Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5558078.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers, Steve_Rogers/various, James_"Bucky"
      Barnes/Various
  Character:
      Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes
  Additional Tags:
      Humiliation, Verbal_Humiliation, small_penis_humiliation, stevie_likes
      bananas, Homophobic_Language, Protective_Bucky_Barnes, Public_Nudity,
      Body_Hair, foreskin, Shame, Large_Cock, Large_Penis_Humiliation, don't
      see_that_too_often, Precum, handjobs, Exhibitionism, Dry_Orgasm, Orgasm
      Torture, Watersports, Involuntary_wetting, Hurt/Comfort, followed_by_more
      hurt, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat, Ableist_Language, Period-Typical_Racism,
      Blowjobs, Facial, Rimming, Fingering, Anal_Sex, tfw_your_mom_walks_in_on
      you_getting_sodomized, mrs_rogers_knows_nothing;_thinks_she's_being
      awfully_witty_anyway
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-12-28 Updated: 2016-01-31 Chapters: 3/? Words: 8557
****** Little Stevie's Roger ******
by AndaisQ
Summary
     When Stevie learned that the other kids at John Quincy Adams Junior
     High had composed a poem for him, he felt like things might be
     looking up. Then, they started singing it, and he abruptly remembered
     that the other kids at John Quincy Adams Junior High hated his living
     guts.
     Stevie's little roger, size of a pin/If he poked a girl she wouldn't
     know it's in
     But he can't poke at nothing fun/'Cause Stevie's little pin can't
     even cum!
     When Stevie's swimming, look real good/Might see something 'neath his
     hood
     Bald as a baby, skinny as string/How big's little Stevie's thing?
     One inch, two inch, three inch, four/That's too big, go back once
     more
     Four inch, three inch, two inch, one/Closer now but still ain't done
     Half-inch, quarter inch, eighth inch, well,/If he even has one, who
     could tell?
     Little Stevie Rogers' little baby gun/It still can't shoot, but it's
     sure fun!
     (Steve Rogers, 14 years old and still stubbornly prepubescent,
     finally gets what he hopes is a clean slate. But there's a cloud to
     every silver lining, and he soon learns that what's really in store
     for him is a seemingly endless parade of humiliation and a journey of
     self-discovery - and not the good kind.)
Notes
     ...Okay, so I've now posted twice in 12 hours. How about those new
     meds, huh.
     The Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag is in full effect, and should serve to
     summarize the "don't fuck middle-schoolers" disclaimer on my previous
     sinpile, but I'll reiterate it one more time: don't fuck middle-
     schoolers, these aren't intended to act like actual 10-year-olds,
     don't pitchfork me.
     This chapter alone may be the most self-indulgent thing I have ever
     read, and the finished fic will leave no doubt on the subject. Choo
     choo, motherfuckers, here comes the sin train.
***** Chapter 1 *****
He was almost disappointed when Doctor Murphy sent him back to school. He was
sure glad he'd gotten over the pneumonia (again), but he'd already been held
back three years, and it kind of rankled he'd be going back to school in the
spring with a bunch of ten-year-olds when he should be going off to high school
already. Worse still, Bucky got held back too this time from caring for him. If
he was just gonna miss everything because he was always on death's door, it
seemed like he might as well drop out and quit wasting taxpayer money.
When this point had come up in the examination room, Doc had just clicked his
tongue. "Steven, every American child has the right to a good education. That's
half of what separates us from the poor brutes in Africa. If you choose not to
take advantage of that, you can, but what you learn there might very well make
the difference in your life."
"Besides," he added, "it's not as if you'll stand out from your classmates. I
don't imagine any of them have gone through puberty yet, either." Then he
ruffled Steve's hair and gave him a sucker.
It was banana-flavored. Stevie licked it mutinously.
"Cheer up, big guy," Bucky had said. "You wouldn't like the older years anyway.
Everybody's gone stupid all of a sudden. All the guys can talk about is going
off and fighting the next Great War, and the girls talk about their hair like
it was the same thing."
"All I talk about is going off and fighting the next Great War," Stevie pointed
out.
"Yeah, but..." Bucky waved a hand. "You're still Stevie."
That was, of course, the problem. He was still Stevie. He'd been Stevie since
before he could talk, and he was stillStevie. The same went for Bucky, but he'd
been able to finagle his way to sometimes being "Buck," which had a sort of
robust masculinity to it. You could be a Buck with dignity. Stevie, not so
much. It smacked of stuffed animals and skinned knees and, inescapably,
elementary school. Which he was finally out of.
But as he chewed the stick of his lousy drugstore pop, he allowed himself to
hope that things might finally change. Maybe he could reinvent himself; these
kids hadn't met him yet, hadn't already decided that he deserved nothing but
scorn. Maybe, he thought, this would be Stevie's year.
Of course, with a set-up line like that he might as well have worn a dress to
his first day of school.
***
He did not, in fact, wear a dress. He wore his best suit, which for practical
purposes had the same effect. (Well, that and the inescapable fact of his
essential Steve...ness.) "Best suit," of course, was a relative term,
encompassing a set of clothing that had more patches than whole cloth, and
enough safety pins artfully hidden in its folds that he practically clanked
when he walked. Bucky's mama was a hell of a seamstress, sure, but she wasn't
Jesus. It all had the combined effect of actually making him look less mature,
which was kind of the opposite of what he was going for. But his mama had
insisted that he look his dubious best, so he wore the suit.
The other thing his mama had insisted was that he make absolutely sure the
administration was informed of all his special circumstances. So, when he
walked into the lobby, he checked the map on the wall, headed for the office,
knocked on its particleboard door, and waited.
The door was opened by an elderly man, who bustled him into the cramped office
with an avuncular smile. "Hello, hello! You'd be... Steven, right? I'm
Professor Anderson, your new principal. It's my absolute pleasure to welcome
you to our school!"
Stevie nodded. "Thank you, sir. I was just here to-"
"Of course!" The principal cut him off with an airy wave of his hand. "Don't
worry, no one's going to be unfriendly, everyone understands it must be
stressful arriving in the middle of the year. If you're good to them they'll be
good to you."
Stevie nodded again. "Yes, sir. But I just wanted to make sure you-"
"Don't worry!" laughed Anderson. "You can come to me with any questions you may
have. I like to think of myself as a friend to all my students, so naturally
I'll be here if you need to talk."
Privately, Stevie thought that if he needed to talk, it might be best for him
to stay as far away from Professor Anderson as possible. "That's very kind,
sir, but I wanted to confirm that you have-"
"You'll be-"
"my file," Stevie continued as politely as possible.
Professor Anderson frowned. "It's not very polite to interrupt, you know."
Stevie breathed in and out, then nodded. "Sorry, sir."
"Just keep your attitude in mind. Now, what's this about a file? I don't think
we ever received anything about you."
Stevie paused. "You don't have my file?"
"No. What's in it? And try to keep it quick; you'll have gym next, if I'm not
mistaken, and changing can take longer than you expect, especially in a suit
like that."
"Health records, a- administrative details... date of birth..."
He shook his head. "No, I don't remember anything like that, apart from the
pneumonia. Is there anything I'd need to know?"
A few seconds passed.
"Nothing important," Stevie grinned.
***
This was what it felt like to have hope, Stevie thought giddily as he strolled
towards his first gym class in nine years.
The school didn't have his records. None of his stupid health problems were on
file. Officially speaking, he was a perfectly healthy fifth-grader. They
wouldn't think he was too fragile to play around in gym - they wouldn't be
watching him for seizures every second of the day – Christ, he wouldn't have to
wear training pants, he could act like his kidneys had never had a problem in
his life. Talk about a clean slate. He'd finally be normal, he'd be able to do
the things everyone else could do without even thinking about it, he could make
friends.
He went through the door to the gym, where a few dozen kids milled about by the
side of the pool. It looked like the fifth and ninth graders were in at the
same time, which seemed odd to him, but what did he know about organizing a
school?
"...yeah, it just sounds funny when you say it," a nasally voice was saying.
"You live in Dumbo, how do you not know this?"
"Do I look like I keep up with the queers' latest lingo?" sighed a familiar
drawl. "Fine, I'll quit saying I'm gay if you're so worried about my
reputation. I sounded like a prick anyway."
"Bucky!" Stevie called. "Hey!"
Bucky turned towards him, frowning. "Don't call me- Stevie?"
He grinned wide. "We're in the same swim period! We can swim together!"
Bucky didn't look very pleased. "What're you doing here? You can't swim,
you're-"
"Come on, Buck," Stevie whispered. "Don't-"
"You could die-"
"But I won't-"
The tall, nasal friend coughed. "Buck, uh, don't think I've been introduced to
your pal here."
"Stevie, Jim," Buck grunted. "Jim, Stevie, who has-"
"-a trick shoulder," Stevie interjected. "And heartburn, sometimes."
Jim raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't sound very fatal."
Buck growled. "They'll never let you in the water, you know that. They've got
your file."
"Maybe they don't," Stevie fired back.
Buck stared.
"I've got a clicky ankle something awful," Jim contributes, ignoring them
almost entirely. "And they still let me swim. You might be a bit too protective
of- oh, are you the pneumonia friend?"
Stevie nodded.
"That'd explain it. He's been taking care of you too long, he forgot you can
take care of yourself. But you're recovered enough to be in school, and they've
cleared you to swim?"
Stevie nodded again.
Jim shrugged. "Buck, I get where you're comin' from, but you've got to admit,
the evidence is against you. You gotta let go sometime."
"He has asthma!" Buck blurted out. Stevie's jaw dropped at the betrayal. "He's
trying to act like he doesn't, but-"
"Stevie, do you have asthma?" Jim interrupted, stooping down to look him in the
eye.
"N-no." Stevie's lip wobbled. "I'm just... He's just trying to keep me from
hangin' out with him."
Jim shot Bucky a dirty look. "Chrissakes, Barnes, throw the kid a bone." He
turned back to Stevie, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be alright. Even
if Buck's an ass, I'll be friends with you if you want."
Stevie gave him a watery smile. "Really?"
"Sure. You don't need him goin' around tellin' people you're a cripple, ten's a
tough enough age already."
Stevie paused. "...How old d'you think I am?"
"Ten," Jim shrugged. "You're in fifth, right?"
"I'm 14."
Jim cackled. "Kid, you oughta be in vaudeville. With the suit, too- c'mon, I'm
gonna introduce you to the other ninth-graders. You'll crack 'em up."
"I really am-" Stevie protested as Jim led him away. Buck stared after them, an
omen of doom sinking into his gut, and tried to figure out something – anything
– he could do to stop this.
***
After Jim introduced him to his pals, Stevie'd been ushered over to the locker
room, where he'd deposited his suit into a lockbox. He'd felt awfully
embarrassed at first, but as he went back into the gymnasium through the gaggle
of ten-year-olds, he was oddly comforted by the fact that they looked about the
same as he did. His bits were still behind the bell curve, sure, and he didn't
have the fuzz some of them had picked up, but if everybody thought he was 10
they wouldn't know just how far behind the curve he was. A ten-year-old had a
lot more leeway in most areas, he was realizing, and pretending to be one might
just be the boost he needed to do right by himself. So he went among his new
peers with a grin, sitting Indian-style like he had nothing to fear.
"Who're you?" asked a particularly pale blonde (George, he'd mentioned) with a
bit of downy hair on his chest. "You new here? Never seen you around, is all."
"Yeah," Stevie told him. "I had pneumonia for a while, so I wasn't in, and..."
before that, I was two classes higher than you?"I moved here last spring," he
invented instead.
George sucked in a breath, as did several others. "That's rotten," commented
Robbie, a snub-nosed redhead. "I almost got pneumonia in the second grade, but
Ma prayed hard enough nothing ever came of it but a cough."
"Sounds like your mama's better at praying than mine, then," Stevie said wryly.
"Maybe there should be some kind of championship league."
They cracked up. Stevie added "The Golden Rosary, maybe. Best in prayer three
years running."
As his compatriots wheezed, Steve considered that his extra four years' life
experience might give him an unfair advantage when it came to thinking up
jokes. He liked that, him having the upper hand for once.
Only when it came to dumb stuff like this, of course, he amended. He wouldn't
want to be on some arbitrary high ground for something that actually mattered,
but better jokes, he could probably accept.
A blonde-bearded man, powerfully built and covered with thick blonde fuzz,
strode into the gym. "Alright, settle down! We've got a special lesson today
before you start your swimming. It'll be spring soon; snow melts, flowers
bloom, and all God's creatures know it's time to mate. Except for you kids,
because you haven't been taught about all that. So today, I'll be teaching you
all about the birds and the bees."
Stevie blanched in horror. Most of the other fifth-graders looked confused. The
ninth-graders just laughed.
"I'll need someone to come up to the front- new boy, Rogers! You'll do fine."
The man beckoned him forwards. "No need to be afraid, I just need a good
example for what I'm describing. Oh, I'm Mr. Brady, sorry."
Stevie got to his feet slowly and made his way on up, shaking with every step.
When he reached Mr. Brady, the coach gave him a reassuring smile, spread his
legs slightly, and turned him to face the crowd. "Now, puberty is how a boy
becomes a man. Before puberty sets in, you should look something like this." He
gave everyone a moment to take in the sight of Stevie's hairless body, as his
skin reddened. "Little to no body hair, tiny bits, and, if you look close
enough..."
Without warning, he took Stevie's dick between his fingers and tried to peel
back his foreskin. It refused to uncover the head, but Stevie tried desperately
not to moan as the friction tickled at his sensitive skin. "Phimosis, or
tightness of the foreskin. Some of you may not even have foreskin, but for
those of you who do, it'll eventually get loose enough that you can pull it
back to expose the head entirely." He pulled it back and forth a few more
times, and Stevie lost the fight against his own body; he groaned audibly, and
it echoed around the gym. His audience tittered as Mr. Brady gave him a
reproving look. "Try not to enjoy yourself too much, huh?"
"S-sorry, sir," Stevie grunted. "It just- feels nice, sir."
Mr. Brady chuckled. "Which brings us to our next point, onanism. You may, as
with young Rogers, think that manipulating your own penis 'feels nice'.
However, this does not mean that you should do it. It's still morally
reproachful and hazardous to your health." He gives Stevie's foreskin a quick
pinch, eliciting a squeak of pain. "Rogers' little perversion is convenient,
though, since it'll help with a later part of the demonstration. But let's not
get ahead of ourselves. First: Mr. Barnes, would you join us?"
Bucky got up and walked over, and Stevie could only stare at him. He hadn't
seen his oldest friend naked since they swam together as kids, and he'd changed
since then, to say the least. His chest was covered in the same thick, black
hair that grew out of his pits and all over his legs, and his feet seemed
enormous. But the real change had taken place around his crotch; not only had
that hair turned into a bushy jungle, but his thingy was enormous. It looked
like a club smacking against his muscular thighs, and his furry balls might as
well have been two overripe plums hanging below it.
"The Elephant Man walks again!" called a voice from the crowd, and nervous
laughter rippled across the assembled schoolboys. Bucky rolled his eyes and
stood next to Stevie, his stance wide and his hands behind his back.
"Nice piece," he murmured. "Considering."
Stevie hadn't thought he could get redder. "You don't have to be a prick," he
whispered.
"Least yours might grow to normal. I'm stuck with mine." He glowered. "And
apparently,you're ten years old, so it's only to be expected."
"S'not my fault," Stevie insisted. "I'm just-"
"Hush up," Mr. Brady said. "Now, as we can very clearly see, Mr. Barnes is our
example of a post-pubescent boy. Not everyone will experience such dramatic
changes, but note his body hair, increased height, and, of course..." He hefted
Bucky's limp organ with the back of his hand, then allowed it to flop down.
"The obvious."
"As you'll note, Mr. Barnes is also uncircumcised." He gripped the veined
monstrosity and pumped it back and forth, gathering skin at the tip and fitting
it back onto the shaft. Somehow, it swelled even further, filling out and
standing to attention as it was rubbed back and forth. Bucky made no effort to
conceal his pleasure, instead thrusting his hips with the motion of Mr. Brady's
hand, to the jeering delight of the crowd. He grinned back at them. "Unlike
Rogers, his foreskin is loose, and goes back and forth easily." Bucky's cock
dripped something from its end, smearing clear fluid onto the coach's hand. Mr.
Brady gave it a look of disgust and wiped it off on Bucky's chest. "Like
Rogers, however, he lacks any semblance of self-respect or control."
"What is that stuff?" Stevie blurted out. Why do I want to lick it?, he didn't.
"That stuff," Mr. Brady explained, "is pre-seminal fluid. It helps make sex
easier, but can also be produced by masturbation, if a boy happens to be, ahem-
" He glares at Bucky. "Enthusiastic enough."
"Sorry, Coach," Bucky smirked. "You've got quite a way with your hands."
Mr. Brady rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're so pleased with yourself, then we
can move on to the next part of our demonstration. But, before we begin...
Would anyone like to examine our assistants more closely?"
A significant number of them did, as it turned out. But Bucky got a
disproportionate amount of that attention. Stevie was torn between feeling
vindictively happy that he'd gotten his comeuppance, sympathetic that his best
friend was getting felt up by a flock of ten-year-olds, and feeling bizarrely
jealous of his best friend for getting felt up by a flock of ten-year-olds. A
few of them did decide to examine Steve himself, though, and as they did he
felt his penis stiffening until it pulsed achingly every few seconds. He found
himself hoping that his erection was too small for anyone to notice, and
quietly tried to will himself to softness, or failing that, death.
Eventually the other students filed back to their spots, and Stevie and Bucky
were left standing with their hands on their heads and their dicks pointing
straight towards the sky. Bucky's dripped steadily with goo. "As you can see,"
lectured Coach Brady, "our assistants are aroused by your attention. At full
erection, your penis will take up almost all of your thoughts, and masturbation
will become very tempting. Obviously, you can't do that. However, in this case
we need to see the outcome of sex if we want a full education, and since the
sin of Onan is very specifically spilling one's own seed, we can have a live
demonstration as long as someone else does it for them. Who would like to
volunteer to assist these gentlemen?"
Not as many raised their hands this time, but there were still enough to choose
from. Bucky was assigned to George, who had an almost hungry look in his pale
eyes. Stevie got Jim, who gave him a reassuring smile.
"I'll make it as quick as I can, alright?" he whispered. "Consider this a
favor." Stevie nodded thankfully.
"Grab his penis in one hand and move up and down," instructed Mr. Brady.
Jim reached for Stevie's crotch, but frowned. "Sir, I don't think it'll fit
into my hand."
George coughed. "Um. I think I have the opposite problem." His hand barely
wrapped halfway around Bucky's erection.
The coach sighed in exasperation. "Well, youcan just use two fingers, and you
can use both hands – it's not calculus, boys." 
Their audience broke out in giggling as the volunteers gripped their respective
members and started tugging. The kid worked on Bucky's pole with long, involved
two-handed pulls, whereas Jim tugged on Stevie's prick with economical motions
almost closer to vibration than stroking. It took under a minute of this before
Stevie was shuddering uncontrollably through a beautiful feeling he'd never
felt before, and Jim quickly removed his fingers.
"That's what you might call a dry orgasm. Since little Stevie hasn't begun to
develop yet, he can't actually ejaculate, but it still feels- Bryant, what are
you doing?"
Jim paused on his way back to his seat. "Sitting back down, sir?"
Coach shook his head. "No, no. Rogers isn't done until Barnes is. You keep
going until I tell you to stop."
Jim returned, and reluctantly started stroking Stevie again. Still trembling
from the aftershocks of his first orgasm, though, the feeling of being stroked
more turned from pleasure to pain, and Stevie whined and squirmed between Jim's
long fingers. The intense, tickling pain built up behind the head of his penis,
feeling like a dam about to burst. He squeezed his thighs together as hard as
he could, clenching and unclenching every muscle he could find.
"It hurts," he whimpered.
Jim shrugged apologetically, but didn't stop moving his fingers back and forth.
Bucky, however, responded immediately. At Stevie's first cry of pain, he bucked
forward involuntarily in his assistant's hands, and as the groaning continued,
he pumped his hips in and out like a piston. After only a few seconds, he
roared as his cock fired out half a dozen thick ropes of pearly white
something, leaving sticky pools over almost three feet of the hardwood floor
and half of George's ecstatic face. Wolf-whistles echoed from the crowd, and
Coach Brady explained, "That's called semen. It's the biblical 'seed', and a
woman will become pregnant if it gets inside her. Congratulations, boys; you
two can sit down now."
Jim returned to his seat at a sprint, George reluctantly let go of Bucky's
cock, and Bucky immediately turned to Stevie. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
Stevie, his eyes filled with tears, tried to grab his crotch, but before he
could reach, a spurt of clear pee arced out and splashed onto the floor. It
sputtered for a moment as he clenched his bladder even more desperately, but
returned full-force as his audience burst into laughter, spraying what seemed
like a gallon of fluid through his still-hard prick into a growing puddle on
the ground. He sank to his knees, crying helplessly as his bladder emptied
itself in front of fifty hysterical schoolboys, wishing that he were dead.
But as his stream died down, Bucky knelt in the puddle and wrapped him up in a
protective bear hug, and Stevie consoled himself that no matter how miserable
he might feel, there was only so low things could get as long as Bucky was
around.
He was wrong, of course. But it was very sweet that he thought so.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
Stevie's back shook as he cried into Bucky's chest, and the laughter died down
as his protector sent their audience a vicious glare. Nobody wanted to push
Buck too far, not since the time he'd broken a boy's arm for making an
uncivilized gesture at Anne-Marie Stevens.
Coach Brady, however, feared no man, and particularly not ones under the age of
16. He grabbed Stevie's upper arm and hauled him to his feet. "Look at this
Goddamn mess! Who in the hell d'you think is gonna clean this up?"
"M-me, sir?" Stevie asked, shivering.
"You're damned right," Brady growled. "You're going to stay here after class,
and if this floor isn't spotless-"
In a whirl of motion, Bucky took Stevie's place, staring the coach straight in
the eye. "It's not his fault, sir. Shouldn't youmake sure you know his medical
record before you decide to do stuff that might aggravate his condition? Or his
conditions?"
"And what conditions might those be, since you're so well informed?"
Bucky took a deep breath and closed his eyes, reading from the file Stevie knew
he had printed on the walls of his mind. "Incontinence due to nerve damage from
facial shingles at age 2, exacerbated by kidney damage from scarlet fever at
age 4. Weak immune system, scoliosis of 25 degrees, shoulder with bone spurs
and rheumatoid arthritis, anemia associated with arthritis-"
Stevie's eyes welled up all over again. "Bucky, please don't-"
Bucky looked down at him, but soldiered on. "Post-polio syndrome, chronic
heartburn, colorblindness-"
"Buck," he whispered. "Please. Please."
Bucky paused.
"And delayed puberty. Sir."
Stevie breathed out a sigh of relief, then realized what Bucky had said and
felt his stomach sink.
Brady's brow furrowed. "How d'you mean? He looks like a perfectly ordinary ten-
year-old to me."
"Yes, he does," Bucky ground out. "But he's only a year younger than me."
Silence fell across the gym. Then the giggles started.
"Check his Goddamn permanent teeth if you don't believe me!" Bucky shouted over
the coach's snickering. "He's fourteen years old, you can't hide that forever,
Stevie-" He hauled Stevie to his feet even rougher than Brady had, shoved a
finger into his mouth, and stretched his lips over to the side, holding his
head in place with his other arm. "Look!"
As Coach Brady examined Stevie's teeth, his smile faded. "Jesus Christ," he
breathed. "He's not lying, is he? You've got your molars in, even, that's-
You're not a kid, you're a teenager."
If Stevie thought the laughter would die down when the joke turned out to be
true, he was wrong. The idea that little baby Stevie might be separated from
Buck the gorilla by only a few months was funny enough when it was clearly a
lie, but this was beyond the pale. The fifth and ninth grades both, for once,
got the same joke; his name was Stevie Rogers, he was as big a baby as ever
there was, and he was yet again trying desperately not to cry.
Bucky belatedly let Stevie go, laughter echoing off the walls. "I'm sorry,
Stevie, but-"
"Go to Hell," Stevie bit out.
"I had to get it over with," he said desperately. "D'you know how much worse-"
"Shut up!"
Coach clapped his hands loudly. "Quiet! Everybody, quiet! We're behind
schedule, so line up for swimming before I give this whole room detention!"
"That was it?" asked one of the fifth-graders.
He shot a withering glare in the general direction of the voice. "No, that
wasn't it, but I can't do the puberty demonstration with two fourteen-year-
olds! We'll continue next week, once this whole mess gets sorted out. Now get
swimming!"
Bucky gave Stevie a plaintive look, which he very deliberately ignored, and
they got swimming.
***
The water certainly wasn't warm, but it wasn't icy either. Stevie had to spend
the first half of the lesson learning the basic technique from Coach Brady, who
was surprisingly gentle. The coach's broad hands held him firmly around the
waist, keeping him afloat in the shallow end while he went through the motions
of the butterfly stroke.
"Weren't you angry with me?" Stevie ventured.
"Yep," Brady responded serenely. "But you can't teach mad."
"...Does that mean you're gonna be mad when you're not teaching anymore?"
"Yep," Brady responded serenely.
Stevie made an unhappy noise, then went back to waving his arms like an idiot.
Despite the humiliation of the past hour, despite the looming punishment ahead,
and even despite the strange looks the other kids shot him from across the
pool, Stevie was pretty sure he still had more fun in that half-hour of
swimming than he had in the last five years. He was swimming! He was swimming
with the other kids, even, though only in the sense that they were in the same
pool. But once he'd learned the ropes, nothing would stop him from swimming
alongside the others – maybe slower, maybe taking shorter laps, but Goddammit,
that was still something, wasn't it?
But it did have to end sometime. Coach blew his whistle, sending the other
students into the showers, but collared Bucky as he walked past. "Not so fast,
Barnes," he said. "There's some things I need to talk over with you and your
friend."
Once they were alone, he turned to Stevie. "You. Not only did you lie about
your age-"
"I didn't-" Steve started indignantly.
"-and your medical records," Brady growled, "you're sick in the head, you
disrupted my class, and you messed up my floors. I had my way, you'd be
scrubbing them with a toothbrush. But that'd be too slow for the size of your
little accident, so instead you get to use a mop. This time."
"I didn't-"
"Shut up, or I'll have you mopping with your damn tongue!"
Stevie fell into a reluctant, furious silence. The coach turned to Bucky. "As
for you,you acted like a painted Indian interrupting me in front of the class.
And in case that's not enough, I can guarantee you've done something else to
deserve this."
Bucky shrugged in acknowledgement.
Coach Brady got a bucket and a pair of mops out of a closet, then handed each
boy a mop. "I'm off to fill this. You can both sit here and think about why
you're doing this."
He strode off. They sat in silence.
There was a genteel cough. "'Lo, boys."
Stevie looked up to see Jim, standing over them in a towel with two sets of
clothes rolled under his arm. "Jim. Thanks for bringing out the-"
"Not yet." Stevie fell silent, and Jim crouched down to his level. "I thought
there was something a little off about you, y'know? You showed up in that
circus-tent suit and I thought, 'what, is he trying to dress up like Oliver
Twist?' But I just thought maybe your mama'd made you wear it, or you thought
it looked fetching or something. You know?"
"I'm not sure I do," Stevie said slowly.
Jim sighed. "See, I like to think I'm a good person. I go to church, I say
Grace, I help folks out when I can. But helpin' the wrong people doesn't really
add up right. So when somebody tricks me into thinkin' they deserve my help, I
get a little mad." He paused. "You know?"
Bucky began to grit his teeth. Stevie just shook his head.
"You're not some lost kid who needs a helping hand," Jim explained. "You're
just some crippled freak who gets his jollies out of playin' around with little
boys. And I can't say I like that much."
Stevie just gaped at him. Bucky snarled, "He tried to tell you he wasn't a
kid!"
Jim shot him a condescending look. "With that look wouldn't melt butter, with
that suit straight off the rack at Charles Dickens Surplus, with that pout –
yeah, there's a confession. I said he belonged in vaudeville and I meant it."
"It's not like they're toddlers," Stevie muttered. "I mean, for Christ's sake,
there's less of an age gap between them and me than between the Hoovers."
"So, you've stopped even trying to deny it," Jim said clinically.
Stevie blanched. "No! I'm just-"
"I've heard enough from you, I think." Jim turned back to Bucky and gave him a
level stare. "Buck. You're not too far gone yet, so here's a tip: Stay away
from the pervert before the rest of us take a look at how much shitwe tolerate
from you."
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Bucky asked quietly, his voice
dangerous.
Jim rolled his eyes. "You're not very private about your own perversions, you
know. Most of us tolerate them, because you're a good man otherwise and you
don't hurt anyone but yourself by it, and the rest of them are too scared of
you to do anything about it. But if you side with the freak, then you're going
to have more people after you than even you can handle. So I'd recommend you
think about your options."
Bucky didn't move.
Stevie thought, miserably, that nobody would take odds like that for him, and
Bucky had already given up enough. He had it good, here; people actually liked
him.
"Well?" Jim prompted.
Bucky rose to his feet, his Adam's apple bobbing. Stevie looked down, almost
relieved that he wouldn't drag anybody else down with him. Maybe he could still
sleep over with each other. That'd be nice.
Jim, with a look of relief, extended a hand. "You've made a good-"
Bucky spat a wad of phlegm straight into Jim's face.
Jim wiped it off with a sigh. "That's a no, then."
"You can take your mission of mercy and shove it up your clenched Baptist ass,"
Bucky hissed. "Talking about perversion like I don't know you've got half a
dozen pairs of your sister's underwear under a floorboard. Get the Hell out of
here."
"You can't say I didn't try." Jim walked off sadly, taking a detour around the
pool of piss still sitting on the floor.
Once he was past it, he turned back around as if he'd forgotten something. "Oh,
I almost forgot to mention. We brought you some washcloths." With that, he
scattered their clothes across the puddle and ran back to the locker room.
Stevie felt numb. Bucky froze, then fell back into sitting. "That fucker."
"Why..." Stevie swallowed. "Why'd you do that?"
"Not much point in salvaging them now," Bucky grunted. "They're soaked anyway."
Stevie shook his head. "Why'd you say all that, I mean?"
"What?"
"The stuff about..." Stevie waved a hand loosely. "Shoving his mercy up his
ass. They're gonna make your life hell. You know that."
Bucky set his jaw, his eyes glinting. "You really thought I'd take having my
perversions tolerated by that smug son of a bitch and his cronies as some kind
of reward for leaving you to the wolves? You think I give a damn about what
those guys can do to me?"
His voice rose. "You really think,after risking my lifeevery day for a goddamn
yearto keep your sorry carcass alive in spite of itself, that I'd let some two-
bit bullyboy take you away from-"
Stevie cut him off with a kiss. It was wet. Stevie's face was covered in tears
and worse; his lips were cold; and his teeth clicked against Bucky's like
marbles on a tile floor.
Bucky closed his eyes, and thought hazily that he could see the face of God.
 
Chapter End Notes
     Wheeeeeee I am writing like fucking craaaaaaaaazy
     This chapter is slightly shorter, slightly less pornographic, and
     slightly more plotful than the previous. It's setting shit up, give
     me a break.
     Rest assured that things will only get worse from here. Bucky's a
     nice bonus, though. For what it's worth.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
After all that, the day went by rather quickly. The boys hung their clothes on
a radiator, mopped industriously, and went about the rest of their schedule in
a blissful, if slightly damp, ammonia-scented haze.
As he walked home hand-in-hand with Bucky (not an uncommon state of affairs,
but newly exciting, to be sure) Stevie wished somewhat that they'd thought to
rinse off the clothes in the showers before putting them back on. "D'you think
we'll both have time to wash off before Ma gets home?" he fretted.
"Don't worry yourself too much about that," Bucky said. "I've got an idea."
"What's your idea?"
"S'a secret. Don't worry about it."
Stevie glowered at him. "You don't have to treat me like a little kid, you
know."
"Aren't you, though?" Bucky grinned wickedly and ruffled Stevie's hair. "You
look pretty little from up here. Where's your proof?"
He got a sharp elbow to the side for his pains, and wisely shut up; they walked
the rest of the way in mostly companionable silence.
They trudged up the stairs to the Rogers' apartment, and Stevie grabbed the
doorknob and threw it open grandly. "Welcome to my picturesque home."
"Knock it off," Bucky advised, rapping a knuckle on Stevie's head. He led him
by the arm to the kitchen bathtub, where he began peeling off his still-
clinging shirt.
"So you're getting the bath first, then?" Stevie sighed.
"The way I was thinking, we both get it first." Bucky raised his eyebrows
meaningfully; Stevie's eyebrows remained exactly where they were, in a
thoroughly unimpressed stare.
"There's no way in Hell two people are fitting in that tub."
Bucky shook his head, stepping out of his pants. "Two grown-ups, no, of course
not. But one mid-sized teenager and one little kid-"
"I'm not-" Stevie began, furious.
"Oh, come on, Steve! Even you have to admit you don't take up a lot of space!"
Stevie glared at him and tried to disagree.
Eventually, he sighed and began to unbutton his shirt. "Buck, has anybody told
you you're a massive tool?"
"Yeah, usually followed by 'what the hell do you think you're doing with that
thing, what girl would ever want that, you look like a clown-' oh!" Bucky
slapped his forehead. "Are. No, don't believe they have."
Stevie prodded him in the side. "You shouldn't make fun of yourself like that."
"It looks silly." Bucky shrugged. "That's just how it is."
A snort came from Stevie's corner as he stripped off his undershirt. "Yeah, and
who told you that? Jim the panty thief, Coach Brady the amazing bearded
pervert, or some other jackass who still couldn't keep his hands off it?"
"Huh?"
Stevie paused while unbuttoning his pants. "What? You haven't noticed?"
Bucky's brow furrowed.
"Come on, Buck, use your head." Stevie grabbed Bucky's cock and stroked it
gently. "I may just be a little kid, but even I can see how they look at you
when you're not looking. Haven't you seen it?"
Bucky's breath deepened as his shaft began to rise. "C-can't say I have, no."
Stevie dropped to his knees and looked up at Bucky impishly, still tugging. "I
don't know about girls, but the bozos at school make fun of you 'cause they
can't handle how much they want this beauty."
"I d-" He sucked in a breath. "Dunno what you're talkin' about. They don't want
anything out of me but a laugh."
Stevie buried his face in the hair of Bucky's crotch and breathed deeply. It
smelled like sweat and piss and, though it seemed somewhat redundant, Bucky.
"They want this," he murmured. "I don't know if they know it, but any of the
boys in that class'd give his left nut to be right where I am now." He squeezed
Bucky's heavy balls gently as he said it, and tweaked at his foreskin. "Too bad
for them. I wouldn't let anybody else at you for a hundred bucks."
"Jesus Christ, Stevie."
"When I saw you in the gym, I barely recognized you," Stevie said
conversationally. "The last time I saw this thing, you were... what, five years
old? That was the last time we swam. I half drowned in the pool because I was
too busy choking on air to float, and we couldn't go swimming together
anymore." He stroked again, making Bucky moan quietly, and added, "I'm sure you
were bigger than me then too. But I couldn't have imagined this."
"You're teasing," Bucky groaned.
Stevie looked somewhat confused. "How d'you mean? I'm onanizing you, aren't I?"
He twisted his hand experimentally.
This elicited a strangled noise from Bucky. "No, that's- that's good, just,
there's more you can do, you're not doing."
"There's more?" Stevie's eyes widened. "But I don't even have a- whatever girls
have, the thing."
Bucky considered how best to explain sexual dimorphism and the many and varied
forms of sodomy to Steve Rogers while getting tugged off by his audience, and
suggested instead "Try licking it?"
Stevie obediently opened his mouth and tasted the tip of Bucky's cock. "Tastes
nice," he decided. He set about licking with enthusiasm, if not skill, and
continued pulling as he did so.
Bucky quickly approached the edge of his orgasm, and gave warning in the form
of a groan so deep that it vibrated in Stevie's ribcage. Stevie drew back in
alarm, staring at the swelling, reddened head of Bucky's rod. "Buck, what's-"
Before he could react, the slit flared and he was struck directly in the roof
of his mouth by a stream of sticky white goo. He reared back in shock, but the
volley continued, painting his face and chest thickly with seed. The process
lasted for five shots or so, and by the last he had realized that this was the
same "orgasm" that had happened during the demonstration. He tasted the semen
that coated the inside of his mouth experimentally.
"It's not bad," he eventually determined.
"D-did you swallow it?" Bucky asked faintly, swaying on his feet.
"Some, yeah," Stevie said. "Kinda bitter, but nice. I like your seeds."
Bucky sat down heavily and stared at Stevie's come-soaked face. "Jesus."
"Can we do that again?" Stevie poked at a long string of the stuff still
dangling from Bucky's foreskin.
"Not for a while. It's- there's only so much you can get at a time." Bucky
hesitantly reached out to take a finger's worth of the goo dripping from
Stevie's face and licked it. "Huh. It is good. Usually I just do it in a rag so
I can wash it out easier."
"Seems like a waste," Stevie opined.
Bucky licked his lips. "Yeah. If- if you like it that much, I can- I do this a
lot, so..."
Stevie kissed him, and Bucky sighed in relief.
When they broke off, Stevie looked down at his chest thoughtfully. "I'm all
messy now. Wanna help lick it off?"
Bucky's brain filled with static, but he heard himself say "Yes." So that was
alright.
***
After a few minutes of licking, the thought occurred to Bucky that they might
be forgetting something.
"Weren't we gonna have a bath before your ma got home?" he asked slowly, cum
dripping off his chin.
Stevie's eyes widened. "Shit!" He sprang to his feet, put a basin in the sink,
and started the water.
"What are you doing?"
"We're washing off, right? Get the sponge, we can get scrubbed down in a couple
of minutes and wash the clothes before Ma gets here!"
Bucky shook his head firmly and turned on the tap over the bath. "No, I said we
were going to have a bath!"
Stevie looked at him in much the same way one might look at a dog resisting
walkies while the house was on fire. "This isn't the time, Buck!"
"The hell it isn't," Bucky growled. "You had a shit day, I'm giving you a hot
bath! It'll help you relax!"
"Bucky, my mother will be here in less than half an hour! She is a good
Christian woman, and does not deserve to be exposed to your sinful bits! This
is not the time for a relaxing bath!"
"It'd look perfectly innocent!"
Stevie gestured helplessly at Bucky's stubborn erection. "Is there any setting
on Earth where that thing looks innocent?"
Bucky considered for a long moment, then looked up, excited.
"What if we hide it?"
"Bucky-" Stevie inhaled deeply. "Your penis is half the size of my torso. We're
naked. There is nowhere to hide it."
"There is, though, I can hide it in you!"
Stevie found himself absolutely nonplussed.
"Look," Bucky rambled, "you've had a million thermometers put up yourself,
right? And it doesn't feel too bad either, you said. Well, I was lookin'
through the library for dirty pictures once and I found this one about the
perversions of the ancient Greeks or somethin', it was nifty, I'll try to find
it again- but it had a picture of, I think it was Achilles, and he had his dick
in some boy's ass, and the boy was loving it. Book called it sodomy. I've tried
it on myself, with my fingers and a couple pens and a banana and whatever's
shaped right, and it really does feel amazing. Maybe I'm crazy, but isn't it
worth a shot?"
Stevie wanted to retort, but he was struck suddenly by the thought of taking
Buck into himself like Eve to Adam, feeling that monster of a cock filling him
up to the brim, shooting that ocean of seed into his body instead of wasting it
on a rag. His prick throbbed.
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the images. "Even if it is, how the hell
do you plan to fit that thing inside me in twenty minutes? You'd need to call
in the Corps of Engineers."
"I can do it," Bucky promised. "You want me to do it. Can I just do it?"
They stared at each other, both achingly hard, until Stevie turned away with a
frustrated noise and put the basin onto the stove. "I'll start the bath, you
work whatever devil-magic is going to fit you into my butt, and I swear to God
if my mother figures out you're sodomizing me you go straight out the window."
Bucky grinned wide. "You got it, Chief." He crouched down, spat on his middle
finger and began to probe at Stevie's tight hole.
Stevie jumped. "Jiminy- Th'hell are you doing?"
"Stretching you out," he explained. "You've gotta get a little in before you
can get a lot in. Were you gonna say 'jiminy crickets'?"
"Yeah," Stevie muttered.
Bucky pressed a kiss to the rosebud of Stevie's ass. "You're the best." After a
moment's thought, he licked at it, and tasting nothing more offensive than soap
and skin, pressed deeper.
Leaning against the stove, Stevie made a strangled noise that was almost
laughter. "I went to churchthis Sunday, you know – I, I feel like I belong in
some Catholic woodcut of the downward spiral of sin. Little Stevie was a g-good
boy until he practiced the sin of Onan, now his best bud's – now his best bud's
licking his butt. Don't touch yourselves, kids!"
"Doesn't taste like much of anything," Bucky argued. "Kinda nice. Why shouldn't
I?"
Stevie laughed somewhat hysterically. "Why shouldn't you. Excellent question.
If we're already going to Hell, why not sin more. I'm convinced. Lick more, it
feels good."
Bucky took him at his word. Stevie keened softly.
After a while, Buck drew his face back and worked in a finger, and another.
Slowly, spitting on his hand again, he worked in a third. "You stretch like
anything," he noted. "You're sure you never did this before?"
"If I'd done this before I'd've never stopped doing it," Stevie breathed.
"'Sides, I haven't had much free time to experiment for the past couple of
years. You might have noticed the pneumonia?"
Bucky snickered. "You were under the sheets a lot. I wouldn't know." Then he
twisted his fingers and hit a little thing in Stevie's insides, and Stevie
couldn't really talk very much on account of the lightning bolt of sensation
shooting up his gut.
His mouth opened, but he didn't make a sound. "Y'alright?" Bucky asked
cautiously.
Stevie nodded frantically.
"Fair enough," Buck shrugged. He tried to fit a fourth finger in, but shook his
head after a moment. "I'm going to get something slippier. Spit isn't gonna do
enough, here."
Stevie felt Bucky's fingers slip out of him and whined involuntarily, the
muscles of his ring clinging to the rough digits like a lifeline. "A-all
right," he breathed. "I'll- I'll set up the bath, then. For the bath." He set
about mixing the hot water of the basin with the cold of the tub, shivering as
his hole complained of its sudden emptiness. It wasn't long until Bucky's
fingers returned, though, all four slipping in as smooth as if he was threading
a needle.
"Medicine cabinet's got Vaseline in it," Bucky reported. "Works just fine.
You'll be all slippery for a couple of days, but..." He rubbed his other hand
over Stevie's trembling nub. "Think of it as a reminder."
Stevie moaned desperately, thrusting back onto Buck's hand as it fucked in and
out of him. "Pl-ease..."
"Well," Bucky hummed, "if you're sure."
"Please," Stevie begged. "Just- please, just do it, please."
Slowly, Buck lined himself up with Stevie's hole. His fingers withdrew, but
before Stevie could even think to object, they'd been replaced with-
Bucky's cock had looked big, when Stevie had first seen it hanging flaccid
between his legs in the gym. He'd wondered how it could possibly have come
about, this organ that seemed almost like a fifth limb.
Once it was hard, standing out from his body like some devil's pitchfork,
Stevie had barely been able to think enough to marvel at it. He was too busy
just trying to breathe, and blink, and other tasks that seemed insignificant
next to the existence of that mammoth, magnificent, awesome thing. It was like
a vortex, drawing his eyes and his thoughts inexorably into itself. Hypnotic.
Inside him, it was indescribable.
Pain, obviously. Nothing could have really prepared him for this, unless Bucky
had shoved one of his other two legs inside him. But it wasn't really pain, it
was stretching, it was pressure, it was the feeling of being not just full but
complete. He felt like a balloon stretched over a fire hydrant; he couldn't
possibly take this, but God, what a way to go.
And Bucky kept inching into him, inexorable but as gentle as he could make it
when it felt so good. "Is- that- okay?" he gasped.
Stevie tried to answer him, but the words wouldn't come.
Buck leaned over him effortfully. "Are you-" He turned Stevie's head, lolling
limp on his shoulders, to check on him, and received a slack-jawed kiss for his
pains.
"Don't... stop," Stevie bit out, falling away from Bucky's face.
He didn't. Inch by inch by inch, Bucky's cock forced its way through Stevie's
stretched-out opening. The pressure rose, the feeling of fullness grew until
Stevie thought he might just pop. He throbbed with warm pleasure and searing
pain, pulsing out from his abused hole through his whole lower body, until he
felt like he-
He heard footsteps coming up the stairwell.
Shit.
"Get us in the tub!" he hissed.
Bucky looked at him, panting and confused.
"Tub!"
The footsteps came closer. Bucky heard them too, now, and swore under his
breath. He hefted Stevie off the side of the tub and into his arms, swiveling
him so they were face-to-face, lifted his own leg into the water as quickly as
he could, flung the other over the side, and sat with a loud splash just as
Mrs. Rogers entered the room.
"Lord, what a day," she said, unbuckling her coat. "Stevie, where-"
She turned. "Oh, Buck! How's your sister?"
Bucky waved hesitantly, Stevie's face buried in his shoulder. "Doing better,
miz Rogers. How's Mr. Hale?"
"As well as ever," she sighed, setting down her bag. "His lesions are a bit
better, but the bile- oh, how sweet!" She put her glasses on and noticed Stevie
doing his level best to burrow into Buck's torso. "You're giving Stevie a
bath?"
"Yes, ma'am," Bucky said, as calmly as he could manage with Stevie's ass
clenched around him. "He had- a stressful first day in school, so- gh- I
decided he could use something to wind him down." With another stifled groan,
he added "But I think I made the water a touch too hot."
Mrs. Rogers nodded, ruffling her son's hair. "Well, it's very thoughtful of
you. Poor thing looks like he just fell asleep the second he got in the water.
I hope he's not choking you?"
Bucky strangled a laugh. "Couldn't if he tried, ma'am."
"Well, just make sure you get him clean all over." Mrs. Rogers winked, and
Bucky felt a chill in the pit of his stomach.
"Y-yes, ma'am."
She patted his shoulder with a wicked grin. "I meant behind his ears."
"Yes, ma'am."
She tittered. "No need to blush like that."
"Don't you have stitching to do, ma'am?" Bucky asked desperately.
"I suppose I do," she sighed. "Well, I'll leave you boys to it. But use a bit
less soap next time, alright? It's gotten all over."
Bucky watched as Mrs. Rogers retreated back into her bedroom, shutting the door
behind her.
"Well, that went about as well as could be expected," he noted.
"Buck?" said a muffled voice buried in his chest.
"Yes, Stevie?"
"I'm going to kill you."
"Yes, Stevie."
"In your sleep."
Chapter End Notes
     I'm not dead!
     But updates will, as you may have noticed, be slowing down. I have,
     like, school and shit now. Soz. But I've got some other stuff in the
     works, including Tintin erotica and, for whatever fucking reason,
     Anyanka/Éponine femslash? What the fuck, Andy.
     Next chapter: Bucky gets what's coming to him.
     ETA: Fucking Hell I cannot believe I forgot the antecedent gossip to
     "Jim the panty thief". Goddammit. That's fixed now.
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