Chapter Title: Those Little Life Lessons
Author: Sam and Dani
Story: The Omega Trials: 03 of ?
Series: The Omega Rights (part two)
Note: I now have a co-author so this has gotten even better (the length practically tripled with Dani's input!) Thanks, Dani, for making this reality a true fantasy.
Setting: AU: July 25, - 27, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
xxx
Translations:
leanbh - baby - Irish Gaelic
Dia dhuit - Hello - Irish Gaelic
Seamus - James - Irish Gaelic
Mamaí - Mam - Irish Gaelic
sperma - semen - Polish
wytrysk - ejaculation - Polish
Sczcepan - Steven - Polish
Salomeja - Sarah - Polish
mały kwiat - little flower - Polish
tak - yes - Polish
Piekło - Hell - Polish
Kurde - Damn - Polish
xxx
Setting: AU: Saturday, July 25, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
After a few minutes, Bucky stood from the bed and walked over to Steve at the desk. He slid his left hand under Steve's chin and forced the smaller boy to lift his head. Bending, Bucky cupped that delicate face and sealed his lips over Steve's one more time, giving a small groan of pleasure as he did so.
With a sigh, Steve slid one hand into Bucky's dark hair, enthusiastically returning the kiss.
"I rathered it was me you practiced with, any way, Stevie," the fourteen year old brunet breathed into the blond's mouth, earning a small chuckle.
"Let's make a pact, Bucky," Steve smiled up at his friend. "Any practicing we need to do, we do together."
Bucky straightened up with an answering grin. He spit into his palm and held it out. "Deal, Rogers!"
"Deal, Barnes!" The thirteen year old spit on his own palm and gripped Bucky's hand firmly, shaking and sealing their oath.
"Hey, Jimmy," Becca's voice came from just outside Steve's bedroom door, drawing the attention of both boys. "Mrs. Rogers just got here and said you can borrow one of Mr. Rogers's outfits to fix the sink in. Hurry up. Steve can get it for you." The sound of her footsteps moving away drew a relieved look from the boys: she wasn't coming in at least.
With a small grin Steve shrugged. "Yeah, I didn't think of that. She has his Army foot locker with some of his clothes she couldn't sell." He opened his door to check that the twelve year old girl had her back to them then shot a grin at Bucky behind him. Leading the way, Steve slipped into the hall. Bucky held the damp towel around his hips for their dash to Sarah's room.
Glancing over at the taller boy, Steve gestured to a crocheted afghan draped over a rectangular structure. "Right there," he said and stepped over to uncover a metal footlocker with the stencil 'ROGERS, JS - 107 INF - USA' across the lid. Squatting in front of the chest, unaware his robe gaped open to reveal his lack of other clothing, Steve flicked the metal latches then threw open the lid and drew a in a tremulous breath. A rush of mothball scent escaped amid the rustle of tissue paper in the sudden movement of stale air. He began to cough.
"Steve?" Sarah's tired voice came from the hall. "Do you need help, leanbh?"
"No!" Steve called desperately, catching his breath, at the same time Bucky snickered at Sarah's pet name for her son. "Shut up, Jerk," Steve hissed at the older boy then turned back to the trunk.
Carefully, Steve lifted the top outfit from the chest and stood, turning to place it on the bed. He parted the protective wrapping of thin paper, revealing an infantry dress uniform complete with decorations of valor and name plate reading: 'Rogers, J.' The uniform sported a Captain's bars, dull after years tucked away in the foot locker. "He was with the 107th," Steve reminded Bucky, though the other boy knew that information already. Steve felt a wave of sadness and longing wash over him as he thought about the stranger who had worn that uniform. Who was he? Had he been as excited about his son as he sounded in his letters?
Almost reverently, Bucky nodded. "He was a real American hero, Stevie. What's the 'JS' stand for?" The brunet reached over to touch the war medals, though he referred to the initials on the lid's stencil.
"Joseph Steven," the smaller blond responded, almost absently.
"Nice," Bucky said and meant it. Giving Steve some time to think about the father he'd never met, the older boy turned to the trunk and found an old work shirt and pair of dungaree pants he could wear, if he borrowed some suspenders to hold the trousers up. "Hey, Steve, think this is what your Mam meant?" He held up the deep maroon shirt and dark grey trousers.
Drawing his attention from his Da's uniform to glance over Bucky's choice of clothes, Steve nodded. "Yeah, that's fine. Go ahead and take my other suspenders. You can adjust them longer to fit."
Bucky nodded and headed back to Steve's room, flushing as he came face to face with Mrs. Rogers in the hallway. He clutched the towel around his narrow hips, trying not to show her more than he figured she'd want to see.
She looked tired, her eyes bruised from lack of sleep, her mouth lined around by worry. But she smiled that sweet smile her son had inherited, and her vivid blue eyes seemed just as lively as Steve's. Still in her nurse's uniform and cloth cap, the still young woman nodded at the sight of the boy who had befriended her only child. "Dia dhuit, Seamus,": she greeted in her soft, sweet voice.
"Dia dhuit, Mamaí," he responded to her Irish Gaelic greeting, pleased by her expression of joy at hearing the soft syllables, as always. Steve wasn't very good at the language, so Sarah had taken to practicing it on Bucky once she'd found out his mother had taught him.
"I'll have supper on the table in a couple of hours, Seamus." She smiled at him as he grinned at the Irish version of his name. "Mr. Rogers's tools are by the door as always." And the brown-haired woman turned back towards the kitchen and her weekend assistant, who had moved to a straight-backed chair and the basket of sewing and darning that seemed never to empty.
Watching her for a long moment, Bucky finally shook himself from the quiet spell Mrs. Rogers always seemed to cast around her. He turned and darted into Steve's room in order to hurriedly slip into the borrowed, still too large, clothing, fishing in the neatly ordered clothes box for his friend's second pair of suspenders to hold the pants up on his slender hips.
Steve came in to dress in his second pair of clothes. So when Bucky finished the pair found their way into the tiny washroom with the pull chain toilet and the rusting sink with the leaking pump. Bucky bent sideways to take a look at the top of the pump then knelt down to see to the handle and attached pump. He pulled out what he needed from the old tool box and began to take the pump apart, losing himself quickly in the work.
Plopping down on the cold metal of the toilet seat, Steve watched as his friend worked. He wondered if Bucky knew that the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth when he concentrated so hard. Grinning, but wisely not interrupting the older boy, Steve merely tried to see, to understand, what Bucky seemed to know innately. He leaned closer to get a glimpse, nearly knocking heads with the brunet when he unexpectedly shifted.
"Whoa!" Bucky sank back onto his haunches and shook his head, grinning at Steve. "Really? You so interested in getting knocked across the room, Stevie?" Bucky shook his head, chuckling. "You're lucky it's me and not Tata. If you spook him, he hits . . . hard!" Bucky felt no rancor for his father's ready fist; Mam had explained that he got that way from being around enemy fire in the war. It made a man jumpy. Bucky and his sisters had learned young not to frighten Tata.
"Sorry," Steve breathed. "I just want to know how to do that, too. So, I can fix things for Momma if you ain't around."
Bucky turned and grinned at his smaller friend. "Is that all? Well, then get off the pot and come on over here. The only way a fella can learn is hands on, Tata says."
Practically leaping over to squat next to Bucky, Steve grinned up at him. "Okay. Show me."
"You got it, Steve."
The pair spent the next couple of hours on the finer parts of a pump-sink's inner workings and a slow realization that Steve had little aptitude for plumbing. Finally, with a laugh, Bucky once more sealed the large structure and wiped a grimy wrist over his forehead, leaving an inadvertent streak. "I think it's going to need replacing, Steve. But we got it for now."
"So, that metal and rubber bit? That's what keeps the water back?" Steve asked a third time, causing his friend to laugh and shake his head.
"Don't worry about it, Steve. Not like I'm going anywhere. I'll always be right here at the end of the line, ready to fix the pump or let you draw me or," and he softened his smile, a teasing glint in his eyes, "kiss you breathless," he whispered.
Flushing, Steve ignored the suggestive remark and went for a different part of Bucky's words. "I only drew you that one time, Buck! And it was for school. You said it was no problem. No one else had a model who sat still so long as you. My teacher was amazed." The blond stood, wiping his dirty hands down his back-up trousers and bringing a wince to Bucky's face.
Standing with a shake of his head, Bucky rolled his shoulders to ease the kinks. "She was marvelling at your drawing, not my sitting, Stevie. No one can capture sitting still in a painting. It just happens, you know? Like one of them pictures people take of their weddings or their dead Auntie." Moving to the tool chest, Bucky carefully cleaned the tools he'd used and put them away, one by one.
Steve sighed and shrugged. "She said she could tell you stayed still when she looked at it."
A chuckle rose up and Bucky shook his head, grinning wider. "She did, did she?" He turned his head to glance at the blond. "Well, if you still got Miss Simmons, then it's 'cause she always liked me. Said I had a talent if I bothered to work it. But I think she likes you more 'cause you've got even more talent than me."
"Every one of my teachers liked you, Bucky. Everyone does," Steve stated simply. It had been readily apparent to the younger boy that Bucky had a sort of charm about him. He seemed to make friends wherever he went, and girls were always following him around at school; even when he went up to the High School for his extra classes in French and German, girls seemed to flock him.
"Well," Bucky turned to drop the drain plug in the sink then began to pump tepid water into the old stained bowl. "You can draw me any time you want. Don't even hafta ask. Now, let's get washed up before you completely wreck those trousers, Steve. You've got dirt everywhere already."
Steve nodded, grinning, and they washed quickly, finishing just as Sarah Rogers called them for dinner . . . and thoroughly scolded Steve for getting his only two pair of clothes, other than his Sunday best of course, wet or dirty or both in just one day.
"Sorry, Momma," Steve breathed, full of remorse.
Then the mother and son and the brother and sister sat down, joined hands to say grace, and ate their Saturday evening meal. Very shortly thereafter, Becca left, before it got dark, and Sarah sent Steve and Bucky to Steve's room to go to bed, telling them she'd hang their clothes to dry over night, after scrubbing out the dirt they'd acquired working on the pump.
Stripping completely in the hot July night, both boys tumbled nude into Steve's bed and exhaustion overcame them quickly enough.
xxx
Setting: AU: Sunday, July 26, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
Bucky turned over, stretching, but froze when he felt Steve trembling next to him. "Stevie?" He touched the other boy's shoulder, voice laced with worry.
Steve groaned slightly and let out a confused whimper. "Something's wrong, Buck."
"Wrong?" Bucky felt his concern increase and rolled fully to face the blond. Steve was sick? And he'd slept through it? "What happened, Stevie?"
Flushing with embarrassment, Steve murmured, "I don't feel right. There's . . . stuff leaking . . . from my penis." At least he didn't find using the terms to describe his medical conditions too awkward since he'd been doing that his whole life.
Bucky looked down at the mess on Steve's thighs and crotch then relaxed, but he didn't laugh. He pulled his friend into his arms and gave him a cuddle, trying to sound reassuring. "Oh, that all?"
Steve let out a gasp. "Something's wrong, Bucky! Th . . . This isn't normal!"
"Yeah, it is, Steve." Bucky pulled Steve to a sitting position and gestured to the mess. "Tata told me about it a couple years ago, when it happened to me. It's a sign of growing up, becoming a man. He says it happens sometimes, just like erections."
The younger boy felt himself blush deeper, "Really? Is this gonna happen every morning?"
"Maybe sometimes, happens a lot for me, 'specially when I have a real good dream." The brunet shrugged and offered a reassuring smile. "I get erect more, though. Those happen at the most embarrassing time, let me tell you."
Steve's eyebrows pulled together in confusion, "Erect? What's that mean?" He knew the word, but not how Bucky seemed to be using it.
"Oh, yeah, you wouldn't know, huh?" Bucky nodded and grimaced in remembered embarrassment, flushing a bit when he recalled how Betty Sue had noticed his stiffy in class last year. "It's when your penis gets really stiff and hard, and the foreskin pulls back from the tip. It stands up, ready to get a gal pregnant, Tata says. But until you get a wife, you gotta take care of it yourself."
Looking down at his hands and then back up to meet his friend's eyes, Steve asked, "Does . . . does it hurt?"
"Only if you let it stay hard too long," Bucky said simply.
Feeling completely embarrassed, Steve mumbled, "How do ya' make 'em go away, Buck?"
The older boy gestured towards Steve's lap. "Gotta touch yourself until it goes down, but that usually makes the sperma . . . the white stuff . . . come out faster. Tata says gotta get rid of the sperma to make the erection go away, and then the body can make new sperma for babies. Tata says it gets old so the body kinda throws it out, like old milk." He felt his flush deepen. "It actually feels good when it comes out, but kinda feels like you might explode first, ya know?"
Steve shook his head, not understanding in the least how feeling like exploding could feel good. But as he opened his mouth to ask further, his mother's voice came from the other side of the door.
"Leanbh, you're awake, good. You both need to dress. I slept in accidentally." She sounded worried and distracted.
"Yes, Momma!" Steve called back then looked at Bucky, who shrugged with a small grin.
"I keep a washbasin by my bed all the time now. Maybe you should start, huh?" Bucky slid from the bed and peeked into the hall. He turned back around. "I'll get my trousers and drawers on then go get you something to wash with. You stay there or you'll mess up your sheets." He reached for his clothing parcel on the desk. "I mean, I know your Mam's a nurse and seen everything under the sun, but who says you wanna put her through extra scrubbing, right?"
"Right," Steve agreed, holding as still as he could, afraid the white stuff drying on his legs would get everywhere else. His Momma was too tired to have to clean up after this . . . this . . . "Uh, Buck? What's this called anyway?"
Bucky glanced over, pulling his trousers up over his drawers and tugging his suspenders up over his shoulders to hold them in place. "Tata called it sperma. That means semen according to Mam. It's the stuff you make babies with."
Rolling his eyes, Steve shot back, "yeah, you said that. I mean when it happens. Is there a name for it?"
"Oh," Bucky chuckled. "Yeah, Tata called it wytrysk, uh, ejaculation. I'll be right back, Steve," and Bucky darted from the room, leaving his smaller friend sitting with a lap full of drying semen and nothing to cover his genitalia with.
Fortunately his best friend didn't take long, and shortly the pair were washed, dressed, and fed for church in near record time for a pair of young teen-aged boys.
xxx
The Holy Father droned on in his Latin service, back to the congregants, and Steve barely caught one word out of ten, though Bucky sat leaning forward, enraptured with everything he heard. Then again, Bucky had been taking catechism classes for years and even studied Latin on Monday afternoons, so he understood the sermon.
Steve, however, didn't have a knack for languages when they were used so quickly, having only learned some words from Bucky when the other boy used them slowly and repeatedly. So, the smaller blond boy sat and stood and kneeled on cue, following a lifetime of habit, but generally let his mind wander over the morning's revelations . . . and what it must be like to actually have a father around to explain those parts of growing up exclusive to the male of the species. And George Barnes would know, Steve felt certain, since the man's father had been a dairy farmer back in Poland before emigrating.
Finally, the long service ended and Sarah stood, nodding to the pair of boys to precede her from the pew. They quickly made their way to the back of the church where they met up with the Barnes family. As a group, the two families walked into the sunshine, heading to the home of George and Winifred Barnes for lunch, as had been the habit since the boys had met nearly two years before.
The only adult male in the group led the pack, carrying his youngest daughter, and cheerfully whistling a Polish dance tune. His dark brown hair and grey eyes nearly matched Bucky's, and a body could easily see what the son would grow to look like in a few years time. And, despite his noticeable limp from his injury two winters before, and the ever changing temporary labor George went through as a disabled man with little hiring prospects since no one apparently wanted a skilled carpenter in those tight times, George Barnes seemed to be ever an optimist. It was extremely easy to see where Bucky came by his charm.
Steve trotted happily behind his Momma and Bucky's Mam as well as the two older Barnes girls, who strode in front of their mother gossiping about the dresses they'd seen their friends wearing and the fact that Sylvia-Ann Michaelson had spent more time watching Peter Lykens than following along in her testimonial. But the boys didn't feel the need to chatter on like that, having fallen into one of those companionable silences good friends often had; a sign of comfort and not needing to fill the air with constant talking. Steve liked that they could be quiet together.
In fact, that quiet came handy on Sundays when he and Bucky shut themselves away in Bucky's room to work on drawing or Bucky's studies or whatever.
It actually was a rule in the Barnes house that Bucky got a day free of feminine influence, as his Tata called it, to be a man and relax. Winifred and the girls respected the rule and spent the day, with Sarah, baking and sewing and doing other relaxing tasks that women seemed to always need time for. No one asked what really happened behind Bucky's door, and the boys often laughed that the girls would probably be stunned that nothing special went on different from other days of the week. The boys just did those familiar things in solitude away from parents and sisters.
Unfortunately, as always happened on Sunday afternoons, time flew past faster than Steve or Bucky liked. But this day there was a bonus, which came more often during the summer than at other times. This day after the shared evening meal George stretched out his legs and waved his hand at Steve and Sarah, who were getting ready to leave, Steve carefully putting his treasured pencils and paper in the small satchel Momma had made to protect them.
"Oh?" the man drawled in a slightly accented chuckle. "And here I thought I would have two sons overnight." As Steve and his mother looked over, and Bucky straightened hopefully in his chair, George chuckled low. "But, if you want to hurry home so quickly, Sczcepan, who am I to stop you."
A warmth shot through Steve at the Polish version of his name. Nearly holding his breath, Steve turned to his Momma, "May I stay here the night, Momma? I don't feel sick today." The claim was automatic, if true at the moment, and seemed to help his mother relax.
Sarah stood and gave her son a kiss on his cheek. She felt his forehead and cupped his face to study his eyes. Then, with a slight nod of apparent approval, in her soft voice she claimed "Behave yourself, Leanbh, and do what they say."
As the Barnes family knew about Steve's precarious health, they never asked more from him than he could handle, but what Steve's mother apparently didn't know was that George often asked Steve to help out around the house on small cleaning chores or aiding him when he did some carpentry for extra cash. If Steve helped, he got a few pennies to bring home for his secret stash to buy his mother a gift or refresh his art supplies. Since George never asked Steve to do anything morally wrong or even mildly strenuous, Steve saw no harm in leaving his mother in the dark about how much more active he was when staying over at Bucky's.
He nodded in enthusiastic agreement. "Yes, Momma. I will. I promise."
George clapped his hands in a very European gesture Steve liked. "Done. You go home and put your feet up, Salomeja, and we will make sure Sczcepan is well looked after, hmmm?"
Bucky grinned and shot to his friend's side, relieving him of the satchel of art supplies. "Right. Have a nice evening, Mrs. Rogers. I'll look after Stevie." He offered a smile to Sarah in apology for his quick words.
Sarah gave a small smile in return and nodded, stroking Steve's military short hair. "Very well. Good night." She waved to the family and let herself from the apartment, Bucky reaching to shut the door behind her.
After several long minutes, waiting to see that she had really left, Bucky finally let out a breath. "Okay, Tata, what plans did you have for us tonight?"
Young Rose giggled at that, her merry blue eyes dancing. "Oh, I just love when Sczcepan stays over. We get to do wonderful things."
"And what would these wonderful things be, Mały kwiat, that you do with your second brother?" George teased his middle daughter.
She laughed and threw her arms in the air. "Wood work!"
"Ah, you will be a carpenter, I see now. Come, Mały kwiat, you shall help me tonight and we will let your brothers have their art time, tak?"
Steve tilted his head, puzzled. "Sir? You don't need me to help out?" That was a rarity. Since the beginning, if Steve had been asked over, he'd been more often than not expected to work with the other kids even if it was at mild tasks.
Winifred laughed. "No work tonight, Stevie. You and Bucky go enjoy yourselves. It's been too hot for anything else, and I feel the weather about to break." She reached up and massaged her left shoulder, a silent reminder of an injury she'd gotten during the war while helping refugees. The injury had never healed clean, though she used it as much as her right arm, and had become what she termed 'weather wise' since that day. If Winifred Barnes said there would be a change in the weather, there would be.
And suddenly Steve knew why they'd asked him to stay the night.
Little Gracie had a terrible fear of storms. Unfortunately, she also had a deep attachment for her older brother. Thus, when the thunder rumbled and the lightning flashed, she would often crawl into bed with him for safety. She never did that with Steve in Bucky's bed, because, as she'd told them quite clearly after the first stormy night Steve slept over, 'he hugs too tight.'
They'd thoroughly teased the small blond boy as a 'storm cuddler', but nobody, except Gracie, seemed to have minded. Winifred even said that Steve hugged because he was lonely. Thus, with this unrelenting heat, and the fact that Bucky would want to shut his door and sleep completely undressed, Winifred had found a way to keep Gracie from going to her brother for comfort. The morning would most likely find the youngest Barnes in Rebecca's bed, instead.
Steve had been invited so the boys didn't have to wear clothes. And where Sarah would have thrown a fit that Steve needed to at least keep his drawers on to be decent, George came from an entirely different background, insisting that boys will be boys and needed to breath, not that Steve understood what the man meant by that.
Not minding in the least, Bucky and Steve had never been uncomfortable nude around each other, the blond smiled at the brunet who shrugged and headed towards his room, Steve trailing behind with a wave for the others.
George was busy pulling out his woodworking tools and a small cabinet he had apparently been commissioned to fix. It was a pity, according to Bucky, that no one hired the man full time. The Depression left little work to spare, even for the most gifted craftsmen.
Once the bedroom door had latched securely, Bucky began stripping immediately. "There might be a storm coming, Stevie, but it's hot as Piekło in here." The brunet checked his window, screened thankfully to prevent bugs coming in, and then verified his wash basin was set up with water and clean cloths. The nightstand sat next to Bucky's bed, which had been pressed against the wall on one side. Before it sat a makeshift desk of cobbled-together soap boxes and a bench seat constructed of another soap box.
A little flushed, Steve finally knew why his friend kept that bowl on the small chest of drawers; he'd never actually asked about the habit. Looking around, smiling at the freedom of Bucky's little room, Steve stretched. "So, what d'ya wanna do, Buck?"
Laughing, Bucky handed over Steve's art supplies. "Well, you could draw me if you want," he challenged, referring to their earlier conversation.
"You're on!" Steve jumped at the chance to draw his beautiful friend again. So, to beat the heat a bit, the blond quickly stripped down then moved to pull out his art supplies, lining the pencils up on the wooden soap box desk. Pausing for just a moment, Steve turned the sketch book backwards. Bucky had made it for him, and it consisted of loose papers bound together with string. Opening the thick, battered cover to the last page, Steve looked over at his friend, and nearly dropped the book. "Buck?"
Laughing softly, Bucky asked "yeah?" The boy had stretched out on his bed, arms behind his head, looking down the length of his own body to the smaller boy near his desk. "You want me to pose a certain way?"
"N . . . no," Steve breathed then smiled. He liked the relaxed look Bucky wore and the way his muscles showed on his bent arms, his flat abdomen, and his thighs, slightly bent up but not blocking the view of his friend's pretty face. "No, if that's comfortable, I can do that."
"Good." Bucky closed his eyes and kept smiling. He felt totally at ease with Steve, not worried in the least that he was letting his friend draw him in the nude. "Cause I'm gonna just rest my eyes. You let me know when you're done, okay?"
Steve chuckled and nodded, sitting down on the makeshift chair before the constructed desk. He reached for his lighter pencil that he did his original figures with and began to draw, quickly falling into a comfortable rhythm of pencil scratching on paper, Bucky's even breathing, and the occasional puff of cooler air heralding the coming storm. His friend looked serene, beautiful, and made a very pleasant subject to draw, his lines soft with youth but angular with masculinity.
'Maybe someday,' Steve thought, 'Bucky'll keep his eyes open so I can draw them, too.'
xxx
Setting: AU: Monday, July 27, 1931: Brooklyn, New York, United States of America
Steve groaned quietly, feeling the strange stiffness from the the other morning again. He glanced over and saw Bucky sleeping soundly next to him. The blond bit his bottom lip before carefully reaching over and gently shaking the brunet's shoulder, "Bucky?"
Bucky, ever a light sleeper, shot awake, sitting up and looking around. "Huh?" He looked over at Steve and reached up a slender-fingered hand to scratch at his dark head. "Whatcha need, Stevie? You're on the outside if you need to pee."
The smaller boy shook his head and felt a familiar blush rise into his cheeks, "No . . . it's not that."
"What, then?" Bucky grumbled. The morning hadn't even properly come out, dawn just barely starting to lighten patches of the city sky.
"I . . . uh . . . I need some help."
Sudden fear jolted through the older boy at his friend's tone. When Steve needed help, it usually meant the kind a doctor needed to provide. "Okay, uh, I can get Tata or Mam? Are you bleeding?"
"No . . . it's . . . it's nothin' like that. I just want it to go away, Buck."
"Go away?" Bucky's brain started functioning a bit more, but he still didn't understand why Steve had woken him up. "If it's another spider, I'm making you eat it." A curl of fear circled in his gut and Bucky tried to push it away; he hated spiders, even if Becca would have laughed to hear him.
Steve groaned, "It ain't no spider, Buck." Steve finally motioned to the erection that had woken him up in the first place.
Looking down, Bucky's eyes widened. "Oh." Then he understood completely, "Oh! Uh, yeah. You'll be okay. Just gotta touch it." He, too, had a morning stiffy but was used to that sensation by now so Steve's problem became primary to his own.
"I . . . how do ya do it?"
Finally Bucky saw Steve's real dilemma. Of course he didn't know how to masterbate. Bucky nodded and spit into his palm. "It's easier if you've got moisture, Stevie," he explained. Then, without thinking, he reached over and wrapped his hand around Steve's erection instead of his own. He started sliding his hand up and down, carefully, not very tight.
Instantly, a jolt of pleasure shot through Steve's body, "Wow. That feels really good."
"Yeah, told ya," Bucky breathed in Steve's ear. He felt a bit surprised at how . . . pleasant it was to touch Steve. Yeah, touching himself was great, but something felt . . . right about helping his best friend . . . and the velvet hardness in his hand actually made his own member throb in neglect.
Noticing Bucky's erection, Steve didn't even think twice about spitting into his own hand and wrapping it around Bucky's length.
Bucky groaned and leaned closer, slanting his mouth over Steve's in a hungry kiss. He tightened his hand a bit on Steve and increased his stroking, his own member inadvertently brushing against Steve's as he pressed closer into the kiss.
The blond's eyes fluttered closed and he let out a small gasp when Bucky's hardness brushed against his own. "Oh . . . Buck. Do that again."
"Yeah," Bucky breathed and gently pushed Steve down onto the mattress. He lay over the smaller boy, rubbing his erection against Steve's. After a couple of thrusts, he wrapped his hand around both of them and began stroking them in synch. He whimpered at the sensation of Steve's silken hardness against his own and pumped a bit faster.
Steve bucked against his friend and his head fell back. It didn't take much of Bucky's wonderful touch to drive him to the edge of something . . . something that felt like he was going to explode. With a loud groan, Steve thrust his hips up. "Bucky . . . I . . . I . . ."
"God, yeah, Stevie," Bucky moaned back, breathless with the rising pleasure. He could feel his orgasm building and began to babble in a mix of his four native languages.
Somehow the sound of Bucky pronouncing those foreign words in his breathless, near broken voice, drove Steve completely over the edge, and he came, biting his arm when he sensed a scream coming on. Bucky stroked them a couple of more times as Steve's cum covered their members and his hand, then Bucky, too, felt release, shooting thick jets of hot semen across both their bellies. He moaned, burying his face in Steve's neck, lightly nipping his friend's shoulder without leaving a mark.
Steve ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, his chest heaving and his voice coming through just above a whisper, "that . . . that was somethin' else, Buck." He didn't think it was possible to feel as good as he did at that moment.
Bucky chuckled, still trying to catch his breath. "Yeah, it was, Stevie. It never felt that good by myself." He lifted his face to smile down at his best friend, gently laying a kiss on those flushed lips.
The smaller boy leaned into the kiss and beamed up at the brunet, "We can do it again if ya want? Just to help each other out, right?"
"Yeah," Bucky grinned enthusiastically. "Like the kissing. We help each other out until we get dames."
Steve smiled at the suggestion, "Yeah, just until we get ourselves some pretty girls."
"Yeah," Bucky said again, somehow not bothered that his vocabulary had seemed to shrink since his mind was blown. "Really pretty. With big blue eyes and blond hair . . . " he let the joke hang there, waiting.
The blond lightly punched Bucky's shoulder, laughing as he did so. "You are a jerk."
"And you're a punk, Stevie." Bucky began to sit up then frowned slightly as he looked at the mess they'd made. "Steve?" he hesitated, all laughter gone.
Steve flushed again looking down at the mess, "Gee, Bucky. I'm sorry about that."
"Sorry?" Bucky's voice rose in anxiety. "Don't be sorry, Steve. That's not right . . ." He looked at the different liquids, one thick and white, the other seeming more . . . watered down, thin and liquidy. Since he knew his own semen from experience, he instantly could tell the thinner, weaker stream must have come from Steve.
Steve studied the mess, unsure what Bucky meant. "What's not right?"
"That!" Bucky pulled away completely and dipped his fingers into Steve's spunk. "This isn't right, Stevie! It's supposed to be thick and white . . . not . . ." he dropped off, unsure how to say it or even what to say. Worry filled him at the thought that Steve might be sick or something even worse.
The smaller boy flushed even deeper, "Oh . . . I . . . I guess I can ask Momma about that."
"Kurde, you are definitely going to ask your Mam about this. I'm getting you home right now!" Bucky stood and reached for the washcloth he kept in the basin by his bed. He squeeze the water from the cloth and began to clean Steve up with a shaking hand.
Steve grabbed Bucky's hand and squeezed it soothingly, "Calm down, Buck. It's gonna be fine. I'll ask Momma when I get home . . . just calm down for me please?"
The brunet took a shaky breath. He lifted his troubled blue-grey eyes to meet Steve's impossibly blue ones. Taking another deep breath he nodded and stopped washing the other boy. "I don't know what to do, Stevie," he whispered. "I wanna help, but . . ."
Steve smiled and put his hands on either side of his friend's face. "You are helping me. Trust me. You are definitely helping me."
Bucky nodded slowly, still looking uncertain. He leaned into Steve's touch, eyes searching. "You sure, Steve? I don't wanna hurt you."
"You could never hurt me."
xxx
Continued in Chapter Four: Seeking Answers