“I wanna—” Bucky cuts himself off, turns to press his mouth to the inside of Curt’s knee. “Can I give you another one?”
Curt bites his tongue to keep from snapping yes, right now, let’s go. Swallows a mouthful of spit and says, “You said just one, though,” like either of them have forgotten.
Bucky looks up at him through his lashes, his puppydog eyes huge, and curls his finger, rubs that spot he’s been avoiding and rubs it hard. “Don't it feel good?” he says under Curt gasping, and ducks his head to press kisses to Curt’s chest. “Two’ll feel better,” he adds, lips buzzing against Curt’s skin. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”
Christ. “Okay, yeah,” he gets out, once Bucky’s eased up some, and once he trusts himself not to hurry things up and end the game too quick, before Bucky wants to. “Go ahead, just—”
Bucky’s already doing it, pressing his middle finger up alongside the first, and Curt lets himself arch into it, moans behind his teeth. Fuck, but Curt loves Bucky’s hands—even when he’s being a goddamn tease, two fingers are too much not to hit him just right on every other push in and out.
“Better?” Bucky says, voice smug around the edges.