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Mar. 15th, 2017

starmaki: Barnes (civil war)
The last part has not been spell checked so will have some interesting misspellings. ^_^; * means unsure about this part might cut and ~~ means mini time-jump and might add a short part here.

About 1717 words
AU Modern Stucky, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Skinny Steve Rogers,fandom: MCU/Captain America, Shrinkyclinks, a little bit of world building before getting to the smut, because I can't do anything simple. lol This will be rated NC-17, Explicit, but this part is Teen rating PG-13. This is gonna have about 2 more chap.


“Like A Tattoo”

The front door opened and closed followed by the stomp of heavy feet knocking off mud and dirt on the doormat, the clank of keys hitting the porcelain bowl. Steve glanced up from his computer and digital art work for his latest client. And Bucky disappeared into the spare room which was doubling as an exercise/ sports equipment storage room without a word. Steve’s shoulders sagged like a deflated balloon.

Steve had few items in that room--his yoga mat, his mediation CDs, a large blue resistance band thingy, a large fern and small bamboo water fountain to add color and peacefulness to the room when he practiced his Tai Chi and yoga. The rest was Bucky’s. There was no need for Bucky to visit a local gym when he had all the free weights, barbells, dumbbells, kettlebells, punching bags, an elliptical, a suspension trainer and a tread machine at his disposal. Damnit, his Kitaro CDs were being held hostage when Bucky took over that room! There was always YouTube, but still the better speakers were in that room.

It was becoming habit, and Steve was beginning to feel ignored. Bucky’s grunting and shrugging his way through a conversation at breakfast or dinner was not communicating in Steve’s book. There was something wrong and Bucky wasn’t saying what, and it was upsetting Steve because he couldn’t fix it if he didn’t know the problem. Or if he was the problem. Bucky just came home after a session or work and went straight to that room. Their cozy domestic life was taking a nose-drive, and it didn’t start out that way. If he had to pinpoint it, it started to hit the skids ever since Bucky got his new prosthetic arm and was going to some pretty heavy physical therapy and regular therapy sessions after it.

Steve couldn’t sit still anymore staring at the direction Bucky went, a nervous energy shooting through him with nowhere to go, so he got up to retrieve the mail from earlier. Bill, junk, bill, he silently sorted the mail--fingering the mail brought back memories.

It was kind of corny and beautiful how they met, him and Bucky. Letters. Old fashion letters. Steve signed up to be a pen-pal for the wounded soldier program. A random vet was assigned and they began corresponding. And Bucky had the most beautiful handwriting, full of loops and elegant script. It spoke of a deep soul or one that took those 4th grade cursive writing lessons to heart. He also found out Bucky lost his left arm in Afghanistan, but didn’t know the full details.

He’d seen Bucky’s dark times and light times and was there offering encouraging words if needed or just writing about the latest movies and his job as a tattoo artist. And Bucky gave back too. Wanting to see his art and being there when his Mom past away. Bucky was always finding humor or quiet wisdom in any given situation. It was either laugh or cry, he once said. It was telling he opened up that much of himself *so it hurt now that Bucky was closing himself off to Steve. It shouldn’t be about him. He kept telling himself that, but yet it was. He was human and it hurt.*

And when they finally met face to face on Skype--oh God! Bucky was the most handsome, quirky, smart ass, son of bitch, and it was love. But Steve didn’t realize it then. Not until he met Bucky in person at a VA picnic at Fort Lee. He flew out to Virginia that weekend—a meet and greet. And was completely speechless for five whole minutes when he spotted him. He needed ice water to clear his throat and jumper cables to restart his heart. Bucky was so tall, board-shouldered, deep-chested and wearing a t-shirt a size too small, because it was about to explode off that brawny body. A t-shirt that was boldly stenciled, “I wish I was an Oscar Meyer wiener.” What the hell? That stupid shirt caressed and stretched across his big body like a glove. It should have been illegal. His thick jean clad thighs and perfect ass were a national treasure.

But when Bucky spoke, it was soft and thoughtful. When he smiled, the whole world lit up. His eyes crinkled with mirth and Steve noticed a slightly crooked tooth in that gorgeous smile. And he was flat out in love or he was having heartburn from the chili dogs—no, it was love.

It didn’t take long for them to realize it was mutual. A date, then sex, then another date, more sex. Did he mention the sex was incredible? Until they found a place to both move into so they didn’t have to travel so far to see each other. Bucky was able to transfer to Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. And they got a flat in Bed-Stuy.

Steve then went and did something against everything he suggested to his clients. He got a tattoo of Bucky’s name. It wasn’t smart to get the name of your lover tattooed on you. It was permeant, forever (until you went through painful laser removal). And what if they broke up? But that wasn’t what Steve was thinking. The beautiful cursive writing of Bucky Barnes’s name was designed in an elegant piece with doves and rifles across his back. He had Natasha do the inking. And he inked a tattoo on Bucky on request, one of a star, ribbons, a key and a knife. Each symbol had a special meaning to Bucky. It took up Bucky’s right shoulder and upper arm.

The letter came in the mail from Fort Drum in New York. Bucky was accepted as a candidate for an experimental prosthetic arm. The prosthesis Bucky sometimes used was a functional one with a metal pinching grasp, which was good at opening pickle jars, but this one would be different and “classified”. It was all Bucky could say. Bucky able to get some specs on the arm, with all the important stuff censored. Steve was truly impressed. It looked like something out of Star Wars. It appeared to have movable metallic plates and full articulation.

“They want me back”, he heard Bucky say one day before he left for Fort Drum when they were in the middle of post-coital cuddling. Steve just kissed away the worried expression, not understanding the earth-shattering significance of what he said.
Steve’s attention was drawn to a letter mixed in with the mail, addressed to him. What the? He swore it was Bucky’s handwriting. He checked the returned address Holy shit, it was! It was sent from Watertown, NY, which was the nearest town outside of Fort Drum.

He walked over to the workout room Bucky vanished into, peering in. And promptly forgot what he was going to say to Bucky, the letter all but disregarded in his hand.

Bucky Barnes was a menace to Steve’s peace of mind, pure and simple. That and he was getting completely aroused by just watching him lift the free weights and barbell in a curl. Steve’s skin flushed, his pulse doing double time and his dick was getting happy. Stupid, dick.

Bucky’s new arm matched his flesh one in size and bulk. The sleeveless grey tank-top already damp with sweat. His long hair starting to escape from its tie, in dewy wisps. His back turned from him, shoulders a mile wide, muscles rippling across his back with each rep. Jesus! Steve never knew a back could have that much muscle definition. Sure he knew, studying human anatomy for art, but this was real, and he could just reach out and lick and dig his fingers into all that beef.

Steve was pathetic, here he was being ignored and all he wanted to do was jump that man’s bones. Instead, he should just jerk himself off in the shower. It’s what he was doing the past month. Steve and his hand were becoming very close. Because he and Bucky were not having sex. They cuddled and spooned, but that was it. And it was driving Steve nuts, because he didn’t know why. Bucky just stopped or showed little interest. Saying he was tried, or thrpey was rough, or he had to leave early to unload freight at a local resurant. Or he was 50 miles away at Fort Drum for more testing.

Yet he did come home every night and work out and help cook dinner and they sit and watch Netflix’s, before going to bed to sleep. It has been weeks. And with all the increased workouts Bucky was getting bigger. Much bigger. He didn’t’ have to see a scale know he had gained weight and it was all muscle. Well, he was already pretty big being 6 foot and built sturdy and thick. Previously, he was a little sleeker, his movements like a graceful cat. Now that muscle was getting heavier, the agilness turning more into a dangerous weighty prowl. A bobcat to a mountain lion. He needed new shirts because they all were getting too tight and his biceps where huge even when he didn’t flex them. Just simple things like buttering toast and flipping pancakes where enough to show off the dense muscle.
**

“Bucky, I got your letter.”
Bucky glanced at him and then at a fixed point at the wall. “Did you read it?”

“Well…no,” Feeling a little like an idiot. He used to rip open each letter he got from Bucky in the past, like a candy bar to get to the goodness inside,

“I think you should read it. I…it was just easier writing you a letter. Like we use too. I...it’s hard to explain to find the words when I’m looking at you. And if you still want to be…if you still.” He shook his head looking dejected and forlorn as if something bad was coming and it was inable. “Just read it, please.”
“O…kay.” An ominous cloud of dread was descending on Steve. Why couldn’t he breathe properly? Why was his heart faltering? He took the letter in the kitchen and carefully opened it up with a paring knife. Slipping the blade though a corner and slicing the top along the crease.

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