. Kisses peppered along his jaw, fangs pricking his skin on occassion. Yet that sinfully smooth tongue would dart from behind the fangs, lapping up any blood from the cuts. He should felt ashamed when the first moan escaped his lips, capturing the demon's attention. Those stormy ocean-colored orbs seemed to glow with hints of silver, the luminescence reflecting on his pale cheeks. Something changed in the demon's expression, that eerie calm replaced by something more feral. Lust was appearant, yet unconvictional adoration still shone somewhere underneath those primal instincts. Steve felt himself falling for a few seconds, landing onto the matress. The demon instantly was already all over him, lips exploring every dip and rise of Steve's body. He felt fangs puncture the flesh on his hip, little pricks on his collarbone, and the unmistakable pulling and biting of marking. The demon left hickies on his shoulder and random places on his chest, yet had never broke eye-contact. Steve felt another moan rising up his throat, and the moment he made the noise the demon crawled up to capture his lips. Smooth, a little wet, nothing like Steve would have imagined. Little sparks of pleasure left ghostly sensations traveling through his body, and Steve knew he was at the mercy of this very, very attractive demon. Said demon smirked into the kiss, pulling away slightly to allow Steve a few seconds to breathe before he was all over him again. Steve briefly registed a tail wrapping around his left leg, a hand dipping under the hem of his jeans, and fangs biting down onto his bottom lip. The demon growled possessively into the kiss, somehow moving further up Steve's body until he was straddling him. Steve brought his recently idle hands up, gripping the demon's hips. Those stormy gray orbs still remained on his own sky-blue orbs, the two never breaking eye-contact. That mischievious tail had somehow found it's way slithering into his pants, stroking Steve through his boxers. Steve ground his hips at the contact, earning another growl from the demon. He was able to notice the smaller details, the way sweat clung to the demon's tanned flesh, the way his lips were parted. He had control of the situation, even if the demon was denying it. The demon's gaze flickered to Steve's pants, before back up to his face.
"Pants... pants.. o-off." The demon managed to choke out words in his low, accented voice between pants. He let out a whine when Steve ground his hips against him again, before a low growl rumbled in his chest. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of Steve's jeans, hastily trying to unbutton the cursed item of clothing. After a few seconds he had figured the buttons out, and pulled down the zipper. The demon stared at Steve's waist for a few seconds, before his feral gaze was back on Steve's face. Steve raised an eyebow, smirking at the demon.
"I'm sorry, did you want me to do something?" The demon glowered down at him, fuming silently. Steve tilted his head, staring at the demon through golden bangs. Saying nothing else, Steve lifted his hips with a huff. The demon was a lot heavier than he looked. With a swift flick of his wrists, the demon had Steve's jeans down to his knees. The demon pouted when he saw Steve's boxers, another obstacle between him and Steve's body.
"What about you? You may already be shirtless, but you have those leather pants on." Steve interrupted the demon's dumb-founded gazing, which seemed to take the beast out of his stupor. Yet rather than outward aggression like Steve had expected, the demon gaved him a fanged smile, an all-teeth grin.
oOo
"Nat, what was that?" Clint glanced around the living room when an ethereal surge of energy swarmed the house, letting his gaze linger on the demoness next to him. She bristled visually, baring her fangs and snarling. She contemplated the environment, slowly rising to her feet.
"Something broke through my wards." Deep ruby flames formed at her fingertips, illuminating the essences that had passed through the room. It was almost non-existent, simply traces of cold, shadow-like forms. An icy chill penetrated the room, causing goosebumps to form on their skin.
oOo
Steve hadn't been expecting to see the demon's pants fade away, falling apart into little black swirling particles. Slowly dissolving, before nothing was covering the demon's lower body. Tail swishing behind him, it was quite obvious the demon felt something akin to pride with having been stared at. If the smug expression on his features was anything to go by, he absolutely loved the attention. He wiggled his hips in desparation for any form of friction, earning a groan from the both of them. The demon leaned forward, hovering over Steve. The long locks of curly brown hair barely brushed against Steve's chest, yet it was the gaze that held him captive. Steve couldn't bring himself to look away, he was drowning in the heat and intensity of those beautiful stormy gray eyes. Fingers that suddenly gained an unsurmountable cache of experience worked with the hem of Steve's boxers, pulling them down with one swift motion. The softness of the demon's body was painfully apparent, the smooth skin oddly supple where it didn't appear to be before. A strange burning sensation started in his chest, pulling him to the demon. He sat up slowly, bringing the demon with him. The demon licked his lips while staring Steve's own, an obvious longing reflected in his gaze. The blond gave the demon a small pout as an open invitation, and in the blink of an eye those desperate touches were all over him. Lips sliding against his own, fingers running along the curve his spine, claws leaving half-moons between his shoulderblades. That sinfully experienced tongue would dart out and leave a line of saliva along his jawline, before the demon was back at his mouth. That burning sensation was flooding his chest again, and Steve found himself complying with the demon's silent wishes.
Hands finding their way to the demon's hips, fingers kneading the soft flesh there. He could feel the bones underneath, but they weren't prominent. Rather Steve focused on the way the demon's body interlocked with his like two puzzle pieces, their chests gliding over each other effortlessly. The incubus looked like he was on his last legs, legs weakly wrapped around Steve's waist, constantly shifting. He needed release, now. Even as the demon blindly nipped at Steve's bottom lip for more compliance, he held his ground against the odd being moving against him. There was that blinding, surging pain again. He wasn't moving on his own, something was urging him. The demon didn't seem to mind, hell, the guy seemed elated when he finally was to nip at Steve's tongue. There was so many things that could have distracted Steve, yet the heated look in the demon's eyes as the two held each other's gaze was all he could focus on. The demon eased himself onto Steve, and quite inconviently, it was unlike anything Steve had ever felt before. If the sex-induced pheromones incubi produced when in a form of heat wasn't enough, then having one pressed against him and a breathful of the pheromones was enough to bring him to the edge. A low whine escaped the demon's throat as he visibly relaxed, yet the tension in his legs was still choking the life out of Steve's body. This writhing mess of a demon wanted Steve's attention, and was willing to rock himself on Steve's lap for the attention.
Tentative fingers found themselves pressing into Steve's shoulders, yet the fiery gaze remained. The demon let out a sigh as he jerked his hips upwards, before slamming back down onto Steve. Steve found himself losing the battle between self-restraint and giving in to the demon's sinfully delectable body. Self-restraint lost. The little whimpers, sighs, gasps, and moans were a colorful language flowing from the demon's lips, and the warm, slick passage enclosing him was a wonderful sensation to lose himself to. The demon encouraged him to move, and the two of them found a steady rhythm to move to. It was like dancing, yet they only used their hips. The demon seemed to enjoy rocking, rolling his hips in suggestive manners before Steve slammed the demon down onto him. The moan that escaped the demon sent shivers traveling down Steve's spine, and he found an odd sense of satisfaction. The demon found the attention gratifying, if the biting, licking, kissing and sucking on Steve's pulse was anything to go by. Those fluttering, tensing velvety walls pulled Steve deeper and deeper into euphoria, while the demon was slowly reaching his breaking point. The demon hummed against his pulse, arms wrapping around him. Something to hold onto. The demon made a small whine when Steve definitely hit something- and tried to angle his hips so he could hit that little bundle of nerves over and over.
If Steve thought the demon was loud before, it was nothing compared to the string of foreign curses and moans he was making. Inbetween breathless words were hums, jibberish, slurred encouragement, and low growling. Yet above the low, guttural sounds, the demon sounded quite pleased. If being swallowed by soft walls that clenched around with every movement wasn't enough, the tongue dragging along his pulse was a good encouraging factor. However the soft whines and hums whenever the demon jerked his hips up to meet Steve's rhythm was nice too. The way their chests slid against each other, the way the demon's ass felt underneath his fingers- soft puffs of air being panted in his ear, and words being moaned that sounded suspiciously like his own name.
"St...Steve..." And there it was, the first understandable word the demon had managed since he found himself in Steve's lap. Steve knew what it was for. The demon was finally going over the edge after who knows how long. Each stroke was another line added to the list, another added claw mark on his back. He wouldn't say he was waiting for it to happen... but... he was waiting for it. When that softness sheathing him tensed almost painfully, he know the demon finally was sent into his own world of euphoria. With a low growl, the demon bit into Steve's shoulder, yet it was painless. Even as ruby droplets rolled down his chest, he felt no pain. A small burning sensation remained in his chest, blossoming like a flower. He felt the sticky warmth clinging to him, and knew the demon had quite the reservoir. It remained pointless, however. The demon was focused on bringing Steve over the edge. Curious fingers traveled south, poking, prodding, pulling. Sometimes cupping, yet it remained more of a massage. That didn't mean the demon couldn't multitask... he did have a tail, afterall.
Oh, the colorful curses that left Steve's mouth would have made even his father lecture him. It didn't help the demon's case either, since his tail was quite... sensitive. The tension began as an unbearable heat pooling between his thighs, a coil wounding itself in his body. When the demon had his second release of the night, it finally pulled Steve over the edge. Yet rather than relaxation coming with the release, it was followed by nothing but exhaustion. He'd studied for things like this. Don't give into succubi and incubi, yet he did. And that scar now painting the flesh of his collarbone caused more warning signals in his mind to appear. The demon whispered little sounds of encouragement into his ear, milking him for every drop of energy he could. He shouldn't be doing this. He should feel ashamed for giving into the demon's wishes... something in him just refused to let that happen. His emotions were twisting, turning, and fighting each other. The lips pressed against his flesh were a minor distraction, however it did very little to ease the white-hot, burning pain he felt. If the demon kept feeding off his energy like this, he'd tap into Steve's life-force. And in all honesty, Steve didn't want the demon to go there.
"Shh... don't worry... I'll leave ya some... I'll be comin' back." The demon purred the words against his pulse, feeling just as exhausted, if not more than Steve did. His tail managed to weakly wiggle it's way out of Steve, falling limp against the bedsheets. If Steve thought he night couldn't get any worse, then he was wrong. The incubus was falling asleep against him, body sluggishly trying to register the hallucination they were currently in.
"...Th' names'... James. Call me Bucky if ya want." He whispered drowsily, gray eyes glinting in the fading light. Steve opened his mouth to reply, with something, anything, yet found his muddled mind incapable of forming a response. Rather he settled for a nod, heat rushing to his cheeks as he sweeped the demon's body with his gaze.
"Okay... Bucky... that's.. interesting." He raised an eyebrow at that, turning to 'Bucky'. The demon shifted his weight, which was becoming uncomfortable for the both of them. Bucky simply pressed his cheek into Steve's chest, staring up at him with those stormy gray orbs of his.
"Middle names' Buchanan. That's where it came from... the nickname 'Lucky Bucky' ended up sticking, so..." Bucky spoke softly, a silvery tone that was soothing. He breathed in Steve's scent, a flush spreading across his cheeks when it hadn't been there before. He pressed his lips to that odd scar that was beginning to look an awful lot like a demonic sigil, humming against the flesh. His eyes fluttered shut, and thick, long lashes casted faint shadows on his cheeks.
"Lucky Bucky?" Steve snorted, a smirk finding it's way to his features as he slowly leaned back onto the bed, bringing the incubus with him. Bucky made a small noise of displeasure, before relaxing into the curves of Steve's body. Bucky placed a kiss to the scar that formed on Steve's collarbone, which had just began to ache. He could feel consciousness beginning to slip away from him, the exhaustion setting in as the demon finally stopped absorbing his energy.
oOo
"Steve! Steve! Wake up!" Natasha's voice broke through the heavy air, rousing the blond from his hallucinative slumber. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat, his face paler than it'd ever been. His pupils were dialated, that small essence of black swallowed by bright blue. Steve's gaze darted around his room, before he let out a sigh of relief. His mind was still fighting the thin line between this world and the next, every other time he blinked he was back with the demon who was beginning to look uncomfortable.
"Tas.. what..?" Natasha held up a hand to silence him, flames still simmering at her fingertips. She began to draw runes in the air, flames glowing brightly, almost blindingly. The spell was met with resistance, the room dropping several degrees. A low growl erupted from a corner of the room, where a shadowy pressence stood. He bared his fangs, challenging the demoness. In the blink of an eye, Natasha was in front of him with a dagger pressed to his throat. Her gaze followed up to the demon's face, passing over the bloodied gash on his chest.
"Why are you here?" Answers were required. She demaned from the demon, who kept an emotionless expression despite being the one with a dagger pressed to his throat.
"That's none of your business." The demon growled out his response as he tilted his head upwards slightly, an attempt to appear taller, to loom over Natasha. His instincts may have been running wild, yet he wished to act if he was the one in control of the situation.
"It very damn well is my business. You break through my wards, come through my house, and then take advantage of one of my humans-" Natasha's voice raised with anger, however she was cut off by the tutting of the demon before her.
"...Your humans? You're only bonded with one of them. The blond was free game. And might I add you have some very weak wards? I bet an imp could slip through those." He glared down at her, spitting out his words venomously. A sudden fire seemed to gleam in his eyes, emotions unknown brewing behind those gray orbs.
"You dare to speak to me about bonding? That's ironic, Barnes." She retorted with the same intensity in her tone, those greenish-gray orbs boring holes into him. He simply blinked slowly, a smirk finding it's way onto his features.
"Pity for you, that's what I've done." With a swift flick of his wrist, he pointed to the healing wound on his chest. It was undeniably forming to be a demonic symbol, the one which binds demon to human. Natasha sneered at the mark, her face twisting into a grimace. She slowly turned her head in Steve's direction, who was staring at the two with wide-eyes.
"Nat... what is he talking about? What did he do?" Steve softly exhaled the words, suddenly feeling exhaustion creep into his bones. He was tired, for no reason he could think of. The world around him began to spin, his vision dimming before he blacked out. Natasha let out a sigh, slowly pivoting on her heel as she removed the blade from the other demon's throat. He continued to put off an aura of pride, at his own work of course. Natasha let out a grunt as she gave Steve a once-over, barely letting her gaze linger on any part of his body for a few seconds. She sighed again, gripping the dagger in her hand tightly. Not even looking in the fiend's direction, she spoke the words the both of them already knew.
"He won't be able to go to work for a few days. Whatever you did, you tired him out, drained almost all of his energy. It's a miracle you didn't kill him, Barnes. Nobody's been able to drive Steve to this point of exertion and exhaustion, yet you sneak in and you nearly suck the life out of him." Natalia fumed in an sharp tone, glowering at Barnes through thick eyelashes. She slid her dagger into the sheath on her hip, and with a wave of her hand she signaled Clint, who had been standing in the doorway the entire time, to set down his bow. The blond in the doorway tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow as he relaxed the drawstring. He mouthed something to Natasha with a concerned expression, before regarding Steve's form. The blond looked sickly, like he had in a life he couldn't remember. Dark bags were forming under his eyes, his skin looked blanched, and sweat clung and ran down his body. His breathing was clearly labored, as if he was being actively constricted. Natasha frowned at his appearance, ushering Clint over.
"We need something to... his condition- y-yeah, do you have any of those herbs? The ones you used before?" Clint stumbled over his words, yet gestured to Steve either way. Natasha understood what he had meant, and nodded in his direction.
"They're in the cabinet, where I keep everything else. Go! He's only going to get worse if we don't do something. I'll try to stabilize him with magic." She ushered Clint out of the room just as the ruby-colored flames from earlier appeared on her fingertips once again. This time however, she slowly padded on the carpet over to Steve, hands hovering a few inches away from his face. She began to focus some of her own energy into Steve, and was met with heavy resistance. The demon standing a few feet away let out a low guttural growl, no doubt feeling immense pain from Natasha accessing Steve's own spiritual energy. Their bond was newly formed, dangerous, unstable. If she could contemplate his future actions, she might have an advantage to break the bond and prevent him from returning, yet her instincts fought against the logical side of her mind. The room was beginning to drop several degrees as the minutes went on, and Steve was showing no signs of improving. With a huff, Natasha pulled away from him, the flames on her hands instantly going out. The incubus hadn't moved, rather he was inspecting Steve from a distance. He cast Natasha a glance, before his gaze returned to Steve. If his stiff posture couldn't express his discomfort, the way he pressed his lips together until they were turning white added to it. There was an uncertainty in his gaze, perhaps a form of guilt or regret. However, he stayed where he stood, as silent as ever.
Clint hurried back into the bedroom, with a satchel that reeked of powerful demonic herbs. He took note of the demon's pressence, holding his tongue despite his need to protest. He tossed the bag over to Natasha, who opened it as quickly as she could and began sorting out the nessecary items. The demon watched her every movement, glaring at every item she pulled from the satchel. He had opened his mouth to bare his fangs every once in a while, yet made no noise. As Natasha worked on creating an elixir that would hopefully save Steve's condition, she didn't notice how he stirred in his feverish sleep. Clint kept his sight on Natasha, watching her as she worked. The demon, however, was only interested in Steve. When Steve tossed in his chair with discomfort painted on his features, the demon was at his side in the blink of an eye. He leaned over Steve, long dark brown locks of hair touching the blond's shoulder. He whispered something into Steve's ear, which made the bloodied mark on his chest glow faintly. The sigil seemed to mend itself, becoming nothing more than a scar marring Steve's otherwise flawless skin. The demon kept an impassive expression, yet eternally he was feeling all of the pain Steve had previously felt. The mark on his chest re-opened, ruby droplets rolling down his bare chest. His vision blurred, and slowly darkened as consciousness began to slip away. He hit the floor with a thud, yet Steve still didn't stir. With a sigh, Natasha knew her and Clint would have to take the two to the hospital- and it'd be an unpleasant drive.
oOo
The sky above was as white as the snow beneath his feet, the cold biting through his skin. The flurry of snowflakes swarming him seemed to target him, almost every cluster of ice particles landing on exposed, tainted flesh. The cold air made every breath sting, yet he stood resilient. Wrapping his arms around himself, Steve squinted through the harsh storm in futile efforts to find anything in the wintery wasteland. Miles of icy tundra before him, and on all sides encased by tall glaciers. He was trapped, his only company the harsh winds and the thudding of his own heartbeat. He found himself wandering, and whenever he was getting close to going somewhere, he somehow found himself back where he started, in the middle of it all. The storm raged on around him, the frost biting at his skin which now had a dark flush to it. He wished himself to be somewhere else, anywhere else, and then suddenly he felt his head becoming too heavy to hold up. His body followed shortly after, colliding with the pillowy, frozen land beneath. The world around him became dark, and then soon after he was pulled by the strong call of slumber. He seemed to awake only seconds afterwards.
A small crowd was gathered in a pub, and all of them seemed to be members of the military. Only four or five of them had the badges that marked them handlers of demons, who stood obediently in the background, heads hung low, postures stiff and eeriely silent. Steve boggled at the situation, utterly confused. A minute ago he was freezing to death, and here he was, in the midst of a celebration. Yet, no one saw him. People passed right through him as they walked by, it was simply an illusion. He tried pulling himself out of it, rather finding comfort in being alone than being unseen, ignored, invisible to others. His lungs felt constricted, and seconds later Steve could barely breathe at all. He continued to watch the unfolding scene before him, the celebration that grew louder, that grew more excited with every passing second. Steve gave himself a second glance, and realized he was wearing one of the uniforms. He was dressed as an officer. He remained a phantom to their senses, invisible and silent. When the crowd stood up and all looked towards the door, Steve found himself able to breathe again. The tight coils in his lungs relaxed, and the stuffed atmosphere suddenly felt empty, too cold. Someone gallivanted into the pub, their head held high, a large smirk adorning their features. Blond hair neatly combed and gelled, bright blue eyes shining with a fiery intensity. It was him. Steve, was seeing himself. Through how, what means, he couldn't comprehend. All he could do was observe as the other him went up and got applauds from the crowd, a hugs from a few of them. Close friends, perhaps. They conversed, laughed, and gave each other friendly punches on the shoulders. The words were gibberish to Steve, he couldn't understand a single syllable. Steve reached out to the other image of himself, who he just noticed wasn't translucent like he was. Yet there was clear pain in the man's eyes, a longing, a desperate desire for something he didn't have. What could Steve have possibly wanted? Why was he here? He was never in a war. He was never in the military. As his mind tried to give answers to the questions that continued to pile upon each other, the pub grew silent. He thought he did something, until he recognized what, or more specifically who, they were looking at. A rugged looking man had stepped into the pub, scratches and bruises on his face, gauze wrapped around his torso, blood soaking through his blue overcoat, short scruffy hair, stubble growing on his chin. Stormy gray orbs were shining with adoration, relief, and regret all at once. Directed at Steve, the one that wasn't faded from existence. As the two continued to behold each other's appearances, Steve was able to watch as the two clearly had similar expressions of shock, and elation at once. The unnamed, yet strangely familar man dropped his rifle onto the ground, and ran to the other Steve. The two embraced each other, and the brunet began to cry in the blond's arms. Suddenly, all their words made sense. Whispers of adoration, tears of joy, and relief.
"Bucky- you're- you're alive!" The blond finally spoke as Bucky pulled away from him, tears glimmering in his eyes. He had a lopsided-grin, showing his pearly teeth, eyes crinkling as the smile met his eyes. Steve cupped the brunet's face, pressing their foreheads together. The brunet let out a small chuckle, which soon morphed into sobs. He wanted to bury himself in the blond, he was scared. It was obvious in his every movement. They turned his little precious Stevie into a weapon. He'd been declared KIA over three months ago. Yet there he stood, in arms that were strong, arms that were warm and comfortable. He didn't care if there were other soldiers around, he didn't care the amount of weakness he was showing. He was finally home, even if it was a tear-stained reunion. His fingers weakly gripped Steve's jacket, as he forced himself to push away to gaze up into those blue eyes that stayed the same, even after all that time away.
"Y-yeah, I guess I am. What about you though? Are you okay? What did they to you?" Bucky's tone had started out soft, calm, and quiet, then quickly morphed into nothing but concern for Steve. The blond chuckled and shook his head, letting his eyes flutter shut for a few seconds, drawing Bucky to his chest to hold the smaller man for a few more seconds. He muttered something into his hair, opening his eyes a few seconds after he did so. He was rubbing soothing circles on Bucky's back, the man slowly relaxing into the touch.
"I'm fine, Buck. Better than ever, actually. No more asthma, brittle bones- and every other problem I ever had. I'm the spitting image of health, according to literally everyone. And you know what I did with it? I stayed being the same person I've always been. Standing up for others." Steve was cupping Bucky's cheeks, rubbing circles with his thumbs along the sharp, protruding cheekbones the brunet had. He'd definitely looked like he'd been to hell and back, and clearly was tired from where-ever he had come from.
"Did it hurt?" Bucky's voice was filled with concern all over again, his lonely, sorrowful, lost, longing gaze directed back into Steve's eyes. The blond just smiled, and gave him a small smile.
"A little." Bucky visibly swallowed, pulling back a foot or so to take in Steve's new appearance. His gaze swept up and down Steve's figure, lingering at his thighs, his biceps, his chest, and his face. He appeared to be in deep contemplation, but someone else's voice broke him from his stupor.
It was then that their words were no longer making sense to Steve, and he was simply standing there as a ghost, watching a reunion between himself, a version of himself he couldn't remember- a version that just didn't exist, and another person. He could tell from the way they looked at each other they were much more than friends, yet no one commented on it. It's as if they didn't break the new-found peace, another reason to celebrate. Someone had fetched Bucky a glass of scotch, to which he gulped down greedily. Steve admired the man's appearance, as damaged and clearly injured it was. A sharp, pronounced jawline. Sculpted eyes, that were hooded in the most attractive way. Long eyelashes, short brown hair. He had strange curved cuts on his left cheek, dried blood on his earlobes from most likely ruptured eardrums, bruises all over his face, his neck, his arms, and even cuts, scratches, and bruises all over his chest from what was showing. His shirt only opened to slightly below his collarbone, dark wispy hairs peeking from underneath the tattered green fabric. His boots were dirty, scuffed, the soles worn down considerably. He appeared to have standard-issue trousers, torn at the knees, and at the ankles. He looked worse for the wear, and had a limp as he walked. Steve recoiled slightly, scowling at the man. Something at the back of his mind was screaming at him, warning signals being set off as he continued to gape at the brunet. Something deep within his chest began to ache, emotions crashing as waves over him. He couldn't explain his own reactions, and found tears rolling down his cheeks as that brunet was reunited with the non-transparent Steve. Something... pained him, on a deep level, a nagging feeling swelling in his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, those little salty droplets clinging to his eyelashes.
Steve felt something creep up behind him, and arms wrap around his waist. Lips were pressed to his shoulder, long brown hair tickling his cheek. He barely tilted his head to see who it was, and found himself in an entire new world of confusion. This man looked almost exactly like the person who had stumbled into the pub, only he wasn't injured, had longer hair, and had a bit more stubble. Yet those eyes were almost the same, a stormy gray that pierced into his soul. His chest constricted at the sight of him, and he felt words dying in his throat. Steve didn't know what to say, what to ask, all he do is try to put together the pieces that slipped from his fingers.
"Do you remember any of this?" The demon hesitated in asking, yet something compelled him to finally speak to Steve. He already knew the answer to his question, Steve didn't remember anything. It was like an entirely different life, one he'd most likely never remember. Yet a glimmer of hope remained in his eyes, and he forced down peppering kissing along Steve's jawline, to make the distraught expression fade away. He knew he looked equally pained, his heart being pulled in all kinds of directions. He didn't want to hear Steve's answer. He didn't want to have to see that look- that pained, confused look on him any longer. He didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want to force his mind to wrap around memories that would never make any sense. Too many pieces were missing.
"No. But... the... man, he... he seems familiar. Bucky, I think that was his name." Steve apologized in a tight voice, trying to assess what his answer would mean to the demon. He watched with a steady gaze as the demon's pupils dialated to those cat-like slits, before slowly returning to little ebony orbs. Steve felt another pang of guilt for something he didn't understand again, as the demon's expression morphed into something of pure agony. The way those stormy gray eyes clouded over, the way he looked dead to the world with nothing but a small scowl and the furrowing of his brows to lay himself to rest with.
"That's okay. You don't have to know him. He's long gone." The demon proceeded in a flat tone, expression now void of any emotion. His gaze was focused somewhere else, along with his mind. He looked oddly dejected from the world, and Steve knew it was clear that his answer had truly hurt the demon, if it was even possible.
"What do you mean, he's gone?" Steve cautiously begged the demon for answers, only met with the tension seeping into the demon's form. His shoulders squared out, muscles flexing as his posture became stiff and rigid.
"Dead." The demon confirmed the lies in his own mind, his eyes flashing with an emotion Steve couldn't place. The demon's stormy, silvery gaze slowly traveled over to meet Steve's sky-blue one. The only emotion Steve could place was the dreadfully obvious pain that were reflected in that storm, shadowed by thick lashes. The demon swallowed audibly as he gestured towards the door.
"If you go through, you'll wake up. You don't want to stay here. There's nothing more that you'll be able to understand. You're still recovering from... what I did." Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he regarded the demon with a tinge of scrutiny and wonder. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and bit down on his bottom lip. That longing, sorrowful admiration reflecting in the demon's eyes tore pieces of his soul to shreds, his heart yearning for more answers. All he could muster was a nod, as he pushed past the demon, trying to ignore the rummaging glare the demon was giving him. He stopped at the pub's doors, pivoting on his heel to spare the demon one last glance. He saw Bucky a few feet away, looking like he was about to faint. One of the soldiers was helping to hold him up, and they were all conversing, still distorted murmurs to Steve's ears. The demon's face was obscured by his hair, the long brown locks casting dark shadows on his face. Steve slowly looked away, fingers finding the handle of the door. As he opened it, there was nothing but a blinding, bright light outside. Inhaling deeply as he stepped outside, his world churned and he suddenly felt the urge to vomit into the white void.
oOo
The coppery smell of blood was the first scent that reached Steve's nose as he was pulled back into reality, and the first thing he saw was Natasha's concerned expression. She gave a sigh of relief, shaking her head at him. Steve felt unnaturally heavy, barely able to move. He tried to remember the fading memories, conversation and things he saw while under the hallucination of the incubis' faulty bonding-techniques. Clint was beside him, running his fingers through his hair. Steve squinted at his surroundings, noticing the absence of said demon.
"Hey, Nat, Clint." Steve greeted the two drowsily, his words slightly slurring as he was slowly waking up from his deep, recuperative slumber. He blinked a few times to fight off the tendrils of sleep that stubbornly called him, only to find himself boggled at where he was. He was in the hospital, not his bedroom. Turning his head to get a better look at the room, it was indeed a hospital room. There were beeping monitors, IVs, the ugly, uncomfortable bed underneath his body, the entire package. Concern laced his features as he squinted at the light that was unbearably bright, eyebrows furrowing as they always did. Clint leaned back in the chair he was in, disregarding Steve's apparent confusion. The blond man let out a sigh, chewing on his bottom lip. Natasha remained seated on the side of Steve's bed. She kept an even expression, blank, as she normally would appear. However Steve knew his friends, and there was something wrong. While they were being stubborn, he knew how to get them to talk.
"How long have I been out?" Steve demanded in a gravelly tone, his mind seeking the answer to his own question even if it wasn't fathomable. Natasha visibly tensed, if only for a few seconds. She breathed in through her nose, opening her eyes to give Steve a sympathic stare.
"Three days." She replied in a tight voice, eyes betraying her as they glimmered with a hint of rage. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding at her. The movement itself was tiring, and sleep wished to call Steve back. He resisted the dark tendrils of his subconscious, forcing himself to focus on his surroundings- and his friends.
"Where's the demon that did this to me?" It was then Steve knew the two were hiding things from him, as both of them suddenly had distant, far-off expressions. It was Clint's turn to speak, and he did so as he looked away from Steve.
"He's in a coma. The only reason you're awake so early is that he took the strain of your depleted energy to himself. All of the exhaustion, pain, and injuries you'd suffer, he's currently suffering. To speed up his own recovery, he put himself in a coma." Clint slowly turned his body to face Steve, their gazes meeting. Cogs in Steve's mind finally began to turn as he turned to Natasha, who was also looking at him. Her lips were that bright red like they always were, matching the color of her fiery hair. Her gaze had the same intensity, like a pair of emeralds amongst a dark abyss. It was a nice contradiction to the horns that peeked out from her hair, small, curling inwards and sweeping behind her ears. She glanced at the floor for a few seconds, before her gaze flickered back up to Steve's face.
"Steve, do you know him?" Natasha urged Steve for an answer with the wave of a hand, concern painted on her features. She only ever let her emotional walls down when it was Steve or Clint, and the both of them were honored she'd put so much trust in them. Steve knew she expected the same of them, and found himself fighting his own mind to pry answers from his subconscious.
"I...think so. He... showed me something, when I was asleep. Memories. Something I don't remember and I never will." Steve explained his dreams as slowly and carefully as he could, since it didn't even make sense to him. Even then, they were beginning to fade away faster than he could blink. Within a few seconds he couldn't remember it at all, and all he knew is he had a conversation with the demon about something important, but what, why, and when was lost. "I... already forgot what it was about." Steve groaned as he leaned back into the pillow, glaring at the ceiling heatedly. It had offended it in every way possible, being such an ugly color and pattern. He hated white. It got so stained easily. There were times it was coated in blood. When that little thought came to his mind, an imagine flashed in his memories, of a woman wearing a field medic's uniform, her chest covered in blood, gloves on her hands, which also were coated in blood. There was shouting, people screaming. He was drowning in the immense pain, and almost lost himself to battle of his own mind before a loud crack rang through the air. It took him a few seconds to realize Clint had slapped him, eyes glazed over with contemplation.
"Hey, Steve, try to stay with us, okay? Whatever the demon's putting in your head, push it out." Clint tried to sound sincere, concerned, yet he sounded too angry, too stern for himself. He was always the jokester, pranking Natasha and Steve at the worst times, failing to read the atmosphere, and making jokes at the worst times. He was being too serious, and Steve hated every second of it.
"I'm... here, I think." Steve eluded the request, trying to coax his friends with a wavering tone that he knew would convince absolutely no one. Cringing at the weak words that had slipped from his mouth, Steve relaxed into the too-hard-to-be-comfortable bed. Clint's fingers began to run through his hair again, and sleep claimed the blond all too quickly. It was too welcoming, it wished for his return. As did the demon he was told to avoid and not listen to.
oOo
Steve didn't know why he was expecting a frozen wasteland or a bar, yet he got something entirely different. It was a house, a bit small, old, dusty, yet it was comfortable. He felt safe there, even though he was transparent just as before. No memories were stirring, nothing was familiar, yet on an instinctual level, he knew this house. Sunlight filtering in through the windows, the quiet buzz of life outside the walls. While Steve would always prefer peace and quiet over anything else, the disturbances felt so natural, comforting. Taking a deep breath of the musty air, the drifting scent of apples reached his nose. He didn't even have to think as he found himself in the kitchen, watching that brunet from the last dream glaring at the oven. He was clean-shaven, didn't have the dark bags under his eyes, and looked slightly younger. He wasn't worn out, tired, or had seen a war yet. Steve took some form of comfort at his realization, seeing the brunet suffer stirred something in him that he couldn't quite explain. The brunet gave a huff at the stove, standing up and stretching. Just as he looked like he was about leave, a short, lanky, weak-looking blond came in. He looked like a twelve-year old with an adult's face, and it set off all kinds of alarms in Steve's mind. The brunet greeted the blond with a wave, a light blush dusting his cheeks.
"Buck, patience. Glaring at pastries wont make it bake faster." Steve was horrified to hear his own voice coming out of this... small, weak person. They looked like they'd die after just one punch. He even looked sickly, skin pale, dark bags under his eyes, and scrapes and bruises coating his cheeks and his arms. He looked like he'd recently gotten himself into a fight- and Steve knew this person would never win anything.
"Sorry, Stevie, but it smells good... 'sides, it's only got 'bout five more minutes left." This version of Bucky was undeniably different, and the accent he had was thick and screamed Brooklyn. Steve didn't know if he was surprised, or delighted, to know the brunet had such a nice voice. Not tired and distant like it was before, it was full of life, mischief. Something Steve wished the brunet had before, even if it was clear this was further in the past. He caught a glance of the demon standing in the corner, and the memory paused. The demon gestured at the pair, his gaze mirroring that of a corpse's.
"Do you know them?" The demon was intent on interrogating Steve about the two in suspended animation, and Steve shifted his weight on his feet as he kept an even gaze with the demon. They never looked away from each other, even as Steve shook his head. Once again, disappointment overtook the demon's features. He looked so lost, broken. The world around Steve slowly shifted, shimmering away to nothingness. It was just him and the demon in a gray void, the color matching the demon's eye-color.
"Steve. Please." The demon's pleaded with Steve, his voice rung in Steve's ears. He sounded distressed, he was begging Steve to remember something he believed something that didn't exist. He shook his head at the demon, who slowly approached Steve with one hand in the air. It was then Steve noticed the demon was wearing more clothes than before, an actual shirt and not just leather pants. It was old, torn, the color faded to a light brown. There were a lot of holes in the shirt, some from cigarettes, others clearly from struggle. The demon stopped a few feet away from him, fingers slipping up from Steve's collarbone to his throat.
"Don't leave me here, Stevie." The demon begged him, staring up into his eyes. He couldn't tear his gaze away from those gray orbs, watching the cat-like pupils constantly fluxuate between orbs and little daggers amongst the storm. Steve blinked slowly, curling his lips upwards as he regarded the demon with a look of confusion. Leave the demon where? In his own dreams?
"Leave you where?" Steve felt betrayed by his own voice, it was so small and insignificant unlike the question he had asked of the demon. Expecting words from the demon, Steve found himself baffled in surprise when the demon pressed his lips to his own. It was chaste, small, and he pulled back only after a few seconds. It wasn't even long enough for Steve to register the notion, but he reacted after too long of a span of time. He'd never seen a demon look so nervous, have so many human-like emotions coursing through them. Steve opened his mouth to lecture the demon for the small, simple act, yet the burn in his chest was a great enough pain to cause him to shut his mouth and wince. The demon pressed his palm to the sigil on Steve's chest, the pain easing away in a matter of seconds.
"Without you." And there it was, the demon had finally managed to push words out of his mouth. His voice was as low, accented, and scratchy as before. He chewed on his bottom lip, fangs poking into the flesh, drawing blood. The ruby droplets ran down his chin, breaking the demon out of his own stupor as he tried to wipe the blood away on his sleeve. Steve watched with indifference, that nagging feeling in his soul, pulling at his heart. There was something wrong, there's been something wrong ever since he met the demon in his dreams. The demon longed for him, it was painstakingly obvious, yet Steve couldn't reciprocate the feelings. The emotions were lost to him, just as the shimmering expanse around them began to fade. Steve was waking up.
oOo
Steve was kept in the hospital for another day before being released, his spiritual energy levels finally stable, along with his body. He was free to return to his work as a proffessor, teaching about demons and their arts at a prestigous academy. He'd been the only proffessor there without a demon bound to him, and he planned on remaining that way. He hadn't seen or heard a sliver of the demon that had marked him, and was still unaware if the demon remained in a coma or not. Steve knew it was against society's rules by a far, far throw, but if the demon was still in a coma, he'd feel guilty, and regret would flood his system and drag his performance to hell. So, Natasha and Clint didn't tell him anything on that matter. They ushered him to return to teaching classes, just as the students had missed their very good looking proffessor, who was single, around their age, and a genius. While Steve usually hated being reminded of his age and appearance, this week would a fresh start. He could leave his confusion and broken mind behind, and return to the stone-faced proffessor that dished sarcasm whenever a student would misbehave during sessions. It was entertainment, watching as they recoiled when their supposedly mature proffessor threw the same amount of sass at them as they did to him. Steve loved that part.
"Now then, please turn to page three-hundred-ninety-four of Erskine's Libram of Elemental Demonology. Do not laugh at the name, I'm aware it's horrible but I didn't write it so keep your corny jokes to yourselves." Steve announced to the class, pushing his glasses that were slowly sliding off his face back up. He pointed to the blackboard which was behind him, which already had the titles of the topic the students would be researching that day. Steve was always prepared, had things ready early before the classes even started. As some of the students snickered and made comments on the name of the textbook. Rolling his eyes, Steve pivoted on his heel to sweep the crowd of students with his fiery blue gaze. They instantly quieted, silence overtaking the room as the once-chattering students hastily flipped to the page they were supposed to be on. Steve had his hands behind his back, fingers interlacing. When he had every students' attention, he nodded and began the explanation, or summary, of the topic they'd be working on that day.
"As I'm quite aware your subsitute last week taught you- there are five types of demons residing in the elemental class. Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Shadow. You've covered the broad topics of known demons within each sub-class, and you're aware electricity is an uncommon ability that is a rare factor, yet is strong enough to be qualified as it's own type. Now, would one of you like to explain why it does not have it's own sub-class?" Steve addressed the students with his proffessional tone, skipping any mindless chatter and beginning straight on as to why they were there that day. When one of the students raised her hand, Steve rummaged his mind to remember her name.
"Miss Maximoff?" Steve directed his gaze in the brunette's direction, the girl biting on her bottom lip, clearly gathering her courage to speak in front of all of the students. After a few seconds of deep inhales and comforting words from her twin, she stood and began to explain.
"Electricity-types are not their own sub-class in the elemental-scale because they are not separate demons- like how water sub-classes have abilities revolving around water itself, or ice, which is a form of water. Electricity-types do not control lightning or the electricity running through city grids on their own- it is a rare ability found in all other elemental sub-classes except for shadow. For example, a fire sub-class could merge sparks of electricity with a fireblast, causing an exceptional amount of damage where fire alone would not be as destructive. The weaker elementals cannot weave electricity into their attacks, and even the stronger ones have difficulties. It's simply a factor, depending on the demon." Wanda finished in a slightly prideful tone, bowing before she sat down. Steve nodded in her direction, as the classroom burst into murmurs and the sounds of pencils scratching against paper.
"I take it your subsitute did not make that clear last weak from how many of you are taking notes." Steve muttered to himself as he turned to pick up a piece of chalk and began writing the charts for the elementals, and simple summoning circles. He turned to the students with a smirk, catching most of the crowd's attention. A majority of the girls were melting at his appearance, the uptilt of his lips seductive, even if he wasn't trying at all.
"Then I guess we'll begin on why it's not common, as it is a natural product of the elements themselves." Steve waved towards the chalkboard, and the day began with quite the burst of productivity. He was the academy's favorite proffessor, the ratings from the students, the parents, the other proffessors, and the headmaster himself.
oOo
As soon as he was home, Steve kicked off his shoes, leaving them at the door, and sauntered into his room to escape the confines of his suit. While expensive, form-fitting, Steve hated it with a fiery passion. With gold cuff-links, a tight leather belt, straightened black dress-pants, a very nice suit-jacket with some embroidery, it looked great on him. He still hated it. Shedding the offensive, evil piece of clothing in a matter of two minutes, Steve stretched at his new-found freedom, wearing nothing but his boxers and a pair of striped socks. He was about to leave his room until he remembered Clint was off work that day, and didn't want to make the poor archer uncomfortable. With a sigh, Steve fit himself into a pair of jeans and a gray slim-fit T-shirt. It had a small dark colored logo on the right sleeve, which Steve didn't bother finding out what it was. Rolling his shoulders in a shrug to relieve the tension that had built up during the day, he exited his room to find Clint sitting on the couch watching the news. Nothing exactly interesting, just another demon-attack in a major city with a small amount of casualties, and a lot of people injured. Steve sighed at the TV, picking up the remote without Clint noticing and turned it off. The archer turned to him with an expression of fake shock, placing a hand over his chest and batting his eyelashes.
"Steeeeeve~" Clint whined out the taller blond's name, pushing out his lips in a pout. Steve simply stood there and blinked slowly, shaking his head.
"That's enough television for you, you might figure out the world's not all puppies, rainbows and sunshine." Clint huffed with indignation, clearly faking his vexed attitude. Rather the shorter man had a smirk slowly pulling at his lips, before he burst out into giggles. Steve snorted at the man's antics, shaking his head as he followed in the contagious laughter.
"You should have seen your face-" Steve mused with a large smile, waving the remote around and watching with clear amusement as Clint's gaze followed the remote like a cat to a red laser.
"You should have seen your face after you mentioned puppies and rainbows in the same sentence." Clint interjected as he wiggled his body, ready to pounce at Steve for the remote. When Steve had slowed down his movements enough for Clint to jump at him, the archer stubbornly held onto the remote even as Steve lifted it out of his reach- along with him. The archer glared up at Steve with the intensity of an angry kitten, the smirk still remaining on his features. The two held a staring contest for several moments, the neither of them letting go of the remote. It might have lasted longer if an uninvited guest decided to welcome themselves, their voice cutting through the light atmosphere with the sharpness of a recently grinded butcher's knife.
"What in the world are you two doing?" The demon tried to assess the situation, tilting his head as his tail swayed lazily behind him. He was holding a Starbucks, and a box of donuts. Steve and Clint slowly turned their heads in the demon's direction, before hastily scurrying away from each other. Steve handed Clint the remote, who glanced up at the taller blond before shoving the object in his pocket. The two stared in the incubus' direction, who growled disapprovingly at the attention.
"Forget what you are doing, why are you staring at me?" The brunet was completely oblivious to the fact he had slipped through Natasha's wards for a second time, not even wearing his amulet or any type of charms. Rather he was wearing a pair of slightly scuffed jeans, with rips at the knees, and a maroon shirt. Over the shirt was a jacket, and he was wearing a red baseball cap to top it off. Taking a sip of his coffee, he raised an eyebrow at the two offending humans who continued to stare.
"You do know staring is rude, correct? At least, I believe it is in human customs." The demon glared at the two, before hopping up onto the island counter in the kitchenette, opening his box of donuts as he did so. He ate donut after donut in silence, occassionally sipping at his coffee. It was Clint who finally broke the silence, his gaze darting to the wall by the door where his bow was.
"Why are you here, Barnes?" The demon shrugged, his stomach growling in protest for more food. His stormy gaze traveled to the cabinets as he sniffed the air for anything he could just open and start eating. When his nose finally caught the scent of leftovers in the fridge, he hopped off the counter and sauntered over to the fridge, pulling it open and searching for the leftover fried chicken. After a few moments, he was seated at the island counter, already biting into one of the drumsticks.
"...'m hungry." Barnes finally responded as Clint and Steve were settled back on the couch, the both of them watching him warily. Steve decided to take the opportunity to observe the incubus when he was somewhat comfortable, at least it seemed like he was. The demon had recently shaved, his jawline not obscured by scruff, and goddamn was it a nice one. He had his hair into a ponytail, his bangs still falling over the sides of his face, yet it looked nice on him. He had taken his baseball cap off, which was on the counter less than a few inches away from him. It was then, with his not-so-subtle surveilance of the demon that he noticed something... interesting. He had horns, like a normal incubus, but the peculiar aspect about him was the feline-like ears atop his head. He lacked the elfish ears most succubi and incubi had, and instead had twitching, fluffy ears that looked like it'd belong to a snow leopard. When Steve's gaze went south, he noticed that the demon's tail wasn't smooth or leathery like a succubus' or incubus' tail would be, but it was indeed a snow leopard's tail. A cat-like incubus... that would explain the cat-eyes. And the fangs. Steve squinted at the demon, who seemed to finally notice his gaze, and growled at him as he finished up the last of the fried chicken. Clint sat in his seat on the couch, fuming and pouting at the same time. The two had hoped the demon was done eating their food, but when he stood up, threw away the bones, then went back to scavenging the fridge, the two decided it was enough. Clint motioned Steve to the demon, but the two had a silent argument in sign language as to who would escort the demon out. Steve ended up losing, sighing as he stood up. He approached the demon cautiously, who only regarded him with an impassive expression. This version of the demon was almost completely devoid of emotion, save for the disappointed look that painted his face.
Steve never thought he'd feel so betrayed by someone he didn't know- that look pulled all kinds strings in his heart, disappointment in himself washing over him. When he was standing only a few feet away, the demon slowly closed the fridge, body turned away from Steve. It's like it was a completely different person- he was a completely different person. Steve regarded the demon's body language as discomfort being so close to him, so he took a few steps back. Unfortunately for Steve, it only made things worse. The demon before him visibly bristled, his tail fluffing up as his ears pressed flat against his hair. Steve tried to ignore as Clint silently slipped away from the couch to grab his bow, and the two were left alone for a few moments. Clint was most likely dipping his arrows in poison, so he'd do a decent amount of damage to the demon. As if. The room began to grow colder, and suddenly Steve wished he hadn't worn such a thin shirt. Those gray eyes swept over his body a few times, right before the demon recoiled from him. He'd hurt the demon's feelings. Steve breathed out through his mouth slowly, a faint blush blooming on his face. He could feel the tips of his ears getting hot, and bet he looked like a cherry at this point. He looked away from the demon, taking another step back. It sent the incubus over the edge, as he grabbed onto Steve's wrist and pulled the two of them close together.
Steve knew Clint had his bowstring drawn taut, the arrow directed for the demon's heart. However there was a chance it could through the demon, and get lodged into Steve, too. Steve simply breathed in deeply to calm his nerves, and caught a whiff of vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner. The demon pressed as close as he possibly could to Steve, nose buried in the crook of his neck. The little mewls that escaped him pointed in the direction that just that small amount of contact the demon was getting turned on, even with his life in danger. Steve was baffled at the restraint the incubus was showing, however, as the only touching he did was sniffing and holding onto Steve's wrist. His tail flicked behind him wildly, and all Steve could do was watch and hope no one moved in this dangerous, unstable situation. The demon was shuddering against his body, desperately aching for any more form of contact. He swiveled his vision upwards, meeting Steve's gaze. Steve could see the longing, the lust in those swirling orbs. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve waited for the demon to act, yet the incubus slowly forced himself away. He looked absolutely torn for making himself move away, and Steve could tell from the pained expression on the demon's face. He was curious, as to what a few words would do.
"You can touch me." Steve whispered to the demon softly, who's eyes lit up with surprise, and only a few seconds later Steve felt himself being enclosed in arms that felt as strong as his own, claws scratching at his back, soft, fluffy ears tickling his cheek. The demon moaned against his shoulder, quite loudly as he grinded against Steve's body. The blond's cheeks were positively burning at this point, and he was trying his damnest to ignore Clint, who was slowly lowering his bow and raising his eyebrows. Steve mouthed to him silently that he couldn't explain any of it, which he couldn't. He didn't know what to do, so he remained frozen in the demon's arms. He could sense the uncertainity from the demon, who clearly wished the feelings were reciprocated, and watched as the demon slowly pulled away from him. The earlier glee and excitement he had was replaced by horror, self-loathing and once again, disappointment. The demon wanted Steve to remember something, someone, when the memories weren't there. His ears pressed flat against his hair again, his tail not even swaying an inch.
"...'m sorry. I...I can't... I... miss.." The demon struggled to form words, his voice quiet, shaky. He breathed in slowly, shaking his head as he turned away. Steve was able to recognize the look on the demon's face- and it tore his heart to pieces all over again. When Clint was able to see the demon's expression as well, he furrowed his eyebrows together in concern. Demons did not show that amount of emotion- they didn't become attached to humans, unless they were Natasha. But here's another demon, who's heart seems to be a thousand pieces. Tears threatened to overflow from his eyes, as he curled on in himself. He slid down to the floor, back pressed to the fridge. A choked noise escaped his throat, as his shoulders began shaking. He brought his knees up to his chest in an effort to make himself as small as possible, and the two humans could do nothing but watch. The demon cried against the fridge silently, the choking sound that escaped his throat before the only noise he had made. He sniffled a few times, his tail curling around a legs in a futile effort to offer some comfort to himself.
"Steve, the hell is he to you?" Clint placed his bow back in it's place on the wall, turning to Steve with a worried expression. The taller blond shrugged his shoulders, sighing deeply as he silently watched the demon's emotional breakdown.
"I... he's nothing to me, I don't even know him. But I seem to be... something to him." Steve tried to assure Clint the demon was nothing to him, but somewhere deep inside him he knew the demon had been something to him. Yet his lies seemed to work- on Clint at least, and after he said the words the demon out a small cry, breaking down all over again. Steve and Clint both cringed at the sound and at the sight, neither of them knowing what to do. Clint appeared to be in a moment of contemplation for a few seconds, before he signed to Steve to do something, it's about you. Steve shrugged, closing his eyes, shaking his head and sighing. Slowly sitting down on the ground, he tentatively reached out to run his fingers through the demon's hair, the broken sounds coming from stopping immediately. Steve was almost glad he could get the demon to stop crying, but he felt guilty at the same time for causing it. Those soft black and white ears began to rise up again, attent at their surroundings.
Steve's heart hammered against his chest, causing him pain like it would have so many years ago. He felt anxiety creeping into his veins, every ounce of courage leaving his body. He felt vunerable trying to offer a demon comfort, knowing he'd never be able to give the demon the security and love he'd been so blindly desiring.
"Hey... what's your name?" Steve resisted the urge to punch himself at his choice of words, instead coaxes the demon with a soft, gentle tone. He tried to ignore the way the demon leaned into his touch, as if the simple notion gave him ecstasy beyond any other wonder of the world could. His eyes were still screwed shut, yet he had lifted his head from his knees. His jeans were unmistakibly soaking wet from the onslaught of tears, the demon's cheeks red and puffy. He slowly opened his eyes, mouth pressed into a thin line. At a first glance, he would appear agitated, but his ears and his tail were giving him away. That tail instinctly tried to curl around Steve's wrist, the fur probably the softest thing he's ever felt.
"N...name...?" The demon turned to Steve, his eyebrows knitted together, mouth hanging slightly open. He hesitated to answer, yet felt like he should have anyways.
"James Barnes." He had a silvery tone, a Brooklyn accent, his voice missing the scratchiness it would always have when he talked. It was like the demon had become an entirely different entity- or perhaps he had another personality. Steve raised an eyebrow at the name, struggling to search his subconscious for answers about the name. It brought nothing but stress and a headache. But a heartache was more prominent than the throbbing of his brain.
"I'm pretty sure you know who I am." Steve mused quietly, still running his fingers through the demon's hair and brushing against his ears every so often. The demon regarded him in an offset manner, gaze never leaving his eyes.
"You're Steven Grant Rogers. I read about you in a museum. But I knew you before you were a national icon. I grew up with you. You were just the kid in Brooklyn who'd never back down from a fight. You had a lot of health issues, your life was threatened a lot, but me and your mom always fought to keep you alive." The demon recalled the memories with a shaky voice, the words like venom he had to force from his mouth. He didn't see the way Clint paled considerably, or the way Steve looked more baffled than he ever had been before.
"Then- I was drafted. And... I got captured. In the mean-time you went and signed up for a project to make a super-soldier." The demon's ears pressed against his skull once against, a low whine escaping his throat. The memories were clearly unpleasant, if his pained expression and tight voice were anything to go by. Steve stayed silent, listening intently. He didn't know his past, and when he had woken up in S.H.I.E.L.D. no one would tell him anything, he had no memories and was given a clean slate to live his life.
"They... did things to me. They made me a half-breed, at first. Fuckin' forced an incubus into my body, beyond the boundaries of possession. Then I got away. I found out they turned my Stevie into a weapon. Wh-when you found out I was dead, that little innocent kid who didn't want anyone to hurt became a murderer. You weren't going to stop until every single one of them were dead." The demon raised his eyebrows, eyes vacant and void of any emotion. Yet as he spoke, he sounded surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.
"We started up a team. Became the Howlin' Commandos. Then I fell off a train and supposedly died... They got me back, forced an ice demon into the brewing disaster and an animal spirit, thus... me. Their weapon. The guy who made the super-soldier serum was assassinated." The demon screwed his eyes shut, trying to block out his own memories. All he could think of was the torture they put him threw. Steve kept running his fingers through the demon's hair, rubbing behind his ears.
"When they were gonna nuke a few of th' major cities.. you drove th' plane into th' bloody fuckin' ocean. Frozen, for seventy years. Ya woke up in the twenty-first century, no memories. I've been chasin' ya ever since. Ever since I got away, I've looked all over the globe for you. I've been lookin' for where that plane crashed." The demon admitted as his voice began to crack, and that vacant expression morphed to pain once again.
"I'm tired of losin' ya, Stevie. I'm tired of being lost. I can't jus' roll over an' die. Don' work that way anymore. It's either bein' frozen or suffering and rememberin' all the things I've lost. I am so tired of losin' everythin'." The demon was beginning to slur, his accent becoming thicker and his voiced distressed. He pressed his face into his knees again, not able to face him again. He couldn't look at Steve anymore.
"I want to come home, Stevie. You're where my home is, but you don't remember me. I have no where to go. I could go back to them and spend the rest of eternity as a lab rat, being tortured, and them tryin' to put my brain in the blender." He painfully choked out his confession, tail unwrapping from Steve's wrist. He didn't even register as Steve stopped petting his hair, rather looking at the demon with a form of horror and recognition. There was an immense burning sensation in his chest, extremely painful making Steve feel like he was a cripple. The bond that was beginning to form was already being torn apart, the demon's emotions to much to process through the weak link. The demon clearly already knew, beginning to recoil from Steve's touch. The faster it's broken, the less pain the two would have to suffer from. Steve's eyes were glazed over, something playing in his mind. He bit into his bottom lip, furrowing his brows as he expressed the pain he felt in silence.
Then something clicked. Steve felt a glimmer of hope- there's a piece of his past right in front of him, someone who could put everything together. Clint was watching from the sidelines, staring at the two in silence, still shocked at everything Barnes had said. Steve didn't really care about his friend at that point- all those missing memories, that person S.H.I.E.L.D. had been expecting him to be- they could be put back together. He could be Steve Rogers again. A name formed at the tip of his tongue, anxiety like he'd never felt before preventing him from saying it. He yearned for the contact he'd been deprived of for seventy years, the answers he'd been searching for.
"Bucky?" Steve called the demon's name quietly, eyes glued to the demon. He tensed visibly, head slowly rising from his knees for the second time. There it was, that glimmer of hope that they could put the puzzle back together. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, My Bucky, that same name repeated in Steve's head like a broken record. Bucky let another choked sob escape his throat, all of his attention on the center of his world he'd been chasing for far too long.
"Yes?" Bucky marveled at his Stevie finally saying his name again, and that little key to his heart fit perfectly back into place. His ears perked up, tail swishing excitely behind him. He continued to admire Steve contemplate his next words, yet that look in his eyes said everything that needed to be said.
"I'm with you to the end of the line."
A/N
Okay, so, I'm really enjoying this, I cried writing it at some points, and I plan to continue ASAP unlike my other fanfics. I love this fanfic and I have no idea why, but I am going to continue and I am going to continue crying in my corner because I did while writing all the sad parts. And aren't you glad the first chapter has a somewhat happy ending? You don't have to wait a thousand years for them to get together. We're going to go nice and slow, focus on Steve getting his memories, and maybe there will be more smut in the future. It's all up to your criticism.