CW: Bathroom sex, dirty talk, we're finally starting to build that tension. Part of the next chapter will most likely be from Steve's POV.
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BUCHAREST, ROMANIA
They're on the rooftop. The sun is rising. Bucky barely slept after their conversation in the bathroom, and when he woke up, Steve was already up, thumbing through a book. He had circles under his eyes, and he looked like he needed a friend.
So, they have sniper rifles aimed at the street while the undead roam around, hunting for food, and Reilly sleeps soundly in the apartment below behind a locked door.
"When did it start?" Steve asks. "You and her."
"Not long after I found her."
"How long were you hunting her?"
Bucky scoffs, aiming his rifle and taking a shot, watching one of the creature's head explode like a balloon. Blood and brains paint the ground around them and they wilt like a flower before collapsing. Some of the others take notice of their fallen comrade. That's new. Bucky slowly aims the rifle at them and waits until they're lined up, one behind the other. He takes one shot, and one bullet rips through two skulls. Both of them fall to the ground.
"I wasn't hunting her," he whispers.
"Bullshit," Steve replies.
"Why do you care?"
Steve shakes his head.
"I don't."
"You clearly do or you wouldn't fuckin' be here."
Steve sighs as Bucky looks through the scope. The monotony of shooting takes his mind off of the fact that Steve's eyes are fixed on him, and he hears jealousy in his friend's voice. Bucky still remembers the two of them— secret kisses when no one was looking, the terror they both felt. The way they were made to feel so much fucking shame.
"I'm with you 'till the end of the line," Steve grunts as he adjusts his position on his stomach. "Or did you forget?"
"I remember a lot more than you think I do," Bucky breathes.
There's a long pause and the two of them take out a few more infected.
"Do you love her?" Steve asks.
Bucky takes another shot, hitting one of the infected through the eye. Steve winces beside him.
"Not used to it, huh?" Bucky asks with a smirk.
"Not quite yet," Steve whispers. "Are you?"
"I don't know," Bucky says honestly.
He doesn't really see the shambling forms below as people, not anymore. Now, they're a threat, and that threat has to be neutralized. He has to protect the person he was trying to protect in the first place. As Steve adjusts his gun, his arm gently knocks against Bucky's. Bucky bites down on his bottom lip.
"Careful, Rogers. You'll make me miss just like you did in Italy."
"Sorry," Steve murmurs. A beat. "You never answered my question."
"What question?"
"You know damn well what question."
"What are you going to say if I say yes?"
It's as close to admitting it out loud as he's going to get.
"I'm going to say that I think she deserves to know the truth, and that you're in too deep."
Bucky scoffs.
"It's the end of the world, Stevie. What do you want me to do?" He turns to his friend. "Don't tell me you don't see what I see when you look at her. Your virginity grow back while you were under that ice?"
"Did yours?" Steve fires back.
Bucky chuckles, and searches around with his scope. He spots one of the creatures thumping its hand against the door of a church, its hand clenched in a fist. Like it's knocking at it, searching for salvation— or whatever the hell is locked in there. Bucky wonders if there are other people locked away, trying to survive the same way the three of them are. He wonders if these things can smell them among the decay, or if they, too, have a heightened sense of hearing. Like wild dogs.
The creature's body jolts, spasming slightly. The knocking is eerie, a sort of uncanny valley. It sets Bucky's teeth on edge, the same way the zombie who opened the car door did. Almost human, but something is missing. Intent. Purpose. It's like it's learning to do these things for the first time. And he can't help but stare, his breath rushing in and out of his chest. It's fascinating, until it turns its head and calls out. Two more of them amble up, and start to thump their fists against the door.
"Jesus Christ," he whispers.
"What?"
"They can communicate," Bucky murmurs.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Bucky motions with his gun and Steve looks into his rifle. A sharp intake of breath sounds from beside him.
"You see it?" Bucky asks.
"Yeah. They're fuckin' learning."
"More like remembering."
They both seem to have the same thought, their rifles shifting in sync. They've always been in sync, even when they were separated by time and circumstance. It sort of feels like being back on the battlefield, and a thrill rushes through Bucky. He remembers how much he loves the fight. At his core, he was born for this. His father was a soldier, and so was his grandfather. Bucky was drafted in the war, but he knew deep in his bones that it was destiny. He just didn't expect it to twist the way it did.
Bucky fires two shots, and Steve fires one. Except he misses and hits one of them in the neck. It flails, flopping against the others like a fish out of water.
"Dammit, Stevie."
"You were the sniper," Steve replies.
Bucky sighs and takes one more shot, its head erupting and a sea of crimson splatters across the pavement and the building. Steve rolls onto his back, staring upward, bathed in a sea of orange and pink. His eyes close and Bucky watches him, the slope of his sharp jaw, the way his nose is just slightly crooked yet perfect at the same time. His eyes run over Steve's broad shoulders, and the tight t-shirt that stretches across his chest.
Memories flood back. The two of them in Steve's bunk. Bucky was drunk, he wanted to fuck Steve so badly, to be buried deep inside of him and make him come. He wanted sweet kisses and soft confessions. He wanted to be cradled until the sun came up. The best Steve could do was let Bucky grind against his ass until he came in his pants while Steve stroked himself, the two of them moaning quietly and trying not to get caught.
"You were right," Steve says, his eyes still closed. "I was looking at her. She's beautiful." He turns his head slowly, blue eyes glittering in the golden light. The juxtaposition is stunning. The warm glow carves him out like marble and Bucky has to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss him. Steve seems to be doing the same.
"But I know you're territorial."
"You think she's pretty?" Bucky asks with a grin.
He's proud of getting a girl like Reilly. She's someone he would have gone for in the 40s. He fucking loves redheads. Her Irish accent and the way she moans his name just makes it that much sweeter.
"I think she's gorgeous," Steve confesses.
"She's sweet, too."
Steve scoffs.
"I'll believe that when I see it. She looked ready to take my head off. I'm just glad I've got a hundred pounds on her."
"I guess she's territorial," Bucky quips as he rolls onto his side. He wants to get close to him, to smell the musk and soap that clings to Steve's skin. If it were anyone else, Bucky wouldn't be interested.
But there's always been something between him and Steve that neither of them could walk away from.
Steve scoffs.
"I think she hates me."
"I don't know about that," Bucky replies.
He saw the way Reilly looked at Steve last night, the way her pulse raced. She couldn't hide it, and she couldn't hide the way her eyes raked over Steve's body. He wasn't jealous, and that surprised him. Bucky was intrigued. Hell, he even let himself fantasize a little bit. Steve's mouth on Reilly's pussy while she whined his name and Bucky watched. He can feel himself getting so fucking hard at the thought of it. His mouth is dry. He wants to go downstairs and bury his cock in Reilly's cunt, make her whimper and moan for him. And he wants Steve in the room the whole goddamn time.
He blinks, unsure where these fantasies came from. A few weeks into the end of the world and Bucky barely recognizes himself anymore.
"What do you mean?" Steve asks.
"Nothing," Bucky sighs. "It doesn't matter. She'll come around."
Steve chuckles, pushing his hair out of his face as he shakes his head.
"I'm pretty sure hell'll freeze over before that happens."
Bucky shrugs. Steve has no idea. He's so fucking oblivious; he always has been. If only he could see what Bucky sees when he looks at Reilly, a thing to be protected and cherished. She's experienced, smart, tactical. She's just fucking traumatized. But she'll get better. Maybe after he tells her the truth. He's still not sure how she's going to take that one, and he knows that time isn't on his side. She could find the files buried in the floorboards. Bucky sort of hopes that the memories of Mark will just fade out of her memory, but hers and Mark's wedding bands are still sitting on her dresser. She's going to want them if they have to leave here— and they will. Eventually, those things down there will find them. They'll be overrun. It'll get bloody.
Bucky knows how this goes.
He knows he'll never be safe. Not completely.
"Give her time."
"When are you going to tell her?"
"I don't know. How the fuck am I supposed to explain it?"
Steve sits up, his back to the snarls and bellows that echo on the street below. He cracks his knuckles, small pops echoing in the silence. Bucky remembers the bad habit. His mother was always trying to get him to stop. It bugged her so much, but Steve couldn't help it. He was a nervous wreck as a kid, always fidgeting, always getting into something. Sitting still was practically impossible for him. Bucky didn't think he had the discipline to be a soldier, forget about the asthma and the fact that before the serum, he was built like a fucking twig.
"Same way you explained being the Winter Soldier. You tell the truth."
"She doesn't know most of it," Bucky whispers. "Neither do you."
"You could try talking about it."
"I can't."
"Try."
Bucky's eyes flick toward the ground to the gravel that they're laying on that's stained with blood. The bodies have been moved to the corner of the rooftop, being picked apart by carrion and devoured by insects. They'll be frozen by the time the winter comes, but that's still a way's away. They have to make it though the fall first.
If they make it. Mentally, he's preparing for the worst. Reilly doesn't know it but he's already packed a go-bag for them in case they have to leave with almost nothing on their backs. He's terrified to leave the security of the building. It's not the infected he's worried about, it's other people. He's killed for Reilly, and he'll do it over and over again if he has to. He would have said he owed it to her, but it's become so much more than that now.
"I'm afraid if I open my mouth and start talking, it'll all come out." He shakes his head. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
Steve's brows knit together.
"What the hell did they do to you, Buck?"
Bucky feels his throat clench and tears sting his eyes. Steve reaches out and grasps his shoulder.
"It's okay."
Bucky shakes his head.
"It's not. And it never will be. Just trying to take my dad's advice."
"Play the hand you're dealt and stop reaching for new cards."
Bucky laughs.
"Stupid advice from a man who gambled away his family's savings, huh?"
Steve nods.
"A little, yeah. But we all have our moments." A sickening silence descends on them and suddenly, Bucky hears gunshots in the distance. Both he and Steve turn and ready their rifles, searching for the source of the sound.
It takes Bucky a few seconds, but soon, his sight lands on a pack of men wandering through the streets, taking out infected where they can. Their faces are covered with balaclavas and masks, and they're all dressed in black. They have two women with them, walking behind them, tied to ropes. It's hard to make out specific details, and Bucky finds himself squinting. The groups is nowhere near the apartment building. In fact, they're heading east, toward the center of the city.
Bucky's guts twist and Steve exhales softly.
"Raiders."
"Raiders?"
"Saw a couple of them in Russia. They move in big groups. Mostly men. They take what they can— supplies, guns, ammo, and women."
"You fought them?" Bucky asks.
Steve scoffs.
"I'm stupid, but I ain't that stupid."
"Coulda fooled me," Bucky murmurs.
Steve chuckles.
"Avoided 'em like the goddamn plague, but I managed to help two girls hide from them. Anyone who doesn't go with them is killed... and taken for... food."
Bucky feels sick, swallowing the invisible wad of cotton in his throat.
"A few weeks and people show their true colors, huh?"
Steve is tracking them with his gun, and Bucky follows, both of them making damn sure that the group isn't coming anywhere near them. There's a shout, so faint that Bucky can just barely make it out. A few infected dart out from behind cars and a skirmish ensues. Bodies tumble on the ground and even from here, he can sense the terror and panic. They're all bad shots, missing and wasting ammo. Inexperienced and overly confident.
Bucky and Steve just watch the carnage. He can hear Steve's breathing increase slightly while his own remains steady. He's seen a lot of this, even before the apocalypse. Part of him expects Steve to dive into the action while infected sink their teeth into some of the pack members. Others flee, taking the two women with them. The soft pops of gunfire break the thick silence, and soon, the pack has scattered to the wind, infected following them with quick, jerking motions of their arms and heads.
"You think they'll come here?" Bucky asks.
It's a bit of a naïve question. He knows that, eventually, someone will show up with guns and more people to try and kill them. But they'll be at a severe disadvantage staring down the barrel of two guns that belong to super soldiers. He's not worried about having to use brute force to protect this place, but he is worried that something will happen to Reilly. She's no damsel in distress, but she's traumatized. Because of him. And that makes her unstable.
Just like him.
"It's hard to say. A lot of this area of town is totally ransacked, so they might not even see an opportunity. Looks like they're heading deeper into the city anyway. I don't know why. I'd avoid those places. Too many infected wandering around, looking for something to eat."
"How many of them have you killed?" Bucky asks.
"I don't know," Steve whispers. "But I don't feel good about it."
"Yeah, they kinda stole my gig," Bucky quips. "Mindless killing was my specialty."
He chuckles to himself, but the look in Steve's eyes nearly shatters his heart. Bucky doesn't think he'll ever fully process what happened to him, everything he's seen, everything he's done. He still remembers that night at Pierce's apartment, sitting in the dark waiting for him. The old man didn't even flinch when he caught the glint of Bucky's metal arm. And then he had the gall to ask him if he wanted some milk.
Pierce knew Bucky never had a choice. In anything.
Even the soldier was angry. Even the soldier knew the prison they were both trapped in.
"Buck..."
Bucky shrugs, tears gathering in his eyes as he puts his gun down.
"S'okay. If I don't laugh about it, I think I'll fall apart."
"I should have gotten to you in time," Steve says through tears. "I'm so fuckin' sorry."
Bucky's face crumples and he wipes the tears away with the back of his wrist, shaking his head.
"There was nothing you could have done. If you had walked out a little further, you would've fallen with me. Imagine if Hydra captured Captain America."
Bucky could see the darkness stretching over Steve like a blanket. They had plans for him. Captain Hydra. Paired with the Winter Soldier, they'd be an unstoppable force of death and destruction. If Zola couldn't have Steve Rogers, he'd make something better.
"I could have gone to look for you."
"You would have frozen to death. Captain America ain't immune the elements."
Steve sniffles and flicks away tears. There's still dirt and blood underneath his fingernails that he wasn't able to scrub away in the shower.
"I beat myself up about that day over and over again."
"You shouldn't. It wasn't your fault."
"I let you fall," Steve chokes out. "I'll never forgive myself for that."
"Steve..."
Steve's eyes lock with his.
"I'm so glad I found you."
"Me too," Bucky breathes.
Steve reaches out, his hand on Bucky's shoulder. He hears the click and shift of their weapons as they make room for real human contact. Within seconds, they're hugging each other, just like old times. Steve's arm is wrapped around him, holding him tight. Bucky feels a sob loosen in his chest and fall out like a rusted bolt on a car. Steve grips him tighter.
"I'm so fucking sorry, Buck."
Bucky sniffles. Neither of them really know how to process this trauma, Steve's guilt and Bucky's... whatever the fuck is going on inside of his brain. He doesn't have the collective skills to process the impact, the ripple effect... what it's done to him. Most days, he feels like he's barely holding it together. He's had to hold himself together with metaphorical duct tape to get through every day. Most days, Bucky feels about two seconds away from losing the mind he worked so hard to get back.
Reilly is helping, so much more than she thinks. This chaos keeps him calm, despite the uncertainty that surrounds them every second of every day. Bucky was always good in a crisis. He remained calm while everything else around him crumbled. He's been like that since he was a child. It probably came from watching his dad punch holes in the walls and having to protect his mother and sisters from the drunken tirades and flying fists. He didn't want to be the man of the house, it was a role that was forced upon him because his father couldn't do it.
The old man drank himself to death. He can see so much of it in Reilly. It's why he monitors her intake. She's not capable of controlling herself.
There's a sense of relief that pulses through him now. He's almost certain there's nobody chasing him because there's no one left to do the job. Hydra was ready to capture or kill him, that much he knew for certain.
"You're here now," Bucky murmurs. "That's what matters."
Steve pulls back and takes a breath. The sun has now fully risen, warming the two of them. It's a strange comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. Bucky smiles and they both straighten up.
"You wanna head inside?"
"Yeah," Steve whispers. "We should clean up those bodies."
Bucky nods. Neither of them are getting any more sleep.
"We're going to have to leave here, aren't we?" Bucky asks after a moment.
"Probably," Steve whispers. "Actually, there's no probably about it. The water is going to run out, we'll have to go further and further for supply runs. Eventually, it'll be too dangerous. You only have so many filtration tablets to make the water drinkable that you stored in those containers. Eventually, it'll be too risky to hole up here."
"Yeah," Bucky sighs. "Been thinking about that myself. Reilly probably has too."
Steve gets to his feet and sticks out his hand. Bucky doesn't need to take it, he's perfectly agile, but he does it because even the slightest amount of human contact warms something in him that he thought had been dead for years.
"If you give me my commlink back, I'll talk to Tony, see if he can get a Quinjet somewhere outside the city, or even in the country, but we'll have to walk to it."
And there will be risks, no doubt. Bucky doesn't know how many of these things are left in the city, if they migrate, if they sleep. It doesn't seem like it. All he knows is that they thin out during the day, maybe they separate to look for food. But they always seem to be...
Hunting isn't the right word.
Foraging.
That sounds more like it.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Bucky whispers.
"Well, we might be crossing it sooner than we think," Steve replies. "If I've learned one thing it's to never stay in one place for too long. It's too big of a risk."
"Trust me, pal. Been living that ever since I pulled you from that river."
Steve claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder as they head inside.
"I knew you were lying about that."
🔺🔻
THUD.
Reilly's eyes snap open, a sharp intake of breath, and it feels like she's breathing through a straw. Fuck. She sits up, fumbling in the dark for her inhaler. She rips the cap off and hears another THUD. She hears the little tsk, tsk, tsk sound as she shakes the medication violently before wrapping her lips around the mouthpiece and pushes down on the little cool metal cylinder.
Instantly, she tastes sharpness and bitterness as she inhales, her lungs opening. She holds her breath, feeling them expand further. And then breathes out. Reilly takes one more puff just to be sure.
THUD.
She looks around. Steve's spot on the couch is empty, the blankets folded up. The space next to Reilly is cold, but there's a note from Bucky, folded up and placed on her pillow.
Went to do cleanup. Smell was getting bad.
Sleep in, my darling. There's coffee on the stove.
- B
Reilly tucks the note underneath her pillow and stretches. She hears voices out in the hallway, recognizing them immediately as Bucky and Steve. They don't sound angry, just casual conversation and the odd thunk of what is probably a body against the floor or wall. Reilly yawns and stretches out her arms. For the first time, she feels relaxed waking up— other than the asthma attack, but that's something she's just been able to deal with. She rubs her eyes and pushes herself up out of the bed, tripping a little as she gets her bearings. Her back aches and she presses her hand against her spine, leaning backward and listening to her vertebrae pop gently.
"Christ, that mattress is killing me."
Another thud sounds from the hallway and Reilly rubs her face again. She's in a pair of black underwear and Bucky's red Henley. It's cold in here. The temperature outside is starting to drop, and the first thing she does is go for the kitchen. Bucky has set aside a mug for her, the black one with a little white heart painted on it. He said he found it in the apartment, washed it out, and kept it. She cradles it close to her chest. She only told him it was cute one time, and ever since then, he's been making her tea and coffee in it.
There's a pot of coffee simmering on low on the stove. A literal fucking pot of it. She chuckles and pours it into her cup, taking a generous sip as she turns it off. There are some dishes in the sink. Quickly, she washes them, surprised that the water is still functional. Maybe there's still hope. As she's scrubbing some dried beans off of a plate, she smiles to herself. This is the most domestic she's ever been. Even in her old place, she almost never washed the dishes. Sometimes, she'd throw them out and just buy new ones, or eat off of paper plates.
She sighs softly, thinking about Steve, about Bucky; about everything they've been through as she mindlessly scrubs the dishes. She should have guessed that something was off when she saw the metal arm on Bucky, but the thought didn't even fucking occur to her. The Winter Soldier. She's fucking the Winter Soldier.
She's falling in love with him.
Reilly shakes her head as she rinses the dishes and cleans out the sink, leaving the plates and forms on a little towel that she also used to dry her hands. She grasps her coffee cup, holding it to her chest and looks around. The place is a fucking disaster. It smells musty, dirty clothes are scattered on the floor, wrappers, and empty bottles. They're going to get bugs if they're not careful.
So, while she hears talking in the hallway, Reilly begins to clean. She strips the bedding and runs hot water in the bathtub, pouring in some detergent and letting the sheets and clothes soak. The laundry room is downstairs, but there's no way in hell she was venturing down there. Besides, it's fucking coin operated. Capitalism is winning even in the apocalypse.
No doubt, those things outside can hear the washer and dryer running. It's quiet. She's almost used to the eeriness of it all. While the clothes and sheets are soaking in warm water, she grabs a broom and begins to sweep. They've been so focused on survival, that they've almost entirely forgotten that there's a whole apartment that needs to be kept up. Even if they have to leave this place soon, she'd like it to look nice. As she's sweeping, she smiles to herself and chuckles. It took a fucking apocalypse for her to get her drinking under control and get her shit together. Mark always told her she was good in a crisis, but she didn't believe him— especially not after he died. So much of her blames herself for what happened. She was too slow, she could have jumped in front of that bullet that was meant for him.
Toward the end of their marriage, Reilly began to find things out about Mark that disturbed her. She didn't really know where he had come from, how he became an INTERPOL agent, or why. He was quiet about his past, until one morning, he went to the gym and left his laptop open. She saw a bank account with a different last name. Mark Miller. It had at least 5 million dollars in it, a deposit from an account with a bunch of random letters. Reilly still doesn't know where that money came from. So, she took a picture of it. That picture that's still on her phone, sitting in her go-bag, but without electricity, she can't fucking charge the damn thing.
Mark was shot and killed three days later. She never gave the information to INTERPOL. She got too caught up in the trauma, the funeral that she had to plan, the will and estate that she had to take care of. He had more than enough money in a life insurance policy to cover all of the expenses. She just assumed that $5 million was a part of it. Lawyers for INTERPOL took care of everything while she drank herself into a fucking stupor.
Reilly sighs softly. It doesn't matter anymore anyway. Mark is dead, the entire planet is covered with infected. Whatever her late husband was involved in no longer matters logistically, but it still nags at her. Every fucking day.
She sweeps up the dust and crumbs that they've left behind over the past few days and tosses them in one of the bags that she's designated to be trash. Reilly manages to find a mop and a bucket in the kitchen cupboards. And sponges. What Bucky lacks in furniture, he makes up for in cleaning supplies, but she can't find any bleach anywhere. She sighs softly and contemplates using the dish soap, but they don't have much of it left. That was the one thing they didn't think of when they went to the pharmacy. They've been so focused on fucking and staying alive that the need to get the basics for the apartment no longer matter. There must be some in the other apartments. She can probably take some cleaning supplies.
She sets the mop down and pads into the hallway, water droplets on Bucky's Henley and her hair a mess. Reilly pushes it away from her face and opens the door, only to be hit with the strong stench of bleach and decomposition. It's an interesting mix that nearly makes her gag. Steve is on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. There's a bucket beside him and a bottle of bleach. His skin is glistening in the daylight and she can hear Bucky in Ana's apartment rifling through things, cursing under his breath in Romanian.
Steve looks up at her, his eyes widening the second he spots her. Reilly flushes instantly, realizing that she forgot to fucking dress. Steve looks away, his jaw clenching as he focuses on the task at hand. His cheeks are as red as hers feel and he bites his lip.
"You don't have pants on."
"'I'm painfully aware," she replies flatly. "Where's Bucky?"
"What do you need?" Steve asks.
Reilly can't tell if there's venom in his voice, or if he's just shy. She crosses her arms over her chest.
"Where's Bucky?"
She hears a clatter from inside Ana's apartment and Bucky's large frame suddenly fills the doorway. He's in a pair of black sweats and nothing else. She's fucked. There are tiny scars scattered along his chest, and he's covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Bucky looks her up and down, his face flushing too.
"Hey."
"Hi."
"You got my note?"
"Yeah. I'm cleaning the apartment."
She can hear the bristles from the brush in Steve's hand scraping harder and faster against the floorboards as he cleans away blood, brain matter, and dirt. Bucky runs a hand through his hair.
"It was messy?"
Reilly scoffs and Steve shakes his head.
"Yeah. Kinda."
"Can you put some pants on?" Steve snaps as he looks up at her.
"Why?" Reilly asks. "Do my bare legs offend you, Cap? Do you only look at women who wear skirts that go past their feet? Are you Amish?"
Steve blushes harder while Bucky rolls his eyes.
"We're clearing out the bodies and trying to get more food and supplies from the other apartments. I found some more bottled water."
"Taps still work."
"Yeah, but not for much longer probably. Steve thinks we might be able to figure out how to keep the water running if and when it shuts off."
"How?"
Bucky just shrugs.
"Says he can get help through his commlink."
Reilly eyes Steve suspiciously, who still won't look at her. A small part of her is offended. He gets to wear those fucking tank tops, but she can't walk around in a Henley that hits her thighs without him saying something about it?
"Whaddya need, sugar?" Bucky asks.
"Huh?" Her attention snaps back up at him, eyes trailing down his chest, landing on those delicious hipbones that peek out of the top of his pants. She runs a hand through her hair and Bucky smirks at her, leaning against the doorframe as he crosses his arms over his chest. She nearly whimpers when he runs his tongue across his bottom lip.
"I said whaddya need?"
"Uh, bleach, if you have it. I'm gonna mop the floors. I'm washing the sheets and the extra clothes in the tub."
Bucky smiles and flicks his head.
"There's some in here."
Reilly follows him, walking right past Steve, who glances up at her as he sits back on his haunches, his eyes trailing up her body. She can see him out of the corner of her eye and says nothing as she steps inside the apartment. The place looks cleaner than the last time they were in here. It smells like bleach, too. She wonders if they're trying to clean as much as they can to get rid of the stench. It probably won't work. Death has made its home here for far too long.
She follows Bucky down the hall and into the bathroom. The second she steps inside, he shuts the door and his mouth is on hers, pressing her up against it. Reilly whimpers beneath him. His large hands slide under her shirt, fingertips dancing along her skin. She shivers as he groans, pressing the full weight of his body up against her. Bucky breaks the kiss to bite down on her neck.
"I need you," he groans.
His voice is desperate, nearly shattering. His lips are a little rough and cracked, and sparks rush down her spine, warming her belly. Her toes curl and she smiles as one of his hands cups her breast, his thumb gliding over her pebbled nipple.
"Steve's outside."
"I don't give a shit. I need you now. I've been waiting too goddamn long."
"A day?"
"A day is too long when it comes to you, sugar."
He picks her up off of the ground and carries her to the bathroom counter, his lips finding hers once again. Reilly groans as he sets her down and spins her around so that she's confronted with her own reflection— wild red hair that looks like flames licking the air, sunken amber eyes that are rimmed with dark circles, cracked lips, and still-healing cuts on her chin from where she fell during their supply run. She's lost weight in her face, her skin is sallow. How could he find her beautiful? Maybe he's just desperate. Bucky's metal fingers dive into her panties, circling her clit as he presses his cock against her ass. She bites back a moan.
"You're so fuckin' beautiful," he groans. "Dreamed about you last night. I had you tied to the bed, fucking you for hours. Until you were begging me to let you come." His warm breath fans her ear as he laughs softly. "Woke up so fucking hard, haven't been able to stop thinking about it."
She whines and Bucky moans in her ear. She can feel his thick cock through his sweats, grinding into her ass.
"Saw the way you were lookin' at him." His voice is dark and husky, and a little jealous. She'd be lying if she said she didn't like it. "You like him."
"No."
"Hmm. You know, I got real good at being able to tell when people are lyin' to me, sweets." The circles around her clit get tighter, and his voice gets softer... and slightly more menacing. "And I can hear it in your voice, sugar."
She moans.
"Were you thinking about him?" Bucky whispers. His hands begin to slowly pull her panties down and she's surprised by the tip of his cock pressing against her cunt as he angles her hips back just right. "Just like this, pretty girl. Now, tell me the truth."
"I—"
"I'm not enough for you, am I?" He snarls as he drags the tip of his cock through her folds. When she looks at him in the mirror, there's a smile on his face, and iciness in his eyes. She can't fucking tell if it's jealousy or something else, and she breathes deeply to calm her beating heart.
"No, Bucky, it's not tha—" She has to bite down on her bottom lip as he pushes into her.
"Then what is it? Because it seems like both of us were makin' you blush." He's so fucking thick, her eyes roll back and Bucky snarls as he begins to fuck her slowly. "Tell me, printsessa."
She shakes her head.
"I don't know what's wrong with me."
"Nothing," he breathes. "You're perfect. Perfect face, perfect tits, perfect ass. And you've got this gorgeous, tight little cunt. You're mine, aren't you?"
She nods, wondering if he's jealous of the man who's supposed to be his best friend. Reilly hangs her head, unable to keep the fantasy from invading her mind. Both of them surrounding her, Reilly on her hands and knees while Bucky's cock is buried deep inside of her and she takes Steve down her throat. She can almost hear both of them moaning, praising her. Her cunt quivers around him and she has to hold back a moan while Bucky's metal hand grips her ass as he picks up the pace. Each stroke of his cock grazes her G-spot and she bites down on the inside of her cheek. Her legs are quivering, nearly turning to jelly. She looks down to see all of Ana's cosmetics that line the counters— her creams and serums, and a single tube of lipstick.
The only remnants of a life that was lived in this apartment.
She pushes the thought out of her mind. It's not a time to wax philosophically. Focusing on sex is a better alternative than focusing on the carnage outside of this building.
And now, she's at the mercy of the massive super soldier behind her who fucks like a goddamn animal. He's sweet and ferocious, gentle yet domineering. She wonders how Steve fucks. Does he contain the same juxtapositions and multitudes? Is he a selfish lover?
Fuck, what if she had both of them?
"I don't care if he can hear us," he whispers, breaking her focus for a moment. Reilly can feel herself getting pushed to the edge as his cock nearly rips her apart. "The only thing I could think about when I woke up this morning was making you come for me."
She's so wet as he fucks her hard and deep, the tip of his cock grazing that spot over and over while he flicks her clit with the perfect amount of speed and pressure. She's right on the fucking edge, but every time her cunt begins to quiver and she's about to come, Bucky slows his strokes. They don't have time to fuck around, but he seems to think that they do.
"You're such a good little girl, aren't you?"
"Yes, Sergeant."
"Good girl," he praises. "Takin' me so well. Feels so good— you wanna come, don't you?"
She whimpers, staring at herself in the mirror as her cheeks flame, two bright red splotches forming on her skin. She's gripping the counter as Bucky begins to fuck her harder, his fingers working at a slow and gentle pace to keep her clinging right to the edge.
"Tell me the truth about Stevie, and I'll let you come. You want him?"
"Bucky—"
He gives her ass a harsh slap that echoes through the bathroom and she grunts, biting down on her bottom lip. The sensation makes her cunt clench and she's starting to come around him. The only thing Bucky can control is just how hard she falls apart.
"Tell me."
"Yes," she manages to choke out. "Yes, I do. I want fucking—"
Reilly is coming before the rest of the words fall out of her mouth. Heat bursts from the knot that's been forming in her belly, spreading all down her limbs and making the tips of her fingers and toes tingle with pleasure. It's relentless, wave after wave as she clenches and gushes around him. Her words are the only answer Bucky seems to need and they send him into a frenzy as he fucks her harder. Through blurred vision, she looks up to see those electric blue eyes locked onto hers, his fingers continue to flick her clit. Harder this time, pushing her through her first climax and through to a second. It's so fucking fast that she can barely get her bearings as she grips the counter with every ounce of strength left within her.
Bucky pushes her up against it and the bottles and jars on the sink clatter. The sharp corner presses against her hips, cutting into them, surely leaving a bruise. His fingers pinch her nipple and she's coming around him, slick with sweat. The ventilation in these bathrooms is garbage and she feels like she can barely get a breath in, but she doesn't care. It'll pass. She's too busy letting wave after wave of her climax hit her while Bucky fucks her so deep she's not sure if she ever wants him to stop. He's ripping her apart at the seams and she doesn't give a shit.
Finally, she feels him fill her up, a grunt erupting from the base of his throat as his body stills. Her cheek is pressed against the bathroom mirror and her breath fogs up the glass. Bucky's cock pulses inside of her, and she feels something warm and sticky running down her thigh. A contented sigh drips from his mouth like honey and he stays wrapped around her, kissing her shoulder and up her neck.
"Reilly," he breathes.
"Hmm?"
"I know this might be a bad time to say it—"
God, please don't fucking embarrass me with that whole Steve thing.
"Bucky—"
"I have feelings for you."
Gentle laughter ripples through her. It's a relief, to be honest. She's still not sure where he stands with the whole Steve thing, and it's too intense of a subject to broach without the other party present.
Her reaction seems to provoke something dangerous in him, and Bucky steps backward, pulling out of her. His brows are knit together as he tugs his sweats up over his hips. His cheeks are flushed. Did this come from what he asked her to tell him? Did it rattle something loose? She runs a hand through her hair in an attempt to tame it before she pulls up her own underwear.
"What's so funny?" He asks.
She turns around, gripping the counter.
"N— nothing, Bucky. It's nothing."
"Then why are you laughing?"
"I— it was just a surprise, is all."
He looks confused.
"A surprise?"
Reilly didn't think she'd be having this conversation now, or ever, with this man. The last time Reilly had this conversation, it was on the balcony of her old apartment with Mark. They were throwing a dinner party and she came outside for a cigarette. He told her he loved her that night. After all of the money she found, she now wonders if that was a lie, too.
How many lives was he living?
"Well, yeah. It's just... it's been a long time since someone's said that to me."
The flush in Bucky's cheeks deepens.
"I'm sorry."
"No, Bucky, it's okay."
She walks toward him and presses her palm to his chest. Maybe this is coming from a place of jealousy, of thinking of her like territory. Maybe he doesn't like the way that she looks at Steve. She doesn't mean to. She's only human. But Bucky didn't seem offended in the hallway, or even angry. Those emotions are easy as hell to read on him, it's everything else that's the mystery.
"I shouldn't have said anything," he mutters.
"You can't deny the truth." She smiles.
They've shared so much in their short time together, and they've barely been apart for more than a few hours. It's natural for things to feel intense. If Bucky really is who he says he is, he's been starved of love and affection for nearly 70 years. And she has to admit, he takes damn good care of her. She's starting to feel things for him that she hasn't felt since she was with Mark.
That's exactly the part that terrifies her, the past repeating itself. Bucky could die. She doesn't know what this virus does to super soldiers, and if the infected don't kill him, something else just might. She could go through this all over again. And then where would she be? Alone. Again. Drinking herself to death. Again.
"Bucky..." She traces soft circles on his chest with her fingernail, watching goosebumps form. His breath hitches and he stares down at her, studying her face. "Whatever you feel for me, just know that I feel it too."
He smiles, relief washing over him. She watches his shoulders sink down in real time as his arms wrap around her, pulling her close. Her head is swimming, wanting to ask so much.
"I'm going to keep you safe," he whispers.
Reilly looks up at him. She knows what he means. He wants to save her. From herself, from the world outside their door. From him.
"You already have, Bucky."
"Hey, Buck?" Steve's voice calls from outside. "You good?"
Bucky tucks his arm around Reilly's shoulder and they head for the door. When he opens it, Steve takes a step back, his white tank top slightly damp from sweat. Reilly can see his skin through it. He nervously runs a hand through his hair, and Bucky sighs.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing," Steve replies. "Just... could use some help out there is all."
"Captain America doesn't like to wash floors?" Reilly quips.
Steve's eyes land on her, trailing up her body until they're piercing into her. Her heart beats a little faster while Bucky watches, a glimmer of amusement on his face.
"I've washed plenty of floors in my time," he retorts.
Bucky chuckles.
"He's actually right about that."
Reilly turns to Bucky.
"Do you actually have bleach to spare? Or was that a ruse to get me alone?"
Bucky's face burns and Steve sighs softly.
"I'll let you handle this. I'll be out in the hall."
Bucky chuckles and kisses Reilly's temple.
"C'mon, doll. Let's not keep the old man waiting."
"I'm younger than you!" Steve barks as they head into the living room.
There could be worse people to survive the apocalypse with.