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Ain't Too Proud To Beg

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“You want this so bad, doncha baby? My sweet boy.”

Steve can't quite bring himself to speak, strung out with anticipation, so he just rocks back on his heels and blinks up at Bucky—his sweet face, his strong arms, the collar dangling from his fingers—as he chews on his bottom lip, already floating towards subspace just thinking about what's to come.

“What? You don't?”

“I... do. Want it,” Steve manages in a gasp. He gets embarrassed, every time, about how much this effects him, how much the sheer potential turns his brain to mush.

“Want what?”

“Your—you. Want you, sir.” Just that small admission is enough to make Steve blush hot, even though he knows it's not specific enough for Bucky. He keeps his eyes trained on the floor, hoping fruitlessly he won't be made to say more. After a long minute, the silence grows uncomfortable and he dares to look up. Bucky's gaze is fixed on him, a small smile on his lips and his eyebrows cocked up in an obvious expression of ...Well? “Y-your cock, sir. I need it.”

“Oh, you need it now, doll? That ratcheted up mighty fast.” Steve flushes impossibly redder, feels it spreading down his chest, and nods bashfully. “Don't be shy, sweet thing. You know you'll get it. You have to earn it, though. And you haven't, have you?”

Steve's voice is so low that no one without serum-enhanced hearing would be able to catch it. “No, sir. Not... not yet.”

“But I know you. You're my good boy and you're gonna do just what I say til you earn it. 'Cause you're god damn gagging for it.”

Steve's nod is so immediate, so forceful, that it'd give a lesser man whiplash.

“You take everything I have to give you and you still want more, you greedy, pretty slut. Not today, though. Today I'm gonna wear that ass out.” Steve whines, low in his throat, and butts his forehead against Bucky's thigh, impatient. “What was that?”

“...Please. I. I want you to. Wear me out.”

“Yeah, I'm gonna work you over until you can't talk. Can't move. Just lay there and take it. You ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No, you're fucking not. Go take off your gear—hang it up neat, mind, that's good armor and you'll treat it nice so it'll keep keepin' my baby safe—and wait for me in my room. On your knees, eyes closed.”

“Bu-” Steve catches himself and shuts his mouth, fast enough the clack rings through the largely empty apartment and rises fluidly, allowing himself only one parting glance at the thin strip of leather still dangling enticingly from Bucky's fingers.

Overeager, he starts stripping as soon as he gains his feet, tugging the heavy top over his head without bothering to undo the numerous straps and buckles. Which is of course why he doesn't see the end table in his path, why he can't catch himself as he starts to fall. He faceplants into the thick carpet, groaning softly to himself. He'd been so ridiculously pleased with himself, just for getting up, thinking that maybe he'd finally captured the smooth grace of the thin, tiny subs in all those videos online. Their delicate, breakable looking bones and lithe movements. And now what little elegance he'd managed there had been completely overshadowed by his own clumsy hunger.

Bucky's loud, joyful laughter follows him all the way to his room. Well. That can't be too bad, then. Buck does much better these days, everyone can see it, but he still doesn't laugh near enough—and not everyone can see that. Just Steve.

He slows down a little once he's alone and facing his closet, takes the time to undo each fastener and hangs it up carefully, because he can be good and follow instructions. He can. For Bucky, anyway. He sits to do his boots and socks, lines them up neatly and shimmies out of his pants and underwear all at once. Naked, he takes a second for himself, presses his face against the cool wall. Today's mission had been—they're never easy, obviously, or the Avengers wouldn't get called in in the first place—but Bucky knew even before he did what he needed, hadn't even waited for them to get all the way home, just grabbed Steve's hand after the debriefing and tugged him away from the stairs, towards the elevator, didn't say anything to his inarticulate confusion.

And then, fuck, almost before the doors were closed that cold hand was on the back of his neck, grip just hard enough to really feel it, pushing him to the ground, threading through his hair, pulling his face into Bucky's thigh, holding him just exactly where he needed to be. Bucky'd pulled him up when they reached the ground floor, wide-eyed and already starting to float a little, sprung for a cab when they got through the revolving doors and onto the sidewalk, which was noteworthy in itself—the subway was cheaper and running both cheaper and faster. But Bucky had tugged him into a hug and held him the whole way home, pressing close as they'd climbed the stairs to their Brooklyn walk up, pushed him to his knees the moment the door was locked behind them.

Get it together, Rogers, he tells himself sternly. No point in getting caught up in memories or anticipation when right now, right now... He cuts off that thought before it can distract him and stands, tossing his socks and underwear into the hamper before hanging his pants and padding through their shared bathroom into Bucky's room. He kneels at the foot of the bed, facing the doorway, rests his hands palms-up on his knees and closes his eyes. He focuses on his breathing so as not to get overwhelmed by his own impatience, in and out, long and slow, in and out. Even now, years later, the sheer volume of air he can force into his own lungs fascinates him and he loses himself in that, so fixated he startles when Bucky chuckles and drawls, “Yeah, it's a fun toy, your big new body. I'm looking forward to playing with it myself.” He sucks in a breath, sharp and shallow, and almost looks up. Almost.

He feels the soft displacement of air as Bucky settles in front of him, shivers all over when his face is gently cupped, angled up and brought in for a kiss. “My pretty baby.” They kiss, and Steve leans into it, opening his mouth unprompted, but Bucky's hands stay firm on his jaw, prevent his deepening the kiss. Steve whimpers, a little, when the kiss ends and tilts his face up for more, eyes still closed. “You want your collar, good boy?”


“Well, you still smell like a fucking mission and you know that leather itches when it's wet, so you're just gonna hafta wait for a hot minute while I clean you up. Get in the shower. Get the water how you like it, but don't start washing yourself yet. Save all that for me.” Steve listens carefully but doesn't hear Bucky moving as he walks to the bathroom, wincing a little when he catches his shoulder on the door frame. “You can open your eyes now!”

“Little late, sir.”

“I know you didn't just sass me.” Steve would worry about the disobedience but the humor in Buck's tone is obvious, clear and light and everything Steve wants.

“Uh... no? Just... observing?”

“Sure, sure.”

The water sluices over Steve's bare skin, hot enough to turn his Irish blue complexion lobster red, and he just stands there, sagging against the wall as the heat starts to relax his muscles despite himself. He's already been under the water longer than the two minute tits-pits-n-bits rubdown he usually allows himself, and by the time Bucky joins him, he's physically and emotionally pliant, smiling unselfconsciously as he tips his face into the spray.

“Turn around, sweetheart.” The whisper is barely audible above the rush of water. “I'm gonna start with your hair. Lean back on me, now.”

Steve can't help the deep moan when Bucky works the shampoo in. The fingertips moving against his skull are firm and practiced, moving between the roots of his hair to soothe his scalp directly, and Bucky massages for a lot longer than is strictly necessary for cleanliness purposes. The metal hand is even hotter than the flesh one in the steamy shower, and the spray of water is hitting Steve's front, chest to thighs, hard and endless and just hot enough to hurt where it patters against his nipples, dick, and sack but still soothing when it lands on the muscles he'd overexerted earlier in the day.

“Bucky...” he murmurs sweetly, turning his head so the word vibrates enticingly against the skin of his sir's neck.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky's voice is low and rough and thrums down through Steve to pool in his abdomen.

“Feels so good.” Steve arches his back without thinking, grinds his ass back against Bucky's stomach, bends his knees a little until... yes, there, that perfect fucking cock slipping between his cheeks, hard and ready. “Want more. Please. Need you so bad.”

“You're not clean yet, baby.”

“Don't care. Wanna blow you.”

“Too bad.”

“B-but... sir...”

“You wouldn't be topping from the bottom, would you, sweet boy?”

At that, Steve's eyes fly open and his spine stiffens, bringing him far enough upright that their only point of contact is Bucky's erection, still resting heavily against Steve's ass. “What? No, I just-”

“Shh, shh, just teasin'. I know you know who the commanding officer is here. But if you want me to wear you out—and we both know that you do—you're gonna hafta be patient. Now rinse the shampoo out and get right back where you were so I can wash your front.”

Steve only pouts a little as he quickly gets the suds out. He can hardly consider this a punishment, not being pressed full-length against Bucky for the few seconds it's taking him, especially when it was him who broke contact in the first place, when the shower is only the start to what promises to be Bucky spoiling him rotten, working him over until he can't move or speak.

Besides, by the time he's done rinsing and plasters himself back against Bucky's front, Bucky's hands are covered in tingling peppermint suds and washing his chest with a truly unnecessary thoroughness.

Mostly the nipple parts of his chest.

Bucky doesn't let up or move on until Steve is whimpering and trembling, squirming back against Bucky's cock like that's gonna get him fucked any faster. Bucky just smirks against Steve's shoulder blade, one arm tight across the larger man's waist to hold him up, one hand slowly pinching and twisting Steve's nipples until they bruise, however briefly.

“So good for me, doll,” Bucky whispers as he resuds his hands and starts soaping Steve's stomach. “Keep standing, now.”

Steve moans, loudly, hoping against hope that the noise expresses how disgruntled he is—it's not fair, Bucky touching him all soft and sweet across his torso, down his arms, getting him so clean everywhere, and then expecting him to be able to stay upright by himself. He grips one of the heavy duty grab bars Bucky had installed as soon as the deposit was down, before they even moved in, and leans heavily on that arm, still swaying a little.

Bucky is slow and thorough, stands and then kneels behind Steve to scrub the man's entire front side, with the noted exception of anything between his legs, stays on his knees when he orders, “Spin for me, sweetheart.” Steve's a little shaky but manages just fine, switching hands on the grab bar as he goes. Bucky nuzzles against Steve's hip as he soaps his calves and thighs. Steve likes to think he doesn't squeak when Bucky whispers his praise directly into the skin of his balls, and if he's lucky, Bucky will never bring it up outside of a scene and make him admit just how much of a lie that is.

“More. Please, sir, please, I need to come.”

“You will. Patience, baby.”

Steve looks down at his sir through lids heavy with pleasure and can't stop himself from moaning a little. “Kisses? At least?” Steve wants to hate Bucky for that chuckle but can't, not when it's muffled by his own mouth, not when Bucky's licking into him, metal fingers digging possessively into his jaw, holding him open. He humps against Bucky's stomach, whining his need.

“Almost done, doll. Gonna get you all clean and take you to bed, let you earn my cock like I know you want to. Face the wall, now, and hold on tight.”

Steve shudders when he feels Bucky step up close to him again, run soapy fingers down his stomach to circle his cock, slowly pulling the foreskin back to wash every inch before dipping down to clean his scrotum. He moans and arches back, relaxing into the touch momentarily before realizing Bucky hadn't switched soaps. “Shit,” he hisses. “Really? Peppermint?”

“Language,” Bucky tuts. “Easiest way to know I've gotten all the soap out, use soap you can feel. Now spread those sexy legs for me, lemme finish washing you.”

For the first time since Bucky put Steve on his knees in the elevator, Steve winces and shakes his head. “No, please, not there,” he whines, but he isn't allowed to finish.

“You remember your safeword?” Bucky asks, forcing his jaw shut to cut him off.

“Yes,” Steve grits out through closed teeth.

Bucky lets go. “What is it?”

“Don't wanna say it.”

“I promise I won't stop the scene. I just wanna make sure you still know it, can still say it.”

“I do. I can.”

“Steve.” Bucky's tone is flat, unyielding. Steve knows from past experience he has about two seconds to comply before he'll regret it, and not in anything approaching a fun way.


“That's right. That's my good boy. Now spread your legs for me.” He steps back so the hot water can make its way uninterrupted down Steve's back, ass, curling around to start rinsing the soap off his balls, and Steve whimpers. The water is hot and the soap is cold and they both burn and he wishes he didn't like this as much as he does, but he does and he knows what's coming next, caught between dread and longing.

Bucky steps closer, cutting off the spray with his broad torso as he spreads Steve's asscheeks left-handed, squirts burning liquid onto Steve's back with his right. Steve whimpers and shifts his hips, knowing there's nothing he can do, feeling it make its inexorable way to his ass.

He gasps when he feels it drip into his crack, into his hole, but he moans loudly when Bucky's hand chases it there, pushes it into him with one finger. The noise echoes through the small space and he braces himself against the wall, shoves back against Bucky's fingers, hungry and desperate for more.

“Don't mind the soap so much now, do ya? Nope, you just need to get filled and you aren't too picky 'bout how or where, huh?”

“More,” Steve manages between ragged breaths. “Please, Bucky, more.” He moves his feet even further apart and grinds back as a second finger nudges into him even as he complains, “N-not fingers. Cock.” The soap has mostly washed off his dick by now, except for a little burning ring under his foreskin, but it's just starting to tingle and chill inside of him, reminding him of just how full he isn't.

“You're about as articulate as you are ready.”

“So... 'ticulate... so...”

“Uh-huh. You know if you rush me, you're just gonna end up getting beat with an ass full of tingly soap. And that's not too fun.”

“Doesn't sound fun.”


Steve whines low in his throat when both fingers pull out, groans happily when three push back in. “We'll be done soon and then we can play. Doin' so good, Stevie, so good for me. Put your back to the spray now, and bend forward. Don't fall down.”

Steve folds at the waist, catches himself with his hands before his over-eager jackknifing can knock him off balance and get him into any trouble, moans loudly when Bucky's thumbs breach his entrance and pull him wide apart so the steaming hot water can rush in, flushing away the burning soap.

“That good, sugar? You nice and clean for my tongue? You let me know when all that soap is gone. And don't think you can get away with lying about this one to hurry things along. I taste any soap in there, you're not gettin' any dick for a week.”

Steve whines his protest. “Nuh-uh, sir! Wouldn't lie.”

“Not well, that's for sure. You clean?”


“Good boy.”

Steve wriggles so hard at the praise he almost topples, only Bucky's strong hands keeping him upright and under the hot spray. At this angle he can feel his own erection pressing futilely against his stomach; Bucky's tongue licks a narrow stripe up the underside, nearly bowling him over for the third time in as many minutes. “Clean now, I think. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Steve can just hear Bucky's eyebrows go up, even as the fingers release him and trail lightly down the backs of his legs.

“Yeah,” he gasps. “Ass... fine... cock still... ff-ffuck... cock still soapy.”

“Can't have that. Stand up for me, nice'n slow. Don't want you gettin' dizzy.”

And Steve would gripe at that, 'cause it's been decades, literal decades since he got light headed getting up too fast. But the fact is, he's been under the hot steam long enough he is a little dizzy and besides, letting Bucky be sweet to him is the price he pays for the beatings.

It's a stiff price, but it's worth it.

He lets Bucky steer him around to face the showerhead again, wrap strong arms around him and jack him off leisurely under the guise of washing every trace of soap away.

Finally, he drags his head out of the fog of his own pleasure to grumble, “All clean. Now I can suck you?”

“'Now I can suck you,' what?”


“You are entirely too grouchy, boy. Maybe I shouldn't even give you the chance to earn my cock, if you're just gonna complain all night.”

“What? No, no! I'll be good, pro-”

“Shh, teasing. C'mon, turn around. Just gonna wash your face and we'll get out. Get you dried off on the bed and I'll let you earn it all fucking night. Pinky swear.”

“Let me earn it all night, or let me have it all night?” Steve is suspicious. He loves Bucky, but Bucky loves his pranks. Always has.

“Yes.” Steve still looks askance. “Pinky swear.” Bucky slips his left pinky into Steve's and tugs gently. “Lemme wash your face, alright?”

Steve frowns but turns his back to the water, tipping his head back so Bucky can get at his neck, too. The washcloth is soft and soap-free, scrubbing away the last of the tension around his eyes and temples and he sags forward, trusting Buck to hold him up.

“That's it. So good, babydoll. Just let it go, let it all go. Yeah, yeah, c'mon...” Steve tunes Bucky out, barely notices the water shutting off or the cool air hitting his back when the curtain's tugged open. “Step out now, you can do it.”


Steve comes to face down on the bed, head buried firmly in Bucky's hip, hard fingers carding softly through his hair, naked save for the laughably enormous towel curled around his body.

“There you are.”

“I fell 'sleep?”

“Yeah, ya did. Couldn't even finish dryin' you off, you passed right out standin' up in the bathroom.”

“S-sorry, Buck-”

“Hey, hey. None of that. I'm not mad, you didn't do anything wrong. You were just tired, and you only slept for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. We still have plenty of time to play.”

No response.

“If you want to?”

Sniffles. Nodding.

“You're down pretty far already, aren't you?”

Less sniffling. More nodding.

“That's fine, kitten. That's perfect. You're perfect. Perfect, and all rested up for anything I wanna give you.”

Steve's voice is barely audible, even to his own ears. “...Everything.”

“Everything I wanna give you? That's a tall order, even for us. But I think we can do it. Whaddya say?”


“I want to hear you. What do you say?”

“Yes, sir. We can do it. We can do anything.”

“That's so right, that's my good boy. Now get up on your knees, let me spread that towel out. Yeah, that's right. Want your collar now, sweet thing?”

Steve nods, getting into the usual position as quickly as he can on the shifting give of the mattress—feet flat under his butt, knees apart, hands resting limp and palm-up on his thighs, head tilted back. Throat exposed.


He couldn't stop the full-body shudder that runs across him when the soft leather brushes his skin if he tried. Not that he's trying. His eyelids flutter shut, overwhelmed, and he gasps softly when he hears the click of the buckle closing. Neck stretched out like this, it's just enough to constrict his breathing.

“Beautiful, sweetheart, beautiful. Now face down, arms behind your back. Grab your wrists, yes, so good. Hips up. I've got so much lovely pain for you tonight. Are there any toys in particular you want me to use?”

“Nuh-uh. You decide.”

“Okay, baby. You're flyin,' huh? You just float there and I'll take care of it. How's that sound?”

“So... good...”

Steve has no idea what instrument hits his skin first, but the loud crack is almost as sharp as the pain sinking into his skin, and he arches up into it like a cat in heat. He's too far down to count already, even just in his head, and he's the luckiest boy in the world because Bucky isn't asking him to, Bucky isn't asking him to do anything except take it and fuck if that isn't the only thing he wants to do right now.

It has to be a dozen strikes, at least, before the thought rises muzzily to the surface of his brain that Bucky must be using a paddle, his favorite one, dense hardwood thin enough to have a little snap to it, thuddy and stingy together and yeah, he might be a little spoiled, because it's just then Bucky pulls back to lay kisses all over his burning ass.

He'd been to a kink club, once, shortly after the thaw—poorly lit but safe enough for all that—and discovered that unenhanced humans just couldn't keep up with the serum. Their arms would give out before he felt properly warmed up. With Bucky, though... well, he had the serum, and even if his right arm got tired, his left never would. Canes break, sure, and paddles crack, but that's what backups are for.

They'd tried counting out loud for one memorably tedious scene after Bucky came in, when Steve wanted to play schoolboy. His voice got so hoarse that Bucky kept making him take breaks for water, which in turn brought him right out of headspace.

They don't mess around with that nonsense anymore. Steve just lets himself sink into the sensation, grateful to have this, to be so indulged by someone so competent, so uniquely suited to give him what he craves. The paddle is heavy enough that the pain gets down deep in the muscle, aching all the way to the bone even as the surface flares bright and hot.

“So pretty, baby boy. All red and purple for me. Gonna bruise, you know that?” He doesn't often but Steve believes it tonight. It can't have been that long, not yet, and already he's hurting from his hips all the way down his thighs, blazing patches across the backs of his calves when Bucky smacks down hard on both of his legs at once, pushing his whole body into the firm mattress. Bucky isn't holding back, not with him, not tonight; he wasn't kidding when he said he'd make Steve earn his cock.

Not that that's stopping Steve from begging already.

He can barely tell what Bucky's murmuring, has no idea at all what he's saying, only knows that it's loud and undoubtedly shameless and might sound more like sobs than words.

Tonight is perfect.

The sensation is just starting to dull, nerve endings building up a tolerance to the repeated thwacks of the paddle, when the sharp crack of a cane startles Steve out of his stupor and he fucking screams.

“Yes, fuck, oh yes, Bucky, B-buck, please, shit, please.”

“Please what, doll?” And Steve would fucking murder him for that casual tone if he could just move, he really would.

“Please—your cock, please fuck me, please please PLEASE.” The cane isn't letting up. Bucky isn't letting up. Ass and thighs and shoulders and calves, even the soles of his feet, Jesus Mary and Joseph.

It isn't easy to take anymore.

It's more than Steve had dared to hope for, and he just lets himself go, wailing and screeching in a way he'd find mortifyingly unattractive if he was thinking at all about his own reactions.

But he's way too far gone for critical thinking, so it's fine.

“You want the belt, baby?”

He just whimpers.

“I know you can ask nicer than that, c'mon, tell me what you need.”

“Ple-ease, sir. I want the belt.” His voice is a little thing, broken and wavering, and he'd be ashamed of himself anywhere else, if it was anyone but Bucky seeing him this way, laid out and mindless and needy.

“You have no idea, do you? How beautiful you look, how you sound—god damn.” Bucky's hoarse now, sounding a little broken himself, and Steve rubs his nipples against the mattress, spreads his legs a little further and arches back, presenting, showing Bucky how hungry he is, how desperate. “Alright, alright. Calm down now. You know I can't say no to you.”

Steve does relax at that but he still can't choke back the whimper when Bucky's hands lift off his skin and he hears the footsteps recede across the room. He takes a moment to assess the rest of his body, not just the skin burning from the previous blows, yearning for another. His face is wet. Nipples tender, almost chafed. He's sweaty everywhere he's touching himself—the crease of his elbows, the crook of his knees, his forearms and forehead pressed tight together. His cock is achingly hard and he spares a glance down at it, so flushed it's almost purple, foreskin pulled all the way back, head shiny with precome. He'd known he was horny, of course, but he'd been so focused on Bucky he'd barely noticed himself. He hums and smiles, glad it's so easy for Bucky to see how happy he is, how bad he wants this.

The footsteps come back and he tilts his head up to see, stretching his throat taut under his collar. Bucky's naked too, shining with exertion and almost as hard as he is. He mewls in the back of his throat, rocking up onto his elbows with a focus so intense it gives him a moment of tunnel vision, world narrowing to Bucky's cock and how badly he needs to taste it, right fucking now.

“Uh-uh,” Bucky tsks. “Gotta finish earning it, first. Face on the bed and take your belting like a good boy, and-”

“And then I can suck you?”

“And then we'll see.”

Steve mutters something into his arm.

“What was that?”

“Uh. Nothing?” He can feel his own eyes go wide. He hadn't meant to say anything, he just...

“Because if I was really the worst, I'd leave you right here. Stop hitting you, stop touching you. Not let you get off at all tonight. Maybe let you watch me touch myself, if I was feeling generous.”

“No no no! You're the best! Better than the best.”

“You're lucky you're so cute. Now shut up and get your fucking head down if you still want the belt.”

Steve does, though his quiet doesn't last long. He screams with the first hit, and the second, and the third, and then his voice collapses into something ragged and formless, rising and falling as the belt lands again and again, until his throat gives out, his knees give out, and he pitches forward to lay flat, silent and spent.

Bucky lays a few more down, striping his shoulders, crisscrossing his legs, before he crawls onto the bed after Steve, pushing Steve onto his side and pulling him into his own chest, murmurs an endless litany of compliments that Steve can't even begin to process, strokes a warm hand down Steve's welted skin.

They sprawl like that for a few minutes, before Bucky tilts Steve's head up and draws him in for a kiss. “Hey there. You're not done, are you?”


Bucky's peal of laughter is long and beautiful, loud enough to wake Steve from his endorphin-fueled stupor.

“I earned it?”

“Sure did, doll, earned it like a champ. Now get up and grab me a tie.” They have enough money now that all of Bucky's ties are silk, smooth and strong but not even close to as strong as Steve. That's okay. Neither of them really want to bring mag-cuffs into the bedroom, and Steve's pretty good about following directions.

Steve turns to look over his shoulder at Bucky when he gets to the closet and Bucky grins, lets his eyes flick down Steve's body as ostentatiously as possible before slowly raking them back up to his boy's sweet face.

“See somethin' you like, mister?”

“Get back here and I'll show you how much I like it, punk.”

Steve scrambles to comply and Bucky laughs again. Fuck and god damn, Steve will never get enough of that sound.

“On your knees, face away from me. Arms behind you.” Bucky scooches down the enormous bed until only a few inches separate them—Steve can feel the heat pooling between their bodies—and slides his hands down Steve's arms, shoulders to wrists, before binding them loosely with the tie. “I know you can break this, or slip it. Don't.”

“Yes, sir.” Of course he could get away. But he doesn't want to. That's kind of the whole point, and the fabric keeping his arms in place is just a reminder of what Buck wants for him, an extension of his sir's will, incentive to do well. He spreads his legs when Bucky nudges them apart and shivers when Bucky slides between them, keening at the sight of the beautiful cock in front of him, so hard and so in reach, Bucky's cock, shit. “Can I? Please, sir, I was good, I earned it, lemme, lemme blow you, or just lick you, just a taste, just a, I just need it so bad.”

Bucky's laugh vibrates against the stretched skin around Steve's hole, spread tight between Bucky's fingers. “I know, baby. You did. You were so good, and you earned it. You earned it, and I promise you'll get it. Just hold still for me a minute, sugar, hold still and be good a little while longer and I promise you can have it however you want it.”

Steve is opening his mouth to respond, to protest, when Bucky's fingers dig in a little deeper and his tongue swipes against him in the longest line he can manage at this angle, up from his balls and then back down to where he's hot and desperate, pulse pounding against the tongue flicking into him and he groans instead, half-satisfied and half-needy. It's so much, overwhelming all his senses, almost too much, he can barely hold still, barely keep from shredding Bucky's tie, and it's not close to being enough, it's not Bucky's fingers or cock, it's not being fucked through the mattress.

Bucky retreats just long enough to say, “I know I didn't let you go off while I was beatin' on you, and that was so mean of me, but you can come whenever you want now, as much as you want. Don't hafta ask,” and dives right back in with his whole tongue, and Steve just wails as his orgasm rips out of him, on and on, pouring from every corner of his body to spill across Bucky's stomach, splashing against his bent legs.

He stops shooting, eventually, but it doesn't feel like he comes down at all, his whole being narrowed down to focus on Bucky's mouth on him, his own wrists behind his back. Bucky's saying something completely unintelligible, muffled as it is, running hands up down Steve's torso, petting and pinching and scratching. He holds Steve in place with his left hand, implacable fingers firm against the ridge of his hip, as he skates his right hand up to Steve's mouth. Steve takes the hint and sucks two fingers in deep, swirling his tongue around them, starved for more, to be filled.

Fingers and tongue pull out of him at the same time, and he whines, but Bucky only laughs and says, “All right, sweet boy, I've kept you waiting long enough, you go for it,” and then it's fingers sliding into his ass and cock sliding into his mouth and he can't hardly keep himself up so he just lets himself go, sinks onto Bucky's hand and mouth and cock, his own dick pressed between them, sliding in his cooling mess, and he's coming again, not only filled but fulfilled, airtight and content.

He's losing himself in everything happening, all at once, too much to keep track, but he wants to make this good for Buck, wants to show how grateful he is for this, for the chance to pleasure his sir, so he lets Bucky take control of his hips and just slides out on the sensation, stops focusing on his own pleasure and turns every facet of his attention to his task. He licks and sucks and bobs, hollowing his cheeks just to maximize the skin-to-skin contact, pulls off to nuzzle the base and kiss the balls, rubs his face up and down the shaft like a cat, laps at the slit because he'll never get enough of that taste, never, plays with the foreskin with soft lips. Rinse, lather, repeat. He doesn't know or care how long it's been, he could do this all day, he would prefer to do it all day.

He whimpers, a tiny, heartbroken sound, when Bucky flips them and he finds himself on his back, blinking and dazed—empty ass, empty mouth.

“I said after you earned it, you could have it however you wanted, do you remember?”


“So... how do you want it?” Bucky's eyebrows are up and he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

“I—sir, I—it's not fair, I can't—”

“Oh, baby. I broke your brain and now I'm making you decide. That's not very nice, huh?”


“Sure it is. How about this: do you want me to fuck you?”


“Do you want me to come in you?”

“Yes! Yes, please, want you to fill me.”



“Do you want me to fuck your mouth? Or your ass?”

“I can't... want you to decide.”

And suddenly Steve's being flipped again, landing on his face and his knees, ass up and cheeks spread so Bucky can see deep inside him and there are fingers, cool and slick, at his entrance, not taking the time to stretch him, just getting him wet. Yeah, this is what he wanted. Bucky always knows, even when he doesn't, and always gives it to him.

He's only empty for a second this time, fingers pulling out and cock sliding right in, quick and smooth. Bucky doesn't give him time to adjust, doesn't bother easing into the rhythm. He gives it to Steve hard and fast and perfect, drilling in deep with every thrust, slamming home with enough force that their balls smack stinging together. Bucky fits his metal hand between Steve's shoulder blades, presses him even further into the mattress, wraps the other hand around Steve's still-hard cock.

Steve sobs through his third orgasm, clenching down and fucking back onto Bucky, still greedy, still trying for more, and tips them both over the edge—Bucky's first, Steve's fourth—before flopping directly into his wet spot, moaning and spasming around Bucky's pulsing cock, arching his back to dip fingers in the spunk already leaking out of him even as Bucky fills him up with more in what seems to be an endless barrage of semen.

If this isn't nice, he doesn't know what is.


Steve stretches and snuffles further into Bucky's armpit, sweet-smelling with the sweat of good clean fun, smiles to himself. “Did good, sir?”

“Course you did, babydoll. You were just... just everything. My sweetheart.” Steve grumbles when Bucky shifts, dislodging him. “C'mon, I know you can sit up by now. You gotta hydrate, eat a meal or three. Wore you out and now I get to take care of you.”

“Then snuggles?”

“Promise. Here, I got you some juice.”

“Can eat in bed? Please?”

“Those eyes are a fucking menace, you know that, right? Fine, but only 'cause you're so drunk on endorphins you'd probably burn the place down getting to the kitchen.”

“One time!”

“Once was plenty. C'mon, lemme up so I can go get your snack.”

“Dun wanna.”

“Don't care. Faster I go, faster I come back.”

Steve huffs a sigh and rolls over onto his back, dragging his tenderized skin across the sheets. There's nothing he can do about his healing factor—sure, it's a literal lifesaver, but that doesn't mean it isn't annoying as all get out sometimes—so he's sure as hell gonna enjoy the bruises and raw spots while he can. His eyes fall closed and his head digs back into the pillow as he moans, just a little, at the fresh burst of pain and the gentle pressure against his windpipe.

“Christ on a stick.” Bucky's voice is just an awed whisper from the doorway. “You ain't done yet?”

Steve might giggle, but he'd prefer to phrase it pretty much any other way. He definitely blinks up at Buck and grins, all teeth. “Wouldn't say no to a nap.”

“...And you wouldn't say no to another fucking pounding either, I bet. Gonna wear you out for real one of these days, my hand to god.”