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When it's just the two of them in the apartment, they like to walk around in their underwear.
It's not like anyone can see them, and honestly they don't own that many clothes in the first place, let alone proper house clothes and dedicated pyjamas. But more than that, it feels casual, normal, a way to make a home, not just in the run-down apartment but in the household of their bodies.
They can only wear what they can steal, so it's nothing fancy and nothing too complicated; Steve is partial to briefs, the white, high waisted kind that he says make him look more up and down, and Bucky is partial to seeing him in them. They go well with his little white singlets, and when he wears them tucked in it sort of looks like a full body type of deal.
The shots they take have moved what little body fat he has around enough that he can get away with not needing anything else. Bucky isn't so lucky, but he figures that's the trade off he has to make for being above average height, so he’s only mildly miffed about it.
Bucky admires him now, perched on the windowsill in their bedroom, gazing vaguely out of the foggy glass to the alley below. Winter has finally passed, but it's not yet warm enough to open it up, and Bucky doesn't want Steve getting sick again, besides.
The windowsill is big enough for the two of them, so Bucky ambles over and joins him, climbs up and sits so their backs are pressed against opposite sides, calves crossed and brushing in the middle. Bucky suspects that once upon a time it had a cushion, to make this whole situation a lot more comfortable, but if it did it's long gone, so Steve sits and reads there without it, no matter how many times Bucky begs him to save his back and move to the couch.
There's nothing going on outside; nothing of note, anyway. The brick facade across from their building has no windows facing the alleyway - meaning that lot of apartments was probably built afterwards - leaving them shafted with the terrible view, but at least out of the way of prying eyes. They have a fire escape as well, but it's a rickety old thing, and they are high enough up that no one ever passes their window on their journey home.
Bucky himself is in blue and white striped boxers and a ratty, moth bitten t-shirt. Neither see the light of day – he hasn't figured out how to wear boxers under trousers and make it look normal yet – but they certainly still get a lot of wear. Bucky immensely enjoys the way the newly sprouted hair on his toned thighs looks poking out of stiff cotton, the way the seams in the crotch hold their shape to make it look like something is dangling there when he looks down his own body.
The t-shirt is just because he has to, and the holes are because can't be bothered procuring a new one.
He stares at the side of Steve's face for a few minutes more, until finally it lolls forward and Steve focusses his gaze back towards Bucky. He looks tired, like usual, with dark rings under his eyes and all.
Steve yawns, which makes Bucky yawn too, and when it's over they both grin at each other, always in synch.
“You know,” Steve says, and scratches at his chest the way tired people in the pictures do. “This testosterone stuff really works miracles.”
“I thought that was pretty obvious,” Bucky counters. “Anything specific?”
“Well, I didn't think it was possible to feel this red hot all the time.”
Bucky lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
And he really, really does. It's not like it's a new feeling, it's just different. Like, now, when a racy thought pops into his head, he can't let it pass through, and has to hang onto it for the rest of the day until he has some time alone. Or with Steve. Whichever is more convenient for the both of them.
“Like now,” Steve continues, still casual as ever. “I been at work all day, I'm bone fucking tired, all I wanna do is collapse in bed, and yet.”
For a second, Bucky is dumb struck, caught up in Steve revealing he's always as horny as Bucky is point blank, that he's horny now. Which means it takes him a moment to notice the slow shift in Steve’s right arm, the one not pressed against the glass, as he slides his hand over himself and then down the cotton of his y-fronts.
The lights inside the apartment are all off, the only illumination coming from the streetlight-moon combination that somehow makes its way past the alley and down into their room each night. It's not enough to see if the front of Steve’s briefs have gone see through with his wetness, but Bucky is willing to bet that's what's happened.
They have sex all the time, the sight isn’t anything new, although it has been a little bit sparse lately what with Steve being sick for most of the winter and their conflicting work schedules. But Steve has never just sat there and jerked himself off while Bucky watches.
Which is exactly what he's doing now. Slowly, teasingly, he moves his flattened fingers up and down, back and forth over the outside of his briefs. Now that he's noticed it, Bucky can't look away, and for a moment he wonders how long Steve has been doing this, if he has been touching himself the whole time he's been sitting up on the sill and it was just too dark for Bucky to realise.
He feels himself pant with want, his own dick hardening in his boxers as all his warm blood rushes downwards. Steve’s left hand shifts as well, crawls up his own body and pinches his nipple through the singlet until they are both visibly hard. Bucky has to bite his lip to stop from making a noise; no one can see them, but the apartment is far from soundproof, and they have to be real careful these days.
Steve keeps rubbing and pinching, achingly slowly, and Bucky manages to tear his eyes away to look at his face, where he finds Steve with parted lips, staring right at him with hooded lids.
When Steve catches Bucky looking, he grins.
His hand stills, and Bucky worries for a second that that's all he wanted, but Steve merely lifts his hips so he can pull his ruined briefs off all the way and toss them across the room.
Bucky watches, hungry, as he spreads his bent legs as far as the sill will let him, revealing an expanse of light blonde hair which dusts his inner thighs and collects at his groin. The light makes the wetness there glisten, and Bucky can see that his dick is swollen pink, poking prettily out of his curls.
That had been an unexpected change. No one had warned them that a different dick size was included, mostly because there really was no one to warn them, but after a brief adjusting period it had become normal. Now, they can barely remember what they’d looked like before, excitement over new growth far outweighing any sense of strangeness.
Of course, they also regularly measure the difference, and are in unofficial competition to see who can get the biggest. Currently Steve is in the lead, but Bucky maintains that it's just because the rest of him is so small that it looks big by comparison.
Now, Bucky wants to take back every bad word he's ever said. Steve is nearly twice the size he is just walking around, and all Bucky wants to do is lean forward and wrap his lips around him, help him out any way he can.
Only, Steve doesn't look to be needing any help. The caressing hand is back, and he goes straight for his dick, and sighs when he makes contact. Bucky sighs with him, the anticipation having built up in his own chest enough that just seeing Steve touch himself is enough to let it go.
Bucky can't take it anymore. he shoves a hand down the front of his boxers, not even bothering with teasing, and as soon as he gets a hand on himself, already dripping wet, his head falls back to rest on the wall behind in bliss.
A nudge at his shin. Bucky straightens again to see Steve, displeased, staring at him with raised eyebrows, and Bucky gets what he wants; he wants to watch Bucky get off, and he wants Bucky to watch him get off, the simplest, lowest energy version of sex he can muster.
Bucky has to admit, it's pretty hot. He normally gets off on Steve getting off, but this is something else, this is vulnerability at its peak, this is connection without so much as touching. They aren’t able to dirty talk or moan this close to the window, so it's an expression thing too. But they've always been good at reading each other's minds, speaking without words.
Steve’s hand dips lower, a finger slides through the wetness steadily dripping out of his hole, collects it and pulls it back to his dick, no spit or Vaseline required. Bucky does the same, on instinct, and then realises Steve can't see it. He pulls out his hand and shucks off his boxers as well, letting them fall to the floor, and hikes his shirt up enough that it won't fall down and cover anything.
Steve nods, a little dazed looking, and licks is lips. Bucky watches as he mouths go on, nudges him again where their calves and shins are pressed together, and looks pointedly to Bucky's dick.
Bucky obliges, a hot blush creeping up his neck. He spreads his legs as well, right knee pressed against the glass, cold enough that it stings for a few moments until he gets used to it, the other hanging out in the open air of the room. He spreads his sticky hand over himself again, brushing over his dick, all the way down to the bottom and back up in one cupping swoop.
His hand is curved so he’s covering himself, and Steve absolutely notices, a frustrated little look on his face. Bucky stifles a laugh and watches the way he brightens up when Bucky changes to swirling one finger around the tip of his dick, down, up, swirl, down, up, over and over.
Steve visibly relaxes and starts moving faster. Bucky has a hard time deciding whether he wants to watch his face or his hand, and settles for flicking his eyes up and down rapidly, not wanting to miss anything, not even the way Steve’s chest puffs up and down as he resumes pinching his nipples through his singlet.
Bucky knows how much he loves that, how he turns into a whining mess under Bucky's hands, the same way that Bucky gets when Steve bends him over a knee, dripping like their leaky kitchen faucet.
They're both letting out little puffs of air as they speed up, trying to keep as quiet as possible. Bucky has fallen into his usual rhythm of rubbing left to right, two fingers pressed down hard over his dick so that it twinges when he moves to each side, like a tendon snapping over bone.
He's not rushing to come, but it is bedtime, and they are both pretty tired, and Bucky has work first thing tomorrow morning, so he also kind of is. Still, he hopes that Steve isn't, that he will keep going forever and ever, or at least until the sun comes up and Bucky can see him properly, because this is the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.
Steve looks more and more debauched by the second. His face is flushed, and when he lets go of his lips from between his teeth they are red and swollen. His singlet is all rucked up from his hand on his chest and he’s changing up the position on his crotch, curling his arm further forward so he can- fuck.
Bucky watches two fingers disappear inside Steve, gliding right in from all his slick. He lets out a little hah and his knees hitch just that little bit closed, so Bucky presses more firmly downwards with his own to keep Steve open. He seems to appreciate the help, because he smiles, that bashful curl of the corner of his full mouth that he does in place of having to say thanks for the help.
See, mind reading. They’ve got it down pat.
It makes Bucky speed up, and he decides he doesn't have time to think about why Steve’s smile is really what gets him going, even with the sight of his legs completely spread, finger fucking himself frantically, fully on offer.
Not that that isn't also getting Bucky off. Because it absolutely fucking is.
Bucky can't be bothered fucking himself as well, honestly it's a lot of clean up, and that's a testament to how tired he is because he's usually the first one offering himself up to be fucked, although it's quite different when Steve is the one doing it. Instead, he speeds up, stops teasing himself by pausing intermittently and gently swirling the tip with the hood pulled back.
He rubs left to right with his whole arm, slightly difficult with it being trapped between his body and the window, and relishes in the sounds of their harsh, hitching breaths, and the heavenly wet sound of Steve fucking himself, plunging all the way in up to his knuckles and then back out.
Steve seems to have had enough of pinching himself through the singlet, because he roughly pushes it all the way up under his armpits so he can touch himself skin to skin. He twists and pulls and stretches, so hard that Bucky can see he's gone all puffy and red, and he’s impressed that Steve’s been able to keep his whining at bay.
Bucky can feel his own whines building in the back of his throat and swallows them down. He's so close, he can feel it building, just a little more-
Steve gasps, and Bucky's eyes fly to his face to watch his eyebrows punch and his lips fall open as he comes around his own hand. He tenses up, eyes still locked on Bucky’s throbbing dick, and then relaxes, his whole body going soft and limp, legs still pinned open under Bucky's. His chest falls up and down, deft fingers now only lazily tweaking a nipple as he rides out the aftershocks.
When Steve looks back up to Bucky, he looks completely wrecked. He licks his lips, a wicked look in his eyes, and the warm feeling in Bucky’s gut turns electric as he comes too.
Like always, he moves his hand for as long as it's bearable, trying to draw out his orgasm as long as it will go. Involuntarily, his lower body twists and turns, trying to avoid the stimulation, and he's forced to still the movement on his dick before it makes him cry out.
His muscles seize, spreading out from his dick in shocking tendrils; his lower back, his stomach, his thighs, his chest, not to mention how his brain whites out, how his neck bends and forces his cheek to press against the glass, cooling him down. He tries to watch Steve the whole time, to see his approving, excited face, but at some point he closes his eyes, and only notices when he manages to reopen them.
Bucky goes limp as well, his body finally drained of its orgasm, a light, floaty feeling eft in its wake. His left hand had clamped around his knee at some point, and now there is a faint bruised feeling in the muscle that's been let go. He focuses on catching his breath, and when that's under control, he focusses his eyes, and sees Steve with his head pressed against the glass as well, barely awake, quietly watching him with a lovesick look.
Bucky smiles, and Steve smiles back. When he lets up the weight on Steve’s leg, Steve removes it so he can curl both his knees up to his chest, a small little cocoon of post orgasm warmth. Bucky does the same, wraps his arms around his legs, puts his toes on top of Steve’s between them and finds that they're both a little sweaty.
Steve’s eyelids start to flutter shut, so Bucky uncurls himself and steps off the windowsill so he can pull them both to bed. Steve goes willingly, stumbling a little, but it's only a few steps to their mattress so he manages fine. Bucky's leads him by outstretched hand and tentative footsteps, not wanting to trip over in the dark.
Bucky lies Steve down on the mattress gently, makes sure that his head is only on his pillow and that he's not on top of the covers in a way that means he won't be able to get under them later. They sleep naked all the time after sex, so Bucky doesn't worry about that. He does leave Steve there alone a moment for the bathroom, though. He washes his hands, then puts a rag under the tap and wrings it out, wipes himself down between his legs, rinsed it and wrings it out again.
He brings it back into the bedroom with him, where Steve is in the same spot, haloed in the light from the window, unobstructed. Bucky kneels down beside Steve, wipes his hands off first, makes sure to get in between his fingers and around the nails, then wipes down Steve’s inner thighs and carefully up the seam of him, gently but thoroughly.
Bucky has to gently roll Steve onto his back to do it, as well as lift his legs up and apart to get where he needs to. Normally, Steve wouldn't let him escape with both hands if he tried this, but he's basically passed out, willing and pliable in his last few moments of wakefulness.
Steve twitches but otherwise doesn't move, so Bucky presses a kiss to his forehead, to his singlet where he knows the nipples underneath will be sore and purple tomorrow, to his lips, and stays there a moment, until he feels Steve’s lips move back.
The rag goes back into the bathroom, because it will get musty if just left on the floor, even if it is just vaguely thrown in there. Finally, Bucky is able to flop down himself, and pulls the covers up over both of them, right up to their chins.
Steve scoots over automatically and tucks himself against Bucky’s chest, throws an arm around his back and puts his chin on Bucky's head. Bucky nestles in to the warmth, and registers the low, fading throb between his legs. Steve probably has one to match. Surely does. Bucky watched it happen.
One day they won't be so tired, one day they will be able to do things properly. One day they will be allowed to make as much noise as they want, will be able to enjoy each other as much as they want.
One day.