
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3446573.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), Captain_America_-_All_Media_Types, Marvel
      Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Steve_Rogers, Winifred_Barnes, George_Barnes,
      Rebecca_Barnes_Proctor, other_Barnes_children
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Masturbation, Comeplay, Pre-Captain_America:_The_First_Avenger,
      1930s, Adolescent_Sexuality, Pre-Serum_Steve_Rogers, the_tragedy_of
      sharing_your_room_with_your_brother
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-27 Words: 6827
****** Hands Under Covers ******
by DeathByRoxas
Summary
     They always share a bed.
     They always share a bed when one or the other sleeps over. They just
     do.
     Steve sleeps over at the Barnes Household and Bucky is desperate to
     fulfill an agreement they made prior.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
                                 May 21, 1932
                       Vinegar Hill, Brooklyn, New York
 
                                     *** 
 
They always share a bed.
They always share a bed when one or the other sleeps over. They just do.
Sometimes, when the days are long and the midnight oil is full to brimming with
work, Sarah Rogers will send her son off to the Barnes residence carrying a set
of clothes to sleep, a set of clothes for the morning, and a gift.
“Oh!  What type of pie is it this time, Steven?”
“Cherry pie, ma’am.  Fresh, too!” Steve hands over the dish with steady hands
to the delighted Mrs. Barnes.  
The gift is always food.  Always something to eat.  With rationing on the high
and jobs on the low, feeding a horde of six on your own is never easy, and
everything helped. The Barnes household consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Barnes and
their four excitable children:  Bucky, is the oldest at 14, is the beau of his
class, and prides himself the man of the house when his father is out.  Becky,
the second oldest, never hesitates to speak her mind and has received quite a
few notable letters from her teachers by age 12.  Ricky is the middle boy who,
with 6 years of age, can recount all the players in the Brooklyn Dodgers by
heart with their stats, and is remembered to have had the most lavish baby
shower in the whole neighborhood. Nicki, the littlest of them all, toddles
around at age 2, a surprise arrival to the Barnes family, and has a favorite
person: Steve, because he doesn’t push her off when she sits in his lap.
Steve Rogers doesn’t know what it’s like to be the oldest, or the middle, or
the youngest.  At 14 –soon to be 15-, he’s an only child to a single mother.
“I’m gonna fly around the world like Amelia Earhart, you’ll see!  Take a plane
to all sorts of places!”  Becky spins around in her summer dress, billowing at
the skirt, arms out like a bird.
“I wanna fly!”  Ricky calls out to her, “Errrrrrrrrr nnyyyyyyooooooooommmmmm!!”
He zips around his sister yelling out engine noises, gripping imaginary handles
and imitating gunfire. “Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!  Don’t let them get away!
Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!”
“Amelia Earhart doesn’t use machine guns! She’s breaking a world record, not
fightin’ in a war!”
Above the shouting of Becky ordering Ricky on the proper manner of flight
performance, Steve and Bucky lounge on the fire escape by Bucky’s and Ricky’s
bedroom window.  With the wireless on, Steve’s doodling tiny cartoons of Bucky
and Nicky, while Bucky kneels to coach the littlest Barnes the art of swing
dance to the sweet sounds of Ivie Anderson.
 
It makes no different if it’s sweet or hot
Just keep that rhythm, give it everything you’ve got
 
Bucky’s got Nicki standing on her shaky chubby legs, tugging her in all the
latest fashionable dance moves he’s learned on his dates to the school dance
hall.
“Atta girl Nicky.  Now a spin, you ready?  That’s my girl! You’re gonna make
all those boys fight for your dance card.  But Bucky’s always got a dance saved
wit’cha, right Nicky-doodle?”
“No, Stevie!”  Nicki giggles conspiratorially in their game.
 
It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing!
 
Mrs. Winifred Barnes, exhausted from her sewing and cooking, shoves her head
outside their kitchen window “Ricky!! Becky!!  Come inside and clean up for
dinner!!”
“Oh!”  Bucky’s jaw drops smiling.  “My very own sister! Rather dance with that
rascal Rogers instead of me!”  He exaggerates a shocked face, hand on his
heart.   “Woe is me! My heart! I can’t take it!”
Nicki’s giggling is infectious, and Steve can’t help but stop his scribbling to
watch them play.
“Oh five more minutes ma!” 
“Five minutes nothing!  Get in here or no dinner for either of you! We could
use the extra food around here anyway….”
“I see what this is.  Letting me down easy.  Go on, Nicky.  Dance with my best
guy.” Smooches Nicky on her plump cheek and gently shoves her into Steve’s
awaiting arms. She jumps and hugs Steve with all of her toddler strength
laughing herself tired.  Bucky stands up and pats his knees, wiping the rust
off his pants, and climbs through the open window.
“Don’t listen to Bucky, he’s being a ham.” He stage whispers into Nicky’s ear.
“Well if I’m a ham,” Bucky slips into his room, “someone better shove an apple
in my mouth. I won’t complain!” he winks, and slips out of sight.  Bucky makes
his way down the stairs, two steps at a time, and passes his mother at the
kitchen, straight to the front door. 
“James-!”
“On it!”
When Mr. Barnes is out and Mrs. Barnes is busy tending to homely matters, Bucky
plays man of the house.
“Becky! Ricky!  Git inside the house! Didntcha hear Ma!”
“You’re not the boss of us Bucky.”
“Yea you’re not the boss!”
“Now you listen here, I ain’t afraid of yanking you by that ear of yours or
putting you over my knee.  But I swear to the Lord you don’t get your ass
inside to wash up, I will spank the both of you right here right now in front
of every Tom-Dick-n-Harry an’ you’ll be holleran’ so loud the neighbors will
have no choice but to call the cops. Get. In. Side.”  Becky and Ricky marched
sullenly up the steps with Bucky following close behind them.  Once inside, he
shares a quick look with his mother before ushering them into the hallway
bathroom to wash up.  “Under your nails too.  Don’t waste the water, soak the
rag and rub it with soap first. To your elbows. I saw that Ricky.” 
Standing by the door, Bucky has a clear view of the stairs and an open ear to
the upper floor that catches the hushed one-sided conversation between Steve
and Nicki.  Slowly, Steve walks down the steps from Bucky’s bedroom with his
littlest sister on his hip, her head tucked gently under his cheek as she
listens in childlike rapture to Steve’s low voice and sucks her thumb. Bucky
watches mesmerized.
“And when the dance is done, your date, if he’s a gentleman, will walk you all
the way home, right to your door. And if you really fancy him, you can give him
a kiss on the cheek.  Nothing more than that ‘cause you’re a lady, don’t you
forget it.” A slow tingle climbs up Bucky’s spine and he stills, his face going
frightfully pale before a shocking blush reddens his cheeks and dips down his
neck in a hot rush. He swallows the gathering wetness in his mouth and
struggles to hide the light tremor in his hands when Steve reaches the bottom
of the steps.
“An’ if any guy tries to get fresh with you, just point me ‘n Buck in his
direction and we’ll give him a one-two. No one will everthink of trying that
again.”
“Bucky!  Bucky! Look we’re done! Bucky!” Ricky waves his hands in his big
brother's face.  Bucky spares a quick glance at their damp hands and faces.
“Yeah yeah ok.  Now scram.”
“Jeeze!”
“Becky! Ricky!  Come set the table!” They follow to their mother without
complaint.
Steve’s made it to the hallway bathroom just as it had been vacated and faces a
stiff Bucky at the door.  Steve stands patiently, waiting for Bucky to move.
“Is there somethin’ on my face?”
“Nothin’ but your ugly mug.”  And he pulls Nicki out of Steve’s arms. 
Steve takes his place at the sink, scrubbing the pencil marks off the side of
his palms, working his fingers into a frothy lather.
“Bring her here.”  Steve reaches his soapy hands to Bucky and he took a moment
before he realized what Steve was asking of him.  Holding the toddler by the
waist, he tipped her forward over the sink and let Steve clean Nicki’s hands. 
Steve dried them both and took Nicki back in his arms. 
“I’ll take her.” And Steve just walks out of the bathroom like they do this
every day.  When he’s gone, Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he was
holding. He looks at the mirror and stares at his face, pinches his cheeks to
compare the color, inhales-presses his cool wet hands to his forehead and neck-
and exhales.  They’re hot to the touch. 
The front door slams, followed by a chorus of “Welcome home Papa!”, “Welcome
home dear.”, with a polite “Hello, Mr. Barnes”. Bucky needs to wash his hands.
For dinner.  And after dinner, they’re gonna play some games, listen to the
wireless with Pa and Ma tucked away in the living room catching up, until Ma
will tell Bucky to fetch the couch cushions because it’s time for bed and Steve
is sleeping over tonight.
Steve is sleeping over tonight. 
“Bucky? You done in there, son?” 
“Yea, Pa.  All yours.” He exits the bathroom.
Bucky takes his seat at the table, sitting in the only mismatched chair in the
set, next to Steve and across from Becky, his mother to his right on one end,
his father at the other closer to Steve. They say grace and dig in.
“Tell me, ma’ boy, what did you bring us this time?” 
“A cherry pie, sir.”  
“Oh!  That’s one of my favorites, you know.” 
Becky quips. “Papa! You said that Mrs. Roger’s apple pie was your favorite last
time!” 
“You’re mother does make fabulous pies, dear.” Mrs. Barnes delicately cuts her
food.
“We’d enter them into a contest if there were any.”
“We used to have plenty of those back in Iowa. Best part of the County Fair,
I’ll tell you!” 
Ricky pauses his reckless chopping with the side of his spoon, interested in
the table talk.  “What’s a county fair like?  Is it like Coney?”
“Some things are the same.”  Mr. Barnes twirls his fork.  “Stalls selling
sweets and fried foods, carnival games, that sort of thing. No bath houses
though. But it’s not like Coney where it’s there year round.  Once a year,
everyone in the town comes together to hold these huge fairs.  With all the
popular music, dancing, food contests, games, you name it.”
The idea excites Becky.  “Papa!  Can we go to a county fair?” 

“Well,” Mr. Barnes strokes his mustache and down around his mouth. “We don’t
have any county fairs here in the city.  Maybe further up north, Albany
perhaps.”  
“Oh I don’t think any of them could be like Johnson County.  Do you remember
Johnson County, dear?”  Mrs. Barnes reached out to squeeze her husband’s hand.
“Like it was yesterday.”  He sang back to her.
“Aw jeez.  Ma and Pa are making googly eyes again.  Bucky make them stop.
Bucky?” 
“Huh, what?”
Everyone’s plates are three-quarters gone and Bucky’s is still plentiful.  His
mother notices.
“Bucky eat your dinner, or no desert. Food isn’t something we waste here.”
“If Bucky can’t have it, I won’t mind finishing his plate.  It was swell, Mrs.
Barnes.”
“Thank you Steve. Bucky?”
“It’s swell Ma.  Just savoring it.”  And he shuts himself up with a forkful of
food.
Dinner ends with a spectacular finish of cherry pie topped with Mrs. Barnes’s
freshly made whipped cream. 
 
                                      ***
 
Post-dinner activities in the Barnes household were always held indoors, with
the sun setting as the moon rises. 
“Don’t be a cheat, Rogers!”
“I ain’t miscounting any dots like you Buck.”
Steve lets Nicki roll the die in his stead. She’s gotten pretty good at keeping
in it on the board and putting Steve right in the lead.  He picks up his blue
marble and taps it on the wooden board- one, two, thee, four-
“No way!  You can’t be serious!” He removes Bucky’s red marble and tosses it
out of its pocket.
“Back to base, Bucky!”
“Yea! Back to base Bucky!”  Ricky giggles.
“Watch it Ricky, he’s commin’ after you next.”
Becky skims over the instructions for the tenth time. “Is it even fair that
you’re not rolling the die, Steve?”
“It’s plenty fair.  Nicki’s too small to play, so she’s helping me out. Like a
lucky charm.”
Bucky grumbles.“Nicki sits with me next time.”
Steve hugs the littlest Barnes close to him while she babbles senselessly. 
“Never Barnes!!”
Mr. Barnes sits in his chair reading the evening newspaper, while his wife sits
by his side and sews in the hems of a dress too fine for any of them to wear. 
It’s one of the ways the Barnes’s have managed to weather out through this
economic storm. Every other morning after breakfast, the Barnes house is
visited by a slew of people: many of them unmarried men new to the city,
bringing in holey socks and pants in need of a patch or a shirt a hemming.  It
brings in a steady number of clients who either bought clothes a size too big
to save money or had no money to buy new clothes at all.  At first, Mr. Barnes
became very upset at the idea of his wife being visited by so many young (and
handsome) bachelors and being in the position to handle their underthings, but
as his department store downtown saw less and less visitors, he shut his trap
real quick and learned to live with their new circumstances. So the evenings
are spent with a pile of clothes growing smaller and smaller as each item is
fixed by delicate and quick hands before being moved onto a new pile for pick-
up.
When the pile is particularly large, Steve usually helps. 
“Oh Steve, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure Bucky would be very cross with
you if you left him during your game.”
“He’s already cross with me. I beat him in Wahoo so bad, he’s bound to get last
place.”
“He knocked all my pieces out of the race, Ma!” Bucky calls out from the other
room.  “Don’t let him do nothin’!”
“Well of you insist Steve.” 
“I was getting bored of watching you lose, Bucky!” Steve calls back.
“Ha ha.”
Steve threads a needle faster than a boy of fourteen with bad vision should be
able to.  But as in everything, he defies first impressions and settles by Mrs.
Barnes’ feet to dig into the middle of the pile, pulling out a pair of men’s
boxers with holes in curious places.  He shares a glance with Mr. Barnes, who
peers at him conspiratorially above the Sports section and hums in satisfaction
at Steve’s choice.  Mrs. Barnes, who caught the whole interaction as she always
does, sighs in mild annoyance. Steve likes to keep the peace in this house.
It’s his thing.
Steve works quietly to the songs on the radio, the calmness punctuated by the
rowdiness of the game a few feet away.
 
They used to tell me I was building a dream
With peace and glory ahead
Why should I be standing in line
Just waiting for bread?
 
“Do you think we’ll always be waiting in line for bread?” Bucky sits next to
Steve, smiling that he caught Steve unawares, by his father’s chair.
“What happened to the game? Did you lose?”
“I got second place, no thanks to you.”
“I hope not.” Mrs. Barnes sighs, massaging her hands. “Relying on bread lines
like this. It’s not a way to live.” There are people far off worse than the
Barnes’s, and there will be more, if they could help it. They held onto their
lifestyle as hard as they could, and they’re prepared to keep holding on until
things got better.
 
Once I built a tower up to the sun
Brick and rivet and lime
Once I built a tower, now it's done
Brother, can you spare a dime?
 
Once in khaki suits, gee, we looked swell
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell
And I was the kid with the drum
 
“I didn’t fight the war for my country to turn into this.” Mr. Barnes folds his
paper in half, rubs his eyes tiredly, and Bucky snatches it off his lap,
looking over the stocks and the headlines, but most of the information goes
over his head. The front page is all about Roosevelt.
“Are you gonna vote for the Governor, Pa? He’s got a lotta support here.” 
“Ain’t no love here for Hoover.” Mrs. Barnes remarks. 
“No one is happy with Hoover. And I don’t think he’s doing enough during this
crisis.  But there’s no telling if Roosevelt will do any better until he’s in
office.” 
“Mother says you can’t believe a politician’s words. Only his actions. Yet, his
words are all we can go by when voting for him.” Steve looks solemnly over
ripped pants. 
“Sadly Steven, that’s true. But we’ve already seen what Hoover’s moves were,
and they are clearly insufficient.”
 
Say, don't you remember? They called me 'Al'
It was 'Al' all the time
 
“Grandpa’d be rolling in his grave if he heard you’re turning Republican, Pa.” 
“If I turn Republican, I’ll roll with him. I’ll vote for whoever keeps my
family fed.”
 
Say, don't you remember? I'm your pal
Buddy, can you spare a dime?
 
“Finish up your game, kids.  Right after, it’s straight to bed.”  Announces Mr.
Barnes.
“Thank you Steve.  You two should wash up for bed before the others.” 
“Yes, ma’am.” “Sure Ma.”
“And James!” 
“Yea Ma.”
“Don’t forget the couch cushions.”
“Got it, Ma.”
Upstairs in the family bathroom, Bucky prepares the tub for a quick wash before
bed.  Bucky fills the tub before the water comes out hot for Steve, bathing in
chilled water while Steve prepares his things for sleep.  He soaps a rag and
scrubs all over: his face, behind his ears, round his neck, under his arms and
the sparse hair growing there.  Wringing the rag out, he soaps it again and put
special attention to his prick, his balls, his crack- he can feel pressure
building in his head from nervousness, right between his eyes.  Steve is
sleeping over.  He’s gotta get the couch cushions and put them on the floor. A
gentle tap on the door pulls Bucky out of his head and Steve slips inside
without a sound.
“You ok there, Buck?”
“Yeah.  Aces.”
Steve looks at Bucky with his gentle knowing smile, sets his things by the
sink.
“It’s a full house tonight Buck. We can do it another time.”
“It’s fine Steve.  We’re not waiting any longer." 
“It’s not the end of the world if we wait another day. We have the whole
summer-“
“I said it’s fine Steve!”
Steve’s face flushes from his ears to the tops of his cheeks. 
“Then let me wash up.  You’re taking too much time.”
Bucky stands up, steps out of the tub, while Steve looks away, still flushed. 
He wraps the towel around his waist before squeezing Steve’s shoulder without
comment. Still dripping wet, he exits the bathroom to dress for bed.  Bucky
meets Ricky in his room, who is busy packing Wahoo back in its box.
“I won Bucky!”
“Did’ya now?”
“Yeah! Becky had Nicki with her, but she still lost, but only by a little.” 
“Figured.”
“Is Steve done?”
“He’ll be out soon.  Just get your stuff ready.”
Bucky dries and changes into his nightclothes. As soon as Steve enters Bucky’s
and Ricky’s room, Ricky takes his leave to bathe before his mother calls out
for him. Steve comes in wearing nothing but his towel, still wet and dripping.
“Do- do you think now?”
“No.” Bucky shakes his head.  He counts the seconds in his head, thinks of how
long Ricky normally takes in the bath, if his mother would double check to make
sure he didn’t miss any spots, how much time that would add, but he couldn’t
take that chance. It wouldn’t be enough time for them. They could rush things
in the few moments of privacy they had, but Bucky wouldn’t risk it.  He won’t
risk Steve and him getting caught.  “Later.  When everyone’s asleep.”
“Ricky’ll be in the room, Buck.”
“He sleeps through everything, you know that.”
“But he’ll be in the room."
“I’ve done it.”  He hasn’t, actually.  But if he can’t convince Steve now, then
they won’t go through with it at all. And they may never get the nerve to do
this again.  “Can’t keep your mouth shut for a little while, Rogers?”
“Get the couch cushions, Barnes.”
Bucky snorts and leaves Steve dripping in the middle of his room.  He knew that
by the time he came back, Steve’s hair’d be cool and damp and skin water-soft,
like his was. He’d smell like soap, like comfort, like home.  They’d be inches
apart, face-to-face in the quiet dark of his room, warm under the covers,
sharing his pillow, sharing his bed.
Because they always share a bed.
They always share a bed when one or the other sleeps over.  They just do.
Bucky’s completely distracted when he yanks off the floral print couch cushions
and chucks them under his arms, he nearly runs into his mother as she tells him
something of importance and stacks a few sheets and blankets with an extra
pillow into his arms as well.
“And don’t you boys stay up all night!”
“Yes, Ma.”
Bucky walks back upstairs, one step at a time, mind racing, thinking over what
he’s gonna say, what he’s gonna do, to keep Steve from backing out.  To keep
himself from backing out.  They had this talk already. When they had the
chance, the first chance, they’ll do it. They’ll share this, do this together,
explore this together.  No one else.  Bucky prepares himself to calm Steve, or
calm himself. Instead he finds Steve dressed for sleep in his bed flipping
through the second half of a comic book and Ricky climbing into his own bed
across the room. He drops the cushions on the floor, and strips his bed of
their sheets with no help from Steve who only kicks them out from under him. 
The cushions are dressed the best he could with his warm sheets and his work is
completed with the final addition of his pillow, snatched from under Steve’s
head. There’s a damp spot that smells like Steve that he knows he’ll press his
face into later.  Steve helps him this time, redressing his bed with fresh
linens for Steve to sleep in.  Mrs. Barnes enters the room, already in her
nightgown and robe, added for modesty.
“James! Steven!  To bed! Both of you!”
Bucky takes his place on the floor, adjusts the cushions so that he lies close
to Steve.  If Steve were to look over the edge, he would be right above Bucky;
barely an arm’s dangle away.  And that’s exactly was Steve does. His arm swings
over the edge. His hand can reach flat on Bucky’s chest without any effort to
reach. Steve pulls his borrowed pillow closest to Bucky without falling off,
and all he has to do is turn on his side to look over his friend.  They share a
quick smile before Mrs. Barnes turns to bid them goodnight.
She tucks Ricky in first; pulling his blanket up to his chest, maneuvering it
under his arms, grabs his forehead, and gives him a kiss.  Bucky is next- “Ahw,
Ma!” “Hush, James!”- and finally Steve, who she never leaves out. Steve doesn’t
complain, out of both politeness and appreciation for her treating him like one
of her own. She reaches the doorway, where Mr. Barnes stood also ready for
bed.  She surveys the room and switches off the light, stunning the room into
darkness.
“Remember.  A good boy always sleeps with his hands above the covers.”  Reminds
Mrs. Barnes.
“Goodnight, boys.” Says Mr. Barnes.
“Goodnight.”
Bucky waits for the door to click shut before he turns over onto his side to
face Ricky.  They can’t do it until he’s asleep, or everything would’ve been a
big waste. Ricky flops over in his bed, facedown and back to his brother. 
Bucky watches him with the little light coming through the fire escape from the
street lamps outside.  The soft hum of cars passing down the street flows in
and he strains his hearing to find that soft snore Ricky always does when he’s
deep asleep.  The clock on the wall ticks a rhythm that grows louder as the
night grows darker.  He listens for that rumble, patiently. But it never comes.
A gentle hand runs up his back and to his shoulder, startling him for a
moment.  It’s Steve, so Bucky turns to face him.  With Steve’s head by the
corner, the beam from the streetlight just misses the top of his head, but
leaves him with a glowing aura.  Steve doesn’t open his mouth.  Instead he
squeezes his shoulder, smiles a sympathetic smile, and turns his back to Bucky,
attempting sleep.
Bucky frowns, and grunts softly in reply. Steve may be quick to give up, but
Bucky sure ain’t.  He’s gonna sit and wait for the moment Ricky is sure to be
knocked out and facing away from them to make his move.  He’ll let Steve rest
his eyes for a bit, for now.  Bucky gets comfortable on his couch cushions and
watches his little brother toss and turn restlessly.  He watches and watches
and watches…
 
                                      ***
 
Bucky gasps awake.  The streetlight is still glowing.  The night is still
dark.  The clock is still ticking.  And his brother is still- snoring.  Loudly.
Facing the wall and facing away from him.  Bucky sits up listening for any more
sounds.  Other than the clock and the snores, he hears nothing.  He feels
himself twitch.  Bucky climbs up into his bed, and watches the soft rise and
fall of Steve’s back, the curl and stretch of his shoulders as he breathes.  He
lightly rubs his shoulder with its movement and firms his touch over long
seconds until Steve slowly wakes.
“Hmmm…?”
“Shhh.”
Steve rubs the sleep from his eyes, and squints at the clock on the wall. 
“It’s two.”  Bucky whispers.
“I can see it.” Bucky knows Steve can’t see it because his eyes aren’t the best
and even he’s having trouble telling the time. It’s close to two. Or something
like it.
Steve looks drowsy- slumped spine, loose shoulders, drooping eyes- while Bucky
looks peaked like the afternoon sun. He feels like it too. Because the room is
dark, the household is asleep, and Ricky is facing the wall snoring up a
symphony, which means he isn’t closer to waking than the dead themselves. And
that’s exactly what Bucky was waiting for. He smiles excitedly. He’s ready. 
He’s ready for them to do exactly as they planned because the time is now and
it couldn’t be more right.  Steve catches Bucky’s glistening smile in the dark
with a sleepy glare. Steve, twitches too.
“Now?!”  Steve whispers.
“Yes now!”
“You can’t be serious.” 
Bucky nods furiously.  He can feel himself getting ready.  They’re gonna do
this.  Just like they talked about.
Steve looks over Bucky’s shoulder at Ricky and Bucky doesn’t need to turn
because Steve’s face says everything. Bucky pulls the covers around and burrows
under them with Steve so that they hide their shoulders, their arms, their
hands under the covers.  Steve is trapped between the wall and his friend, and
Bucky keeps his back to the other person in the room.  It’s a good strategy, he
thinks, because if Steve had his back to Ricky, he’d always be looking back to
make sure the younger Barnes boy was asleep.  And if Steve’s like this, the
only thing he could look at was Bucky or down his own body.  Bucky’s shoulders
were broad enough to create a tent with a gap; if they could keep the blankets
taught enough.  It should be good enough to do what they wanted without being
too obvious if they were seen.
“You ready, Stevie?”  Bucky nudges closer to Steve on the pillow, their noses
would touch if they turned their heads the right way.
“Y-yeah.”  Steve, always wanting to prove himself a man and lead the pack,
pulls down his pants first taking his underwear with it and leaving himself out
in the open. Bucky follows his example, struggles a bit, before Steve helps
pull them past his knees as well.
And there they were, exposed to each other’s eyes in a way they never were
before.  Both were half way to hardness at an age where they could spring
faster than any time before.  They inspect each other with eyes open in the
dark, the single light beam illuminating the inner ceiling of their makeshift
tent.  Bucky can see Steve’s dick move and throb in a way he is all too
familiar with, and his body reacts to do the same.
Steve looks straight into Bucky’s eyes. “How do we start?”
Bucky just grabs himself like he learned to. Right at the base, he moves his
hand up and pulls his skin up with it. It wrinkles and covers his head, forces
a breath out of his lungs involuntarily. He tries to hide the sound. He pumps
his fist up and down.
“Is that the right way?”
“It’s how I start.”
Steve follows Bucky’s lead, grips his base and pulls the fair skin up and up to
hide his head like Bucky. Then down, exposing the head and squeezing.  He pumps
to the rhythm that Bucky sets, the same rhythm as the clock on the wall. They
move up and down together in perfect synchrony.  Neither is ashamed of watching
the other jerk his own cock, studying how it grows longer, thicker, and feels
firmer in their grasp.  Bucky moves faster.  Steve follows right behind him. 
By now they’re pleasantly hard and flush at the face.  They are fascinated
watching something that nearly matches what they feel. When Steve pinches his
head in the webbing between his thumb and index finger, Bucky imitates him and
lets out the same controlled exhale that his friend does. 
Steve’s pulls speed up.  Bucky follows and suddenly the thrill of pleasure
grows somewhere around his balls and he has to swallow to breathe.  Steve is
shaking around his thighs, his hips jerking, because the chase is on.  Bucky’s
eyes slip half-closed, open only enough to look down at his and Steve’s moving
hands. They’re lying close to one another.  Not close enough to accidentally
touch, but enough to look blindly down and see them both hard and swollen
without adjusting his line of sight. Their heads are wet, Steve’s more than
Bucky’s, and their jerking it at top speeds.  Bucky has never seen another
man’s cock like this before, and he assumes Steve hadn’t either.  He doesn’t
know if he’d like to, to be honest.  Because a stranger’s couldn’t be as
appealing as Steve’s was. If he had to watch a stranger do this, he doesn’t
think he could manage it without anxiety or distress. But watching Steve, who
he knows inside out, who he’s shared almost everything with, who’s just like
him- it feels like he’s doing the right thing.
Across from him, Steve’s breathing takes a new turn. He wants to moan, and
Bucky gets it because by now he wants to make noises too, but they’re in no
position to pant or groan or let out any “oh.  Oh oh oh oooooohhhh.” Bucky
grips his thigh with his free hand, hoping the discomfort will ebb away the
pleasure enough to keep him quite. Steve instead hides more of his face into
the pillow and huffs until he could turn to watch Bucky stroke himself without
making too much noise.
When gripping his thigh works less and less, Bucky tries biting his bottom lip
to keep his trap shut, breathes through his nose, and looking away from their
stroked dicks onto other parts of Steve. And that backfires marvelously. He
watches Steve watching him stroke his cock, just his cock, looking down with
his flushed face and growing furrow in his brow.  Bucky watches him look down
at them, pulls his cock a little tighter and observes Steve’s brows wrinkle
more and more.  He can only tell from Steve’s arm and shoulder, but he thinks
Steve is doing as he’s doing.  Bucky slows his strokes to long, tight pulls up
and down, and that gets to Steve enough that he closes his eyes, turns away,
jaw dropping as he huffs and puffs harshly into their shared pillow.
It’s a thrilling satisfaction to have made Steve react that way, but it’s cut
short when Bucky uncontrollably whimpers in the back of his throat.  It doesn’t
last longer than a second, but it’s loud in their small nook, and Steve looks
straight into Bucky’s eyes before looking over his shoulder to the bed across
from them. Everything must be alright, because Steve doesn’t stop stroking
himself, looks back at Bucky, and they look down together at their work.
Bucky wriggles to get more comfortable, pauses to pull the blanket taut to keep
their “tent” intact.  They continue to watch the other, and Bucky watches Steve
maneuver his balls up and away from his thighs.  It looks perfunctory, so Bucky
doesn’t mimic him, until Steve uses his free hand to grip and stroke them,
rubbing under and around- pulling and tugging, while fucking his fist over his
cock harder than before. Bucky follows Steve example this time, fingers his
sac, testing the waters, and finds it enjoyable enough to slow his leading hand
to comfortable caresses.  It’s good enough that he wouldn’t mind closing his
eyes. 
When everything is pitch black it throws him for a loop.  Every touch, every
rub and tug and pinch feels explosive.  Behind his eyelids he could be
anywhere, with anyone, doing anything- with her, with him, with them.  But
there’s absolutely nothing wrong with where he is now, whom he’s with, and what
they’re doing. It’s pleasing in a way that fantasies couldn’t be.  He rubs
faster, harder, tugs his balls in the new way he never though could rush a
tingle up his spine and cock.  He sighs, shakily, and letting that one breath
out released more sounds he didn’t have the luxury to release.  He nuzzles his
pillow, like Steve would, and gets immediately how satisfying it is to jam his
face into something so plush, an infantile comfort soothing the frantic jolts
along his body.  He opens his eyes, and Steve is looking right at him.
It’s awkward for a few seconds until it’s not, and they chuckle their way out
of the tight moment when their entire friendship floated in mid-air in its
questionable fate.  Steve glances behind them and Bucky listens to Steve’s soft
moans punctuated by Ricky’s loud, metrical snores.  All is good when Steve
stares right back at Bucky.  Everything gets better when Steve curls in closer
to him.
Their foreheads touch, and he didn’t even notice how much they were sweating
under the blankets, how hot their hands felt, how slick his thighs were. He can
feel their toes brush, their feet slip, the head pushing against his like it
pushed against his pillow and moans. Steve moans oh so close to his mouth and
Bucky whines helplessly, yearning for something he was not in the mental place
to request. Steve pushes more, pushes harder, strokes faster, and fucks his
fist with wild abandon.
“Oh god!”  He gasps. Too loud, much too loud. And he comes right there gasping
for air, moving his hand faster then suddenly slow but squeezing up brutally
choking the head of his own cock.  Steve couldn’t tell, with his face hiding in
the crook of Bucky’s neck, but he spurted all over the gap between their hips
on the bed, plenty dripping hot on the back of Bucky’s jerking fist.  While
Steve fought for breath, Bucky slyly rubs Steve’s spunk on the head of his dick
and strokes it down to his base and back up again. 
“Bucky.”  Maybe he wasn’t as sly as he thought.  Steve kept watching Bucky
stroke, breathing in the moist air of their blanket-tent, while Bucky
completely blanked out and presses his mouth to Steve’s hair. 
“Aw jeez.  Yeah!”  Bucky comes with the knowledge that the new scorching slick
that made his hand slip faster and easier over his throbbing cock was Steve’s
cum.  He felt all the tension leave him with a catastrophic force and a well-
placed whine by Steve’s ear.  He also messes up the gap between them, and he
must’ve covered Steve in his cum too because Steve wipes it off of his belly
and kneads it between his thumb and forefinger. He tests its wetness, observing
it dry and grow tacky every time he works and stretches it apart. Bucky’s too
far gone to even care.
“Yours is different from mine.” Steve comments.
“Mmmhmmm.”
Now they had the problem of changing the sheets to a cleaner set.  They didn’t
know what they’d do in the morning with the evidence of their midnight actions
splattered all over the guest bed sheets.  Too relaxed and dazed to care, Bucky
pulls up his sleep pants, pulls his sheets off the couch cushions and switches
them with the dirty ones on his bed. He didn’t care about the noise he made or
if he woke Ricky up.  Regardless, Ricky barely even registered the movement or
the noise; he just flopped on his back and kept on snoring.
Steve bunches the evidence and stuffs it carefully under the bed while Bucky
flaps their tent blanket to get rid of the hot air trapped underneath.   Bucky
didn’t bother with the couch cushions on the floor, or his extra pillow, he
just flips their shared one over to its cooler side and turns in for bed. Face
to face, they cuddled close with the blanket tucked neatly under their arms and
their hands above the covers. 
“Goodnight Bucky.”  Steve whispered.
“Goodnight Stevie.”  Bucky whispered back.  And they fell asleep.
 
                                     *** 
 
In the morning, with the sun up and the cars beeping loudly in the street,
Bucky wakes to an empty bed.  From his room and past the half-opened door, he
hears the sink running and his mother’s soft voice.
“Oh Steve.  Let me handle that for you.”  Bucky freezes.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Barnes.  It was a nosebleed and I’d rather not let you deal
with it. Let me give it the first wash, at least.”
“Are you alright?”
“Yea.  It was nothing too serious.”
“If you say so.  Don’t hesitate to wake us next time, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bucky listens for his mother’s steps down the stairs. She’ll be starting
breakfast soon and it should keep her on the bottom floor for a while. Bucky
rolls out of bed with a soft yawn. It wakes Ricky.
“Mmm…Is breakfast ready yet?”
“Not yet. Go back to sleep, Ricky.”
“Kay.”  Ricky promptly rolls over back to sleep.
Bucky makes his way immediately to the bathroom where Steve is bent over the
sink, scrubbing off the dark stains from the previous night. The way Steve
wrings out the water from the blanket reminds Bucky of the tight fist that
gripped a fair pink cock a few hours earlier.  He silently helps hang the sheet
on the bathroom door. 
“Everything ok?”
“Swell, Buck.”  Steve washes his hands, brushes his teeth with Bucky’s own
toothbrush, all while Bucky leans against the wall and watches.  Steve watches
back through the mirror, too preoccupied to make a face.
“Awr you gonna keep stawrin’?” He asks, mouth full of toothpaste.
“You’re using my brush, ya mook.” Steve spits into the sink like he spits into
an eyeball, neatly and with surprising force, wipes his mouth with a towel, and
hands the toothbrush back to its owner. Bucky starts his own morning bathroom
routine, washing his face and brushing his teeth, with Steve taking his spot by
the wall and watching him through the mirror.  They stand around in
companionable silence when Steve starts the moment Bucky’s mouth is frothy with
paste.
“We should do it again, ya’know. Maybe my house this time, when Mama’s out.” 
Steve looks up wistfully. “I mean, we won’t have to be as quiet.  And the room
won’t have to be as dark.” Steve looks at him under those long, long lashes. 
“We’ll keep a rag in the middle. We won’t have to hide under the covers next
time.”
Next time.
Next time.
Bucky wants to say “Sure, pal”, but instead he chokes on toothpaste and sends
Steve laughing all the way out of the bathroom, eyes twinkling, so damn
sincere.  He breathes hard over the sink, head bowed, hands tight over it’s
edges, following the white stream circle around and around and around until it
finally disappears into the dark holes of the drain.  Steve can’t see it, but
he’s smiling.  And he’s excited.
Next time.
Next time.
He gets ready for breakfast.
End Notes
     First fic in 8 years. First Stucky fic ever. Hoping to make this
     multi-chap. Kudos and comments are welcome. Thanks for reading!
     Songs by order:
     It Don't Mean a Thing (If It Ain't Got That Swing) by Ivie Anderson
     Brother, Can You Spare A Dime by Bing Crosby
     Barnes children names inspired by zetsubonna.
     4/21 EDIT: This was originally going to be a fic with chapters, but
     from the other parts in the works, I don't think I can churn out
     everything in chronological order without going insane. This will be
     a stand alone and instead be part of a series. Thanks for reading.
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