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The bedroom rug is soft under his knees, the fuzzy hairs tickling his shins when he shifts back on his heels.
There’s a distant sound from outside, the front door slamming shut, steps moving up the stairwell, coming closer—but they’re too quick and light, and continue past the second floor landing.
Steve lets out a slow breath, coaxing his heart-rate back down.
He can’t see anything; it makes the input from his other, already enhanced senses stand out even sharper. He can smell laundry detergent on clean cotton sheets and the fresh, woodsy scent of body wash on his own skin. A slight breeze from the open window caresses his arms and makes the tiny hairs stand on end; the air in the room is cool but Steve runs hotter than most people and doesn’t mind. Outside the city goes on with its early-evening affairs, providing a backdrop of discordant, comforting noise.
Inside it is quiet.
The alarm clock on the nightstand ticks out the seconds with increasing loudness. He draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and then another. He resists the urge to check the time.
He shifts again, flexing his feet. The rug is soft, but not as soft as he’d imagined. His knees reproach him for not thinking ahead enough to grab a pillow. He could still do it, but something inside him protests the idea.
Wait for me. Don’t move.
Coming home after his volunteer shift to find the note on the kitchen table had been … a surprise. They’d talked about it, sure, but that was weeks ago—long enough that Steve could almost pretend he’d forgotten all about that conversation. Some part of him hadn’t been sure Bucky would actually want to go through with it.
The package laid out on their bed proved otherwise. Just reading the instructions in Bucky's nonchalantly messy scrawl had him questioning if he would survive the evening.
Bucky had given him an hour and a half to prepare. He spent a fraction of that time shoveling in some leftovers for dinner and the rest getting ready, anticipation building under his skin as time trickled down. At six o’clock on the dot he’d drawn the curtains, switched on the little bedside lamp and taken his position on the floor.
He has no idea how much time has passed since then. It could be ten minutes or half an hour.
Steve digs his fingers into his thighs, massaging muscles stiff from a week of long shifts and several hard sparring sessions with the team. Then he slides his hands higher, inching toward the creases of his hips. His fingertips brush over coarse leg hair and find smooth fabric.
The lingerie set is a dark ruby red, the material silky and luxurious. After he got over the initial sting of humiliation when looking at himself in the mirror, Steve spent an undisclosed amount of time observing the way the color contrasted with his pale skin, the feel of the different textures; touching the clothes like something beautiful and delicate, petals of a flower.
There’s something exhilarating about the thought of Bucky picking them out for him, browsing through pictures of different cuts and colors, models lounging in seductive poses. The thing that clenches deep in his gut has got almost nothing to do with jealousy.
The panties are a simple cut, plain satin with a lace-up detail in the back. They just about manage to hold all of him in. Steve runs his fingers along the seam that sits low on his hips, stopping before he reaches the front.
Instead he skims his hands up over his stomach. The top is a corset-like thing that covers his ribs and frames his chest; it has lace and mesh and straps that cross and come up to wrap around his neck like a piece of jewelry—or a collar.
He traces the lace along the front and the outline of the mesh cups, not allowing his hands to stray to where he really wants to be touched.
The lock in the apartment door rattles.
Steve’s heart jumps. His hands immediately drop to rest flat on the tops of his thighs.
There are the sounds of someone closing the door and taking off their shoes and heading into the kitchen, where there is clinking of glasses and the faucet turning on. A chair leg scrapes over the floor.
Steve forces himself to breathe through his nose. His body is strung tight like a wire, vibrating, his blood thrumming under his skin.
The chair moves again. Quiet footsteps cross the living room floor.
The footsteps stop outside the bedroom door. Steve left it slightly ajar before and now it swings open the rest of the way, almost soundlessly on well-oiled hinges.
There’s a barely-there inhale. Then nothing.
Steve swears he can hear the heartbeats of the man standing in the doorway, watching him, even with his own blood pounding in his ears. He keeps his back straight and his palms planted on his thighs, his head slightly bowed. He keeps breathing noiselessly, tries to ignore the blush that is surely creeping down his chest.
He may be the one kneeling on the floor, but this is a game of wills he’s not about to lose.
Finally, after too many moments to count, Bucky lets out a hissing breath.
“Fuck, baby, you look so good.” His voice is low and harsh with feeling.
Steve feels his ears burn and fights not to fidget.
Bucky takes the final few steps toward him and puts a hand on his head, carding through his hair and grabbing a handful—not rough, just holding onto him. Steve leans into the touch and lets a small sigh fall from his lips.
“You been waitin’ long, sweetheart?”
Steve shakes his head, as much as the grip on his hair will allow.
“Use your words,” Bucky commands.
“No, Bucky. Not long,” he murmurs.
“That’s good. Thank you.” Bucky switches his grip so that it’s his left hand cupping the back of Steve’s head, his right stroking down the side of Steve’s face, fingers brushing over the snug-fitting silk blindfold and scratching through his beard. A thumb traces his bottom lip, sending out electric impulses that make his skin tingle all over.
“Did you eat?”
Steve nods. “Yes, Bucky.”
“Good.” Bucky shuffles closer, guiding Steve’s head to rest against his thigh.
The denim is rough against his cheek, warmed by Bucky’s skin underneath. Steve lets himself slump a bit and nuzzles into his hip.
Bucky chuckles. “Already so sweet for me, huh. You should see yourself like this—in your pretty panties. You’re gonna ruin them without me even touchin’ you, aren’t you?”
His words rain fire on the back of Steve’s neck, drops gathering in rivulets that run down his back and pool low in his gut. “Please,” he begs.
“Please what, baby?”
“Please, Bucky can I touch you?” he spills out, lifting a hand to grab for the leg of Bucky’s jeans.
Bucky kicks his hand away. “Nu-uh, patience. I’m all gross from riding the subway, gotta go clean myself up first.”
Steve groans in protest and pushes his face further into the intoxicating heat radiating from Bucky’s groin.
The hand in his hair tightens its grip, stinging his scalp and forcing him to straighten his spine. Bucky steps out of his space and leaves Steve feeling suddenly cold.
“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, and you’re gonna wait here for me like a good boy. Can you do that?”
“Yes, Bucky,” he answers as quickly as he can.
“Without touchin’ yourself? The way you’re leaking all over your little panties, you must be aching to. Can I trust you to be good, or do you need me to tie you up?”
Steve considers it, his thoughts moving slow and sweet like molasses. Then he lifts his hands, wrists crossed in front of him. “Please.”
“Honey”—Bucky’s voice goes soft with something like awe—“so good for me, askin’ for what you need. Thank you for that.”
The grip on his hair releases, replaced by a quick press of lips to his forehead. Bucky moves around him, toward the bedside table. Judging by the sounds, he shuffles through a couple of drawers before he finds what he needs.
“Hands behind your back.”
When Steve complies, Bucky wraps a length of silky material around his wrists and ties it off quickly and expertly. He tugs on the knot to test it. Seemingly satisfied, he places a hand on Steve’s neck and squeezes gently. Steve melts into the touch, feeling some of the restless tension bleed out of his shoulders.
“Good boy. That feel okay?”
Steve flexes his fingers. The tie is mostly symbolic, easy for him to escape if he wanted to, unlike the leather cuffs or long coils of rope they’ve used on other occasions. He can picture what it looks like, the black satin a perfect match for the blindfold.
“’s good.”
Bucky hums his approval, giving his neck another, firmer squeeze. And then he’s gone.
The waiting is both better and worse, this time. Some of the nerves have died down, the tightly-strung wire loosened, but anticipation is sinking a million pinpricks in his skin. He can hear Bucky moving around in the adjoining bathroom, the rustle of cloth, the water in the shower turning on.
It might have been five minutes when the bathroom door opening signals Bucky’s return. At first he doesn’t say or do anything—that Steve can tell. He’s still acutely aware of the fact that Bucky must be watching him, watching the way the fine material of the underwear stands out against his skin, the way his neck is bowed in submission.
He suppresses a shiver and curls in on himself.
From his ten o’clock, Bucky makes a tutting noise. “None of that. Lemme look at you. Spread your knees.”
Steve does as he’s told, shuffling his knees out so he’s presenting himself for Bucky’s eyes.
“You're beautiful, baby,” Bucky praises. “How does it feel?”
“Feel—feels nice, Buck.”
“Yeah? You like that? Getting dressed up all pretty for me?”
Steve only nods, face heating up, sure his chest is turning as red as the lingerie.
“Or maybe you just like bein’ looked at. Maybe you’d let anyone dress you up like this, put you on your knees,” Bucky continues. “You’re such a slut for it, all they’d need to do is stick a dick in your mouth and you’d be happy.”
The words sting as if Bucky had slapped him, shame and something else, visceral, curling in his gut. Steve shakes his head vehemently. “No.”
“No?” Bucky’s voice has gotten a mean edge to it. “No, you aren’t a dick-sucking slut?”
“No, I— just you.”
He can sense Bucky getting closer even if he’s still not touching him. “Are you saying you’re mine, Stevie?” he asks, low and demanding.
This time Steve does shiver, that voice like rough palms roaming over his skin. It sings in him; the possessiveness evident in Bucky’s voice strikes a chord somewhere deep and primal.
It’s always been true but now—now he can finally say it without fear of judgment or ridicule.
“’m yours.”
“Yeah?”
The first touch is a sharp, quick twist of his left nipple. Steve gasps in surprise. It’s followed by Buck’s hands squeezing and pushing his chest together.
“Who do these pretty tits belong to?” Bucky rubs both thumbs over the thin mesh fabric covering his nipples, pinching the right one to match.
“You,” Steve gasps.
“Uhu.” Bucky lets his hands follow the straps crossing over Steve’s collarbones, skim up the column of his throat. He wraps his left hand lightly around Steve’s neck and uses his right to tilt Steve’s chin up, pressing his thumb to the corner of his mouth.
“And this mouth, who does it belong to?”
“You, Bucky.”
“That’s right.” Bucky pushes his thumb at the seam of Steve’s lips, sliding it inside. “And you don’t mind if I use what’s mine do you?”
Steve’s head is swimming. He tries to shake his head, realizes he can’t, and instead makes an affirming noise, his tongue lapping at the pad of Bucky’s thumb.
Bucky chuckles softly and brings left hand up to cup the side of his face. “Don’t forget to breathe, honey. Can’t have you passing out on me before we even get started.”
He pulls his thumb out and lets go of Steve’s face. Steve lets out a disappointed whine.
But his disappointment doesn’t last long—because then Bucky is rubbing the wet tip of a cock over his mouth, painting his lips with precome.
“Open up, baby.”
Steve eagerly parts his lips.
Bucky gives him just the head, resting it on his tongue. Steve suckles at it, savoring the warm, clean taste of him, while Bucky grabs both sides of his face and threads his fingers into his hair.
“You ready?” he checks.
Steve hums enthusiastically, twirling his tongue and hollowing his cheeks.
“Good. ’m gonna fuck your face now, sweetheart,” Bucky says casually, then shoves the full, thick length of his cock down his throat.
Steve chokes and sputters. Bucky pulls almost all the way back out, hands rubbing soothing patters in his hair. When Steve has caught his breath and starts sucking at the head, he pushes back in, slower this time but no less deep.
“That’s it. Good boy, I know you can take it.” Bucky stays for a second, buried to the hilt, then pulls out and sets about fucking his mouth at a leisurely but unrelenting pace. “Look at that pretty mouth, like it was made to be fucked.”
Steve relaxes his jaw and does his best to breathe through his nose. He’s learned a thing or two since he followed a crazy, reckless—wonderful—impulse and took Bucky’s dick in his mouth that very first time. His experience or adjusted gag-reflex don’t matter much now; there’s no finesse in this. He’s soon a slobbering mess, spit slicking his chin, tears wetting the blindfold.
But any discomfort has bled away as he’s surrounded by Bucky—Bucky’s cock filling up his throat, Bucky guiding him and holding him steady, Bucky making low, breathy noises above him.
Bucky pushing a smooth, metal finger into his mouth, stretching his lips even wider. Steve moans around it.
“Fuck, I’m gonna—”
Bucky digs the pads of his other fingers into the back of his neck, keeping him in place as he comes with a long, drawn-out groan, spilling hot over the back of Steve’s tongue. He swallows it down and Bucky slips out of him, leaving his lips numb and swollen.
The hand on the back of his neck is still holding him in a firm grip—maybe the only thing holding him upright in this moment.
A piece of some kind of cloth touches his face, carefully wiping the spit and stray drops of come from his mouth and chin. Bucky hums, satisfied. He touches Steve’s arm. “Stand up.”
Obeying is instinctual. His legs are stiff and unwieldy, but Steve manages to fold them out from under himself and get up on his feet despite being without the use of his arms. Bucky’s hand on his elbow helps to steady him. It’s disorienting to be standing, feels like his whole body is swaying from side to side.
“Bend over, face on the bed.”
A palm on his upper back steers him in the right direction and pushes firmly until he folds over. Steve’s half-expecting to face-plant hard on the bed but instead a stack of pillows catches him. He still ends up with the side of his face pressed to the sheets—acutely aware of the vulnerable position he’s in with his hands restrained and his ass lifted in the air. A full-body shiver surges through him.
“Bucky—” The name comes out like a moan.
“What is it, doll?” Bucky bends over him, breathing hot air over the back of his neck and caressing his shoulders where they’re starting to feel the strain from being locked in an unnatural position.
“I need you to fuck me.”
“Oh, I see”—the warm tone shifts into something dangerous—“so you’re gonna give the orders now?”
“No—I, just … please, I want you so bad.”
Bucky’s hands wrap around his waist, tugging him closer to the edge of the mattress. His palms glide over the silky fabric covering Steve’s ass, tugging at the waistband of the panties and peeling them down past his hips. Two fingers dip between his cheeks, spreading the slick that’s already there from when Steve prepared himself earlier, circling the base of the item that’s enfolded in the tight furl of muscle.
“What’s this then?”
The toy is black silicone without any embellishments. Bucky tugs at the base, twisting the plug. Steve makes a noise he would be embarrassed by if he wasn’t so far past caring about anything other than getting Bucky’s dick inside him.
“Looks to me like you’ve been gettin’ it already, stuffing yourself with this. What were you doin’ before I got home? Fingering yourself, fucking yourself on this toy? Maybe rubbing one out while you were at it.”
Steve moans.
The flat of Bucky’s palm cracks down on his bare ass.
“Answer me.”
“No, Buck,” Steve pants, “I didn’t. Was just gettin’ ready for you, I promise.”
“Hmm.” Bucky runs his left hand over the smarting flesh, the smooth, ridged metal both soothing and threatening. “Say I believe you. Still think you’re acting like an entitled little slut, stickin’ your ass in the air and expecting me to fill it for you.”
The slap on his other cheek is expected, the sweet sting of pain going straight to his groin. His skin burns when Bucky rubs it with his calloused right hand.
Bucky grabs the base of the plug, stretching his rim as the toy is extracted, before pushing it back in and fucking his hole with shallow thrusts. Steve whimpers and rocks his hips into the touch.
“Shh, baby, all right, I’ll give you what you need.”
Bucky pulls the plug all the way out and uses both hands to spread his cheeks. He places a kiss on Steve’s lower back and kneads the muscle lovingly.
The gust of warm air over Steve’s entrance confirms exactly what he’s in for, a second before Bucky places his face between his cheeks and licks a stripe from his balls to his hole. The stubble on his face scrapes at Steve’s skin, stinging the already sensitive flesh. He licks over the loosened rim, prodding his tongue inside.
“Buck, Jesus fuck—”
Bucky works him over with his tongue, eating him out like he’s the one starving for it, and Steve goes from babbling incoherent encouragements to just making quiet keening sounds. Strong hands hold him in a vice-like grip, keeping him from pushing back for more, deeper.
Then the grip loosens.
The plastic pop of a lid almost has Steve drooling into the pillows like some kind of Pavlovian response. Bucky uses one hand to spread his cheeks and rubs two lube-slick fingers over his already wet and open hole.
“Bucky,” Steve complains—okay, whines.
“What’s the matter, doll? You gotta use your words, remember.” Bucky slides his fingers in and crooks them, searching for the right angle.
Steve’s legs shake with the effort of keeping him from completely collapsing on the bed.
“Fuck me,” he manages to grit out.
“Ah, why didn’t you just say so?” Bucky says conversationally, because he’s an asshole. “You need a dick in you, is that it? You’ve had the plug and my tongue and my fingers, but that’s not enough for you, is it? You’re such a greedy little slut.”
Steve moans shamelessly, uncaring that he’s probably confirming Bucky’s statement.
Bucky crooks his fingers again, this time brushing over the spot that sends white-hot sparks flying up his spine. Along with the words setting his skin on fire it’s almost too much—and not nearly enough.
“You need my dick to stuff you full. Can’t believe how needy you are for it, you’d let me do anythin’ to you.”
Bucky lets his mouth run as he pulls his fingers out and lines his cock up with Steve’s hole, blunt tip pressing against the rim. It’s only once he starts sinking in that he shuts up, words falling away on a groan.
He slides all the way in without effort, Steve looser and more relaxed than he can ever remember being. They both moan when Bucky bottoms out. By now even Bucky’s extraordinary patience seems to be running out because he wastes no time in setting a quick and punishing rhythm.
In this position, with his hands tied behind him, there’s nothing Steve can do but take anything Bucky wants to give him. The room falls silent except for their ragged breaths and the slapping of skin on skin. His own cock is untouched, dripping precome onto the bedsheets. There’s nothing for him to rub against, no way to get any friction.
“You know what I’m gonna do?” Bucky’s voice comes in breathy grunts now, punctuated by his hips snapping hard and relentless against Steve’s ass; his hands dig bruises where he’s holding on to Steve’s hips for leverage. He slows the pace and leans forward, speaking close to his ear. “I’m gonna come inside you, fill you up, mark you as mine.”
“Yes,” Steve breathes, “yours.”
“Uhu. You like that?” Bucky slows down even further, moving his hands from Steve’s hips to run up and down his sides, smoothing over the lace of the corset. “And then I’m gonna plug you back up. Maybe I’ll keep you like that,” he muses, grinding his hips, “loose and open, filthy with my come, ready for me to use whenever I feel like it.”
Steve makes a high-pitched, needy sound in his throat. “Please, Bucky, I need—”
“Shh, I know, sweetheart, I know.” Bucky runs a comforting hand along the knots of his spine. “You’ve been so good to me, I promise you can come soon.” He wraps his hands around Steve’s forearms and tugs so that his upper body is no longer resting on the bed, his weight held up by Bucky—who pulls almost all the way out of him and pauses for a second before he slams back in. He does it again and again and again—Steve loses count after the fourth time, his nerve endings singing with the mix of pain and overwhelming pleasure, his mouth open on a wordless cry—until he stills buried all the way inside and comes with Steve’s name and a bitten-off curse on his lips.
The weight of Bucky’s body slumps over him, both of them collapsing onto the pillows. Steve’s face is pressed into the mattress, the slack, heavy form on top of him crushing his ribs in a way that’s not completely pleasant. He wriggles his fingers, digging them into Bucky’s stomach.
Bucky grunts and raises himself up on his elbows, easing some of the weight off him. “Sorry, baby.” He huffs a hoarse, breathless laugh into Steve’s ear.
His softening dick slides out of Steve’s hole, trailing the sticky mess of his release down his crack, leaving him empty and gaping. Steve shudders; a noise of discontent slipping past his lips.
A vague ache in his legs and shoulders starts to make itself known as the haze of desperate need clears for a moment. But he lies still, keeps his position. He hasn’t been told to move and he knows he’s at Bucky’s mercy, his body Bucky’s to use for as long as he pleases.
He squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold and focuses on the sound of both their panting breaths and rapid heartbeats gradually slowing. Bucky sticks close by, a hand caressing the backs of Steve’s thighs as he reaches over him.
“Here you go, baby.” Something solid presses up against his hole, the plug sliding in with barely any resistance. “That’s better isn’t it?”
Deft fingers work to release tied wrists; careful hands hold him by the shoulders and by the waist and guide him to stand up on trembling legs. He’s helped out of the underwear still tangled around his knees. The steadying presence of Bucky’s body presses close to his back, strong arms wrap around his chest and warm lips lay gentle kisses on the back of his neck and the space between his shoulder blades.
“You did so good, honey. Wanna shake out your arms a bit?” Bucky rubs his hands up and down his arms, nuzzling into his neck and sucking a kiss into the tender skin where his jaw meets his throat.
Steve rolls his stiff shoulders and flexes his wrists, leaning back into his solid chest with a sigh. He’s still achingly hard but the part of him that was begging and screaming for release a minute ago has quieted down, content in this moment of quiet intimacy.
“Lie down,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. “On your back and grab the headboard.”
Steve follows the instructions readily, only silently mourning the loss of closeness, of Bucky’s arms folded around him.
He lies back on the bed and reaches his hands overhead to grab onto the sturdy bars of the bed frame. The mattress shifts as Bucky follows him, hovering over his torso to wrap the tie around his wrists and secure them to the metal.
“Test it for me, please.”
Steve tugs at the binding. It holds. Bucky hums his approval and leans back.
A barely-there touch traces the lines of his arms and chest, down the straps and seams of his corset. Above him Bucky whispers, “Beautiful.”
Then there’s nothing touching him but the sheets under his back.
The want and arousal have honed into a sharp ache located somewhere in the region of his pelvis; the rest of his body feels oddly numb and cold. The slight dip in the mattress on his right side and a hitching breath is the only thing confirming that Bucky’s still next to him.
“Bucky?” His voice comes out small and wavering.
“I’m here.” A warm hand rubs up and down his thigh. “What is it, baby?
“Please can I—wanna see you.”
The weight on the bed shifts and then the blindfold is pulled off. Steve blinks against the soft light in the bedroom.
Bucky is leaning over him, face flushed and gorgeous, hair plastered to his forehead; his lips are spit-slick and bright red—fruit ripened to bursting, begging to be licked and bit into.
“Hey there.” Bucky grins, more blinding than the light, and gives Steve a quick peck to the side of his mouth. “All good?”
“Yeah. Kiss me?”
Bucky snorts. “You remember where my mouth’s been, right?”
“I don’t care.” Steve sticks his jaw out with as much defiance as one can when tied to a bed and dressed in lacy lingerie.
“Punk,” Bucky mutters fondly and shakes his head, but he leans down and cradles Steve’s jaw in his hand and presses a kiss to his lips. It’s close-mouthed but nowhere near chaste; Steve sighs into it.
“Jerk,” he counters as Bucky pulls away. “I’m pretty sure I had someone promise me an orgasm earlier who has yet to deliver.”
Another time mouthing off like that might have earned him a quick spanking or a couple of fingers to choke on. Now they’re not really playing anymore, the scene having moved on to something different. Not that Steve minds.
Because instead of reprimanding him, Bucky swings his leg over his hips, straddling his thighs. By the time Steve’s lust-muddled brain has connected the dots, Bucky has already positioned himself above his cock.
“Fuck,” is the only word Steve’s brain can produce.
Bucky takes that as consent and slowly lowers himself until he’s full seated, ass flush against Steve’s hips. He is tight, holding onto Steve like a vice. He throws his head back and groans. “Oh fuck me, Rogers, you’re a lot for a guy to take.”
Steve watches as his eyes screw shut and his brow twists. “You okay?” he checks, worried that Bucky is hurting himself.
“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, “just gimme a minute, it’s been a while.”
Bucky likes getting fucked occasionally—times when he needs to be taken out of his head and he gives Steve the immense gift of trust in letting him take over the reins. Most of the time what Bucky craves is to be in control; he loves having Steve bent over every imaginable surface in their apartment—or, sometimes, outside of it—taking him apart and putting him back together.
Now he opens his eyes and grins down at Steve. “I prepped in the bathroom before. You know you weren’t the only one wearing a plug tonight.”
Steve’s throat goes dry at the thought of Bucky preparing for this exact scenario. “Yeah?” he croaks out.
“Yeah,” Bucky says and plants a hand on his ribs to balance as he lifts himself up inch by inch and sinks back down at the same agonizing pace. “Told you I had plans.”
He is a sight to behold; his thighs framing Steve in on either side flex with the immense effort it must take to move so slowly; his sweat-slick skin glows in the soft golden light from the bedside lamp; his eyes are heavy-lidded and his lips slightly parted.
“Mmm,” he moans and speeds up incrementally, “you feel so fucking good, baby.”
Steve’s brain shuts down all higher functions as the rest of his blood rushes down to where he and Bucky are joined together. He needs more, deeper, to stay inside Bucky forever, and he needs to come—he needs it all, so bad, right now.
“Oh god, shit, fuck, Bucky, please,” he rambles and scrambles to get his heels on the bed to get some leverage to get his hips up and match Bucky’s movements.
“Yeah, Steve, fuck, just like that.” All of Bucky’s smooth talk is reduced to babbling profanities and endearments as he leans back and rides Steve’s dick with abandon, scrambling for purchase and grabbing hold of his knees.
For a few delirious moments it’s like Steve steps out of his own body and just watches Bucky move above him. On the canvas in his mind he paints him as he is in this singular moment—the delicate column of his throat, the powerful lines of his chest; the raised, white scars and golden veins that tell tales of tragedy and triumph; the shining bead of sweat trailing down his sternum, the piercing gray of his eyes when they flutter open and gaze down with something like wonder—vulnerable, untouchable.
“I’m yours,” Steve says, and means I love you—means I can’t believe you’re giving me this.
Bucky moans and screws his eyes shut. “Stevie, I need—”
Steve can only make a vague noise of encouragement; all his focus spent on staving off his own orgasm as the waves of it rise higher and higher, a tsunami waiting to crash over him and drag him out to sea.
Bucky takes himself in hand and jerks himself in time with the slapping of his ass against Steve’s hips. His mouth falls open on a silent moan and his head lolls back and he stills, spilling over his hand and marking Steve’s chest and the red lace.
His spasming muscles squeeze Steve’s dick and Steve whimpers.
Bucky draws a shuddering breath and opens his eyes to look straight at him, into him.
“Come, sweetheart,” he says, gentle and irrefutable.
Steve does, the final thread snapping; a roar grows in his ears as the white, frothing surf rushes over him, the breakwaters engulfed and washed away like sandcastles come high tide. He floats out on it, carried away by it—distantly aware of things like Bucky sliding off him and tugging at the tie holding his wrists and lowering his arms to his sides and brushing a kiss to his temple.
~~~
He rises to the surface lying on his left side with Bucky tucked up against his back, pressing tiny kisses to his shoulder, Bucky’s flesh hand resting on top of his heart. Somehow he’s been freed from the corset, and his chest has been wiped clean from sweat and stickiness.
“Did you mess up my pretty lacy things?” Steve murmurs.
A warm chuckle in his ear. “’m sorry. I’ll buy you more.”
Steve hums, considering it. More things for him to wear, for Bucky to look a him in—silks and satins that glide cool and smooth over his heated skin. “Okay.”
He blinks away the lingering sluggishness that always hits him after an orgasm of this magnitude, and shifts to lie on his back so he can look at Bucky. When he moves he takes note of something else that’s been removed.
“Thought you were gonna keep me plugged up and ready to use?” He winks at Bucky who ducks his head and … almost blushes. Which is unusual. Bucky usually has no problem saying the filthiest things with a perfectly straight face.
“Some other time maybe,” he says lightly, and brushes his knuckles over Steve’s cheek. “You back with me now?” he checks.
Steve nods and chases after his hand to kiss it. Bucky allows it, then replaces it with his lips for a soft, lingering kiss.
He pushes himself up to sitting. “I’ll get us some water.”
Steve licks his chapped lips. “Water sounds good.”
Bucky returns a minute later and hands him one of his reusable gym bottles filled with deliciously cold water. Steve drinks half of it in two long drags.
“Catch.” He tosses the bottle across the bed to Bucky—who happens to be balanced on one leg with the other part-way into a pair of clean boxer briefs. He looks up just in time to catch the bottle square in his chest.
“Oops.” Steve sprawls back against the pillows and breaks out in giggles at the look on Bucky’s face.
“Punk,” Bucky mutters.
“C’mere.” Steve stretches out his arms toward him.
Bucky finishes pulling on his underwear and grumbles a bit more. He picks up the bottle from the floor and takes a long drink, but then he crawls back up on the bed.
Steve hums with satisfaction as the warm, heavy weight settles half on-top of him, a leg hooked over his knee and a vibranium arm slung over his chest. He wraps his one free arm around Bucky’s shoulder, fingers splayed across the space between his shoulder blades.
Bucky tucks his face into the crook of his neck and starts making soft snuffling noises.
“Buck?” Steve prods at his back. “Are you falling asleep on me? It’s only like eight o’clock.”
Bucky only snuggles closer and mumbles something into the skin behind his ear.
“You’re gonna be completely useless now, aren’t you?” Steve sighs in mock annoyance, but betrays himself immediately when he uses his blunt fingernails to scratch lightly over the bare expanse of Bucky’s back, in the way that will sometimes make him purr like a cat.
“Hey.” Bucky manages to sound indignant despite the shivers running through his body, and lifts his head an inch to nibble at Steve’s earlobe. “Who was it that did all the work here?”
“Sure you did.” Steve smiles into his hair. His own limbs are heavy, settled with a deep satisfaction; he doesn’t actually feel sleepy but is quite content to stay here for now.
“How was your day?” he asks, moving his hand up Bucky’s neck and combing his fingers through sweat-damp hair.
A snort tickles his throat. “Whaddaya think? I was stuck in a two-hour strategy meeting while picturing you waiting for me at home dressed in fucking panties and a corset. I was so twitchy I almost spilled iced coffee all over my lap. Wilson was starting to get all sympathetic on me and Romanoff kept throwing me these looks like she knew exactly what I was thinking.”
Steve grins, picturing it. “Well, I hate to break it to you, pal, but you only got yourself to blame. You picked the day.”
“Totally worth it,” Bucky mumbles drowsily and pulls his arm tighter around him.
“Yeah,” Steve says and drops a kiss on the crown of his head, “yeah, it was.”