Opening the Closet Door

Author’s Commentary: In this story I’m skipping the hard part. Steve is not dead, Bucky did not run away after his memory returned and they’re living together.

Some things I remembered better than others, like holding onto that rocket at the end and the sound of Steve’s shouting before it all went black. The things that were more difficult to remember seemed like dreams; the touch of Natalia’s hand on my chest or pulling the trigger of a gun pointed at my own country’s politician. Often it tore me apart to remember and I wished all of those things would vanish from my mind. If all of my memories had dissolved as much as I had wished I wouldn’t have found it as amusing that my friend and I were in a quaint little apartment together like a queer couple. We weren’t married to elderly women, bouncing grandchildren in our laps and looking out at well trimmed lawns from behind our spectacles.

No, now Steve was setting the table for me, laying out white china with pastel trim. He was serving fried rice from a paper box onto the plates, careful not to spill. Apparently, I loved Chinese food, especially spring-rolls. That was one of those vague things that I remembered and would declare when asked but couldn’t really understand. I didn’t remember what it tasted like or why I was happy that we were having it, just that I liked it. So, as dutifully as in any of his endeavors, my best friend retrieved it for me, free wooden chopsticks and all.

He motioned for me to take my seat and I knew in a way that it was funny for people our age, twenty-five and twenty-one, respectively, to be so excited over take-out food. It might have been funnier in this day and age that we were eating it with a pristine white table cloth under us. I picked up my set of chopsticks and began to eat, watching how Steve toyed with his water glass while he chewed, absently letting a finger trace a design against the cup. I did enjoy our dinner, Chinese along with the way he carefully moved his hand down to smooth his napkin or let his eyes meet mine so trustingly. It wasn’t a look I was used to anymore.

We talked about the old flicks and past friends and anything in between. Steve wanted me to come see an Italian art exhibit at the museum with him and I agreed, though only under the agreement that we wouldn’t take anyone with us and there would be no sarcophagi. It would just be us, like it used to be…before any of this had happened. He seemed more than happy to make this deal; not even mildly offended by cutting out the folks that always hung all over him. With that in mind we both cracked open the nasty orange colored cookies and read our ‘fortunes’.

Steve declared the want of a bath as he put our left-overs in the icebox so I selflessly promised to do the dishes. I washed them in the sink quickly, leaving them to dry in a shiny white metal rack and giving the table an up and down. I didn’t feel like being too much of a nitpicker because I could hear the water running in the bathroom and it wasn’t the off and on again sound of a water reserving shower. Steve took showers mainly because they used less water, but really it just goes that showers are manly. I took baths, not because I wasn’t masculine but because of my metal arm. People might not realize it but if your entire arm is made of metal your shoulder tends to burn if it gets hot and I didn’t fancy luke warm water now if I didn’t have to.

I hated that difference because it did make me feel feminine to settle into a bathtub more often than not and I was jealous that Steve could face Namor better than I could. So it was a nice change to see the dashing Captain America in that position, especially when he chose to put himself in it with no explanation, save for comfort. I was kinda eager to get to see him so I opened the bathroom door without knocking and invited myself in. It was something that didn’t bother him, that I never asked permission to follow him even like this; he just accepted it almost like I was a puppy.

He smiled when he looked up at me from the steaming tub, having apparently just sunk into the warm water. Only he would smile like that at being burst in on in the bathroom, cheerful and amused but not condescending that I wanted to be with him. “Toss me a washcloth, will you, Bucky?” He asked simply and I obliged, grabbing a rolled up white cloth from the linens and throwing it at his chest. I seated myself on the cool counter when I was done with a smirk and pulled my knees up to my chest.

When I watched Steve it was with a mixture of awe and predatory urges; there was something desperately erotic about him to me and always had been. He had an inarguably masculine build but his skin was still soft and smooth over the hard muscles and his bruises and cuts seemed artistically placed against the creamy skin. I even liked his hair; the shiny golden color of it and the way that as it dampened it seemed unusually messy against his face.

His facial features were near perfection just like a dashing Hollywood actor. His sky blue eyes were tender and obliging but could also turn sharp and frightening. Surrounded by dark lashes that fluttered at his cheeks now from the upwards splash of water they just made me giddy. I had never lost my smile as I continued to stare like he was some hot skirt, contemplating his sculpted features and his lips. Those lips that were the first to touch my own…

He had whispered to me inside of our tent, all those years ago, that he would show me what all the gals liked. It wasn’t a perversion to him at the time and he wasn’t trying to ‘take advantage’ of me; it was simple guidance to help me on in life. His strong arms had wrapped around me firmly, one hand against the back of my head and the other arm around my waist. I remember my heart had sped against my chest and I shyly moved closer to him. I felt warm so near to him and he had pressed his lips to my own gently at first, his insistence only gradually growing when he felt me respond.

Soon I had grown so interested that I slipped my tongue past his lips into his mouth, letting it run against his smooth teeth excitedly. He had pulled back in utter shock at my gesture because he didn’t know any dames that forward. We didn’t say anything more about it as we settled in to sleep, his arms still tight around me. It was just a kiss and it was just to help me with my love life so there wasn’t really anything to say back then.

Steve’s laughter as he gestured hopefully for a towel knocked me from my reverie. He stood up to get it himself and I slid down from the counter to fetch him one. I was the one with him now after all, wrapping that towel around his shoulders though, not some lady friend. I leaned close to him with that thought and felt him shudder as my breath fluttered against his wet skin. The brief involuntary movement made my heart beat faster and so I sunk my teeth into his shoulder. He groaned lowly, shaking harder till I wrapped my arms around his still dripping wet body and pressed myself close to him.

“Remember when…” I asked with a hint of teasing in my voice as I let my fingers play across his broad chest. “We used to go into the tent…just you and me…what we used to do?” He nodded his head very briefly, letting one hand move up and grasp my human hand tightly. I couldn’t really imagine that he didn’t remember in graphic detail that he had taught me how to pleasure a man with my mouth, guiding me with carefully whispered instructions…something I would later find he was very good at.

I couldn’t imagine he had forgotten giving me release in his grasp so lovingly in return. But he had never thought of himself as queer, he didn’t feel strange. He wasn’t gay; he just ‘made do’ when there were no women around to hold hands with. Even now when I teased him with obvious intimacy, Steve Rogers was nothing but the paradigm of masculine heterosexuality in his own mind. I didn’t want him to think that anymore tonight, not when I was done with him. I wanted Captain America to admit that he loved me, not like a brother or comrade but like a real lover.

I grabbed his wrist and pulled him along with me towards our bedroom, easily as he wasn’t struggling to stop me. He didn’t complain…he didn’t say anything. Not until I pushed him down onto the bed, pale damp skin bare against our rough quilt. “Bucky…?” He asked slowly, as if I had reverted to Winter Solider and was going crazy. To be honest, sometimes I felt like I was going mad but this was not one of those moments. This felt good, this felt right somehow…to look down at Captain America as his ally again and see something tender and romantic.

I grabbed a handful of his damp hair and he groaned, pulling his head away from me and leaving several blond hairs stuck in between the gears of my fingers. “Not so hard.” He scolded mildly, letting a hand come up and stroke my cheek at the same time. He was so gentle with me, he always had been. He was by far the best partner to have if you were the sidekick; he treated you like a human. Sometimes I had gotten pretty stern lectures from him but he never raised his voice or hand to me over anything.

So obviously Steve was not a fan of being rough and neither was I. At least, I hadn’t used to enjoy things like this but…there was still some Winter Soldier left in me because now…now I found it to be one of my ultimate pleasures. I liked watching people squirm in pain and discomfort as much as I sometimes enjoyed receiving a slap or scratch. I didn’t so much have trouble controlling that new sadistic urge as I had forgotten that not everyone I spent my time with shared that…perversion.

I gave my friend an apologetic glance for the snagging of his hair and dutifully returned my lips to his own, kissing him passionately and eagerly like I knew he liked. I straddled him and nuzzled his neck then. I felt justified when his hand stroked my back so sweetly in return; his fingers playing against the line of my spine. I shuddered at the touch and grabbed him almost too roughly once more, backing off of him so that I could push him to face the blanket.

“What are you doing?” Steve mumbled with just a touch of understandable unease I knew he didn’t want me to pick up on. He turned his head so that his cheek was pressed against the bed and he could see me slightly in the corner of his line of sight and that seemed to calm him more. I fumbled around through our bedside table’s drawer and found some hand lotion from when Sharon stayed over. She wasn’t the most girlish of women and that showed in her choice of cosmetics; white and unscented. That would make my next move all the less demeaning to my sweet Captain.

“I want to make love to you.” I finally answered him as I climbed back onto the bed, leaning over him as soon as I was upon it. I nuzzled my cheek against his warm back as I fumbled with the lotion’s stop mechanism, listening to the steady calming beat of his heart. I could hear him inhaling and knew from experience that he was considering what he needed to say and how to say it best.”Bucky…I don’t know.” He muttered; apparently this was not a situation he had a heroic saying for and that made me a little bit proud. After all, very few people have ever managed to make him speechless.

I lowered myself to lean into him so that we were more fully touching, running my hand down his arm. "It won't hurt." I promised him softly, nuzzling my cheek against his strong shoulder and laying a kiss there for good measure. He made a discontent expression but said no more which I accepted as consent so I hurried opening the container and finally covered a finger in the lotion. I kissed his neck lovingly in thanks as I pushed my finger into him, biting down carefully to distract his attention from the intrusion.

His gasp of shock gradually turned to a distinct moan but I had more faith that it was caused by the attention from my lips rather than from the movement of my hand. I’d had anal sex before with a woman, with Natalia, when we were still lovers. I knew from what she told me that it wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable thing. Luckily for the pretty Russian, she liked discomfort in her sex and it hadn’t been a complaint when she had told me. However, I didn’t really take Steve as the type to enjoy that.

So I was more sensitive with my motions as I continued, trying to make sure that he was distracted so that he never had to really consider the penetration. I kissed him instead and stroked him with my cold metal hand, stopping when I heard the hitch of worry in his breath. That had always been a sign that he was enjoying himself, that little unsure gasp, almost as if he was ashamed of pleasure. I really liked it.

I slowly removed my fingers and coated myself liberally with the lotion, had to remember to buy her more, before pushing into him. The sound that came from his mouth made me shudder almost more than the actual feeling of entering my mentor after all these years. It was a warm moan that sounded more serene than fearful and made me feel that he was enjoying himself not just allowing me a fantasy. His hand holding the blanket furthered my belief and I could hear my panting like it was unattached to me as I made love to him.
It was pure heaven to see him like this; awash in passion and ecstasy because of me.

The minutes that passed as I enjoyed myself in him seemed to hold still, just allowing me to take advantage of every possible second. I didn’t want to ever forget a detail of this moment. I clutched his arms tightly and came, my grip so tight that I might have left bruises on a normal human. His panting increased with my orgasm and as I pulled out I let my hand weakly fall to pleasure him also, allowing him to roll us so that we were on our sides, face to face. His lips were against my own as he came and I shuddered as he exhaled into my mouth.

Basking in our after-glow, Steve held me against his chest, his breath calming much more quickly than my own. He opened his mouth to speak what I was sure would have been an admission of his sexuality. I was shocked and more than a little angry however to hear his pager go off at exactly that moment, signaling something that required the involvement of Captain America and stat. “I have to go.” He declared and with that he stood up, opening the door to the closet to don his mask again, figuratively as well as literally.