mass percussion

Now, Billy had his eyes on you for quite some time. Ever since you rejected his offer to give you a ride on his '79 Chevrolet Camaro, he couldn't deny the spark. Besides, what better way to rub it on king Steve's face than by stealing away his princess? 

catching your chin in between his thumb and index finger, he whispered, “should really make sure you lock the door behind you if you don't want anyone to interrupt your alone time together.”

The hint of mockery in his voice was evident but you decided to entertain him, “and what if it was the plan all along?”

Maybe it's the alcohol thrumming in your veins or the adrenaline rush of sneaking away while your ex was right downstairs but you couldn't help the sly smirk that slipped on your lips. 

“two can play that game, princess.” his voice is an octave low now, eyes half lidded as he stared at your lips, thumb tracing the plump of your lower lip before leaning forward and claiming a kiss,

“great, sure, just invite yourself in here, man.” eddie groaned, rolling his eyes at the display. Breaking the kiss, you press your finger on eddie's lips, shushing his complaints, “don’ be selfish now, eddie.” palming his cock through his jeans, you purred, “there's 'nough of me for both of ya',” 

Billy chuckles at your slurred words, hand snaking around to grab your bicep and tugging you forward into his chest, “you heard her, freak.” there's a subtle jealousy evident in eddie's actions when he grabs your waist tight, brown eyes staring into billy's taunting blue ones,

“you gonna fuck her or what?” the blond rasps, pressing kisses down your jawline and nipping lightly at your neck. Eddie scoffs, looking away while you moaned for Billy, “don't you have better things to do?”

“you do realise right that she's not your girl or anything?” Those words, bitter yet true, made Eddie wonder why he was here. Billy is right, you aren't dating him. It's hypocritical of him to get jealous like this. So what if he has been your dealer for what, like at least a few months now? That doesn't imply anything. That's not a relationship.

Even if he calls the times you met in the woods as dates, sneaking out and getting high together. Eddie smiles a bit at the memories before blinking them away upon Billy's words, “if you prefer just watchin' then I can put on a good show for ya', Munson.” 

“We'll see whose name she's moaning soon.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie slips his hand inside your panties after flipping up your skirt, “shit baby, you're already dripping,” his fingers barely teased your folds and you were already whining, hips pushed back into his touch while Billy cradled your face in his palms, the menacing smirk on his lips a sheer contrast to the way he held you gently,

“turns out, the princess is just a cheap lil' whore, hm? Moanin' like a slut even though we've barely touched her yet.” 

Eddie groaned when you clenched around his fingers at Billy's words, his cock throbbing in his jeans. He was getting impatient at the thought of how tight your cunt would feel wrapped around him, “what? She getting tighter due to my words?”

Billy sneers, his hand slid down to wrap his fingers around the column of your throat, “you like being called a slut, princess?” you caught on the little sadistic glint in his eyes even in your intoxicated state and yet you can't deny that the thrill of it all excited you further, “speak up, princess.”

he pressed a light kiss on your lips as you stuttered out a small affirmative. Meanwhile Eddie pulled out his fingers with a wet 'pop' and a muttered curse under his breath. The clang of his belt soon followed before you felt him press the swollen head of his cock against your entrance,

“bet I can just slip right in, mhm?” you tried to look at him over your shoulder but Billy's hand around your neck prevented that, “uh uh, eyes on me, slut.” 

But before you can reply with a snarky comment, Eddie's cock thrusted into your barely prepared cunt, bottoming out with one hard thrust. Your cry made the man in front of you chuckle, his voice shushing you gently while the man behind you gripped your hips hard, nails digging into your clothes, “fuckin' hell baby, you're so— ah, so fucking tight,”

he was already dragging his cock all the way out, teasing you by just leaving the swollen tip in before slamming in with vigour. The force of which had you falling into Billy's chest. Your lips parted in a silent scream when Eddie's hand snaked around your thighs, fingers finding your clit to toy with. Billy took this opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair and push your face down against his crotch,

“take it out.” he cooed, tugging harshly at your strands when you failed to follow through on his order. With the smallest droplets of tear forming at the corners of your eyes from the rough treatment, you hurriedly undid his denim jeans, his hard cock springing out with a spilled grunt from his lips,

“put that mouth to good use, slut.” his fingers dug into your skull as soon as your lips wrapped around the tip, shoving you down on his cock soon after and laughing breathlessly when he heard you choke. A groan left him as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, hips jutting against you sporadically, “fuck,”

the curse drawls out of his lips with a deep grunt, followed by Eddie's voice, “you're tightening up, baby.” he knows that you're clenching around him because of Billy's rough treatment, at the idea of having them both and it pisses him off.

The mere thought of having to share you with Billy fuckin' Hargrove, Hawkins' new king, makes Eddie dig his nails into your skin, leaving tiny crescents blooming on the area as he brings your hips back to meet his sharp thrusts midway.

Each deep thrust of Eddie's hips pushed you against Billy, his cock slipping deeper in your throat and making tears roll down your face. Your lungs burned from the lack of air and you squirmed under the two men's hold on you.

Pulling out his cock from your mouth, Billy fisted it, slapping your cheek with the saliva slickened head, “you look so fuckin' beautiful like this… all fucked out and messy.” his eyes followed how yours rolled back into your head and face flushed with tear stains while eddie continued to fuck into you without acknowledging the other man.

Looking around Billy smirked upon finding what he was hoping for. His hand cradled your chin with a touch softer than you'd expected from him and he lifts your face up. There was a flash of bright light in front of you and then you heard a reeling sound. With wide eyes, it took you a moment to realise that he just snapped a polaroid of you like this, 

“what the fuck are you doin', Hargrove?” Eddie barked, eyes narrowed to which Billy chuckled, shaking off his rebuking glance with an uncaring shrug, “thought you'd be more fun, Eddie. Here, you can have this.” handing the metalhead the polaroid, Billy watched his reaction, holding back a chuckle when Eddie seethed, jaws clenched and jealousy oozing off his mere existence. 

Guiding your mouth back on his cock, Billy smirked, “you can't handle a girl like her, munson.” 

This time, Eddie scoffed, placing the photo down, “yea? Then why's she about to cum on my cock, hm?” his hand gripped the back of your head, shoving you down on Billy's cock roughly. A muffled yelp from you and a curse muttered by Billy with his head thrown back, mouth hanging open had Eddie chuckling now, spitting out the last word with venom laced in his tone, “think I like you better like this, king.” 

“fu—ck,” Billy's hips stuttered, cock throbbing heavy on your tongue while his hefty balls slapped against your chin. Your thighs trembled from eddie's cock hitting right against that spongy spot inside you that had you cumming around him with a scream that got muffled by billy fucking your throat mercilessly. 

“your gonna look s'fuckin' pretty with my cum all over your face, princess.” he gasped before pulling out right as he was about to cum. Jerking off his twitching cock, he spilled his cum on your face, lazily slumping back against the bed now.

Grabbing the camera, he snapped another photo of your face— delicate makeup that took you hours to do, now ruined with tears, drool and cum— courtesy of Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson, “this one's for king Steve,” staring at the polaroid, Billy mused, “Harrington's gonna love this.” 

Eddie bit his lip to bite back his grunts while you spasmed around his cock, pushing him closer to his own high. He tried to pull out but you pushed your hips back into his, making him chuckle a bit, “gonna cum, baby.” you looked back at him with glassy eyes,

“wan' it inside, eddie, please,” he can't deny when you ask so sweetly now can he? Ever since the first time he met you to supply drugs, he always did have a soft spot for you and maybe, just maybe you reciprocated that. He was definitely more than just a distraction.

you figured that you'd been happier with him the last few months you spent with him than you ever were with steve, "you sure?” you hum with a light nod. the moment soon being interrupted by Billy who scoffs at you both, “love birds.” 

Rolling his eyes at Billy's words, Eddie pushed his cock back in, upto the hilt, letting your walls squeeze him tightly as he came, a string of curses on his lips. 

Meanwhile Steve happened to have the worst evening of all times. Hearing Nancy say that they're just pretending to be in love with each other and then seeing Jonathan take her home. He just needed some alone time.

But he just happened to stumble upon the very room you were in. And his throat went dry at the sight, “sorry, I'll just—” he was about to leave when Billy spoke up with a grin,

Fuck. Yeah? You like that, Barnes? Bucky. If I'm fucking you, you call me Bucky. I thought I was fucking you? You talk too much.

You drain your glass, pulling your phone out of your bag as you head towards the bar. If you're going to do this, if you're going to see him and possibly speak, you need more courage.

A lot more courage.

He's glaring. Sat in the corner, alone. Even if he came in with two people.

Even if the two people he came in with were easily recognisable. One being a man you're shocked to find in Madripoor; the other is supposed to be in prison.

Not that you should be here. Not that you had any right to be in a place so lawless.

And, of course he's alone. Brooding in a corner.

You're predictable, Barnes. Am I? Yup. Maybe it's intentional. I don't think so. Maybe you think too much.

His impossible eyes burning into you as you pretend to be interested in whatever the bartender is saying. Your head just nodding, agreeing to whatever you've ordered and more, because you need to find someone, anyone.

Because you can't go near him.

Even if you're being pulled to him. Literally tugged via his eyes, and as much as you're angry, even after the weeks which have passed, you want to.

Fuck you want too.

You want to have those hands on you again, that tongue between...

Draining the glass, the alcohol stings as it descends down your throat. You tap your nail on the bar, throwing back the next glass as you throw a note down.

You've decided. Because you'd be lying if you said you didn't want him. You'd be lying if you didn't want a fight either. Whatever happened, whatever had him beside you one minute and then on the television the next, you didn't care.

Fate was at play, and you weren't one to argue with such a higher power. Not when it presented you with such a gift.

Bucky turns his head the moment he spots you in the seated area, and you let out a laugh at the glare he's shooting you. You think of hitting him, throwing a drink over him. But instead, you think of something more devious, something more fun as you walk up to him, stopping when you're right in front of him.

Just as the bass of the music increases.

You swallow, before sliding your leg over his, fingers sliding the fabric of your dress up your thighs as you sit lower and lower until your full weight is on him. You remember moments like this, where his eyes drank you in, hair longer and jaw tense. Now, he won't even turn his head fully.

His eyes not even moving to side-eye you.

Refusing to turn his head even as you grind down on him.

Fine. What? You act like you’re so alone, but I’m here. And before you say it’s not the same, James. It is. Having someone is still having someone.

Trailing your fingers down your thighs, you turn them until they're sliding over his covered abdomen, feeling him tense. Smirking, you let them trail up him, his hands still unmoving, but his jaw is tensing.

You wonder what he's thinking, whether he's remembering the positions he's had you in before. Whether he's thinking about how he pressed your naked front against the tiled wall in his crappy place.

His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist tightly.

You're not a bad person. What? Just thought you should know. If that’s why you keep pushing me away. Don’t. You don't look like you hear that all that much. You know, because of the brooding and the staring. You don't know me. Touché. But, I want to. And I think that terrifies you.

You wonder if it was that, the wanting to know him which sent him away. If you wanted too much from him. From a man you discovered was Bucky Barnes rather than outwardly told.

But as he turns his head, his blue eyes set you on fire. And you don't care. You don't. Not even as they light your skin, even if they don't move from your own eyes. You let your lips curl, finding his expression unreadable and stern, just like always.

The song changes. The thrum of it's louder, thrumming through you, and you part your legs a little more purposefully as you hold his glare. Refusing to bend, to break and cower as he releases your wrist.

You move closer, fingers brushing lightly over his cheek as you feel him sigh against your skin.

His gaze softens, and you don't know what to think. Suddenly not so cocky, so confident in what your reasons are for being on top of him.

Swallowing, you lean forward, lips so close to his, seeing, testing the waters. You know him, so you know he won't move to capture them. Bucky never wants to seem desperate, he loves control, and he won't surrender it to anyone.

And then he moves.

Capturing your lips hungrily, almost desperately.

You don't expect it. Your breath quickly being stolen as you scrape nails against his scalp as he pulls you down his thighs to his lap. Metal fingers cool even through the fabric of your dress as he pins you against him.

It's all tongues and hatred; all sloppy and full of need.

There's no apology, no story being told to explain where he's been.

Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.

You chant it like a prayer as you feel his flesh fingers sliding over your thigh, occasionally gripping your skin and you hate how much you want him. How you want his hand to slide to your core, sliding a finger or two under the lace of your underwear. How you want him to fuck you in the corner of this goddamn club because you've missed him and the way he fucked you.

So you pull back.

Breaths ragged, both of you staring, eyes wide.

You get up before he can stop you before you can convince yourself to stay. Wiping your mouth, you walk backwards, narrowing your eyes, hyper-aware neither of you has said a fucking thing to one another before you turn on your heels.

Shoulders meet bodies; elbows digging into passerby's as you become desperate for air. But when it hits your skin, it does nothing. You move to the alleyway, brick against your skin as your lean against it, hoping it'll root you.

Stop you from thinking of the past. Of lazy mornings and sheets tangling around legs as his sweat meets yours.

Pressing the back of your hand to your mouth, you can't slow your heartbeat. Your head still swirls, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

And then you remember your bag.

The one you'd left with him.

"Shit..."

Raking your fingers through your hair, calculating whether you can replace everything easily.

You don't. I don't, what? I'm not worth knowing, alright.

You run your fingers over your lips. It's replaceable. All of it.

Moving from the alleyway as your phone pings, and you smile at the invite you've received.

You've always been a fan of art.

Which is why you went, taking your hat off to Sharon Carters for being able to still host a party after the chaos caused by the three men who didn't belong.

You'd changed from your dress into a matching two-piece as the bullets rained down. By the time your heels hit the cobbles, it had all died down, but the energy in the air had shifted.

An art show where you're sure he's on the lookout for you as much as you are him.

Sliding your phone into your blazer pocket, you nod as you pass unfamiliar faces, taking a glass from a tray as a tear of condensation slips down your wrist.

That's when you feel the eyes. His eyes.

You move away, sliding to the side, hiding behind other people before you find him in front of you.

All tense jaw, blue-eyes and a black blazer you know he doesn't actually own. Because Bucky isn't flashy, he isn't silk lapels and wannabe-tuxedo jackets.

He was barely dinner and a candle.

Lifting your chin, you stare into his eyes as he raises his hand, and you catch sight of your bag. Your damn bag.

Stepping closer, he takes the glass from your hand, placing it on a side as he hands it to you.

"Still shit at keeping your possessions safe then?"

You snatch the bag from him, eyes narrowing. "I misplace things, I don't lose them."

"You never misplace a target though."

"No. No, I don't. And, if that's your clever way of asking me if I stalked you that night, my answer would be no. I stumbled in there, wishing to drown my sorrows just like you were, you ass.

Opening your bag, you eyeball everything, checking it all over as you hear him laugh.

"Not really in the business of stealing things from women's bags."

Smirking, you clasp it shut. "Just disappearing one morning and going on a date with another woman the next, then," you snarl, lifting your eyes to meet his at your last word.

He shifts. Jaw tensing as he averts his eyes. "That isn't fair."

"Oh, you didn't leave one morning and not come back? Even if you said you were in, all in. That was someone else, was it?"

Bucky doesn't smile. Doesn't smirk. But he does scold you with his glare. "No."

"Oh. Interesting."

He runs his hand over his face as he looks you up and down. "You should be more careful with your things."

"You should be less of an asshole."

"I'll let my therapist know."

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. "They still a bitch?"

Bucky frowns, before it vanishes.

"I assume they must be, because you say it with an infliction. A bitterness. You used to do that when you disliked something. Like truth."

The corner of his mouth twitches.

"But, I never really knew you anyway did I?"

You go to move. Put distance between the two of you.

If you don't, you'll crumble. You'll fall apart because you don't let people in. But you let him in.

His hand had other ideas, grasping your elbow.

"You look good."

Smirking, you tug your elbow out of his grasp. "I look good?" Jabbing his chest, watching his jaw tighten. "I look fucking great, Bucky."

He's quicker this time.

Not even letting you turn before he grasps you, but this time, he's firmer. More purposeful. Pulling you close, too close. ++++++++ He wonders if you're still as responsive.

Bucky moving his flesh hand to unbutton your blazer, unveiling just skin and necklaces underneath.

He doesn't fight the groan, not as he connects your spine with door of his room for the night. He'd apologise to Sharon in the morning, winding his other arm around you, not letting you go.

We got a problem? No. You look like you have a problem. I'm handling it. Yeah, I bet. You look like you've handled her before. Shut up, Sam.

His lips move from yours. Descending down to your neck, the slight gasp leaving your mouth makes him smirk against your lips as he kicks the door shut.

Bucky is sure you're calling him every name in your pretty little head. Because he is rotten, an asshole, and you can't hate him anymore than he hates himself.

Especially as he traces circles with the tip of his tongue on your skin, hands spread over your hips before sliding his fingers up, under your expensive jacket, feeling goosebumps as he does.

How'd you know her, Buck? An old acquaintance. You break her out of prison too? Funny. You're real funny.

Sliding his touch over the bare skin of your breast, letting his thumb brushes over your nipple at the same time as he captures your lips. Forgetting how good it feels to hear you moan as he swallows it with his lips, a part of him needing to survive.

And he does.

Fuck, he does.

He slides his fingers up your chest, palm past your jaw as he cups your cheek. Feeling your blush against his cheek, releasing your lips with a pop.

“Please…”

He walks you backwards, only the jacket on your arms and the matching cobalt trousers protecting you from the cold before the two of you crash down onto a mattress.

He admires you, taking a second to watch you watching him.

I'll be right back. Cause you're sorting your problem? Sam. I'm just saying. Well, don't.

He remembers how soft you could be, how he'd misjudged your edges when he'd found himself in the same bar as you.

And then your lips nip at his, and he rolls his hips against yours. His free hand undoing your trousers, as your fingers undo his jacket, forcing it down his arms.

“So desperate, huh?” he growls against your mouth, helping you slide his arms free before placing an arm against the mattress above your head. Pinning you as he feels you still.

Eyes blinking up at him, the low light from the window shining in them.

And he wants to apologise.

He wants to explain.

Bucky doesn't.

“So needy.”

Groaning, you bite the inside of your mouth as you tilt your head. “Do you want to shut up, James?”

Undoing his belt, the buckle sounds meeting his ears but he refuses to take his eyes from you. Feeling the way his jeans slide down his legs to his knees.

"Don't call me that."

You rip his belt from the hooks off his jeans with a crack.

"Or... what? You're gonna talk my ear off?" you snarl, unbuttoning and sliding his zip down, sliding your fingers down his lower stomach, past the band of his underwear. "Because, I can talk all damn night."

He gasps, fixing his gaze on you, searing into you, as you take a hold off him. Wrapping your hand around him, pumping his length as you hold his gaze.

You undo him. You drive him crazy.

But it’s worth it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His hips thrust into your grip, and his thumb pulls down on your lip as he lets a low groan emit in his throat. One you always pull from him. “You do... you do look fucking great,” he groans. You trace his thumb with your tongue. “Fuck, you feel so good with your hand—”

And then you let go.

Hand sliding from his length to his waist as you tilt your head. And he deserves that. He knows he does. But his expression must be telling, because your eyes are watching him, smirking at him, daring him.

He hates you. Even if he doesn’t. Not even a little bit.

Because while he wants too, disliking that someone has seen him so weak when he first moved to Brooklyn, he can’t. He owes you so much. He cares and he’s grateful, and it messes up in his mind.

Jumbling things he knows with confidence, with the things he doesn’t.

“You’re cruel.”

Smiling, giving him that damn smile he first noticed across the bar. The one which is both hot and cold all at once; the one which screams joy and wickedness rolled into one. The one which made him buy you a drink to be with.

The same smile which had him dragging you out into the alleyway down the side, and burying himself inside of you just to wipe it away.

It didn’t work. It never did.

He was sure it was just for him. To push him, to test him.

Now though, now you’re looking at him with vengeance as you roll your hips; purposefully brushing against him before you shove him off you.

“I can be crueler?” You say, far too sweetly for the look on your face.

He swallows, turning to stare at you as he rolls his jaw and you stand up. He knows if he lets you leave, that's it

He can't apologise. He can't explain.

Not that he has the words. Not that he even knows where to begin. Peeling his underwear off with his jeans, he sighs, throwing his bare legs from the bed as he wraps his metal arm around you, hooking you back down to the bed.

This dance is one the two of you know well.

He’s even sure that you’re on this goddamn earth for him because of the way you pull towards him.

And he’s on you before he can think.

Hearing you hiss at the coolness of it against your skin. Not letting you speak as he captures your mouth, feeling your fingers press against his waist. Your nails digging in as he dips his hand between your thighs.

The hiss.

The mew.

He stops kissing you only to hear it as he runs his thumb over your pearl. Feeling you arch, sliding a finger between your holds, feeling your walls tighten around his finger as he watches you.

Watches you blink as you stare at him, hating him for being the one touching you as good as he currently is.

“Oh,” he whispers against your jaw, “You don’t have a cruel bone in your body.”

He slides another finger in.

Watching your mouth shift into an O as he does, eyes darkening, as he kisses you. Sliding a tongue past your lips as he teases, and strokes. Feeling you tighten around his fingers, as your breaths knit together. Desperation and need flashing in your eyes before they clench shut, your hips rolling against his hand, and he smirks.

“Let go,” he says, more commanding than usual.

You do.

Fuck, you do. He feels you flutter around him as he kisses you, stifling your moans as your fingers rake over his scalp.

And he's so hard, each brush of you against him makes him want to groan and he does so, when you wrap your hand around him again. This time, lining him up at your entrance, biting down on his bottom lip as he opens his eyes to find you staring.

A silent sign of approval. A nod, so to speak.

And then he's falling, sliding into you, feeling how much you want him as he fills you, as he bottoms out and hungrily kisses you before he pulls back and fills you again.

You feel so good. Impossibly good.

So good he's still not sure why he left.

Not as your whimpers meet his ears as his teeth rake down your neck, biting your collarbone. Not as your leg hooks over his waist, allowing him deeper into you.

Especially not when you call him Bucky, pleading with him, needing and wanting him as he builds speed, chasing a release that's coming closer and closer.

He cups your breast, noticing how warm your skin is as he traces his thumb over your nipple, sucking and nipping at the skin at the base of your neck. He can feel it, how close you are as well as hear it. Hear how you need him to go faster, deeper, needing more and more and more...

As your nails begin leaving half-moons on his neck, and he wants you to. He needs you to mark him, even as your name is falling from your lips in numerous chants.

And then, you shatter.

You clench and flutter.

And he snaps. Burying the sounds of his release in your neck, hips spasming as he falls apart against you finding you hold him tighter.

It takes a moment, a second and a breath, and then he lets himself meet your gaze as your chest rises and falls. In a rhythm as his own. He watches as realisation dawns on you, as the moment crashes down around the two of you.

Because fuck. That's all he thinks.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

“We just…”

He swallows. “We did.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” he says, sliding from the top of you, lying next to you, watching you stare at the ceiling.

You don’t move, but you do let out a huge sigh. One he can’t read, one which baffles him more than anything else you’ve done all evening.

Because somehow he never expected to see you here. Not in Madripoor. You’re not innocent, but you’re not… Madripoor, either.

“Shower?”

He blinks, rolling his head to meet your blank stare. Watching. Waiting for you to laugh, to take it back.

But then you sit up, sliding your arms free from your jacket as you stand up. Showing him the curve of your behind as you head towards another door.

“Is it this way?”

He stares.

Because he doesn’t know.

And you’ve opened the door, and he hears your feet on the tiles before water sounds.

And he blinks.

Just blinks.

He’s got you on your knees in front of the couch, your face pressed into the seat cushion while he slams into you from behind. You had been teasing him all evening— no, teasing wasn’t the right word. You’d been edging him with his fucking clothes still on, working him up to near delirium while a movie played forgotten in the background. It started with you ‘innocently’ rubbing your ass against him while he spooned you, and serum or not, he was only human. He was hard within a matter of seconds, his cock straining against the confines of his sweatpants and twitching against your backside.

Then you rolled over to kiss him, and that was far from innocent— the taste of your mint chapstick was intoxicating, and when your tongue swiped across his lower lip, he groaned and let you in. He slipped his hand up under your shirt while he kissed you, kneading at your breasts in that selfish way he knew you liked, squeezing the soft flesh and pinching your nipples gently. He liked it, too, and soon he was on top of you, rutting against you like some kind of horny teenager in their parents’ basement. It was fine. You liked it.

When you finally broke away from him to catch your breath, he was panting heavily, his mouth open while he looked down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. He couldn’t see or hear anything but you over the static crackling in his brain, and when you smiled at him, he thought his heart might stop altogether.

With a gentle push against his chest, you both sat up, and you climbed up onto his lap. His head fell back when you straddled his thick thighs, because that was it, it was game over— he couldn’t help but groan when you settled yourself down on top of where his length was clearly visible in his sweatpants.

You rocked against him in that delicious, slow, torturous way that you knew he liked, your mouth on his, letting out little whimpers and moans when you felt him twitch against your clothed heat. Those telltale flames were licking at the base of his spine, the corners of his consciousness, and he needed to get inside you— but when he tried to tug his sweatpants down, you just shook your head and smiled that infuriating smile. No, you wanted his clothes on.

With his hands on your hips, you continued to grind against him, and it was fine until it wasn’t— until your motions stuttered and your plush lips dropped open, your muscles tensing up. “Oh, fuck,” you whispered, your wide eyes locking onto his when you finally noticed your orgasm creeping up on you. A whimper squeaked out of you, and you dropped your face to Bucky’s shoulder, biting down on the collar of his shirt to muffle your moans.

“Look at you,” he whispered reverently, pulling you flush against him and holding you tightly in his arms while you shook. “God, look at you.”

His breathing was fast to mirror yours, and his heart matched your hummingbird beat— each of your pretty little noises went straight to his cock, and he almost just said fuck it, almost let himself fold under the pressure of pleasure and come in his pants like you were trying to get him to do. It’s what you fucking wanted, right? His ears were ringing, the fire in his blood boiling up to a fever pitch when he grabbed your hips again.

He was so hard that it hurt, and when your breathing slowed, he started thrusting up against you again— if the dark spot of precum on his sweatpants was any indication, it wouldn’t take long for him to come— but you flashed him that blissful, wicked grin and rose up onto your knees. He groaned indignantly at the loss of friction, and when he met your eyes, you stifled a giggle— this was on purpose, you were torturing him on purpose— and that was that.

“Bucky, please,” you choked out, your words punctuated by the way each swift thrust of his hips knocked the air from your lungs.

As soon as he made his decision, he had you on your knees on the floor in an instant, your soaked panties tugged down around your thighs and his throbbing cock nudging at your entrance. He slid inside you with ease; you loved teasing him, and making him squirm always left you slick and ready. He found a merciless rhythm, the slapping sound of his skin against yours drowning out the noise of the TV.

“Buck, I can’t—” you panted, turning your head so you could see him from the corner of your eye. “Oh, god— slow down—”

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Bucky murmured without slowing his frantic pace. He held your hips with both hands to hold you steady as he slammed into you, the pressure of his fingertips causing blood to pool under your skin. Your eyes watered from the power behind each of his thrusts, and there were black lines on the couch where your mascara smeared across the fabric.

And yeah, maybe it was a bit quick. Maybe it was a bit rough. But Bucky never took his eyes off of you, and the corner of your mouth was curled into a thrilled smile, even as a tear leaked down your cheek— he ducked forward to pepper kisses against it, then down your neck, across your shoulders, anywhere he could reach without throwing off his rhythm.

Bucky was fucking greedy. Always had been. And now that he remembered how good this wretched body could feel, how good you made him feel, he couldn’t fucking resist.

“You can take it,” he panted as he slammed into you, prodding relentlessly at that spot inside of you that made your mind go numb. “C’mon, baby, give it to me. Gimme another. Need to feel you squeeze my cock.” His balls were so fucking heavy, pulled up tight against him, but he had to wait— he was not greedy, he reminded himself, he wasn’t—

“I can’t,” you sobbed, but then Bucky tangled his left hand into your hair and pulled back sharply. Your protests melted into moans as you tightened around him like a vice.

“That’s right, sweets,” he breathed as your muscles began to tremble. “Come for me. I know you need to, know ya want to— you can do it, baby.” He could feel it, could feel you dragging him along with you as you careened toward bliss. Maybe it seemed like he was in control, but you both knew the truth— he was a passenger, a stowaway, and he needed you now more than ever.

“Bucky!” you cried when you hurtled over the edge, the tension in your muscles dissolving into overwhelming pleasure. Your cunt clenched around him in waves, nearly pushing him out of you with the force of your orgasm.

“Ah, fuck, there she is,” he groaned, his hips stuttering as he fought to bury himself deep inside you despite your body’s resistance. “Good girl. That’s my fuckin’ girl.” Fully sheathed just in time for that wildfire to take over, he let the flames consume him, pumping you full of cum with each pulse of his cock. You moaned louder when you felt him throbbing inside you, pushing your hips back against him to keep him as deep as possible.

When Bucky was finally spent, he hunched forward to wrap his arms around you, covering you completely as you continued to flutter weakly around him. He nuzzled his sweaty face against your neck, but the aftershocks jolting through you prevented you from stringing together a coherent sentence.

“Bu… oh g…” you panted against the couch as he pressed kisses everywhere he could reach. He didn’t want to pull out quite yet, but he tugged your shirt back down, straightening the fabric, and ran his fingers through your disheveled hair.

“So good, baby,” he rasped into your ear, and you turned to kiss him with a weak smile on your face. “Love you,” he whispered. “Love you so much.”

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If Bruce Wayne was to make a rare appearance today, he’d have to shower. 

He sulked to his bathroom, all the window blinds shut tight as he walked in the dark. 

He had really messed up this time. His fists clenched together as he replayed the night with you back in his head. 

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he act fucking normal? 

He pictured that moment where your lips almost touched his. He had wanted to crash his to yours so badly, but even being socially deranged, he knew kissing someone who didn’t feel that way about you was wrong. And he didn’t want to completely ruin his chances of winning your friendship back. 

He slid off his clothes, eyeing the scars along his chest in the mirror, and sighed. He stepped into the hot shower and soaked his body. 

His mind fell back to when you had your arms tightly wrapped around him as he sped through the city. He had never wanted someone so close to him before. It was strange, but he almost felt at peace when you clung to him. 

When he had carried you back to your apartment the night you had stumbled into a group of mobsters, his arms slid under your thigh and waist like he was always meant to hold you like that. He remembered how his hands were burning through his gloves, his mind racing on how he was cradling you, pulling your body against his. 

He felt himself begin to grow aroused in the shower.

Then he remembered how you had begun to strip out of your wet clothes, forgetting he was there. It was understandable, the way he crept silently through the shadows made it hard for anyone to know when he was near. He had watched the curve of your body and you pushed your pants off, giving him just a slight glimpse of your black underwear. 

Ashamed, he reached down and gripped his growing erection. 

You laid back on your couch, your damp hair sprawled against your shoulders, your shirt hiking up to reveal your thighs. He had watched as you tenderly glided your fingers down your calf to feel the bruises that were forming. 

Bruce wondered what it would feel like to run his hands up your leg. To let his hands linger on your thighs, squeezing them. 

He hadn’t even realized he began to stroke himself until he felt himself grunting in his throat. 

He remembered how you had tried to hit him, and the way he effortlessly caught your wrist. What would it be like to trap your wrists above your head, placing kisses on your neck, feeling you squirm beneath him? 

His hand leaned out against the shower wall, his eyes pressing shut. 

He pictured you in that skimpy outfit, the way your legs looked in those heels. He heard your laugh play in his head.  

His hand began to move faster.

All the times you had been caught in his gaze as he stood in silence while you waited for his reply. How he almost felt like he couldn’t speak as he watched you. 

He thought about the time when you first met and the way he towered over you. You hadn’t run. You weren’t afraid. 

He remembered how he felt when he first studied your shadowed face on that roof, the wind rushing through your hair, leaving a sweet scent of lavender in his nose. The way your pink lips were slightly parted in shock at his appearance. He imagined how they might look after roughly kissing you, plump and swollen. 

A moan fell out of Bruce’s mouth, his breathing heavy and unsteady. 

He wondered what it would feel like to lay on top of you with your hardened nipples pressed against him. How you might moan beneath him. 

What it would feel like to be inside you. 

“Y/N”, Bruce breathed out. He climaxed, grunting loudly as he kept stroking himself to extend the high. His mouth hung open as he groaned, imagining you moaning along with him as he made you orgasm. 

His breathing was loud as he came down. His head hung low, the water pounding against his neck and back. 

This wasn’t what friends were supposed to do. You weren’t supposed to think of your friends like that. You weren’t supposed to picture them while you jerk off. 

And yet he just did. Just as he’s done many nights before this.

Bruce opened his eyes, the pictures of you flooding out of his mind. 

–

You laid in your dark bedroom, eyes staring at the ceiling. You knew you’d forgive Bruce—I mean, you already had. You were fighting against what you knew was wrong and right. You knew you should feel violated by him watching you, so why didn’t you? Why did it make you start to heat up when he had told you? The way his voice was dark and low as he questioned you about the strange man. Was he jealous?

You felt your hand glide down to your panties in a sinful act. 

Friends don’t stalk friends to check upon them. No, they come to knock on their door or shoot them a text. 

It scared you, the way you began to think about Batman. You hadn’t even seen his full-face or his body under the armor, but you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You closed your eyes.

He was a bit odd in the way he interacted with you. When he was fighting crime, he was strong and confident. But when it came to having a conversation, he faltered. It made you blush to think about how he might actually be a shy person out of the suit.

You picture his lips from earlier, the way they were slightly parted and so close to yours. You could feel his warm breath against your face. You wanted to kiss him. Wished he had closed the gap. But you knew he couldn’t feel the same. You were just some journalist who kept getting in his way. And he was The Batman! 

You imagined yourself reaching out to touch his jaw, feeling his stubble against your fingertips. 

You began rubbing circles over your underwear. 

How he might grunt like he always does at your touch. You imagined running your hand down his bodied suit, wanting to feel the goosebumps against his skin. And how he’d watch you so intently as you did, his glare sending shivers down your spine.

You snaked your hand underneath your underwear now, sliding your finger between your folds.

And if he kissed you, you don’t think you’d be able to hold back your moan. The way he’d overpower you so easily, pushing you hard against that brick wall. 

You wondered what it might be like to torture him, to have that kind of power over him, just the sight of your exposed skin making him go feral.

Oh, how a muscular brute like him must be in bed.

You slid a finger inside of yourself, your heat already dripping wet. 

You wanted him. Wanted him on top of you. Inside of you. Wanted him to fuck you so hard that you lost your breath. 

You pumped your fingers in and out, rocking your hips forward as you did. 

You imagined his lips around your swollen nipple, gently sucking and biting. His other hand sliding up to grab your breast, his throat audibly groaning as he did. 

You moaned into your silent room, your hand sliding up to squeeze your breast over your t-shirt.

What if he was a gentle lover, making you look up at him as he pleasured you.

But then you imagined what it would be like if he flipped you over without warning, making you take him as he slammed you into your mattress. You wanted to know what his voice sounded like as he told you how much he had been wanting this. You’d beg and plead for him to let you come. His hand sliding to your clit to help you reach your high. 

Your fingers moved faster, imagining they were his, and he’d curl them inside you, your juices soaking his hand. 

You came as your hips rocked up against your hand, your breath getting lost in your throat. Your free hand gripped your sheets, your head flying back in pleasure. 

Your eyes fluttered open, the harsh reality of his absence hitting you. 

He’d never feel that way about you. 

It was some kind of a magnetic pull he couldn’t really describe that pulled him to you. He didn’t even realise when he walked past the crowd towards you. He noted the way your eyes widened and your breath hitched when he asked you for a dance.

He hated that. He hated how you didn’t believe that he was asking you out. He hated how you doubted yourself. But not for long. He would give you so much love that you would never doubt yourself again, ever.

He could feel the way your body trembled as he pulled you to the dance floor. Your hand was shivering as he held it in his and he swore he could feel your souls connecting. He had been dying to touch you, and now that he had you in his arms, he was in heaven.

His hand was draped over your waist and only he knew how he was controlling himself from squeezing. You were both swaying to the rhythm of the song blaring when suddenly you tripped over your feat and fell straight on his chest.

“I… I’m sorry. I just.., I’ve never done this before.” You stammered and he thought you looked so cute. He knew you were inexperienced, in more ways than one. He held his arm tighter on your back so that you were still pressed against him as he pulled you across the floor.

“It’s okay; even I’m dancing after seventy years.” He chuckled but something changed in your eyes. You were looking up at him with concern glinting in your eyes. Oh you cared so much for him. And now that you were in his arms, he wasn’t ever going to let you go.

~~~

“Oh Bucky!” You gasped with excitement as he picked you up in his arms. He closed the door with his foot as he carried you into his house. You were honestly turned on by how strong he was as he carried you easily to his bedroom.

He was very gentle as he laid you down on his soft bed. You sat up on your hands as you saw him remove his coat and unbutton his shirt. All of this truly felt like a dream. You had fantasised about this night, but then, who hadn’t?

Bucky Barnes was every girls’ wild dream and on top of that, you seeing him everyday didn’t help. You worked as an assistant to Tony’s PA and honestly, your job didn’t entail much except running to get coffees and taking the brunt when someone had a bad day.

You were honestly so shocked when the Bucky Barnes asked you for a dance. You never thought he’d even notice you, much less ask you in front of everyone. You were sure there were many women giving you looks as you danced with the super soldier.

But you didn’t care for that as Bucky patiently guided you throughout your clumsy steps. He chuckled when you slipped and held you when you fumbled. You honestly hadn’t ever thought the feared assassin would be so gentle and understanding with you.

No man had ever made you feel like he did — so desired.

You gasped as his fingers slipped down the straps of your dress. You were inherently shy, and if it weren’t for the little alcohol running in your veins, you wouldn’t be here. Your heated body shivered when Bucky’s cold metal fingers touched you.

Bucky looked spellbound when he pulled the dress down your body. His eyes twinkled as if he had seen a goddess and it boosted your ego. You spread your legs on your own accord when Bucky settled between them. His shirt was off and you marvelled at his chiseled body.

You gasped when his hot breath fell open your already heated folds. His tongue was skilful as he ate you out. You hadn’t ever done this before, and it felt much much better than you had thought — something straight out of the books.

Bucky was lapping up your slick juices as if he would die if he didn’t taste you. His hands were firm against your thighs as he held you open. You clutched the bedsheets beneath you as you arched your back when he flicked your swollen clit.

The room was filled with your hoarse moans and little lapping noises. You whimpered out his name when two of his fingers entered your sopping hole. A squelching noise permeated as he began thrusting those fingers within you.

His lips sucked and nipped your swollen folds while his fingers fucked into you. You saw the way his hips humped into the bed and you smiled as you realised he was loving it just as much as you. The fact that he wanted you so bad that he couldn’t control himself was what did it for you.

His fingers curled inside you just as he sucked on your nub, and you bright lights behind your eyes as you came. The entire world stood still as you experienced the sweetest pleasure of your existence. You were probably mumbling a chant of his name but you were too out of it to realise.

His beard glistened in the moonlight as he got up from between your thighs. Your eyes traveled below as he began unzipping his pants and you nearly choked on air as you took in his size. He was thick and you whimpered thinking of how it might hurt you.

“Shh., I’d never hurt you doll. I promise.” His reassuring words were like a ball to your ache. You body was still twitching with aftershocks when he draped himself over you. You finally placed your hands over his chest and slightly traced the scars on his shoulder.

“Fuck. I can’t wait anymore.” He said with a thick voice as he rubbed the head of his cock over your folds. He entered you slowly, making you aware of each thick inch you took. You clutched his bulging biceps as he finally settled within you.

He held your hips in a bruising grip as he began rutting into you. The bed rattled with the speed of his thrusts and the noise was accompanied with your loud moans. He was fucking you like a desperate man who’d finally found his hold.

“This is so much better than I thought. Pure heaven.” He grunted mostly to himself than you. Bucky thought about you, this knew found knowledge sent your head into an overdrive. “You feel so good doll. Just made for me. Only me.”

“Yes. Yes Bucky! Please.” You babbled and your little whimpers spurred Bucky more. His lips were swift to press little kisses and nibbles on your neck while his hand snaked down to rub your nub. All of this was so overwhelming, you thought you’d combust.

You felt the coil getting tight in your stomach and before you could say something to Bucky, you came. It felt like a dam being released and for a minute you thought you were peeing before you realised exactly what was happening. You were squirting.

“Oh my…. I.. I’m so.. sorry!” You struggled to speak as your body trembled with the intensity of the orgasm. Bucky’s eyes were planted to the place where you were joined as he took in the mess you made. And to your surprise, he was probably turned on by it as he came in you with a loud growl.

“Fuck! That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” He said as he laid down besides you. You were both catching your breath and you smiled at him as he wasn’t embarrassed by you. Your eyes followed the droplets of sweat that traveled down his spine and you still couldn’t believe you slept with him.

He pulled you closer and you instantly relaxed in his embrace. You laid your head on his chest and your eyes closed of their own accord as the tiredness of the day settled in. You heard a little I love you murmured, but it slipped out of your brain as you drifted off to sleep.

~~~

You woke up with a smile as you remembered last night. The sunlight filtered through the curtains as you opened your eyes and yawned. Bucky was already dressed in sweatpants and he wished you a good morning and you grumbled the same back.

Life was sweet, but that was before you tried to set your feet on the ground. You let out a shriek when you noticed your legs were cuffed together, and so were your hands. You hadn’t noticed it when you woke up, but these things now poked your eye.

“B… Bucky, what is this?” You raised your hands up as if to bring it to his attention. Bucky just shrugged and kept staring. He didn’t move or even give an explanation. “Let me out of this Bucky! If this is a joke, then I’m not liking it. Let me out, now!”

“My love for you is not a joke!” His face suddenly turned hard as he banged his fist on the table. You gulped nervously as your eyes watered. You knew that whatever this was, it was no good. “What do you mean?” Your voice was meek.

“Can’t you see? I love you. I love you so much that I can’t stand the thought of you being away from me for even a minute. I saw you. I saw everything you did when no one else even noticed you.” At this point, you were openly sobbing as the meaning behind his words sank in.

“You can’t keep me like this. People will come to find me!” You saying that more to yourself than him. “Who will come to find you doll? We both know your boss won’t care and will replace you within a blink of an eye. But not me. To me you’re irreplaceable. You’re everything.”

He came closer and sat in front of you. He cupped your cheek and you hated how much it still comforted you. “You don’t have to do anything anymore. You don’t have his work, you don’t have to worry. You just have to love me.” You shook your head as tears ran down your cheeks. “No.” You muttered.

“Don’t worry. You’ll learn to love me.” His tone was so sweet and calm. He believed his words. As if he had some sort of magic potion to make you fall in love with him. And that was the single most horrifying thing you’d ever heard.

~~~

“You know.. I uh,,.. I was thinking…” you nervously muttered. Bucky placed down the book he was reading and looked up at you with loving eyes. “What do you want doll? Don’t be afraid. Have I ever denied you anything?”

You shook your head and mentally chastised yourself. Bucky had been nothing but a loving husband to you — but then why were you so scared of him? It was like some baser instinct you couldn’t quite get rid of. Something that your soul was screaming but your mind couldn’t listen.

Bucky was the man of your dreams. You had met each other and quickly married and later settled into these suburbs. Everything happened so fast that you barely even remembered anything. It was like a blur in your memory and your head hurt when you tried to remember the details.

“I was wondering if we could order pizza. I mean Wanda is coming over and Billy and Tommy love pizza…. and I’m tired.” You nearly whispered the last part. You wanted to be the perfect wife for him, and you hated it when you disappointed him.

“That’s all? Of course you can order pizza for all of us.” Bucky’s smile was so sweet you wondered why you were even slightly wary of this man. He was literally a warm beam of sunshine, and you were so lucky to have his love.

“I love you.” You bent down to press your lips to his in a quick kiss. He complained when you separated and you giggled at your husbands antics. You quickly placed the call to the local pizza place and placed the order. When asked for the address, you replied,

bruce held your hand as you walked towards your table on the fancy gala, touching your waist while he guides you into the table, sitting next to you and immediately putting a hand on your thigh, unable to go a few minutes without any physical contact.

you turned your attention over to him, who was already talking to one of the other people on the table, his left hand moving in the air as he spoke to the man while his right thumb continued to rub small circles into your thigh, your eyes focused on his gorgeous hands, the way the gold ring shined around his finger.

you turned your body more towards him, sneaking your hand around his front, softly tracing over his stomach, he smiled, glancing over to you before squeezing your thigh, thinking you just wanted some affection, but his jaw tightened when he felt your hand travel further down his body, making him inhale sharply, covering it up with a cough.

“what are you doing?” bruce lowly asks, his nails beginning to dig into your thigh, sending goosebumps through your body in excitement, you shrug, slowly bringing a finger down to trace across his hip, going across his inner thigh to ghost across his growing bulge, doing best to cover up the smirk crawling on your face.

you placed your hand on top of his bulge and looked back to him to see if he was okay with it, of course he was, but you were breaking the rules, and you knew he was going to make you pay for it when you got back home.

palming him slowly, you watch as he stutters his way through the conversation, you’ll be able to see the indents from his fingernails for at least a day with how hard he’s gripping your thigh, he moves his eyes over to you, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “you better stop now, princess, you don’t want to make it worse, do you?” you knew what he was talking about, your punishment.

you bite your lip to attempt to contain your smile as you shake your head slowly back and forth, beginning to unzip his pants extremely slow, not breaking eye contact with him, he clenched his jaw as he stares at you, not being able to smack your inner thigh because you both were literally the center of attention on the gala.

bruce slowly lets go of your leg, grabbing his glass and gripping it with more force than necessary, his knuckles white and his blood boiling at the disobedience you were showing him.

tracing him through his underwear, the outline of his cock very visible through his boxers, you finally wrapped your hand around it, pulling him out of his underwear and watching with a small grin as his lips parted and he took a slow breath out while staring down at his glass of liquor.

feeling him twitch in your hand, you took it as a sign to begin slowly pumping up and down, taking your time to swipe your thumb across his tip everytime you reached the top, one of his hands snapped down to meet your thigh under the tablecloth, squeezing hard enough that his fingertips went white from the pressure, while the other hand moved down his face to hide his mouth, eyes darting towards the main door of the building, where several journalists where pilled up trying to get content from the event.

your eyes went to the same place, looking at the cameras everywhere, your movements stopped for a second, but then again turned your attention back to your husband, moving your hand again much faster this time, swiping your thumb over his tip to collect some of the precum, and slowly bringing it back to your lips, sucking it into your mouth, keeping eye contact with him.

his lips parted, eyebrows raising as he grew even harder, watching your wet thumb slide out of your mouth seductively, his jaw tightened, he brought his arm around you, pulling you closer next to him and making it look as if he was kissing your head, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine when he whispered.

“y/n, i swear to god, if you don’t stop right now i’m gonna bruise you all over.” he said before pulling away from you, he watched as you returned your hand to his cock, leaning up to ‘kiss his jaw’, but muttering: “hmm, you promise, daddy?” teasingly, squeezing your hand hardly around the base.

you gasped slightly when he ripped your hand completely away from his lap, you watched with a small smile as he stuffed himself back inside his pants, his hands shaking from the adrenaline and the lost pleasure, he excused himself from the other people sitting on the table, and in a few minutes you were standing out, ready to leave the gala.

bruce stood up first, taking your expensive coat off your seat and directing his last words towards the man he was talking to, nostrils flared in anger as he manages to keep a smile in his face, you tried to suppress your grin as you stand up, waving a quick goodbye, as quickly as you can before bruce grabs your wrist and pulls you away.

you gasped sharply when bruce dig his nails into the inside of your wrist, he knew this was a dangerous game to play in public, but you really crossed the line this time, and as soon as you’re out of everyone’s vision, he placed a strong hand on your neck, pushing you to the nearest wall.

“you’re lucky we are at this fucking gala and all eyes are on us, because if we were alone you would be getting your brains fucked the hell out.” he said, his grey-blue eyes looking directly at yours. “who the fuck do you think you are, huh? behaving like this where you could be photographed and the whole city, the whole world would know mrs. wayne is a fucking slut, do you know how embarrassing that would be for me?” you sucked in a sharp breath of air at his words, barely registering when he moved your body out of the wall and made your way to the car before he’s ushering you inside, not letting anyone take pictures of you, shutting the door behind you and making his way to the drivers seat, you slowly buckled your seatbelt, a feeling of regret drowning your mind, maybe you went a bit too far, “i’m sorry, bruce.” you muttered, barely audible to him.

he refused to make eye contact with you, but still, his hand reached down to grip your inner thigh, fingers pressing into the skin harshly, light scratches coming from his nails digging into your skin. “i think you’re sorry you didn’t get to see me finish, but my good little wife would never do something like that, you know who would though?” he paused to smack your thigh once, quickly, before massaging the reddened area afterwards, you cleared your throat before muttering out softly, “who?”

“a filthy bitch would, but you’re not that, are you, y/n?” he says, smacking your inner thigh once more.

you try to clench your legs together but bruce pulls them apart quickly, gasping when his fingers tug your black thong down your legs, lifting your hips up to allow him to slide it off of you, he bunched the fabric up in his hands, and you can’t even start to answer his question before the lacy underwear is pushed into your mouth.

he finally looks over at you, your wide eyes staring back at him while you force yourself to stay still, feeling the way his fingers traced shapes along your thigh. “you don’t wanna to answer? well then i guess you are a filthy bitch” he pauses to tut at your whine of protest, “i’m gonna have to punish you then, spread your legs.” he ordered.

the harsh command makes you part your legs instantly, your pussy clenching around nothing, you watch as your husband puts his fingers on his mouth, eyes focused on the road as he wets the digits, he pulls them out after a few seconds, leaving a small trail of spit connecting his lips to his fingers, bringing his dripping digits in between your legs and putting them directly on your pussy, immediately moving them to collect your wetness before beginning to massage very slow circles around your clit, not allowing you to have what you want.

bruce glanced over to you for only a second to make sure you’re looking at him, as if you could be looking at anything else. “you’re not going to cum until i tell you to, and i don’t want to hear a sound from you, are we clear?”

you pulled your bottom lip into your mouth with furrowed eyebrows, nodding slowly at him, his middle finger trails down to trace your weeping hole.

you can’t help the whimper that comes out when he puts his finger inside, tightening your hands in fists to stop yourself from clenching around him, your head tilts to the side to look out the tinted window, hearing bruce’s laugh at your reaction, before feeling his finger shallowly entering you so it only just passes the first knuckle.

you sharply inhale through your nose when his second finger breeches you, the two fingers going deeper, beginning to massage your walls, rubbing against that one spot that has your legs shaking.

you moan loudly, the sound being muffled by your makeshift gag, but letting bruce know that you’re close, he only speeds up his movements, moving his thumb rub circles against your clit, the sudden pleasure causing you to clench tightly around him.

you can’t process the fact that you disobeyed him once again before his fingers are out of you and inside his mouth, sucking them deep into his mouth to clean them, ignoring the harsh exhale you let out.

he finally turns to you, smirking at the redness in your cheeks before taking out the panties from your mouth, slipping them into his pocket before yanking you towards him by your throat, sliding his fingers past your lips, you suck them deep into your mouth while tracing your tongue in between them, your walls clenching around nothing.

bruce finally removed his fingers after a few seconds, wiping his hand on his pant leg, and returning it back to the wheel, completely ignoring his panting wife in his passenger seat, he sniffed, trying to hide his grin as he asks, “you good, princess?” you immediately nod, shifting in your seat, but stopping as soon as his hand clamps down on your thigh, pulling them apart again. “you keep your legs there and shut the fuck up until we get home, i’ll deal with you then.”

it feels like forever until the car pulls into the driveway of the wayne tower with a harsh stop, causing your seatbelt to dig into your neck slightly.

bruce scoffs when he notices you swallow and take a deep breath, “god, you’re pathetic.” he said, running a hand through his hair quickly, turning to you when you haven’t moved, nerves fizzing all throughout your body. “go on, get inside, baby.” he said, signaling you the door, his voice dropped to a low, sturdy tone and sent a chill down your back, his eyes scarily calm as he stares you down.

with shaky hands, you exited the corvette, rushing up the stone steps quickly while you mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to experience, the click of the door unlocking barely even registers when you hear the familiar sound of the car door shutting, sending a rush of adrenaline through you, taking your stilettos off at the door, you rushed up the steps into the bedroom, almost feeling as if you’re being chased, which, in a way, you kind of were.

you made your way to your bedroom, just finishing hanging up your coat when bruce walked inside, his suit neatly hugging his figure, his elegant appearance alone was enough to send shivers down your spine.

the expression he gave you lets you know how much trouble you’re in, nothing but a simple smirk on his face while he takes off his blazer and methodically rolls up his white sleeves, he motions you over with two fingers when he takes a seat at the end of your bed, which you had come to learn it served one purpose and one purpose only: the perfect place for him to sit while he spanked you.

you walked to stand in front of him hesitantly, almost eye level with him when he takes your hips in his hands to force your body in between his spread legs, the silence in the air cuts through your body like a knife when he slowly unzips your dress, watching as the fabric drops to the floor before glancing up at you. “it’s a shame you couldn’t be good enough to keep your pretty thong on until we got home,” he teases, pulling the lacy black fabric from his front pocket to twirl it around in the air.

the dainty fabric suddenly flies off of his finger and lands somewhere in the dark room, forcing your vision back up to his eyes, he reaches up with one hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, using it as an excuse to grip the back of your head with his fingers and yank you closer to him, he pulls your hair making you tilt your head back, forcing your eyes to the ceiling so he can start biting down your neck, his teeth follow the artery down the side of your throat, pinching it just hard enough to make your pulse spike, feeling it on his tongue, the throbbing sensation going straight to his cock.

he pulls away just for a second to murmur delicately in your ear, “do you know how good i’m about to fuck you, you filthy, fucking slut? i’m about to destroy you.” he said and you didn’t even notice when he pulled away until he forced your chin down to look at him.

bruce smiled gently, too gently, at the way your eyes remained unfocused for a second, because he was enjoying this, enjoying you, your brain finally realizes what he just said to you, mixed with how nice he was being right now, this was the calm before the storm.

your eyes finally meet his, squinting them as he studies your face, you have half a mind to try and apologize but when your lips part, no words can fall out because you know, you know there is no going back, it’s almost like he knows what you’re thinking when he asks you softly, “you’ll tell me if i get too rough, okay?” he asks and waits for you to nod and respond, “yes, sir.” while looking down at his lips.

“mhm, good girl, can you lay over my lap, baby?” he hums, it’s impossible for you to not obey his command, obediently turning your body to lay across his lap, head resting on his thigh while your feet hold you lightly on the floor for now, already knowing they’ll be limp by the end of the punishment, but you can at least try to have some dignity in the beginning.

bruce stopped your thoughts quickly by starting to massage your ass, starting with the left cheek before moving onto the right, alternating between harsh, pointed grips underneath his fingers and soft, slow circles with his palm, you whimpered from the back of your throat and squeezed your eyes shut, bruce hummed, moving his hands down to scratch at the back of your thighs, causing you to suck in a harsh breath of air, you pressed your forehead deeper into his thigh, choking on a gasp as his nails scratched your skin.

bruce loved hearing your desperate sounds, the rush of power that ran through him at your behavior had his hands almost shaking, and you can sense the grin on his face when he spanks you for the first time, making you whimper against his leg.

the feeling was beyond words, the stinging sensation, it wasn’t pain, it was pleasure, it felt like every spank was bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

bruce’s pant leg was already getting soaked from your tears but you don’t even notice, only letting out rough gasps and soft whimpers, you felt a smack on your upper thigh, rougher than the others that it made you reach a hand down to cover your bruised skin.

before you could even blink, bruce had grabbed your waist, manhandling you, placed you sitting on the soft mattress, you saw his figure walk towards your shared closet, not even glancing at you.

you braced yourself with your hands on your chest and tried to and get your breathing even, the back of your left hand carefully wiping the tears off your cheeks, you could feel your ass burn from the direct contact and your face was burning due the adrenaline and the shame.

you couldn’t remember how many spanks you had gotten, your head was starting to get hazy and your body was on fire, needy of your husband’s touch, your head snapped up when the patter of his shoes grew louder and your eyes almost filled with tears again when you saw the handcuffs on his hands, a rush of heat goes through you when you see the damp circle on his thigh from your tears.

he squatted down in front of you to bring the handcuffs up, gliding the cool metal down your face while watching every small change your facial muscles make, you look up to say a small prayer before looking back at him. “you can’t save yourself now, you stupid little girl,” and then, your face burns from his harsh slap on your sensitive skin and bruce grabs your face in his hands and forces your eyes onto his.

“ask me again, princess.” he sounded needy for it, wide doe eyes looking at him, tilting his chin up at you. “ask me to hit your pretty face again.” he whispered onto your lips, just barely allowing his bottom lip to skim yours before he pulls back to watch the way your eyes slip close and a soft ‘please’ escapes you without hesitation.

his hand left your face slowly and you opened your eyes immediately to watch him stand up, his prominent bulge now inches from your face. “beg for me.” his voice grew dark and he gritted his teeth together, unimpressed with your whine. you looked up at him incredulously before managing to spit out. “please, i’m so sorry, please hit me, i want you to slap me until i beg you to stop, please.” bruce watched as your eyes grew glossy with unshed tears and your lungs had you panting for air before you saw his hand pull back, you closed your eyes in anticipation, lips turning into a sedated smile while you wait for the slap.

“uh uh, i don’t think you deserve this, you wanted to be a nasty whore in front of the whole city, so why should i give you what you want when you’re just a little misbehaved slut?” he punctuated the end of his question with a harsh slap, his weeding band biting into the skin of your face, leaving a mark.

you barely had time to apologize before he slapped you again, this time on the other cheek, his other hand reached for your neck, holding the back of it, tightening his grip when he shouts. “answer me!” and spanks you once more, the pain bites through you like you fell on ice and bruce revels in the high pitched whine that rings throughout the room. “y-you shouldn’t, sir, i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, please, just punish me,” you cried out, pressing wet kisses to his hand on your cheek.

the rush of adrenaline never comes and your eyebrows crease in confusion before you open your eyes to see bruce smirking at you, metal cuffs swinging back and forth in his hand. “you didn’t think I was going to give you what you wanted, did you?” he pauses to laugh at your pouting face before unlocking the handcuffs, not even acknowledging the shocked gasp you release at his words, when you’re still sitting in front of him seconds later, he rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers at you, “get up, now slut.” he sounds annoyed at you, the reaction making you jump up so fast you almost fall.

his hands catch your shoulders easily, it was second nature at this point, before he spun you to face away from him, forcing your arms parallel behind your back to click the cuffs into your wrists.

with each touch, his fingers left behind trails of fire on your skin, bruce gives your top arm a tug and hums contently when you stumble backwards into his chest, moving your body like a ragdoll back onto his lap, being careful to make sure your neck doesn’t slam down on his thigh, bruce’s left hand resumes massaging your ass, and your face snaps back to him when you feel it.

bruce met your eyes and grinned, moving your head to face the floor slowly by taking your chin in his hand and turning it slowly, not breaking eye contact until you’re physically unable to keep looking at him, his hand goes down to tug at the chain between your wrists, lifting them up just enough to put a strain on your shoulders before letting them fall harshly onto your lower back. “too bad you’re all tied up, can’t even say no to me branding you, can you? because you like it, you filthy girl,” he teases, finally smacking your ass twice in a row, a light one to warm you up to the metal first before actually allowing himself to let go.

you squeezed your eyes closed and let out an almost laugh at the sensation, the feeling completely different, it was painful, and bruce knew it, which was why he forced your eyes down, he didn’t want you to know when it was coming, to give you time to prepare, you deserved to be punished and he had no problem dishing that out.

a particularly harsh smack ripped a moan from your throat and your legs started shaking, you had to be absolutely dripping on him at this point. “please, daddy, oh god, please,” you cried out, unable to catch your breath when the next one comes, another moan falling from you.

bruce paused when he felt you choke on a breath, instead going to trace over the quickly forming marks on your backside while he lets you catch your breath. “what are you begging for this time, hm? i know my pretty dirty slut isn’t asking to cum, not after being so bad today.” the feeling of him carving his initials over and over into your backs’s skin mixed with knowing that they will bruise by tomorrow causes you to squeeze your legs together to push off your orgasm, wanting to be good for him.

you didn’t respond, wrists tugging at the restraints, you rest your forehead harshly on his thigh, trying to focus on your breathing when you hear the slap before feeling it, bruce starts again, hitting you quickly three times in a row, moving his hand to slip his thumb into your open, panting mouth, you suck his finger deep into your mouth, grateful for it, but he has other plans, deciding to hook your cheek and turn your head to lay on his leg, your makeup dripping down your face when you make eye contact with him.

his straight hair around his face sticked to him with sweat, his eyes blazing and lips a dark cherry color, likely to his obsessive biting, his eyebrows raised in a condescending manner, eyes flickering to the wet patch you’ve made on both of his legs now before examining the marks he left on your ass.

he rested his hand to thumb over the indents, clicking his tongue when you hiss from his actions. “you good?” he simply asks, spinning the weeding band around his finger, you whimpered out, “‘m good.” trying unsuccessfully to stop your hips from bucking up.

he looked unimpressed at your actions, eyebrows raised when he lifts you up so your wet core is pressed to him, your legs straddling his thigh, you try to lift yourself up for a second but bruce holds you down harshly, he ignores you and begins to slide your hips back and forth on his thigh, spreading your wetness around onto him, your eyes are wide when he flexes his leg to meet your clit perfectly, whimpers falling from your mouths like prayers. “i-i’m gonna cum,” you cried out, holding your elbows behind you as your stomach tightens and your legs begin to shake.

bruce shakes his head in front of you, tsking lightly before reminding you, “ask me nicely.” and continuing to grip your hips and have you grind on his thigh, leaning forward to bite at your neck and darken some of the marks he left there before, you whine deep in your throat and open your mouth. “please, can I cum?” you whimpered. hair sticking to your forehead when you tilted your head back to try and hold it off.

immediately, a hand is wrapped around your throat and tugging you closer to him, pulling and pushing you by your throat rather than your hips as his other hand moves to grip your ass in his hand, smacking it once. “no, you can’t.” he orders, stopping his movements and holding your hips down so you’re unable to move on your own, he watches with a mock sympathetic expression at your creased eyebrows and open mouth, a sad cry leaving it which he can’t help but roll his eyes at.

tucking his thumb into your mouth, he pulls your mouth open and leans forward slightly, the feeling of him spitting onto your tongue from behind your closed eyes is enough to make you drop your head forward onto his shoulder, he lifts you up onto his other thigh, his grip on your hips not releasing when he forces you to start grinding on him again.

you hiss at the stimulation, he can tell in your wide eyes that you not only know you deserve this, but you want it. “gotta make my thighs even, right? can’t have a mess on one leg and not the other.” your eyes moved to the thigh you just rode, bottom lip finding itself between your teeth at the large wet patch left behind, glistening in the light, moving your head back to make eye contact with him, you whimpered, getting closer to the edge than you thought was possible. “daddy, i can’t.” you cried out, a clinking sound ringing behind you as you try and move your hands, groaning when they don’t budge.

“someone’s a little frustrated, too bad your hands are tied, bet they’d be tugging on my hair like a proper whore,” he finishes this with a harsh tug on your own, pulling you backwards so he can see all of you, your eyes slip closed and you curse at yourself for being so bold earlier, what the fuck were you thinking.

a harsh ripping sound forces your eyes back open and you see your lacy bra off your body, mouth dropped open as you watched his hand immediately move to slap your left tit, moving to pinch your nipple harshly, he looked up at you, a smug expression on his face when he shrugs, gathering the pieces in his hand to toss aside. “it was on my way, i don’t know why you were still wearing it.”

it adds a new element, the fact that you were completely naked in front of him and he was fully clothed, wearing a button up and those black pants that squeezed his thighs so well, you bucked your hips up in his hand when you start thinking deeper at the power that he just exuded effortlessly, how he didn’t even need to try and you gave yourself to him. “bruce..” you whine out, a tear slipping from your eye in frustration when you feel your toes curling.

he gathers your face in one hand with a soft smile, wiping the tear with his thumb before slipping it into your mouth, knowing your body better than you do as the action calms you more than you thought was possible, he leaned forward to ghost over your cheekbone lightly with his lips before murmuring, “i don’t really care that you want to cum, darling, it’s not about you, are we clear?” into your temple, and then pulling back, you shook your head, mewling when he slips his thumb out of your mouth and smacks you harshly against the face, lifting your legs up at the exact moment that would have sent you over the edge.

“fuck,” you cry out, gasping at the slap and trying to stop your hips from bucking up in his grasp, your lips contorted into a smile, you blowed the hair out of your face before looking up at him, so you weren’t going to come for a while, if at all, tonight, which also means that he’s going to be spending a lot of attention bringing you to that edge, good enough, you thought.

you watched as bruce tried to figure out what has you smiling, fingers gripping your hips harsher to make you bite your lip to suppress a whimper, standing up slowly, he moves you to kneel in front of him, forcing your head down with his hand on the back of your neck, he pets your head for a second, running his fingers through your hair gently.

“why are you smiling, princess?” he asks. “i-i like your attention on me.” you moan out, pulling on your restraints and huffing when they don’t move, bruce’s fingers tighten in your hair, and you feel the cool leather of his shoe sliding up your thigh, your lips part as you realize where this is going and you can’t lie at how much you want it.

“i got a bit of an attention whore as a wife, don’t i? a tragedy, really, could’ve had you coming three times by now, but you wanted to be a brat.” he comments, your core throbbed when you felt the toe of his boot run along it, sliding underneath you so you rested directly on top of your pussy, bruce’s hand in your hair kept your head facing the floor as he continued. “it’s like you’re just too dumb to do anything unless i tell you exactly how to, you’re just a needy little thing who’s craving my cum, that’s all you are.” his degrading words mixed with the thrill of riding his expensive shoe rips a sob from your chest, a mess of words coming from you.

he lifts your head up to get a look at your eyes before continuing on. “i’ll make this real easy for you, okay? yes?” he pushed his thumb into your mouth and mocked you when you tried to speak while your lips wrap around him, laughing when you whine and buck against his boot, he tilts your head up as he says slowly, “you’re going to stand up, let me undo the cuffs, and get onto the bed, then, i’m gonna join you and you aren’t going to touch me once, okay?“

your cheeks burned at his last statement, whispering out, ‘fuck’, before shakily standing up, with his help of course, and turning around silently to let him undo the restraints, you hear them clink before you’re released, bruce’s hands massaging each wrist for a few seconds before returning them to your side.

you roll your shoulders once before moving onto the bed without another word, staring up at the ceiling as bruce disappears back into the closet, you rested your head back onto the pillows, attempting to shake out the tremors in your legs, whimpering at the cool air on your wetness, your heartbeat was loud in your ears, matching the throbbing in your core and you can’t help but whine in desperation.

bruce returned shortly after, wearing only his briefs and his button up, shoes and pants left behind, you feel him place something next to your feet on the bed but before your head can look down at it his fingers are on your chin, making it impossible for you to move, he meets your parted lips with a quick kiss, smiling when he pulls away to rub your cheek with his hand.

pulling his hand back, he slapped you across the face once, relishing in the harsh gasp he rips from you as your head turns to the side, his fingers move back to squish your cheeks together, his lips pursed as he studies your frame, your voice comes out shaky when you whimper out a pathetic, “please.” making him scoff.

“please.” he mocks, your cheeks burning hot from the humiliation. “i’m not doing this for you to beg me, especially that badly, y/n, it’s disappointing.”

you can’t help the whimper that escapes as he tuts quietly to himself, shaking his head from side to side, his index finger moves from its place on your cheek to slip slowly between your lips, a chill spreading through bruce as he feels your breath shake on his hand, he pulls it out suddenly, not giving you time to process before he spits on your mouth, your eyes rolling back into your head on instinct a erotic moan escaping from you.

“getting too loud for my liking, can you learn your place and shut the fuck up, little girl?” he scolds, angry eyes burning into yours while keeping his tone even, you nod automatically, licking your lips once before pressing them together, catching bruce’s eyes drifting to watch you.

he moves his fingers to trail lightly down your neck, brushing over your collarbone before going further down your body, you hear him chuckle to himself when you place your hands under your back, not trusting yourself enough to keep your hands away from him, his eyes look back to yours for a second before he grabs your nipple between his thumb and pointer fingers, trailing the hard nub around them, his touch being gentler than you expected, your eyebrows pinched together when he moves to your other nipple, the fact that he was just playing with them right now was nothing like him.

“not enough, hmm?” bruce quips, bringing his fingers to travel down over your stomach, your breath hitching when he caresses both of his thumbs over your pelvis, pressing down just enough for you to let out a whimper, the tight knot in your stomach begging to be released.

“i think..” bruce starts, completely pulling away from you to grab one of the items he put next to you, you debate turning your head to see but you know that the outcome would probably not be in your favor, his hands come back into your eyesight and your mouth drops a little at what’s in his hands, a flogger, many leather strips hanging from the handle. “you can handle this.” he finishes.

“mhm, you excited, baby? you shouldn’t, because what you showed me today is that my pretty little wife thinks she’s allowed to use me like that, i think, you might need a little reminder of who the fuck i am, because you know your place, don’t you, mrs. wayne?”

the smile on his face terrifies you in the best way, and your voice cracks when you whisper out, “yes, daddy.” he hums, flexing his fingers before wrapping them around the handle and beginning to run his other hand through the ends. “tell me then, baby.” he pauses for a while, turning his head back to lean down and whisper in your ear, “who’s your owner?”

“you, bruce, i’m yours, i belong to you, please, please, pl-,” your whimpering is cut short by a swift hit across your chest, back arching off the bed at the sensation, he had managed to hit you directly on the nipple with one of the strips, feeling harsh pinpricks of pain course through your body and leaving you gasping for air.

“you’re right.” he condescendingly praises, lightly dragging the flogger over your body. “i think you had forgotten that i fucking own you, you are mine.” he slapped your right tit. “my wife.” left. “my slut to fuck as i please.” right. “my fucking property.” his index and pointer fingers slipped deep past your lips for only a second before he removed them, a loud moan leaving your swollen lips when he began to slap your tits with his bare hands, feeling the slight sting of his rings on your hot skin.

“fuck, daddy, please, i know, please, i’ll be such a good girl for you, please, just-just fuck me,” you cry out, legs shaking from the pain flooding your system, your brain turning it right into pleasure, bruce laughed at this, a genuine laugh, dropping the flogger on the ground, his hand grabbed you by the throat, pulling you slightly upwards so you’re forced off the bed.

“good luck.” he whispered, releasing you before finally beginning to unbutton his white shirt, taking his time, his eyes going up and down on your naked body, small red marks already appearing from how hard he’s been grabbing you.

dropping the shirt behind him, he moved to sit between your legs, forcing your hips to come off the bed and into his lap, he smirks at you, taking his thumb into his mouth to suck it past his lips, his cheekbones protruding and your mouth watering at how hot he looked, watching closely when he pops it from his mouth and grins at you, leaning forward to spit directly on your pussy.

a gasp escaped your mouth when he brought his thumb down to your throbbing clit, the slightest touch making your hips jump but you force them down, closer to him, he began to trace small circles on you, feeling you start to flutter already from the gentlest touch. “are you close already, pretty girl?” you whimpered, nodding quickly. “such a shame you had to be a bad girl.” you held back a groan at his words, clenching tighter to try and hold off your orgasm.

feeling this, bruce smacked your inner thigh, and pushed a finger into you, shaking his head back and forth when he sees your legs start to shake. “don’t get all stupid on me now, go ahead and relax.” he finishes his sentence by slipping another finger inside and beginning to curl his fingers towards himself, finding that soft spot inside of you instantly.

your neck cranes backwards while your lungs beg for air, almost unable to breathe at this point, let alone hold off your impending orgasm, bruce sensed this, and pulled his finger out at the last second, smirking at the loud whine you released.

“let me tell you something.” he starts, pausing to spit roughly on your clit, glancing back up at you when you cry out in frustration. “if you can put that dirty mouth to good use and beg for me, i’ll fuck you.”

you gasp out, shaking your head from side to side as your hips start bucking, which bruce puts a stop to immediately with his hands. “please, sir, please please please please please fuck me, i’ve been so-so good, so good, i’m so sorry, please just fuck me, please.” you were crying by the end, your body on fire and the bubble in your stomach felt like it was ready to burst, hands shaking from the adrenaline.

“again.” is all you hear from bruce, lifting your head up and whining, staring up at him with eyes filled with tears, not breaking eye contact as he pushes his fingers inside of you once more, finding your special spot with ease and pressing. “beg for me.”

your eyebrows knit together as you moan, cutting yourself off to rush out, “please, daddy, use me, please just fuck me like a toy for your pleasure, please just fuck me, need you to hurt me, daddy.” the title you give him spurs him on further and you sigh when you felt him get up and slide his briefs down, your head lolling to the side in exhaustion.

“hey.” bruce snaps, pulling your spaced-out eyes back to see him in between your legs once more, watching as he leans forward to massage his tip against your wetness, coating himself in seconds. “eyes on me, i’m giving you what you want, you should be grateful.”

you could feel the degradation as faraway as you were and you blink up at him before nodding quickly, thanking him as if your life depended on it, he leant forward, one arm going to lift up your back, his free hand guiding himself slowly inside of you, simultaneously moaning with you as he sinks deep into your warm walls.

without giving you a moment to think, he sets up a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward, his pelvic bone hitting your swollen clit with each thrust, repeated moans and screams falling from your lips as you try and keep breathing from how good he’s fucking you, you can feel his hard cock inside of you, and you know that if you were to look you would be able to see him poking through your skin.

as if he knew what you were thinking, bruce pushed down on your stomach and a scream felt from your throat, the pressure from both sides making it impossible to think anymore. “nasty girl, can see me fucking your tight cunt through your stomach, yeah? you like that?” he presses down harder until you scream out, “yes!” thrashing on the bed underneath him, he groans, removing his hand to hold onto the headboard in front of you, keeping his fast, deep pace as he stares down at you.

“hardest i’ve ever been, got me fucking whipped for your cunt, but you’re just as bad for my cock, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he leans down to kiss you sweetly, too sweetly for how hard he’s fucking you, his lips meeting yours and just sitting there for so long before pulling away and humming, and you hear the slap before you feel it sting against your cheek.

bruce is being fucking cruel, watching with a grin as your head rolls back and you clench so tightly around him that you almost push him out, but he slides back inside easily and resumes his borderline torture on you, his fingers made their way over to pinch your cheeks together, your tongue falling out automatically which he hums at, spitting slowly into your waiting mouth, some of it falling down your chin, but he catches it with his thumb, sliding it right back into your mouth, making whimper as your legs begin to shake again, unsure of how long you’ll be able to hold your orgasm.

“i’m s-so close.” you gasp out, cutting yourself off with a loud moan when his hand moves from your face to push your legs over his shoulders, fucking harder into you, reaching spots so far inside of you that you weren’t even sure existed.

breathing felt like a chore at this point, you didn’t know this level of pleasure existed, you tried to express this through a whine, and hearing bruce groan, as well as his hips stutter once, you know what’s coming next.

his hand wrap around your throat and began to use it as a handle to pull you on and off his cock, choked moans and gasps being ripped out of your vocal chords, he groaned deeply, pulling his left hand away to smack you across the face once, throwing your head to the side as your back arches off the bed, the new angle allowing him to slip even deeper inside of you.

“fuck, stay right fucking there, god, my cockslut’s doing so well for me, letting me fuck you so hard.” his left hand gripped your hip, using it as leverage as he begins to pull on your neck harder, speeding up the pace.

“g-gonna cum,” you cry out, whining when you saw bruce shake his head side to side, causing you to squeeze tighter around him to try and hold off, making him choke on his own moan and his hands fall from your body, hips stilling inside as he sits up more, he brings his hand to your face and smacks you across both cheeks, not even giving you a second before backhanding you on both sides, your eyes roll into the back of your head as your body shakes underneath him, pussy fluttering around him as you try not to cum.

“oh baby, you are fucking loving this, you dirty slut, what do you think they’d say, huh?” he asked while he rammed his dick inside of you over and over, you could only keep moaning in response. “gotham’s princess being fucked stupid by her rich husband in their huge mansion, handprints all over her pretty face.” he quoted as if it was a magazine’s headline, soft pants leaving his lips with every hard thrust, lips bruised from how hard he was biting them, looking like a devil in an angel’s body, his tongue peeks out to swipe along his perfect teeth, chest heaving while he stares down at you with a grin on his face, watching your body thrash, bark arching and falling repeatedly while your hands clench into fists as you try and hold off your orgasm.

“please baby, please, please!” you begged, openly crying and squeezing the absolute life out of his dick.

he took mercy upon you, finally bringing a hand down to rub fast circles on your clit, the other tightening around your throat, squeezing as hard as he knew you could take.

“come on, let go for me, need it so bad, now, y/n.” he moaned, looking into your eyes before finally spitting in your open mouth, the bubble building up inside of you finally shattering making you scream, your body convulsing as you cum, squirting all over the sheets, bruce, and yourself, feeling as if your pleasure would never end.

you didn’t know this kind of pleasure was possible, it was like every nerve in your body was exploding, every single part of you was being stimulated by bruce, and you knew your voice was going to be sore tomorrow but you couldn’t stop moaning, the feeling otherworldly, you felt him release your throat, gasping as you tried to catch your breath, the aftershocks hitting you again and again as you tighten and release bruce’s dick again and again.

he swore he saw god that day, watching your head roll back into the mattress as you came so hard he had to hold you down to keep you still, fucking you through his own as he came deep inside you, unable to keep it to himself after being drenched with your release.

your cries sounded like a choir in his ears, spurring him on to make sure to get every last bit of your orgasm out of you, groaning lowly in his throat before resting his forehead in the crook of your shoulder, continuing to slowly thrust in and out of you, his arms tightened around you immediately when he felt how much your body was shaking, lifting his head up to get a look at your now open eyes.

“oh, baby.” he murmured, smoothing out your hair around your face, your glassy eyes were looking right through him, he left a few kisses on your temple before trying to pull out of you, a soft cry stopping him quickly, his thumbs brushed away the tears that had already started falling down your reddened cheeks, “no, no, no, no, no.” you whimpered and he slipped his thumb in your mouth before speaking.

“i’m not going anywhere sweet girl, you feeling good?” the hand in your mouth moves up and down as you nod slowly, eyes drifting back to the ceiling. “you did so well for me, princess, such a good girl, do you wanna go take a nice, warm bath?” you blink slowly up at him, squeezing them shut when they start to burn with tears.

bruce wipes them away faster than they can fall, biting his bottom lip nervously, he had never seen you this far under before, he was sure, and to have you so unresponsive made him a little scared, he just wanted to take care of you.

“princess..” he breathed, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and pulling you closer to him, head tucked into the crook of his neck, your bare chest pressed against his and warmth spreads over your body, happy to be close to your husband, you hum contently and press a wet kiss on the skin your lips touch, not even processing the groan bruce lets out.

he makes sure that he’s feeling your breathing under him, mind moving a million miles an hour trying to think of what he should give you first, he pressed his lips to yours, lightly biting on your lower lip to distract you while he pulls out.

“i know, princess, it’s okay” he tried to console you when you whined into his mouth, his fingers moving to replace his now softened cock, his hand moves to cup your dripping sex and he gently pushes a finger inside, but by the look on your face he knows you felt empty. “i’ll let you warm my cock later, but I’m gonna sit you up right now, my love.” he whispers, sliding his finger out of your quivering cunt.

he pulled away slightly, making you chase his lips, using this as an opportunity to gently lift your body up and sitting you on his lap, arms deadweight over his shoulders and your forehead pressed to his sternum, he wrapped his right arm across your entire back, holding you tightly towards him while his other hand strokes your back up and down, “good girl, my perfect wife.” he praised, the change in position allows him see all the marks he’s left down your back, nail scratches, small angry red marks left by gripping you a bit too tight, handprints clearly visible on top of your ass, maybe he went a bit too far.

he got off the bed with you on his arms, and took you to your shared bathroom to prepare you a warm bath to wash all the fluids off your bodies.

once he finished and you were both dry, he lay down on the bed with you on top of him, moving his hand up and down your back, soothing you and lulling you to sleep, him following shortly after.

you both drifted to sleep, bodies next to each other, not knowing that in the morning, gotham’s newspaper’s would be filled with photos of you two leaving the gala, photos of you two in the gala, from an angle that could capture everything you did to him last night, leaving nothing to the imagination of the citizens.

Then, for the second time in ten minutes, Marc gives his full attention to you, and goes back to what he was doing…

Eating you out in the hallway.

A sudden nudge of his nose makes you gasp, though it’s stunted as you bite your lip, nearly drawing blood. Your mouth is already raw from his earlier assault, but he’ll stop if you make any more noise. So all you can do is hold on.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

It hadn’t even been a full week since you last saw him. Since you two had sex against Hathor’s statue and you rode him until you both came beneath the glittery night sky; since you had the most mind-numbing, earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

You hadn’t seen him since neither of you really interacted with each other outside of the pyramids. But today was yet another impromptu Council meeting.

This time, apparently, it was because of Khonshu’s doing. Khonshu wanted to talk, which meant that Marc was going to be there, standing before all of you as though the two of you hadn’t fucked each other’s brains out a couple nights before.

Not that he was subtle anyway.

Hathor, of course, found it to be incredibly amusing. So much so, that she wouldn’t stop talking your ear off as Marc’s eyes and devilish smirk consistently found yours during the briefing.

It’s not that you were ashamed. Not at all. Fuck, if you could’ve, you would brag about that entire night to everyone you knew.

Everyone except the Ennead.

Because you’re positive Horus would be less than pleased to hear that Hathor’s avatar got dicked down in the main room, much less by the avatar of the god they hated the most.

So you kept quiet and averted Marc’s gaze as much as possible. But your lack of reciprocation did nothing to quell him. In fact, it only seemed to egg him on more. Making the entire meeting incredibly difficult to sit through.

You could feel his stare on you the entire time, even when Isis and Osiris took turns berating him. Even when Khonshu spoke through him, somehow his gaze never left yours. It was this feeling that limited your involvement in the conversation. Luckily Hathor didn’t try to make you talk, because you certainly wouldn’t be able to. You wouldn’t be able to speak to him without thinking of the look on his face as you sat on his cock. You wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the way you screamed his name and begged him to let you cum.

So you kept your eyes to the ground, trying to both tune out the goddess's comments and the meeting at play to the best of your ability.

And then the Council was dismissed. Horus hadn’t even finished his sentence before you were out of your chair and heading for the hallway.

Why are we walking so fast? Don’t you wanna say hi to your friend?

Hathor’s voice was playful as she thudded behind you, laughing to herself as she went on and on about Marc.

You’re the only person I know who runs from someone who gave them a mind-blowing orgasm, ya know, is what she said to you.

You never responded to her, far too focused on navigating the halls as quickly as possible until you were free.

But then he cut you off.

And so here you were: your head thrown against the wall with Marc’s face stuffed between your thighs and that familiar tightening sensation returning like a blazing fire.

“Marc…” you call out to him. He chuckles, misinterpreting it as a moan. You move your hips against him (ignoring the twinge of pleasure that radiates down your legs), to get him off of you so that way you can reason with him.

You need to tell him that you want him. So fucking bad. But you can’t have him here. Especially with the other avatars still congregating in the next room.

“Marc, honey.” With a huff, Marc stands up straight, face and chest incredibly close to yours. The air around the two of you grows thin, and suddenly, you feel light-headed. “The other avatars, they’re still here. We can’t—you can’t…”

His hand tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear before settling his palm on the side of your cheek. “Baby, I’m sure they’ve done much worse things.” He leans down, nipping and suckling at the hollow of your throat. “Besides, they won’t know if you don’t make any noise. I made you a promise…” A finger comes up to your lips and separates them; the pad of his thumb dragging your bottom lip down. “And I am a man of my word. Now…can I go back to my meal? I promise to make you feel just as good as last time, baby.”

You whimper along with a barely-there nod; body involuntarily folding into his. He grins. “Wonderful.”

And with that, he falls to his knees again, yanking your shorts and underwear down from your knees to your ankles. He holds them until you step out of them, before neatly folding the garment beside you.

He starts just underneath your breasts, leaving scorching kisses through the fabric of your t-shirt as his hands run up and down your bare legs. They leave goosebumps in their wake as he slowly edges to where you want—need—him most. He descends down to your cunt, nudging his nose into every curve, slowly mouthing at your hip. His palm splays across the expanse of your thigh, kneading the flesh there.

He’s slow this time around. His desire is not as rushed or hungry. There’s a different sort of passion to his actions.

Puffs of his hot breath hit your pussy, until he’s widening the space between your thighs and kissing you right at the junction of your left thigh.

“Mhmm, missed you.” He mumbles to himself before moving in. His lips wrap around your clit, slowly massaging the little bundle of nerves until every one of them has been turned on. He hums at his own ministrations, and the vibration stings the base of your spine. He toys with you, the ashes he left in his wake a couple days ago reigniting in an instant.

Your hand shoots to his scalp, fingers carding through his hair mindlessly. A feeble attempt to make yourself busy as his mouth does its work.

All thought of the Ennead walking in on this leaves you as he laps at your dripping arousal. He acts like a man on death row like you’re his final meal and he’s going to enjoy it in every way he can. He’s messy; all tongue and teeth and feather-light kisses that make your bones shake. His shoulders hold your body in place against the wall as his head dips and moves in the low glow of the hallway light. You’re nearly off the floor; only his body, and your tiptoes supporting you, as he pulls your hips forward to meet his mouth.

The noises are obscene. A mix of grumbles, hums, and breathy moans echo around you until all you can hear is the sound of him enjoying the taste of you.

He promised you last time that the second time you came was going to be on his face. And with the way the pleasure sears through you, you guarantee that he’s going to get what he wants.

Your back arches into him as your grip on his hair tightens. You feel the way he tries to calm himself down at that. “You’re doing so good, baby.” Another swirl of his tongue. “So. Good… Can tell you’re close.”

You sigh, head lolling to the end of the hallway. You can hear the faint voices of the avatars—still present and chatting as you are being brought to an impending orgasm. It’s an interesting contrast; knowing that they are blissfully unaware of how Khonshu’s avatar has been bringing you to your climax for the second time in this fucking pyramid.

You do your best to be quiet; to keep your sounds to a minimum so as to not alert them. But then his tongue flicks your hole before it slips in and you're slapping your free palm against your mouth.

Your eyes are screwed shut as your hips gyrate at a much faster speed. “Marc…” you whisper, freeing your face of your hand as a particularly loud moan tickles the back of your throat. You hold it there. Desperately trying to keep your release under control. Except he makes it so very strenuous.

Because he’s dangling you over the edge. So close, that just one more stray movement would have you tumbling over the cliff, a mess of sweat and cries as you fuck his face.

“You’re holding back, baby. C’mon. Cum on my face. Wanna taste you for real.” You let out a low grunt at his words. He can still feel you holding your orgasm in, which seems to only frustrate him. And it’s that action alone that makes his hands tighten around your hips as his tongue moves in you faster. A desire to toss you over the cliff and watch as you unravel.

The feeling is all-consuming. You need to cum. So, so badly. But you won’t. You can’t. They’ll absolutely hear you if you do.

But then you feel his hips against the lower part of your leg and you realize he’s grinding himself on you. Marc dry-humps your bare leg, loudly groaning at the friction of his jeans and your trembling body. He’s getting himself off as he eats you out, and it’s that thought that has you crashing.

Your jaw falls slack, movements coming to a halt as you hold him against you. You white-knuckle the fist full of curls as you, quivering beneath the weight of his body. Thankfully, no noise escapes you. Just the occasional squeak as your mouth stays open in a silent moan. You came on his face; the same way in which he promised you; the same way in which he wanted.

But he keeps at his pace. Keeps licking and sucking at you, even after your high has gone.

“Fuck, baby.” He moans. “That was good. You’re so good for me.” He bites at the curve of your hip bone, before soothingly licking at it. “But I think you can do better. Think you can be louder. What do you say hmm?” You squint at him through half-lidded eyes and a hazy mind. “Think you can give me a couple more?”

“Couple more?!” Your voice shrieks, the sudden attention of what he’s demanding rattling around your brain. And then you realize how loud you were, and you practically melt into the wall out of embarrassment.

You let out a loud sigh. “Fuck, Marc. Someone’s—you kept your promise. Please. You—you made me feel good, please. I promise.“

He clicks his tongue against his cheek as he shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t think I did. I think…” he palms you then, the heel of his hand pressing deeply into you. “I think I need to make sure that you feel good.”

His fingers tease your throbbing entrance mercilessly as he awaits a response. Though you come up with nothing as you rack your brain for something. Anything. Part of you knows the dangers of you getting in trouble by a far-too-curious Council member, and wants to protest Marc’s efforts. But the other part of you—the part that is still incredibly turned on by the way he pats your folds like an instrument—knows you never wanted him to stop. You wanted him to pull every ounce of pleasure he possibly can from you.

And that’s when you make your decision.

Looking down at him, you inhale deeply, hoping it’ll give you as much confidence as possible. “Give it to me. However many you can just—please…fuck me, Marc. Fuck me.”

He’s stoic for a moment. A brief flicker of shock until his face contorts into a wide grin. “Are you sure, baby? I don’t think I can stop if we get goin’.”

Raising an eyebrow, you bring your hand to the back of his head, eagerly pushing him into you. “I want to cum on your face.”

“…God, I thought you’d never ask.”

Figuratively and literally, he dives back into you. Your lips are swollen and puffy and you’re nearly numb as he continues to eat you out. There’s hardly any build-up this time. Instead, he’s just licking everything, everywhere until you can hear your wetness. It’s dirty—fucking filthy as his head bobs between your thighs.

The stimulation is blinding; boiling beneath your skin to the point where your heartbeat feels like it’s coming from your throbbing pussy. He paws at you, desperate to taste every inch of you. Desperate to hear every sound possible come from you. He flattens his tongue; swirls it around your aching bud, nips, sucks, and shoves it back into your entrance. He falls into a rhythm; a mix-up of different actions that make you want to cry. “Fucking shit, Marc. More, please. Wanna’ cum.”

He doesn’t stop; determined to know every single thing about you. Inside and out. To memorize the way you cum. To know the way you feel tightening around every part of him. To have your thighs shake around his head; to have you gush on his tongue. He continues his pattern, ever-so-slightly increasing his speed with the pitch of your moans. “Fuck, fuck. Marc, I’m—holy shit, I’m gonna cum, gonna—I’m coming! Fuck, I’m coming!”

You nearly fall off the wall into him as your orgasm rips through you. You scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he fucks you through your high. You’re gasping in between each wave; each ebb and flow of your release affects a different part of your body until you fall limp and your grip on his body ceases.

Immediately—as though the man doesn’t need to breathe—he’s standing up, body fully engulfing you as he breathes into your neck. He’s huge (you know he is, every part of him). And the fact that your body seems so small in comparison to his, makes you wet all over again. “Want one more, baby. Think you can do that?”

You don’t respond. Simply, you just crash your mouth into his. You taste yourself on his tongue as it explores everything it can. The act is filthy; painfully sexy as you groan through flash images and reminiscent feelings. Somehow you can’t get enough. Your body feels like it’s floating. It’s nearly in complete ecstasy. But you know have another one in you. You’re not fully satisfied. You can feel the desperation for one more release deep in your bones.

You just need one more.

You don’t speak, at least you don’t think you do. You don’t voice your desires into existence. But regardless, Marc knows. Because then he’s dragging two fingers through your slit, collecting your cum before dipping the digits into your aching hole. Your chest heaves almost instantly. Your body opens itself up to him, fully allowing itself to feel everything. To feel the building of your third orgasm.

Fuck, just one more…

He pumps his fingers a couple times inside you before curling them near your cervix, mimicking a come-hither motion. You moan into his mouth, his throat eager to swallow every little sound you make.

“God, baby, just like that.” Your eyes have rolled into the back of your head at this point as he uses his thumb to stroke you while his other fingers pump in and out. In and out.

“That feel good, honey?” He ponders, feigning innocence. You can tell he’s watching the way his fingers fully sheathe themselves in your pussy. The way they disappear, then reappear covered in the remnants of your orgasm and the perpetual arousal; the beginnings of your third climax. And fuck you’re almost there. You’re so stimulated, so fucking horny that he’s already brought you there. You’ve started to ride his hand, wanting to feel him as deep as possible, until you’re sore and bedridden and can’t think about anything other than how hard he makes you cum.

“Fuck.” He growls into your neck. “Gonna cum again, baby?”

You nod, grinding down onto his fingers as quickly as your aching body can muster. The sounds of his wrist slapping against your mound drive you mad; crazy for the way they move inside you. You can feel the bend of his knuckles and the base of his fingers where they meet his palm. They curl and glide with ease as he rubs you in just the right way. His actions are fast. So frenzied and erotic. So deliciously hot that you can’t tell the difference between the heavy pounding of his fingers or the growing knot right above your pussy.

“Harder,” you cry. “Fuck, Marc, don’t stop. M’gonna cum.”

“Open your eyes, baby. Wanna watch you.”

Willing yourself to open them, your fingers go down to his hand buried between your folds. You grab it, feeling the way the muscles flex and ripple beneath the skin as they move with you. Gasping, you arch into his chest, maintaining eye contact as you watch his pupils dilate.

And then the coil breaks. It’s a hard snap that renders the lower half of your body completely devoid of any feeling. Whining, you shove your head into his neck, biting his shoulder as your vision goes blurry. Your climax is hard and goes away just as quickly as it came. Yet your body still shudders. Your contentment lives in the afterglow of your euphoria and allows you to move slowly against his hand until you come back down from space.

Marc presses kiss after kiss—all gentle and loving—into your hair. He doesn’t remove his fingers from your aching pussy, but he doesn’t move them either. Just keeps them there for a moment as he breathes in your scent.

“My turn.”

•••

Moon Knight Taglist (+18)

It, therefore, came as no surprise that Marc hadn’t even managed to will away the ceremonial suit due to his focus on getting back to the flat to be seen by you. The gold crescent moon on his chest shone under the harsh lighting, the metal cold to the touch, and the white bandages of the suit itself are soaked crimson with his blood.

“I’m going to start on your forehead.” You murmur quietly, a gentle warning while you work at threading the nylon through the eye of the needle so it is prepped. You’ve straddled his thighs, the position easier than twisting your torso to lean across his body. “Do you have a concussion?”

“No,” was all he answered, voice a little rough from the pain. Even if he did, you knew Marc wouldn’t tell you. As hard-headed and relatively stoic as he was, he never wanted to worry you, never wanted you to fear him leaving that door and never returning.

“Then I’ll start with disinfecting.” You begin by taking up a gauze cloth and soaking the material with antiseptic wound wash. Marc had been swift to inform you the first time he came home injured that hydrogen peroxide was a horrendous wound disinfectant, much to your surprise. It wasn’t like the antiseptic hurt any less, but at least it wouldn’t cause further damage.

Marc watches as you douse the gauze pad with the disinfectant, his chest rising and falling with slightly stronger intakes of oxygen in an attempt to ready himself for the burn that accompanied the press of the material to the cut.

“This is going to sting,” you remind him, just as you did every single time you tended to him. In return, every time he would inhale sharply, almost a ‘you don’t say?’ before you pressed the steeped muslin to the gash on his forehead. He hissed upon contact, hands curling into fists in order to ride out the waves of pain as you swipe along the length of the cut to clear out any debris.

It’s silent between you at first. It usually is, the two of you are usually so focused on your breathing that you both often forget to talk. Marc always had a habit of matching your breathing pattern, following the rhythm of your lungs as you patched up his wounds. It never tended to last long though, the questions bubbling as you took up the needle once more.

“… How did this one happen then?” You murmur, pushing the point of the suture needle through the flesh of his skin with a practiced speed. Marc outwardly cringes, gritting his teeth as he exhaled through the first stitch with a heavy breath.

“Butt of a gun. Just didn’t see it coming,” he answers simply, his response short and simple as always. You had initially assumed the curt nature of his comments was because he was in pain, but you found out relatively early on into your amateur nursing duties that he simply hated giving you more work to do, and was frustrated at himself for returning with worse wounds than last time. You’d learned to recognize it as a form of affection- Marc wasn’t particularly tactile.

Marc’s bloodied skin is hot beneath your fingers, the air from his exhales ticking the skin at the back of your forearms as you lean over his face to piece his skin back together. Being Marc Spector’s personal A&E nurse is an intimate job, often leaning very close to his face as you focus on the splits in his brow or checking in during monthly intervals to ensure his dislocated jaw was healing. You sometimes found those deep, earthy eyes trailing the details of your face and forgetting just how to begin a stitch.

It doesn’t take you long to line the wound and stitch it together, but every second feels as though the world turns a little slower. The burning sensation of Marc assessing your face causes your heart to leap into your throat, focus broken within moments of beginning the procedure. The groans that sound on his exhale as you work your way up the wound blend between pained and aroused, his palms slowly having moved to grip at your thighs.

Truth be told, this wasn’t entirely uncommon for Marc. He’d never bothered to explain it, he was far too prideful for that, but whenever you had helped tidy him up following a particularly nasty fight, Marc’s breathing would quicken and his hands would grope at the flesh of your ass as you worked away at his injuries. It hadn’t taken you long to figure out that he, in fact, enjoyed the pain, but found yourself unable to voice your acknowledgment in case Marc would withdraw. However, the resolve that had stood strong for the months you had been aiding Marc was quickly crumbling with the form-fitting suit he wore, how strong it made him look.

Arousal floods your veins as you glance down at Marc’s face. He’s watching you intently through half-lidded eyes, his pupils blown wide as his fingers slowly dig into the muscle of your thigh. Steven looked at you like you were heavenly, a beautiful thing to behold. Marc watched you as though he craved you, as though he was hooked on you like a fentanyl addict, where going with or without a hit was likely fatal. It’s intense, overwhelmingly so.

Finishing up the gash to his forehead, you sterilize the wound a final time despite Marc’s hiss of protest. Perhaps it was a little sick to admit, but you’d grown to enjoy this time you spent together, the intimate sensation of Marc holding you as you piece him back together again, the way he moans and shifts his hips beneath you in an attempt to relieve the need that settles in his hips every time you push the needle through his skin.

Careful to throw away the used material, you begin to set up a fresh needle with new sutures as Marc continues his set gaze on your face. His fingers dig deeper into the meat of your thighs, silently persistent. You know what he wants, that hit he’s wordlessly begging for, but you refuse to give in to him.

“‘S Steven’s fault,” his gruff voice sounds through the quiet of the room, strained as you soak through another cloth to clean the deep lesion on his abdomen. You’re careful to lift the grimy bandage-like material of the ceremonial suit from underneath his golden belt and over the large tear. “He keeps taking the body back without permiss-ion,” he gasps out when you press the gauze to the ripped flesh, the sting that followed causing him to grit his teeth.

The amused hum that resonates in your chest causes him to glare at you. “I won’t have you targeting Steven like this, Marc. He’s confused, a little overwhelmed. It’s unfair to blame him when it’s you that’s pulling him into dangerous situations.” Your tone is teasing, knowing it riles him up when you side with the quiet, awkward yet oddly endearing Steven.

“If he’d stayed out of it like I asked him to, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He could stay at his fucking gift-shop selling scarab erasers to kids or whatever it was he got up to-“ you cut him off by sinking the needle into the flesh of his abdomen, causing him to wince in pain. “Why are you standing up for him, huh? Prefer spending time with him?” His voice is strained as you thread the nylon to bridge the gap and pull the cut closed.

“You know that’s not true,” you tell him pointedly, meeting his eyes with a warning look that informs him you wouldn’t stand for his childish jealousy.

A silence settles between the both of you again as you continue to work, maybe a little less carefully thanks to his bratty comments. Marc flinches under the sharp prick of the needle as it works through the gash slowly. His breathing is heavy again, chest heaving lightly to ease the pain that your ministrations cause. Despite his obvious discomfort, he fails to hide the hard press of his erection against your forearm through the bandages of his suit.

You hesitate for a moment, glancing up to his face. He’s staring at you with an arched brow, his eyes silently quizzing you, asking what you were going to do about it. Marc wasn’t exactly shy, and given you’d challenged him on his petty remarks about Steven he certainly didn’t seem as though he was willing to back down any further tonight.

“Do you like that?” You breathe quietly, knowing you’re playing with raging flames as you finish up the stitch with a perfectly executed knot finish. “The pain?”

Marc doesn’t answer, his eyes flicking down to the scissors you use to cut the remaining nylon thread. He seems almost disappointed that you’d finished up so soon, clearly having gotten far too much practice with how often he’d come to you asking for medical aid. It’s only when you reach to grab more disinfectant that his cock twitches in his pants again, anticipating the burn against the wound.

“You do,” you murmur, answering for him and confirming what you already knew to be true as you arch your brow playfully. Without Marc bothering to neither confirm nor deny your accusation, your arousal at this revelation begins to motivate you to do something uncharacteristically reckless, completely outside of the norm of your relationship dynamic.

The press of the soaked muslin to his wound causes his back to arch from the bed with a gravelly groan, eyes dark as they settle on the fabric. The sting causes his exposed skin to break out in goosebumps, his hips lifting his body into the pressure rather than away from it.

The confirmation of his sexual proclivities causes you to throw caution aside and remove the bloodied cloth quickly. You toss it across the room somewhere in your peripheral, eyes focused on the soft muscular plane of his abs. They’re tanned, exposed often to the Egyptian sunlight thanks to the tasks he was required to complete for Khonsu, delivering justice to those the God deemed worthy. Perhaps he would deem you worthy of punishment for what you were about to do.

Pushing the flesh of your fingertips into the cut causes fresh blood to well into the divots of your fingerprints, the gasp that the pain pulls from Marc utterly wretched as he grasps at the bedsheets below him that are smeared with dirt and dried blood.

“Hah-“ Marc inhaled sharply as you removed your fingers from the weeping flesh. You wipe the blood away carelessly on the material as you push the top of his suit further up his body to expose his chest. He has some bruising along his ribs, purple and angry red from where he had clearly been punched.

“Is this what you’re always thinking about? When I help you?” You murmur softly, gently brushing your nails across the skin stretched against his sternum until they reach the hollow of his throat. He groans shakily, nodding his head as he watches you take control, a little taken aback by this uncharacteristic leadership.

The only sound he produces from his open mouth is a sharp hiss as you dig your nails into his flesh, dragging them down the smooth skin to leave raised, angry marks in the wake of your touch. The red lines welt quickly, blood beading in areas close to the bone.

You can’t help but smirk, Marc’s eyes rolling back slightly when you palm at his cock through the white material of his suit pants. “Help me with these, Marc,” you murmur softly. He doesn’t hesitate, but instead of struggling with the suit, the mummy-esque fabric melts away into his own clothes beneath you. His hands are swift to undo the zipper of his cargo pants, lifting his hips despite the sharp pain in his abdomen in order to push the trousers and his boxers over his hips in one.

His cock is weeping precum when you reach to take him into your palm. Wrapping your fingers around the shaft of his dick, you trace the velvety head to smear the thick fluid across his sensitive skin. Marc’s hips hitch as you focus on the sensitive area, his own hands balled into fists as you begin to rub up and down his length.

There were no more shitty remarks about Steven, no more questions of your allegiance, only the sound of Marc’s uneven breaths as he struggled to swallow down his moans of need. They’re hoarse, made through gritted teeth as you slowly ease your fist up and down his length.

You hum softly as you continue the slow, dragging pull of his cock as you dip the fingers of your free hand back into the freshly stitched gash. Not enough to ruin your work- just enough to cause him pain. He chokes out, body jerking as pain sparks from his abdomen and causes his cock to throb in your hand.

It’s slick, his precum causing your palm to glide across his length with just the perfect amount of friction. Tightening your grip around his shaft, you trail your thumb across the ridge of his cock. His skin is sweaty, enough to make you consider the fact that if you didn’t have his cock in your hand you’d think he was starting with a fever. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you, almost through you as he tries so hard to suppress his moans. It’s not often you get to see him like this, Marc having always held the reins in the relationship and refusing to let them go.

“You don’t have to hide from me, Marc,” you murmur softly, twisting your wrist slightly when your grip reaches the head of his cock. The scraping, fraught sound of a long, broken moans cause your cunt to flutter around nothing, jaw slack as he thrusts his hips up into your palm the best he can with you straddling his thighs.

You speed up the movement of your hand now, realizing that he’s already close to cumming. He’s grasping at the bedsheets, groaning as you push further into the gash you had worked so hard to suture and unravelling Marc in the process. Under your touch, his abdomen spasms, an indication that he’s close to cumming all over your fist-

He flips you. You don’t even have the time to process that you’re lying face-up on the mattress until Marc is tearing your sweatpants down your legs with a snarl. There’s an edge to him, sharp and dangerous as he yanks the thick material from your ankles with an overzealous tug.

“Marc, your stitches-“

“Pretty Thing-” he growls, the syllables sounding as though they’ve been wrung from his lungs. Hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, he’s yanking the cotton fabric down your thighs with such force you’re certain that he’ll rip them. He doesn’t even bother to remove the soaked fabric entirely, letting it stay tangled between your knees as your cunt wets the inside of your thighs. “Rude little thing.”

The shock of his weeping cock pushing its way through your folds has your back arching off the bed with a broken sob. There’s no easing it in, he pushes all the way down to the base in one swift motion, breaking your unsuspecting pussy open on his width. You know that you’ve pushed far beyond your boundaries, but you find yourself struggling to see this as a punishment when you both feel so fucking good.

“Sir-!” You’re quick to correct yourself with a squeak as the head of his dick pushes up against something brutal inside you. He’s growling again, hot and sharp in your ear as you squeeze so tightly around him. Marc’s furious, in that delicious way that you know will leave him having to look after you by the end of the night, collecting a bottle of water from the fridge because you’re unable to stand up from the bed.

Thrusting deep and savagely inside of you, the push of his hips into yours has you jolting up the mattress from the sheer force in which he rocks into you. You sob out as he punches the sound from your lungs, toes curling into the bedsheets so hard that you swear the muscles in your feet cramp- fuck, you’re drowning between your legs, the sopping sound of him pounding into you bouncing off the walls enough to make your face burn red hot.

“Ha-Ah-Ah!” You can’t help the noises of desperation that sound with each cruel thrust. The springs of the mattress strain under the force Marc exerts on that blinding spot inside you, and your breath catches in your lungs at the way your orgasm already builds tremendously quickly.

*He wants you to cum with him*

“Oh fuck- Oh fuck, Sir- Marc!” You gasp out needily, hands scrambling to grab ahold of his shoulders and dig your nails in simply to brace against the brutal pace with which he hits that mind-numbing area that causes your cunt to flutter around him.

And then he’s switching his tactic, filling you up entirely until you’ve taken him down to the hilt, stretching the limit of how much you can take as he pistons short, sharp thrusts into your most sensitive spot. Your thighs are spasming around his hips, fist pounding against his sternum as he rips stinging hot pleasure up your spine with the stretch of your pussy around his cock.

“Ah- I can’t- I ca-Hah!” You’re hiccuping, nails digging so hard into the flesh of his shoulder blades that you’re certain blood is beading underneath them. His back is working tirelessly beneath your palms, and you swear you can feel the early glow of your orgasm.

“Come on,” Marc grits through his teeth, continuing the brutal assault on your cunt despite your wordless cries of meaningless protest at just how fucking good he’s making you feel. You can’t take it, can’t handle how hot it sparks inside your abdomen as your orgasm arcs up hot and fast-

His fingertips brush your clit and the bedroom comes crashing down around you. You can feel the tenseness in your brow as your eyebrows pull up, your expression no doubt dumbstruck as your orgasm rips through you mercilessly. Marc has torn your climax from you so suddenly that it contracts painfully, the sharp, dull ache that accompanies the overwhelming pleasure enough to cause you to scream out his name. You’re spasming around him, drenching his cock with your cum as he empties his load into you with the most devastating groan. You have no doubt there would be a noise complaint tomorrow.

In the quiet that follows, you can hear the slick sounds of Marc still slowly fucking into you despite his own orgasm, punishing himself, punishing you until his hips give way. Your body is spasming and twitching under every brush of contact his body makes with your own, overwhelmed by the pleasure he had torn from you.

It’s filthy, the way in which his pupils dilate when he watches his softening cock slip from you, his pearly cum seeping from your cunt. He doesn’t allow any to spill, pushing his fingers into you to shove it all back. Marc refuses to allow you to waste any, even when you’re sore and bruised from his previous efforts.

“The stitches,” you wheeze through your panting breath, palms pushing at his abs to double-check that they held through his brutal pace. His abdomen flexes beneath your touch, but you can feel the nylon fastening the wound just perfectly and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“You can’t keep getting hurt like this,” you halfheartedly lecture him through your exhaustion as he massages your tense thighs in a bid to get your sore muscles to relax. “… But I have a feeling you’re getting into fights on purpose now.”

Marc doesn’t respond at all, eyes set on your legs as he pushes the tense muscles with the pads of his thumbs. His silence is guilty as sin, and you can’t help but laugh at the wordless admission. It will be many months more until you learn that Marc actually doesn’t need you to stitch him up like this, that Khonsu’s suit and the abilities he’s been granted heal him easily- even fatal wounds. Until that time he continues to drag himself, battered and bruised to your doorstep to continue being treated with the sting of the antiseptic and the sharp nick of the needle.

END

Tucking you in, up to your shoulders with the quilt to shield you from the cold when you’ve fallen asleep on him. Leaving you small gifts, odds and ends he thinks you’ll like that appear at random, no note or card, no credit taken even if you confront him directly about it. Making repairs or doing chores surreptitiously, when you’re not looking.

He wants to indulge you without the flourish or the attention. It’s probably why the only place and time he openly pampers you without restraint is when he has you naked and bare. When his mouth is drowning between your thighs or his cock buried into you to the hilt of himself. 

In those moments, it’s always about you. You and your pleasure as he pulls orgasm after overwhelming orgasm out of you. It’s almost as if any pleasure that he allows himself to have in the moment is only if it’s incidental to yours. As unrelenting as he can be, when his hips snap into you with a demanding pace, you also know that he’s going easy on you. 

You see it in rare flashes in that dark hungry gaze. In the moments leading up to your orgasm, those suspended seconds where you’re hanging by a balance on the edge of tipping over. You can see it then, how there’s something more he wants, before he snaps out of it with the shake of his head and pulls himself out of the trance as you fall apart before him. If you could, you would want to prolong that moment for the both of you, when his eyes are bare and open, honest with his needs. Because it’s like he’s always holding back with you. Scared that if he takes you apart the way that he wants to, you’d break like fine porcelain in front of his very eyes. 

You see that same look in his eyes now, as you pull back momentarily from where you’re straddling his lap on the sofa, sharing heated kisses. That guilty, greedy look, like he wants more than you’re giving him, but won’t let himself take it.

“I won’t break,” you tell him. He looks up with a plastered on confused gaze pretending he doesn’t know exactly what you mean. “Whatever it is you want to do to me. You can. I won’t break.” You swear you can almost see him emotionally withdrawing before your eyes, so you press on, “You get to ask me for things too. You know that, right Marc?”

He doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, mouth set in that familiar downturned line that says you won’t get anything more from him. You probably should have expected this reaction. Marc never asks you for anything for himself. Not ever. You think he feels like he doesn’t deserve to ask for anything. He guards his needs like a secret inside a penitentiary. “What if....” You scramble for something to offer that might get him to agree, “What if we trade? You tell me what you want from me in bed, and I’ll tell you something I want from you.” Marc's eyes narrow in an attempt to look sceptical, but not before you catch the flash of almost-predatory interest.  

“...and I'll even go first," you offer to sweeten the deal, praying he'll take the bait.

He doesn’t agree. But he also hasn’t said no yet, which, from Marc, qualifies as a confession in your book that he wants what you’re offering. It won’t take much, just a little push in the right direction, and you'll have him. 

"There is something I want to try with you," you stall, watching him carefully, trying to gauge his reaction for interest. You don't have to fake the heat that rises in your cheeks when you can see Marc's hands flexing at his sides. Dragging your eyes up from those thick fingers that so often bring you so much pleasure, you look up at his face from under your eyelashes just in time to catch him licking his lips. 

"Tell me," he demands. He's leaning in, gaze focused and intense in a way that sends a shiver of anticipation through you.

"Not unless you promise you'll go next."

His eyes soften for just a moment, and the corner of his mouth hitches up just a hair, which from Marc is almost as good a full laugh. You feel a flash of triumph because you know he’s going to agree even before the words leave his mouth.

"You drive a hard bargain, pretty girl. Alright. Me next. Now tell me." 

“It’s... um... Well I– That is...” You fidget with your hands in your lap. Now that you’ve lured him into agreeing, you realise that you didn’t think this through. What are you going to ask for? What could you possibly want that Marc and Steven haven’t already given you? Especially when they’ve given you pleasure above and beyond your wildest dreams already? Marc seems to mistake your floundering for hesitance, and some of the sharp focus in his gaze fades into an open expectant expression (well, as open as Marc’s expressions ever get anyway).  He reaches out and takes both your hands in his larger ones. 

“You can tell me. Anything you want, baby. Just tell me and it’s yours.” His eyes and hands, both warm.

“I… um…” And God, he really does mean that, doesn’t he? Marc is less openly affectionate than Steven. Less open period, but you know he’d move heaven and fucking earth to give you anything you wanted. He does it every day and won’t even let you thank him for it—pretends it wasn’t him if you try. That’s just what he’s like. 

You look up at him, into those big brown eyes, and you get a flash of those very same eyes staring down at you, feverish and greedy, as he brings you to the brink in bed. You can almost hear the low, eager rasp of his voice as he asks you if you’re close. That suspended moment when you can see the leashed hunger, the need for something more in him. And you know what you want. 

“I want you to edge me.”

Silence. There’s silence. The intense focus is back. You can feel the weight of it on your skin, the heat of his burning gaze. The way Marc’s staring at you it’s a wonder you don’t spontaneously combust. You almost feel like you could. “You want me… to edge you.” His voice is neutral, but his body language is anything but. You can see the tension in his body, in the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the way the muscles of his jaw flex. You nod. “If… if that’s alright with you as well?” You hate how uncertain your voice sounds all of a sudden. Not sure where this sudden timidity has come from except that his gaze is stripping you bare, exposing you until you are unable to hide from him. “Yeah,” Marc huffs out with a laugh. An actual, honest to God laugh. “Yeah. That’s alright with me.”  The corner of his mouth is turned up as far as you’ve ever seen it, but his eyes are all dark heat and promise as they bore into your own. 

“But if we do this? I’m not gonna let you off easy. You understand?” His voice, low and rough, burns its way through you along with the realisation that he wants this. That you were right.

You’ve finally figured out some small corner of Marc’s wants beyond just you, and you get to give it to him. Or, rather, let him give it to you. The knowledge thrills you, makes you want to give him even more.

“I don’t want you to let me off easy, Marc. I want you to ruin me.” 

He groans, deep in his chest, and you think you hear a muttered, “Fuck. Gonna ruin me,” before his lips are on yours, desperate and devouring.

With far too much ease, he slides a firm strong arm around your waist to pull you to him. His other hand urges you to wrap your legs around him, helping you to lock them around his waist, and then he’s lifting you up in his arms and carrying you across your flat into the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. 

Before you know it, Marc is lowering you onto the bed and following you down. The reassuring weight of his body settles over you, holding you down, pressing you into the mattress. 

Popping the button open on your jeans, he drags them down your legs and off. His firm, calloused hand skates a smooth path along your skin on the way back up, dragging along the outside of your calf to your knee, then your thigh before he gently spreads your legs for him. 

The broadness of his palm covers your mound, cupping you through your knickers, and you become acutely aware of just how wet you are. The touch feels heated, intoxicating, even though he hasn’t really done anything to you yet. From the curved smile on Marc’s lips, you're sure he can feel the way you’ve already soaked through the cotton fabric of your knickers. 

The heel of his hand grinds down against you, and the pressure is delicious, relieving the ache that’s already built for him between your legs. You can’t help wantonly canting your hips up, seeking more contact, more friction, just more of him. But his hand is already moving away. His fingers find the edge of your knickers, trailing along the ticklish skin there, and then he’s pushing them aside. 

The tip of one finger parts your soaking folds, sliding a slick line to your clit, and your whole body jolts at the electric contact.  

“Fuck. So wet already. You always get so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs against your neck, mouth sliding hot and open against your skin as he makes slow precise circles over and over on your clit. Then his hand dips lower, sinking two thick fingers into your cunt, in a perfect filling slide. It punches the air out of you, leaving only a sweet ache in its wake. Your mind feels raw around the edges, fuzzy with the sharp spike of heat spearing through you. The heel of his hand rests over your clit as his fingers curl into you, unerringly finding all your sweet spots at once. 

He could make you come like this after only a few moments—has done just that many times before. This time he draws it out, instead, fucking you slow and thorough with his fingers, as though determined to wring every drop of pleasure out of you. And God, he is. 

You’re panting, as wet as you’ve ever been. So wet you’re probably dripping down his fingers to his wrist, but you’re too far gone to even be embarrassed because it feels so fucking good. Your body curls into his touch as he fills you just right, two talented fingers working inside you. 

The pleasure is devastating. Your leg kicks out, toes curling into the sheets. You’ve foregone all sense of shame, grinding yourself up up up against his palm in a desperate attempt to push yourself over the edge that’s dangling just out of your reach. 

You’re close, so fucking close. Your impending orgasm searing through your spine like it is ready to burn a hole through your flesh. You just need a little bit more, and Marc is giving it to you perfectly… Until he isn’t.

Marc stops.

He pulls his hand away, the full thickness of his fingers slipping out of you and leaving you empty and needy, and it’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over your head.

Oh right, edging. You asked him to edge you.

You watch him through half-lidded eyes, breath panting as your lungs squeeze painfully tight in your chest. His fingers are glistening with your slick in the light, as he puts them to his plush pink lips and slips them in between to suck them clean. 

“That was a close one wasn’t it, baby?”

Pulling down your knickers from your legs, he drags them off your ankles, before leaning down against you. He starts from your chest, pressing, burning kisses against your breast and the ends of his curls tickle your heated, sweat-slicked skin as he makes his way down your stomach, tongue sliding down your hips as he dots kisses to your thighs, spreading your legs even wider for him. 

He stops there, holding himself above you, so close, the tip of his nose is nudging against the apex of your thighs. There’s a beat of a second, an excruciating wait for you. You don’t know what he’s doing until you hear the inhale of a breath, his shoulders rising as he’s breathing you in, inhaling the scent of you. Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath ghost over your oversensitive clit, until he finally puts his mouth to your pussy. 

You can feel the way his jaw tenses as his mouth works you open. His tongue is a slow obliging slide through your slick folds as he hums into you. Soft and wet as he parts you. 

“Taste so good,” he murmurs, scraping his chin against the inside of your leg, until the stubble burns pleasantly against the oversensitive skin. It’s an overwhelming, visceral sensation that makes your body jolt, stomach clenching. You nearly kick him in the face, but Marc is way ahead of you, hand firm on your leg as he pins you down. 

“Easy. Easy there, baby. We’re just getting started.” 

It’s so slow and so insistent as he laps at your cunt. The bright flair of pleasure and pain that shoots through you is unbearable at this point. Your fingers dig and grip into those soft curls, pulling them tight until it must sting against his scalp, just the way Marc likes it. Hoping it’ll spur him on and drive him to distraction and just let you come. 

Your thighs are shaking. Your stomach too and every muscle in your body is trembling, pulling taut like you are at the end of a race and can finally see the goal before you. The pleasure is almost painful, and you forget to breathe, seeing spots dancing in your vision. 

“More, Marc, please—oh fuck, just like that, please don’t stop, I’m almost—”

But he doesn’t give you more, just keeps to the sedate pace he has set for the both of you. A spike of dread shoots down your spine as you now realise what you’ve actually signed up for. 

White, hot bliss spills through you with each move of his mouth, but your climax remains just out of reach, promising to be so ripe and sweet that you can nearly taste it on the tip of your tongue. No matter how much you writhe and squirm against him, Marc doesn’t let up, holding you firm against the mattress, until you’re right on the trembling edge.

And then he stops. God, this is so unfair, you can’t—Oh God, you can’t—fuck. 

He hushes you, a sweet cooing sound into your ear as he rubs your inner thigh soothingly to let you climb down from the precipice. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs. You’re not stupid enough to believe for one second that it’s altruistic of him, its only purpose is to let you calm down just enough for him to wind you up again like a tight bowstring holding back just enough so you don’t snap. 

Everything aches, splinters burrowing under your skin. Somehow, Marc knows, he soothes the sting with his soft lips, pressing them against your skin until it subsides. The edge of his teeth skirts against the inside of your thighs before biting down. Replacing the ache with an even harsher sting that has you arching into his mouth for more. 

You can no longer tell time anymore. Time is just an abstract concept, as Marc repeatedly leads you by the hand to the brink of orgasm, climbing up that white peak only to abandon you there, pulling away from you to admire the view. 

It’s torture and pleasure all wrapped up in one confusing overwhelming parcel. He takes you to the edge and pulls you back twice more with his hands alone before he adds his mouth into the equation again. Everything is a blur after that, you can't feel the mattress pressed to your back, and you swear you are floating out of your body.

The pleasure slows again, hot and molten until it drips syrupy sweet between your legs onto his tongue. You’ve already given in, don’t try to move without his permission, no resistance left in you and you don’t know why he still hasn’t let you come yet. 

“Marc– Oh God. Please! Just let me—” 

He cuts you off before you’re able to finish your nonsensical blabbering. It’s just as well, in your current state of mind you’re hardly able to string up anything coherent. 

“You asked me, remember? What I wanted. This is it.” Those expressive eyes are burning into yours, predatory and hungry like he is about to devour you whole. “This is what I want. Want to have you falling apart from my fingers. In my mouth. On my cock. Begging.”

All you’re capable of is whining in response, and he keeps talking with that low rasp in his voice. 

“Beg for me, pretty girl. Beg me to make you come.”

You do exactly that. You’re well beyond the point of shame or inhibitions. The only thing left in you that passes for a higher function is your need to come. 

“Fuckfuck, Marc, please. Please just let me come. I need it. Oh God. I need to come.”

"I don't think you do," Marc says, lips curving upwards, as he raises himself onto his knees, "Not yet."

You make a high pitched noise of denial, reaching for him as he moves away, but he ignores you.

"You knew what you were doing when you asked for this." Those deft fingers make quick work of his belt, and he shoves his trousers down over his ample hips before dragging them off entirely. "You came to me, not Steven."

In the mirror, you can see the carved muscles of his arms and back flex as he pulls off his shirt, and then he's naked in front of you, all smooth tanned skin that looks almost golden in your bedroom light. 

"Warned you I wasn’t gonna let you off easy." 

And God, he did. But you can't bring yourself to care when he's looming above you, wrapping one hand around his hard cock that's slick and shiny-wet with pre-come dripping from the flushed tip. You’re practically salivating at the sight of him.

"And I’m not done with you yet.”

Strong fingers circle your ankles, and he yanks you down toward him, under him. Dropping down to cover your body with his, Marc notches the fat tip of his cock at your slick entrance.

You brace yourself for penetration, already anticipating the sweet stretch of him, but it doesn’t come. You roll your hips up, desperately seeking the angle that will get him inside you, unable to understand why he’s not already fucking you. 

“Did you want something, baby?” Marc smirks down at you as you writhe underneath him. He’s clearly enjoying himself, the bastard. “Maybe you should try asking nicely.”

“Please,” you manage to pant out, more needy whine than actual coherent sound.

“Please what?” Marc demands.

“Marc, please,” you whimper.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.” He’s still wearing that fucking smirk, and he’s gazing down at you expectantly. If you didn’t know any better you might think he really doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but his next words remove all doubt. “You want my cock in you? You’re gonna have to say it for me.”

“Your cock. Want your cock. Need you to fuck me. Need you, Marc. Please.” You force the words out, half pleading, half almost annoyed, but his eyes light up as soon as you start speaking, gleaming with something like pride, but darker, more urgent. The look on his face is captivating.

“That’s my girl.” And then he pushes into you, and you forget about everything except the weight of him inside you.

The first slide as he fills you up with his cock is fucking heaven. A sweet aching stretch that sends pleasure singing out along your every nerve. Your thighs tremble where they bracket his hips, nearly numb with the tingling heat that’s spreading quickly outward. 

You can’t stay still, your body arching against him without any input from you, clenching down around the delicious girth of him, and you swear your eyes roll back in your head, your vision flickering. 

With that infuriating control of his, Marc lets you writhe on his cock for a moment before he pulls back, nearly all the way out. Your hands fly to his shoulder in a desperate attempt to keep him close. All you hear in your ear is a dark chuckle, and then he slams himself back in. It’s so mind-meltingly good your vision darkens and you swear you see fucking stars from it. 

He doesn’t stop. He drives himself into you with harsh, deep thrusts. The pace is hard and fast. Pleasure rockets through you with each press of his hips into yours. It spreads up your stomach, twining along your legs and up your stomach and wrapping your chest in warmth, coalescing into a tight knot of bliss that ratchets tighter with every stroke. You can feel your orgasm building, and you arch up to meet each of his strokes, straining for completion. 

Then he stills. Thrusts deep and holds there, and it’s almost enough. 

Almost...

Would be enough if he would just–

But he doesn’t, and your orgasm starts to slip away. As close as you had been, it feels like torture, and your breath comes out as a sob. You think… you think you might actually be crying this time, tears stinging your eyes at the loss. Anger sparks in your blood. Never mind that you asked for this, wanted this. 

You need to come. 

Your cunt clenches and squeezes around the hardness of his cock and it twitches and jerks in response. Those beautiful eyes of his slam shut, as he bites out a curse. It’s the closest to a loss of control you’ve seen from Marc all evening. 

So you don’t stop doing it, fuck, you don’t think you could will yourself to stop squeezing around him even if you wanted to. Muscles contracting and clutching down in a way that’s beyond your control when you’re rewarded with a half-aborted thrust. You’re not sure if you’re trying to tempt him into fucking you again, or if you’re just that desperate that you think this alone can make you come. Either, both, you don’t even care, too blitzed out on adrenaline and the withdrawal of pleasure. You don’t care how you get it as long as you get to come. 

It’s maddening, your hips are desperately trying to seek some friction that will be enough to push you over, trying to chase your orgasm. Almost—fuck, almost, pleasure shoots through your stomach, sparking along the line of your spine. Even if Marc doesn’t help, you’re sure you can get there by yourself. Your muscles lock tight, and the pleasure hums and sings through your veins. You’re gonna, fuckfuck, you’re gonna— 

Before you can, he pulls out of you, and you cry out, your empty cunt clenching around nothing as you shudder and pant your way through the aching loss. Every nerve screaming for the release he’s denied you. 

"Oh no you don't. That's cheating, pretty girl. You don't get to come that easily."

A sob tears through you, and you don’t even care how pathetic you must sound. “Please, please let me have your cock.” You sound like an actress in a bad porno, but it doesn’t matter how ridiculous you sound if it gets you what you want. 

It seems like your desperate attempt was all for nought. Marc doesn’t move any closer. The look in his eyes, the mischievous curl of his lips tells you that there’s no chance in hell he’s going to give into you. 

"You gonna be a good girl for me? Hold still while I give you my cock?" 

"Yes, Marc. Yes! Please just..." 

"I don't think you are.  Only good girls get fucked like that. Show me you can be a good girl. Show me you can take more for me."

His eyes burn into you, pupils blown so wide that they’re almost pitch black in their intensity. As much as you need to come. As much as you’re sure that you are going to die if he denies you again. You want this more. To be the centre of this man’s attention, the object of his devotion. To have his intense gaze fixed on you like you’re the only thing that exists to him in this moment, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You don’t ever want it to stop. 

You think you understand it now. Why Marc wants you to beg for him this desperately. Why he refuses to let you off easy and won’t give in, stringing out these moments when you are on the precipice of your orgasm, desperate and floundering. Why he’s driving you to this unbearable point only to withhold it from you again and again, even as you’re shamelessly begging for him until your voice is hoarse, each cry burning and scratching in your throat. 

What is begging if not a desperate declaration that you need him? That when you’re both stripped of overthinking, down to your most basic self, until only need and want are left, you need him. 

That’s why he wants to hear you say it now, when he’s worn you down to the point where you have no filter. 

He won’t believe it otherwise. 

Because deep down, Marc fundamentally views himself as someone who is unwanted. This is the one moment, when you’re shameless, needy and blissed out of your mind, with no pretence that he can allow himself to accept otherwise. 

So you meet his dark, greedy gaze, and you give him what he wants.

“Fuck. Marc, please. Want you.” Your panting, barely coherent, but somehow you manage to get the words out. “Please! I need you. Need you to make me come. Please please please, Marc. I want you. Just want you. Please.” 

"I know you do, baby.” He pets a hand across your hair, his eyes soften, and you can see that he actually believes you. “Know you do.”

Pleasure strikes hot and deep as he thrusts back into you. And it’s fucking perfect. That sweet burning ache builds immediately, deep and consuming, and you only want more. You’ve grown addicted to it. To him.

He’s not stopping, hips thrusting into you, and blissful pleasure swirls tight and insistent somewhere deep in your belly. 

This is it. You’re sure of it now, this is it. Marc is going to let you come.  

Your eyes clench shut, too overwhelmed to keep them open as you let the sensation take over. 

And then it stops. 

Again. 

Oh God, you can’t. You’re going to die. This man is actually going to murder you with orgasm denial.

"One more time. Just one more time for me, then I’ll make you come. You can take it for me, baby." His voice is gentle, coaxing. The softness in direct contrast to the way you’re crying and begging now, nearly hysterical. 

“Nononooo, Marc, please. I need– Oh God. I can’t– Please. Please!!”

Despite his promise, he doesn’t move. Holds there, locked deep inside you. You don’t even have it in you to resist or be angry anymore, because you are sure that you have already died and this is hell and you are being punished by some malevolent god. 

Instead, his warm hand comes to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing against the apple of it.

“You alright there, love?”

That’s different. The intonation is different from Marc’s flat one, a valley that rises and falls. You blink. Eyes fluttering open to gentle brown eyes filled with open adoration and so much love. 

Steven… Steven’s here in Marc’s place. 

“You sounded… a bit not good... Did Marc take it too far?” There is genuine worry for you in his eyes as he looks down on you, even though you both know that Marc would never do anything to hurt you. And oh bless. Your sweet Steven heard you begging and crying and has swooped in to save you like a white knight. It makes you wonder how desperate you must have sounded, how loud you must have been crying out for him to think you were truly in distress. 

“Want me to make you come?” Steven asks with such sincerity it makes your heart swell with affection. 

If you weren’t so keyed up, you might stop and explain the situation. If you weren’t so out of it, legs aching with muscle strain from your exertions of being denied over and over again, you might refuse his offer and ask for Marc back.

But you are pushed beyond the point of rational thought. Marc’s stripped you of every conscious thought, until your prefrontal cortex has incinerated any brain cells that may have once been there. Your decision-making skills are shattered. All you care about, all you can think, taste, feel, is your desperate, consuming need to come. 

So you nod, instinctively saying the only word you are capable of saying throughout this evening. 

“Please.” 

Steven breaks out into a beaming smile, boyish and sweet that lights up the whole room with it. 

You reach up and tangle your hand in his hair, pulling him down to you so that you can kiss him hard.

“Steven,” you pant into his open mouth, “Need you to move.”

“Right.” He says decisively and starts to pull out, but then he gasps and his hips immediately stutter into you with an abortive half thrust. He shivers and drops his head down against your collarbone, panting hard, only to raise it again a moment later with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs apologetically. “A bit far gone, at the moment I guess. He was closer to the edge than I thought. But let’s see what I can do for you, love."

His hips pull away and a whine leaves your lips, before he thrusts back in—your half-whine turns into a choked dying sound as you feel him deep and hard, filling every inch of you. 

“Fuck, fuck, Steven.”

He groans, hips adjusting his angle, hands pulling greedily into your thighs as he lifts you to him, until he strikes something devastating inside you that has your muscles locking tight in euphoria. It’s like he knows, because he thrusts into you, just like that, again and again with a hard and rough pace. 

His pace falters only for a second as his head whips into the direction of the mirror, catching his own reflection and then he frowns. 

“Just a tick,” Steven mutters, and for some unfathomable, unthinkable reason he slips out of you, moving away from you, one leg already climbing out of the bed. 

The sound that comes from you is inhuman, as you claw and dig your fingernails into the meat of his arm hard enough to break his soft skin. “Steven! No. Don’t stop.”

“Sorry, love. I’m sorry, just— Sorry. Just give me a moment.” He climbs the rest of the way out of bed, and you don’t understand what he’s doing or where he’s going, refusing to ease your grip as he pulls the sheets to drape it over the silver surface of the mirror. 

If you were more coherent, you might spare a moment to consider why Steven is covering up the mirror, but you aren’t. Your mind solely focused on the fact that Steven is going to satisfy the desperate aching need that burns hot in your stomach. To finally give you the climax you’ve been denied so many times. 

He climbs back into the bed hurriedly, almost snagging himself against the covers. Then he’s back, notching himself at your entrance and slides all the way inside, until he’s flush against your hips. The reassuring heat of his skin pressed alongside every inch of yours as he grinds his cock deep. Sparks of heat lick your spine as he grinds into that perfect spot. 

It doesn’t last long. Edged as you have been, brought to the precipice of your orgasm again and again until you’ve lost your mind with the pleasure and torture of it, it doesn’t take long at all. You can already feel the telltale sign of warmth pooling in your belly, spreading outwards. 

Steven doesn’t stop. You know he won’t. Steven is always desperate to please you, doesn’t have it in him to deny you of anything, and you love him for it. His hips slam into you, again and again, with a frantic pace, deep and indulgent, just like you need him to.

You want to tell him that it’s good. Perfect. Praise him for always taking care of you, but you can’t form the words. All you can do is cling to him as everything inside you ratchets higher, tighter, so much more intense after being denied for so long.

Pleasure spills and spills, flaring out against every inch of your skin, flooding your senses. It’s chaotic and too much, bright spots blinding your vision as you come, harder than you ever have in your life. 

Steven still isn’t stopping, pushing deep into you as his thrust doesn’t slow its momentum. You try to ride out the pleasure, bucking your hips as you grind up against him, but it won’t stop. Oh fuck—it’s not stopping. “Steven, Steven—I’m… fuck I’m—” The blinding bliss spikes through your blood, hot and piercing. You’re not sure if it’s the start of a second more intense orgasm or if your first just never ended. It’s all blissful heat and sharp-edged pleasure, spearing throughout your body until it erupts in your veins. 

It’s pitiful the way you’re sobbing, whining and keening for him, as he continues relentlessly with his strokes, until you feel him spill into you with a broken gasp. 

Maybe it’s because you’re so completely overcome or maybe you’ve lost your sense of time, but it feels like he comes for ages, body tense and heaving above you. Finally, he stills, collapsing down onto you, and you lay there like that for a long moment, panting into each other’s skin. 

Eventually, Steven bestirs, lifting himself up on an elbow to grin down at you.

“That was… Wow. I mean, that was amazing, is what that was. You’re amazing.” He presses a sweet kiss to your forehead and lips and then moves away from you. 

Even as over-sensitive as you are, you barely flinch as he withdraws. Instead, you feel sleepy and sated, reality gone blurry and faded at the edges, and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

You blink, and then Steven is there. He has a warm, damp cloth that he uses to gently wipe you down, murmuring quiet praise and affection all the while. You drift off with the cotton-soft sound of his voice in your ears.

By the time he rejoins you in bed, you’re dead to the world.  

You wake up to the morning sun filtering through your bedroom window. Muscles still aching from the previous night, you stretch and open your eyes, only to meet dark eyes bearing down on your sleeping form. 

Marc does not look happy. 

His eyes are narrowed, brown drawn with more than just his perpetual semi-frown. His gaze is intense. If you didn’t know him as intimately as you do, you would describe it as intimidating. 

“Took you long enough to wake up,” he says, with an unmistakably sarcastic drawl that tells you you’re in trouble. “Steven must have really worn you out.” 

Climbing out of the bed, he walks over to the mirror, movements brusque as he tugs the sheet off. Once the silver reflection reveals itself, he turns back to you, pulling at your ankle to drag you to the end of the bed, before he settles himself back onto the mattress. 

With one strong arm, he lifts you up and into his lap, handling you like a weightless ragdoll to position you where he wants you to be. He manoeuvres you until you’re sitting in his lap, leaning back against his chest, and pulls you back until he’s pressed tight against your back and you’re both facing the mirror. 

His hand wraps around your throat, and even though there’s hardly any pressure, your pulse jumps excitedly to meet his thumb resting against the hollow of your throat. Tilting your face to his, he licks into your mouth, claiming it thoroughly. Possessive, hard. He doesn't let go until you’re out of breath. 

“I wasn’t done with you when Steven interrupted. Guess that means we have to do it all over again, baby.” He narrows his eyes at himself in the mirror. “And I’m not tagging out this time. You hear me, Steven.” 

You can see Marc observing you in the mirror. That dark hungry gaze reflected back at you. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t try to snap himself out of it. Fully allowing himself to give in to the bare primal need in him without restraint. 

“You remember what I told you last night?” he whispers into your ear, and his breath fans hot and burning against your hairline. “Still not gonna let you off easy.” 

One hand skates alongside the inside of your thighs, nudging your legs with his knees as he spreads you open, putting you on a debauched naked display for the mirror.

For Steven.

For Marc. 

“Make sure you beg real pretty for Steven and me this time,” he taunts, and his fingers part your slick folds, spreading you wide and glistening in the mirror and making a depraved display of you.  

Excitement buzzes in your blood. You knew full well there was going to be a consequence when you asked Steven to make you come. That you weren’t going to escape without repercussions. But that’s alright. You’ll take whatever punishment that Marc deemed fit. No holds barred, nothing but joy and excitement singing in your veins as Marc decides to take from you exactly he wants. 

It’s just what you wanted. 

Dedication and Credits

To my eternally suffering co-pilot @thirstworldproblemss for spending her incredibly busy time clowning around with me and my horny self. For being the best co-writer any gal can ask for. For being the absolute best partner ping-ponging ideas, sharing one single brain cells and sharing brain-wave transmission. For looking at a wonky sentence I wrote that I am about to yeet out, and knowing exactly what I actually wanted to say (even though that's not what I wrote) and fixing it with her sheer brilliance and genuis. For just being shrimply the best.

To my no.1 comic gal, @radiowallet with her endless support and advice. Your big beautiful brain is my favourite encyclopedia and you are the best. Check out her amazing story Funny Girl, featuring Dieter Bravo from the Bubble, a pitch perfect that makes me feel like I am on the set of SNL.

To my dinowhore @jazzelsaur as I am serenading Goodbye to you by Michelle Branch for her departed puth. Check her insanely, envy-inducingly good masterpiece Stay on the Screenplay featuring Dieter Bravo from the Bubble. It is Hollywood angst at its best.

You find yourself in Bucky’s practically bare apartment. Your skin is warm while your eyes swim. He broke out the alcohol to talk over. Catch up and whatnot. But, what started out as a few drinks and light hearted story telling quickly turned into something you knew you both couldn’t avoid for much longer.

As you sit at the small kitchen table, you can feel the frustration, the sadness that hangs between where you sit and the man across from you. Alcohol tends to do that. Makes you bare and open to conversations you most certainly shouldn’t be having while inebriated.

“Where did we go wrong?”

Bucky’s voice is thick, somewhat slurred. A mixture of hurt and the brown liquid he swirls in his glass. Where did you guys go wrong? He genuinely loved you. You loved him. The relationship was full of passion and adventure. It was bliss. Until one day, it wasn’t.

He became distant while you struggled to help him. How could you help someone who didn’t want to help themselves? You suggested he see a therapist, someone who can aid his damaged mind. He blew up. He couldn’t fathom that you’d say such a thing to him. 

It was a mutual breakup. It was clear that it just wasn’t the right time for either of you. You thought a mutual agreement to end things would be easy to move on from. You were so wrong. So, so wrong because he plagues your thoughts day in and day out.

Bucky Barnes is beautiful. His choppy brown hair with those deep, brooding blue eyes is something to be envied. His tiny nose and dimpled chin top everything off perfectly. And that mouth. God, that mouth. His lips are plump with straight teeth hidden behind them. The body he carries is sculpted with ridges and dips that look as if they were carved. Even the scars that surround his vibranium shoulder are laced with an intricate beauty.

He’s caring, smart, and passionate. But, behind all the good that is utterly James is someone who gets sad, angry, paranoid. He’s never been open about his past, but whatever he went through, it clearly fucked him up more than he’ll ever be willing to admit. 

“I’m not sure, Buck.”

“You think you’d ever give us a shot again?”

His eyes are glassy. Full of hope as he looks at you. Clearly he’s thought about this more than once. It makes your heart clench. You don’t know. You can’t possibly know at this moment in time because your mind is foggy and it’s all just too much. 

“Bucky, we should have this talk another time. Maybe when we're sober.” You stand, swaying a bit before searching for your phone in your purse. “I’ll get an Uber. Thank you for the nice evening.”

Before you can even pull up the app, his hand gently takes your phone to place it on the table. Bucky’s standing above you now. Close enough to where his cologne attacks your smell and makes you even more light headed. How you’ve missed his towering body and woodsy scent.

His palm covers your cheek as he angles your head back to look at your face.

“Stay,” he whispers. It’s a simple request. Sleep it off with him. You just can’t get yourself to. You’ve gone this long without seeing him. You can’t afford to screw up your progress. 

Progress. That makes you giggle inside because have you truly made any progress when he’s still all you think about? All you fantasize about on all those lonely nights under the sheets? 

“Stay.” He says again, bending down to trace his nose along yours. You let him, even lean into the warmth of his hand. His lips are close now. He dances them across your pout, his breath mixing with yours. 

“You know we can’t,” you croak.

“We can. One night with me is all I ask. Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

“Buck-” 

“I miss waking up to you. Miss our late night dancing. Miss cooking for you. Our trips to the museum.”

Tears start to form in your eyes as he continues to ramble off all the things you both used to do, what you each did for each other. “And when I need to get off you’re the only person I think of. I get so hard picturing you underneath me. I miss filling you up every chance I get, doll.”

He’s not making this easy. Not in the slightest. You’ll both regret the sex along with the admissions in the morning. You’ll ruin what little independence you have from him. Can you really go back to crying behind closed doors to the thought of him?

Fuck it. You grab his face, smashing his lips against yours and your tongue instantly finds his. His mouth is just as you remember. Soft, skilled, full of need. His tongue invades your mouth as he frantically pulls your hips against his erection, grinding against you with a moan.

“Fuck me,” you gasp when you pull away. “Fuck me rough, Bucky.”

His demeanor changes in an instant, just like when he’s happy one moment then angry at the world the next. His eyes darken and his grip on your waist tightens. This is what you need. You need to be used, not made love to. You’re scared of what might happen if he’s gentle. A dam will break and it’ll fucking hurt. You may be drunk, but you’re sober enough to know a rough fucking won’t hurt you as much as when he whispers sweet nothings in your ear with soft strokes.

He lifts you on the table, situating himself between your legs as he continues to kiss you fiercely. He’s holding your head in place, biting and sucking your bottom lip until you both taste the faint iron of blood. You gasp into his mouth when you feel his hand slide between your legs.

The only barrier keeping him from your pussy is the panty hose you’re wearing under your skirt. You look into his eyes, spreading your legs apart for him. He watches as you open so beautifully for him, tracking the rise of your skirt intently.

Once you feel him press his fingers against your covered clit, your eyes grow heavy and your head tilts back. Pressure builds in the pit of your stomach when his touch becomes much more firm. The nylon of your stockings creates a sweet friction that has your chest rising and falling rapidly.

Bucky chuckles as he looks at you. “No panties, baby? You came here wanting to get fucked tonight didn’t you?”

His words ring through your head, causing you to grow wetter with each syllable that wicked tongue speaks. He leans over your body, pressing you down onto the hardwood as he brings his mouth to your ear. 

“Tell me how much you missed my fat cock stretching this pretty cunt.”

His breath against your skin has tingles running down your neck. His fingers running over your swollen clit makes your core tighten and release as you chase the pleasure those long digits bring. You can’t think, not when the fire in your belly keeps growing with each flick of his wrist.

When all you do is whine, Bucky’s metal hand finds your throat. He grips your neck tightly, making sure to keep you still as he brings his head up to look down at you. “Tell me,” he spits.

The coolness of his palm against your throat is a complete contrast to the heat of his flesh hand that’s rubbing your desperately wet pussy. You’re trying to keep it together, but a particular motion makes you cry out in desperation. You haven’t been fucked in awhile, ever since you and Bucky parted ways. You’re too sensitive, too hyper aware of what he’s doing to your poor body. Cumming is the only thing on your mind as you hump against his hand.

“I miss your cock, Bucky. My fingers can’t stretch me like you can. Please, please fuck me.”

Your desperation isn’t an act. It’s genuine and he knows this as he smirks at your shaking form. He always did love taking you apart until you were nothing but a heap of overworked flesh. God, does he know how to do it. He’s an expert with your body. Knows everything that makes you beg for more and everything that makes you beg for him to stop because you’re just so tender.

“Cum for me first, baby and I’ll fuck you. You remember how good I used to pound this pussy, don’t you?” His fingers begin to draw tighter circles against your clit. You try to throw your head to the side, but his hand still has you pinned to the table. Those tight circles begin to grow in speed, making your wetness drip from your aching hole and your legs tremble.

“I know you do. I know you remember how far I stretched you, how deep I went, and especially how you cum so hard with something to wrap around.” 

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, his words going straight to your pussy. You remember it all. Of course you do because he always used to make you feel so good. There wasn’t a day in your relationship where you two weren’t having sex. Neither of you could never keep your hands to yourselves. And now, you have it all back. Have him back even if it’s just for tonight. 

His hand moves from your neck to your hair, retching your head back with a grip that makes your scalp sting so that he can bite and suck at the skin of your throat. Your stomach is tightening, cunt throbbing as your orgasm approaches. Bucky’s mouth assaults your neck, the pain of his teeth is soothed with his tongue. His fingers keep rubbing you, switching directions ever so often which causes you to twitch with each new movement.

You can feel it. The way your skin is buzzing, how your ears begin to ring and how the heat in your core works up your spine. “Bucky, I-” You try to warn him, but it hits you so suddenly that you can’t finish your sentence. Instead, you’re left crying out profanities as your back arches off the table and your hands grasp for any part of his body they can get to.

The heart stopping climax seems to go on forever as he works you through it. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching and pushing his hand away from between your legs. It’s like you can’t move, can’t think as you lay limp, basking in the high he just gave you. Suddenly, your body is being flipped, face against the wood while your legs dangle over the edge.

Bucky doesn’t give you any time to calm your racing heart before he’s pushing your skirt up past your hips to hook his fingers into your stockings. You feel his fingers dig into the nylon, hear the rip as he tears them at the crotch. The cool air hits your soaked folds, but as soon as you feel the cold, you're engulfed in heat when he presses his member between your lips. 

“So wet, doll. So fucking wet,” he grits, like he’s trying to contain himself. You don’t want him to hold back. You know how feral he can get and you need that unabashed side of him.

“Buck, no more teasing.”

You don’t know how much more of his rutting you can take. His swollen tip keeps grazing your overworked clit, making you keen for more. For something more filling. For the stretch Bucky can definitely give you.

Looking over your shoulder, you see him still fully clothed, much like yourself. You see him focusing on your exposed holes. Suddenly, his eyes snap to yours and with a small smile, he thrusts into you. Your mouth hangs open, body jerking up the table as you try to accommodate his size.

You know perfectly well how endowed Bucky is. How long and thick and pretty his cock is. You remember how it made you feel, how he made you feel. But, when you go without for this long, his girth is something that burns your walls while his tip is dangerously close to kissing your cervix. It’s a pain you welcome fully because fuck does it come with a blinding pleasure that makes you clench onto him as if you want to keep him buried inside you.

His shaky breath fills the air as he slides out, only to thrust into you again. You’re on your tiptoes as your head slumps on the table. Maybe you bit off more than you can chew because all of this is so overwhelming. The emotions, the way he pierces you with pointed thrusts. You try to run away to get just a tiny reprieve, but Bucky isn’t letting up. He won’t let up.

Vibranium fingers grip the side of your face. He slides them into your mouth to jerk your head back up. He’s three digits deep in your throat, making you choke as he bends you back at an angle. He presses his chest against your arched back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear as he whispers through clenched teeth, “This is what you wanted, slut. You’re not going anywhere.”

Keeping his fingers between your lips, he pounds into you. He’s moving your body against his with his free hand braced on your hip. It’s nasty, the way your spit coats his hand and your mouth, the way his balls slap against your pussy each time he sheaths himself fully inside you, how animalistic his grunts become with each snap of his hips.

You’re dumb for his cock. He fills you so effortlessly. Your walls crave the smooth glide of his shaft while simultaneously needing a break, a breather, something because it’s getting harder to breath. It’s getting harder to stop the cries coming from between his fingers.

In the pit of your stomach, you start to feel that sinking feeling. The one that makes your skin tingle and your core buzz. You’re pulsing around his length. Each time your pussy clamps around him, you can feel every ridge and vein more acutely. It makes the pounding that much better.

“You keep squeezin’ me like that and I’ll fill this tight cunt up,” he heaves behind you.

Yes, you think, fill me up. Your hands fly to his lean waist, holding him against you so he can grind into you instead of pulling out. Just thinking about his cum running down your legs is enough to make that coil in your stomach wind tighter.

“Oh, that’s what you want isn’t it, sweet girl?”

All you can let out is a whine. A desperate, pitiful whine and Bucky knows that’s exactly what you want.

He pulls his metal fingers out of your mouth. You suck in air, catching the  breaths he’s denied you this whole time. He grabs each of your hands from his hips and pins them to your back, making sure you’re completely immobile and compliant.

With one hand holding both of your own and the other shoving your face back down onto the table, he sets an even harsher pace than before. He doesn’t stray far from your channel, keeping a bruising pace as he grinds into you. Tears fall from your eyes as you lay completely stiff beneath him, taking every single thrust he gives you.

“Maybe,” he pants, “I should put a baby in you. Get your stomach all swollen with my kid. Then, you couldn’t leave me. You’d be tethered to me forever.”

He’s talking out of his head as he chases his high, but those words strike something in you. Something carnal and biological that it makes you soak his cock even more.

“Give me a baby.” You cry out, trying to match his thrusts but failing because he’s the one controlling the speed and it’s much faster than you can keep up with.

“I can see you now. How perfect your tits would look, how puffy and sensitive your pussy would get. And your fucking stomach.”

Harder he goes because he’s close. You know he is when he falls on top of you, trapping your arms between his chest and your back. You’re going to cum. His weight on top of you, his words, his fucking hand that sneaked it’s way between your open folds to pet your clit. It’s enough to make you snap.

Your body freezes as your eyes roll in the back of your head, mouth opened in a silent scream until moans finally break through with a stuttered crack. Bucky still doesn’t stop. You beg him to ease up, but he’s not listening. He’s making sure your pussy milks his cock for everything it’s worth. He’s working to give you the biggest load he can.

“So close, baby. Just a few more thrusts.”

You lay there, trembling and sore as you let him find pleasure within you. You haven’t felt this good in a long time. You feel satiated, wanted. Just like old times.

You hear his breathing catch in his throat, feel his dick twitch as his thrusts slow down. He buries himself inside you as far as he can go and with a grunt, he releases himself inside your still throbbing walls.

You feel his cum begin to slide out and around his shaft, soaking his jeans and ruining your stockings further. He doesn’t pull out, doesn’t lift his body off yours. And you don’t dare move, in fear of breaking this euphoric peace.

“I’ve missed you,” he tells you again. You smile when he pushes your hair from your sweaty skin. “Are you okay?”

He’s giving you the once over. The one he always did when the sex got particularly rough. “I’m perfect, Buck.”

Once he knows you’re good to go, he gently pulls out. He keeps you from getting up though, wanting to admire his work as it rolls down your folds. He always loved watching his semen coat the pussy he ruined.

When he’s satisfied with pushing it back inside you, he helps you up. “So, you’re staying?”

“Just for tonight.”

His eyes soften. He’ll take what he can get. “Round two in the bedroom?”

You chuckle at his question. This man is never sexually satisfied. Lucky for him, you’re just as sex crazed as him. And damn him. He knows it too.

Without saying anything, you grab his hand, making the familiar trek to his room at the end of the hall with a tremble in each step. One night, you promise yourself, one night to just fuck him out of my system.