#( goodsouldier || mafia au )

[crimsonscorpii]

@goodsouldier

     prompt !      The small talk is stifling, and Steve finds himself outwardly sighing in disappointment as he scans the gallery for signs of Bucky. He’d disappeared earlier under the guise of fetching them more drinks, but Steve suspects that he too just wanted a break from drawling conversation. Still . . . he should’ve returned by now . . .  

Steve’s gaze floats around until finally he finds the back of a very familiar head. He doesn’t bother with excuses, he owes nothing to his present company and the mutually beneficial deal they have is strong and well weathered enough that Steve doesn’t need to appease anyone. As he makes his way over, he notices that Bucky is speaking with someone, another man, blonde, just a little taller than Bucky, conventionally attractive. He laughs at something Bucky says, placing a hand on Bucky’s elbow affectionately, and oh . . . he must not know just who Bucky is, and who he belongs to. Maybe he does, and he wants to die.

Steve has never felt this way about someone before. Bucky had gotten to him the moment Steve had laid eyes on him. A sweet, kind face despite the world they lived in, a smart mouth that could keep toe to toe with Steve’s, their bodies like two pieces of a puzzle made to fit together. Bucky had consumed him quickly, creeping his way through the cracks of Steve’s steel heart, making a home out of the roughest parts of him and making him soft. Steve’s always been a man of purpose, and while he’d been driven to dismantling the pieces of society he hated and rebuilding it under his own guiding hand . . . he’s never had a purpose before that has made him feel quite so human. Steve doesn’t do anything by the halves so everything that he feels . . . it burns in him like an inferno and his love for Bucky is no different.  

It’s unfortunate that Steve is within a crowd that he can’t make too big of a scene in front of. The art world isn’t as used to Steve’s violent proclivities as his usual circle, and there are certain appearances he has to maintain in a place this public. There are journalists and photographers crawling the walls of the gallery and Steve has to weigh up how much trouble it’s going to cost him to keep any outburst that happens here tonight under wraps. What he can’t do now, he will ensure happens later. What he can do, however, is lay his claim on Bucky, a reminder to everyone present that even entertaining the idea of Bucky, even passing a glance over him in appreciation or intent, even breathing in the scent of him, let alone touching him so flirtatiously was an exercise in futility . . . because Bucky was well and truly spoken for. And Bucky would do well to remember that, too.

Steve’s fingers wrap firmly around Bucky’s throat, Steve’s hand almost large enough to enclose him completely. The web of his palm fits snug into his airway, fingertips digging harshly into the muscles at the base of Bucky’s neck --- he can feel Bucky trying to swallow, and failing, but the choked off sound he makes is satisfying. Steve turns him towards him, dragged by the throat, and kisses him on the mouth, equal parts tender as it is domineering, and he eases his grip enough for Bucky to breathe, though he’ll have to struggle around Steve’s tongue pressed into his mouth for air. He pulls away just as Bucky melts into him, lightheaded and made vulnerable by the suddenness and heat of the kiss, and Steve shrouds him with an arm around his shoulders. ‘ You’re mine, ’ Steve murmurs by Bucky’s ear, for only him to hear, and feel the low vibrations of Steve’s voice.  

There’s spilt champagne and a broken glass on the floor by Steve’s feet, Bucky’s earlier acquaintance staring shocked and hand empty. ‘ Clean that up, ’ Steve tells him, as he begins to lead Bucky away, the man’s face and name tag engrained in his memory for future reference

      It’s a different world here, one Bucky is acutely aware that he doesn’t really belong in. Everything with Steve has been a whirlwind of change, or finding out things about himself he never would have discovered otherwise and while he is an exceptionally talented man, the high world of art and the seedy dealings that occur underneath all the finery was beyond him. Still, here’s here because Steve wants him to be -- and the idea of being away from that man is not something Bucky ever wants to entertain. The overwhelming attachment he has to the most dangerous man in the US is close to obsession.

            A feeling matched by his partner ten times over.

      His journey to get drinks hadn’t been an intentional long one. The talk wasn’t holding his interest and while Steve gave Bucky a lot of freedom, he still wanted to be good for him here. This world was different, the people were different and Bucky didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing that could fuck all that up. He was still learning, and since his gaze rarely left Steve Rogers, he had been taking his cues from how different Steve had been acting. He was more in control, more... refined than usual.

      Still, Bucky had bored easily and left in search of alcohol only to bump into someone who seemed rather pleasant. His flirting was mediocre at best -- though anything compared to Steve was now mediocre -- and not knowing the world here, Bucky hadn’t wanted to be too rude. He’d gotten two more glasses of Champaign for himself and Steve, but the charming stranger hadn’t quite given him a chance to dip out of the conversation.

      Bucky hadn’t know what to do, in truth had it been anywhere else he would have told the man to fuck off or even name dropped Steve. Here though, unsure of the territory, Bucky has to weigh up what he wants to do, and what’s best for Steve from what he knows. The man then compliments Bucky’s attire; a black dress shirt with a few top buttons open for a relaxed look, black pants and a white belt, then comments on how well built Bucky looks. Sure, the material of his shirt is straining because of his arm, but Bucky instead makes a joke about how he’d need to wank with the other arm to balance out his muscles.

      The man laughs, touches his arm, and Bucky’s skin floods hot with dislike. He doesn’t want to be touched by strangers but the way this man touches, he’s clearly seeing Bucky as nothing more than how the assassin feels -- out of his depth in a world he doesn’t understand. Still, his temper flares a little and he opens his mouth to respond----

        The words don’t come. Breath doesn’t come as a strong, familiar warm weight settles tight around his throat and Bucky’s whole world tips. That large, all encompassing hand cuts off his air way, cuts off his circulation in a flood of possessiveness that makes Bucky;s blood run so hot so fast that his world tips into darkness. He’s moved then, trying to swallow the words he had but he can barely get his muscles to flex. He can feel the bruising points of fingers pressing into his neck and then a hard, deep press of lips against his own. His own lips part immediately for Steve’s invading tongue and as the grip eases to allow breath, Bucky sucks in air straight from Steve and a soft, dizzying moan escapes him. The hand on his throat, the tongue pressing so deep into his mouth Steve can surely taste the words Bucky had lost, the press of that solid body against his own; the sound of shattering glass is so distant as Bucky’s world is washed in warmth by those striking words.

      He slumps a little, lost in the sensation of Steve’s powerful arrival and Bucky’s thoughts are as jumbled as his body when the kiss breaks and he hears Steve speak. Never had Bucky felt so desired, so loved and wanted and hell, even needed as he did in Steve’s arms. That mission from HYDRA had been the best fucking thing he ever did. As the shock softens and blood flow resumes to Bucky;s brain, he realises Steve is pulling him away and he swallows a couple of times to enjoy the lingering restrictive sensation around his throat, and smiles quite blissfully.

      His entire movement is turned towards Steve and his hand comes to settle on Steve’s chest, fingers tightening in the lapel of his jacket as he’s led wherever Steve deems fit. While he’s trying to work out how angry Steve is, there’s no fear in his blood. Only excitement as his mind races to explain, apologise, make it up to him. Unfortunately all his muddled mind can think of to say as he moulds himself to Steve’s side is:

            “I left the drinks at the bar...”

[crimsonscorpii]

(mafia verse) Steve lifts Bucky up and places him on the kitchen counter, as if he weighs nothing. The oven timer warming up their breakfast bagels ticks quietly behind them, the coffee percolates beside them. Steve looks up at the love of his life and draws him in for a slow, warm kiss, one hand at his jaw, thumb pressing into his cheek, other hand sliding around his waist, under the unbuttoned white shirt Bucky had thrown on from the floor.

      The coffee is forgotten about the second Bucky feels the hands around his waist, letting go of the cup in time to be plucked up from where he’d been lazily preparing coffee for the both of them and placed gently on the counter like he was something so precious. And oh, he certainly feels that way after a night with Steve writing his name on every muscle Bucky owned. He smiles as lazily as his own arms come to drape around Steve’s neck, melting into the kiss with a low, satisfied hum.

      Love he never thought he deserved and yet Steve gives to him so honestly and completely. Quite the same, the love of his life and more. He kisses lazy, from contentedness than anything else and his torso curves into Steve when he feels a wandering hand slip over healing bruises. He moans then, eyes flickering open as he leans back purely to take in Steve’s gorgeous eyes.

            “You know, we’ll never get breakfast at this rate, not that I’m complaining but for the good of your health we should eat first,” he murmurs, ignoring his own advice as he leans in for another slow, full kiss. It’s lazy, it’s slow and intimate and just as sexy. God he’s so fucking in love.

@goodsouldier

[crimsonscorpii]

3. for your muse to join mine in the shower while getting ready for the day

morning after starters -- @goodsouldier

      He has a vague memory of Steve’s good morning kiss, but it’s distant in his mind in the same ways his dreams are. It’s a routine he’s fallen so deeply into that relaxation doesn’t feel like a good enough word for how good he feels in the morning. Sleeping in Steve’s arms, or even just next to each other, gives him the deepest sleep he’s ever had and not just because Steve usually fucks him into a boneless mess before they settle down. The warmth, the safety and the protection exuding from the other man as well as the feeling that Bucky is doing good is enough to lull him into rest.

      Steve always wakes first, he has so much to do but there’s a lovely ten or so minutes where Steve will pull Bucky into his arms and cuddle him close. It ends with a kiss to the lips, the temple, wherever Steve desires and then he leaves to start the day, That’s cue for Bucky to roll into the warmth that Steve leaves behind and hug his pillow, falling back asleep to his scent and usually not waking up properly until Steve is dressed and waking him with a goodbye kiss.

      Not this morning though. Sleep only comes back weakly to Bucky as he lays there, cuddling the pillow and listening to Steve move around. Comforting noises, almost... domestic in a way and yet not a word anyone would dare use around Steve Rogers. Then the sound of the shower and the patter of the water could almost lure Bucky back asleep. However, this morning, his mind latches on to the thought of Steve in the shower and runs with it for a few long minutes until he relents and follows his heart... or his dick.

      Bucky slips from the bed, padding quickly across the bedroom to try and beat the bite of the cooler air and slips into the bathroom. He can see Steve through the steamed glass, just a shadow really but it’s clear he’s facing away from Bucky making  the surprise all the more lovely when Bucky pulls back the screen, steps inside and slides his arms around Steve hot, wet waist. He feels Steve tense in surprise at first and it pulls at his heart. A man always alert and so unused to affection that he likely jumps to threat before he thinks of love from that touch.

            “I missed you,” Bucky murmurs, pressing his face into Steve’s back and letting the hot water cascade down over them both. It won’t take long for his bionic arm to heat up under this spray. One of Steve’s hands drops to cover Bucky’s with an affectionate squeeze before he feels muscles bunch against his face and Steve’s pulling him around to in front of him. A hand closes around his throat tight for a moment before relaxing, Steve’s thumb sliding under his chin and pressing against the soft flesh to encourage Bucky’s head to tilt up. Bucky follows the touch easily, face turning up into the spray to be met with a deep, full kiss from Steve. The hand on his arm moves to encircle his waist and the hand on his neck slides into his hair, pulling him tight and snug and he feels that familiar growl rumble in Steve’s throat.

            “Good morning,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s lips and as Bucky feels the solid press of Steve’s cock against his hip, he smiles into the kiss and playfully bites Steve’s lower lip in turn. Good morning indeed.