Whore. [ Bucky murmurs it in Steve's ear, hot and affectionate, biting the lobe in a quick, punishing nip. He can feel him tightening around him deliberately, his sweet ass split apart on his cock, all for him, for his pleasure, and Bucky won't let him touch him, taking his hand and kissing his fingers and pinning it down to the bed. No, Steve is his toy now, and he doesn't get to touch him until he says; he's his toy and Bucky's going to use him for his pleasure until he's done with him, leave him gaping and filled with his seed, come staining his thighs.

He digs metal fingers into Steve's throat, forcing his chin up, his firm ass pressed hard against Bucky's hips and Bucky's mouth at his cheek and his jaw, his entire body lunging down against Steve's as he ruts him with single-minded purpose. His grasp tightens, the tiny metal plates shifting and locking into place, cutting off air: he could kill Steve so easily, crush his windpipe, strangle the breath from him, but his grip is perfectly controlled, tight enough to restrict breath until he can feel Steve shuddering and straining underneath him. ] Are you going to be good for me, Steve? Keep your hands to yourself? Use that tight ass of yours to make me feel good? [ He hisses, thrusts hard into Steve, pounds him viciously into the mattress. ] Come on, clench up, you sweet little thing. You're so fucking tight, s'like you never got big, God, you're still such a little punk. You like it like this?