Who Am I? » [Stucky]

147. Poison of Choice

Bucky always looked so elegant when he smoked: the cigarette drooping at one corner of his beautiful mouth when he spoke with his rich Brooklyn accent and rolling between his puffy pink lips thoughtfully as he contemplated what he could do with the cards fanned evenly in his contrasting hands - flesh and metal.

He would pluck the glowing cigarette from where it was trapped between his two plump velvety lips with forefinger and thumb of his metal hand and give one corner of his mouth a tiny twitch; streaming the swirling ribbons of smoke from a tiny partition in his o-shaped lips.

As he sucked in a new drag, Steve could see the relief wash through him, like a wave of calm soothing him. His facial expression sagged, his eyelids drooped, his jaw slacked and his blinks slowed down. Sometimes he would even sluggishly sink down in his seat; feeling the smoke fill his lungs relieving his tenseness.

He would occasionally hold the smoke, repress it in his lungs until it was frothier and purer in colour and then funnel it out, his bottom lip jutting forwards and he contorted his jaw and breathed it out with control; the waves of smoke looking enigmatically beautiful as they rose from his lips. He'd suck the smoke right in again through his nose, snorting it back into his system before finally expelling it again - releasing it into the air.

Steve was mesmerised by the control and beauty of the dramatized act. Though he wasn't overly fond of the stench of nicotine or the amount of smoke diluting the air, he admired the grace as Bucky shaped his lips and played with the smoke: idly blowing it into rings and cycling the same breath of cigarette smoke around repetitively before unleashing it. He was hypnotised by Bucky's lips - fascinated by the curves and lines - and couldn't tear his eyes away whilst they played.

"Rogers!" Tony snapped him out of his daydream. "I said: your move!"

The team was still muttering competetively; all armed with a poison of choice: alcohol or cigarettes. Tonight's dangerous addiction was gambling and booze. Though they were all aware sobriety was a pretty imperative requirement with field work - they knew they'd earnt it and required a crutch for relief of the long day's ache.

"Oh..." Steve's eyes flicked to his hand. "Right..." He looked back to Bucky who winked at him, clearly having picked up on Steve staring at his lips. "Uh... I uh- damn." He winced at his hand, lips drawing tight. "I'm throwing in."

Bucky gave a coy smile and a sideways glance to Steve whilst blowing out a thin tube of smoke at one corner of his mouth. Steve was cozying up next to him, and his hand splayed on Bucky's thigh.

"I can't focus..." Steve grumbled to Bucky, eyes still eternally affixed to Bucky's lips - he intermittently tried to draw his attention up to politely meet Bucky's eyes, but failed miserably.

"I thought you didn't like it when I smoked?" Bucky shared with him, cognitively eyeing up his cards before raising the stake.

"Only because I had asthma. It did me no good. But that's gone now..." Steve reminded him.

"Yeah..." Bucky agreed, a philosophical twinkle in his eyes. He sucked in a large lungful of smoke and placed his cards faced down to hold his cigarette with that hand. "You're right."

He ran his fingertips over Steve's razor edged protruding cheekbone, stroked his jaw tantalisingly to draw him in and pried into his mouth with a small lever of the tongue; tipping his head sideways and breathing the smoke into Steve's mouth as he open mouth kissed him.

Steve could taste the billowing smoke, he could taste Bucky and he could feel the vapour settling in his body like clouds entering a blue sky. It was erotic and intoxicating - being so lost in a world of enveloping sensations. Steve let a muted moan escape into Bucky's mouth, making Bucky's lips curl into a smile as he withdrew.