Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1717043.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), Captain_America_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      Sam_Wilson_(Marvel), Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes
  Additional Tags:
      Prostitute_Bucky, Chance_Meetings, Dancing, Frottage
  Series:
      Part 4 of All_Night
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-31 Words: 4645
****** Expose ******
by mayalinified
Summary
     It’s like time stops and everything goes silent. He doesn’t move.
     Bucky doesn’t move. It’s almost like a movie where the two romantic
     leads catch sight of each other and suddenly they’re two people in
     the world. This isn’t romantic. Not even remotely.
Notes
     Back with another addition! Thank you guys for all the positive
     feedback. I'm amazed by how this crack, meant-to-be-a-one-shot idea
     turned into something people actually like.
     I started a tag (All Night Series) for this where I'll post updates
     and snippets as I go along. Feel free to check it out and as always
     you can find me at infinitygauntlets.tumblr.com!
     Now complete with a playlist!!!
     http://8tracks.com/mayalinification/all-night-a-playlist
So Sam convinces him to go out. It’s a monumentally stupid idea for two very
distinct reasons:
The first being that he didn’t need the “chance to meet some hot fellas” that
Sam was so adamant about him having.
The second was that he had the dance ability of a white dad at a wedding.
And so yeah, ok, Steve lives in a predominantly gay neighborhood that has the
best nightlife in the area, it's not like he doesn't go out. When he does it's
to bars with a relaxed atmosphere and low intensity lights and actual food on
the menu.
But his apartment is two blocks north of this gay club that plays loud house
music and serves their shots in test tubes and somehow everyone is always
coming out of it covered in paint.
Sam chooses that club.
It’s called Expose.
He’s fairly ill-tempered when Sam finally gets him out of the nice little
brownstone heaven he calls home and into the street in quite possibly, the
tightest pair of pants he’s ever worn. His outfit was chosen for him, because
god forbid he ever wear something like this. It’s a crisp white v-neck that’s
about four sizes to small and near black jeans that make him feel like he’s
going to lose circulation.
“You look good,” Sam comments with a triumphant little smile. Steve ignores
him.
There’s already a line that’s decently long when they arrive at the club. Sam
walks straight to the front and literally says the phrase “I’m on the list". 
Red ropes block off their booth from everyone else and a bouncer stands guard
beside it. They’re on a platform of sorts, looking over the sea of people that
make up the dance floor. Blacklights make everything glow and there’s a neon
theme that Steve wasn’t notified about. The music is that thumpy rave music
that is only really good when you’re high. Not that Steve knows that feeling.
“I can’t believe you got us into VIP,” Steve says, more annoyed than impressed.
He feels so distinctly out of place that people are starting to look at him.
Stare at him. Wink at him?
Sam lifts his glass that has these stupid LED flashing ice cubes in them.
“Don’t forget about the bottle service.”
Yeah he can’t forget about that. “How’d you even afford this?”
“EMT guys have connections. One of them owed me a favor.”
Steve scowls, “How is it you and Nat are always cashing in favors and I’m not?”
Sam pinches his cheek, “Cause you’re too good to make somebody owe you for
something.”
They end up getting down to half the bottle of vodka Sam ordered within an hour
of being there. The club starts to get even wilder, as if it were possible, and
Steve’s considering dancing.
“You can’t be that bad, Steve,” Sam reasons. But oh god, yes, Steve can. He
shakes his head.
“Sam I’m gonna embarrass the hell out of you. You’ll disown me. I’m dead
serious,” he takes another big gulp of his drink and one of the flashing cubes
hits him in the teeth.
“Alright well I’m going,” Sam says standing. “And if you don’t drink another
glass of liquid courage and get your ass down to where I’m at I’ll come up and
drag you.” He stops before leaving and turns around.
“You’re going to have fun, Rogers. Whether you like it or not.”
Steve ends up people watching while he has his last drink. There’s a banister
that he can lean on and look down at the floor, while the heads of the people
bob at his knee level. He can see Sam, dancing with some blonde guy about his
height, but built like a linebacker and in all likelihood probably is one. For
college or for high school, the answer is unclear.
Everyone looks a lot younger than him, which is disconcerting considering he’s
only twenty-five. He wonders if perhaps he’s just hyper-aware of age since he
was well…actually concerned with it. Almost everyone in the crowd is good
looking, some better described as “waifish” and even more directly described as
“Steve’s type”. He catches eyes from a few; a blonde, an Italian looking
brunette, an Asian guy who Steve spends an extra second or two looking at. But
none of them convince him to come down to the floor.
That’s when he catches sight of Bucky.
He almost doesn’t recognize him under the blacklight. But it's undeniably him.
Though there’s something different about the way he looks, and it’s not just
the ordinary look of his clothes – different from the nicer ones he’d been in
before. Steve can’t place what it is, but he keeps watching him. He’s dancing
with a group of friends who make him laugh until he’s hunched over, pausing
from dancing because whatever it is just too funny.
And that’s when Bucky sees Steve.
It’s like time stops and everything goes silent. He doesn’t move. Bucky doesn’t
move. It’s almost like a movie where the two romantic leads catch sight of each
other and suddenly they’re the only two people in the world. This isn’t
romantic. Not even remotely.
Bucky looks away from Steve when he’s pulled back to dancing by one of the boys
he’s with. Steve watches him, move and shake his ass around while the music
pounds. There’s sweat glistening on his chest where his shirt is open and he’s
pulling at his own clothes, running his fingers through his own hair.
He’s teasing him.
His eyes keep coming back to Steve. Looking at him and smirking.
The last time they’d seen one another was before they fell asleep in the hotel.
Then Bucky left and took Steve's money before he'd woken up like it was
nothing. And it was nothing. It was meant to be nothing. Steve disputes with
himself; maybe Bucky wants to talk to him? Or maybe he doesn’t want to have him
intersect with his personal life and he’s content to just eye fuck him from
across the room all night.
Steve’s positive if it’s the latter he’s going to lose his mind. We’re just
gonna talk, he tells himself, before walking down the steps out of VIP.
There are too many bodies in the way between Steve and Bucky and people won’t
move out of his way. Instead they grab at him or gawk at him until he’s
resorted to slithering through the crowd trying to avoid outstretched hands.
He recognizes Bucky’s dark hair, the expanse of his shoulders and hips, as he
approaches him from behind.
“Bucky,” he tries to start and Bucky whips around to face him, grinning bright.
He’s not quite sure how it happens, but Bucky ends up in front of him, chest to
chest with his hands on Steve’s hips. Bucky moves them, shoving Steve into a
dance he’s reluctant to partake in, but allowing it to happen all the same. He
wants to talk, he wants to ask why he didn’t even wake him up to say goodbye.
But all of that seems so stupid to say. And he’s a little drunk and a lot more
turned on than he expects to be when Bucky just grabs him like that.
Like he wants him.
His body is hot under Steve’s hands, slick, even through the bright blue t-
shirt he wears. It’s familiar to feel over his sides and the muscles that shift
on his back as he moves. His eyes are downwards and Steve’s follow, letting his
forehead rest on the top of Bucky’s head. Their hips move next to each other,
until Bucky presses into his space beyond what he’s prepared for.
The line of Bucky’s cock through his jeans is impossible to ignore as it
presses against Steve’s hipbone. The palm that Steve moves over his spine
immediately goes to his lower back. He wants Bucky closer. He can’t even
remember why he came over in the first place.
Finally Bucky looks up, “What are you doing here?”
Steve’s mouth is so dry that his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth when
he tries to speak. “I came with a friend.”
Bucky’s hands depart from Steve’s hips, retreating upwards and over his stomach
and chest. The shirt is so tight and Steve can see the way he’s looking at it,
like he wants it off. Maybe Bucky is drunk or maybe he’s high? A thought
lingers in Steve’s mind that Bucky really shouldn’t be acting like this with
him in public. That this is strange and he should question it more, but he
doesn’t.
“You’re not with a…client are you?” he asks and immediately regrets. His eyes
scan the group of guys who now are watching Bucky. None of them look old enough
to be the type that Steve has started to imagine for Bucky’s usual clientele.
Thank god Bucky ends up laughing. His hands glide up to Steve’s shoulders and
he smirks up at him. “Y’know. Consider me off the clock.”
He spins around in Steve’s arms and backs up into him. His hand comes up to
hook around the back of Steve’s neck and when the beat of the song tapers off
into silence and then slides back into life again, Bucky grinds his ass back
against Steve’s cock. Before Steve can stop himself he wraps an arm around
Bucky’s middle and moans hot against his ear.
“Buck…” he grits out, suddenly aware of the group watching them. Bucky’s
friends. All of them gaping at the way they dance together. “People can see
us.”
That doesn’t stop him from grinding up again, making Steve’s mouth fall open.
He can feel the rise and fall of Bucky’s stomach, rapid and deep with heaving
breaths. He can feel the way his muscles tighten up when he laughs.
Bucky turns his head slightly and his lips brush Steve’s jaw. “Let them look.”
The song is slower than the rest, but the bass fills Steve’s chest up until he
can’t breathe in anything else but the song. Bucky rolls his body in time with
it, dragging himself over Steve through his pants, pushing his ass back into
him, like he wants it. Like he needs it.
Steve’s hands run over his chest and hips possessively. He presses fingers into
flesh every time Bucky gets the right angle to make his dick harder than he
ever wanted it to be on a crowded dance floor. Eventually, he can pick of the
rhythm that Bucky sets, and his hips press up when Bucky’s press back until
he’s moaning against Bucky’s ear.
And Bucky hands travel, too. They pull at Steve’s hair and they reach back to
guide his hips. Steve could be fucking him. He’s so close to it.
The heat in his cheeks rises until it makes him dizzy. The flashing lights
start up again when the music transitions into another song and he feels like
he’s going blind. People shift and move like a film reel in front of him and
around him. He closes his eyes, trying to block it out and only feel. Only feel
how goddamn good it felt to have Bucky push his ass back against him, begging
for him without saying a thing.
Steve can’t fucking take it anymore.
“I wanna fuck you,” he says, mouth pressed right against Bucky’s ear. He
doesn’t know what Bucky’s face looks like, but he knows he’s grinning. He can
hear it on his voice.
“Yeah?” There’s something else there, too. He sounds desperate. “Want you to
fuck me, too.”
 They’ve stopped dancing, but Steve’s still holding him tight against his body
like Bucky belongs to him. And Bucky’s back is arched so he can still feel the
hardness of Steve’s cock through their jeans.
“My house,” Steve offers. “My house is two blocks away. Don’t wanna fuck you in
some bathroom or fucking alleyway.” He’s tipsy and loose and hazy and Bucky
feels like the only place he wants to be. His mouth drags over the back of
Bucky’s neck, lips moving to the tip of his ear on the other side. “Want you in
my bed. Want you to let me fuck you.”
He can feel Bucky trembling under his arms and it makes something in the root
of his stomach stir up. He wishes he could see Bucky’s face, see his eyes and
mouth and cheeks while he shook all over.
“Take me…take me home,” he says to Steve, turning his head again so he can get
his eyes on him. They're big and wide and his cheeks are red. “Right now. Take
me home. Right. Now.”
As if Steve needed to be asked twice.
Neither of them say anything to the people they came with before they exit the
club. Steve pulls out his phone, shooting a quick text to Sam.
                   Sent 12:47 AM: Went home. Explain later.
Bucky has his phone out too and he imagines he’s doing the same. The walk back
to his apartment is completely silent and neither of them move to touch one
another. Steve’s looking at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. And when Bucky
finally looks back, Steve can see his jaw flex, his tongue dart out to wet his
lips.
He’s never opened his door quicker or more efficiently. There’s also a perk, he
realizes, to living on the ground floor. If he had to waste the time walking up
the stairs he would have just started fucking Bucky on them.
Now he has Bucky inside and pressed up against the door, wrists pinned up
against his head. Steve doesn’t feel like himself, it's never been this intense
with somebody before. It feels like a chasm opened up in the pit of his
stomach, but now he can’t really think about what it means as much as he’s
thinking about filling it.
Bucky whimpers into his mouth, hips pressing up almost involuntarily. It makes
Steve’s head swim. He worships at Bucky’s neck, at his jaw, kissing and nipping
until he gets Bucky shaking for him again. They rut against one another and
Steve’s losing it. He’s absolutely losing it.
“Need lube,” he mumbles, mouth drifting up to Bucky’s earlobe. “Stay here…I’ll
go.”
The way he can see Bucky’s adam’s apple bob under his skin is just as good as a
“yes”.
He fumbles around in his bedroom, not wasting the time to turn on the light. He
snatches lube, a condom, shuffles out of his shoes and socks, and considering
deeply whether he wants to get out of these stupid, tight clothes now or give
the chance to Bucky.
He steps back out into the living room and Bucky isn’t there.
Something withers in him, and then boils until his cheeks sting red. If Bucky
left. If Bucky actually left he…
When he gets around the corner he doesn’t see anything else but skin. Skin and
Bucky’s legs. Skin and Bucky bent over his dining room table with his clothes
off and shed like bread crumbs in a trail to him. He’s leaning on his elbows,
back arched, and leisurely he glances back over his shoulder at Steve and
smirks.
Steve’s mouth is completely dry and he relies entirely on his legs mindlessly
carrying him forward. He settles behind Bucky setting the condom on the table
beside him. That free hand comes back up, presses palm-flat at the base of his
neck to trickle down his spine. Bucky shifts at that, arching away from it so
his ass perks up even more.
Bucky’s tight and he’s squirming and clawing at the table once Steve starts to
scissor his fingers. He’s moaning and they sound so much like sobs Steve moves
to rest his forehead between Bucky’s shoulder blades hoping it’ll comfort him
somehow.
“Feels so good, Steve.” He hears Bucky mumble it between gasps. “Feels so
fucking good. Fuck.”
Steve pants, reaching down with his free hand to get his zipper down, shove his
pants out of the way.
“You want me, Buck?” he prints on the back of Bucky’s neck with spit slick
lips.
He’s got the condom on, head of his dick right up against Bucky. He waits. He
doesn’t know where he gets the self-control, but he waits for Bucky to say it.
Instead he grinds, ruts against him with thick pants tickling at the back of
Bucky’s ear. “Do you want me?”
“Y-yeah” he gets, finally. “Goddammit, Steve, please.”
Feeling how hot Bucky is around him gets a fever sparked in Steve’s blood. He
mouths at his neck, reaching up with one hand to catch Bucky’s chin and tip his
head that way. He’s thrusting slow and kissing him. Kissing his open mouth as
he moans unabashed against Steve’s lips.
Steve can’t say anything else but his name. He can’t even get a decent moan out
when he feels Bucky tighten his muscles around him because it just comes out as
"Buck". He reaches down and holds his hips in place so he can move faster and
faster and harder until the table shifts forward under the force of his
thrusts. Bucky doesn’t make a sound until Steve slams his hips harder than he
had been, and it practically pushes the cry out of his mouth and into the
silent air.
Bucky is panting and Steve is panting and that’s the only sound in the
apartment when Steve goes back to the slow rhythm he’d started with. Bucky
mutters under his breath, “Tease. Don't stop doing that.”
Steve laughs breathlessly, mouth against his sweat damp hair. “That takes a
lotta effort. Need…need a breather.” He should have known really, not to ask
for a breather from Bucky after his previous experiences.
He gets Steve shoved back and off of him, until he can get him kissing and
stumbling into his bedroom. He doesn’t protest when he’s pushed back on to the
bed, stripped of his clothes, legs still dangling off the end. Bucky smirks and
climbs on top of him. He looks predatory and it gets Steve’s heart beating
faster as if it was capable of going any faster than it had been.
Not seeing Bucky’s face this whole time was a fucking travesty, because now
Steve can’t imagine wanting to see anything else in his life. He’s bouncing on
Steve's dick with his mouth open and caught around a half smile. Like this is
his favorite thing in the world.
Steve touches Bucky all over, feeling the muscle and sweat and heat that make
up Bucky's skin. He rolls his thumb over his nipples to make him shudder. He
watches Bucky’s eyes as they reflect back half lidded and bright blue even in
the dark of the room. It’s so fucking perfect. He’s so fucking perfect. And
that’s all Steve can think.
Bucky has stamina, not faltering once in the rapid shift of his hips, only
going faster every time Steve’s moans got deeper. He can see the way Bucky
responds to him and it makes him feel that possessiveness again. He was the
only one who shared this with Bucky, he was the only one who Bucky could
understand so well that even the smallest tell ended with the perfect reaction.
He wants Bucky to be his and it's so different than controlling him or
dominating him. He wants that loyalty, he wants Bucky fucking him like this
every night and not even thinking about who else is out there to shove a cock
into his mouth for money.
Steve’s getting so fucking close and he’s torn between making it last and
letting go. He reaches out, stroking Bucky’s dick quick and firm so he can
watch him come first. Bucky responds to it immediately, throwing his hands back
on Steve’s thighs so he can arch his back and hips to take Steve deeper.
He comes with a hoarse cry and his muscles tighten up involuntarily so he’s
hunched over Steve, face just above his. Steve can’t believe the way he looks
when he finishes. He's seen it before, but it was never like this. His face
doesn’t tense up or contort. It’s just his wet mouth open and his eyelashes
resting on his cheeks, until Steve can only kiss him, chaste, and little beyond
that. Eventually he leans back again, still panting and muscles still
twitching, so he can finish what he started.
They go like that for a while until Steve exhales unevenly, holding Bucky’s
hips as he sits up. He kisses him slowly, licking into his mouth and not caring
that the mess Bucky made is pressed between their chests. “Put your legs around
me.” He says it against Bucky’s lips and Bucky does as he’s told. Steve shifts
them back on the bed as if the weight of him in his lap was nothing and starts
to guide Bucky down.
But when Bucky starts to lie back Steve stops him. “Get up on your hands,
Buck.” And again Bucky does what Steve tells. He props himself up all the way
and Steve seizes his hips up off the bed until his weight is on his own hands,
in Steve’s hands. Then, slowly, to make sure Bucky understands what he wants,
he guides himself back inside by pulling Bucky’s down onto him.
Bucky’s eyes are wide, but he laughs breathlessly, “Jesus, Steve…”
He moves Bucky the way he wants him, letting himself fall into it because
Bucky wants to be moved. There’s no way he can hold off anymore, not like this.
Bucky is slammed down onto him, drawing gasps out from Bucky's lungs.
Steve finishes and the air that fills his chest is punched out. He doesn’t even
manage to make a noise, or if he does he can’t hear it through the all-
consuming underwater feeling he has that dulls everything to silence. He
doesn’t protest when Bucky grabs his shoulders and hauls himself up so he can
ride Steve out by sitting in his lap.
It takes everything out of him. He clings to Bucky, raggedly breathing until he
can process what’s around him, what’s happening, where he is. Bucky laughs and
looks down at him as Steve drowsily looks up.
“Need to clean up, Steve. You do, too.” His hand drifts over Steve’s sternum,
past the come that remains on his chest.
They stand in the bathroom together, lights finally on, with a wet towel each
to clean off. Steve’s looking at him, he’s looking at Steve. They end up
laughing again.
“You know as much as I like you being a bottom,” Bucky says first. “You’re a
fucking spectacular top.” This gets Steve laughing harder, but it’s still slow
and tired.
“Thanks,” he says, looking Bucky up and down. Bucky, in his bathroom, after
they fucked, in his bed.
“Were you…are you…” Steve can’t quite find the words. “High or drunk or..?”
Bucky smirks, then looks down at himself as he finishes cleaning off. “Drunk.
Decently drunk when I was in the club.” He tosses the towel aside, looks Steve
in the eye again. “I was sober by the time we got here. Were you drunk?”
Steve rubs the back of his neck, “Little, but I wasn’t feeling it so much
around the same time you stopped feeling it.” He feels sober as hell now. That
isn’t a lie. Now he mostly just feels like he’s hallucinating Bucky actually
being there.
“You gonna stay?”
He lets that question out and into the open before it gnaws at him anymore.
Bucky smirks a little again, just a flash. “Yeah, I’m fucking exhausted. Any
cab I take I’ll fall asleep in.” Steve grins.
They curl up on the bed with Bucky tucked up against Steve. The smell of his
hair is the only thing Steve can think about until they fall asleep. His arm is
tight around him, because a part of him, jagged and bent and slicing him open,
is that desperate for Bucky not to be gone by morning.
And he’s so prepared for him to be gone, that when he blinks his eyes open to
the sunlight pouring in through the window, he’s confused to have somebody
there. He stirs, leaning up to see Bucky’s face, but Bucky turns and meets his
eyes.
“Morning,” he says simply. He smiles and Steve can’t look away.
“Good morning. How long have you been up?” He settles back down at Bucky’s
side, who remains on his back, head turning to face Steve.
“I don’t know. Half hour maybe.” Bucky’s eyes go to the wall. Where there are
pictures hung and nestled in a bookshelf. Some of his family, friends, guys
from work.
“I didn’t know you were a firefighter, Steve.” There’s that familiar smile on
his voice and Steve shrugs.
“Yeah,” he says, tracking Bucky’s eyes to the big gold plaque, the etched FDNY
maltese cross above his name. He’d won an award for outstanding service last
year. “I don’t know what you do outside of this.”
“This” hangs heavy in the air. Bucky turns back to him and shrugs. “Go to
school. Columbia.”
Steve flexes his jaw, but keeps looking Bucky in the eye. “Prestigious. First
year?”
Bucky nods. Thank god he nods. Steve grins, but it’s uneasy, “So what you’re
eighteen or nineteen?”
Nineteen he could handle. Even eighteen. He could deal with eighteen. They
don’t break eye contact and it makes Steve’s stomach lurch to have Bucky
hesitate as much as he is. He watches him, as he searches Steve’s eyes.
“My birthday was last month.”
Things start to fall into place. He feels nauseous.
“So…” He doesn’t know what the fuck to say.
“I was seventeen the first two times I saw you, yeah,” Bucky supplies. He
doesn’t look like it bothers him at all that he was underage when he’d had sex
with Steve the first time. He doesn’t look bothered by the cold hard truth that
he had been a prostitute servicing older men even though he was a minor.
“I’m eighteen now, Steve. I was eighteen when I went to the hotel to see you.”
There’s a scowl appearing on his face now and Steve recognizes it as the bloom
of hurt. Shame.
Steve really doesn’t know what to say.
Bucky bites his lip and nods, “Alright.” He sits up and away from Steve, going
to the living room. “I’m just gonna go.”
This is so fucked up.
He scrambles out of bed and grabs a pair of pajama pants off the chair near his
bedroom door. He gets them on as he walks, going to where he can hear Bucky
putting on his clothes in the dining room.
“Buck, wait.”
“Don’t!” Those bright blue eyes are like ice. “Don’t call me that.”
Steve flinches, “Bucky I’m sorry. That’s a lot to process I just…”
Bucky laughs, bitter and angry as he pulls on his shirt, “Don’t call me that.”
He seems to be stuck on the nickname, ignoring whatever else Steve has to say.
He’s fully dressed and staring Steve down. The coffee machine whirs to life in
the kitchen, set to a timer to make a cup before Steve gets up for the day.
“I don’t have sex with people for free.”
There’s nothing in his face to indicate what he means. His eyes are still cold,
colder than he’d ever seen them be. Steve isn’t sure what to say to him, “If
you want…just tell me how much I owe you for the night a-“
“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Bucky says around a huff of a laugh.
He realizes how it sounds. He winces and tries to reach out for him.
“Bucky wait…”
But Bucky is already out of the apartment, slamming the door shut so Steve
knows he’s gone.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!