locketofyourhair: (ducky)
[personal profile] locketofyourhair
Alone in the Memory

1000| Steve Rogers/OFC, past onesided-Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes | NC-17 (KB: anonymity)

Steve likes this club. It’s loud, with too many warm bodies pressing together, and there are always people brushing hands against his ass, but no one looks at him and sees Captain America from the New York attacks. (He hates the new phones with their cameras, his face videotaped without him even knowing.) They look and see another man looking for companionship, one who dresses a little old fashioned.

He wasn’t a virgin when he went into the ice. Other than Peggy, he’d only really known men and clubs like this one, though his were a little less open and the music was nowhere near this loud. He likes this time’s openness, and he likes that if he wants to go into a stall with another man, it’s seen as kind of dirty but not strange.

(Steve could never admit how much he did this to Bucky. It’s one thing to have acceptance from his art school friends, and it was another to risk Bucky looking at him like he was sinful. It’s the same reason he never told his mother.)

But here, he can smile at the pretty woman who is standing by him at the bar. Her eyes are outlined in smoky kohl, in a way that makes them startlingly blue, and when she catches him smiling, she smiles back. Her lips are shimmering under the lights.

Steve has never been good at talking to women, to flirt with them, and it’s no different with women at clubs like this. She’s pretty though, her jaw tickling something in his memory, and her shoulders are deliciously broad. She’s trying to hide them with her jacket, to break up that line, so no one will look at her and try to see something other than a true woman.

“Hi,” Steve says, and he has to shout if over the music, his mouth almost at her ear. She’s wearing heels, but he’s still a touch taller than she is. He’s broader too. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

She laughs, and there’s something in it that makes Steve’s eyes narrow, something that makes him think of the past. She’s not dressed like any woman in the past, and there were women like her at his old club. Her dress is too tight, hugging her straight hips and thighs. “I don’t think you have. I’d remember you.” She turns to him, curling her body around so even he can recognize flirting, and her smile reminds him, sharp and sudden, of Bucky’s.

He can’t speak for a moment, and that just makes her laugh. It’s Bucky’s laugh, too, just higher, more musical. “Can’t speak handsome?”

Steve forces the thought of Bucky away. This is supposed to be fun, a way of forgetting, and he can’t have fun if he’s cataloguing every inch of her face, seeing Bucky everywhere in it, now that he’s looking. Bucky is dead; Bucky isn’t coming back.

Her hand is hard in her leather gloves as she grips his, pulling him from the bar, through the crowd. “Maybe you’re just too shy to talk in public,” she says over her shoulder, and she pulls him into the ladies.

It’s nearly empty right now, just a few girls touching up their makeup and a pair of women kissing each other by the door. Steve has been to a lot of corners in the club, but never this one.

“Sorry girls,” the woman says, and she doesn’t sound the least bit sorry when she pushes Steve into the stall. She’s stronger than she looks, one hand pushing Steve around.

Steve licks his lips before he leans down to kiss her, biting at her mouth. She doesn’t smell like Bucky. He can smell her shampoo, fruity and sort of misty, with a softer smell under that. Perfume, probably, maybe deodorant.

She breaks the kiss. “Gentleman,” she says, and it sounds teasing when she says it, one of her hands unzipping his pants and pulling his cock out. She doesn’t take off her gloves, working the leather over his skin.

He gasps against her cheek, before he starts kissing her again, sucking at her neck and over the length of her throat. “Tell me before you go,” she says. “I don’t want a stain I can’t explain.”

“A true lady,” he whispers, and he means nothing by it. Just that she’s a classy dame. Her dress is a dark turquoise, sparkly and hugging her in all the right places.

She stops and gives him the eye. “What are you trying to say?” she says, and her voice goes husky with anger.

“Just--who wants come on their dress?” Steve pulls away. He can feel her against his leg. “I wouldn’t want it on my pants.”

She snorts then and kisses him again, her hand moving faster now, ripping the sounds from him. He doesn’t last nearly as long as he’d like, not with her mouth hot and wet against his throat. She’s almost biting him, and he growls a little.

“I won’t bruise,” he says, and then her teeth sink against his skin. It’s just what he needs. He gasps out half a warning before he’s coming over himself.

She’s better at avoidign the mess than he is. He can feel some of the come on his briefs, but she’s already cleaning up before he can come back to himself.

“Do you want?” he asks, and he motions between them, where he can feel her body hard against his.

She licks her lips, leaning back against the stall. It rattles, and there is no privacy here. “Yeah,” she says carefully. “Just. It’s not.”

He kisses her full on the mouth. “I want to see how pretty you are when you come,” he murmurs, before he’s sliding to his knees. The pants are already a mess. He can get a cab after this.

She pulls up her dress, and she’s wearing navy panties, her cock pushing out from under the waistband. She’s wearing an honest to god garter belt, and there’s something in the way the shadows play over her face that makes it almost possible to see Bucky again.

Steve pushes that away and slides her cock into his mouth, closing his eyes on the idea that this could be Bucky and concentrating on the smooth skin of her legs instead.
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June 2013

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