Nine
/nīn/

Девять
/Devyat'/

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The paper peels apart and makes an obnoxiously loud ripping noise. I gently remove the thick paper from the envelope and place the scraps on the worn wooden table before me. Sitting in my and Bucky's favorite armchair, I recall the fond memories I have of the two of us fighting playfully over who gets the honor of sitting there that day. Leaning back in a relaxed position, I carefully open the folded notebook papers that had obviously been placed with extreme caution into their fixed positions.

As I stare at my name written across the top of the light brown page in his scribbled scrawls, I take note of two or three careless droplets of dried candle wax that had been left behind. I think of where Bucky may have been when he wrote this letter. I wonder if maybe he wrote it all at once or if, possibly, he carried it with him and wrote it as often as he had free time.

I begin down the page with a sort of haste, as I have been worried out of my mind for the past three weeks. Normally, I would receive a letter every month. In total, I have received eight letters thus far and have been awaiting the arrival of the ninth for nearly two months now. When it didn't show up three weeks ago like I had anticipated, my mind started on a rampage. Did he get shot? Did he die? Did someone take him away from the rest of the troops? There was no end to the downward spiral of my thoughts.

Relief flooded over me as I focused on each individual letter he had written, over the little crossed out spelling errors and scribbles across the messy lines.

The whole while, it felt like he was sitting right there next to me.

Steve,

It's been forever since I've last seen you... nine months and four days actually (I've been counting). I'm sorry, that sounds weird but I can hardly wait to see your beautiful shining blue eyes again. One letter a month simply isn't enough, though it'll have to do for now, I suppose. I want to hear your voice and your smile again. All I have left of you right now is an old picture from a while back, in addition to my slowly fading memories.

They're probably inaccurate too, my memories of you, that is. I see a shorter thinner fellow with dirty blonde hair always parted neatly to the side, a white button up shirt properly tucked into light brown slacks (held up with dark suspenders, as per usual), a gentle smile, a kind face and a highly contagious laugh. I would hope you're still the same, even after your rising fame.

Speaking of, they're all talking about you over here and I seem to be the only one who knows the real you. Or maybe I'm the only one who's stuck in the past and can't seem to accept that you've changed somehow. Most of them only want you to come to our camp site for the singing and dancing girls, though, while all I want is to see you again, Steve.

If you have one, I'd really like a picture of you. Everyone here has an idea in mind of what you look like, but I just can't seem to imagine it. I won't show them though, that picture will stay in my pocket... no worries.

The rumor says you're massive. Six foot two, nearly three hundred pounds, skin tight star spangled suit (I have to see that if it's true, by the way) and incredibly handsome (But we knew that already, now didn't we?). Please tell me, how exactly does one gain over 200 pounds of pure muscle and grow nearly a foot that quick?

I left you alone for three days, Rogers. Three. Days.

You couldn't be a little more careful? Not even for the sake of my sanity?

Anyway, let me answer your questions from the previous letter...

Yea, the foods okay but it kinda sucks so I don't know. I guess I'll find a way to survive.

No, haven't made many friends lately. Haven't really talked to many others that much the whole while, actually. I don't think I really want to, either. I mean, there's no replacing you anyway, Steve, I know that's why you asked... so don't worry about that, okay?

And, of course I do. I think about you all the time. I think: well gee. Wouldn't my Stevie just love to come out here and kick some Nazi ass? Really, I do. In all seriousness though, I do. All the live long day, Steve.

Everything I see reminds me of you. Some random blonde: you. Your hair. Some random Nazi: you. Your willingness to sacrifice. The troops in line: you. Your desperate want to be a part of this. My lunch: you. How I wish I were eating with you and not alone.

When I say everything, I mean it.

Especially at night. I'll be in my tent all alone and I'll wish you were there. It rained last night, a thunder storm. Puddles formed in my tent, I was drenched but I didn't care because all I could think of was you. I hoped it wasn't raining in Brooklyn, for your sake. I couldn't be there to comfort you if you were scared, so I didn't want you to have to endure such a hardship.

I remembered those cold rainy nights huddled together in my bed. My legs around you, and your hands clinging to my arms as if you might die if you didn't.

I just laughed out loud, hopefully I didn't wake anyone... but I was remembering that one time, before we were, uh, ya know. I was pushed against your backside and it started getting hot and you were shifting constantly and then we... well, actually, more like I—

Sorry, I've gone off on a tangent, haven't I?

Anyway, how's it back home? Miss me yet? Did I miss any thunder storms? Ugh, I'm sorry I missed your birthday last week (I couldn't send a letter in time)... but happy belated birthday.

Oh, good news. General Patton days I may be able to go come soon, God knows why (it's the middle of the war), but I'm not complaining.

I'm not really sure when though, so don't get too excited.

See ya as soon as I can.

I miss you.

Love,
Bucky

I held the paper before myself in disbelief. How could he remember that one night (of all other nights) so vividly? I barely remember that much. And besides, I'm not even afraid of thunder storms anymore.... oh, who am I kidding?

I read over the bulk of it again, trying to picture it. My old memories seemed faded because all my new ones are so clear. All my emotions seemed heightened and it just felt different.

I see flashes. Like bursts of intense white light pushing through my brain. After it fades, I see nothing but him.

And this happens everyday. When I wake up, before I fall asleep, whenever I'm alone, reading a book, drawing, eating breakfast of lunch or dinner or even something as simple as listening to the radio... any time of day I used to be with him, it'll happen.

I can't seem to control it, either. And now, here it is all over again. Reading his letter, I see him ever more so, as if he really was right there with me.

I neatly fold the paper back into it's original state, attempting to maintain the authenticity, and place it gently on the rickety wooden table next to the envelope scraps.

His words still ring through my head, though. I miss you. Well, gosh Buck, I miss you too.

I recline the chair and exhale slowly, thinking about how much I wish he was there with me. I picture his beautiful face and glowing eyes... those icey and cold, yet inviting and gentle eyes, those soft lips and that luscious dark brown hair. My fingers running through it. Him watching my every movement. That sexy lip bite he does... don't even get me started.

I go on meandering down memory lane, and begin to close my eyes. I find that my right hand has made its way to my belt buckle. It's been undone and now my zipper is making its way down.

My hand rests gently on my blue-grey boxers. I'm already getting hard just remembering him, so I decide to pull my underwear down a bit and slowly but surely pull my self out into the open.

I stroke once, letting the sensation spark a memory in me, letting it shoot through my veins and disperse through my fingertips. I picture him, he's the one whose hands are on me. My other hand finds a home slowly moving about under my shirt on my chest and abdomen.

I stroke again, a little faster now. My blood comes rushing in after the next. Then, the fourth brings a gasp for air.

I stop. Then, I reach intro the little drawer to fetch the lube. Right where we had left it so long ago. It's so cold on my hand, Sven more so and sensitive when I start rubbing it onto myself. Slowly, it begins to heat up as I stroke faster and more frequently and add more pressure.

Gasps for air soon follow as I lose my breath, helplessly wishing that he was here, but knowing he wasn't. I moan loudly, yet, I'm all by myself. If only he were there to encourage me.

Yes, Steve.

Ugh, God, make that noise again.

That's so hot.

Say my name.

"Ngh, Bucky..." I say aloud, not yet realizing that my train of thought had taken over me.

I grunt and moan as my breathing speeds up along with my heart. My hips jerk forward involuntarily, but I go with it.

It's hot in these jeans, hot in this shirt... I'm getting louder, but I can't do that because, well, the neighbors.

"Oh, God, Buck..." I say a little louder. The golden door handle on the front door to my apartment begins to jiggle, yet I cannot hear it. It's almost like as I get closer, the more outside disturbances I tend to block out.

Pre-cum drips down onto my hand as the door slowly creaks open. I, however, fail to notice the man standing there who is utterly baffled by what he sees.

"Well then," he starts. My eyes shoot open. It's Bucky. "I see you've started without me, huh Stevie?"

I freeze. I want to run over there and kiss him all over but I'm kind of in the middle of a situation...

"Uhhh..." I mumble. He walks over to me, dropping his bags and kicking the door shut. A kiss lands upon my lips. I looked up at him in confusion.

"Got out early... didn't you read my last letter?" I shake my head no. "Weird..."

"Uh... yea, weird," I whispered.

"You look..." he scanned over my body. His hand met my shirt as he pulled it up and over my head ever so slowly. He held it in place, keeping my arms restricted above my head for a moment. "Holy crap," he said lightly, using his other hand to trace over my abs. "You look hot... especially like this. What a sight to walk in to."

He paused for a second, lingering on the golden trail leading down to my exposed dick. The harder he looked at me the more I could feel it. The pressure building up, that incredible thumping of my blood down through my thighs. "Mind if I... uh, help ya out there?" He asked.

My eyes felt like they must have bulged out of my face. I looked up into his eyes to see this wicked desire... pure lust. I licked my lips, "not at all," I finally said.

I heard him swallow. My heartbeat quickened as he got down to his knees, I pulled my shirt off of my wrists and ran my fingers through his hair as he gazed up at me in amazement. Yea, I was surprised too at how... well, big I had gotten.

"Steve... how the hell am I gonna... I mean... shit." He looked around as if he had lost something. "Goddamnit," he whispered, standing and pulling off his hat, shoes, shirt and pants. He was left before me in just underwear, that he then pulled down and discarded too. He pulled my pants all the way off so we would be equal... I noticed he looked a lot buffer since I last saw him nearly ten months ago.

"Buck, what're you doin'?"

He didn't say anything. He just sat right on my lap and kissed the daylights out of me. Fingers trailing down my more sensitive body, I moaned. The look in his eyes told me he liked that, but I was already so close to coming it almost hurt. "Buck... please, c'mon..." I begged quietly into his ear.

I took the lube off the table and squeezed some into my hand, before I put it down, he did the same. I looked at him and he knew exactly what I was feeling. He grabbed my dick and pumped up and down slowly. He never sped up, just stayed at the same constant speed. I'm sure he was doing that to drag me out as long as he could.

So I started on him. He let out a choked groan as I did so, probably because I started out of nowhere. As he got closer to coming, his hand on me sped up.

So many beautiful noises filled the room as we moved on. My breath was taken away as I felt something surge through me and find its way out. I moaned as I came into his chest and at the sight of me, he did the same.

He landed on my shoulder and sighed in relief. "How I've missed this," he whispered into my ear. "How I've missed you, Steve."

"I've missed you too, Buck."

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James_BuchananBarnes