Bucky managed to sink into it for a long while once he got settled, his mind going blank and his body loose. His mouth stayed effortlessly slack with Steve's soft cock resting on his tongue, his lips circling the base with a little gap for drool to run out. He breathed the scent of Steve and felt nothing else but the warm weight of his folded body. His hands stayed crossed behind his back, left loosely gripping right, because the rubber band around his wrists did nothing to actually hold them together.
Every fifteen minutes like clockwork, Steve put down his book and gently pushed Bucky off his dick. Steve gave him a drink of tepid water and wiped his face, prompted him to flex his fingers and wiggle his toes, to roll his shoulders and wiggle his hips. When he'd had his minute of directed fidgeting, Steve drew Bucky back down into position and Bucky went; the little intermissions didn't stir the blanket of quiet over his brain. There was still nothing for him to think about.
There was an ache growing in his knees and shoulders and the small of his back from holding the position, but it was nothing that mattered. He was good. He was Steve's. He didn't have to think.
Except that he was aware, after a while, of not quite wanting the water when Steve held the bottle to his lips. His bladder was a point of pressure, not quite pain, low in his belly. He didn't know how long it had been--keeping track of time wasn't his business--but he knew that all day wasn't more than half over yet.
But Steve gave him the water. He was Steve's, and he was good, so he drank it.
The pressure became an ache. The next drink of water and the next were an effort that brought him closer and closer to being all the way conscious again. But he was still Steve's, still holding still, his mouth still soft and open around Steve's soft cock, his shoulders still bracketed by Steve's thighs. The ache grew sharper, intruding on his awareness. He had to concentrate on being still and good--but that was just another way to be good, and he could do it. He could. He did.
Steve pushed him off for another minute's attention, and Bucky made an involuntary noise as Steve held the bottle to his lips.
He didn't know how many bottles there were; Steve had a box of stuff next to the chair he was sitting in. Bucky couldn't see into it from where he knelt, and it wasn't his business to know what supplies Steve had set up. It was only his business to kneel.
But it was starting to hurt, and he knew Steve didn't want him to hurt. Steve had been very clear on that when Bucky asked to be kept on his knees all day: I don't want this to hurt you. I want this to be good for you.
Steve pulled back the bottle from his lips when the noise slipped out of him. "Buck?"
Bucky shook his head slightly. He wasn't saying no. He wasn't asking to stop. He opened his mouth, silently showing he was ready to take what he was given. Steve brought the bottle back to his lips, but there was a sharp, obvious attention in his gaze now.
"Kneel up straight," Steve said when he took the bottle from Bucky's mouth, and Bucky could feel the weight of the water he'd drunk sinking coolly through his body toward his aching bladder.
Bucky knelt up straight, flexing his fingers and wiggling his toes.
Steve sat up straighter as well, paying no particular attention to his spit-wet dick flopping out of the soft pants he was wearing. He ran his hands over Bucky's shoulders, down his chest and over his belly. Bucky watched Steve's hands as they crossed from his bare skin to the pajama pants he was wearing. Steve pressed in gently, a few inches above his dick, and Bucky breathed in hard through his nose and didn't tense.
"Ah," Steve said. "Well, that is the consequence of staying hydrated."
Bucky nodded, and waited for Steve to tell him what to do about it.
Steve rubbed a gentle circle over his lower abdomen and then sat back, looking Bucky over for a moment. Bucky waited, looking back and holding very still.
"Can you wait for me a minute?" Steve asked. "Wait right here, if I go away? Not out of earshot, and not for long. Will you be all right?"
"You need me, you call for me," Steve instructed.
Bucky nodded again.
Steve leaned forward and kissed his forehead, and then his mouth; Bucky let his mouth go slack like he'd kept it for Steve's cock. Steve took the opening, pushing his tongue in where he'd been keeping his cock warm all morning, and then he sat back again.
"Wait for me," Steve repeated. "I'll be back in a minute."
Bucky nodded, smiling a little. Steve knew what he needed. Steve would take care of it. Bucky only had to stay here on his knees and wait for Steve to solve the problem.
Steve walked directly to the bathroom. He didn't close the door, so nothing softened the sound as Steve put the seat up and took a long piss. Bucky's bladder ached with the urge to do the same, his fists clenching behind his back with the need to put a hand between his legs and hold it back like a little kid. He did press his thighs tight together, because he could do that much without moving. His belly and dick aching with the effort of holding on as he listened to the liquid sound in the other room going on and on and on.
It stopped, after an age. Steve must have been keeping himself as well hydrated as he was keeping Bucky. There was a flush, and Bucky bit his lip and promised himself that Steve was coming back, but then, of course, the faucet turned on.
Bucky let out a tiny involuntary moan and squeezed his eyes shut tight, holding on fiercely despite the painful urge he felt. He was distantly aware that Steve had told him it wasn't supposed to hurt. Maybe he was supposed to call out now, tell Steve to stop fucking around washing his hands for an entire minute.
But he didn't want to decide what to say. He wanted Steve to come back and fix things like he was supposed to. Steve had told him it wouldn't be long.
The water shut off, and Steve's footsteps came back, brisk but unhurried. Steve sat down again in the chair, and Bucky kept his eyes lowered, waiting for some direction. But Steve just slipped his soft cock back out of his pants--a match for the ones Bucky was wearing, loose and comfortable to wear all day--and beckoned Bucky closer.
He braced himself and moved, pushing away the pain. If Steve wanted him to wait, he would wait as required. He trusted Steve.
Bucky barely got his lips around Steve's cock before Steve gave a little grunt and drew his dick away, tilting Bucky's chin up with his other hand. Bucky looked up and Steve said, "Are you hurting, Buck?"
Bucky nodded, relieved to have a direct question to answer. "I need to go."
Steve's thumb stroked down from the corner of his mouth to his chin, and Steve's foot slid up his thigh, prodding unerringly at Bucky's bladder with his toes. Bucky winced and closed his eyes.
"Buck," Steve said softly. "Go then, if you need to go."
Bucky opened his eyes, his lips parting for a question he couldn't quite find words for. It couldn't be that easy. He hadn't asked for this to be easy. Steve was supposed to keep him on his knees. "Go?"
Steve nodded. "I don't want you to hurt, Buck. If there's a mess that's my problem. You go if you need to go--you don't worry about holding it. All you need to worry about is staying right where I put you."
Bucky's jaw dropped, staring awestruck up at Steve, saying what he was saying like it was perfectly reasonable. Like he wasn't asking Bucky to--to--
Steve's toes pressed in again, and Bucky didn't have any attention left to hold back a little groan, bowing away from the pressure on his bladder.
Steve drew his foot back. "I won't make you, Buck. I don't want this to hurt. But you're staying where I put you."
Bucky squirmed, flexing his wrists against the rubber band looped around them. The pain in his bladder wasn't that bad yet, not really. Nothing he would have noticed before he got soft, living this easy civilian life with Steve.
But now he was kneeling on the living room floor with Steve, wearing soft flannel pajama pants with little white stars on them. Now it wasn't just the persistent pain low in his belly, it was the thought that if he did what Steve was telling him to do, if he pissed himself, he would... he would wreck his favorite pajama pants. He would get piss on Steve's feet and the gleaming hardwood floor and the chair Steve was sitting on.
He would make a mess, and he would be ashamed. He was already ashamed just thinking of it. His face was hot, his eyes prickling a warning of tears, even though he knew it shouldn't be that big a deal.
He had asked Steve to do this, to keep him on his knees. He could get up and walk to the bathroom if he really wanted to, and if he pissed himself it would only be in front of Steve, who was telling him to do it. But he couldn't escape the feeling that it was beyond the pale, unthinkable. He just couldn't.
He swayed forward, leaning into the safe space between Steve's knees. "I can't, I--please--"
"Shh, it's okay." Steve's hand settled on the back of his neck, and Bucky's shoulders dropped, tension easing from his whole body at the gentle touch. "Come here, just stay with me. You want something in your mouth?"
Bucky nodded without thinking, then winced. "I don't--I don't think I can. Be still."
Bucky liked having Steve's cock in his mouth, which Steve never minded, even when all Bucky wanted was to hold it there. But he'd been very firm on the point that it must not turn into a blowjob today. There wasn't going to be sex while Bucky was on his knees; it was why Bucky was wearing pants and so was Steve.
"That's all right," Steve murmured. "Here, how about this?"
He pressed the first two fingers of his left hand against Bucky's lips, and Bucky opened eagerly for them.
Steve's fingers pushed in all the way without resistance, and Bucky closed his lips around their thickness, pressing his tongue up into them and sucking helplessly. Steve's other hand settled gently on the back of his head, fingers carding gently through his hair. Bucky relaxed under the gentle attention, his shoulders drooping and spine curling as he let himself rest against Steve.
If he could just have this--kneeling at Steve's feet with both of Steve's hands touching him--it would be enough. It was enough.
But after a while his mouth started to feel dry around Steve's fingers, and the pain of his bladder forced its way into his awareness again, worsening into a vicious cramp in his belly. He closed his teeth lightly on Steve's fingers, wanting to grit his teeth and not daring to bite down. He pressed his cheek and forehead hard against Steve's thigh, arching a little to try to ease the pressure, but there was no escaping it.
Steve shifted his fingers so they were crosswise between his teeth like a bit, and his other hand tightened firmly on the nape of his neck.
"It's all right, Buck. You do what you have to do. As long as you stay where I put you, you're doing what I want."
Bucky tightened his teeth, gripping Steve's fingers firmly as a pained noise broke free of his throat.
Steve only responded with a low, soothing noise, gently petting over the back of Bucky's neck.
Steve would let Bucky bite him--and harder than this, no doubt, maybe drawing blood, maybe breaking bones--if that was what Bucky needed to bear the pain. Bucky's jaws sprang open as soon as he understood the truth of it, and he turned his face away from Steve's wet, tooth-marked fingers, hiding his eyes against Steve's other thigh and panting.
It hurt. It didn't have to hurt. If Steve would let him bite, Steve would let him do anything. He just had to trust Steve, and do as he was told. Steve didn't want him to hurt, and he could stop hurting if he wanted to. Bucky's fists clenched behind his back, and he sobbed a little with the effort of surrender, unclenching one muscle at a time.
"That's it," Steve was murmuring over him, petting with both hands now. "That's it, Buck. Easy does it. No hurting."
Bucky's breath was rough and fast. His eyes were damp where he pressed them against Steve's thigh, warm and firm through the flannel of his pajama pants. But that didn't matter as long as he was kneeling at Steve's feet. As long as he was doing this right.
He made himself relax, and relax, and finally, with a sob, he let go, and felt the first hot spurt of piss escape him before he instinctively cut off.
"Shh, shh, it's okay." Steve was curling down over him now, one hand running gently down his spine from the nape of his neck. Bucky let out another little sob, half-muffled, his face hot with shame and helplessness. His hands twisted helplessly, and the rubber band holding them together slid smoothly over the left, catching at hairs on the right.
"It's okay, Buck, I've got you. I've got you."
Bucky took a breath and held it, pressing his entire face against Steve's thigh. He kept his mouth and nose shut with flat pressure as he made himself release again.
The relief felt like pain too, but it eased as the hot piss gushed out of him, wetness spreading over his thighs and down his balls and soaking his pajama pants where they rested against his skin. It took a solid minute before he heard liquid pattering to the floor, and then he turned his head and sobbed out loud and kept pissing, unable to stop.
But Steve was still curled down over him, brushing hair back from his hot, tear-stained face with one hand, rubbing his back with the other. "That's good, Buck. That's fine. You're doing so well, doing just what I told you. That's it."
He had to force out the last little spurts and dribbles, sobbing louder when it was an effort and not just a matter of letting go.
And then it was done, his sore bladder cramping on emptiness instead of fullness. He was kneeling in a puddle, soaked from the waist down in his own piss as it cooled from blood-hot to a clammy chill.
He kept crying helplessly for another few minutes, and through all of it Steve just kept petting him, murmuring reassurance and leaning down over him, warm and sheltering. The contrast with the cold wetness of his lower half was enough to remind him that nothing really bad had happened: he was at home with Steve, in privacy, doing what Steve told him to.
"There, shh, there," Steve wiped his face with a handkerchief, letting him keep his head bowed. "All right, I'm gonna move and get you cleaned up, and you're gonna stay right where you are, because that's all I want you to do. Got it?"
Bucky nodded, tilting his head to make his hair fall around his face. Steve pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and then slid out of his chair without making Bucky shift backward. A threadbare towel dropped down between Bucky's knees, and then Steve was crouching beside him, one arm around Bucky's shoulders while he mopped up with the other hand.
Bucky just watched, feeling dazed and strangely still, thinking nothing at all. Steve was cleaning up, and Bucky was kneeling here like Steve told him to.
"Okay, scoot for me," Steve murmured, producing another towel from somewhere and guiding Bucky to shift back a few inches and onto the dry cloth. "I need to get these wet pants off you, okay, Buck? We'll get you dressed again as soon as you're cleaned up."
Bucky nodded obediently, watching Steve's hands pull his pants down, stretching the elastic as far as it would go to keep the wet cloth away from his skin. He moved around Bucky, guiding him to pick up one knee and then the other, getting the pants all the way off of him. He dropped them into a plastic bag along with the towel he'd used to wipe up the floor, and now he unfolded the towel Bucky had been kneeling on and used it to dry him off before dropping that into the bag too.
He expected pants next, but Steve pulled out a little plastic box and started pulling wet wipes out of it. They were fresh-smelling--faintly like apples, crisp and clean. Steve wiped him clean, gently but without lingering, covering every inch until he was damp and sweet smelling all over.
"You okay to just dry off for a minute while I get the rest of this?" Steve waved at the floor that he'd already wiped clean, and Bucky nodded. He only had to stay where Steve put him, and even if he was naked right now he was clean and not in pain, not afraid of anything anymore. His hands were still held back in their rubber band bond and he could kneel here forever if Steve wanted him to.
Steve took the plastic bag away, walking off to the little laundry nook by the kitchen and starting the washing machine. He came back wearing fresh pajama pants himself and carrying another pair, and he crouched down by Bucky again and ran the flat of his hand down the inside of Bucky's thigh.
"That okay? Clean enough, or you want me to go get a washcloth?"
Bucky shook his head slightly. "S'enough. Don't go."
Steve's arm curled around his shoulders again, and Steve kissed his forehead. "I won't. I'm right here for you, and you're right here where I want you, being so good for me. Come on, let's get you dressed again."
Bucky nodded, raising each foot and each knee when Steve prompted him, letting Steve dress him in soft plaid pajama pants, clean and warm. Steve sat down again, and Bucky moved close again, kneeling between his feet and pressing his face against the crease of Steve's hip. He stayed there, breathing in the scent of Steve and the clean-laundry smell of the fresh pajama pants. His mind went dark and quiet, floating, until Steve gently tugged his head up.
Steve had a bottle of water in his other hand, and he tilted it toward Bucky in silent offering. Bucky turned his head toward it and parted his lips, accepting whatever Steve wanted him to have. He had asked Steve to keep him here all day, and he knew Steve would take care of whatever he needed until it was time to let him go.
In the meantime, he was Steve's, and he was good. The water was cool and tasted sweet on his tongue.