FandomFluffAndFuck

There's nothing that isn't fucking filthy in their bedroom tonight—top to bottom, left to right. It's obscene. The most obvious, delicious sight is Bucky. He's monopolizing the bed with his muscular thighs split wide open. He's got his flushed, red face buried in their disheveled sheets while his thick ass sticks unashamedly up into the humid, dim atmosphere of the bedroom. His back is fucking arched. Perfect form to expose his pussy to Steve's lustful touch.

With two fingers shoved up his lush pussy, Bucky's entrance is leaking like a faucet between his fat lips and dripping down Steve's thin hand.

Between the two of them—both of them sweaty and glowing in the light of their bedside lamp—Steve should be the one gasping with his lungs and heart. But, shit, it's Bucky. Of course, it's Bucky.

Gasping.

Those fucking skilled fingers are inside him. What else could he possibly be doing other than spinning out of control, barely breathing?

“Nnnnnghh—” he gasps, just on the edge of a whimper.

He just feels so good inside him.

Good, good, good—inside and out.

Maybe, impossibly, better out with how Steve's fucking talking, raunchy and humiliating—“what does that big, dumb body know anyway, bubba? Nothin’,” he hushes, easy as anything while plunging two fingers in and out, in and out, letting the wet, squelching noise of Bucky's messy cunt fill the air for him. He dives back in after an ear-burning moment; his slim, long fingers inside his cunt and his voice in his ear, “it doesn't know anything. You don't know anything.” He tells Bucky.

Bucky knows!

He shakes. Pussy quivering on thrusting, curling, fucking fingers. Tight.

“S'why're you even trying? Don't, baby. Don't bother.” He hums, hypnotizing Bucky without even trying. Touching. Talking. Rubbing against the wet, wet inside walls of his pussy while his voice curls sensually around him like velvet. “Jus’ listen to me. Just let me do the talking, huh? All that muscle, and who's your daddy-?”

Fists tightening suddenly, painfully in the sheets, Bucky writhes.

Oh!

Those words—that word—it hits like an unforgiving bolt of lightning. Right through his broad chest. Zapping straight through him, plunging down, to strike him right in the cock. He mewls.

Jesus christ, Steve. He—he can't just—

The thing is, Bucky walks around all day feeling big, swaggering about with his hairy chest puffed out, his shoulders back, and his arms thick as his legs used to be, swaying by his sides, but right now he feels tiny. He's knotted up and hot inside. A ball of electricity like a tangled ball of yarn—a ball of pythons. Writhing. Tight.

It's—it's the contrast that drives him crazy. He never gets to feel like this with anyone else. He never has. Not before Steve. Steve makes him like this. He strips him down, out of his clothes, and even rips him down past his hard-earned muscle. Steve exposes his bones and gnaws on them with stubborn, sharp teeth. Fuck. And Bucky craves the marks now. He can't help it.

“Me.” Steve asserts confidently, letting Bucky know that the assault of blinding, gut-swooping pleasure has just been seconds, not the years it feels like. “That's fucking right, Buck.” Steve smacks him on the plant, unflinching. “I'm your daddy. And Daddy knows that your big, big body isn't good for anything.”

The cry that tumbles out of Bucky's lips just then would be enough to send his face up in flames if it weren't already an inferno.

“The only part of you that you need is that tight, wet, little pussy.”

At that, uncontrollably, Bucky feels his inner walls flutter and twitch—his cunt clenching, milking those dangerous, dexterous fingers. Guh.

“Ohh, baby,” Steve coos down at him, leaning in closer, so his hot breath traces across the small of Bucky's back, bringing goosebumps to his already tingling, burning flesh. “It's dripping back here. You feel it, bubba, don't you-?” He demands to know, pulling his fingers aaall the way out before stuffing them right back in.

“Ha-ah!”

“—Feelin’ it get all wet and sloppy.”

Bucky whimpers so high, so loud it makes something in his throat twinge. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter. Steve said so! Nothing but his pussy matters! So it's fine—it's good for him to hide his red-hot face deeper in his crossed forearms, somehow getting even more ass up and spreading hairy legs harder. Farther. Whatever. He doesn't knowww! He just does. And, fuck, that feels so good.

“Yeah, you're not that dumb that you can't feel what you're leaking.” He snorts, adding under his breath, “not yet.” Then, back at his normal, rumbling volume, “you feel it, but do you know what that is?”

Bucky makes another sound, entirely unaware of whether that means yes or no. Steve will decide anyway. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He doesn't have to do anything but feel. Feeling from his curling toes to his furry fucking pussy—pubic mound to vulva to asscrack—to his brainless head.

“That's all your strength, all your smarts,” Steve asserts. “Dripping right out.”

And—

Yeah.

Another fucking bolt of electricity. Right through him. And… he's too fragile. He can't goddamn stand it. Moaning, guttural, Bucky is just about to collapse into the bed, unable to hold himself up when Steve's here, being all Steve. Stubbornly fingering like he wants to keep him here forever, for hours, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of his dripping pussy—going until he's dry, and calling himself ‘daddy’ to further drain Bucky of any intellect. Steve.

He's not gonna survive.

He's not gonna survive Steve.

“Yeah, it's all going bye-bye, baby. You come home to me and turn into a lube-soaked fleshlight—”

Bucky jerks and bellows, uncontrollable. Uncaring how stupid he sounds. It's the truth! He's so fucking stupid, dumb, and guhhh—good. Feelssogood.

“—Nothing else. All those hours in the gym-? All those books you try to read? All the formulas and equations you follow for peak gains? They don't mean shit here.” Steve slaps his thick, muscular ass—so much harder than his last love tap. This one stings. And he does that while crooking his bony fingers to press unforgivingly against his g-spot. Hard. Pulsing his fingers into it. Like he's milking it.

“OH,” Bucky's jaw falls open. Jesus. His jaw might dislocate. “O-OH!”

Still, Steve's fucking pressing. Fingering. Thrusting. Trying to make him squirt. Pressing like that and not giving Bucky a choice but to squirt. The other man knows his body too well. Inside and out. Making h-him—

“AHH!” Bucky's eyes tear up, whole body breaking out in a fresh tsunami of sweat that cascades over him.

Oh, god!

“You're stupid, baby.” Steve just goes on and on. Rubbing. Pressing. Fingering. Not letting up the pressure on his swollen g-spot or on his throbbing clit. Pinning Bucky between an agonizing, pleasurable rock and a hard place. “I know. I see right through you. You don't have to try to pretend otherwise anymore, though. You're home. I got you. I know, bubba. I know big words are hard and drooling's easy.” Meanly, cruelly, Steve laughs as he realizes, “drooling from both ends...”

But, worse—impossibly worse—quickly, as Steve spells it out, he pulls his fingers all the way out, surely pausing a moment to stare down at all the wetness glazing his hand before shoving them back in. Three this time. Steve's right! Oh—

Oh, god!

Bucky jerks and his eyes roll. Steve's so right that he's so fucking dumb, he's useless, he's not smart enough to be a person, he's just an object, and his pussy is so tight and tiny and three of his fingers, curled against his sweet spot and—guh. The pressure has fucking built. Between his hips. So aware of that part of his body in a way he never is, not unless Steve has him, pinned in place and tortured. He's—he can't!

He's cumming.

He's squirting.