till the end of the line

With two, thick fingers plunging in deep and curling erotically as they're pulled back to tug on his rim, Bucky finger-fucks Steve like he's trying to force him up and down the bed—sensually, pleasurably friction burned with his head knocking against the headboard when Bucky's fingers slllide deep inside only to be brought back down the mattress, through the mused, fucked-up sheets, by the filthy way he hooks his fingers inside and rubs at his spread-open, ruined hole from the inside.

Guh.

Plunging deep. Pulling out. In. Out. In out.

Guh.

Every pull back, Steve's body shudders uncontrollably. Really, he can't fucking move, though. He's barely ninety pounds with two hundred and sixty pounds flattening him, face down against a sweat-soaked, sex-smothered bed, he can't get anywhere. He can't get anything done. He can't think.

Straddling his obscenely wide spread thighs, pinning him by sitting on the backs of his poor knees, to say that Bucky is overpowering him would be an understatement. God. Steve wants it, though. Every lube-drenched, aching slide of his fingers takes Steve apart more.

More.

More.

That's why he's fucking here. Pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard.

Bucky.

Bucky's so much heavier. So much bigger. And there's no way to say it, other than to say it, his cock is no fucking exception. His fucking cock. Jesus Christ. It has to be more of a hindrance than anything. Steve has never felt the saying hung like a horse before the way he feels it now—

With the other man's huge, fat cock—too huge—lying so heavy and thick against the back of his thigh, slathered obscenely in lube (from an optimistic attempt to stick it in him earlier) and dripping pre-cum into the downy, soft blonde hairs at the back of Steve's pale, lithe thigh.

More than fingers, mass, and cock, Bucky has a goddamn mouth on him—

A mouth that is running.

“You're so fucked up, aren't you, doll?” Steve can hear the dangerous grin he's wearing. The only thing he's wearing right now.

Miraculously, more than hearing his cocky, mind-melting hot voice, Steve processes those words and. Fuck.

Steve doesn't want to know what sound rips out of his drooling, gaped lips. He knows it's pornographic and humiliating. That's enough.

Whatever it is, it apparently sounds close enough to agreement that Bucky keeps talking his talk, suave bastard, “mmm-hmm, darlin’. My lil’ freak. Think about it.” Steve can't. He can't think. Still, deep inside him, fingering him until he's so open, lax, and boneless he'll never move again, Bucky demands he does. He demands he choke on pleasure and opens wide for his double-the-size body (probably more and, oh god, doesn't that just make Steve clench tight, thinking that Bucky is literally more than twice his size). “Imagine if your friends could see you now, hmm? Should'a listened to them, Stevie baby.” He purrs. “They told you I was bad news. They knew this would happen.”

Steve is unfathomably red from his forehead plastered with his sweat-soaked hair to his curling toes. He loves it.

“They knew your dirty little secret, didn't they?”

There isn't a shot in hell that Steve can respond. It doesn't matter. He isn't a participant here. He's a toy. An object. A fleshlight. Meant to be stretched and filled.

“They knew you were greedy and you wouldn't be able to help yourself, honey. You're too greedy. You just can't help yourself, I know. I know.”

He's gurgling on his own spit, overflowing just from fingers. How and why did they even try cock before? This is sofuckinggood. He is liquified. Quivering as a puddle—an ocean soaking into the bed like it's nothing but a sponge.

Sweat.

Lube.

Drool.

Tears.

He can't help himself, Bucky's right.

“You wanted it so bad. And ‘m so sorry we couldn't make it fit in ya, honey. But…” he lowers himself down flatter, closer, cock absolutely plastered against Steve's body, crushing him, and whispers, soft lips and sharp stubble dragging sensually over Steve's burning ear, “I know you like it anyway. You're getting off on this.” It isn't a question.

He is.

He is.

It's so fucking boiling hot that when Bucky peels himself off of Steve, sitting back up, all Steve can do is writhe, desperate, totally blind and deaf to all that isn't in this room, on this bed, within reach of Bucky. Right here. Right now.

Yes.

“You’re so fucked up, aren't you?” His fingers do something devastating inside. “You're so greedy for it, huh? It doesn't fit and you like it. You like that it hurt.”

Steve cries out, just at the reminder. It did hurt. It hurt so bad that tears just gushed out of him and his mouth started to water involuntarily like, impossibly, his gag reflex was triggered. So deep inside him. It hurt. But it was all he's ever wanted, the hot sting of pain and the excruciating fullness of being, just, stuffed full. To the teeth.

“You held out to the fucking last minute, didn't you, you stubborn son of a bitch. You moaned like a whore for it, trying to get me to shove it in more anyway. I bet if your tight little ass was a fucking tiny bit looser I could've fucked right from your ass into your throat, hmm?”

Steve thrashes.

“You wanna choke and cry on it, honey?”

He is losing his mind. He has lost his mind. Already. This can't be real. Holy shit.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know you fucking do. Tsk, tsk,” he clicks his tongue, pawing at his ass, “just look at you—look at this hole. This fuckin’ hole wants more than it can take. I know. You're hungry. You're greedy. You're so fucked up, gagging for it even though you know it's not gonna fit. A little freak like you? What're you gonna do with all this cock anyway?”

“Hmm?” Bucky purrs, pleased to destroy him while remaining so composed that unless Steve couldn't feel his huge cock rutting against the back of his thigh, he wouldn't know this is turning him on at all. “What was that?”

It just fucking bursts out of Steve then, choked and through chest rattling sobs, blindly clawing at the tangled sheets around him, he blabbers, “a-AH-ANYTHING.” It's a dam breaking. Suddenly, there is a flood. “Any—anythng, mmnngh, pluh-please! Pluh-z, pl'z, put—”

“Puh-put! Put it in meee!” Tears rush down his sizzling hot cheeks.

And at the same time that Bucky rapidly, smoothly pulls out his two fingers to replace them with his thumb, shoving into his slick, sore, pried-open hole to abuse his prostate even more, he simply states, “no.”

And the denial, the meanness, the pleasure, the ache—

GUH.