Bucky was never good with words.
Or emotions. Or feelings. And that made being in a relationship with him difficult. Hard to break down his walls. Hard to get through. You knew when something was bothering him, when something was wrong. It was written all over his face. His body would tense.
But the problem was, you never knew exactly what was going on inside his head.
You'd ask, he'd say, 'nothin', Doll.' But you knew better. But you were also afraid to push, to cross a line. The last thing you wanted to do was upset him. Hurt him in some way. You wanted to be patient, understanding. Loving. You wanted him to trust you enough to open up. But two years later, he just hadn't.
****
He sat at the bar, drink in his hand. He was sullen, sipping the whiskey slowly. 'Lettin' it burn,' he'd tell you. Something was wrong. Off. Something had hurt him or upset him. Maybe a bad dream, or a bad memory that had returned out of the blue. That happened sometimes.
You settled down beside him, ordering a drink of your own. "Gonna tell me what's going on?," you asked softly and he just grunted in response. You sighed softly and swirled the contents of your glass around, trying to figure out how to navigate this. What could you say or do?
"Buck," you said, sitting your glass down, turning to face him fully. "We can't keep doing this. I...I love you, I do. But I'm tired." You hated admitting it out loud. But you were at your end. "I can't help if I don't know what's bothering you. I can't fix it if you don't talk to me. And I want to fix it."
He licked his lips and let out a heavy breath. "Doesn't matter," he grumbled and you shook your head. "Doesn't, sweetheart. I'm just...," he tapped on the side of his head, "messed up. I thought I'd be well by now. Feel like me again. But every time I get close, something else comes back and knocks me down."
You reached for his flesh hand and squeezed it. "If I didn't love you. Or want you. Or need you, Buck, I wouldn't be here. I want you to lean on me. Trust me, open up. Lay it all on me because I can handle it. I want to take that pain. I want to help you heal."
He licked his lips again and nodded a bit.
"Can you do it? Can you break me down?"
You knew you could.
****
Touch was Bucky's love language.
He craved it, wanted to give it and wanted to receive it. Begged for it, the simplest things. Running your fingers through his hair, scratching his back gently as you laid on the sofa. Pulling you into his arms so he could drift off to sleep at night.
Bucky needed touch.
Maybe that was the key to breaking him down.
"I'm giving it to you," you explained, his brow furrowed. "The reins, the control. All of it. Take me how you need me. Whatever cures the pain. Rough, gentle. Whatever you need to do, Bucky. Whatever takes the pain from you. You're in charge, in full control."
He wasn't sure at first. Afraid he'd go too far, afraid he'd hurt you. Sex had always been gentle with him. He hadn't wanted to do anything that would or could cause you any pain. So he wasn't entirely sure how to approach this. Something new, something different. Something else. Territory that hadn't been explored.
"Are you sure?," he'd ask the first few times. You'd nod, assuring him that you were in fact, sure. He was still cautious regardless, handling you gently. So you had to get bold, get a little brave. Had to take charge a bit so that he could take charge.
"Doll," he shook his head, "I can't. What if I go too far? What if I hurt you?" You lifted the metal hand again, placing it over your throat. "I trust you." It was simple. And the truth. He breathed heavily and you asked him to squeeze.
He hesitated. His eyes searching yours and you nodded. And it broke him. Squeezing softly, he shivered when you moaned. "Do it again," he urged as he squeezed a bit more, earning another moan, this one louder. "Again." Another squeeze. Another moan.
Bucky was officially addicted.
Once turned into nearly every time. Foreplay, his way of letting you know he wanted you. Letting you know that you had broken him down. He got more confident, more vocal about what he wanted and what he needed. Opened up more in and out of the bedroom.
Bucky would take, but he'd always give back. He'd take what he needed, what he needed to break him down. But he'd give you everything you needed in return. "Break me down, sweetheart," he'd beg, eyes dark. Filled with need for you. So you would. Over and over. Until he was satisfied.
Rough, passionate.
Bucky slowly became a new man.
All because you'd finally broken him down.
