Chapter Text
Bucky woke up in the intimacy of Steve's bedroom, the blonde's muscular arms holding him in a tight, warm embrace, and the fluffy comforter wrapped around him securely. It was... cozy, Bucky thought, in a way that made him smile.
It had become a habit, in the course of the last few months, for Steve and him to spend their nights together, sharing a bed, cuddling, and most of all, sleeping. They had noticed how much better Bucky slept, when there were Steve's arms around his chest and his scent in his nostrils to gently lull him into sleep; there were far less nightmares that awoke him screaming himself hoarse in the middle of the night.
And Steve didn't mind it the least bit. If all, Bucky thought that he had been happy to share a bed with him once again, even if they were just sleeping and touching in the most innocent way possible – far different from what he knew, but didn't recall, had happened before the war. They both slept better, when they were together.
Steve's presence behind him was warm and solid, his broad chest adhering to Bucky's back perfectly, the tip of his nose buried in the nest of his messed long hair, as always. All this was familiar by now and spoke of safety, making him feel reassured and calm when he opened his eyes in the darkness of the room.
Today, thought, something was deeply different.
As he opened his eyes and lay there, taking in the sound of Steve's even breathing and all the familiar, muffled noises coming from the rest of the tower, he felt something he had missed so far. Bucky awoke with the sensation of Steve's boner pressing against the small of his back.
He knew it was just a morning wood – a common reaction of the male body to the prolonged period of REM sleep in the morning as well as the inflow of a great quantity of blood to that particular body area – and he also knew it usually goes away within minutes after awakening, if not taken care of. Hydra may have taken away all his personal memories, his most beloved and intimate ones, but a basic knowledge of human biology had only been seen as appropriate for him, to finish his missions as smoothly and deadly as possible.
But the point right now was that, having Steve subconsciously rubbing his engorged dick against him made Bucky suddenly aware of the fact that, since he had met the blonde at the Smithsonian all those months ago, he had never experienced an erection, himself. That had not really actually worried Bucky, so far. A lot of things he couldn't really understand had happened to him, so it was probably normal that other familiar ones had not happened yet, as counterbalance. He hadn't really thought about it too much, to be honest. Sex was something that had never crossed his mind, lately.
Nevertheless, right now, for the first time he wondered if he would ever experience something like that again, sooner or later. Something as normal as a morning wood. In his files, there was no indication of any operation that had involved his genitalia nor of anything else that had been done to him and that prevented him from being able to have an erection, but still, that meant very little.
The files were partial and incomplete, the horrors described in there were only a part of all the tortures he had actually been subjected to – he knew it, even if he couldn't remember them – and he was aware that there were a myriad of reasons, apart from surgical ones, that could be responsible for his lack of interest in sex and anything related to it. Deep stress, a state of everpresent anxiety that never left him, psychological factors, the PTSD he had been told to be suffering from... they were all plausible causes.
And still, it somehow upset him in a strange way, to feel his flesh lying limp between his legs, just another – damaged, a part of his brain thought – appendage of him, especially if compared to Steve's huge one currently pushing against his clothed skin.
Bucky huffed in annoyance, his metal fingers clenching and unclenching on the mattress, the gears whizzing softly, a metallic warning that his temper was flaring, which wasn't unusual for him these days. He felt a sudden, irrational irritation cascading on him, and immediately shifted his body in Steve's arms – that now felt constricting, just another cause of annoyance – and pulled his back away from the boner that had only managed to break his peaceful morning routine, reminding him again that he was just a joke, a damaged cripple.
A damaged cripple who couldn't even get it up.
He let out a frustrated groan and quite indelicately pushed Steve's arms away, freeing himself from their grip, unable to lay there one more second. What had been a warm nest was now an insufferable cage. The strong body that had felt so much like a shield from the external world, was now laughing at him, mocking him ruthlessly.
From behind him came the sleepy and startle voice of the blonde.
“Buck? What's goin' on?” Steve mumbled, his accent thick with sleep, eyes still closed.
“Nothing,” he growled. Rolling to the edge of the mattress, he got up. “Go back to sleep, Steve”
The blonde crooked one of his eyes open, and regarded him with a wary look. “You okay?”
Bucky felt something inside him snap. He snarled, loudly, like a dog, the sound leaving his lips feral, the one of a wild animal feeling trapped, and Bucky found himself trembling and shaking from head to toe with shame and rage and frustration and annoyance and delusion and self-loath.
“I told you I'm fine, Goddammit! Leave me alone!” he shouted, then hurriedly left the room slamming the door behind him.
He ran into the corridor, where the light of the sun, not blocked by the heavy curtains like it had been in the pleasant darkness of the room, hit him with full force. But at least the discomfort it caused was enough to take his mind away from the sound of Steve's voice calling after him, startled and apprehensive for his unexpected breakdown; though nothing could stop his chest from feeling strangely tight because of the discomfort he had caused to the blonde.
Bucky opened the door of his own bedroom, which he never used to sleep anymore but still contained his scarce belongings, and closed it behind him. With his back against the wood, he slid down until he was sitting on the floor, barefoot and cold, shivers running down his spine, feeling alone in a way he hadn't felt in a long long time. Knees up under his chin and arms around them, he dropped his head to hide his face between his knees, and felt himself break a bit more.
Being held in a prison cell for three months as his programming broke before he was released with Steve as his caretaker, having to readjust to social interactions once again, recalling some of his worst memories, being blamed by the public opinion for what he had done and cursed by the families he had destroyed, facing heart-wrenching therapy sessions twice a week, having to re-build his relationship with Steve from ashes, it had all been extremely difficult and painful. There had been long sleepless nights and days filled with tears, mornings spent curled up in a corner of the bathroom as Natasha tried to coax him out and evenings curled up in a corner of the sofa with his head on Clint's leg, pretending he wasn't overhearing Sam and Steve talking on the phone about him, about how damaged he was.
But this... this was a paradox. None of that had broken him, and a simple erectile dysfunction was now doing it. Bucky knew it was his distorted perspective that made him perceive things bigger than they were, his depression that caused him to see insurmountable problems that weren't even there in the first place. After all, his therapist had explained to him, time and time again, that sometimes, the best thing he could do was stop everything he was doing, pause, take deep breaths, and then face the problem again: he would find new perspectives and solutions.
But right now he was too far gone to even do it. His mind was full of dark thoughts, how useless he was, how helpless; a shame for Steve, for his friends, for what little of is family there still was left – some grand-nephews that just wanted his autograph and a selfie with him to show their friends, and nothing more. He could hear them laughing, all of them, in his head; grinning, looking at him with a derisive light in their eyes, pointing at him.
This little, stupid issue was breaking him down, like none of the other shit that had happened to him had, so far.
From the other side of the door, he heard the noises Steve was making, hastily putting on a sweatshirt and a pair of socks, and then hurriedly walking right in front of his bedroom door. There, the steps stopped, and Bucky heard the weight of the blonde's body resting against the door, right behind him, with that single, tiny barrier made of wood separating them.
“Bucky,” Steve's voice came, hesitant. “Whatever I did, I'm sorry. I didn't want to upset you.”
Bucky closed his eyes at those words that felt like knives stabbing him in the heart, over and over again. Steve had done nothing, it was all his fault. It was his body, after all, that was unable to do something that the majority of fourteen years old boys could feel. It was his mind that had pointed out how huge Steve's erection had been, comparing it then to the limp flesh of his flaccid penis. It was his fears that had scared him, at the thought of never being able to be normal in the easiest way a man was anymore.
And still, he had managed to wound Steve again, with his behavior, his paranoia.
No, Steve had done nothing, he had nothing to be sorry for, apart from mocking him with his brand new, perfect body in a way that somehow hurt more than the chair had done.
“Please at least tell me you're okay, Buck,” the blonde pleaded, sincerely worried – and yes, Bucky knew he was sincere, he had no doubt about it.
And still, he didn't answer, because no, he was not okay, and no, he didn't want to have anything to do with Steve right now. He pushed his hands over his ears to stop the sound of that ever-patient, caring voice calling him.
A tear fell down his cheek as the first sob escaped his lips.