#baron zemo

His skin is on fire.

Bucky has no idea what the fuck that powder was, but clearly he's having some kind of allergic reaction to it- because he feels like his skin is going to peel off the bone to reveal whatever fiery hellscape is burning in his veins right now. His ears are ringing by the time Sharon ushers him, you, Sam and Zemo into the car, and even more so when the car takes off. Madripoor flies by in flashing lights, but he can barely concentrate.

"Everyone okay ?" Sam calls from the passenger seat. "Rogers, you good ?" You nod from beside Bucky, chest still heaving from the adrenaline crash that your body succumbed to the second you stepped foot in that car.

Turns out being in an explosion and being shot at within the span of five minutes doesn't do wonders for your heart-rate.

"Buck. Buck !" Bucky's head snaps at attention, the ringing in his ears fading as he catches Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Are you good ?" Sam enunciates, as if he's been repeating for ages without an answer. Bucky swallows dryly, his hands shaking. He nods, and tugs at the collar of his shirt, trying to create some kind of airflow to cool him down. He can vaguely hear something Zemo says about getting to an airstrip and having a jet waiting for them- but it's all mumble that is lost to the gushing of blood behind his ears. You eye him suspiciously, catching some remanants of that powder collecting on his collar. You reach over and wipe it off, and Buck swears your fingers skimming over his skin makes his heart beat faster and his pants grow embarasingly tight. The powder is this pink substance, and you run it through your fingers before wiping it off quickly, frowning.

"Are you sure it didn't hit you ?" You ask, and Buck keeps his eyes trained at the window, trying to ignore the way your voice sounds like pure velvet. He tries his hardest, but his mind wanders to placeshe swore to himself they never would- your soft whimpers, your lips forming his name in a moan as he dives his fingers in-

"Buck."

"Hmm ?"

"Are you sure it didn't hit you ? The powder - in Nagel's lab." You ask again, worry crowding your chest. You've never seen Bucky so out of it. Bucky gulps and shakes his head.

"I-I thought it didn't but.." He sucks in a heavy breath, throwing his head back. "My skin feels like it's on fire." He gasps, shaking his head again. Your brows furrow and you reach up, pressing your knuckles lightly to his forehead. He leans into the touch without noticing, his entire body responding to you.

"You're burning up. I think you're running a fever." You say, meeting Sam's eyes through the rear-view mirror. Buck glances up at you, at the soft spot beneath your ear where it connects with your jaw, and suddenly he finds himself wanting to reach up and press his lips to the skin, wondering what you would taste like, if that cocao butter lotion yiu apply every morning would leave a trace of flavor on your skin.

Fuck. He needs to get out of this car.

He needs to get away from you and that fucking perfume.

The car speeds through the streets of Madripoor, the cityscape blurring into a neon streak as Bucky's mind races. The powder, whatever it was, has him in its grip, and his body is reacting in ways he can't control. He feels a bead of sweat trickle down his spine, his shirt clinging to his skin as if it's trying to suffocate him.

"Bucky, you need to breathe," you say softly, your voice cutting through the fog in his mind. You reach over and place a hand on his thigh, the warmth of your touch seeping through the fabric of his pants. "Focus on my voice. You're going to be okay." He nods, trying to focus on the sound of your voice, the gentle pressure of your hand. But it's hard to concentrate when every nerve in his body is firing, when the very air around him feels electric. He can smell you, the faint scent of your perfume mixed with the salt of your sweat, and it's intoxicating. Sam glances back at them, concern etched on his face.

"We're almost there. Just hold on a little longer, Buck." Bucky grunts in response, his teeth clenched as he fights to keep control. The car comes to a sudden stop, and before he knows it, you're pulling him out, your arm wrapped around his waist for support. He leans into you, his body molding to yours as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The airstrip is a flurry of activity, but Bucky barely registers it. All he can focus on is the way your body feels against his, the way your breath hitches when he accidentally brushes against you. You're ushered onto the jet, and he collapses into a seat, his head falling back as he tries to catch his breath. Sam glances at his sideways and pulls his phone out.

"I'm gonna call Joaquin. Maybe he knows what this is- Kiddo, can you try to do your healing thing ?" Sam mutters, already dialing Joaquin's number. You nod at Sam, already moving to kneel in front of Bucky, your hands gently cupping his face.

"I'll do what I can, Sam. Just give me a minute," you murmur, your eyes never leaving Bucky's. Your hands begin to glow softly, a warm, golden light emanating from your palms as you press them against his chest. Bucky's eyes widen, his breath hitching as the heat from your touch seems to seep into his skin, soothing the fiery inferno raging beneath.

"What… what are you doing?" You smile softly, your thumbs brushing gently against his skin.

"Helping you get better. Now sit still." The jet takes off, the engines roaring to life, but neither of you seems to notice. You're lost in each other, the world outside fading into insignificance. The glow from your hands intensifies, pulsing with each beat of your heart. Sam, on the other hand, is on the phone with Joaquin, his voice low and urgent. "Joaquin, it's Sam. We've got a situation. Bucky's been exposed to some kind of powder, and he's not reacting well. Do you know anything about it?" Joaquin's voice crackles over the line, his words indistinct, but Sam nods, his brow furrowed in concentration. Bucky groans at the feel of your hands against the hard planes of his chest, and he shifts his his seat in a desperate attempt to try and hide the growing bulge in his pants. This is unnatural. He shouldn't be thinking of you like this.

"Shit, I can't-" Bucky gasps, shoving your hands off of him. You stumble backwards, falling on your ass as Bucky rises to his feet, his hands itching to grab you. "I can't be near you right now." He mutters, pushing away from you and stumbling towards the small bathroom of the plane.

"W-What ?" Guilt spreads through you head to toe and you can't deny the tears that prick the back of your eyes. You were just trying to help. Bucky shuts the door and locks it, and the turning of that lock sends a painful twist in your heart.

"Wow. Looks like the super solider is beginning to be super pathetic." Zemo hums, flicking through the pages of a magazine. You scowl.

"Don't make me send you back to jail, Zemo." You spit. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you stand up, your legs shaking slightly. You can hear the muffled sounds of Bucky's struggle from the bathroom, and it breaks your heart. You know he's fighting something he can't control, and it's tearing him apart. Sam ends his call with Joaquin and turns to you, his expression softening with concern.

" It's not your fault. This powder… it's doing something to him. Joaquin said it's designed to heighten senses and desires. Apparently Nagel was working on an alternative on the spread to the super serum. Procreation instead of the actual serum." Your jaw falls slack.

"Procreation..? As in-"

"Giving birth to super-soldiers. Creating them naturally, not in a lab. Yeah." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose "The explosion must've set it loose. Bucky's just… reacting to it." You stiffen.

"Well then, how do we get rid of it ?"

"Ejaculation." Sam says, clearing his throat.

"What so he just has to rub one out and then he'll stop being a hormonal teen ?" Zemo mutters. Sam's gaze sharpens on him, and he clears his throat.

"No, uh, not quite. Joaquin's looking for an answer now. He'll call us when we're back at the safe house."

Behind the bathroom door, Bucky is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and sensations. The powder's effects have him in a vice grip, his body responding in ways that are both exhilarating and terrifying. He leans against the sink, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as he tries to make sense of the chaos raging within him. His mind is a battlefield, torn between the overwhelming desire for you and the guilt of feeling that way. The powder has heightened every sense, making his skin feel like it's on fire, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He can still feel the ghost of your touch, the memory of your hands on his skin, and it's driving him mad. Bucky unzips his pants, his hands shaking as he reaches in, trying to find release. He pulls his cock out, red, aching and throbbing, his hand moving over it, but it's no use. Everytime he closes his eyes, all he sees is you, kneeling in front of him, breasts pushed up in that fucking bra of yours, your hair in a ponytail with his fist as the hairtie, yur round, plump lips wrapped around his-

"Buck ? Are you okay ?"

"I-I'm fine, kiddo." He rasps, hand still fisted around his cock. Bucky's hand tightens around his cock, his grip almost painful as he tries to find some semblance of control. The image of you, so vivid and tantalizing, plays on a loop in his mind, each detail etched in his memory like a brand. The way your eyes would look up at him, filled with a mix of innocence and desire, the way your lips would stretch around him, the way your breasts would press against his thighs…

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, his voice hoarse with need. He tries again, his hand moving faster, but it's like trying to put out a fire with gasoline. The more he touches himself, the more intense the sensations become, until he's left panting and unfulfilled, his body still aching for release. He slumps against the wall, his legs giving out as he slides to the floor. The cool tile against his back is a brief respite from the inferno within, but it's not enough. He knows he needs you, needs your touch, your presence, to ground him. But he also knows that being near you right now is a risk he can't afford to take. Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He needs to find a way to counteract the powder's effects, to regain control of his body and his mind. But for now, all he can do is ride out the storm, hoping that the jet will land soon and that Joaquin will have answers.

"You don't sound fine." You say after a while. "Can i come in ?" Bucky stares down at himself, gulping.

"I don't think thats a good idea, sweetheart." Bucky's voice is strained, a mix of desire and desperation that betrays the turmoil raging within him. He knows that inviting you in would be a mistake, a risk he can't afford to take, not with the powder still coursing through his veins, heightening every sense and desire.

"Please, Bucky," you plead, your voice soft but insistent. "Let me help you. I can't just sit out here and do nothing while you're in there suffering." Bucky closes his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. He knows you mean well, but he also knows the danger of being near you right now. The powder has made his desires raw and uncontrollable, and he's afraid of what might happen if you come in.

"Sweetheart," he rasps, your nickname a caress on his lips. "I need you to stay out there. If I let you in..." He gulps. "I won't be able to control what I do to you." There's a pause, a heavy silence that stretches between you, filled with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires. Bucky can hear your breathing, can almost feel your presence on the other side of the door, and it's torture. You press your hand against the door, closing your eyes. The flight goes by excruciatingly slow. When you finally touch down and get to Zemo's safe house, Bucky practically beelines for the farthest room. You try to reach for him, worry spiking in your chest.

"Buck-" He flinches away from you, his breathng ragged.

"I just- I need to lie down - I-" He gasps, shaking his head as his eyes roam up and down your body. "Please don't touch me. Just- Just stay away from me, alright ?" His words hit you like the highest form of dismissal. You've known Bucky for years- and never once has he told you to stay away from him. It makes your heart clench and your lips part- the rejection making you stumble backwards and away from him. Fear strikes his face, pure and unadulterated, his hands shaking.

"No, I-I didn't mean-" Bucky groans, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat as he clasps his arms over his stomach and doubles over in pain.

"It's fine, Buck. You don't need to explain it to me." You mutter through gritted teeth, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying. Bucky's face contorts in agony, his body wracked with spasms as he fights to control the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

"Don't... Don't do that." He gasps.

"Don't do what ?"

"Don't shut down." He rasps, shaking his head.

"All that matters is getting you better. We'll tell you when Joaquin calls back with an update." You say, tone clipped, shoulders tense and squared like a solider reporting to a senior officer. HIs lips part as if he wants to argue with you- but then he doubles over in pain again and Sam rushes forward, grabbing his arm and hauling him into the room. Bucky did nothing short of collapsing onto the bed, clawing at his clothes as his body radiates heat.

"Woah-Woah, Buck !" Sam reels backwards, closing his eyes and twisting his head away as Bucky rips his pants off, gasping as the cold air meets his burning skin, his shirt coming off right after. Sam blindly throws a pair of sweatpants at him. "Geez, man. Cover up. This ain't a strip club." Bucky buries his face in his hands after pulling on the sweats, his chest heaving as he stares down at the floor.

"I've gotta get this thing out of me, man." He gasps, shaking his head. He winces and presses his palm flat against hsi crotch, as if the pressure could stop the dull throb his cock is giving- at the sole thought that you're behind that door. Bucky's body is trembling, his muscles tensed and coiled, ready to spring at the slightest provocation. "Sam," Bucky gasps, his voice raw with strain. "I can't… I can't control it. It's like a fucking inferno inside me. I can feel it, burning through my veins, consuming me." Sam nods, understanding the depth of Bucky's turmoil. He's seen this before, the way the super-soldier serum can amplify emotions and sensations to unbearable levels.

"I know, Buck. I know it's intense. But Joaquin is convinced there's a cure- something we can give you to eat or drink- to counter act it's effects. We just need to wait until he calls back." Bucky shakes his head.

"If the ppwder won't kill me this fucking fever will." He rasps, his bare chest heaving. "I'm like a furnace." Sam frowns, pursing his lips.

"Joaquin's working on it. He's got a lead on an antidote. Just hang in there, Buck. We'll get through this together." Bucky nods, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He knows Sam is right, knows that he has to trust in Joaquin's expertise and Sam's support. But the inferno raging within him is relentless, a constant battle that's pushing him to his limits. Bucky looks up at Sam, and he clears his throat, the sensation burning at the dryness laying there.

"Listen, man," He croaks. "Whatever happens.. I need you to promise me you won't let her come in here." Bucky says, nodding his head towards the door. He can practically smell the worry coming off of you from behind the closed door- like his body is hyper-aware of you.

"Bucky-"

"Sam, i'll hurt her." He gasps, shaking his head. "If she comes in here, i won't be able to control myself, i'll- Fuck. Ever since the car all i've wanted is to bend her over and-"

"Okay !" Sam chortles. "Message received. Loud and clear." Bucky lets out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and desperation.

" I… I don't know what I'd do if something happened to her because of me. Because this fuck ass powder has clouded my senses and I end up..." He wants to say fucking her so hard i break her, but he changes his mind at the last second. ".. not being able to control this." Sam places a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"Joaquin will call back with the antidote, and then we can start to counter these effects. Just hold on a little longer." Bucky nods, his jaw clenched as he fights to maintain control. Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knows he can trust Sam, knows that he'll keep you safe, no matter what.

"Thank you, Sam. For everything. I… I owe you one." Sam chuckles softly, a hint of his usual humor breaking through the tension.

"You owe me more than one, Buck. But we'll settle up later. Right now, let's just focus on getting you better." With that, Sam steps out of the room, closing the door behind him with a final click. Bucky is left alone with his thoughts, his demons, and the raging inferno within.

The second the door clicks shut- you spin around to face Sam.

"What happened ? Is he alright ?" Another pained groan echoes from behind the door and your heart gives a painful wrench. Your oldest friend, the man you've loved in secret since the 40's- is in pain behind that door. And you can't get to him.

"He's fine," Sam responds, though his tone doesn't exactly match his words. You search Sam's face, looking for any hint of the truth behind his words.

"Sam, please. Tell me what's really going on. I can hear him suffering in there. I need to know what's happening." Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair as he leans against the wall, his expression troubled.

"Bucky's in a bad way. The powder… it's doing something to him. Heightening his senses, his desires. He's struggling to control himself." Your eyes widen in realization, and you feel a pang of worry mixed with something else—longing, maybe.

"So, what can we do? How can I help him?" Sam shakes his head, his voice firm.

"Bucky made me promise not to let you in. He's afraid of what he might do if you're near him. He's… he's not himself right now." You feel a sting of rejection, but you push it down, focusing on Bucky's well-being. "

But Sam, I can help him. I can use my healing abilities—"

"No," Sam interrupts, his tone gentle but resolute. "He needs to get this under control first. Joaquin is working on an antidote. We just need to give Bucky some time and space to ride this out."

-------

You stare up at the ceiling, the couch firm against your back. Zemo took the room at the far end of the hallway. Sam tried to coax you into the room, but you stood your ground- letting him take the last remaining bed while you settled down on the couch. Joaquin said he would call in the morning- but that feels so far away.

You tried to sleep.

You really did.

But all you can hear is Bucky's pained whimpers and groans from the other door, and the soft shuffling of his feet against the tiles, telling you he's pacing. You shift on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position, but your mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and worries. Each groan, each whimper from the other room is like a physical pain, tearing at your heart. You close your eyes, trying to block out the sounds, to focus on something—anything—else. But it's no use. The image of him, in pain and alone, is seared into your mind, and it's all you can think about. You want to go to him, to hold him, to ease his suffering in any way you can. But you know you can't. Not yet. Not until he's ready. You sit up, swinging your legs over the edge of the couch as you rest your elbows on your knees, your head in your hands. The silence of the house is deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of the city outside. You strain your ears, listening for any change in his sounds, any sign that he's getting better or worse. You stand up, your body aching from the long night, and you make your way to the door, your heart pounding in your chest. You press your ear against the wood, listening, hoping to hear something—anything—that will tell you he's okay.

But nothing comes.

So you push open the door.

"Buck ?" You call.

He's in the corner of the room, back pressed to the window, the glass wide open as he lets the cold breeze in. Moonlight filters in and dances on his sweaty skin. His metal arm twitches every few seconds, his eyes drawn closed as tightly as possible as his chest heaves. A bead of sweat rolls from his neck to the curve of his waist line, and your eyes follow it down-

Oh.

Oh wow.

You can see the outline of him, hard and big and pressed against the gray material of the sweatpants. You feel a flush spread across your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and desire washing over you. You know you shouldn't be looking, know that you should respect his privacy, but you can't tear your gaze away.

"Buck?" you whisper again, your voice barely audible. "Are you okay?" He startles at the sound of your voice, his eyes flying open as he turns to face you. For a moment, you see the raw, primal need in his gaze, the depth of his desire, and it takes your breath away. But then, just as quickly, it's replaced by a look of sheer panic.

"No," he rasps, his voice hoarse with strain. "No, you shouldn't be in here. I told Sam—"

"I know," you interrupt, taking a step closer, your hands raised in a placating gesture. "I know you did. But I couldn't just sit out there and do nothing while you're suffering. I had to see for myself that you're okay." Bucky shakes his head, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"I'm not okay. I'm far from okay. And you being in here… it's not helping." You can see the struggle in his eyes, the battle he's waging within himself. You want to reach out, to touch him, to offer him some measure of comfort, but you stop yourself halfway when his metal hand flies out to grab onto the windowsill, his teeth gritted as his flesh hand presses down on his bulge, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Bucky..."

"You need to get the fuck out. It- shit- It's worse when you're near." You freeze, your chest aching.

"I can't sit out there all night and listen to you when I know you're feverish and in pain-"

"Sweetheart, you don't understand." He rasps, shaking his head. "Every inch of me right now wants to tear your clothes off with my teeth." He grits out, shaking his head. "I want nothing more than to see you knelt infront of me with your lips wrapped around me, to taste you as you come on my tongue or to feel your tight fucking pussy squeeze around my cock, so I beg you - get out before I hurt you." He gasps, his eyes opening to stare up at you. Heat spreads into your belly, and you have to pretend you didn't just soak your underwear at his words. Bucky's eyes widen slightly, as if he can tell, and he groans again. You shake your head, ignoring your arousal.

"You could never hurt me, Buck-"

"I have before." He rasps. The words don’t just land—they detonate. I freeze mid-step. And in that split second, memory doesn’t creep in. It crashes.

Siberia.

His hands around your throat. Not his. Zemo’s words in his head. Your body lifted off the ground like you weighed nothing. The sound your back made when it hit the wall.

Helicarrier. Metal slamming into your ribs. The recoil of impact traveling up his arm as you flew backward. The way your head snapped to the side when you hit steel.

You lying still.

His doing.

You were just trying to get him to stop beating up your brother.

Just trying to get him to remember you.

Suddenly, you can’t breathe.

"That wasn't you." You manage to croak, but the words come out uncertain.

"Yes, it was." He breathes, shaking his head. "I can't do that again- fuck, don't look at me like that." You frown.

"Like what ?"

"Like i'm worth saving." He mutters, and then shakes his head. "Like you want me to fuck you." You try to protest, but he groans again, throwing his head back, hand gripping himself through the sweatpants, the wood where his metal hand rests splintering under his strength. "Shit, I can smell it on you, sweetheart." You feel your cheeks flush as Bucky's words send a wave of heat through your body. The tension in the room is palpable, and you can barely think straight. You take a step forward- and every joint in Bucky's body seems to lock up. "D-Don't." He gasps. "I'm begging you, please don't come any closer. Just go back outside."

"I'm not leaving you in here when I know i can help." Bucky's eyes involuntarily rake you up and down. You're in this tight little tank top- and he can see the way your nipples pebble with the breeze from the open window.

Oh. what he wouldn't give to have your thick breasts slotted in his mouth.

The shorts you're wearing leave little to the imagination, the fabric so delicate Bucky reckons he could rip it right off of you. You step closer, the tension between you palpable. Bucky's eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see the raw, primal need reflected in their depths. The air is thick with unspoken desires, and the powder's effects are undeniable. You can feel the heat radiating from his body, and it's intoxicating.

"Bucky," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I know you're in pain. Let me help you." You reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you brush a strand of hair from his forehead. His skin is hot to the touch, and you can feel the fever burning beneath the surface. He groans, a sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Sweetheart, you don't understand. This powder… it's doing things to me. Things I can't control." His voice is hoarse with strain, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. He shudders at your touch, his body responding to your proximity. "Fuck, you smell so good," he murmurs, his nose nuzzling against your neck. "Like sunshine and sin. It's driving me mad."

"Let me help you," you whisper, your hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. "Please." Your hand slides all the way down and dips through the waist band on his sweatpants. You chance a glance up at him- he's not moving. Not breathing. Just staring at you, eyes wide. Your hand settles around his hard length, your fingers not even able to fully wrap around the girth of it, and he hisses like he's been burned. His hips buck into your hand, his hands flying down to grip onto you waist, pulling you closer.

Every inch of Bucky is begging for him to protest- to push you away. This is wrong. You're his best-friend's sister for fuck's sake. But on the other hand, he's dreamed of having you like this since you were teens. He bites his bottom lip as your thumb circles his aching tip, and he lets out a gutteral groan.

"Shit- baby- if you keep going like that, i'm gonna-"

"That's the whole point." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his jaw. Your cunt pulses with need as his fingers dig into your ass, his low groans echoing in your ear as you stroke up the side of him. Your mouth is watering, tongue growing heavy with the pressing need to feel him stretch your mouth out, to gag along him as you try your hardest to take all of him in. Bucky's breath hitches as you continue to stroke him, your touch both gentle and demanding. His hips move in sync with your hand, a primal rhythm that speaks to the depths of his desire.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your body. "You're so good at this. Too good." You smile against his jaw, your lips brushing against his skin as you continue to explore his body.

"I want to make you feel good, Bucky," you murmur, your voice laced with a mix of innocence and desire. "I want to take away all your pain." He shudders at your words, his body responding to the promise in your voice.

"You already are," he admits, his hands roaming over your curves, tracing the lines of your body as if he's committing them to memory. "You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this. Of you." His words bring a sudden hear to your stomach and you kiss your way down his toned chest, slowly sinking to your knees. You hear his breath catch as you hook your fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants, staring up at him. His pupils are blown wide, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat from the fever. You pull his pants down, freeing him. His cock springs up at attention, red and aching, leaking with precum and...huge. You can't even hide the way your eyes widen when you look at him. He's everything you imagined- and more. You wrap your hand around him again, marvelling at how your hand doesn't even fully wrap around him fully, and you can't help but squeeze your thighs together to relieve the ache between your legs at the mere thought of trying to make all of him fit. You flatten your tongue along the side of him, slowly easing him into your mouth, and he moans- loud and whiny- as his hand comes flying down to your hair and wrapping your locks around his fist.

"Jesus- fuck-" Your name tumbles out of his lips like a prayer, and his hips buck towards you involuntarily, slipping himself deeper down your throat. Your eyes prick with tears and the sudden intrusion. "God, that mouth-" he gasps, head thrown back. "Shit, i knew your mouth would feel good- I knew you'd be so fucking good at this, baby-" He rambles, as if unable to control himself.

You hum in response, the vibration sending shivers through his body. You can feel his hips bucking, his body begging for more, for deeper. You oblige, taking him as far as you can, your nose brushing against his abdomen as you swallow around him. "Shit, yes," he hisses, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. "Just like that. Don't stop." You don't plan to. You're lost in the sensation, in the taste of him, in the way his body responds to your touch. You can feel his cock throbbing in your mouth, can taste the salt of his precum, and it drives you wild. You want to make him come undone, want to feel him lose control. You pick up the pace, your hand and mouth working in tandem, your other hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently in your palm. Bucky's moans turn to curses, his body tensing, his hips thrusting in time with your movements.

"Shit-" He gasps as you hollow your cheeks around him, and you hear the sickening crack of wood as his metal fingers finally break apart the windowsill. You try not think of Zemo's reaction in the morning and cast your eyes upwards. He looks heavenly, basking in the moonlight, his fevered skin glowing, his cock in your mouth. You whine around him at the thought, and he actually whimpers, head tipping forward.

"You have no idea -" He gasps "God, how much i've wanted this- you." He manages through bated breaths. "Shit, you're so beautiful. Taking me like this- god i've waited centuries for this." You moan around him- and that seems to send him over the edge. He comes with a shout, spilling down your throat. As Bucky's orgasm subsides, you pull back, licking your lips and swallowing the last of him. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and you see the raw, primal need still burning in his gaze. His body is still tense, his cock still hard and throbbing, a testament to the fact that the powder's effects are far from over.

"You're still so hard," you murmur, your voice a mix of concern and desire. "Does it feel any better?" Bucky shakes his head, a pained expression crossing his face.

"It does, but it's not enough," he admits, his voice hoarse. His eyes look at you with guilt as he realises what he has to do, but you can't deny the rush of wetness that pools between your legs. Shakily, you get back to your feet and grab his hand, softly pulling him along. He steps out of his sweatpants as he follows you, and you guide him down to the bed, making him sit. His chest is heaving as he watches you pull your shirt over your head. Your nipples pebble as the fabric catches on them, the swell of your breasts hanging heavy on your chest. Whatever was left of Bucky's resolve vanishes. His hand shoots out to grab you, palming your ass as he drag you to him, making you straddle his thighs as he latches his mouth around your breast. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, the fever struggling to claim him. And by the way he's lapping at your breasts, dragging his teeth along the nipple, it's clear to say he's barely in control. You gasp as Bucky's mouth closes around your nipple, the sensation sending electric shocks straight to your core. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud, his teeth grazing gently, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You arch into his touch, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him close.

"Bucky," you moan, your voice laced with desire. " He chuckles, a low, feral sound that vibrates against your skin.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he growls, his mouth moving to your other breast, giving it the same attention, the same devotion. "So fucking perfect." You whimper, your body aching with need, with desire. You blindly reach behind you as you push your shorts and underwear flimsily to the side, wrap your hand around his hard cock, and guide it to your folds. The second Bucky feels the wetness there, an animalistic whine leaves his lips, and you barely have time to process before he's gripping your waist and slamming you down on his cock. A loud gasp leaves your lips at the sudden stretch, your body locking up with pain. Your hands struggle for purchase on the hard plane of his shoulders, his head nuzzled against your sternum as he ruts into you, his hands forcing your hips to move despite the pain shooting through your body at every movement.

"Gah- You're so fucking tight-" He rasps, teeth grazing your collarbone. His hands grip your thighs harder as he pushes you down, bottoming out inside of you. You're split over his cock so deep you feel like you could scream. "Jesus fucking christ- you're gon' milk me dry, sweetheart." He pants. You moan, a mix of pleasure and pain, your body clenching around him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks of your passion.

"Bucky," you babble incoherently, to cock drunk to care, " M'so full- fuck- you're so fucking deep-" He chuckles, a low, feral sound that vibrates through your body.

"That's it, sweetheart," he growls, his voice hoarse with desire. "Take all of me. You can handle it- God, you were fuckin' made for me." His hands grip your thighs harder, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving bruises that will remind you of this moment for days to come. He begins to move, his hips thrusting up into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure and pain crashing through your body. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his voice a low rumble. "So tight. So perfect. You're mine. All mine." You meet his thrusts, your body moving in sync with his, your inner muscles clenching around him, milking him, driving him wild. You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, can taste the salt of his sweat on your tongue as you kiss and bite at his neck, his shoulders, his chest.

"Bucky," you cry out, your voice laced with pleasure and desperation. "I can't… I can't take much more. It's too much. Too big." He chuckles, a low, feral sound.

"You can take it, sweetheart," he growls. "You were made for this. Made for me. Made to take my cock deep and hard." And with that, he increases his pace, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more demanding, his body slamming into yours, each movement sending waves of pleasure and pain crashing through your body. You moan, your body clenching around him, your nails digging into his skin, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Bucky," you cry out, your voice laced with pleasure. "Yes. Right there. Don't stop." Your voice cracks with a sob as your body starts to spasm, your cunt clenching around him "God, please don't stop." You sob. His hands grip your thighs harder, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving bruises that will remind you of this moment for days to come. He leans down, his teeth grazing your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

"That's it, sweetheart," he growls. "Come for me- shit- let me feel you come all over my cock." You cry out, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm, your inner muscles milking him, drawing him deeper. Bucky groans, his body tensing, his release triggering yours, the two of you coming together in a rush of pleasure and fulfillment, your bodies shaking, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, your hearts beating as one, your souls entwined, becoming one. But Bucky is far from done. The powder's effects are still raging through his system, and he needs more. Much more. He flips you onto your stomach, his body covering yours, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you up onto your knees. You gasp, your body arching, your breasts pressing against the mattress, your ass pushed up, exposed, ready for him. Your thighs and whole body is shaking, and you chance a glance at him over your shoulder. He's pumping himself in his hand, pure pain etched onto his features as he release a moan that borders on agony. He falls forward, hand clenched around the sheets, his chest heaving as sweat soaks his hair. You reach behind you blindly, whimpering as you try to reach for him, wanting to ease his pain. He stares at you- the fucked out bliss in your eyes, the way your lips are swollen from taking him in your mouth, the way your cunt pulses pathetically, his come dripping down your thighs, and he groans.

"Shit, baby- I can't- I can't fucking control myself around you." He rasps. His erection looks borderline painful now, and you wiggle your ass towards him to try to get him to fuck you. You can barely keep yourself up with your arms, so you let yourself smush down onto the mattress, arm reaching out for him as it slides on the sheets. "I need to- jesus - we need to stop. I'm gonna fucking hurt you." You whine, shaking your head. You try to push yourself up but your arms protest so instead you reach for his metal hand that's clenced around the bedsheet and softly untangle it. You grab it and guide it between your legs, whining as the metal slips between your folds. You buck into his hand, staring up at him. He sucks in a heavy breath.

"Shit, sweetheart. All this for me ?" He manages, his voice croaky and restrained, and you can see the restraint he's put on the powder. He looks more feverish than he did before, and it makes your chest ache.

"Don't fight it, Bucky." You moan, pushing back on his finger so that it slips inside of you. "If you fight it, it gets worse." He groans, a low, feral sound that vibrates through your body.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he growls, his metal fingers curling inside you, teasing, tormenting. "You need to-" He gives himself another pump and groans in pain. "You need to tell me to stop if its too much. Please, baby- I don't want this fucking powder to make me hurt you I would- I would never forgive myself." You can see the restraint he's putting on himself, the struggle between his desire and his fear of hurting you. It makes your chest ache with a mix of tenderness and need. You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the cool metal against your skin.

"Bucky," you whisper, your voice soft but insistent. "I trust you. I know you won't hurt me. Not intentionally." He sucks in a heavy breath, his eyes searching yours, looking for any hint of doubt or fear. But all he sees is trust and desire reflecting back at him. He leans into your touch, his metal hand still curled inside you, his thumb brushing gentle circles against your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

"You're so fucking perfect," he rasps, his voice hoarse with emotion. "So beautiful. So mine." You moan, your hips bucking against his hand, wanting more, needing more.

"Then show me," you challenge, your voice breathless with desire. "Show me how much you want me. How much you need me." He groans, a low, strangled sound, and you can feel his resolve crumbling. The powder's effects are too strong, his need for you too intense to fight any longer. He pulls his hand from inside you, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, reaching for him, trying to pull him back.

"Bucky," you moan, your voice laced with desperation. "Please. I need you. I need you inside me. Now." You see hesitation flash on his face for a split second before he moves behind you and presses his flesh hand to the small of your back, pressing you down further onto the mattress. He settles himself between your legs, softly pushing your thighs apart, and you bury your head in the pillow infront of you as he pushes into you- hard and fast- from behind. You cry out, the sudden intrusion sending waves of pleasure and pain crashing through your body. Bucky groans, a low, feral sound, his hips beginning to move, his body slamming into yours, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You meet him thrust for thrust, your body moving in sync with his, the two of you lost in a dance of desire and need, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths mingling, your hearts beating as one. Bucky can't bring himself to slow down. The powder has a grip on him, and he can't stop from pistonning and snapping his hip against yours, fingers digging so hard into your hips he knows it'll leave bruises, and the thought of that sends a jolt of guilt trickling down his spine. But then you clench around him and his eyes blow out wide, and it's like everything else falls away. All that matters is your perfect pussy, stretched out so far around his cock.

"Fuck - you - so - tight," he grunts, each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. "Can't - stop. Need - more." His voice is fragmented, broken, a stark contrast to the usually composed soldier. The powder is taking over, and he's struggling to maintain any semblance of control. His hands, one flesh and one metal, grip you with a ferocity that borders on pain, but you welcome it, needing the intensity to match the storm raging inside you.

"Bucky," you moan, your voice a mix of pleasure and desperation. "Harder. Don't stop. Please, don't stop." He groans, a sound that's almost agonized, and increases his pace, his body slamming into yours with a force that should be impossible. You can feel every inch of him, stretching you, filling you, completing you. Your body responds in kind, clenching around him, milking him, drawing him deeper.

"Shit, baby," he rasps, his voice hoarse with effort. "You're - so - perfect. Mine. All mine." His words are chopped, staccato, mirroring the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the battle between his desire and the overwhelming effects of the powder. It's a raw, primal sight, and it sends a shiver of both fear and excitement down your spine. You reach back, your hand finding his metal one, entwining your fingers.

"Y-Yours." You moan, and he sucks in a sharp breath, his body tensing for a moment before he lets out a low, guttural moan.

"Fuck, sweetheart. You're - everything. My - fucking - everything." And with that, he loses what little control he has left, his body moving with a feral intensity, his hips snapping against yours with a force that should be impossible. Your legs give out underneath you and you fall flat on the mattress, your legs going limp as your orgasm crashes over your body with such force that you rock back against. Bucky slides his arm under your waist, hoisting you up and pinning your back to his chest, your head lolling back on his shoulder as your body trembles against him. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder and you whimper, your eyes heavy, threatening to tip forward towards the bed. His other hand, the flesh one, grips your thigh, pulling it up and back, opening you wider for him. You can feel every inch of him, the ridge of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your body. His breath is hot against your ear, his words a low, feral growl.

"This pussy- mine," he grunts, each thrust emphasizing the word. "You're mine." You moan, a sound that's almost a sob, your body clenching around him, milking him, drawing him deeper. You can feel his release building, his body tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your neck.

"Fuck, I love you," he rasps, his voice hoarse with emotion. The words fall deaf on your ears at first, but when they finally register you clamp down on him so hard that he drops forward, your body thudding against the mattress face first as he grips your ass and groans as he pumps his release into your spent cunt. You whimper, squeezing your thighs together at the overstimulation, and he pulls out, out of breath. You twitch on the bed, breathing heavily, convinced you've lost motor functions in your legs. You hear a torn curse from behind you, and you manage to twist enough to watch Bucky. His cock is limper than before, but still hard enough to hurt. One more orgasm should do the trick. Your pussy pulses with anticipation at the idea as your body screams in protest. Despite his best judgement, Bucky lets his eyes roam over your body.

You're so fucking beautiful.

Your eyes are heavy lidded and filled with desire. Your waist and thighs are bruised with the shape of his fingers, your ass cheeks blushed bright red with the force that he was slamming into you. Your eyes are angled on his cock, and you wiggle your ass in the air towards him, biting your bottom lip. Bucky's chest heaves and he shakes his head, watching you.

"You need it, Buck." You manage, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Don't say you don't." You rasp, shaking your head at him. He lets out a low groan, his chest soaked with sweat. You reach over and touch his arm. His fever has gone down considerably, but his skin still burns beneath your touch, and it sends a jolt of fear passing through your body. He must be in so much pain. Suddenly, you understand why most normal women never survived the trial testing for this powder. You unleash a super horny super soldier on a woman- no matter how many times he'll pump her full- she'd die before even knowing if she would be pregnant. The thought sends a jolt down your spine. If your gravestone tomorrow were to read ,"Cause of Death : Bucky's monster cock" you'd die happily. You turn to face him fully, your eyes meeting his, and you see the raw, primal need reflected back at you. There's a vulnerability there too, a silent plea for understanding and acceptance. You reach up, cupping his cheek, feeling the cool metal against your skin.

"Bucky," you whisper, your voice soft but insistent. "I know you're in pain. I can tell. Just-" You huff in a heavy breath. "Just take what you need." His winces, shaking his head, but his body has a mind of its own. He crawls over to you, pressing you onto your back. He leans in, pressing soft open mouthed kisses to your cheeks and neck- but your skin, your touch, is like poison to Bucky. The second his nose gets a whiff of that glorious smell on your skin and the second his lips graze your pulse point, he loses all semblance of control. He grabs your knees and pushes them up close to your chest, forcing you into a mating press. You whine at the new position, and he latches your hands around the backs of your own thighs as his lips catch yours in a bruising kiss.

"Need you to- god- need you to hold these, baby." He groans into your mouth. "Fuck. I feel like i'm gonna explode." He mutters, more to himself than anything. 'You need to hold yourself up- Just one more sweetheart, just one more- fuck, i can feel it, this is the last one baby- the last one i promise." He rambles, his breaths coming in quick, his words making no sense. The powder's hold on him is lessening, and he's scrambling for that kind of control. You can feel the desperation in his touch, the urgency in his movements. His body is trembling with the effort of holding back, of trying to regain some semblance of control. He pushes you forward, hand palming the backs of your thighs and spits onto his hand, giving himself a few strokes before leaning forward and thrusting into you. The angle has you seeing stars. You can feel him hitting your cervix, every drag and push that his thick cock trudges along your walls. Your fingers dig into your thighs as you struggle to keep them pressed to your chest, whimpers tumbling from your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you breathless and trembling. Each thrust sends waves of intensity crashing through your body, your nerves alight with sensation. You can feel every inch of him, the ridge of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your body.

"Bucky," you moan, your voice laced with desperation and need. "God I can feel you fucking everywhere." You whine, eyes rolling back into your head. He lets out a choked moan, his hips snapping against you so hard he almost feels bad when he sees you wince slightly. But the last bits of the powder won't relinquish his grip on him, and he needs to get his fucking come out of his body to finally be in control again. His movements become more frantic, more desperate, his body slamming into yours with a force that should be impossible. You can feel every inch of him, the ridge of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your body. Your fingers dig into your thighs, holding yourself up as he instructed, your knuckles turning white with the effort.

"Shit, sweetheart. You're doing so- so fucking good for me. Takin' it so well baby doll." His words are a low, guttural growl, each syllable punctuated by the brutal thrusts of his hips against yours. You can feel the raw, primal need radiating from him, the desperation to claim you, to possess you completely. His hands grip your thighs with a ferocity that borders on pain, but you welcome it, needing the intensity to match the storm raging inside you. Every thrust jostles you, and he wraps his lips around your throat as you whimper, cunt clenching.

"Shit, Buck-Buck- Oh my god, oh my god keep going- fuck, oh my god, Bucky, i'm so close-" Your words are a breathless, desperate plea, a mix of pleasure and pain that leaves you trembling and begging for more. Bucky's response is immediate, his body moving with a feral intensity, his hips snapping against yours with a force that should be impossible. You can feel every inch of him, the ridge of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of pleasure radiating through your body.

"Fuck, i'm gonna fill you up so much." He rasps, shaking his head. "Everyone's gonna know that you're- you're my girl." He gasps. His words throw you over the brink. Your body convulses as your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure rippling through every nerve, your inner muscles clenching and milking him with a ferocity that matches his own. You cry out, your voice a mix of ecstasy and surrender, your body arching against his, your fingers digging into the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as the intensity overwhelms you.

"Oh my god, Buck- I love you, fuck, I love you." You croak, sobs fluttering up your chest as your body shakes. Buck's hips stutter at the confession. After you hadn't said anything when he had uttered the words earlier, he assumed you didn't feel the same.

He freezes for a moment, his body tensing, his eyes widening in surprise and disbelief. Then, with a low, feral growl, he lets go completely, his control snapping like a rubber band. He thrusts into you with a force that should be impossible, his body slamming against yours, his hips moving with a wild, untamed rhythm.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he rasps, his voice hoarse with emotion and exertion. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that. How much I needed you to say it." His words are chopped, staccato, mirroring the chaotic rhythm of his thrusts. You can see the raw, primal need in his eyes, the desperation to claim you, to possess you completely. His hands grip your hips with a ferocity that borders on pain, but you welcome it, needing the intensity to match the storm raging inside you. He groans, a low, agonized sound, and comes with a force that makes your body convulse, your own release triggering his, the two of you coming together in a rush of pleasure and fulfillment, your bodies shaking, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps, your hearts beating as one, your souls entwined, becoming one. As he collapses on top of you, his body slick with sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps, you hold him close, your arms wrapping around him, holding him tight, never wanting to let go.

"Do you feel better ?" You ask, your voice croaky. He chuckles breathlessly against your sternum. You run your hand over his back, feeling the surprisingly cool touch of his skin. He slowly eases himself out of you, hissing.

"Well, it did the trick." He groans, watching his seed- three rounds of it- pump out of you with every twitch your pussy gives as you finally lower your legs. You whine, and he reaches over, kissing your forehead.

"Let's get you cleaned up, sweetheart."

-------

It's early when the buzz of Sam's phone pulls him out of a dreadfully fitfull sleep. He groggily reaches over and answers the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Wilson." He mutters.

"Oh my god, Sam ! Thank god !" Joaquin echoes over the phone "I thin kI found a way to get rid of the powder. We might have to act quiick though because it says use no less than fourty-eight hours later,"

"Joaquin."

"- but I think it should work and you should have all the ingredients- I mean, there's nothing lab-grade on the recipe at least I don't think-"

"Joaquin ! Slow the fuck down. What on gods green earth are you talking about. It's six in the morning."

"The cure ! For Bucky !" Sam's eyes snap open, and he sits up straight, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

"Joaquin, you found a cure? That's amazing! But… wait, why are you telling me this now? I've been waiting for your call all night!" Joaquin sighs heavily.

"I know, Sam. I'm sorry. I was up all night researching and experimenting. I just wanted to make sure I had something solid before I called you." Sam grins, a mixture of relief and joy spreading across his face.

"You've outdone yourself, Joaquin. Seriously. I can't thank you enough."

"Well, don't thank me just yet," Joaquin replies, a hint of caution in his voice. "We still need to act quickly." Sam nods, throwing himself out of bed.

"Gotcha-" he says, before barreling through his door and running down the hall to where Bucky's stands closed.

He runs right past the couch- the very empty couch.

Sam throws the door open.

"Buck, Joaquin found a-" His words fall deaf. His jaw goes slack. The morning light filters in through the open window. Bucky is asleep- or was asleep- on his back, his chest bare and a pair of hastily pulled on boxers laying on his waist. You are cuddled up on top of him- or you were- wearing Bucky's gray shirt, your bare thigh slung over Bucky's middle. "Cure." Sam finishes, gulping as he watches the two of you spring awake and you scramble to cover yourself up, Bucky instinctively shielding you with his body.

"What the hell, Sam !" You shriek. "Ever heard of knocking ?" You breathe, your cheeks going red. Sam throws a glance over at the couch, where he had sworn he'd seen you mere seconds ago. He stammers helplessly.

"You- But how - Why- But Bucky said- WHAT ?" He manages, his chest heaving. Bucky's head drops to the mattress.

"Oh, jesus christ. I should've carried you back to the couch." He hums, and you giggle, hitting his chest- knowing he's the one that begged you to stay. Sam gags at the sight shaking his head.

"No. Nuh-uh. That should be illegal."

"Sam ? Sam !" Joaquin's voice echoes over the phone. You freeze. "Sam, what's going on ! I hear yelling ! Oh god- Is Bucky dead ? Are we too late? Oh my god- did i kill the winter solider ?" His voice is panicked, and rushed. Sam looks at you and Bucky, then back at the phone, his face a picture of sheer embarrassment and confusion.

"Joaquin, calm down. Bucky's fine. More than fine, actually."Bucky sits up, pulling you closer, a satisfied smirk on his face. " The issue has been… attended to." You blush deeply, burying your face in Bucky's chest, but not before Sam catches a glimpse of your smile.

"Attended to?" Joaquin's voice is a mix of confusion and relief. "So, you found an alternative cure? Bucky's okay?" Sam chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

"Something like that, Joaquin. Something like that. Thanks for your help, kid, but I think we're good here."

"Oh. Okay then," Joaquin replies, still sounding a bit bewildered. "Well, I'm glad everything worked out. You guys take care, alright?"

"Will do, Joaquin. Thanks again," Sam says, ending the call and turning back to you and Bucky, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. He stares at the sight of the room- clothes and bedsheets thrown around, the broken windowsill and slowly raises his arms.

"I'm not even gon' ask." he hisses, shaking his head.

"Good." Bucky says, rolling his eyes. Sam backs out slowly and turns around to make his escape when Bucky calls out to him.

"Hey, Sam !" Sam tenses.

"Yes, Buck ?"

Bucky grins.