A/N: A late Christmas gift for Qwen. I also translated this into Edward/Bella. Look for the Twilight fic of the same name if you're interested.

I saw a drawing and thought of this bittersweet scene. Much love.

"Christ on a cracker. It's damn cold out here."

Bucky glanced over at his companion, smirking as Brock jumped up and down, his arms crossed over his muscular chest. "Just putting this out there. When it's cold as balls outside, you wear a damn jacket, you moron."

Brock grinned lasciviously. "Hey, don't take your malfunctions out on me, Barnes. If your balls run cold, that's your own problem. And as for a jacket…" He stuck one bare leg out, shaking it at a car that passed. "Can't cover up the merchandise. How else do you expect anyone to know what's for sale?"

"Right." Bucky rolled his eyes. "Coz anyone who comes down here doesn't know exactly what he's looking for."

Brock came over to him and pinched his cheeks. "Yeah, but if they got a choice between me and this pretty face?"

Bucky batted his hand away. "Fuck off."

"Hey, I'm trying." Brock struck a pose for another car that slid slowly by.

It was another few minutes before Brock's low, "Fuck," caught Bucky's attention. Now, he was pulling on a jacket, a scowl on his face as he pulled his hood up. "Look alive, Barnes. Pigs on parade."

Bucky's spine went rigid. He started to pull his own hood up but stopped when he saw the figure in the distance. His lip twitched, and he turned away from Brock.

"You crazy?" Brock grabbed him by the arm. "You looking to get hauled in tonight?"

"He's not gonna haul me in. Get the fuck outta here, Bones."

Brock studied him a moment and his lip curled. "Oh, come on. Don't fall for that. You really think he's not going to cuff you the minute you tell him what he wants to hear? I swear these bastards don't have enough to do. They get off on giving us a hard time."

"For fuck's sake. Scram, would you?" The figure hadn't moved, and he wouldn't move until Brock was gone.

"Whatever you say, pretty boy." Brock scoffed but he turned the way. "Act like you own the damn city."

Shaking his head, Bucky started toward the figure again, a smile already tugging at the corner of his mouth. He figured Brock was finally out of sight when the figure started moving toward him, coming into the light of the street lamp, under the falling snow.

"What the hell do you think you're doing out here, Captain?" Bucky reached out, running a finger along the insignia of the man's uniform. "One of New York's finest down here, in uniform no less." He shrugged out of his over-large jacket and draped it over Captain Steve Rogers' shoulders, shaking his head. "You dumb or you just stupid?"

The man smiled. It was soft, tired, but genuine smile. "All I saw were people standing on a street corner. Nothing illegal about that."

Bucky scoffed. "Sure." He studied Steve, concern beginning to seep through his excitement over seeing him again. It was tempting to just take in what was on the shallow surface. The man was obscenely good looking. Beautiful. The lines of his features could have been the work of the masters. Yet for the angelic beauty of his face, the depth of his vivid blue eyes, he was built like all that was man—towering and strong, with arms to protect and hold.

But Bucky saw more. Further. He was fluent in the silent language of this man's body. It had come to him, innately known, the day they met, and he'd never been wrong.

Steve's posture was slumped. It wouldn't have been obvious to everyone—he was a tall, proud man. But Bucky saw the slight stoop to his shoulders. He saw the way he had to fight for even his small smile. His eyes were the deep blue of the ocean—fathomless, heavy with pain.

A hard, dark day then.

Bucky tilted his head, studying him further.

No. He was swimming in it. Drowning in the ugly things people could do to each other; filth and depravity.

Bucky stepped forward, cupping a hand to Steve's cold cheek and drawing it down with all the tenderness he felt for this man. "Come on, baby." He let his fingers skim down his arm and took him by the hand. "Let me take care of you."

~0~

They'd met a few years back. Steve wasn't much more than a rookie then. Still fresh—a man with everything to prove. Bucky was an informant. From that very first day, Bucky was struck. He didn't know how else to explain it but that. Sure, the good looks had caught his attention, but he was a cop and Bucky a prostitute. They should have wanted the bare minimum to do with each other.

Steve was other. Intriguing. Bewildering. Bucky was…

Yeah. Struck.

Struck by his earnest idealism. He wasn't naïve; not really. He understood there was evil in the world, but he always seemed so surprised when someone didn't share his vision of what justice looked like.

Bucky was struck by the duality of his nature. He could be sinner and saint. Passive observer or the leader no one wanted, nor dared, to ignore.

This god among mere mortals got flustered when he had a crush. Bucky knew that from personal experience. And damned if it wasn't the sweetest thing Bucky had ever seen.

But Steve had risen in the ranks. Now, he was the captain of a specialized unit. Whatever his personal views on Bucky's current profession, his role in society was rigid. They were who they were, and that was where their story ended.

Except for nights like these.

Nights like these were vignettes—a respite from the heavy storylines of their separate lives. Sweet words on pages that were only theirs.

Sometimes, when Steve came to him like this, no sooner had the door closed than the man was on him. Clothes were ripped off. Kisses were hard. Hands were rough. Sometimes, Steve would press him against the wall or push him over the nearest surface and just fuck into him, skin slapping against skin. Like he was replacing pain with pleasure, and screams of horror with Bucky's screams of white hot ecstasy.

And sometimes, it was like this.

In Bucky's small, sparse apartment, Steve's body, always going, going, going, finally stilled. He watched through weary eyes as Bucky undid the buttons of his dress jacket one by one, pressing the tiniest kiss to his lips in between. He shivered and closed his eyes as the jacket fell to the floor. He wanted to be led. He wanted not to have to think for a while.

Bucky came to stand directly in front of him, so close he could feel the puff of Steve's hot breath on his face. He teased his lips, smiling when Steve tilted his head, trying to capture a kiss. Bucky ran fingertips along the lengths of his arms and gave him what he wanted. He ran his tongue along the seam of Steve's mouth and pushed through.

It was a slow kiss, languid. A serious kind of kiss that wasn't foreplay. Not really. A main event kind of kiss. Bucky didn't let it get heated. He stroked his fingers gently through his hair, along his arms. He pulled his undershirt free of his pants and traced the lines of his muscles, feeling him flex with each breath.

Only when the tension began to drain out of Steve's body, the rigidness of his shoulders softening, did Bucky start to move with intent. He let his fingertips dip from making lazy circles around Steve's belly button to tease the line of his crisp, dress pants. He broke their kiss only long enough to pull Steve's dress shirt up and off. He walked Steve backward, kissing him all the while, until he was pressed up against the wall. He sunk to his knees, bringing Steve's pants and boxers with him.

Steve made such sweet noises. That little whine at the back of his throat did things to Bucky he couldn't explain. He could never explain why all of it was so different with this man. Sex was his business, his everyday life. But Steve could have him undone with one touch.

Like now. Steve ran fingers through Bucky's long hair, brushing it back, stroking with a tender touch. Bucky sighed around the head of his cock, teasing his shaft with the tip of his tongue. His hips bucked of their own volition when Steve gathered his long hair at his nape and tugged.

But Bucky wasn't going to let him take control. Though he was half out of his mind with desire, the urge to swallow him deep almost too much to bear, he forced himself to go slow. He licked and teased and added just the slightest scrape of his teeth along tender skin. Steve whimpered and banged his head back against the wall. His hand slipped down, and he whispered Bucky's name, cursed him vehemently, and then murmured sweet nothings with his next breath.

"You're good, Buck. So good."

And if Bucky's smart mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, he might have had something to say to that. But as it was, those words touched a private place deep in the cold confines of his heart. He warned, his cheeks heating with an honest to god blush.

He wanted to be Steve's good boy. In that moment, he lived for the praise, the adoration.

What a crazy thing.

He worked his magic. It was a thrill that he could bend this man to his will. That he could turn the stoic, quiet, often too-serious man into a writhing mess. Steve babbled, one hand in Bucky's hair, the other on his shoulder.

After he was spent, Bucky climbed back up Steve's now pliant body, dropping kisses along the way. He kissed him, long and deep, sharing his taste. Then, he turned Steve around, helping him brace himself against the wall with his hands above his head.

Bucky closed his eyes, running the very tip of his nose gently against the back of Steve's hair. "I'm gonna take care of you, baby," he whispered. "Don't you worry about a thing. I have you. See this beautiful body of yours?" He ran his hands from Steve's broad shoulders down his sides, caressing with soft strokes. "I'm gonna do it right. You're a work of art, you know that? And this…" He let his hand drift down to take Steve's cock in his hand. Steve hissed, his body jolting. Sensitive, no doubt. "Don't even get me started about this. I could worship at the alter of Steve Rogers for days.

"You like that, baby?" He ran his tongue along the shell of Steve's ear, gratified at the way the other man shuddered out a groan. "On my knees, with what I have to offer? This tongue. These hands. And this." He bucked his hips, pressing his erection against Steve's ass. "All yours to do with what you please."

"Buck," Steve whispered.

Bucky kept murmuring filthy things in his ear, alternating with little licks and nips to his shoulder, his neck. Meanwhile, he began working his hole with lube-slicked fingers, thrusting into him with a slow, steady rhythm until Steve was begging.

"Please. Buck. God, please."

Bucky would have given him anything. And really, it wasn't a hard request to grant. He'd have given his left arm to be buried deep inside Steve any given day.

Any time. Every time.

"I love you," he whispered, his words muffled against the skin of Steve's shoulder. He bit down—just a little—making sure the words were drowned. "I love you." He took Steve's hands, threading their fingers together, holding them above their heads against the wall as he thrust into him.

Some minutes later, they were both boneless, holding each other up as they stumbled into Bucky's one room. Steve groaned and fell face forward onto the bed, glorious ass up.

Bucky chuckled, climbing into the bed slower. He dropped kisses along Steve's body, not trying to start anything. He just liked touching him. Kissing him. Finally, he lay down beside Steve, one arm thrown around him. "Better?"

Steve sighed. "Yeah." Another soft sigh as he rolled onto his side, curling backward against Bucky. "You're my anchor, you know?"

Bucky felt his cheeks heat, and he ducked his head, pressing his face to Steve's back. He couldn't hide for long. Steve rolled over and cupped his face.

"I like your hair like this. Long." Steve's fingers felt like heaven running through his hair.

Bucky hummed. "You're petting me like a puppy. I'm going to start doing that thing with my leg. Or maybe I'll start purring."

Steve laughed and scratched him playfully behind his ears.

The grin on his face fell gradually into something more wistful as he stroked Bucky's face, tracing his features with the tip of a finger. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it. "Buck—"

Bucky put a finger to his lips, looking into his pretty eyes. "Don't," he warned.

"But—"

"Don't." Bucky's heart twisted.

They wanted more. They both wanted more. Always had. It was why Steve—fresh faced and desperate to prove himself—had risked everything to initiate their first kiss. It was why Bucky never even joked about Steve paying.

What he gave Steve wasn't a product; it wasn't a service.

What he gave Steve was himself.

And every time they walked away from each other, he died a little more inside.

Bucky caressed his cheek and traced the shape of his slight frown. "Baby. Don't ask me. I can't say no to you. That first time is all the strength I had."

The first time, when they'd given in to the pull between them, Steve had been so sweet. He'd blushed and stuttered and put his foot in his mouth. Bucky had wanted so badly to give in, to let this beautiful man take him home. To bring him in from his often too-cold life to something warm and welcoming.

"Too many of your people know me," Bucky reminded them both. "You want to be more than a Captain, you don't show up to the office Christmas party with a whore on your arm."

Steve let out a slow breath, searching Bucky's eyes. "And if Captain is enough? If I didn't want to rise higher in the ranks? What if I'm done letting some arbitrary bullshit about whose job is right and moral get in the way of what I want?"

Bucky blinked. Then, he laughed. "You've had some dumb ideas, pal."

"Not so dumb. It's a compromise. A sacrifice. Like you changing your life, your work,"—he grimaced at the word work—"for me." He cupped the back of Bucky's head. "I hate walking away from you. Tell me I don't have to anymore, and the rest is just semantics."

This was the problem with nights like these. In the dark, with Steve's heat and scent surrounding him. When the world was just them, anything seemed possible.

"We can think about it," Steve said.

Bucky laughed. As though he'd ever stopped thinking about it since the day they met. He kissed Steve sweetly. "Merry Christmas."

Steve rolled over, onto him. He kissed him, holding himself aloft and then let the weight of his body bear down. "Merry Christmas, Buck."

A/N: Happy belated holidays! Here's to more words in 2020.