Steve's best friend in the world isn't even human. Typical, really, they'd say of little Steve Rogers, who could barely get tall enough to ride a horse himself, let alone keep up with a centaur. That's meaning some of the slower, more calm 'taurs wandering around, too. Not one of the wild-eyed ones that swagger and buck at each other, daring each other into more and more stupid things.
(Actually, that sounds like Steve all over, his mother would say.)
The centaurs are a wild, rowdy bunch, the settlers of the town say, unpredictable and flighty. The centaurs say the humans are stodgy and weird, but they've learned to get along. Centaurs are a common enough sight, wandering in and around the town, working hand in hand with the humans. Steve's been raised around them, really, thinks they're about as normal as regular horses, 'cept smarter, of course, and so, so much more unique. He likes them. In fact-
Steve's best friend is a centaur.
Not one of the older stallions who hangs about the ranch, helping out with the herds, not one of the gentle round mares who linger near the kitchens and share stories with his mom about their colts and kids. Steve's been called a plucky young colt himself by more than one, and hopes someday he'll grow out of it like the stallions the gawky colts he used to run around with did. But at his age, not likely. His friend is one of those colts, a lanky young thing who had kicked the shit out of a thick draft taur that had been trying to drown Steve in one of the water troughs one day. He'd been a little gawky chestnut thing, grinned and helped Steve out of the water, and told him to 'try hitting a little higher, aim for the ribs, not the stomach, next time, huh? And hey, by the way, my name's Buchanan. Some human president or something, my dam liked that sort of thing. But you can call me-'
Bucky who's always been a strong motherfucker, runs like the damn wind and kicks in the ribs of anyone who kicks in Stevie's face. Bucky who was all shiny brown fur that gleams in the sun, and yeah, he gets all the ladies, because he's Bucky, and Bucky's one hell of a catch. Lanky coltish antics had grown into a long-legged, strong stallion, chestnut hair that fell right into his big blue eyes, rich shiny coat, same color as his hair, that felt like velvet to touch, rough stubbled jaw and lean, muscled torso.The mares fawn over him and the other stallions envy him, and he's just grinning and prancing away to go tell Steve. Steve's his best friend, and Bucky will always be there, looking after Steve. Steve who's too small and too fragile, still, even at nearly twenty. Steve, with his skinny wrists and short stature and all the slew of problems he has. Steve who sometimes still hitches a ride on Bucky's back because his coughing fits get real bad. (Supposed to be a taboo or something, but Bucky had never cared.) Steve, who has managed to somehow capture his attention and who drags the centaur into fights, not the other way around.
They get into far too much trouble, the two of them. Bucky ends up sometimes just carrying him home with Steve slumped, exhausted and bloody and bruised, on his back, hooves clumping against wooden sidewalks as they make their way back to get themselves taken care of.
And they're close. Real close. Thick as thieves, Steve's mom would say.
Some people are into centaurs, sexually. Some centaurs find it interesting to try sex with humans, just for the novelty. What Steve and Bucky have is neither of those things. Steve's into Bucky, not centaurs, and Bucky's pretty sure even if Steve were something impossible, like, a werewolf or something, he'd still have given in. Steve's just got something about him that Bucky adores, regardless of species. Not that anyone but the two of them ever has to know that.
Not that it's not apparent if you're looking.
Bucky was lounging around, waiting for Steve to finish putting away the delivery for the ranch. Bucky didn't tend to wander about the interior of the ranch house, though he probably could have been comfortable enough. Instead he just waited by the kitchen door for Steve to finish sorting out the groceries and come back. He had his shirt slung lazily over his shoulder, (he didn't like wearing it except to be polite, complained the faded button-down was itchy but Steve was pretty sure he just liked to show off) and his hat tipped down so the brim threw shade over his eyes. (Steve always found it somehow hilarious that a centaur would wear a cowboy hat, but frankly, screw that, Bucky said. He liked his hat.)
And Steve came jogging out to meet him, grinning and starting to say something that he stumbled over at the sight. He picked it up again almost effortlessly as he and Bucky made their way out, just wandering really, talking and messing around. Or at least... Steve was standing next to him attempting to have a conversation which is REALLY hard when you’re at eye level with a centaur’s very very very well defined abs. Abs that are way too distracting in the way they move as Bucky picks up his legs with each step, and the sun gleams on his fur, and he's too handsome, it's really not fair.
And Bucky just has this easy damn grin on his face, that hat tipped down a little low over his eyes, and he looks really interested in what Steve's saying. Which is funny, really, because Steve isn't really interested in what Steve's saying, Steve is busy reminding himself that Bucky's got a horse's ass and trying to will that into making him less interesting.
That’s okay, because Bucky is just grinnin’ like he’s fascinated by every word coming out of Steve’s mouth, and oh wow that’s not fair, come on, you’re a HORSE, Buck, you can’t look that good and have the backend of a stallion like that, and stop with the grin. Stop. Steve realizes he has repeated himself at least twice, and Bucky doesn't seem to have noticed. (Or cared?)
And Bucky's leaning over, with a light in his eyes like he's planning something, and Steve freezes for a second, too many bad thoughts roiling in his head (they're out in the pasture, nobody'd see, nobody'd know if he just--) and Bucky just reaches over and ruffles his hair. Like it wasn't anything, him standing here in the hot summer sun with nothing on him but a damn hat, like Steve hadn't just been trying his best not to eat him up with his eyes. Bucky ruffles his hair, cracks some stupid joke, and turns on a dime to swat Steve in the leg with his tail, and the bastard goes and capers off, just slow enough that Steve can chase without his breathing going bad on him. The moment's over.
Steve corners him and kisses him like he's the prettiest girl in town a week later, when it's just them on a walk back from the river. The grass is green and bright and they're both damp with riverwater and sweat, and Bucky smells like wet horse, sweet and strong and uniquely him. Bucky'd been leaning down to pick a stone out of his hoof, and just- his hair was wet and messy, longer than was usually fashionable for humans, but Bucky wasn't human and it made him even more beautiful. Wasn't supposed to be right, likin' horses or liking boys, but Bucky was both and Steve loved him. He expected to get kicked like Bucky was more than capable of but instead Bucky had made this confused, needy sound and had sunk to his knees with an almost painful-sounding abrupt thud, and had wrapped his arms around Steve and kissed him back. Turns out Bucky was really, really good at kissing. Or maybe he wasn't, but Steve liked it anyway. It was fantastic, either way. His fingers tangled in Bucky's mane, the centaur's chest pressed against him, arms around his waist, lips hot and sweet and delicious against his own.
They didn't exactly talk about it when they broke apart gasping for breath a while later, but- they didn't need to. Bucky grinned and got back to his feet, complaining next time he'd like to have Steve maybe stand, his knees hurt. And Steve had grinned back and said maybe they should get a blanket or something, he'd got a bunch of those, why not drag it out to the stable? And there it was. That was it. And Steve now snuck out to kiss Bucky at night, and Bucky smiled at him more than the pretty fillies in town, and they got into trouble and yeah, nothing really changed. Except now he had Bucky the ways he had dreamed so sinfully about for years, and somehow he had stopped giving a shit. Which he also felt guilty about, but damn. It was hard to feel guilty for sinning with a boy when that boy was a horse. Or was that a worse sin? He'd asked Bucky, who had just said he didn't know, Centaurs didn't usually fit in churches. He thought that was a little blasphemous, but so had been the way he'd touched himself thinking of Bucky a few nights ago, and there were worse evils in the world than being in love.
Things are normal as they can be. Steve's sneaking out to mack with a centaur, and said centaur sticks by his side like he was welded there. Nothing really changes. Except Steve jerks himself off a lot less, and Bucky jerks him off a lot more.
Steve's a little bit distracted the next time they meet, imagining Bucky rearing up and leaning his forelegs against the back of a barn, hindlegs shaking a bit as he tries his best not to crush Steve, who is busy at work with his (hahahaaaaa holy shit big) cock. Not like a human's (obviously, he's a fucking horse down there-) but god was it good anyway. "Quick and quiet, that's the rule, but god, Stevie, do you have to be so good at that-- fuck." He'd jerked off a centaur, so that was a thing. A good thing. A thing he A: really liked, and B: was apparently pretty good at, if Bucky's blissful grin had been any clue. And Bucky had grabbed him, pulled him back against his chest and returned the damn favor, jerking him off in the stable that night-
Steve hefted the box in his arms and tried to focus. Like he needed to waste time daydreaming about his torrid homosexual interspecies love affair. (Problem was it was a very distracting thing to think about. That first time in the stable. Dozens of other times since then. And Bucky wondered why he had no interest in the ladies around town.) Bucky was waiting; no need to keep him in suspense. Steve had promised something interesting today.
He opens the door into the stable and tugs it shut behind him, looking around for anyone else even though he knows there won't be anyone there but Bucky. And of course, there he is, the centaur bustling around in the big stall at the end, but Bucky had pretty much taken it over, insisting that no proper centaur would have a 'stall'. However, he did NOT object to having a roof over his head or a place to hang his hat at the end of the day, so now it was more his... bedroom? (When had Bucky moved himself into their barn, actually?) Steve still called it his stall, and Bucky usually pushed him off the fence at that point in their conversations. Whatever it was, it was the place Bucky holed up, and it was where Steve had snuck out to spend more than a few nights in, curled up by the centaur. He liked being near Bucky, even if the hay sometimes DID make it hard to breathe.
(That may or may not have been the reason Bucky now had a couple blankets folded up in his trunk where he also kept his shirts and a few personal belongings.)
Currently the room is occupied by one very smug looking centaur who is grinning at Steve. Smug bastard. Steve's heart skipped a beat.
"So you told me you had something interesting, huh?" Bucky drawls, hands on his human waist, looking way too damn casual. Steve couldn't help but pull a face at him.
“Yeah. Brought you somethin’. You know... just to... to try.” Steve said by way of greeting, slipping into the stall and holding out the box to Bucky. The centaur grins at him and looks inside.
“Jesus fuck Stevie, is that actually tack? I- uh. Hmm. “ And Bucky's face is somewhere between unsure and turned on, and his tail flips behind him, and he shifts his weight back and forth, and Steve's about to say that it was just an idea, Buck, they don't have to, but then Bucky hums. And grins. "D'you get a bridle?"
And Steve grins. “Yeah.” He says, sifting through the bits of leather and metal of separate them out. It’s not like a normal bridle, not quite, Buck’s face isn’t anywhere near long enough for THAT, but .... it hadn't taken much to get one made for a small pony that looked like it would work fine if you adjusted it. “You like it, they even offered engraving on some of it.”
Bucky laughs at that. (Nervous? Little bit, maybe, but more like anticipation, like imagining that in his mouth and buckled tight 'round his head and Steve, fuck, Steve tugging on those reins.) "What, offered? And you didn't take 'em up on it? I see how it is, substandard tack for your best stud, tch. Unloved."
Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and he seems to take it seriously for a moment. ‘What? No, Buck, I just didn’t know if you’d like it or-” A sigh. “Bucky, you’re a jerk. You just be glad I didn’t opt for the spurs.” He considers that for a minute, and smiles. "Or the crop. Though you know, there IS one in the stable somewhere.”
Bucky's still got that stupid grin on his face, and Steve mentioning that doesn't make it any better. Now wouldn't that be a pretty picture? Steve wearing spurs and carrying a crop. Damn. He doesn't know if he'd like it, but hell, he likes biting, and if Steve'd like it... Well, hey, he'll try anything once. "You wanna try it, go ahead. Just warnin' you, though, I might buck." The puns are encouragement. As always. (And hey, Steve's had him 'bucking' more times than he can count just using his hand or his mouth, so.)
“That a threat or a promise?” Steve says, returning that grin for every inch. Oh, he’s tempted. Very, very much so. (he wonders, vaguely, if he’s supposed to be so god damn aroused by the idea of Bucky tied up like that, Steve on his back, one of Steve’s hands tangled in the reins and his hair, the other snapping a crop along his flanks. Just the idea of the twitching muscles of the centaur underneath Steve’s legs is uncomfortably sexy.) “Not...ah. Not that we have to find out, right... now. I mean.”
Promise. Definitely a promise. "Oh, don't we?" Bucky asks, all innocence and sweet blue eyes, and he steps just a bit closer, lifts the bridle out of Steve's grasp. He hefts it gently in his hand, eyes it for a moment. (Leather's sturdy, sewing's nice. Bit's got one of those fidgeters, for horses that get bored, need a distraction to keep 'em steady.) And he starts adjusting it a bit, letting out some straps, shortening up others. "I think," he says, thoughtful, contemplative, "that you should ride me hard and put me away wet. Now. How's that, Steve?" He pulls the bridle over his own head, slips the bit into his mouth, and he smiles. And waits. *It's thick, kind of unweildly, and it tastes like cold and metal, but it's not terrible. Just kind of distracting, so he chews on it a little, and wonders if normal horses feel the same, or what. Distracting enough he focuses on it, which he supposes is kind of the point.) He glances at Steve, and-
Steve doesn’t quite do something horribly embarrassing and say, come in his pants, but it’s a very near thing. Because- well, damn. Bucky, gorgeous, unfairly beautiful Bucky, is standing there with that leather and metal and all that perfectly messy brown hair, waiting, smiling. “I think new leather should definitely be broken in with a good workout.” He says. Then he leans in, tugging at the bit of leather along Bucky’s jaw, bringing his head down to kiss him, just to see what it’s like. The taste of leather and metal, the short bar pressing Bucky’s tongue down...
He can't speak, and that kind of lessens his options, here, but that's really the point, isn't it? And Steve's tugging at one of the straps, dragging him down into a kiss. Bucky tosses his head a little, just a quick tease, but then he leans into it and follows the insistent tugging of Steve's hand down into the kiss. And again: strange, new. He can't do much more than suck a bit at his bottom lip. His tongue's limited because of the bit, he can't nip because it's held between his teeth, and there's the taste of metal mixed with the taste of Steve, and this is-- weird. A good weird. He hums a little into the kiss, his arms settling around Steve. Yeah. Definitely good weird.
Steve decides this is... definitely worth it. He kisses him for a while longer, tongue exploring Bucky’s mouth thoroughly, running along the metal of the bit and then just kissing him until he has to either break away and breathe or pass out. Experimentally, he tugs on the strap again, pulling Bucky’s head away from his and forcing it to twist at an angle so Steve can bite at his neck. (it’s interesting, that. Control, and yet not. Bucky could pull away any time, but he hasn’t- isn’t yet. )
“Hmm.” He murmurs into the join of Bucky’s shoulder and neck, punctuating his words with short little bites. “You like it alright...?”
Bucky's left with his neck arched, head forced to the side, and he twitches at every little nip to his exposed skin, his tail whisking behind him with nervous energy. He tosses his tail, twitches slightly, eyes dropping shut for a moment, just enjoying that, the feel of teeth along his throat and Steve's breath on his skin. Not having words is doing a bit of a number on his self-control - he's finding that he makes more noises, just-- quiet little hitches of breath, little hums, just... enjoying. Steve's question is met with a sharp little nod, the switch of Bucky's tail tossing again, and he holds him a little tighter against him. "Mmmm." So, yes, a resounding yes.
Steve laughs, and it’s a combination of adoration and sheer giddiness. (He probably shouldn't like this quite as much as he does, and YET.) “Good. Good.” He murmurs, and just lets himself be pressed up against the centaur for a bit, threading his fingers through Bucky’s hair and pressing kisses to exposed skin; neck, cheek, his ears. Those weirdly cute little pointed ears. Not quite like a real horse's, but sensitive, because it makes Bucky stamp his hindleg suddenly, like he were irritated by a biting fly. But Bucky also clenches his fist and groans so nicely, so he thinks it's got to be good. Then he grins, and steps back, pushing Bucky’s arms away gently. “Reins.” He says, with an arch of the brow. The leather straps unfold easily in his hands, and he reaches up to attach one side, pressing the heel of his hand to Buck’s cheek in a comforting gesture. Then the other side, and he lets out a long breath as he gathers the ends in his hand and just looks. Because Bucky is gorgeous, slightly sweaty and flushed, the leather of the cheekstraps dark against the tinged pink of his skin as he stands there in a bridle for Steve. Just for Steve. Steve kisses him again.
Steve's tender, always been like that, and now he's leaving kisses all across Bucky's neck and face and ears and there's a hand in his hair and yeah, this was a great idea. Damned perfect. But then Steve starts pushing away, and before he can stop himself, Bucky lets out a low, confused, vaguely disapproving noise. Doesn't try to stop Steve, though. At the mention of reins, his eyes brighten a little, and he smiles around the bit, watches Steve's face as he puts on the reins. He leans into Steve's hand a bit, humming quietly, and then the other side is attached, and Steve gives him that look. Keeps doing it. Bucky straightens a little, lifts his head a bit, rolls the bit in his tongue for a moment to settle it a little more firmly in his mouth. One hoof paws at the ground a little, and why yes, he's showing off a bit for him. Why shouldn't he? With the way Steve's looking at him, he feels like he's the most handsome guy who was ever born, so he deserves a little preening.
Steve grins at Bucky, and hah, jokes on him, because that man IS the most beautiful person he’s seen in his whole life, so there. He realizes he’s staring only after he’s shifted the reins in his hands a few times, and inadvertently tugs on them. Steve looks down at the leather in his hands, then back up along the lines of the reins to Bucky’s face, and just grins. “C’mere gorgeous.” He says, and pulls Bucky in toward him again only to flip the reins over his head and get to his side, flicking the reins against Bucky’s shoulders with the world’s cockiest grin.
The first tug gets Bucky's attention, gets him looking down at Steve, leaning towards him a little, but it looks like Steve himself was a little surprised at that tug. So he waits. Watches. And Steve looks up at him again. And grins. (Damn if that doesn't do something to him, that grin.) When the reins are pulled at again, he can't really do anything but follow, not with Steve looking at him like that, not with him sounding like that. It's really, really not fair, and he's going to tell Steve that as soon as this bit's out of his mouth again. As he leans in, expecting-- something, he's not quite sure what, Steve flips the reins over his head, slips over to his side, and swats gently at his shoulders with the reins. It makes his muscles twitch, startles a bit of a grunt out of him, but it's interesting, and coming from Steve it's a little more than just interesting. If he'd aimed a little higher, at the junction of hide and skin, that might have gotten something more-- hmm. He doesn't know how that'd be. That's damn sensitive, there.
He shoots Steve a playful look over his shoulder, pushes himself up just a little, just enough to bounce his forelegs perhaps three inches off the ground and stomp. Just a bit. (The floor's dirt, it'll be fine, nobody's near or likely to be near. They can be a little loud.) He flicks his tail around to gently swat Steve on the arm. That grin. It's just not fair, okay, you could weaponize that. And then Bucky has the gall to wink at him.
Steve makes a little startled noise and bats at his tail, frowning at it and giving Bucky a terribly put-upon look. At the little stomp he shakes his head and chuckles, and tugs harder at the reins, a quick little ‘nope!’ motion. “Easy, boy.” He teases, running a hand along his furred back, reins tight. He strokes the short fur a few seconds, then works his hand back up to the human flesh, scratching at the back of his neck and his scalp. And then he flicks the reins at him again (because damn if he could remember where the crop was, and damn if he was leaving Bucky anytime in the near future) snapping them across the bare human shoulders.
Bucky tosses his head a little at the short, sharp little tug of the reins, but doesn't pull, doesn't tug. Testing his limits, see, seeing just how far Steve's gonna o. So far-- oh, that's interesting. The teasing gets an appreciative little hum, and then Steve starts petting him and that's good, okay, that's always been good, and then his hand moves up his back, and he lets out a quiet hum, tipping his head back just a bit as Steve's hand slides up, a quiet, pleasant sigh as he starts scratching-- and then there's a sharp snap across his shoulders, and that gets a sharp, low, hitched noise. Mingled pleasure and pain and he likes this, likes-- yeah, Steve is definitely going to have to get some spurs. And a crop. Because he likes this, damn. He rolls his shoulders slightly, tosses his tail as though he's thinking about smacking Steve again, but shoots an appreciative look back at him, just a glance, just a bit more encouragement.
Steve snaps just long enough to return the grin, eyes big and blue and /thrilled, and then he wonders -- how far CAN he push it? He thinks probably a lot further than he would imagine. (Hell, he didn't think he’d get this far?) He rubs Bucky’s back where he’d hit him, then does it again. A test, seeing how much Bucky can take. “Mmmm...four more, huh? You can handle that, right?” He asks, leaning into Bucky, kissing his side softly, waiting for the low nod of assent before he does anything. (He loves Bucky, doesn't want to hurt him, not really.)
Bucky leans back into the warmth of Steve's hand, soothing and rough over the leftover sting of the reins, and then-- four? He can do that, god, he can definitely do that if Steve's gonna ask him to like that, voice gentle and paired with kisses. He straightens a bit for it, and then-
Then Steve snaps the reins back across his shoulders, four times in a row, a quick pause between each, then he’s running his hand over Bucky’s back, from his human shoulders down to the middle of his horse back, whispering praise.
There's the first, sharp, stinging, crossed over the faded tingling that's all that's left of the last. There's a short pause, just enough for it to just barely start fading, and then there's the second, parallel to the first, a little lower, and he's arching his back a little, straightening, gasping. The third, and Bucky's arching back into it, not away, because it's pain and it's pleasure and he's hard. The fourth, draws a low, shuddering moan from him, and then it's over and he's rewarded with Steve's hand on his back, pressing against the still-sensitive skin of his back, sliding low over the junction of hide and skin, over to the middle of his lower back, and then up and back again to repeat the entire process. And all of this with whispered praise, telling him he did good, that-- he wonders why he's so turned on by this but fuck if he's ever been this hard in his life. He'd be embarrassed but its Steve. Steve's seen him hard probably more than anyone else, and so... he's kind of a little proud of the cock sliding out of it's sheath between his hind legs, of the way he pants, of the soft petting that makes everything even more muddle. He leans back into Steve's hand again, lets out a low, pleading noise - more lashes, maybe, he doesn't know, he just knows he wants Steve to do whatever the fuck he wants to.
Steve has a hard time not just giving up and damn well rutting against Bucky now, because the way he reacts is priceless and so, so damn hot. Steve’s hard in his pants as he wraps one arm around Bucky, stroking his chest and kissing his back again. He hates he’s short normally, but when you’re doing things with a centaur it’s really easy to feel small. “You like that, huh?” he says, thinking as he strokes his hand down Bucky’s chest- he’s tense and- a flick of his eyes down between his legs - Bucky is aching hard. Steve moans quietly and bites down on one finger to stifle it. Sweet mother of god, that's hot. (Who knew he had a thing for horse cock? No one, he hoped, but damn if it wasn't the sexiest thing in the world when it came with the eager little sounds Bucky was making or the little twitchy flinches of his skin under Steve's hands, sensitive and warm.)
“You... uh.” He has to try again to get his voice to work right, because the sight of him like this is going straight to Steve’s dick. “You want more or... you want me to touch you...?”
Bucky lets out a rough little pant as Steve settles an arm around him, splays a hand over his chest, kisses his back. Yes. Okay. This is. Yeah, this is good, he can do this. The first question is met with a sharp, stuttered nod that tugged slightly against the reins, because hell yes, he likes this, it's fucking fantastic, and-- and Steve's moaning, it's muffled but it's there, and that just sends a shudder through everything Bucky has, because Steve is getting off on this as much as he is and yes, that is-- yes. Yes. He twitches his hips just slightly, getting nothing for it but a bit of friction from his cock touching his belly once. Fucking hell. And yet he still doesn't know the answer when Steve asks him what he wants, because on one had, he's really damn hard right now - on the other, this is so, so good, and he wants more, he wants to see how far it can go, wants to... he doesn't know.
He shrugs, gives a low, noncommittal hum. Either's good. Both are good. And either way, he's making sure Steve gets off just as well. But right now, he's just-- he doesn't know. His back's lost even the last tingles from the lashes, that could work, or Steve could get up on his back, rut on him, something. More tugging on the reins, he doesn't-- he wants too many things, and he wants them all with Steve, and he especially wants to try out the other things Steve got. Later, maybe, or now-- too many choices, all of them good.
Steve seems to get the idea that maybe there are too many answers to that questions, and he decides fuck it, why not, he’s holding the reins here. (Literally. HAH. He is hilarious.) “Do this for me just a little longer kay?” He asks, then steps back so he can get a bit of leverage to hoist himself onto Bucky’s back. Which may not have been his best plan? On the one hand, it meant he could wrap his arms around Bucky jerk the reins back and get access to his neck without effort, tangle his hands in Bucky’s hair and the reins and bite down; but on the other hand, it also meant he was left with his legs spread around Bucky’s barrel chest, and Steve’s erection rubbed against his withers when he shifted to leave another hickey on Bucky’s neck.
Which, actually, he decided, was really, really good. He tips Bucky’s head back, hand wrapped around the reins and his hair, and the other hand clawed down Bucky’s chest, stopping to toy with his nipples as Steve bit back another moan of Bucky’s name. He really wishes he’d gone for the spurs then, just to see what would happen; as it is he can't help but squeeze his legs around Bucky’s middle and dig his heels in sharply for effect as he grinds against him.
And Bucky tensed at first, thinking maybe he would add a few more lashes with the reins, but then there's the warm weight of him on his back, and god, Steve's hard, he can feel him there against his withers, and-- there's a jerk on the reins, and he's forced back, a hand in his hair, teeth on his neck, and there's a shocked, delighted noise rising from his throat, muffled by the way he's clamping down on the bit. It's fucking perfect, this. He can feel Steve's other hand on his chest, digging nails in as he drags his fingers downwards - and his muscles twitch, trembling underneath and in front of Steve as he feels the rough pads of his fingers over his nipples.
Steve's legs clamp tight around him, his heels digging in sharply to his sides, and he grinds against him, and yes, yes, yes. Can't speak past the bit, but he's damn well trying, though the most he wants to say is just 'yes' and 'Steve' and 'more', so it's not too much of a loss, really. Just a series of incoherent moaning noises that force their way out of his mouth as he trembles underneath him. Can't reach back and take hold of him, not where he wants to, but he can... he reaches back, straining his shoulders a bit, and settles his hands on Steve's thighs, just presses against him. Yes. Right there, stay there, Steve, please, because this is amazing and he wants more.
Steve clings to Bucky, trying not to rush into it, but he’s been practically been holding himself back this whole time (the sight of Bucky in the bridle, leather pressing against his face, bit held between his teeth- that DID something to him). And the feeling of Bucky’s hands on his thighs, Bucky leaning into him, pressing back against him- Steve moaned and pressed into him, sliding himself against the strong body under him. “Damn, Buck, that’s-” He gasps. The sensation is insane, all friction and warm heat and the solidity of Bucky between his legs. Steve ground against him, slow and painfully deliberate. His hands tighten around Bucky, grabbing hold wherever he could, mindlessly clinging to him, sucking bruises into his skin in time with his movement.
Bucky's hips are jerking, just a bit, desperate, he needs something. Anything. But he can't do anything but stand there, hooves stomping lightly as Steve just grinds against him, so fucking slow, he knows what he's doing, doing that, he does. Has to. Bucky tries to force words past the bit, something, anything, but no, not happening - the bit just clinks against his teeth, garbling everything into a mess of needy sounds. He just holds onto Steve's legs a little more tightly, arches his back, leans into him. His lips are parted now, and he's panting heavily - Steve can probably feel the rise and fall of his lower chest underneath him. He bites against the bit, pulls it a little further back into his mouth with his tongue. (He could come like this, he's realizing that now. He could definitely come like this, and it would be fantastic. The feel of Steve grinding slow and hot against his back, and- he bucks his hips again, a hoof lifting to try and touch himself, but- damn damn damn, it's not-)
“Wow, Buck... you look good, have I told you that...?” Steve’s babbling, he knows it, but the friction of his cock against Bucky, even through the layers of his clothes, is slowly driving him insane. Every movement, every slide is pure pleasure, and he’s gasping between praises as he grinds one out against his best friend. His hands never leave Bucky, grabbing for his wrist and holding his hand in place. He shudders at the last one, letting his head fall against Bucky’s back as he gets close. His free hand finds the reins again, pulls them taut as he comes, pressing flush against his solid back, panting and clinging tight to the leather and keeping the tension as he thrusts along him a few more times. He knows he’s going to regret that in a bit, (can already feel the wetness spreading in his pants) but with his face pressed to Bucky’s shoulder blade, inhaling that peculiar equine smell of him that’s so Bucky, hearing the little moans and wordless encouragements- he’s still shaking slightly, but he grins, and twists the reins in his hands as his orgasm fades; he still feels shaky and dizzy with the slow aftershocks, but-
“Your turn.” He murmurs,
That, Steve talking to him like that, praising him like that, there's really nothing Bucky can do about how good that is, how good it's always been. Because Steve's head's resting against his back, because Steve's hand's on his wrist, because he's on top of him and telling him he's good, and it's him, and he can't-- he doesn't-- he can't. Bucky lets out a loud, ragged moan as Steve pulls back on the reins, letting him pull his head back as far as it'll go, and he feels his hips jerk one last time, and-- his back. Is wet. Steve just-- fuck, fuck, fuck-- And Steve twists the reins, pulls a little harder, and he speaks.
With a loud, shocked, shout, Bucky locks his legs and comes.
Steve is a little surprised by that- he always is, there’s something inherently debauched about the way Bucky comes, but god is it sexy. He should probably find it a little strange, the way he strokes Bucky’s back and sides, slowly, gently, like a horse after a good run. But he doesn't- he stays pressed to him, riding him through it (literally- he can feel the way Bucky’s back tenses, the way his sides heave when he shouts-) He drops kisses on his skin, hot under his lips, and just keeps petting him until he settles down, murmuring praise and little epithets of love. “Damn, Bucky. Just....damn.”
Bucky comes down from it slowly, twitching and shuddering slightly at every touch. Gradually, he eases himself down onto his belly, folding first forelegs, then hind, letting himself rest. (Because otherwise he was either going to fall, or have to stand there with his legs locked, and he wanted neither of those while Steve was on his back.) His eyes slipped shut, and he went boneless for a while, just leaning back on Steve and letting him do as he wanted, listening to him talk and feeling proud, smug, and fucking amazing in turn. Damn. Yeah, that pretty much summed it up. Damn. Bucky gave a low, satisfied hum, nodded, then brought up one hand to try and find the clasp of the bridle. He fumbled around for a few seconds, then just gave up, shrugging slightly and dropping his hand, letting it be. It could wait.
Steve manages, miraculously, not to fall off, and when Bucky leans back he wraps his arms around him, nuzzling him affectionately. (Hell, if it weren't much easier to stay on his back and lean into him, you can bet your ass he’d be peppering him with kisses right now.) At the movement, he blinks, and fumbles after Bucky’s hands to get the bridle off, concerned. “You okay...?”
Bucky's mouth feels weirdly empty after the bit's out, and he moves his jaw a bit, testing. Huh. Little bit sore, but nothing he can't deal with. Got a bit of a crick in his neck, too. "Feelin' fantastic," he says serenely, still leaning back on Steve. "Just... hell, Stevie, there ain't words." There's a reason they're sitting in a goddamn puddle right now, okay. ...Dammit, that's gonna take awhile to get out've his fur. Ah well.
Steve chuckles and rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “Yeah? Good.” He laughs. He’s giddy, almost ridiculously so, but. Hey. That was worth it. “I think I’m definitely getting the shop to get me the engraved nameplate for this.” He says.
Bucky laughs. (The idea of seeing his name on that damn bridle sends a thrill of something dirty and delighted through him.) "Yeah? Good. Don't hold out on your best boy, now, Steve, it ain't right." And he turns his head just enough to catch Steve in a kiss. His tail flicks lazily, and he knows there's probably something he could be doing, but with Steve draped over his back and his legs still tucked under him, he can't think of a reason to get up. Stable's comfortable, after all, and hey, he had the blankets in here anyway.
Steve kisses him back, slow and drunk on post-orgasmic glee. "Anything for you, Buck." He promises.
They can deal with the mess in a little bit. Right now he's got to kiss his centaur boyfriend damn silly.