When Bucky entered the common area of Avengers tower two hours after taking the longest shower of his entire fucked-up life to scrub away the evidence of last night, Sam was making fruit cocktails at the bar, singing softly to Marvin Gaye like nothing was amiss.

The oncoming headache Bucky felt was only partially Sam's fault, but his joyful out-of-tune performance didn't help the spinning head one bit. Bucky was determined to give Sam the cold shoulder for his pains and successfully refused to acknowledge his presence. A win-win situation for the both of them really.

He sat down slowly at the far end of the counter, leaning heavily on his forearms to take some of his weight, careful not move his ass in that particular fashion that still made him flinch in pain.

Maybe he should have used a less irritating soap to clean up? There had to be a list of things you could and couldn't put in your ass somewhere on the internet. Bucky hadn't dared to look it up.

Maybe Steve could have been a little more careful with him, too, but after all, they were both super soldiers. It was hard to control your powers and let go like that. Bucky's ass would heal in no time and the loose, wet feeling (like he was still leaking when he clenched his muscles there) was just in his head anyways.

No one could tell. No one could tell because no one knew that he was fucking gay.

Just to make sure, Bucky was paying extra attention to his posture. He needed to avoid awkward questions, like why the Winter Soldier was walking funny, at all costs.

The slight gait in his step wasn't hard to conceal and in a perverse way, Bucky was almost proud of it. The barely-there micro hair fissures he had felt all around and under the skin when he tossed and turned sleeplessly last night were like battle scars. He wasn't some delicate dame and they'd both been into it, so...

Bullshit. At least, Steve could have stayed and talked to Bucky about things instead of running away again and making him feel like something cheap afterwards—

Sam was shaking the cocktail mixer in front of his face as if he had a seizure.

"You want this one? It's strawberry."

He put a plastic flamingo into the slim rose-colored glass, poured the liquid into it, and set it onto the counter in front of Bucky.

"Can you make one that's less... Pink, maybe?"

"Thought you'd like the pink one," Sam responded and winked at him with a smug smile. He could never quite manage to blink with one eye instead of two. It was equal parts unnerving and adorable.

Bucky glowered. "What's that supposed to mean, Wilson? Why would I want the pink one?"

"Fits your girly hair and shit."

Girly... Queer... Bucky barely suppressed a guilty flinch, tensing up and grinding his teeth in a way that kept the strained, twitching muscles in his shoulders and jaw unnoticeable.

When his right hand went to his neck self-consciously, scratching and twisting the strands there, his mind promptly flashed back to Steve pulling his hair and fucking him over the counter relentlessly.

...That's right.

You can take it.

Sam flicked a few strands out of Bucky's face.

"You alright?"

Bucky's perverted mind jolted back to the present like someone had flipped a switch.

"Yeah. Yeah... I was thinking the bird's more your style."

It wasn't his best comeback so far but Sam still honored it with a full body laugh. Bucky relaxed again, relieved about the easy diversion.

They went on to throw jabs at each other for a while, chatting leisurely about everything and nothing in particular. Status quo restored. Bucky gave his best to play it cool. His mission was a covert interrogation, aka. coming up with a clever way to bring up Steve's whereabouts without raising suspicion.

Unfortunately, there seemed to be a bit of a jinx on it and the desired topic never came up.

Bucky finally got tired of steering the conversation in Steve's general direction after 30 endless minutes of fighting over whose team was gonna win the playoffs and some wild speculation whether or not Marvin Gaye could have been a star player if God had willed it so. Sam was in love with that dude.

"So... Did you notice anything weird about Steve lately?"

Sam put down his drink.

Subtle, Barnes. Real subtle...

"Weird how?"

Weird as in suddenly gay and really into rough sex? Sam was Steve's best friend in the whole wide world (except for Bucky of course) but he was pretty sure that there were some things you better kept to yourself.

Don't be obvious.

"I don't know. He seems different."

"Did you guys have a fight or something?"

Not exactly... Bucky tried hard not to blush at the memories that were replaying in his mind's eye like some r-rated blue movie and opted for a half truth.

"Yeah, I said some things about Sharon and he stormed out of the apartment last night."

"Oh man, and he didn't come back all night?"

Lying to Sam's stupidly trustful face and obtaining his genuine compassion by trickery felt like a capital sin. That shit weighed on a guy's conscience.

Stick to the story.

"No, he came back, alright? But he wasn't at the apartment when I woke up."

"Maybe he just needed some me-time? Let him have this. You two are way too codependent as it is."

The truth was hard to dismiss. Sam had them down to a T. His advise, as well-intentioned as it was, hurt like rubbing salt in an open wound.

Bucky pinched his nose. "Yeah. Maybe..."


Steve didn't show and Bucky slowly but surely went stir-crazy, just a little more with every passing minute. It was almost half past 4 in the afternoon when Natasha joined him in the depressing half-light of the living room where Bucky was sulking.

She flipped over the back of the couch and landed with her head propped comfortably in his lap, smiling like the cat that got the cream.

Apparently she'd meant to 'do this all day', or so she told him. Judging by her troubled expression, it didn't have the desired effect. Bucky's reaction seemed to lack the proper enthusiasm for her performance.

"Is this a bad day?" she asked him in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, twisting stands of red hair around her little finger.

"I can Netflix and chill with Clint instead if you like."

"We never 'Netflix and chill' Nat. It's just Netflix."

She gave him a look. "Is it about that? You're frustrated we're not doing the chill part?"

He snorted.

Natasha fluttered her eyelashes at him in a mocking attempt at seduction. "Wanna be my chill buddy, Barnes?"

He laughed, for real this time. "No, no, it's not about that. I'd be honored. But no thanks."

"Be careful, I'm not used to being rejected. Female spiders are dangerous creatures."

She bent and wiggled her index fingers in front of her face to imitate mouth parts, playfully threatening Bucky with a spider bite.

"You'll get over it. I'm sure."

When he didn't engage any further, she pinched him on the arm half-heartedly. "You know what you smell like?"

Bucky's eyes went wide in panic. How did she figure out...?

That spider thing was no joke. He felt trapped, like she had caught him in her net of lies and was going to make him spill all his dirty secrets...

She took a whiff of him and Bucky's pulse hammered away in his throat. Just for a second, he was actually convinced that Natasha could smell jizz even after it was long gone - but that was insane. He'd showered. Three times! With that fancy Jungle-soap she got him for Christmas!

Bucky told his ridiculously increased heart rate to see some goddamn sense and slow. the fuck. down.

He cleared his throat to deflect.

"Like what?"

"I was gonna say like hubris but you don't look so good. I don't wanna kick a man in the balls when he's down. Just stomp lightly if he's into that."

"People actually like to get stomped on?"

"It's a dominance thing. Don't judge."

"Huh..."

Bucky didn't judge. At all. In fact, his mind wandered to that dangerous place again where he locked up all the depraved things he wanted Steve to do to him, so he could examine them more closely, turning them over in his head, playing with the images for a bit before he threw away the key forever.

He imagined what it would feel like to lay on the floor, unmoving like an object. A doormat for Steve to clean his boots on when he got home...

What was wrong with him?

Chastising shame replaced the exquisite shiver of arousal traveling up and down his spine. Bucky ducked his head to hide an over-excited blush that would reveal his depravity, fidgeting with the metal arm.

"To each their own, I guess."

Nat grinned at him knowingly. "New delights. I'll drink to that. Do we have any leftovers from Sam's breakfast slash cocktail party?"

"Nah, I think we're all out."

"Pity." She stood up gracefully, the fluid motion attesting to the immense strenght and refined body control of a ballerina, when the door zinged.

The elevator opened to reveal Steve Rogers with a woman on his arm.

It was Sharon.

Of course it was fucking Sharon.

Who else would it be but Sharon fucking Carter waltzing into their living room unannounced like the plague.

Bucky tried to quell his rising anger and kept on sitting in his favorite spot on their centrally-placed sofa because he lived here and she didn't.

Bucky watched them closely. As they stepped out of the elevator together, she laughed at something Steve must have said and dug him with an elbow. In return, he poked her in the side, teasing the ticklish area with his finger.

The resounding laughter of them both brought back Bucky's headache with full force. He felt an almost uncontrollable rage, like a confined rat raving under his rib cage, trying to gnaw its way out.

What brought him back from the brink and cooled his temper abruptly, was Nat. She looked at them even more bewildered than Bucky did, with a hint of unexpected betrayal, and it completely threw him off.

She liked Sharon. They were shooting range buddies. She would tear them a new one if someone so much as looked at a lady wrong.

"Hi. Hi you," Nat said and waved at Sharon with a fake cheerfulness that rivaled the creepy clown in IT. "We didn't expect company today."

"Oh." Sharon rubbed the back of her neck and gave her best apologetic smile. "I just wanted to walk Steve back to the tower. You know how it is."

Nat kept right on smiling at her like a psychopath while shaking her head vehemently. "No, no, I don't know how it is. You should tell me. Someplace else. Rogers..."

Steve gave no indication that he had any idea what this was about either, frowning at her strange behavior. "...Yes?"

Bucky thought his hesitant Captain America on duty tone missed a ma'am there.

Natasha, all Black Widow now, gave him a cold courteous nod and put her arm around Sharon like a vice.

The poor woman had practically no time to come up with anything but an overwhelmed "uhh" before she was manhandled into the elevator again.

Natasha pressed the button that would take them up to her own apartment with more force than strictly necessary.

"We have some lady business to attend to. Get comfortable, boys. We'll be back."

In combination with that frightening smile it sounded more like a threat than a reassurance.

"Have fun?" Bucky said a moment too late to be a proper farewell. The sliding door had already closed.

They were alone again.

Bucky decided to focus his undivided attention back on Steve who was eyeing-up the lounge like he'd never seen it in broad daylight before and was getting ready to propose to the chaise lounge.

"What. the. hell?" Bucky said.

Steve turned to him with wide eyes, obviously startled but didn't answer.

Bucky noticed that he kept standing in the middle of the room like a foreign object, holding himself awkwardly, like he couldn't decide where to sit his ass down all of a sudden but that was an issue for another day.

He braced himself. "So... Are you two back together or something?"

"No?" Steve's answer sounded uncertain, cautious, like he wasn't sure if it was more likely to help him save his own skin or lead to an impromptu beheading.

Bucky fumed. Either Steve was being evasive because it wasn't a sure thing and they hadn't talked about it enough to make it official yet, or simply because he wasn't sure how to break it to Bucky without hurting his feelings.

Fair chance. His fucking feelings were already hurt. Steve had stomped on them and there wasn't an ounce of sex appeal to it.

"What do you mean, no?"

"Like I said. Why are you so mad?"

Bucky wrought his hands in his lap like he was gonna throttle Steve with them. The metal plates shifted audibly.

"Take a wild guess."

"Clearly, it's because I came here with Sharon."

"You think?"

"Am I not allowed to have friends now?"

Bucky could feel the blood pulsing in a protruding vein on his forehead. It became more and more difficult to breath.

"She's your ex, isn't she?"

"So?"

"So, it's different."

"If you say so," Steve replied incredulously, a single eyebrow raised at Bucky in defiance.

"Damn right, I say so. I mean... Is it serious with her? Or just wham, bam, thank you ma'am? What?"

"That's none of your concern."

"Oh, is it now?"

Bucky was still glaring daggers when Steve sighed and shook his head at him pitifully. Like Bucky was a huge personal disappointment to him somehow instead of the other way around.

He turned to leave for the elevator, going straight for the call button like he just couldn't be bothered.

Bucky was out of his seat in a heartbeat, seizing Steve's arm before he could reach the door.

"Tell me, Steve, are you fucking all your friends now or is it just me and her?"

It happened in a blink.

Without warning, Steve twisted his creaking metal arm around painfully. He shoved Bucky into the wall at full force, securing the position by kicking his legs apart to put a solid foot in the middle and fixing his own stance at terrifying lightning speed.

The pure shock kept Bucky from struggling against the hold and lash out automatically while he stood a chance - like he ought to.

Instead, he stood stock-still with one side of his face pressed tightly against the wall, his breathing labored as if he had tried to run a few dozen miles in under a minute.

"What did you say?" Steve hissed into his ear.

An icy shiver ran down Bucky's spine. He couldn't find his voice, just silently exerted himself by breathing in and out too fast, hyperventilating, like an idiot.

Steve bend the arm behind his back further upwards, applying more pressure to let him feel the strain.

"Answer me."

"Steve? Let me go. Let me—"

Bucky began to struggle. He twisted and pulled, flailing about helplessly with his human arm, but to no avail. The man behind him didn't show any sign of a reaction to his efforts whatsoever.

"Steve... Stop it! Just... Stop!" Bucky's voice sounded embarrassingly small and afraid to his own ears. He wished he could put some force behind it, some anger to the words but there was nothing. Just this reflex to stay still and freeze all movement and thought outside of please and thank you sir in his animal brain.

"I'm pretty sure you don't get to give me orders."

"I wasn't trying to. I was just..."

He tried to lower his arm again, using the other one for leverage, pushing away from the wall but there was no give.

The man behind him chuckled lowly. A mean little sound.

"Steve... This isn't funny."

"You sure you want me to let go?" Steve pressed himself to his back, letting him feel the considerable erection in his pants, breathing in Bucky's scent like a blood hound. Like he could detect the smell of fear and...

Bucky felt his own treacherous dick swell. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't. Not really. A side effect of whatever doctile mindset Hydra must have forced on him to cope with shit like this.

Bucky flushed hot with shame but he wasn't ready to give in and roll over just yet. If Steve could just...

Please... Just let me go.

— No.

He wouldn't beg.

Swollowing down the initial panic that was about to choke the breath from his lungs, Bucky tried to remind himself that this was still Steve. His Steve. Steve Rogers, the scrawny little punk in a big clumsy body who'd rather die than hurt his friend for real.

He loved this man.

'There's no reason to be afraid', Bucky told himself. 'He probably thinks you like this. You're only freaking yourself out here.'

He stopped struggling and went purposefully limp, leaning heavily against the wall. Then he focused on taking deep, even breaths until he was calm enough to try a different approach, feeling more confident already.

"Yes, please. I get it Stevie, ok? I was out of line. Message received. Clear as day. You can let me go now."

Bucky was almost proud of how calm and reasonable the request sounded, despite that dreadful feeling clawing at his stomach. Like they were discussing who would get to eat the curly fry at dinner or some stupid shit like that.

"I'm not fucking her but if I was... Well, I don't need the attitude from you. Understood?" Steve said emphatically.

His voice had a commanding quality to it, like this was WWII and he expected Bucky to fall in line. Apparently, the whole dominance thing had gone to his head.

"Yeah. Ok, yeah. Got it. I got it, Steve."

Steve pressed himself closer once more, then he let go of Bucky so suddenly and unexpectedly that he almost fell over.

Bucky swayed to the side but Steve's big hands, placed left and right on his aching shoulders, steadied him just in time.

"Lets forget about this, alright? We shouldn't fight", Steve told Bucky with an encouraging smile. He didn't seem apologetic. Just slightly thrown off kilter.

When he glanced down Bucky's body, Steve stopped to appreciate his flagging erection like an achievement. Then, seemingly unbothered by his best friend's apathetic state, he kissed him square on the lips.

Bucky didn't move an inch. Didn't reprocreate. Didn't do anything.

"Don't be jealous. Just tell her to leave. I'm going out again."

Steve patted him on the back reassuringly, like he was praising an obedient dog.

Bucky nodded on autopilot.

"Will you be alright?" Steve asked him.

No? Bucky had the wacky urge to laugh at the question like a mad person, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop if he did. He stifled the impulse just in time to nod his assent again.

"Perfect. Be good. Don't wait up."

When Steve turned to go, Bucky walked over to the sofa in some kind of trance. His ears didn't seem to pick up any sound. They were stuffed and ringing softly, like he was diving deep under water. His steps on the marble floor were just as slow and inaudible as they were on the carpet.

When he finally reached his destination, Bucky let himself sink heavy into the oversized cushions, shutting his eyes to the world.

The muted zinging sound, he noticed with some difficulty, had told him that Steve was gone a long time ago.