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Wicked on the Weekend

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Steve keeps rubbing his thighs together.

He’s naked, spread out on his and Bucky’s bed, eagerly waiting for the other man’s return. Bucky’s never gone long, on days like this, when he tells Steve how much he wants to come home and find him just as he is now—bare as can be, all hard muscles and soft skin on display, waiting for Bucky to continue what they started. Steve knows Bucky breaks their time up in order to build the anticipation for them both, and he loves it, loves the expectation deep in his belly, an undercurrent that keeps him keyed up the entire time.

Bucky went grocery shopping, or to the bank, or whatever else he needed to do on a Saturday morning—out doing something mundane while Steve waits, naked, wanting, for Bucky to return. Steve can still feel the lingering touch of Bucky’s fingers—flesh and metal—and the ghost of his kisses on his too-hot skin.

Steve rubs his thighs together once more, unsure, yet again, if he likes or loathes the feeling of stubble burn between his legs. He can’t recall if it was a pleasure or a torture when he stood up from the bed earlier, heading to their shared en-suite bathroom, his stubble burned thighs and ass cheeks raw from having Bucky’s face between them. Not to mention the exquisite agony of his balls softly swaying against his irritated skin. He thinks he probably likes it, likes having something tangible, a reminder of what Bucky can do to him, at least for while it lasts. And god—what Bucky does to him.

In another life, he thinks he’d be embarrassed by how much he craves it, how easy it is to give in to this, how much pleasure it brings him to fall apart under Bucky. Steve shifts on the sheets, spreads his thighs to get some relief from his irritated skin—and throws his head back when the plug inside of him shifts along with his body, pressing a little deeper, harder, grazing over his prostate.

And it shouldn’t be so hot, shouldn’t make Steve feel flushed anew all over at the mere memory of what Bucky did to him. But it gets him riled up, gets his cock harder between his legs, the ring at its base keeping him wanting and ready. The plug in his ass is a poor substitute for Bucky’s cock, but it’s all he has until the other man gets back. Steve will never admit it, but there’s something about having his ass full that does it for him. He thinks it doesn’t even have to be sexual, necessarily, wonders sometimes what it would be like to let Bucky go soft in him after, and to just hold him, keep him there until Bucky goes hard again, and Steve would still be so wet and open that Bucky could start fucking him again and again, and Steve could keep him like that forever.

He shifts his ass back onto the sheets, the plug grinding into his body, and god, he fucking loves it, loves that Bucky plugged him up like this before he left, come and lube and saliva kept inside of him, keeping him wet for the next round. It should be gross, and maybe it will be later, but god, Steve really fucking loves it.

Keys jingle. Steve’s anticipation rises. The door opens, closes. Feet shuffle over hardwood floors. Steve moves on the bed, kneeling, with his arms behind his back, a hand clasping each elbow, waiting. He thinks he hears the sound of paper bags, of cupboard doors opening and closing, the clinking of something Steve thinks might be the coffee canister being refilled—and then silence.

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until the bedroom door creaks open and he sees Bucky, silhouetted in the mid-morning sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. Steve’s hands itch to trace the outline of his form, but he curls his fingers into his skin, knowing that now isn’t Steve’s time to touch.

Bucky’s eyes scan over him, darkening, and he bites his lip, throwing something toward Steve. Steve doesn’t bring his hands up to catch the silky slip of fabric, just lets it hit his chest and fall to the bed. He gives Bucky a questioning look and the other man nods a little. He unclasps his arms and touches it slowly, reverently. He recognizes a blindfold when he sees one, fingers at the soft, navy silk, then looks up to Bucky, his mouth dropping open a little in surprise and appreciation.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks.

Steve’s mouth feels a little dry when he tries to talk. He’s been wanting to try this for a long time, but Bucky’s been hesitant about it. Steve hadn’t pushed, nor was he going to ask Bucky if he was sure, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Can—can I, Sir?”

Bucky licks his lips, “Yeah. Pull it tight. I don’t want you to see what I’m gonna do to you.”

Steve shivers at that and lifts his hands up, swiftly placing the dark material over his eyes and tying it taut behind his head. He takes a moment to appreciate how the blindfold does a great job of blocking out the light; he can still see the suggestion of light and shapes, but when he closes his eyes beneath it, everything disappears and falls away into a quiet darkness.

“Good boy,” Bucky mumbles before Steve hears shifting fabric, the clatter of boots on the floor. “Now lay down on your back.”

Steve shivers again, anticipation heavy in his stomach. He lays down on his back, in the middle of the bed. He’s not expecting it when he feels Bucky’s hands on his underarms—when did Bucky get so close to the bed?—pulling him so that his head lies off the side of the bed, the mattress still supporting his neck. Then there’s something hard and a little cold pressing at his lips, opening them, before they press inside—but Steve closes his mouth around the familiarity of Bucky’s metal fingers, even before the other man says, “Suck.”

Steve long ago stopped tasting the metallic bite of the other man’s fingers, now just swirls his tongue around the digits, knowing Bucky’s doing it more to warm up Steve’s mouth than for any real pleasure at it. It’s only when he feels his lips start to get sloppy with spit that Bucky grunts and pulls his fingers out.

“Open up, Baby,” Bucky mumbles, right before Steve can feel the heat of Bucky on his face, feel the hot, silky skin pressing against his lips. Steve parts his lips, lets the head of Bucky’s cock slip in, lets it fill his empty mouth. He moans, the sensation of the silky hardness on his tongue amplified by not being able to see Bucky, to watch as he moves, pushes more of himself into Steve’s open mouth.

Steve sucks, uses his tongue like he knows Bucky likes, then opens his jaw wider, lets Bucky control the slide of it as he pushes his cock into Steve’s throat. And fuck—Steve loves how deep he can get like this. His eyes sting with tears behind the blindfold, but he focuses on keeping his mouth and throat relaxed, on letting Bucky take him—thrusting in, holding deep, sliding out, repeating, going harder, faster, until Bucky stops, cock sheathed in Steve’s throat.

Steve tries not to move—to choke or attempt to breathe around the cock cutting off his air. He feels something cool touch his throat—knows it’s Bucky’s metal fingers—touching at the outline of his own dick in Steve’s throat. “Fuck,” he hears the other man whisper, affected by whatever he sees. All of Steve’s blood rushes to his own cock at the touch, at the thought of Bucky being able to feel the head of his dick through Steve’s throat, and he’s lightheaded when Bucky pulls out so Steve can breathe.

The other man only lets him take in a few gulps of air before he presses back in, Bucky’s hand now flat against Steve’s neck, feeling every slide into Steve’s throat from the inside out. Bucky’s balls manage to cover Steve’s nose, his breathing completely at the mercy of the man above him. It’s different like this, with the blindfold, everything feeling just one degree more intense, everything amped up to eleven. Bucky pulls out and Steve gasps, coughs a little, gets a reprieve to breathe for a few seconds, but then the hand on his throat presses down—just a little, just enough to make the breaths turn a little shallow—and then Bucky’s cock slides back inside Steve’s mouth, working deeper, sliding in and out of Steve’s throat so quickly he can’t keep track of the movements, a rhythm Bucky’s sets to chase his own pleasure. Like this, with Bucky’s hand on his neck, the breaths Steve manages to take are never quite deep enough, never seem to fill his lungs enough, and soon, Steve starts to float in lightheadedness, relishing in the feeling of his body being used for Bucky’s pleasure, given over to the other man.

He can’t tell if there are spots blacking out his vision from the inside of the blindfold. “Fuck, Stevie, you’re so good for me. Always so good.” Bucky’s words sound distant to his ears, and when Bucky pulls out the next time, slapping the head of his cock against Steve’s lips as he finally moves the hand from his throat, Steve drags in a deep breath, knowing another minute or two and he would’ve passed out. But Bucky always seems to know when Steve is on the verge of too much.

He feels Bucky’s fingertips—warm, soft—trail over his jaw and lips as he regulates his breathing. “You’re so good, Stevie.” Bucky whispers the words as the bed dips on the other side of Steve and Bucky moves him so that he’s no longer hanging off the bed. Bucky’s hands trail over his skin, from his shoulders, down his chest, over his torso, down toward his thighs. Steve shudders at every touch. “Mmm. Maybe I should give you a reward. You were so good earlier, too, not coming at all, even though I know how much you wanted to.” He feels warm breath ghost over one of his nipples before Bucky’s teeth bite, hard, trapping the tender flesh in their vice. Steve gasps, the pain going straight to his cock. He twists his hands in the sheet below him, trying his best to keep quiet. Bucky licks at the nipple once he lets it go, sensation flooding back all at once, before he repeats the treatment with the other one. But Bucky doesn’t stop there—he digs his teeth into the skin of Steve’s pecks, his throat, his stomach, moving down Steve’s body to bite at Steve’s thighs, Bucky leaving blossoming bruises in his wake.

Eventually, Bucky flips him over, Steve only making a small sound at his hard cock getting trapped between his stomach and the bed, the pressure a relief, but the ring still keeping him from coming. The man continues his work on Steve’s backside, biting at the backs of his thighs, the meat of his shoulders, and then focusing the bulk of his attention on Steve’s ass.

Every scrape of teeth on his already sensitive flesh is torment, but of the best kind. He can’t help the gasps now, or the little moans he lets out when Bucky’s facial hair rubs against the stubble burn already there. But then Bucky’s touch grows softer, more lips and tongue instead of teeth, and soon he spreads Steve’s cheeks, licking at the base of the plug—before he twists it with a tug.

Steve hisses, going tense from the unexpected sensation. “Shh,” Bucky soothes, tracing his metal hand up over Steve’s spine. “It’s okay, Baby. Relax for me. Let me take care of you. I want to make you feel good.”

Gradually, Steve relaxes, lulled by Bucky’s touch and the way he goes back to kissing and licking at his rim around the plug. The next time Bucky pulls at the plug, Steve’s ready for it. He pulls it out a little, before working it back in, loosening Steve up even as he fucks him with the toy. It doesn’t take long before Bucky works it completely out, only to push it back in again, stealing Steve’s breath, stealing a moan from his lips. “Hmm. You like that, Stevie?” Bucky punctuates his question by pulling the plug out and thrusting it in a couple more times. “Like having your ass played with? Huh, Stevie? Answer me.”

“Y-yes, Sir.” Steve’s voice is breathy, hoarse. “Feels—feels so good, Sir.”

“Yeah?” Bucky bites at his ass cheek and Steve hisses. “I wanna hear you, Steve. Can you do that for me. Let me hear you fall apart.”

But before Steve can respond, Bucky works the plug out one last time and then replaces the space it occupied with his tongue. Steve lets out a choked moan as Bucky’s mouth starts to work him open even more. Steve can hear the slick, sloppy sounds of Bucky behind him, knows he’s eating his own come out of Steve’s ass—and it should probably be gross, too, but Steve’s so hard, so hot under Bucky, loving everything the other man does to him. His mouth feels so good; his tongue so perfect, tasting every inch of him.

Steve’s aware he says some of this out loud between gasps and moans and repeating Bucky’s name over and over, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. He feels hot all over, worked quickly back to the edge of an orgasm he’s been waiting for since last time. “Please, please, Bucky, Sir, please let me come.” He recites the mantra into the pillow beneath him, working his hips back against Bucky’s face, and it’s only Bucky’s metal hand pressing against the small of his back that gets him to stop, right before Bucky’s mouth pulls away, too.

Steve all but sobs. “No, no, Sir, please. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Steve feels actual tears welling up behind his blindfold, and presses his face into the pillow to stop himself from crying.

Lips press a kiss to the back of his neck, and then Bucky’s hands grip Steve’s hips to pull him up to his knees. “It’s okay, Baby. You’ve been so good for me. You’re almost there, okay?”

And then Steve hears the snap of the lube bottle, the wet sound of it working over something—and then cool, metal fingers pressing against his hole. Bucky slides one in without effort, the plug and Bucky’s mouth having done most of the work. Steve’s breath catches at the sensation; hard, cool, unforgiving. It’s all he can feel, the blindfold focusing everything down to the one sensation. Another finger slides in and Steve barely feels it, just keeps basking in the cool hardness of Bucky’s fingers. It’s only when the third finger joins them that Steve starts to feel a stretch. Bucky works his fingers in and out, loosening Steve up even more, fucking him with his fingers, but never giving Steve quite what he wants, keeping his digits from hitting Steve’s prostate. Bucky fingerfucks him for a little while, twisting his fingers, scissoring them, to make more room for when he works his pinky in beside the rest.

Steve lets out a shaky sigh at that, finally knowing where this is going. They don’t do it often, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Steve knows he needs it. “Fuck,”

Bucky chuckles from behind him, warm air on his back. “Finally catching on, Baby?” He twists his fingers and Steve lets out a sound between a hiss and a moan. “Tell me how much you want it, Stevie.” Bucky must’ve gotten closer, because he whispers those words directly into Steve’s ear, then bites his earlobe—hard—for good measure.

“F-fuck, Sir. Please. Please give it to me, Sir. I want your hand. Want you inside of me. Always want you inside of me, Sir.”

Bucky makes a sound, like he’s not at all unaffected by Steve’s words, and then his flesh hand soothes down Steve’s back once again, before he adds just a little more lube, pulling his fingers out to arrange them all together. This time, when Bucky pushes in, he keeps going, until the knuckle of his thumb gets caught on Steve’s rim. Bucky makes like he might pull out, but Steve practically yells, “No, no, no, no, no, please keep going, please please. Don’t stop, don’t—” and then Bucky’s thumb joins the rest of his fingers inside of him, and Steve sighs out a contented breath at being so full, at finally, finally quelling the emptiness inside of him. He clenches around the hand inside of himself, just to feel that it’s really there, before he forces himself to relax. He feels Bucky move, hears the quiet mechanical whir as the other man rearranges his fingers to make a fist. Bucky’s metal hand warms to body temperature quickly, the metal slick and hard inside of him as Bucky starts to move his fist, ever so gently, just a little back and forth, trying to find the best position.

It happens on a down stroke, Bucky’s knuckles accidently graze over Steve’s prostate, everything inside of him feeling so full to bursting that even the slightest pressure there is enough to evoke a moan from Steve’s lips. It’s loud, uninhibited, makes Bucky swear and press against the spot again, this time with intent.

Behind the blindfold, Steve closes his eyes in an effort to stave off his orgasm. Bucky keeps moving his fist back and forth, in and out, twisting as he pulls back, moving harder, faster, trying to work his fist back out, stretching Steve almost more than he can handle. It feels so good, feels perfect and amazing, Bucky filling him up with his fist, fucking him into the mattress, ripping moan after moan from Steve’s lips when Bucky’s knuckles drag over and press at his prostate, until every twitch of Bucky inside him leaves him moaning, gasping, writhing on the bed before him, canting his hips back to try to get more and more, deeper, pining for the pleasure he feels building inside of him.

He’s not even aware of it when Bucky reaches around Steve’s hips to remove his cock ring, too caught up in the coming tide, overwhelmed with sensation, until the sudden release of pressure leaves him on the brink of orgasm. He can feel it cresting inside, burning him alive, and with one last twist of Bucky’s hand, Steve’s gone, coming so hard he yells until his throat feels raw, grinding back against Bucky as hard as he can, riding the pleasure for all it’s worth, sinking his teeth into the pillow below him when he finally starts to shake and fall apart.

Little quakes wrack his body as he attempts to catch his breath, falling onto his stomach on the bed. Bucky only gives him a couple moments, the aftereffects of Steve’s orgasm still making him shudder when Bucky starts moving his hand again. He pulls his thumb and pinky out while Steve is still loose, but keeps three fingers firmly pressing against Steve’s prostate, moving his thumb to press hard against Steve’s perineum, nestling it right against his balls. Steve gasps, shakes at the onslaught of overstimulation. It’s too much, too soon. His cock makes a valiant effort to fill again, but his orgasm wiped him out.

Steve must make a sound of protest, because he feels Bucky at his back. “Shh.” It’s barely a sound in the quiet room. “It’s okay, Stevie. God, you were so good. Fucking perfect for me. You’re so beautiful when you come.” Lips press to the back of his neck, Bucky’s fingers still against him bordering on the wrong side of painful, but he doesn’t ask Bucky to stop.

Bucky drags his teeth over the back of Steve’s neck, nipping down his spine, over the blades of his shoulders, teeth pressing harder, holding his flesh between them as his fingers still press inside. It’s torture—too much sensation, overwhelming, Bucky’s hot breath and hotter tongue at odds with the occasional stinging pain. But it’s glorious, makes Steve feel like a livewire.

Eventually, the shakes stop, and Bucky’s hand stills, and then his fingers pull out before he sweeps his thumb away. All Steve can hear is blood rushing in his ears, the weight of Bucky’s body leaving the bed. He would protest if he thought he’d be able to get his mouth to work. More blood rushing, like a waterfall—no, the faucet in the bathroom. Bucky’s cleaning up. There’s a pressure on his shoulder, and it turns him over. Then there’s a release around his eyes, the cloth falling away, and Steve sees Bucky framed in the dim light of the room. Steve blinks at him, hissing a little when the cold cloth touches his belly, cleaning him of his come.

By the time Bucky throws the washcloth into the bathroom, Steve’s regained the ability to move. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Bucky, still almost fully clothed, except for the hard line of his cock. He can’t help but look at it, a shiver of arousal—impossibly—traveling down his spine once more.

 “Like what you see, Stevie?” Bucky can’t quite keep the amusement from his voice.

Steve keeps looking, biting lips that feel swollen. “Yes, Sir.”

He expects it when Bucky starts to climb over him, knees on either side of Steve’s hips. He cups Steve’s face in his hands. “Good.” The kiss is rough, biting, but just what Steve needs. He moans against Bucky’s mouth, losing himself for a while in the kiss, in Bucky’s warm lips and sharp teeth. He’s so lost that the feeling of something closing around his wrist almost doesn’t register until Steve realizes his hand won’t move when he tries to bring his hands up to curl in Bucky’s hair. Bucky cuffs one wrist, then the next, bringing each to their respective corner of the headboard to tie them in place. The cuffs are soft, but strong when Steve tries to pull at them, making a small noise in the back of his throat.

Bucky pulls away, devilish smile playing on his lips as he sits back onto Steve’s lower thighs. “Oh, we aren’t done yet, Baby.” As if to accentuate his point, Bucky slowly drags his metal hand down his clothed chest, lower and lower until he folds his fingers around his own cock, hard and red, shiny at the tip.

Steve whimpers. He still remembers the taste of Bucky’s cock, the feel of him on his lips, in his mouth, pressing down his throat. “Please, Sir. Please.” Steve’s not even sure what he’s begging for at this point, but as Bucky continues to thrust lazily into his own hand, Steve feels his cock—impossibly—start to come back on board.

Bucky must notice it, too, because he drops his hand, brings both of them to rest on Steve’s thighs—so, so close to where Steve wants Bucky to touch him. “Please what, Stevie? What do you want me to do to you? Will you beg for it?” Bucky leans down, tantalizingly slow, keeping eye contact the entire time, as he flits his tongue out to lick a stripe up Steve’s cock, where it rests against the jut of his torso and thigh. Steve shudders, full-bodied, he closes his eyes but a moment later, Bucky’s hand slaps lightly at his face, eyes intense. “Beg for it, Steve.”

Steve licks his lips. “Sir, I—I want you to fuck me. Want to feel that cock inside of me. Want to be good for you—want to be so good for you, Sir.”

A sly grin spreads over Bucky’s lips. “Mmm. Survive this without coming, and then maybe we’ll see.” It’s the only warning Steve gets, the only indication something’s coming, before Bucky shifts further back, bringing his head down to take Steve into his mouth.

The soft wet heat rips moan after moan from his throat. He’s still so sensitive, but blood valiantly rushes south when Bucky’s lips close around him, when the soft heat turns to hot pressure at the tip of his cock, Bucky’s tongue aggressively working at his head, pressing hard at his slit. Bucky sucks like he kisses, like he does everything—with an attention and vigor that borders on too much—too good, too hard, too hot. Steve gasps his name, hands pulling at the cuffs to no avail. Bucky traps Steve’s legs between his knees, Steve successfully immobile, completely at the mercy of Bucky’s mouth and his fingers, when they wedge between Steve’s thighs, caressing the overly-sensitive skin of his balls.

Bucky chooses that moment to take Steve to the hilt, swallowing around him—once, twice—until Steve’s left a panting, writhing mess. He tries to think about anything to stop the building tension inside of him, to hold off, because Bucky said not to come, and he wants to be good, he wants to be Bucky’s good baby, wants to hear the way he knows Bucky will breathe his name if he’s good, if he just does this one thing.

But it’s too much—all too much. Tears press at his eyes and he bites his lip hard enough he’s surprised he doesn’t taste blood. “S-Sir I—” Steve pants, staring down at Bucky with blurry eyes when all he wants to do is close them and let the orgasm wash over him. Bucky raises an eyebrow, sucking harder, bobbing his head in a violent rhythm. “Please, Sir,” Steve begs, almost crying the words. “I don’t wanna come! I wanna be good for you! Please, please!” He thinks for one long, agonizing second that Bucky’s going to keep going, and he tastes the safeword on the tip of his tongue.

But then Bucky lifts off of him with a pop and Steve lets out an honest-to-god sob, losing control of the tears he’d been trying so desperately to hold back. They fall down his face, and this time he can’t help but close his eyes when he sees the flash of surprise—worry, maybe—on Bucky’s face.

“Shh.” Bucky’s hand runs up his chest. The touch is soft and light, and he cups Steve’s face gently when he makes it up to Steve’s jaw. “It’s okay, Baby. You were so good. You were perfect.” Bucky presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth and it makes him open his eyes. Bucky stares down at him, eyes alight with devotion, gazing at Steve like he’s something precious. Steve tries to move his face away, but Bucky holds firm, thumb trailing over his cheek to wipe away the moisture. “You’re always so perfect, Stevie. Fuck, I wish you could see yourself, flushing so pretty, trying so hard to be good for me, but coming apart when I touch you. I fucking love it, Steve. Makes me feel so good.”

Bucky kisses him again—his jaw, his lips, his eyelids, his forehead. Bucky covers his face in soft, reassuring kisses before he moves down to mouth at Steve’s neck. He drags his teeth lightly over the earlier bites and Steve hisses at the bloom of pleasure. Bucky works his way back up to Steve’s mouth, kissing him deeply, taking all the air from Steve’s tired lungs, until he gasps in drag after drag when Bucky finally pulls away.

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice sounds wrecked to his own ears, and he can only imagine what he looks like right now. He says his name like a prayer, only aware he’s slipped the name out when the corner of Bucky’s lips twitch and he moves his hand lower, to settle on Steve’s throat. He gives Steve a gentle squeeze in warning.

“Yeah, Baby?”

Steve stares into the blue of his eyes, falling into them like a tide, Bucky dragging him down into the undertow. “I need you. Please.” He closes his eyes, just for a moment, then lifts his head up enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to Bucky’s jaw. Bucky’s hand on his throat doesn’t move, and the pressure feels like heaven. It brings attention back to his dick, finally off the teetering edge of orgasm. “I’ve been so good, Sir. Haven’t I?” He doesn’t really need to ask the question, but does anyway. At the hot look Bucky shoots him, he thinks he made the right call.

Bucky extricates himself from the bed and his position over Steve’s body with one swift movement. He stands next to the bed, looking Steve up and down, where he’s tied to the bed, on display for him—only for him. Bucky removes his shirt in one swift, barely controlled movement. The expanse of Bucky’s toned torso stretches in front of Steve for a moment before Bucky rolls his jeans down his muscular thighs, until he’s as bare as Steve, cock standing wildly at attention.

In another smooth motion, Bucky’s back, kneeling on the bed, crawling slowly toward him—fluid, like a cat, or some predator hunting his prey. Bucky’s got that look in his eye—the one that makes Steve’s heart race faster, makes him sweat anew at his temples—the look like he’s barely in control, like it’s taking everything inside of him not to just pounce on Steve. And shit, Steve fucking loves that, loves knowing he riles Bucky up as much as Bucky does to him. The look goes straight to Steve’s head, and when Bucky forces Steve’s legs apart, Steve complies easily.

Bucky settles between Steve’s thighs, hands on his hips to move him right where Bucky wants him. Steve tilts his hips up, just a little, just enough to feel the drag of Bucky’s hard cock against the crack of his ass. It shouldn’t feel so good, but it makes his cock twitch between their bodies regardless.

Bucky growls, low in his throat, leaning down to capture Steve’s lips in something that barely resembles a kiss, with too much biting and not enough tongue, until Steve knows his lips will be bruised for sure. He feels Bucky shift, a hand between their bodies, and then the head of Bucky’s cock circles around his hole. He wonders if Bucky’s going to just go for it, and can’t help but moan at the thought of the only lubrication being what’s already inside of Steve from their many rounds earlier.

He doesn’t have to wonder—or hope—long, before Bucky pulls away from the kiss, looking at Steve with intense, lust blown eyes—and then the head starts to push in—hot and hard, unrelenting, like steel or something stronger, Bucky making his own space inside of Steve, and Steve’s body readily accepting it. Steve throws his head back when the head finally pushes in, when the rest of Bucky thrusts into him with a slow slide that’s almost too dry at first, but the uncomfortable sensation eases when Bucky stops, when he stays just how he is, sheathed inside of Steve, balls nestled tight against Steve’s ass. He feels so impossibly, wonderfully full, and thinks fleetingly that Bucky’s cock is the only Nirvana he’ll ever want, maybe the closest thing he’ll ever have.

He’s only aware he’s been holding his breath again when his head starts to feel fuzzy. He lets it out in a long exhale, trying his best to breathe normally—and that’s when Bucky steals his breath again, pulling out and thrusting back in hard and fast. Steve yells a curse, the pleasure zinging up his spine, then back down to his dick.

Bucky must take Steve’s reaction as assent, because he starts to thrust again, making a show of pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, teasing Steve in a way he knows will drive him to ruin. Steve pants with each hard thrust, so deep, so good, hitting all of the right places inside of him.

But it must not be enough for Bucky, because soon he hooks each of Steve’s knees over his elbows and pulls up, bending Steve back, lifting his hips to a new position. Bucky bottoms out inside of Steve and it’s like fire igniting within him, burning him up from the inside as this new position makes Bucky’s dick drag along Steve’s prostate with every move. Bucky leans into the new position, adding his full weight to his thrusts when he starts again. This time, there’s no teasing, just the relentless drive of Bucky between his legs, his dick hammering into Steve with every cant of Bucky’s hips.

Against Steve’s neck, Bucky breathes hot and heavy, kissing and biting at Steve’s abused skin as he keeps up the pace. Steve does nothing but take it, letting out stream after stream of what he thinks are words—Bucky’s name and fuck and god—unable to keep any of it inside with the way Bucky fucks him, fast and hard and deep and—perfect.

So fucking perfect.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to feel the familiar sensation building inside of him. Every new thrust brings him one step closer. He wishes he had a hand free, to fist at his neglected cock between them, but the ties keeping his wrists in place hold, leaving Steve in the best kind of hell.

Before long, Bucky’s rhythm starts to change, less consistent, driving into Steve with a barely controlled need. It feels amazing, the desperation of Bucky’s thrusts as he chases his own pleasure inside of Steve makes him shiver all over. Steve arches his back off the bed with a particularly brutal thrust, vision whiting out for a long moment, Bucky’s name on Steve’s lips like a prayer, like a curse, like it could convey every single thing he feels inside of him

And maybe Bucky knows—maybe he gets just how close Steve is, because he thrusts in one more time, then stills his hips, pressing as deeply as he can before he starts to rotate his hips in a slow circle, somehow hitting Steve’s prostate from every angle. It feels amazing, incredible, too much, too good, too hot, until Steve wonders how his body can manage to feel so much pleasure, how Bucky can give him so much—and then he comes, without any warning, letting go like a dam breaking. It wrings everything out of him, tears a shout from his throat, every muscle straining as Bucky swivels his hips again and again.

Steve’s not sure how long it lasts, isn’t aware of anything at all until he feels empty—achingly, horribly empty. It takes an even longer moment for him to realize he’d closed his eyes when the surprise of something hot and wet pushing at his lips makes him open them.

Bucky’s there, above him, cockhead just barely pressing at Steve’s lips. Steve spares a confused thought for when Bucky moved, but becomes distracted by Bucky’s hand stripping his cock, so fast and hard it looks painful. Bucky grits his teeth and Steve opens his mouth, a silent offering, and flicks out his tongue to swipe at Bucky’s slit.

That’s all it takes for Bucky to come, too, letting out ragged moan after moan, saying Steve’s name, telling him how good he is as Steve continues to lick at the head of Bucky’s cock, taking all Bucky gives him. Steve suckles at the tip, draining everything he can from Bucky, until Bucky gives a whole-body shudder and pulls away, dropping next to Steve on the bed.

Bucky breathes hard for a long moment, until he uses the last of his strength to reach up and untie Steve’s wrists. Steve takes advantage, rolling over onto Bucky, grasping Bucky’s face in his hands and kissing him, pushing Bucky’s come into his mouth with his tongue, only to have Bucky moan into the kiss and return the gesture. Steve swallows hard when he breaks away, leaning down to give one last small peck to Bucky’s lips.

“Thank you, Sir.” Steve mutters, looking fondly down at Bucky.

Bucky’s fingers dance softly down over Steve’s back, stopping on his ass with a squeeze. “Anytime, Baby.”