𓇢𓆸

Bucky texts you during your lunch on Friday, telling you to pack a bag for a weekend trip and that he’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. When you ask for specifics, all he says is to wear jeans and the leather jacket you weren't at all subtle about stealing from him. 

The thing with Bucky isn't new anymore, but the secrecy makes it feel like it is. Your friends know you're seeing someone, and you've gone as far as to tell them he's older, does government contracting, and is really, really good with his tongue. They don't need to know more than that. It makes everything feel a bit more special, having it be something that belongs just to you. Maybe some people would feel like a dirty little secret, but considering Bucky's face is on boxes of cereal at the grocery store, you get it. 

You spent the first couple months waiting for the other foot to drop, thinking that he was going to figure out there were so many more people worth his time than the barista he snarked back and forth with a couple times a week. You think he almost had a heart attack when he figured out how old you are on your fourth date, but it's not like you're a kid at twenty-eight and it's not like his experiences are universal. He's catching up, but to say he's out of touch with your pop culture references would be a kindness. One he doesn't deserve for the amount of shit he gives you. You love it though, and you think he does too. 

You throw your bag over your shoulder and lock the deadbolt behind you. Your roommate is taking care of Alpine (no matter what he says, she's Bucky's cat), so you're ready for whatever Bucky has planned. 

He's already waiting for you outside your apartment, and you look over your sunglasses and whistle as you take in the sight of him: tight jeans highlighting thick thighs, that blue leather jacket that shows off his metal arm, and a grin so sweet you can already taste it on your tongue. Fuck, he's hot. The couple streaks of grey running through his hair are catching the sunlight and your hands itch to run through it.

“Hey, handsome.”

He grins wider, deepening the lines at the corners of his eyes and yeah, you're definitely licking those later. 

“You listened,” he says, looking you up and down. “Good girl.”

You bite the side of your tongue and hope he can't see on your face how much you love being called that. Going by the way his smile settles into a smirk, it's a lost cause. Whatever. Nothing he doesn't already know. 

“Where should I put this?” you ask, holding your bag out. 

He extends his arm and grabs it from you, swapping it out for a helmet you hadn't noticed before. “I'll take care of it,” he says. “Put this on.”

“What, no kiss?” 

You know he won't kiss you here, not out where people can see. Maybe some people would feel slighted but you know very well he more than makes up for it when you're alone.

“You know better than that,” he chides, voice taking on a stern but teasing tone. You love it when he gets playful like this. “You're smart, act like it.”

“I don't know,” you say. “I guess I was a teacher's pet, but…who knows what that really means.”

His eyes narrow. The first time you saw him in a suit had ended up with you on your knees telling him how fucking hot it was to see him like that and imagine him lecturing you, how you used to fantasize about closing the door behind you during office hours with some of your professors, how you would have done it if he'd been the one teaching. It's what he deserves for throwing down the gauntlet of ‘good girl'. 

Bucky settles back on the bike and nearly growls out, “come here.”

“Do I get to know where we're going?” you ask as you sit behind him, straddling the leather seat and pressing against his back. You wrap your arms around his waist and hook your chin over your shoulder. “Or do I find out later.”

He starts the bike instead of answering. Surprise it is, you guess. 

You've ridden on the bike with him before. You know what it's like to be pressed against him and have the engine thrumming between your legs. You love it, love the thrill and the feeling and knowing that you're safe with Bucky in charge. You don't realize it's going to be a problem until you're nearing the edge of the city. 

You don't know where you're going. You don't know how long the ride is. All you know is that you're wet and aching and you are wrapped around possibly the hottest man in existence who has reflexes faster than humanly possible. You could power through, bite your tongue and stay strong. 

It's easy to imagine how he’ll sound when you corner him whenever you get to your destination. His fingers will trace along your cunt and he’ll make that wrecked sound when he finds how wet you are. All you’ll have to do is whine and say please and he’ll give you what you need, press his fingers in and out until you're gasping his name and telling him how good he feels. The first won't take much, not if you're this worked up already.

Fuck. That's not the train of thought to be going down right now. You press your hands flat against Bucky's stomach, trying to focus on the feel of leather beneath your hands and the wind whipping past your ears instead of how good it feels to have the back of his thighs pressed up against yours. 

You should power through. Let him focus on the drive. Be a good girl, make it easy for him. 

But that's never been what you do, especially not with Bucky. 

You're kind enough to wait until you're on some stretch of highway you don't recognize. There are others on the road, but it's people in motion. It's different than the start and stop of city traffic. You press even closer to Bucky, making sure your hips are flush. He doesn't react, but why would he? He probably just thinks you're getting comfortable. It's more time on the bike than you're used to. 

The helmet is in your way, but trailing your lips along his jaw and neck would be too obvious anyway. Instead, you stretch your hands wide enough that your pinky and ring fingers are below the bottom of his leather jacket. He's only wearing a wife-beater underneath, as is his go-to when he's showing off his (sexy as hell) arm. He argues it's for functionality, but you don't expect a fight heading your way anytime soon. He wouldn't risk you like that. 

The wife beater has a tendency to ride up, and that works to your favor now because it leaves about an inch of skin exposed for you to trace your fingers along, less than a centimeter away from his belt. It's something you could excuse, if you wanted. 

You give him time to adjust to it before dropping your hands a bit so they're resting against his belt, adjust your hands slowly to press more of them against that expanding sliver of skin. You feel him exhale sharply more than you hear it. You're getting to him. The serum makes him sensitive, almost as sensitive as your clit feels right now against the seam of your jeans. He doesn't say a word and that may as well be permission. 

You wiggle a bit against him and him as you lower your hand until you're cupping his half-hard cock through his jeans. You chuckle, it's nice to have confirmation it's not just you. His grip tightens on the bike, you can see the knuckles of his right hand whiten. You move your hand a bit, rubbing him through his jeans. He's hardening under your hand and you lick your lips as you clit throbs. You know what he feels like inside of you, how he fills you and what he sounds like when he tells you how good you feel around his cock. It's easier to imagine when his cock is in your hand. 

“What,” Bucky grits out. It's hard to hear him, but you manage. “Do you think you're doing?”

You press your fingers against the head of his cock with a bit more pressure, just because you can. “What do you think I'm doing?”

He's silent, but he shifts slightly, pushing into your hand, so you know you're getting to him. 

There's no way he's not going to make you pay for this. It's going to be delicious when he does. You press a bit firmer with a hum. Is he going to shove you up against the nearest flat surface and tear your jeans off without care if you can wear them again or not? He could grab your thighs and wrap them around his waist, barely take the take to get his cock out before he presses into you. Or what if he makes you wait for it, instead lays back and tells you to make yourself useful since you wanted to get him so worked up? 

You try to clear the thoughts. Anticipation is thrumming through you, heightening every sensation. The bike beneath you, Bucky in front of you, it's all coming together to be a bit too much. 

The last thing you expect is for him to pull over on the side of the highway. Cars are driving past you, but he's slow and confident as he turns the bike off and gets off of it like he doesn't have a care in the world. He turns to face you. You're still on the bike and he's right there, leaning into your space and against the side of your leg. 

“You're causing problems for me,” he says, pulling your helmet off over your head. “I thought more highly of you.”

“I don't know why you'd do that,” you breathe out. 

Bucky clicks his tongue and sets the helmet to the side before he grabs your hips and lifts you off the bike like you weigh nothing. He sets you back down so you're properly facing him. He steps between your thighs. Your back is to the highway, but you're hyperaware of the cars still passing by. 

What if someone recognizes Bucky's bike? What if they recognize him? Someone could get a lucky shot and somehow identify you and ruin everything. 

“You're supposed to be smart,” he says, moving his hand along the waistband of your jeans until they're settled above a button in a mockery of you teasing him before. “But I guess things like patience are learned. And in this, I can't help but think your age works against you.”

You want to argue but he's popping the button of your jeans and pulling your zipper down. You're on the side of the highway and nothing about this is subtle. You're on his motorcycle and everyone driving by can see you. You don't say a word as Bucky inches your jeans down your thighs and crouches down so his face is level with your cunt. You swallow. 

“Look at you,” he says, looking up toward you. He lifts your legs over his head so he's trapped between your body and your jeans still around your ankles. There's not an ounce of plausible deniability to be had. “So needy that you're letting me do this for the world to watch.”

You adjust your hold on the leather seat, desperate for something to hold onto. Your breath is caught in your chest. You can't believe this is happening. 

“Bet you've been thinking about this, haven't you?” Bucky asks. “Makes me think you'd let me do this whenever I want.”

He lifts his metal hand and runs a finger along your cunt. “You're not even wearing underwear and you're soaking wet. Is this for me, sweetheart?”

You nod, pressing your fingers harder into the seat. A car whizzes past. It feels dangerously close but maybe you're just feeling everything so much right now. 

He spreads your cunt wide with his fingers and looks at it with the same intense focus he approaches everything. “Pretty.”

You whine and jerk your hips toward him. You're aching. You feel so empty and knowing he's just looking at you and not doing anything is sending blood rushing through you and you need it. Anything he’ll give you. 

Bucky drops his hand and leans his head against your thighs with a smirk. “I don't know if you deserve it,” he says. “We're risking public indecency charges as it is. We should get going.”

“I'll kill you,” you gasp, squirming on the bike. “Please, please, please.”

He turns against your thighs, beard itching the sensitive skin in a way that goes straight to your cunt. “No you won't.”

“Bucky,” you whine. 

He chuckles and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. And then another, an inch higher up. The next one has a nip of teeth and the one after that is a full bite that has you arching your back so hard it hurts. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

“I guess it won't hurt,” he says. His voice is so low you struggle to hear him. “I'll be quick. Just enough to tide you over since you can't even make it the full ride.”

“Quick,” you huff. You've seen him do quick. This is not that. He's taking his time because he knows it's driving you insane. “Sure.”

Maybe he did mean it this time because the next kiss isn't a kiss as much as it is him taking your clit between his lips rolling his tongue against it hard enough you're seeing stars in front of the lining the highway. You swear you can feel him smirking against you. 

You're not aware of moving your hand until it's in Bucky's hair, yanking him even closer because it's so good but it's not enough and you've been rising the edge for what feels like a century and you need more. 

He gives it to you before you can form the words. The distinct cool and smooth feeling of his metal fingers press inside of you in one easy motion because you're so wet you might as well be drilling. It's so much but it's not enough and you clench around them. 

There's no disguising what you two are doing right now. You don't even care. You grasp onto the seat with one hand and pull Bucky's head closer with the other. You're grinding your hips down between his fingers and his mouth and you feel like you're a tight wire about to snap. 

He hums and curls his fingers and that's it. That's all you need to go tumbling over the edge with a scream you’ll probably be embarrassed about later. 

Bucky doesn't give you time to recover before he's standing up and undoing his belt and jeans. He places his hand, metal fingers still shining from your cunt, on the bike to steady and and uses the other to line his cock up with your cunt. It's your only warning before he presses forward with one easy stroke, filling you up in the way his fingers just couldn't. 

You can't believe this is happening. Your secret older boyfriend is fucking you on his motorcycle for the entire world to see and this entire this is so hot that it's blowing every fantasy you've ever had right out of the water. 

He groans against your ear, lips hot and wet as they slide down your neck, leaving a trail of bites you know are going to bruise. 

“The things you do to me,” he says. “You drive me crazy.”

You don't think you can form a solid sentence, but you know you don't want him to finish like this. You press his chest and somehow manage to convey that you want to suck his dick because you end up on your knees with him leaning against the bike. 

“Greedy,” he says, chest heaving. 

Maybe you are, but you don't care because the weight of his cock is heavy on your tongue and his eyes are nearly closed as he loses himself to the sensation. He's holding onto the bike with both hands, leaving you in control. It's a heady sensation. 

You take him deeper until the head of his cock is brushing the back of your throat. Bucky curses under his breath and you know he's close. You drag your hands up his thighs and reach up to grab his balls with one hand and press your knuckles behind them with the other. You've taken him too deep to taste when he cums, but he says your name like a prayer and that more than makes up for it. 

“Did I do a good job?” you ask, wiping the corner of your mouth. 

He stares down at you like he can't believe you're real. “A good job? Fuck you.”

“You just did.”

He puts his clothing back in place with a laugh and you do the same. The mirrors on the bike aren't the best for checking that everything's on order, but you figure you've already thrown decency out the window anyway. 

You settle behind him again on the bike, this time with a pleasant ache between your legs. He's more relaxed against you as he starts the bike. 

“Good start to the weekend?” you tease.