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CW: Stucky, switch!Bucky, switch!Steve, somnophilia, threesomes (mmf), discussions of homophobia and slight discussions of internalized homophobia, discussions of death and descriptions of murder.
PLEASE VOTE AND COMMENT THREESOMES ARE SO DIFFICULT TO WRITE AND THEY TAKE FOREVER. THERE'S SO MANY BODY PARTS. DEAR GOD.
"Give me a few days of peace in your arms-- I need it terribly. I'm ragged, worn, exhausted. After that I can face the world." - Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin.
He dreams about killing her.
He's in the alley, keeping his distance with his rifle aimed at Mark. He's meticulous, watching him carefully. He was trained to be patient. The perfect shot would make itself known to him, like instinct. All he had to do was breathe and trust his gut. When Mark is in a good position, Bucky fires.
But instead of the dream going the way it's supposed to, Reilly steps in front of him and turns her back. The bullet slices right through her spine and she collapses to the ground. Bucky rips off his mask and screams.
And then he sees Mark's face, flesh falling off of the bone, rotting teeth and dead milky white eyes. Bucky throws his sniper rifle onto the ground, grabbing two pistols as he sprints toward Mark and fires. Mark's body jerks as each bullet hits him, his head finally exploding as a bullet lands between his eyes while Reilly bleeds out on the concrete. When Bucky reaches her, it's too late. He rolls her over and pulls her into his lap, her empty eyes staring up at the sky.
All she can do is weep.
Until he hears more of them, snarling and growling as they make their approach from the right. There's a massive horde of them, all gnashing, starving teeth. Bucky can smell the decay from here.
And then Reilly's head jerks, her mouth opens and black blood leaks out as she grips him around his neck and sinks her teeth into him, tearing him to shreds as his screams are swallowed by a symphony of animalistic growls and screeches from the starving horde.
His eyes open and he draws in a sharp breath, covered in sweat as he sits up, heart hammering like a drum against his ribs, threatening to break them. His body trembles and he breathes hard and takes in his surroundings. He's in his apartment. He doesn't know what time it is, and the nightmare is still front and center in his mind. Bucky focuses ahead of him, trying to draw in deep breaths but they keep getting caught and they don't feel right. His ribs don't feel like they're sitting right, the breaths aren't full enough. He tries again, practically gasping and drawing in as much air as he can until he feels the muscles that are supposed to "click" and tell him that he's taken a deep enough breath have done their job.
"Buck?" His eyes float up to see Steve standing near the kitchen in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. "Buck, are you okay?"
Bucky nods and stands up. His chest continues to heave, but he has to get up and out of that bed. He spots the whiskey bottle on the table and walks toward it, unscrewing the cap and taking a massive swig as Steve sits down beside him. Staring at him. His warm blue eyes with those beautiful flecks of emerald that dance around his pupil. All Bucky can do is focus on them while Steve stares at him, placing his hands on Bucky's face as he cradles it gently. The whiskey bottle remains clutched in his metal fist as his breathing picks up. One of Steve's hands moves down to press against his chest, fingers wrapping around the dog tags as the two of them gaze at each other in complete silence. Bucky wants to say so much, and yet he can't find the words. It's all jumbled and lodged in the back of his throat. He wants to tell Steve how much he missed him all these years, that he thought about him every single fucking day he was conscious.
