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Natasha’s cold, but she doesn’t mind being cold.
No. Stop.
Natasha’s cool. The air circulating through the New York City high rise is cool on her bare skin and at any other time it would be annoying, but right now it is merely a distraction. It is a distraction because it’s making her nipples peak and making her thighs want to clench shut, and that is not what she is doing right now.
Right now, she is trying to reclaim something. She is trying to win back against her fear and against Bucky’s fear, and she doesn’t want to be distracted. She is doing this because she wants to, and because Bucky wants to, and her skin is bare because Bucky likes it, and she likes it when Bucky likes it.
“Color?” Bucky asks, somewhere over her shoulder.
“Green,” she says, resettling on the dildo that’s suctioned to the corner of their coffee table. Then, because they’d promised honesty— “Yellow.”
Bucky kneels in front of her on one knee, looking serious enough that he could be planning a mission.
“Where’d you go, kitten?” he asks softly.
“Cold,” she tells him, knowing he’ll understand.
He gets up and goes to the thermostat, the one he won’t let Tony remove even though they can just use a voice command. He fiddles with it and comes back to settle in front of her.
“Do you want something to wear?” he says, stroking his knuckles down her arm.
Natasha shakes her head. “No.” The heat will come on, and soon she will no longer be cool in the open air. And she can live with some discomfort to be pretty for him.
“That’s good. You know I hate to cover these up,” he says.
His right hand cups her breast, and it’s warm and calloused, and she moans and leans into his touch.
“So gorgeous, kitten,” he breathes.
She really wants to be pretty for him.
Her hands are bound in front of her, and it means that her arms framing her breasts, pushing them forward and pushing them together. Bucky looks like he would bury his face in them if he could, but that’s not what they’re doing right now. They’re reclaiming.
“Color?” Bucky asks.
“Green,” Natasha says. She can already feel the warm air whispering across the carpet and over her toes.
“Good,” Bucky says, straightening up. The tone of his voice changes back. “Then isn’t there something you’re supposed to be doing?”
It’s harsher, more like it used to be. When they were both different people.
Natasha firms her thighs, and pushes herself up. She feels the toy pull out of her ridge by ridge, and she wants to shudder as each one hitches against her gspot. But she keeps still because she’s being good. Because she wants to.
She sinks down, lets the toy push back inside her, and it feels so good. It’s just a little wider than Bucky, and every bump and ridge presses deliciously inside her. She rises up again, focused on her pleasure, and startles when she runs into Bucky.
He grasps one of her arms firmly, not letting her sink back down.
“You like it, don’t you?” he teases roughly. “Like having something in your cunt?”
She’s staring up at him and she nods. His free hand holds a knife and he starts to flip it through his fingers as easy as breathing. She can’t stop watching it as it catches the light.
The hand on her arm moves up to her shoulder and pushes her down. The toy fills her cunt back up until her ass is flat on the table and there’s nowhere else for it to fill.
Bucky presses the flat of the knife against her collarbone and she sucks in a harsh breath at the cold touch. She looks down at where it rests on the edge of her vision. It’s bright and gleaming. It’s a dangerous thing, and a thing of beauty, and Bucky is holding it 5 cm from her throat. Natasha feels her cunt clench in that way she can never explain right.
Reclaim.
When she looks up Bucky’s eyes are boring into her. But they’re not Bucky’s eyes exactly. They hold the gaze of someone she used to know. She doesn’t know if that gaze is coming from her or from him.
“You’re very pretty,” Bucky says.
Bucky’s grasp shifts, and the point of the knife trails down between her breasts, and then over the curve of one, wandering towards her nipple. It’s a whisper-kiss touch. She can barely feel it, but every fiber of her body knows it’s there.
“You’re going to keep moving, and if I were you, I would be very careful,” Bucky says.
He draws the knife along the line of her collarbone.
“Dance, pretty girl,” he says.
She moves. Natasha pushes herself back up and forces herself not to lean away from the knife. Bucky glides the flat the blade along the stretch over her shoulder as she drops back down onto the toy.
She rises, and ridges pull out of her while Bucky starts trailing the point of the knife around the ball of her shoulder. She aches and she wants to move faster, but she knows that’s not what they agreed to. And she desperately wants to be good.
The knife has circled around her shoulder and is starting back towards her chest as she sinks back onto the toy.
“You know, I think this is too easy for you,” Bucky says.
Natasha freezes for a second before remembering that he told her to move.
“Touch yourself,” Bucky says.
Natasha looks up at him and he gestures at her bound hands. They’re conveniently placed to do just that.
“That’s what they’re there for, right? I know you’re getting off on this. So show me,” he said, twirling the point of the knife on the skin about her breast just hard enough to leave a mark.
She wants to gasp, but she holds in the noise and presses her fingers to her cunt. The angle is awkward, but she’s already turned on enough that it doesn’t matter. Her skin is slick and she tries to cover her fingers in it. Her clit slides in the groove between two of her fingers and she moans softly at the contact.
Bucky tuts overhead.
“You really do like this, don’t ya,” he says.
Natasha wishes for a gag or a sock or anything in her mouth to help hold back the groundless denial in her head. Or to hold back the sound of the moans and the whimpers that she’s making as she fucks herself on the toy while Bucky holds the knife flat against the base of her throat.
She’s moving faster now, and with her clit rubbing against her fingers and the sharp blade pressing against her skin, she can feel her orgasm building. She tries to get some relief by twisting her hands, bending her fingers. Her toes are curling into the plush carpet. Bucky is teasing one of her nipples with the hilt of the knife while she fucks herself.
“Please, Yasha!” she stammers out, and immediately wishes she could take it back.
Bucky stops.
“What did you call me?” Bucky asks her, his voice dangerously low.
“Bucky,” she backpedals desperately, her heart thumping in her chest.
Bucky presses the flat of the blade against her cheek and she freezes. “What did you say?” he hisses.
“Yasha,” she says carefully. There are tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
“Why would you say that?” Bucky says.
“I used to play this game with Yasha,” she says, although it had never been a game when Yasha played this way with Natalia.
“And who are you playing with now?” he says, practically a growl.
“Bucky,” she says, tears starting to escape.
“And who’s the one you trust to play this game with?” he asks.
“You. Bucky,” she says.
“That’s right,” Bucky says. His other hand comes up and cups her cheek. “Color, Tasha?”
“Green,” she says, and there’s no uncertainty in her, despite the tears.
“Then we keep going. Touch yourself, kitten,” Bucky says, flipping the knife to trail down between her breasts.
Natasha does so, curling her fingers toward her clit. She still can’t rock forward because of the knife, can’t lean into the touch, so she bounces on the toy faster to get more attention on her gspot. Bucky looks entranced when she stares up at him, but he’s still holding the knife ever so carefully as she moves.
“Can you come like this?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says. She’s so close, she can feel it creeping up on her.
“Then do it,” he says.
He pulls the knife back and starts flipping it over his knuckles again. Natasha stares at the gleaming knife, and she rubs her clit faster. Her whole focus narrows to the silicone between her legs, her clit sliding between her fingers, and the gleam of the knife.
Bucky reaches out and casually twists one of her nipples.
Natasha comes. Her body bows in and her cunt clenches around the toy as the orgasm ripples through her. There’s a warm trickle down her inner thigh. She can hear her own breathing in her ears and it’s harsh and ragged.
“Very pretty kitten,” Bucky says and tilts her chin up with the knife.
Natasha preens under those words.
The knife slides down one breast and the tip carefully traces her areola.
“But I don’t think we’re done yet,” Bucky says.
The touch against the sensitive skin of her breasts is almost too much, but also not enough. Bucky traces over one and then the other. Natasha can feel her cunt squeezing around the toy because she wants to move so badly, but she doesn’t dare to with the knife hovering so close to her skin.
Bucky asks in a voice more his usual one, “Do you want something you’ll see tomorrow, Tasha?”
She nods carefully, not trusting her voice.
Bucky shifts the knife in his hand and draws it under the line of her right collar bone. A red line wells up after it, stark against her pale skin. For a second she barely feels anything and then it stings.
He makes another line along the top of her collarbone and then repeats his work on the other side.
It hurts, but it’s a sharp clean hurt, and Natasha relishes it.
“Maybe someday I’ll decorate your whole back like this,” Bucky muses.
(He won’t. She heals quickly with whatever version of the serum the Red Room pumped into her veins, but they won’t do anything that will compromise her field readiness in case the Avengers are called out. It’s still nice to imagine nonetheless.)
Bucky thumbs one of her nipples and then tugs.
“Think you can come again?” he asks.
He probably already knows the answer, can probably see it in the lines of her body, but she appreciates him asking.
“Yes,” she says.
He grins, a sharp smug Bucky grin, and Natasha feels the last of the cold slipping away.
Bucky reaches into his back pocket.
“Hold out your hands,” he says.
She does and he drops something small and hard into them. A bullet vibrator.
“Touch yourself,” he says smirking at her.
Natasha brings her hands back between her legs and presses the vibrator to her skin. But no matter how many times she fumbles for the button, she can’t turn the thing on with the way her hands are bound.
“Aw, is kitten tired?” Bucky teases, leaning in but not kissing her.
His hand joins hers, big enough to encompass both hers at once. And then Natasha forgets what she was thinking about because the vibrator jumps to life, buzzing against her skin. She nearly drops it, but she manages to keep ahold of it.
Bucky’s still smirking when he pulls his hand back.
“Go on,” he says. He rubs his thumb over one of the lines on her collarbones and she shudders. “Touch yourself.”
There’s no finesse. Natasha presses both hands to her cunt and tries to line up the vibrator with her clit. It’s almost to much for her, and she cries out when it makes contact. She’s rocking on dildo without even realizing and chasing the vibrations at the same time. Bucky’s pressing on the marks on her shoulders with one hand. The other won’t stop playing with her nipples, twisting and tugging.
Natasha’s caught between pain and pleasure. She wants more of both and feels herself rushing headlong toward her climax.
“Bucky,” she whines, dangling close to the edge.
In response he scrapes his nails down one set of her marks and she wails and breaks.
Her body spasms and she feels a wet rush between her legs. She rocks into her hands until she can’t stand it anymore and the vibrator falls from her fingers. She pants, realizing there are tears on her face. Her arms ache, and her tits ache, and her cunt aches. The lines on her shoulders burn.
Bucky is suddenly kneeling in front of her and the buzzing noise has stopped.
“How are you feeling, Tasha,” he says, touching her face gently.
“Good,” she says. It’s the clearest word in her mind.
“You did so good. You looked so amazing. So proud of you,” Bucky’s muttering, and Natasha preens. She was good. She was.
Bucky’s saying other things like, “...Get you cleaned up...Have some food and maybe take a bath.”
“No.” She shakes her head against his chest.
Bucky pauses.
“What do you mean, Tasha? You’re done,” he says.
“Not done,” she says. She raises her head stubbornly to look him in the eye. “Yasha would not be done here.”
Bucky’s jaw works. “Tasha...”
“We have to reclaim ourselves. Take back,” she says. “Yasha wouldn’t be done yet.”
Bucky’s frowning.
“I know what you want,” he says after moment. “But I don’t know if we should do it. You’re tired and your hands should be untied soon.”
“My hands are fine,” Natasha says, her head getting clearer. “I can take few more minutes. You won’t be doing what he did. You’d be doing what Natasha and Bucky do. We play rough because we like it. Not because it’s the only thing we know how to do.”
Natasha is doing this because she wants to, and because Bucky wants to, and they like what each other likes.
Bucky thinks on it a moment.
“I won’t go easy,” he says, conceding to her. “What’s your color?”
“Green,” Natasha says. “Green, green, green.”
He laughs a little, and spreads one of his wide hands over her shoulder, lighting up the marks there again. His hand slips down and he splays it across her stomach. For a moment she thinks he going to tip her backwards onto the table. But his hand slides around her hip and down her ass. Natasha can feel him cupping her bottom and then he’s peeling the toy off the table. She has one wide eyed moment to realize what he’s going to do when his other arm comes up around her shoulder—
— And then he’s tipping her forward onto the floor. Her hands are still tied in front of her, so she lands with her face in carpet. Her legs feel like jello, but she scrambles to get them under her in some semblance of control. Bucky’s hand is still splayed across her bottom and it’s keeping the toy pressed inside of her.
“Color?” he says harshly.
“Green,” Natasha says, teetering on her knees and turning her cheek into the carpet to be able to speak.
Bucky spanks the end of the toy and she shudders. Her cunt spasms around it even though she aches.
“I know what Yasha would do,” Bucky says.
One cool metal finger circles her asshole, teasing at the rim. Natasha squirms under his touch.
“He would leave this toy in you and fuck you,” Bucky says bluntly. He pushes at her hole with his finger and his other hand presses on the toy in her cunt. Natasha makes a miserable noise.
“I’m not going to do that,” Bucky says, easing up with his hands.
He tugs lightly at the toy in her cunt and twists it. Natasha bites her lip, fighting back a whine.
Bucky continues to play with the toy, easing it out a centimeter and then pushing it back in slowly.
“After all, why would I waste this perfectly good hole when you’re already wet?” he says.
His finger traces her entrance where it’s clenched around the toy. And then he adjusts his grip on the base and pulls.
Natasha shrieks as the toy is yanked out of her, each of the ridges a sweet agony after two orgasms. She squirts, sudden and surprising, and she can feel it dripping onto her fingers.
Bucky makes growling noise and a moment later he grabs her hips and thrusts inside. His shirt is wet against her backside and somewhere she thinks, I did that.
Bucky’s cock is hot and smooth after so long riding a piece of silicone, and he fucks her so good. Natasha thinks she’s crying with it, and she’s riding the edge of another orgasm. The soft carpet is rough against the lines Bucky cut into her shoulders, and her nipples are rubbing too because of how her hands are tied. Natasha can barely think, but she presses her hands to her cunt, flattening her fingers, and letting Bucky’s thrusts push her into them.
His hand joins hers and rubs furiously against her clit. It sparks her orgasm and she’s quaking around him, her legs going soft under her.
He thrusts hard—once, twice, and then he’s spilling inside of her.
Natasha floats for a while then. There’s a wet sticky mess all around them, and then she’s somewhere dryer. She feels Bucky’s hands on her skin, gentle and careful, and checking like always. When her eyes refocus, she’s lying on her side on the plush rug in their living room. Her hands are untied and resting easily by her sides. Bucky’s lying down facing her, and his hand rests on her hip like an anchor.
She’s exhausted and wrung out.
Bucky looks the same way, and she has a feeling they’re going to be napping on the rug for a while today.
But when she looks down at her skin, she can see the marks from the knife. They’re already starting to heal over. Bucky put them there, and she asked for them, and they both wanted it. They can both want things like that now.
Bucky’s looking at her curiously, but too tired to lift his head.
She reaches out and twines their fingers together, holding tightly.
“Thank you,” she says.
He squeezes her fingers. “Thank you,” he says back.