A/N a bit of Bucky time I think.

Bucky's slender fingers traveled the black and white keys once again at 4 in the morning. It's the third time this week that he can't sleep, and it's only Thursday. He tries to focus on the melody he's playing but all he can hear in his head is Steve's voice as he says the mass. He bangs his fists against the piano keys and he feels the discordant sound in his entire body as pain shoots through him. He takes a deep breath and holds it in and counts to 20 to calm down. He prays it works this time. He returns his focus to the sheet music before him. He doesn't really need it for this piece, he's known it for years but there's a kind of comfort in seeing the well worn pages, all the notes and his and his former teacher's handwritten directions above the lines. His teacher was an odd one. She would write "salty", "let this sing", "velvet", "storm" and "smoke" above the notes, but Bucky understood her because he too felt the music with all five senses, not just the hearing. He always went to this piece when he needed to satisfy that hunger inside because Beethoven was like his own soul had spilled on the paper.

He placed his fingers back over the keys and started the piece from the beginning again. Just a couple of sounds at first and then the build-up. He always held his breath when the "storm" part came and he did it this time as well. He held his breath, closed his eyes and let the fingers do what they knew best. And as the "storm" calmed down, the image of the tall body wrapped in the black button-up shirt with rolled up sleeves popped back into his head. He saw Steve as he was when they were in high school. Always with a sketch book in his hand and a pencil stuck behind his ear. He heard Steve asking him if he could sketch his hands again saying he needed the practice. He saw Steve of today and the worried look he's had on his face ever since the confession and …

He could not take it any more, "STOP!" and swiped the sheet music off the piano, upturned the stool and started banging against the keys. Hitting the keys harder and harder, ignoring the pain in his hands, trying to stop the pain in his chest and then he heard it. He heard the discordance become stronger. He heard the snap of the key and he just collapsed on the floor. Music all around him and his hands against his chest. He cried himself to sleep.

He woke up a couple of hours later wincing as he observed the mess around. When he saw the broken piano key the tears came again. "Great! Just what I needed. Another thing in my life ruined. I really am a useless idiot." He slowly crawled around gathering the music looking for his Beethoven. He sighed a sigh of relief when he saw that the paper was not damaged. "At least one thing survived last night. Thank God for small miracles."

The week continued the same. He would try to sleep but after a couple of hours he would give up. On Friday and Saturday he went walking around the town, but even that was denied him on Sunday by the heavy hail storm that hit the town. He was lying in bed awake and nothing he tried could take his mind off Steve. He had seen him that morning during mass. He was calm as always. His sermon was short but to the point. Steve's voice had burned him from the inside out. He had forced himself to sit through the mass and not run away like a weakling that he was.

But now, in bed he could not run away from his own thoughts. His piano was still destroyed, his TV had suffered the same fate a couple of weeks prior, and he just couldn't read. So he was lying on his bed staring into the darkness but seeing Steve. Seeing his warm eyes; his arms spreading out as he prayed; his neck long as he looked up at the raised host… He imagined what that neck would feel underneath his fingertips. He imagined those strong arms embracing him, holding him as their bodies moved together. He imagined what those eyes would look like close up, would his pupils dilate as he came… And his hand was slowly moving down to his already half hard cock. He screamed and stopped himself. He rolled to his side and curled up into fetal position yelling at himself, calling himself "weakling, idiot, depraved, filthy" and every other name he could think of.

Eventually the name calling stopped and he became aware of his hand resting on his ribs and he started moving it slowly imagining it was Steve's hand comforting him. He could not fight it any more and he allowed the other hand to sneak under the waist band of his pajama trousers finding the warm flesh there and encircling it. He bit his lip to stop himself from voicing his pleasure. He started moving the hand slowly, gently up and down, twisting a bit at the upward motion. His thumb sneaked across the tip of his cock and spread the precum gathered there. The pain in his lip from the biting contrasted with the exquisite pleasure he felt spreading through his entire body. He knew he was close and he allowed himself to fantasize about Steve. He imagined Steve's hand on his dick, Steve's voice in his ear, Steve telling him he loved him, Steve's teeth on his lips. And with that last image he came all over his hand.

He took his cum covered hand out of his trousers and in a post-orgasmic moment he imagined the cum there to be Steve's. He wondered what it would taste and was about to bring his hand to his mouth when he stopped and disgusted with himself he ran into the bathroom and went into the shower. He turned the cold water on full blast and stayed under the spray in his pajamas crying and eventually turning the water off and spending the rest of the night in the shower leaning against the wall ignoring the cold spreading through his entire body. He felt this was a deserved punishment for the entire week of being weak.

Thank you all for reading. Would love to hear your thoughts. thanks