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I Will Be So Good (For You)

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Bucky strokes over the edges of Steve’s mouth with just the barest tip of his thumb. The fingerprint catches on the prickles of hair on Steve’s upper lip, making the surrounding nerves perk up and tingle. Around and around moves that hand, until the entire lower half of Steve’s face buzzes with sensation.

More than anything it makes Steve want to lunge up and pull Bucky’s face down, craving the soft give and take of Bucky's mouth against his own. Steve holds still though, desperate to be good, and stares up at Bucky instead. Steve knows his eyes must be huge and blue and pleading, just how Bucky likes them.

As desired, Bucky smiles at the sight of him, smiles so that the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes (still unfamiliar to Steve after six months of having him back, Bucky aged so much in those years apart) deepen into crow’s feet. Steve doesn’t dare move, not even in order to beg. He was told to be still so he’ll be still.

Erotic, not sexual, Bucky had said last week, when they’d had to have a Talk after Bucky had a panic attack while giving Steve a hand-job. I want to get off with you and have it be erotic for you. I want getting me off to feel good and be pleasurable for you, but....I want it not to be sexual for you. I don’t think I can do that anymore, not like we used to, with both of us going at once. And then I was touching you and I could tell you were getting close and I just--I couldn’t. Can it be that way for you, when you touch me? Erotic, not sexual?

Steve still doesn’t understand what that means--for him, erotic and sexual are synonymous. But he hasn’t told Bucky that, just accepting it because it’s Bucky. Loving Bucky sometimes requires that Steve submit without question, no matter how confusing the request. And bull-headed and obstreperous as Steve can sometimes be, he loves obeying Bucky.

When the thumbnail scrapes ever so lightly over the thickest part of Steve’s upper lip, he whimpers, unable to help himself. Bucky’s grin only widens. They both know what this is a prelude to, and the knowledge of what will come next lies as heavy between them as a cinderblock. The weight of it pulls Steve from inside, urging him to offer himself, to let his jaw drop open and to spread his legs. But he doesn’t do that, either, because Bucky hasn’t told him to. Bucky has told him to be still.

Please, Steve silently begs, trying to communicate it with his eyes alone. Please, let me have it. Let me make you feel good, I want it more than anything.

“Open your mouth and put your tongue out,” comes the order at last, sending a wave of relief through Steve that floods his mouth with saliva in anticipation. He has to swallow twice before he can obey without embarrassing himself.

The rough whorls of callused skin press into the exquisitely sensitive taste buds. Salt and the inorganic tang of metal burst into Steve’s awareness, making his mouth water still more. The metal taste comes from Bucky rubbing his hands together, and that simple fact--that the details of this experience are unrepeatable by anyone other than Bucky, that no one else can possibly taste and smell just like him--makes a low pulse of arousal tighten through Steve’s pelvis. But he keeps himself still, not letting his hips curl. He must stay still.

The plastic cage he has on prevents him from getting hard, at least. Steve understands the need for that, understands it enough that it makes his chest ache when he thinks about it too closely. At first, having to be contained in that way had been a constant reminder of what Hydra did to Bucky, rendering the cage itself unnecessary. Steve couldn’t get anything close to an erection while thinking about that.

But after a few days with it on, Steve found the appeal: now, even a physical response that is out of his control is under Bucky’s. His erection is for Bucky to allow, manipulate, and command as he wills, and that seems....right. At week number two of living in the device, Steve welcomes its presence on his body. He can feel himself swollen within the translucent plastic, though, pressing hard into its unyielding confines, the metal lock between his shaft and scrotum warmed to his elevated body temperature. But the important thing is that his cock still lies flat against his balls, its size and position inoffensive to Bucky.

Getting the damned thing, though--that had been the true labor of love. Even now, the memory makes Steve’s cheeks and neck burn.

Of all the mortifying sources of sexual inspiration, Bucky had found out about chastity devices from JARVIS. But when JARVIS had shown Bucky the available options, Bucky had deemed them all unacceptable--metal and clear plastic both reminded him too strongly of the medical devices Hydra had used on him during his captivity.

So Steve had been sent to Tony to ask him to manufacture something in a color that could not be associated with Hydra. After Tony had almost pissed himself laughing and Steve had forced himself not to punch the other man, it had taken a mere hour for to produce the desired result. When Tony handed it over, it had weighed next to nothing in the palm of Steve’s hand, but he had stared at it in horror.  

“Hydra would never go with fuchsia, so your crotch should be safe in that, right Capricorn? These neo-Nazi types, they’re all way too into that macho fascist bullshit. Not really out to demonstrate their confident, understated masculinity via a diverse color palette.”

Steve changed the subject, too busy wanting to combust to engage in conversation about that particular topic. Plus, any allusion to Bucky's time with Hydra still made him feel ill.

“I understood that reference. But I’m a Cancer, not a Capricorn.”

Tony had waved a hand, refusing to take the bait. “Yeah, but Capricorn is the goat, and goats have sexual connotations, and I have literally just created an item with which to control your patriotic penis. So I rest my case.”

At that, Steve could only sigh in resignation. If this had been happening to anyone but him, he’d have been teasing them for it too. Really he just wished it weren’t him.

But Tony had been right about the color. When Bucky had seen the device his face had broken into a look of pure delight, and with that, Steve had lost his only reason to resent Tony. And now, lying on his back with Bucky’s thumb in his mouth, Steve can’t feel anything but gratitude for their eccentric landlord. Tony’s acceptance of them, whether he found the particulars humorous or not, means that Bucky can tolerate this, can be here and do this with Steve. And that’s worth any amount of playful teasing from a snarky teammate.

Especially since Steve’s humiliation had seemed to please Bucky.

Even when the salt taste is long gone, licked out of every crevice of the skin on Bucky’s thumb, Steve’s mouth still waters as though he were a starving man smelling a feast.

The digit pulls out, brushing over the sharp point of a canine as it goes.  “You want something better, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Please,” Steve breathes at last. “Please, Daddy, yes. I wanna make you feel good.”

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Bucky smiles again. Steve wishes it were him biting at Bucky’s mouth like that, but if he is good, Bucky will probably let him have something even better.

Between them, Steve’s fascination with older men had never been a secret. Bucky had noticed it right away even when they were small--seen the way Steve looked at his teachers and brought them presents of beads and twine and anything else he could scrounge up.

“Is it because your Pa died in the War?” Bucky had asked, his front two teeth missing where they’d fallen out a month prior. Steve had just scowled and punched Bucky on the arm, but Bucky had known the truth from the first.

When Steve had met the late Dr. Erskine, he had wondered (hoped) whether the man were flirting with him. He’d wondered the same thing about Tony Stark, too, until that had blown up in his face. Meanwhile, Steve had been too embarrassed by Agent Coulson’s very forward attentions to know how to respond, it being in public and in front of their colleagues. Coulson had then died, though, removing any chance to reconnect later. Steve had also tried his hardest to flirt with Dr. Banner, until Dr. Banner had....well, almost literally blown up in everyone’s faces. Steve had found out later that the man was what people now called ‘straight’ anyway.

From their earliest encounters, Bucky had joked about being Steve’s older man. Though only three years Steve’s senior, at ages thirteen and sixteen the difference had seemed enormous. By that age, Bucky had been with a girl already and had himself been taken into the tutelage of a discerning older gentleman in their neighborhood. Steve, wide-eyed, with shaky hands and a face so overheated that it itched, had been awed by Bucky’s experience, patience, and good humor in bed.

In their time, too--Steve hates that he still thinks of it that way, as their time, where he still belongs--calling a lover Daddy had meant something different. Now it means--well. Something that renders Steve flustered and confused and a little ashamed, which they both know only makes it better.

Steve tries to lick the spit off his lips and only succeeds in making it worse.

“Please, Daddy. I wanna make you feel good. Please let me have it.”

Bucky unbuttons his jeans, taking his sweet time in lowering the zipper and drawing himself out of the silky briefs beneath. While Bucky is fully dressed with no skin showing except for his face, hand, and cock, Steve lies naked on the covers except for the colorful plastic. Bucky has hated revealing his bare skin ever since he came in from the cold. Still loves getting Steve naked just as much as before, though. 

The smell of Bucky’s sex makes Steve’s eyes flutter closed, jaw tensing with anticipation as his mouth wets itself all over again. He wants, oh how he wants, and he knows he’d be leaking all over his stomach by now if he were out of the cage. As it is, his balls and inner thighs are wet with the evidence of his arousal, even despite the contraption keeping him small.

At first Bucky just strokes himself, leisurely pulling the foreskin over the head before easing it back down to reveal the sensitive flesh underneath. Kneeling over Steve’s chest like this, the tip hangs mere inches away from Steve’s mouth. But the weight of Bucky perched above Steve’s sternum is a constant reminder that he must stay still, he must be good.

“I can see you watching me,” Bucky murmurs, tipping his chin up to indicate his attention’s on Steve. Steve goes redder still but he can’t take his eyes away from that hand and the organ it’s touching. “Look at you, eyes on the prize. You look starved for it. You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“You want it, huh? Wanna taste me?”

“Yes, Daddy, please--”

“Gonna choke on me how I like? Let me push it too deep so your pretty eyes tear up and get wet for me just like the rest of you does?”

It takes everything Steve has not to physically react to the words, not to allow his hips to curl up or his hands to reach out. By the barest shred of self-control he stays still, but his thighs, now thoroughly slicked, slide against one another just a bit. Even that small amount of stimulation has him almost thrusting again, and he can’t help the little jerk of the pink plastic.

“Yes, Daddy,” he forces out after a heated silence. “Yes, I want that. I want it very much.”

“Such a sweet boy, always ready to please,” Bucky grins, his words deep-chested and murmured low. “I’m so lucky to have such a sweet boy.” But he doesn’t move, doesn’t lean forward to let Steve have it.

“I’ll be so good,” Steve replies, trying to put truthfulness into every word, his gaze still focused on the purpled head, which is even now starting to well up a bead of fluid. “Please let me be good for you. Please.”

Sometimes Bucky doesn’t let him have it. Sometimes he just jerks off, making Steve watch, still and obedient. It's torture.

“You wet for it? You getting all slippery inside for me?”

For a moment Steve closes his eyes, almost flinching at the searing jolt of arousal that goes through him. Then he breathes out, blinks up at the other man, and nods.

“Yes, Daddy,” he admits, hoping that if he debases himself just a little more, Bucky will have mercy. “My legs are all slick and I keep having to swallow because of how good you look.” The whisper comes out shaky with shame. “I want you more than anything. Please, do whatever you want--I can turn over and you can get between my thighs, or you can put it in my mouth, or I’ll use my hands. Whatever you want.”

Bucky’s face softens, expression changing from predatory to fond. It only makes Steve’s craving worse. His chest aches around his breastbone, like his ribcage is trying to open up and pull Bucky inside to keep him safe there.

Then Bucky leans forward and Steve forgets everything that isn’t the salty-hot slide of cock into his mouth. He forgets himself completely, eyes closing on their own, a high-pitched whine of relief escaping his nose. There’s nothing but the taste and smell of Bucky, the feel of the dry skin catching ever so slightly on Steve’s lips, the way his mouth responds with a wash of welcoming fluids.

There you go, dollface. There’s my good boy. I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart, just like you wanna take care of me.”

You are taking care of me, Steve silently replies. You are, you are, you are. Just be here and give me this. Just let me have you again.

Since he’s on his back, Steve can’t put his neck into it as he once would. He has to lie there and let Bucky fuck him, pushing deeper with each stroke. When one finally hits the back of Steve’s throat, making him cough through his nose, Bucky groans. Then he repeats the motion, pushing deep and holding there as Steve chokes, body spasming against the intrusion.

“Fuck yes, darling, fight it. Fight it just like that.”

Like you couldn’t, Steve thinks, tears gathering at the corners of his lashes. They’re from the intrusion, but for the moment the thought flickers through his mind the dampness seems fitting. Then he forgets it as Bucky glides deep again, groaning as the muscles of Steve’s throat flex in an effort to keep him out.

Before the War, Steve had been able to take the whole shaft, and had loved the singular sense of openness and submission the act had given him. But the serum had taken his amenable gag reflex and made it into an impassable wall, so it’s for the best that Bucky likes to see Steve splutter and wince on him like this.

When at last Bucky withdraws, leaving only the head inside Steve’s lips, Steve is breathless and overheated even in his bare skin. Blinking up at Bucky, only half-able to see him through the tears, he pushes his tongue into the slit, flickering over the salt he finds there. Then he traces along the taut stretch of the frenulum, knowing the reaction he'll get. The gesture is rewarded with another blurt of flavor, and saliva rolls down Steve’s chin.

His neck is soaked, his collarbones are a mess, and the insides of his thighs are worse than ever. If he weren’t in the cage, Steve would be halfway to coming himself. Not even running thirty miles gets Steve’s heart rate up like this, and it flutters and pounds like it used to before it got fixed.

He imagines Bucky thrusting into his ass instead of his mouth. He wishes for the steady drub of the head against his prostate, remembering the rich, blooming sensations that it had aroused in him during the War when his senses were sharper and more responsive than ever. Steve thinks of how sometimes Bucky makes him sit on a dildo instead, watching Steve spread himself around thick silicone. Maybe someday, when Bucky is better, he’ll be able to touch Steve inside again. Maybe--

Bucky’s metal hand digs into Steve’s hair, holding him perfectly still as the thrusts roughen. They’re so fast and hard now that Steve can’t even really cough anymore, can barely breathe, his belly roiling at this treatment. Yes, he thinks. Yes, take me, this is what I’m for. Use me because I’m yours.

When Bucky comes, it’s with the head of his cock tucked against the back of Steve’s hard palate, the shaft jerking into the soft muscle of his tongue. Steve swallows eagerly, not even noticing the taste when what it means is that he was good, Bucky feels good, and Steve belongs to someone again.

Finally sinking onto his heels once more, Bucky releases his metal grip, stroking the blunt digits through Steve’s sweaty hair. Again, Steve asks with his eyes: Please. Let me give you one more gift tonight.

“You wanna come, baby?”

A nod, Steve’s voice stolen still.

“Can you keep being good if I unlock you?”

Another nod, eyebrows scrunching up together over Steve’s nose in silent promise. I will be so good for you. I will do exactly as you say, no matter what. It is right that I obey you when you could do nothing but obey for so long.

“Okay, baby. I’ll let you out, since you’ve been so sweet.”

A burst of air escapes Steve at this, pushed from his lungs by the intensity of his gratitude. He watches Bucky pull the thin chain around his neck out from under his shirt, finding the small key on it with his fingers. The bed bounces under them as he shuffles down Steve’s body, then lifts the pink shaft of the cage just enough to get at the little padlock underneath.

The plastic comes off with a mortifying slurp, leaving Steve shivering with the giddiness that follows. Always fascinated, he keeps his gaze fixed downward as his cock curls at a half-stand for two seconds before filling and lifting before their eyes. The swelling means that the metal ring around the base and looping snug behind his balls presses even harder into his skin, riding perfectly on the edge of discomfort.

Still yours even when I'm free, Steve thinks. 

Bucky dismounts Steve’s legs, probably anxious to be away from the organ. Steve’s training is good enough that he remains passive and awaits orders even after Bucky has tucked himself away in his jeans and settled into the couch across the room.

“Use your right hand to stroke yourself, fingertips only. Go slow.”

The opportunity for obedience is every bit as good as the physical pleasure the movements bring. This is right at the edge of what Bucky can tolerate, and even the smallest bit of initiative may send him over the edge. Bucky pushes his edges as much as he can stand, no happier with his limitations than Steve is. But even being in the same room as an erection is very nearly too much for him now, so watching one be used for gratification? Dangerous, every time.

But Bucky needs to know that Steve enjoys their sexual encounters too. 

Steve closes his eyes, letting his pleasure show as much as he can without moving. He bites his lip, curls his toes, clenches his other hand. Whimpers loud and then louder, measuring out the strokes to make sure he doesn’t speed up by accident. These motions are acceptable.

He lets the pleasure that has been gathering between his legs since he first took his clothes off spool upward into his cock. Every fold of his foreskin as it peels away from and then re-envelops the corona feels wonderful, pre-cum trickling over his thumbnail.

“It’s so good, Daddy, thank you. Ah, thank you--”

“Can you come from this alone today?”

“Yes, for you, yes. I can still taste you.”

Steve wants to look at him, but this is even harder for Bucky when he’s being watched, so Steve keeps his gaze to himself. Focuses instead on the sound of Bucky’s slow breaths, the creak of the leather couch as Bucky shifts his weight on it, the phantom weight of Bucky still on his tongue, the tingle of Steve’s well-used lips.

“I’m close, Daddy,” Steve warns, some amount of time later. He can’t tell if it was a minute or half an hour, just knows that there have been no new orders. “May I come?” May I show you how much I love you, no matter what you can or can’t do?

“Yeah, baby. Keep going at that pace, and come for me.”

Fifteen strokes later--Steve counts--he obeys, legs rigid with tension and mind blank of everything but sensation and the knowledge of Bucky’s proximity. Twelve strokes after it begins, Steve sobs, his voice tremendously loud in the silence, and his semen splatters hot onto his collarbones. The jolts of his belly and buttocks can’t be contained anymore but it’s allowed, Steve is allowed to move when he’s coming.

When it’s over, Steve lets himself go at once, right hand dropping back onto the bedclothes. Turning his head and gasping through the aftershocks, he blinks at Bucky, anxious to know how the other man is doing.

Bucky smiles, his posture almost relaxed, only a slight tension in his shoulders. It's progress, and Steve smiles helplessly in return.

“Go on, clean up,” Bucky commands with a grin, holding out the sticky cage with one hand. Steve rolls onto his feet, eager to please, snatching up the bit of plastic as he trots into the bathroom. Five minutes later he’s out again, clean and dry, with the cage held in place by one hand. Steve goes to stand in front of Bucky, holding his genitals so that Bucky can lock him down again.

Later, when they’re both clad in soft cotton to sleep, Steve nuzzles into Bucky’s bearded jaw.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmurs in a dozy undertone. “I want to be so good for you.”

“That’s my line,” comes the whispered reply, but Steve is already halfway to dreaming.