bucky's sexual drive had been in negative numbers for so long.
it might be because of the antidepressants his therapist was prescribing. he’d read the side effects on the label, and decreased libido had been listed there in tiny, as if it were just another minor inconvenience—like dry mouth or dizziness. but he couldn't complain about that because he needed those pills, as much as he tried to deny it. they kept away the nightmares, the spirals... but they also kept away everything else. the desire, the excitement, the flicker of interest when someone laughed at his dry humor or looked at him like he was something more than a ghost of the past.
it might be because of him. relationships required energy, patience, trust—and he was still working on having that with himself. some nights he wondered if under all the layers of trauma and cold metal there was still a part of him capable of wanting the way he used to, back when things were simpler. back when he was just bucky barnes, before the war, before hydra, before all of it.
but bucky rather think that it was because he never met anyone like you before. of course he had met cute girls. kind, smart, even a few who had given him that lingering glance that invited something more. but it never quite clicked. not in the way it should. not in the way that it used to.
kind, smart, you matched his dry humor, laughed at his dark jokes because you knew that was his way of copying, and you laughed in a genuine way, not with the awkward politeness others gave him. you also didn’t shy away from the scars, you didn't stare at his metal arm and make him feel like a freak, like he was beyond repair. you didn’t flinch when your fingers brushed against his cold metal hand.
and you were beautiful and so sexy. was he allowed to think that? because, god help him, he did.
sam always told him that he had a staring problem but with you? bucky was pretty sure you could call the cops on him for how much he stared. it wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. but then the wind would catch your skirt, revealing just a few more inches of your leg, or you’d push your hair behind your ear, exposing the soft skin of your neck, or bite your lip when you were deep in thought, and suddenly, he was gone, swallowing hard and forcing himself to look away before his thoughts could betray him any further.
after a long day, bucky let himself fall onto the bed.
the second he was alone, he let out a big huff and ran his hands over his face, like that would somehow erase the thoughts running wild in his head. it didn’t. nothing could. because you were still there, burned into his mind. the way you had looked this evening—the way you always looked—had him all kinds of messed up.
the entire town had gathered at the harbor to celebrate that the boat was finally restored, thanks to him and sam. it had been a good day, a rare kind of day where he felt normal, not a soldier, not a weapon. and, of course, you had been there.
bucky had tried—really tried—to focus on everything else: the music, the food, the way the people clapped him on the back like he belonged. and then you had hugged him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. his hands found your hips. he felt the soft curve of you beneath his touch, he inhaled the faint scent of whatever perfume you always wore and his brain short-circuited.
now, in his bed—the one he had bought only because you told him he could no longer sleep on the floor—bucky rubbed his face, trying to calm himself. the heat crept up the back of his neck, spreading down his spine. hours later, he could still feel the shape of you against his hands, the way your body pressed tight against his. the knot low in his stomach twisted and he felt his pants get tighter. fuck, he mumbled to himself.
bucky took a breath through his nose and moved his hands to palm himself through his jeans. his breath hitched, he was already so hard it hurt. it was pathetic.
he should feel ashamed for letting you—the thought of you—completely unravel him. but he didn't because, goddamn, the way you had looked today, the way you had smiled at him, the way your dress hugged your body in all the right places… his fingers found the buckle of his belt, hesitating for only a second before undoing it. it was too much for a man who had spent so long pretending he didn’t want. pretending he didn’t need.
bucky lowered his zipper. god, would he even remember how to do this? he had tried before, he had let his hand wander, hoping that maybe he could feel something again. but it never worked. his body never responded the way it should, his mind too lost in thoughts. but this time, when he slipped his hand inside his underwear, he exhaled sharply as his fingers wrapped around himself, his head tipped back against the pillow and his chest rose and fell slowly.
his eyes closed shut. that way it was easy to remember you dancing as the sun went down, the way you moved your hips, completely unaware of what you were doing to him as he stood there, beer in hand, watching you with a hunger he barely understood, much less controlled. the way your lips had parted slightly when your gaze met his, like maybe you knew, like maybe you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.
his hand moved up and down his length, slow and deliberate. he felt the thick vein beneath his fingers, the way he pulsed into the warmth of his own palm. bucky tried to breath through his nose to stay quiet, biting his lip down, but his mouth parted and a shaky moan slipped free as he gave in.
he imagined your hands on him instead of his own, your fingers tracing down his stomach and wrapping around him with a softness he hadn’t felt in years. he imagined your voice whispering his name like a prayer and what it would feel like to have your lips against his.
fuck, he was so sensitive. his hips lifted from the bed as his hand moved faster, his grip tightened and his breath came in sharp, uneven pants. his mind was completely lost in the pleasure, it had been decades since he had felt something like this. the years in hydra, the years in wakanda, the years he’d been blipped, he didn’t even think he’d have enough peace to search for pleasure.
but now you were in his life.
his hips continued lifting from the mattress, his body desperate for more. his muscles tensed, his stomach getting tight, tighter— his metal arm reached out blindly, grasping for something to quiet himself. his fingers found the pillow beside him, and he pulled it close, pressing it against his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle his moans.
bucky squirmed on the bed, his body caught between the pleasure and the overwhelming sensitivity. his hips jerked as he attempted to escape his own hand, but his body had other plans—chasing the friction even as it made him shudder.
his head pressed back into the pillow, his entire body shaking as he came with a loud moan against the pillow, and the only name on his lips was yours.
the next few seconds, bucky tried to catch his breath. he dropped the pillow that he used to cover his mouth, his chest rose and fell slowly. he dragged his metal hand over his face, the other one still inside his jeans, fingers sticky. god, he came in his pants. he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he used his cold metal fingers so massage his temples.
even now, when his body still felt too sensitive, his mind still hazy—he couldn't stop thinking about you. with your laugh, your kindness, your stupid little smirk whenever you caught him staring—because sam was right, he did have a staring problem. but how could he not?
bucky let out a sharp breath and forced himself to move to clean up. he had no idea how the hell he was supposed to look you in the eyes tomorrow after your name broke from his lips when the first orgasm in years hit him.
