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Sometimes sex with his girl isn't about pleasure. It's about letting their minds shut off for a few moments. It's more akin to a drug high - not that it doesn't feel good, but that the pleasure is a side effect.
Bucky remembers being drugged in Hydra. It wasn't always bad. When they experimented with some shit he wished he could get now, the euphoric feeling was enough to mellow him out. The thick, transparent liquid made him easier to handle but left him lazy. To his dismay, they stopped giving it to him.
"Babe?" He hears his precious doll yawn out her worry. "We're safe here. You need sleep."
She always knew him better than any other. That's why he had to keep her safe. She knew who he really was and accepted it without hesitation. She also lied to the faces of anyone who would question it.
James Barnes was a killer. And he enjoyed it.
Going overseas in the war he thought he'd die. He would never see Steve again. Never feel the touch of some broad.
Turns out the weight of a weapon in his hands was better than anything he knew. Even when Steve came to save them, he didn't care so long as he could watch someone's life be terminated via his hands.
He felt his doll stir. She moved closer to him. Her head rested near his thigh. She let out a soft breath that tickled the hair there.
"Your thinking is invading my ability to sleep." Her voice was muffled as she kissed his skin.
He grunted in response. His attention fully on her now, he watched as she kissed across his skin. He was already hard thinking about the moments the life would drain from someone's eyes because of him.
The world came to a halt when he felt her mouth on his cock. His hands flew to her hair. "Their eyes don't compare to yours." His fingers tightened around her silky locks. "They were always too weak to accept the truth. Fuck, doll-!" His mind goes fuzzy for a moment as she grabs his balls.
He wonders if she knows he's speaking about the dead he's left in his wake. She knows he can't stop his thoughts at times like this. He tries to feel bad, knowing he only allows her in his head. Someone has to keep him calm.
He pushes her further down on him. He can feel his dick hit the back of her throat, then slide beyond. She coughs. Gags when his hips snap up. He doesn't stop. She doesn't ask him to.
He can feel her saliva mixed with his precum wet his thighs and the bed under him. He chases the mind-numbing feeling by using her throat to stop the thoughts in his head. It hurts her, but he doesn't care. They give and take their sadistic natures equally.
Her tiny hands squeeze his balls again. The blunt tips of her nails sting his sensitive skin. Her puffy, abused lips tighten around his cock as she gives him one last suck. It's all he needs to cum.
Some of it goes down her throat. Most falls out of her mouth and onto him. It's a mess of spit, cum, and tears all over the inside of his thighs, and his cock. It leaks down his balls and to the sweaty mess of the sheets under him. He lets her head go with a loud sigh of relief.
The running of the moisture that cools and sticks to his skin is all he can feel for a blissful moment. He's hazy. Nothing matters right now.
He vaguely notices - because he notices everything she does - that she's taken her night shirt off and cleaned her face. She kisses him on the corner of his mouth, helping him lay down. He can feel the sticky mess under him, but he can't care.
She rolls onto her side facing him. Her hand makes small circles on his skin until she passes back out. He can barely feel it. As if it's a ghost touching him. He feels foggy, dumb, and satisfied. He wonders if she did something beyond letting him fuck her mouth.
He wonders if she'd do it again.