[ The soldier is the one who interrogated him, under orders. He knows why, he understands why they want it to be him; his mind has been broken and wiped again and again but he isn't stupid or blind, he sees the way the target looks at him, he remembers the name he spoke when he tore off his mask. He is someone to Captain America, not a tool or a weapon or a thing but someone he remembers, someone he looks at with pain and love and hopeless yearning, even when the soldier is using his knives, even when he is breaking bones, spilling blood. Carefully, methodically damaging parts of his target's body, then setting them to heal again, as they quickly do. Rapping out questions in an emotionless voice, asking the things they tell him to ask, finding the information they tell him to find. Of course it has to be him. They expect Captain America to break much faster when it's his best friend hurting him.
They don't expect the soldier's programming to break.
He remembers, just enough. He remembers that before Hydra, before the metal arm grafted to his bones and the tortures that broke him, before he was violated and torn apart and rebuilt into something that existed only for their use, their purposes, he belonged to Steve Rogers: so he is Captain America's weapon, his thing to use, because he was his first. When he remembers that the soldier hates him too, it's like a disease, black and cold, eating at him from the inside. He is gentle with his target when he can be, when they aren't watching closely enough. Cleans the wounds he's inflicted, kisses the tears on Steve's cheeks, runs his fingers through his sweat- and blood-dampened hair and whispers that he'll free him, he'll find a way to extract them both, just bear it a little longer, the tortures and interrogation. Steve has to bear it, for him.
He does extract them, after long weeks, waiting for the right moment; kills the Hydra technicians and guards, leaves a burned-out bunker and corpses behind them, takes Steve and flees with him, but not to free him. He knows a place where he can hide him, keep him. The facility is no longer in use, but it used to be, and the smell of metal and antiseptic dredges up cold fear and nausea; he isn't gentle with Steve when he locks him into mag clamps, bleeding and bruised, still weak from interrogation. The soldier grasps him by the hair, shaking him a little to get his attention, forcing him to look at him. ]
You understand now? [ His voice, his eyes, they are cold and flat and distant; he isn't pretending this time. ] I don't belong to you anymore. Now you're my thing to use. Now we'll see how long it takes to break you.
[ It's something that they do lately, a game stretched out through a couple of days, when Bucky's chained and manacled to a spreader bar in their kitchen, stripped naked and masked and on his knees. It's intense, it's extreme, but it's something that Bucky seems to love more than anything else; and Steve can't bring himself to deny Steve that.
It's been two hours since Bucky's last been fucked, and Steve comes back from a grocery run; see, this is the first part of their play, when he leaves his lover on his own just for awhile to inspire him, to draw it out and make the man miss him, to make it really ache. His come is dried on Bucky's bare thighs, his hole still abused and reddened, and Steve has to smile at that. He loves the sight that Bucky presents him; how can he not?
He comes over, fingers rubbing up over his hole playfully, possessively. ] Missed me?
[ If he's quiet and still while Steve is away, if he regulates his breathing and slows his thoughts, he can keep himself from feeling any of the discomfort of body parts held in one position for too long; the Winter Soldier has been made to endure far worse than this. He can feel, instead, the twinges in his well-fucked ass and the ache in his balls and his cock, soft now but still heavy; he can feel the warm slick of Steve's seed between his ass cheeks and staining the inside of his thighs. He lays on the floor, head turned to one side and eyes closed, feeling all of it, feeling his wrists and his ankles cuffed to the spreader bar, the way he is restrained and kept utterly vulnerable, ready for Steve to use.
He's been used twice already since they started, fucked with Steve's hands gentle on his raised hips and his cock sliding deep into his body, pushed all the way inside of him when he came, so that most of Steve's seed is still filling up his hole.
Bucky opens his eyes when he hears the door open and close behind the familiar cadence of Steve's footsteps. He lifts his head a little when Steve comes into the room, eyes following him, rapt: Steve is always so beautiful, towering above him, strong and perfectly gentle, perfectly loving. He moans a little when Steve's fingers caress over his wet, swollen hole, the sound muffled behind the mask he wears. It doesn't stop him from speaking, if he wants, but Bucky doesn't say anything, just pushes his ass against Steve's fingers as much as he can, trying to get one of them inside him. He missed him, yes. Ached for him while he was gone, playing out the moment he would walk through the door in his mind, the moment he would push inside of him again, the next gentle fuck. ]
[ Oh, look at him braced just like that on the kitchen floor, locked against the bar like an obedient kitten. He loves that little moan, likes that Bucky is so sweetly submissive that he welcomes him back, ass pushing against him. He's breathtakingly eager, too, a reminder of the many times that Steve had fucked him even before this.
He'd been used before, made love to, and the fact that he's still so wrecked right now makes Steve tingle. He wants to take his time with him, to lavish attention on Bucky and overwhelm him with affection, with love; to let him know that to be tied like this is not punishment, not at all.
He doesn't give in to his lover's silent yearning, eager to draw out the pleasure, to deny him until Bucky gives in and whimpers. Still stroking his swollen hole, fingers rubbing circles around the puckered rim, he murmurs. ]
You've been so good for me today. Do you want a treat?
[ He closes his eyes for a few moments, overwhelmed by wanting and love. Steve touches him so gently, fingers stroking his swollen, sensitive hole until little shivers of pleasure are chasing through his body and the leather cuffs are creaking as Bucky turns his wrists in them restlessly, wanting more. It isn't punishment, he knows it isn't, but it is torment. He needs Steve's fingers inside of him; he needs him sliding his cock deep into him, slowly, patiently working him open, hands firm on his hips. Stroking through him, deep and thick, hot and rigid, until he's filled once more with the warm, slick flood of Steve's come. He's rigid with the need to be used, lashes fluttering a little against his cheek as he pushes his hips back once again to Steve's fingers.
Bucky is being good, he's doing the best he can to behave, to be patient when Steve is gone and to be his welcoming little cockslut on his knees when he returns, eager to be filled, to receive Steve's pleasure. He's trying and it floods him with warmth when Steve praises him, his eyes opening to glance back at him over his shoulder: he always wants to be good for Steve, make him happy. He nods, feeling his skin heating with the promise in Steve's voice. Anything he gives him, any way he touches him, Bucky wants. ]
[ And what Bucky wants, Steve gives (eventually). He gently pushes a thumb into his hole to take the edge off that fierce desire, to show him that he intends to follow through, to soothe him. But he wants to make him need more, too. He wants to make him beg, and he admires the strong, incredible lines of his body and the way he squirms and twists.
He does love when his little cockslut is aching for him, and he meets his gaze, smiling. Bucky's mask only brings out how gorgeous his eyes are, and he admires them for a few moments before he draws his thumb out, pushing two fingers inside that tight, slick heat to fuck him slowly, achingly, wanting to tease rather than satisfy. ]
I love when you look like this. Hitch your ass a little higher, let me see you.
[ He closes his eyes when Steve pushes his thumb into him, opens them a few moments later, hot and flushed beneath the mask, meeting Steve's gaze and trying to plead with him. Steve is so beautiful he almost can't look, it's like gazing into the sun--like seeing something life-giving, his entire body attuned to him, needing him to live. He survived too many cold, dark, bleak years without him. The affection in Steve's eyes sustains him, the warmth in his smile.
He shifts restlessly as Steve pushes two fingers into him, fucking slowly into his hole. The pressure, the stretch of the tight muscle around those fingers gives him a little bit of relief, but not enough; he's still aching to be filled, cock twitching between his thighs. Gasping, he obediently hitches his hips higher, skin hot and damp with sweat. Steve can see everything, presented for him: his muscled thighs, his swollen, slick hole, his thick cock and his balls heavy with unspent ejaculate. He whimpers, biting his lip beneath the mask and pushing himself back onto Steve's fingers, the wet, tight rim of his hole slipping over his knuckles.
[ He hears it, that soft, sweet whimper, even if it's almost inaudible underneath that mask. He knows what he wants, what he's so desperate for, and Steve gently shushes him, unable to help the thrill up his spine at the incredible feeling of Bucky just pushing himself back onto his fingers, shameless and beautiful.
He squeezes his ass with his free hand before he slaps it hard -- Steve loves him more than anything in the world and Bucky knows it; he tells him that often enough that it's burned into his lover's memory, but sometimes they play rough, and now is one of those days. ]
I didn't say you could move. [ Another sharp slap. ] Bad boy.
[ He jerks when Steve slaps his ass, startled and aroused, glancing back at him with his eyes darkened over the mask. He's flushed all over, burning, another whimper climbing its way out of his throat as he shuts his eyes and concentrates on being good, being still, waiting and taking it instead of trying to push himself back on Steve's fingers, greedy for more. His cock twitches again, swollen and throbbing and almost painfully thick, a few drops of precome spilling to the floor. His ass is throbbing too where Steve has slapped him, the mark of his hand feeling burned into his skin, and it must be wrong, he thinks, to like it, to like being punished.
He can't move like this, cuffed to the spreader bar on his knees, lying against the floor. He can't make Steve fuck him like he wants, or reach for his own aching cock to give it some relief; all he can do is wait for Steve to touch him. Be good and wait, or be bad and demand more, and maybe be punished. But Steve likes to be rough with him when he can, enjoys spanking him and riding him hard and Bucky--Bucky wants it. He opens his eyes, meeting Steve's gaze again, and deliberately rocks himself back onto his fingers, taking them as deep inside as he can. ]
[ Bucky comes along on this mission without permission, even after Steve's expressly banned him from it, telling him that it's something he has to do on his own, and the worst thing is that he can't give his lover a good piece of his mind with everyone there, no. He's livid, he's worried, and all through the way home Steve is completely silent, his mind wrought with worries and fears he'd tried to push away during the mission.
Bucky is an extremely valuable teammate, yes -- he's deadly with weapons and even deadlier hand to hand, and he knows that Bucky would keep him safe, but all of it doesn't matter when Steve is paranoid that Bucky would get hurt again, or worse. Worse.
He closes the door to their apartment behind them when they get in and locks it, his jaw set. Where to start? ]
[ Steve is silent in front of their teammates, silent on the way home. Bucky knows he did well, he knows he contributed to the mission's success, but he also knows he defied Steve and broke with his handler and acted under his own orders, except in the heat of the battle when Cap was calling the shots. He isn't supposed to come on missions, Steve hasn't cleared him for them yet, and he's beginning to think that if Steve has his way he will never be cleared: but that's wrong and shortsighted, he has to see that. Bucky is a weapon. He was made a weapon; he can be aimed at HYDRA now rather than for them, and that's what he wants.
But there's a sinking feeling in his stomach as the car pulls up in front of their building. They've been debriefed, their gear packed away and sent home before them (except for Bucky's personal weapons, hidden under his clothes) and they're both dressed like civilians now. He follows Steve up the walk-up, and he doesn't like the feeling that he's done wrong, that he's disappointed Steve, who is the last person in the world Bucky wants to disappoint. The very thought puts him on edge, guilt and shame twisting themselves like black things in his body. He remembers the anger of a handler, a strike across his face or a stun baton bringing him screaming to his knees because he failed to perform some component of the mission to the handler's particular specifications.
Steve won't hit him for disobeying orders. He won't. He'll just look at him with those bright, worried eyes and drawn brows and clenched jaw, his anger and disappointment clear, and Bucky turns to face him as he hears the door lock, bracing himself for it. ]
[ Steve won't hit him, he won't do anything to hurt Bucky no matter how angry he is at him for disobeying orders -- he's not Bucky's handler, not his owner; sometimes Bucky lapses into that, and it takes Steve a long time to ease him out of it. They try hard, these days, but he can't help but be just a little grateful for his presence. Bucky is brilliant, powerful, swift and dangerous, and while objectively it is most effective to have the Winter Soldier there against HYDRA, Steve is far less receptive to that.
He doesn't want him hurt or captured again, not when he'd managed to escape them. Steve is terrified of the thought that he would be taken prisoner once more, wiped clean and turned into a killer; and had never stopped being strongly opposed to Bucky's presence anywhere near SHIELD. Besides, remember how the agency was completely overrun by HYDRA?
He's not taking his chances.
But then Bucky's standing right there, as if bracing himself to be chided or punished, and Steve's heart goes out to him. No. No, he's not going to hit him, or strike him. With a soft sigh, he snags his wrist and pulls him close into a tight, unyielding embrace, holding him flush against his body. Bucky is home safe with him, and that's all that counts. ]
[ He stays motionless as Steve is reaching out for him (he isn't allowed to flinch from punishment) but when he snags his wrist and pulls him into his arms Bucky goes easily, relief melting his rigid spine and tense muscles, molding him against Steve's body, head buried into his shoulder. Bucky is--he's still the Winter Soldier, in a mission and outside of it, and there's thick shame in his throat for forgetting, conflating Steve with a handler, instinctively bracing himself for punishment from his hands. He knows Steve hates it when he does that. He doesn't blame Bucky, but he hates it, and Bucky hates to do anything that makes him unhappy.
His arms slide around Steve's waist and Bucky presses himself hard against him, hiding against his broad shoulder, fighting back a sudden sting of tears. That's nothing more than a chemical response, he knows, his body dealing with the aftermath of an adrenaline high. Emotions run too close to the surface at a time like this. Guilt and shame and anger, sadness, relief. He's glad the mission is over, he's glad they're safe and that, objectively speaking, he performed well, and he's sorry that he made Steve worry for him, made him unhappy by following. He lifts a hand to the nape of Steve's neck, stroking there with his thumb, and breathes out a shuddering breath. ]
Love you. [ He mumbles it against Steve's shoulder instead of offering promise or defiance. He can't. He can't promise not to do it again. ]
[ He knows Bucky isn't promising him jack shit -- he knows that this is Bucky's way of being stubborn and sticking to his own guns. Steve's happy about that, mostly; because this means that Bucky's getting himself back, thinking on his own and challenging him on it. Steve already remembers that Bucky and the way the other man ends up yielding to him anyway -- but there's a spark of him that Steve would never seek to drown out, no matter how much he hates that Bucky is going right for what Steve doesn't want.
He doesn't blame Bucky at all, doesn't love him any less even if they disagree, and when he envelopes him in his arms, he presses soft kisses into his hair. Bucky smells like knives and gunpowder, the bite of steel that is unmistakable. He was worried for him, unhappy that he'd put himself in harm's way again, and terrified that he would be taken away from Steve.
But see, he's here, he loves him, and he tightens his hold around him. ] Love you, too. [ He pauses. ] Even if you drive me up the wall sometimes.
[ Steve surrounds him, breathing him in, arms locked securely around him, and it's the best thing Bucky's ever felt to be in his arms, to be held and loved in spite of all his shortcomings. He would never have believed himself worth it a few months ago. From the moment he saw him Steve seemed too unreal, too strong and beautiful to be touched, to love someone who was only a weapon, a thing to be used. But he took Bucky in, sheltered and protected him and loved him like a human being. He's still trying to protect him. Bucky understands.
He lifts his head up, fingers stroking softly through Steve's hair, guiding his head down so Bucky can kiss his mouth, soft and sweet and yielding, willing to obey him in anything but this. Anything but being asked to stay behind while Steve puts himself into danger for his sake. His mouth moves to his jaw, pressing slow, exploratory kisses, sucking delicately. ] You smell good, Steve. [ Like sweat and exertion, like a good, healthy fight. There's a hint of blood and violence there too, which doesn't at all turn Bucky away. ] I can make you feel better.
[ Pressing his whole body against him, hitching their hips together. He rubs gently at the nape of Steve's neck and between his shoulders, soothing him, and reaches down to his cock, cupping him warmly in his hand. ]
[ Steve gasps softly when Bucky's skilled fingers find their way to his crotch, to cup his half-hard cock so familiarly, so lovingly that he laughs, soft and breathless and leaning into him, trusting and loving. Of course, of course Bucky would go there, right?
His sweet lover is insatiable at times, yearning and desiring to be held and loved, and Steve gives it all to him without question -- Bucky Barnes is the center of Steve's world, the sun and moon and stars in his sky; without him, Steve wouldn't know where to be anchored and how to be happy. For all of their quarrels and their disagreements, Steve loves him through all of it. He adores him, reveres him and he rubs against that questing hand, sighing softly, happily.
Bucky is incredible, predatory, and he can never help the way his body reacts to him, as if it already knows that it belongs, heart and soul, to him. His arm comes to wrap around Bucky's waist and he shivers under those kisses, gently nipping at Bucky's strong jaw, lips brushing over that stubble. ]
You always make me feel better. [ He rubs at his back. ] But are you feeling better, Buck? You're the one I'm worried about.
[ He needs to do this. If he could please Steve, if he could make him feel good, always feel good, Steve won't tell him he can't come with him, he has to stay away. If he pleases him enough he won't make Bucky stay behind. He can prove to him how good he is, both as the Winter Soldier and as Steve's lover: how necessary he is to Steve's survival and his happiness, and how much of Bucky's life is dedicated to both. He knows this isn't bad, this isn't something that was programmed into him. It was like this before, too, when he was just Bucky Barnes and nothing in him was damaged or broken.
He starts to unbuckle the belt at the front of Steve's uniform, open the front of his trousers. ] Shhh. You don't have to worry about me. [ Murmuring at Steve's jaw, he draws his cock out and wraps his fingers around him, beginning to stroke him to hardness. ] Want to make you feel good.
[ He kisses Steve slowly, softly, and then slides down to his knees, lifting the head of his cock to his lips. He slides his mouth down on him steadily, wet and hot, beginning to suck, waiting for him to get hard in his mouth. Bucky loves this, loves cock in his mouth, loves pleasuring Steve this way, warming him. He's gorgeous in his uniform, blue and red, the star a target straight to his heart, strong and towering above him. ]
[ Steve doesn't intend to be derailed or distracted -- he wants to know what's going on, why Bucky gets it into his head to insist on his pleasure. He shakes his head and gently pulls away, cupping Bucky's face to show him that he isn't rejecting him, but he wants more. He doesn't want to lose himself to pleasure and leave whatever it is unsaid.
If Bucky's okay, he'd say it, right? Their relationship has to be a two-way street; Steve shouldn't be the only one feeling good. And so he kneels before him too, comes level with him as he grasps the back of his neck, leaning in to kiss his mouth, his cock hanging hard and heavy between his costume. They can continue this later, but first, he wants to make sure that his lover isn't hiding it from him.
With a concerned frown, he nuzzles him. ] I always worry about you. What's wrong? You know you can tell me.
[ He goes still when Steve gently pulls away, looking up at him with bewildered eyes: doesn't he like it? Doesn't he want Bucky to touch him, pleasure him? He seems to love it other times when Bucky does this, fucking his mouth, pushing his cock down his throat--Bucky longs to give him pleasure, but Steve is kneeling down to the floor with him and cupping the nape of his neck and kissing him instead, his hand strong and gentle, and that's almost as good. Bucky shivers into it, pressing closer and lifting his arms around Steve's neck.
He holds onto him, burying his face against his throat when the kiss ends, fingers raking softly through his hair. ] Don't want you to be angry. Or--or disappointed. [ Bucky rubs at the nape of Steve's neck as though to soothe him, as though to soften a blow about to fall, his body bracing against it. Steve has never hurt him, never shown displeasure in him, only anger and worry, but there's a lingering fear in him that he will, that one day Steve will decide he isn't worth the trouble. ] I know I'm not good. I don't obey you. I compromise your missions. I just want to come with you. I'll protect you, and I'll make it better afterwards, I promise.
[ Steve's eyes widen briefly at those words, startled by them. For all of his protectiveness he hadn't intended for this to take a toll on Bucky; hadn't wanted him to feel like he's a burden, or worse -- something to be looked after. He swallows hard, nuzzling against him as he chooses his words. Has he been too overprotective? Has he somehow taken away what Bucky wanted to do?
Theirs should be an open relationship, an equal relationship, partners and not asset and handler, and he exhales, shaking his head. ] Oh, Bucky.
[ He says quietly, softly. ] I'm sorry I made you feel like you're bad. You can never disappoint me; I love you too much, and I want us to be partners. Equal. [ He shifts, cups his face to look him in the eye, guilt gnawing at him. ] I want to protect you, too. You mean so much to me. We'll go together next time, okay?
[ For a moment something startled and vulnerable shows in Bucky's face; he reaches for Steve with uncertain fingers, guiding him closer, looking at his eyes to watch the movement of his pupils, looking for the signs of a lie. As usual, he finds nothing: Steve never lies to him. From the beginning he told him only the truth, even when it was too horrible, too painful to bear; from the beginning Bucky had known everything he said must be true, down to the name Steve called him. He's better now, he can bear the things that were done to him and taken from him, but he couldn't bear it if he disappointed Steve, if he made him stop loving him.
Nothing in Steve's face tells him that he's lying or covering up displeasure, that he feels anything but love and concern and remorse in the face of Bucky's uncertainty. Bucky leans forward and tips his head to kiss him softly, gently, easing their mouths together, telling Steve wordlessly that he loves him too, that everything Bucky is exists for Steve, to protect him, to be with him. He gives Bucky's life meaning. And he's grateful, too, that Steve understands. ]
I want us to be partners, too. That's what we used to be, right? [ Bucky smiles, shaky but more sure, now: he does remember, even if the memories are slippery and vague. ] I covered your back. I can do that for you.
[ Steve smiles, soft and soothing -- he knows that Bucky looks for it often; proof that he's somehow lying, or saying things that can be taken back later. But Steve is not that kind of man, he speaks the truth no matter what, his word as his bond. He loves him, cares for him more than anything else in the world, and nothing he can ever do will make Steve stop loving him.
Until the end of the line, remember?
Steve is honest, open, guilty that he'd somehow contributed to making Bucky feel this way, and he kisses him right back, kissing him sweetly, exploring his mouth and reassuring him, letting him know that he's not a burden, that he's his partner, his soulmate, the light of his life and the reason he gets out of bed in the morning.
He tugs him closer, hands coming down to squeeze Bucky's ass briefly, nodding. ] You already do that for me. We cover each other's backs, Buck. It's you and me.
[ Bucky kisses back hungrily, a part of him almost desperately overwhelmed by the honesty in Steve, by the words he's wanted to hear for so long and wondered if he'd ever be worthy of hearing again. Steve trusts him. Steve knows that Bucky has his back, that he'll protect him. It's you and me, Steve says, and Bucky remembers, to the end of the line, and he pulls Steve to him and kisses him fiercely, climbing into his lap. ]
Let me-- [ He breathes out the words between kisses and reaches down between them, finding Steve's cock again. Bucky strokes it slowly, gently, breaking away from Steve's mouth to look into his eyes, smoothing metal fingers against his cheek. ] I want to. Is this okay? [ Another kiss, softer, sweet. ] Want to be with you.
[ He presses against Steve's big, beautiful body, moving over him; Bucky will urge him down to his back, if he'll let him. ]
[ Steve lets him, of course -- there's nothing he wouldn't do for this man, nothing he wouldn't give him, and he pulls Bucky down above him, trusting and loving as he smiles, cupping his face to kiss him. He groans softly, thick with desire as he presses closer, shuddering under his lover's skilled hands.
Oh, how he's missed this, how he loves this, and he grasps Bucky's cock in turn, pressing close to rub up against him in slow, languid strokes. He wants them joined together, he wants to give him pleasure, to share it together with him, and he sighs softly. ]
It's okay. It's very okay. [ He murmurs, leaning up to press kisses against the crown of his head. ] You can do this with me anytime, baby. I love you. I love you so much. You wanna have sex right here, huh?
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no subject
They don't expect the soldier's programming to break.
He remembers, just enough. He remembers that before Hydra, before the metal arm grafted to his bones and the tortures that broke him, before he was violated and torn apart and rebuilt into something that existed only for their use, their purposes, he belonged to Steve Rogers: so he is Captain America's weapon, his thing to use, because he was his first. When he remembers that the soldier hates him too, it's like a disease, black and cold, eating at him from the inside. He is gentle with his target when he can be, when they aren't watching closely enough. Cleans the wounds he's inflicted, kisses the tears on Steve's cheeks, runs his fingers through his sweat- and blood-dampened hair and whispers that he'll free him, he'll find a way to extract them both, just bear it a little longer, the tortures and interrogation. Steve has to bear it, for him.
He does extract them, after long weeks, waiting for the right moment; kills the Hydra technicians and guards, leaves a burned-out bunker and corpses behind them, takes Steve and flees with him, but not to free him. He knows a place where he can hide him, keep him. The facility is no longer in use, but it used to be, and the smell of metal and antiseptic dredges up cold fear and nausea; he isn't gentle with Steve when he locks him into mag clamps, bleeding and bruised, still weak from interrogation. The soldier grasps him by the hair, shaking him a little to get his attention, forcing him to look at him. ]
You understand now? [ His voice, his eyes, they are cold and flat and distant; he isn't pretending this time. ] I don't belong to you anymore. Now you're my thing to use. Now we'll see how long it takes to break you.
no subject
[ It's something that they do lately, a game stretched out through a couple of days, when Bucky's chained and manacled to a spreader bar in their kitchen, stripped naked and masked and on his knees. It's intense, it's extreme, but it's something that Bucky seems to love more than anything else; and Steve can't bring himself to deny Steve that.
It's been two hours since Bucky's last been fucked, and Steve comes back from a grocery run; see, this is the first part of their play, when he leaves his lover on his own just for awhile to inspire him, to draw it out and make the man miss him, to make it really ache. His come is dried on Bucky's bare thighs, his hole still abused and reddened, and Steve has to smile at that. He loves the sight that Bucky presents him; how can he not?
He comes over, fingers rubbing up over his hole playfully, possessively. ] Missed me?
no subject
He's been used twice already since they started, fucked with Steve's hands gentle on his raised hips and his cock sliding deep into his body, pushed all the way inside of him when he came, so that most of Steve's seed is still filling up his hole.
Bucky opens his eyes when he hears the door open and close behind the familiar cadence of Steve's footsteps. He lifts his head a little when Steve comes into the room, eyes following him, rapt: Steve is always so beautiful, towering above him, strong and perfectly gentle, perfectly loving. He moans a little when Steve's fingers caress over his wet, swollen hole, the sound muffled behind the mask he wears. It doesn't stop him from speaking, if he wants, but Bucky doesn't say anything, just pushes his ass against Steve's fingers as much as he can, trying to get one of them inside him. He missed him, yes. Ached for him while he was gone, playing out the moment he would walk through the door in his mind, the moment he would push inside of him again, the next gentle fuck. ]
no subject
He'd been used before, made love to, and the fact that he's still so wrecked right now makes Steve tingle. He wants to take his time with him, to lavish attention on Bucky and overwhelm him with affection, with love; to let him know that to be tied like this is not punishment, not at all.
He doesn't give in to his lover's silent yearning, eager to draw out the pleasure, to deny him until Bucky gives in and whimpers. Still stroking his swollen hole, fingers rubbing circles around the puckered rim, he murmurs. ]
You've been so good for me today. Do you want a treat?
no subject
Bucky is being good, he's doing the best he can to behave, to be patient when Steve is gone and to be his welcoming little cockslut on his knees when he returns, eager to be filled, to receive Steve's pleasure. He's trying and it floods him with warmth when Steve praises him, his eyes opening to glance back at him over his shoulder: he always wants to be good for Steve, make him happy. He nods, feeling his skin heating with the promise in Steve's voice. Anything he gives him, any way he touches him, Bucky wants. ]
no subject
He does love when his little cockslut is aching for him, and he meets his gaze, smiling. Bucky's mask only brings out how gorgeous his eyes are, and he admires them for a few moments before he draws his thumb out, pushing two fingers inside that tight, slick heat to fuck him slowly, achingly, wanting to tease rather than satisfy. ]
I love when you look like this. Hitch your ass a little higher, let me see you.
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He shifts restlessly as Steve pushes two fingers into him, fucking slowly into his hole. The pressure, the stretch of the tight muscle around those fingers gives him a little bit of relief, but not enough; he's still aching to be filled, cock twitching between his thighs. Gasping, he obediently hitches his hips higher, skin hot and damp with sweat. Steve can see everything, presented for him: his muscled thighs, his swollen, slick hole, his thick cock and his balls heavy with unspent ejaculate. He whimpers, biting his lip beneath the mask and pushing himself back onto Steve's fingers, the wet, tight rim of his hole slipping over his knuckles.
Please. ]
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He squeezes his ass with his free hand before he slaps it hard -- Steve loves him more than anything in the world and Bucky knows it; he tells him that often enough that it's burned into his lover's memory, but sometimes they play rough, and now is one of those days. ]
I didn't say you could move. [ Another sharp slap. ] Bad boy.
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He can't move like this, cuffed to the spreader bar on his knees, lying against the floor. He can't make Steve fuck him like he wants, or reach for his own aching cock to give it some relief; all he can do is wait for Steve to touch him. Be good and wait, or be bad and demand more, and maybe be punished. But Steve likes to be rough with him when he can, enjoys spanking him and riding him hard and Bucky--Bucky wants it. He opens his eyes, meeting Steve's gaze again, and deliberately rocks himself back onto his fingers, taking them as deep inside as he can. ]
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[ Bucky comes along on this mission without permission, even after Steve's expressly banned him from it, telling him that it's something he has to do on his own, and the worst thing is that he can't give his lover a good piece of his mind with everyone there, no. He's livid, he's worried, and all through the way home Steve is completely silent, his mind wrought with worries and fears he'd tried to push away during the mission.
Bucky is an extremely valuable teammate, yes -- he's deadly with weapons and even deadlier hand to hand, and he knows that Bucky would keep him safe, but all of it doesn't matter when Steve is paranoid that Bucky would get hurt again, or worse. Worse.
He closes the door to their apartment behind them when they get in and locks it, his jaw set. Where to start? ]
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But there's a sinking feeling in his stomach as the car pulls up in front of their building. They've been debriefed, their gear packed away and sent home before them (except for Bucky's personal weapons, hidden under his clothes) and they're both dressed like civilians now. He follows Steve up the walk-up, and he doesn't like the feeling that he's done wrong, that he's disappointed Steve, who is the last person in the world Bucky wants to disappoint. The very thought puts him on edge, guilt and shame twisting themselves like black things in his body. He remembers the anger of a handler, a strike across his face or a stun baton bringing him screaming to his knees because he failed to perform some component of the mission to the handler's particular specifications.
Steve won't hit him for disobeying orders. He won't. He'll just look at him with those bright, worried eyes and drawn brows and clenched jaw, his anger and disappointment clear, and Bucky turns to face him as he hears the door lock, bracing himself for it. ]
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He doesn't want him hurt or captured again, not when he'd managed to escape them. Steve is terrified of the thought that he would be taken prisoner once more, wiped clean and turned into a killer; and had never stopped being strongly opposed to Bucky's presence anywhere near SHIELD. Besides, remember how the agency was completely overrun by HYDRA?
He's not taking his chances.
But then Bucky's standing right there, as if bracing himself to be chided or punished, and Steve's heart goes out to him. No. No, he's not going to hit him, or strike him. With a soft sigh, he snags his wrist and pulls him close into a tight, unyielding embrace, holding him flush against his body. Bucky is home safe with him, and that's all that counts. ]
I don't want you to do that again.
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His arms slide around Steve's waist and Bucky presses himself hard against him, hiding against his broad shoulder, fighting back a sudden sting of tears. That's nothing more than a chemical response, he knows, his body dealing with the aftermath of an adrenaline high. Emotions run too close to the surface at a time like this. Guilt and shame and anger, sadness, relief. He's glad the mission is over, he's glad they're safe and that, objectively speaking, he performed well, and he's sorry that he made Steve worry for him, made him unhappy by following. He lifts a hand to the nape of Steve's neck, stroking there with his thumb, and breathes out a shuddering breath. ]
Love you. [ He mumbles it against Steve's shoulder instead of offering promise or defiance. He can't. He can't promise not to do it again. ]
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He doesn't blame Bucky at all, doesn't love him any less even if they disagree, and when he envelopes him in his arms, he presses soft kisses into his hair. Bucky smells like knives and gunpowder, the bite of steel that is unmistakable. He was worried for him, unhappy that he'd put himself in harm's way again, and terrified that he would be taken away from Steve.
But see, he's here, he loves him, and he tightens his hold around him. ] Love you, too. [ He pauses. ] Even if you drive me up the wall sometimes.
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He lifts his head up, fingers stroking softly through Steve's hair, guiding his head down so Bucky can kiss his mouth, soft and sweet and yielding, willing to obey him in anything but this. Anything but being asked to stay behind while Steve puts himself into danger for his sake. His mouth moves to his jaw, pressing slow, exploratory kisses, sucking delicately. ] You smell good, Steve. [ Like sweat and exertion, like a good, healthy fight. There's a hint of blood and violence there too, which doesn't at all turn Bucky away. ] I can make you feel better.
[ Pressing his whole body against him, hitching their hips together. He rubs gently at the nape of Steve's neck and between his shoulders, soothing him, and reaches down to his cock, cupping him warmly in his hand. ]
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His sweet lover is insatiable at times, yearning and desiring to be held and loved, and Steve gives it all to him without question -- Bucky Barnes is the center of Steve's world, the sun and moon and stars in his sky; without him, Steve wouldn't know where to be anchored and how to be happy. For all of their quarrels and their disagreements, Steve loves him through all of it. He adores him, reveres him and he rubs against that questing hand, sighing softly, happily.
Bucky is incredible, predatory, and he can never help the way his body reacts to him, as if it already knows that it belongs, heart and soul, to him. His arm comes to wrap around Bucky's waist and he shivers under those kisses, gently nipping at Bucky's strong jaw, lips brushing over that stubble. ]
You always make me feel better. [ He rubs at his back. ] But are you feeling better, Buck? You're the one I'm worried about.
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He starts to unbuckle the belt at the front of Steve's uniform, open the front of his trousers. ] Shhh. You don't have to worry about me. [ Murmuring at Steve's jaw, he draws his cock out and wraps his fingers around him, beginning to stroke him to hardness. ] Want to make you feel good.
[ He kisses Steve slowly, softly, and then slides down to his knees, lifting the head of his cock to his lips. He slides his mouth down on him steadily, wet and hot, beginning to suck, waiting for him to get hard in his mouth. Bucky loves this, loves cock in his mouth, loves pleasuring Steve this way, warming him. He's gorgeous in his uniform, blue and red, the star a target straight to his heart, strong and towering above him. ]
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If Bucky's okay, he'd say it, right? Their relationship has to be a two-way street; Steve shouldn't be the only one feeling good. And so he kneels before him too, comes level with him as he grasps the back of his neck, leaning in to kiss his mouth, his cock hanging hard and heavy between his costume. They can continue this later, but first, he wants to make sure that his lover isn't hiding it from him.
With a concerned frown, he nuzzles him. ] I always worry about you. What's wrong? You know you can tell me.
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He holds onto him, burying his face against his throat when the kiss ends, fingers raking softly through his hair. ] Don't want you to be angry. Or--or disappointed. [ Bucky rubs at the nape of Steve's neck as though to soothe him, as though to soften a blow about to fall, his body bracing against it. Steve has never hurt him, never shown displeasure in him, only anger and worry, but there's a lingering fear in him that he will, that one day Steve will decide he isn't worth the trouble. ] I know I'm not good. I don't obey you. I compromise your missions. I just want to come with you. I'll protect you, and I'll make it better afterwards, I promise.
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Theirs should be an open relationship, an equal relationship, partners and not asset and handler, and he exhales, shaking his head. ] Oh, Bucky.
[ He says quietly, softly. ] I'm sorry I made you feel like you're bad. You can never disappoint me; I love you too much, and I want us to be partners. Equal. [ He shifts, cups his face to look him in the eye, guilt gnawing at him. ] I want to protect you, too. You mean so much to me. We'll go together next time, okay?
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Nothing in Steve's face tells him that he's lying or covering up displeasure, that he feels anything but love and concern and remorse in the face of Bucky's uncertainty. Bucky leans forward and tips his head to kiss him softly, gently, easing their mouths together, telling Steve wordlessly that he loves him too, that everything Bucky is exists for Steve, to protect him, to be with him. He gives Bucky's life meaning. And he's grateful, too, that Steve understands. ]
I want us to be partners, too. That's what we used to be, right? [ Bucky smiles, shaky but more sure, now: he does remember, even if the memories are slippery and vague. ] I covered your back. I can do that for you.
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Until the end of the line, remember?
Steve is honest, open, guilty that he'd somehow contributed to making Bucky feel this way, and he kisses him right back, kissing him sweetly, exploring his mouth and reassuring him, letting him know that he's not a burden, that he's his partner, his soulmate, the light of his life and the reason he gets out of bed in the morning.
He tugs him closer, hands coming down to squeeze Bucky's ass briefly, nodding. ] You already do that for me. We cover each other's backs, Buck. It's you and me.
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Let me-- [ He breathes out the words between kisses and reaches down between them, finding Steve's cock again. Bucky strokes it slowly, gently, breaking away from Steve's mouth to look into his eyes, smoothing metal fingers against his cheek. ] I want to. Is this okay? [ Another kiss, softer, sweet. ] Want to be with you.
[ He presses against Steve's big, beautiful body, moving over him; Bucky will urge him down to his back, if he'll let him. ]
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Oh, how he's missed this, how he loves this, and he grasps Bucky's cock in turn, pressing close to rub up against him in slow, languid strokes. He wants them joined together, he wants to give him pleasure, to share it together with him, and he sighs softly. ]
It's okay. It's very okay. [ He murmurs, leaning up to press kisses against the crown of his head. ] You can do this with me anytime, baby. I love you. I love you so much. You wanna have sex right here, huh?