#sub steve

He's not in human form anymore, with his mouth stretched open, ready for fingers, cock, toys, or anything Bucky gives him, his heavily lidded, nearly shut eyes, and his panting, heaving lungs, Steve is a puddle.

He is the same as the slippery puddle of his over-pouring spit on Bucky's chest underneath him.

He can't stop drooling.

He can't modulate his own volume. Uh! UUH! UNGHH! He's fucking all these sounds out of himself.

He can't control the eager, sloppy thrusting of his hips, pelvis harsh against Bucky's plush ass. The brilliant level of coordinated effort he's able to make is… not cool or suave. He's a fucking kid on prom night, losing any concept of self-control as he gets his cock wet for the very first time.

He can't—

He—

HAA-AH!

Itfeelssogood.

The messiest, neediest part of Steve wants to blabber on, crazed as he goes on and on, thrusts and thrusts and humps, moving erratically and talking with every sloppy, racing thought that dashes through his liquified brain. Yet, he can't. The gag. All that drool. He can't talk. That's too complex. He doesn't need to talk. Bucky can talk enough for both of them. He wouldn't know what to say anyway. He doesn't even know what Bucky wants. He's a cock with legs to Bucky. Walking sex. Whenever and wherever he wants. It doesn't matter.

Steve wants to be used. He'll do anything Bucky pleases, that pleases him. He needs to please Bucky.

Speaking of, underneath him, making his own debauched, lewd noises of pleasure, deep and groaning, much more controlled and less often that Steve's but all the more sweeter for it—Bucky shifts his weight, groaning, adjusting the white-knuckle grip he has on the back of his knee to hike his leg higher, wanting the angle deeper, arching for the electric, overpowering pleasure of direct prostate stimulation. Steve whimpers. He loves how much Bucky knows what he wants, what he needs, and will just take it. It's irresistible.

Take it.

Bucky echoes his crazed half-formed thoughts with actual words. ‘Cause he somehow still has those. “C'm—mmmhh—c’mon,” he trails off to pant for a moment, his face handsomely pinching into even more intense pleasure as Steve wriggles, trying to get deeper with what's left of his fried brain, “I know you c-can do it, Stevie. Oh, oh Steve, yeah—get that fat cock in this tight hole. Work it in me, baby.”

Steve whines.

His cock is so fucking achy inside Bucky, clenched on so tight he's pretty sure he's going shatter into a million pieces. He wasn't built to feel such pleasure. He's going blind, white-hot sparks in his vision becoming a shield shimmering white. A mirage.

Bucky clicks his tongue, “it's hard, I know it's hard,” he teases, mock pitying him, poor, desperate thing, “but I want it.”

He wants it.

Steve knows he wants it.

He was led into bed by the cock. He knows it. He needs to provide. He needs—

He wants to melt further into him. He could soak into the outrageously attractive flush high on Bucky's cheeks like butter on toast.

He's too much.

So handsome.

His stubble-rough, sharp jaw, the curve of his bitten lips, the fuck-me-steel of his eyes, the messy halo of his dark hair curling around him, spread across their pillows, his, his—

Him.

Steve gurgles around spit and need. He needs him. He needs him so bad it's making him fucking useless—it always has. He's weak for Bucky.

And Bucky understands.

Without a fuckin’ fuss, Bucky decides he's had enough of playing with his food, bored of love taps and teasing swipes, Bucky decides it's time to pull out his fucking claws. He goes for blood, executing a neat flip to pull Steve's weight underneath him, conquering his lap and putting the thick muscle of his thighs to good use.

OH!

Steve writhes beneath him, his hips involuntarily kicking up into Bucky's tight hole. The simmering-hot sweat on Steve's back glues him to the sheets just as his dazed eyes glue themselves to Bucky's chest, staring at him lecherously. The mark Steve's submission has left on Bucky, that puddle of drool—

It's rolling wetly, messily, down Bucky's chest, traveling between his furred tits.

Steve's spit.

In the exact moment that Steve's stupidified brain works enough to connect back to his own tits— nipples clamped and agonized—Bucky claps his metal hand down hard against Steve's chest. He's on top. Asserting himself. Blasting Steve: pleasure and pain.

OH, GOD.

Steve would love to claim that he shouts, he yells, he uses his broad chest and makes a big, masculine noise, but, no, he squeals.

It hurts.

Ohfuckme. It huuurts.

Tears bombard Steve's hazy vision, making it all the more useless. He can't see. He doesn't need to see. It doesn't matter one way or another because his unseeing eyes are rolling back so far it hurts. And, more, he can't stop himself, he's curling, soles of his feet cramping, he's arching, his spine flexing, he's reaching, his head thudding back into the dented pillows underneath him. He's so fucked. Bucky's hole clenches his cock, too tight. Bucky's thighs squeeze his waist, too hot. All that strength. All that power.

Bucky has him.

Steve is strained, the lust-engorged veins and strong, underlying muscle in his arched, bared neck complain, stretched too far as he arches. His delicate skin pulls and pulses. He is on fucking edge. But after just a second—

The dam, creaking and bowing, breaks.

It is catastrophic and erotic. The release. Rushing, surging out. Water.

Pleasure.

Steve suddenly, brokenly, relaxes into the onslaught of pleasure and sparking pain. It is all he can do. He lolls like a rag doll. Taking it. Letting Bucky ride him. He's just a toy. He's a dildo, that's all. He doesn't need to speak. He doesn't need to think. He doesn't need to do anything. Bucky will talk enough for the both of them, praising his cock, degrading his body for how useless it becomes the moment his dick gets wet, then praising Steve's brain for being too sweet. Bucky will do it. Bucky will take care of it.

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.

Steve doesn't even want to cum, despite his balls being so fucking heavy and tight and denied, he just wants Bucky. He is most desperate for submission—submission to Bucky.

The tears start to roll, boiling and bubbling with sobs, as they make their way down his fever-flushed skin—

Use me, Bucky.

Have me, Bucky.

Take me, Bucky.

You were lounging out on Steve’s bed on a hot July day. School was out for the summer and you found yourself spending more and more time with him as the rest of your friends were still reeling over the events that had occurred during the school year. The steady bass of “I wanna be yours” pulses through the room. You’re sure that his parents would’ve yelled at him to turn it down if they were here. Letting out a breath, Steve sighed and pushed his hair back before flopping beside you onto the bed. “What’s up?” You scratch your fingers lightly through his soft hair and he leans into the touch like a cat. He’s surprisingly tactile, always brushing his hands against yours as you walk or placing a hand on your lower back to gently steer you whenever you’re at a party. You find his antics amusing, it’s such a contrast to how he’s with you. He’s more than happy to let you take the reins when you’re alone, but he’s always there to wrap an arm around your waist or lay his head on your stomach.

“Nothing, just bored I guess. Feels like we’ve been so busy with all of this crap going on that it’s weird that we can just relax and hang out like this. I feel like any moment now, I’m gonna have to jump up and run.” He looks over at you. You hum in agreement, “Yeah, but I think I know of a way that I could distract you, help you…relax”. He huffs out a laugh, “Nobody would believe me if I told them how insatiable you are.”, you roll your eyes. “Sure, I’m the one who’s insatiable. It’s not like you’re constantly pouncing on me whenever we’re alone.” you tease, tracing a finger down his arm. His eyes shoot to yours as you begin to lean closer. You get close enough that your breath ghosts his lips, “Let me distract you.” you murmur. Steve pushes forward, closing the distance between you two and gently pressing his lips to yours. You let him control the kiss for a moment before you take over, pressing your lips more insistently together. Your tongue swipes at his lower lip and he moans quietly, opening his mouth slightly and letting you in. You slide your tongue across his momentarily before pulling back. He leans forward, chasing after your lips. You more forward and begin pressing kisses onto his jaw before moving lower. You can feel his adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his breathing beginning to come out faster. Your mouth latches onto his neck, sucking lightly at first and then harder. He lets out a thready whine and tilts his head back, giving you more access. You smile against his neck at the display. You press one last lingering kiss before pulling back to admire your handiwork. He’s going to have to wear his collar a bit higher tomorrow to cover the dark marks that marred his skin. Your lips twist up in satisfaction at the thought. He’d never say it, but you can always tell that he walks with a little more confidence whenever he’s wearing your marks, hidden or not.

He helps you push his shirt up and over his head, finally unveiling his chest. You push him further down on the bed and throw your leg over his hip to fully seat yourself in his lap. You can already feel him beginning to harden and you feel an anticipatory shudder run down your back. You lean down and press your lips against his once again, slipping your tongue in his mouth and lightly sucking his. He moans and you reach up and grip his hair, pulling on the strands. You pull back, panting slightly before diving back in and leaving biting kisses on his neck. You push your hips down, grinding yourself against his cock through the layers of denim. Steve tosses his head back and moans loudly. You swivel your hips, just like you would if you were fucking him, and he shoots his hands up, gripping your waist so hard you’re sure there’ll be bruises, and pulls you harder down onto him. You grab a hold of his wrists and pull them from your waist, pushing them up above his head and pressing them down. His eyes are scrunched up, like he can’t bear to keep them open. “You look so pretty like this, under me.” You pant out and his eyes slip open, looking up at you from under his lashes.

You move back, ignoring his whine, and start to unbutton his jeans and slide them down his legs before pulling your own shirt quickly over your head, tossing it to the side, and taking off your own jeans. You slide your hand up his thigh, feeling it tense up. Glancing up, you can see that he’s already looking at you, breaths coming out in quick pants. You press featherlight kisses to the inside of his thigh, trailing up. You can tell he’s having a hard time keeping still. “You’re being so good for me baby, just a little longer and I’ll give you what you need.”. You say before starting to suck at his thigh, just below his underwear. You love to leave marks here, where only you can see. Steve gasps when you bite down into the meat of his thigh, leaving slight indentations from your teeth. You lick over the spot, soothing it with your tongue, before pulling back. Reaching up, you slide the briefs down slightly so that his hip bone is exposed. You brush your finger there and lean down to leave a dark hickey on his pale skin. Steve’s biting down on his knuckles, trying to keep quiet, and you lightly slap his thigh, “Uh-uh. None of that. You know I want to hear you.” You admonish and he pulls his hand back before laying it down on the mattress, gripping the sheets. You pull his briefs down the rest of the way and his cock slaps up onto his stomach, leaving a thin line of precum in his treasure trail, you want to clean it up with your tongue. The head is a dark pink and you know it’s gotta be torture for him to wait like this. To reward him for his good behavior, you take the head of his cock into your mouth and suck lightly. His hips nearly jackknife off of the bed so you put one hand up on his hip to hold him down. You swirl your tongue over the head, lapping up the precum as a steady stream of it comes out, before sinking down further. Steve’s beginning to let out a stream of curses, his legs shaking with the effort of not moving.

You grab what’s left of his cock that you can’t fit into your mouth and move your hand up and down in a tight grip, beginning to suck harder. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” He’s babbling, panting out heavy breaths. You keep this up and can feel him beginning to get close, you suck harder and move your hand faster until he’s on the very edge before suddenly letting go and pulling off. He lets out a high whine, “No. No. Please, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Please let me cum.”. You crawl up his body, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll let you cum. You just have to hold on a little longer okay? I know you can be good for me, baby.” You cup his cheek with his hand. There are tears glistening in his eyes from frustration but he obediently nods and you press a kiss to his lips. Moving your hand down, you slip your panties off and go to unclip your bra. You’re so wet just from watching him and listening to him cry for you to take care of him.

You move up and when he sees what you’re about to do, his eyes widen slightly and he goes to help you move up his body, stopping when you’re sitting on his chest. He loves doing this for you, making you feel good. He mouths at your thigh before reaching your mound. His tongue gently laps up your slick, sliding between your folds and brushing over your clit. You reach down and grab his hair again, pulling it taut against his head. You moan when he slips his tongue into your entrance, pushing inside of you in short thrusts. You grind down against him, panting. He pushes into you with his tongue a couple more times before pulling back and pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit. You cry out, gripping his hair even tighter. He pulls the bud of your clit into his mouth and starts sucking. You’re moaning so loud you’re sure the neighbors can hear. “You’re so good baby. You make me feel so good.” You say between breaths. You can feel the heat inside of you simmering. You grind down a couple more times against his face before reluctantly pulling back.

“What? What’s wrong?” He asks dazedly. You can see your slick glistening around his mouth and on his lips and you lean down and lick it off, dragging your tongue across his lips before shoving it in his mouth. You moan softly when you can taste yourself on his tongue. You pull back and brush your lips across his, “Nothing, just wanted to cum with you inside of me.” You push your fingers through his hair and take a moment to catch your breath. When your breathing starts to reach normal levels, you get off of him and reach into his nightstand. Steve’s hands are clenching and unclenching where he’s holding your waist. You find the box of condoms and pull one out, quickly ripping the foil and tossing it in the trash. Steve gazes at you through heavy lids as you slide the condom onto him, pumping a few times before letting go. You kneel over his lap, grabbing his length and bringing it to your entrance. Biting your lip, you slowly sink down, the girth of him stretching your walls. When your hips hit his pelvis and you’re fully sheathed, you and Steve make eye contact as you slowly raise yourself and then sink back down. “Ah, fuck!” Steve exclaims, mouth falling open. You moan as well, lifting yourself up again and starting a rhythm.

The slick sound of your skin meeting is almost loud enough to drown out the music. You clench around him when you move just right so that the tip of his cock presses against your g-spot. His hips slam up and you gasp, throwing a hand out onto his chest to steady yourself. Your hips move faster. He’s reaching so deep inside of you and you never want him to leave. You want him to stay like this forever, sheathed inside of you. “Baby.” Your voice cracks as you lose yourself to the rhythm. “You’re so good baby. So good. Always fuck me so good.” Steve let’s out a high pitched whine. “Nobody else even compares.” Every time your hips meet, there’s pressure against your clit. You know neither of you are going to last long so you try to slow down a little, letting his cock drag against your walls. Your hand reaches down and you press against the sides of his neck. His mouth opens and he lets out a breathless cry as his eyes roll back into his head. “So pretty like this. Fucking gorgeous.” You pant out, feeling yourself tighten.

Your pace speeds up again and you’re letting out cries everytime he hits your g-spot. Leaning down, you mouths collide, tongues twisting in each other. You’re so close that you can barely keep up with the kiss, just breathing heavily into each others’ mouth. You can feel your climax approaching but you want to feel him cum first. “You gonna cum for me baby?” Steve nods his head, sobbing. “Be good and cum for me sweetheart. Give it to me.” You bounce three more times before Steve lets out a hoarse shout, clenching his eyes up tight as he cums, filling the condom. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you and you moan. Reaching down, you circle your clit a couple times before cumming yourself. You grind your hips down a couple times, prolonging both of your orgasms before you finally stop, panting heavily.

Too, Steve's messy blonde hair is visually fitting for how he feels inside his head—inside his body. He's lightheaded. He's spinning, head off his shoulders, disconnected, and yet so fucking in his body.

In.

Every heaving-yet-shallow expansion and contraction of his lungs only calls his fragile attention to the tight, peaked, sharp sensation of his nipples. Plus, every shift in his weight emphasizes how all his mass has dropped between his trim hips, making each unsteady, needy wobble turn into a sensual, almost feminine tease. Teasing himself. Swaying like a bitch in heat, trying to entice the block's biggest stud to mount her ass. Fuck. His cock is heavy and wet between his hips. Dripping. His hips keep moving. He can't help it. He isn't thinking. He can't. His head is light and spinning, and he isn't breathing, and with every shift, side to side, hip to hip, he becomes that much more restless.

Steve is ready to fucking vibrate out of his skin. So, so fed the fuck up that—

Abruptly, a denial-saturated, masochistically-miserable moan flows viscously from his lips. Steve hears that needy sound muffled through the tobacco cotton clouds heavy in the atmosphere, ringing back in his pulse-throbbing ears. And, oh, yeah—

There's that, too.

Beneath the awareness of his own sensuality—housed in the tightness of his chest and hips and cock and balls—there's his knees.

Fuck, his goddamn knees.

Steve has, miraculously, gotten used to how this bigger, healthier body can't hold onto bruises or aches and pains for very long. He doesn't expect to hurt anymore, not unless he actively chases it—and he does. Out of his mind as he is, though, he didn't realize that it hadn't been long enough from when he was on his knees earlier to now. So. There's still very much there. The aches. The pains. The bruises.

Now, there are still hot-spot bruises on his knees.

Bright and sharp and hurting.

Slllck. Pit-pat. Pit. Pit.

"Mmmngh."

His body moves on autopilot, painting—lewdly sliding paint thickly across and decisively tapping paint onto the surface before him—hips swaying, dick twitching with wet, thick lust. Restless and reckless, for as second-nature as painting usually is, swapping his hungry eyes between his subject, his palette, and his canvas, it feels fucking impossible to rip his eyes away from Bucky now.

This subject.

His subject.

God.

Steve doesn't need to paint him. His lover. He's a fucking masterpiece all on his own.

Sprawled languidly across a well-used, plush leather armchair, dominating the space with his silent command, Bucky may as well be a king. The light from the window off to his left transforms his pale gold skin into honey, caressing every curve and swell of flesh and metal and muscle, easing into cool blues in the valleys of his form. Lights and darks. He is solid and yet dissolving to space, too. Blended gorgeously into this scene. His domain. His control.

Steve desires nothing more than to touch him everywhere the light brushes over him. Though, he especially needs to delve between his thick, muscular thighs—fuck, those thighs. They're robust. Flesh, handsome hair, and—

Steve just about drops his fucking brush, clattering to the floor, leaving an impossible oil stain on their worn, historical wooden floorboards. A delayed, last minute fumble narrowly saves him. He would've painted himself too, all his trembling, exposed skin.

Shit.

His cock.

Bucky's.

Between those thighs.

It is—it's—fuck.

Alluring, his dick is flushed so red that it's almost purple. It's wet with pearls of pre-cum that slide down the smooth, exposed head, getting sidetracked by his lewd foreskin and, then, the ridges of engorged veins, heavy and thick around his shaft. Steve—

Steve wants that inside him.

He can already taste it.

Feel it.

He—

His mouth. His tongue. His hole.

He wants.

He wants Bucky's cock but, also, Christ, all of him.

He wants him to paint, to worship, to have, to devour.

All. of. him. from his widespread, vulgar thighs to his hard cock and heavy, hanging balls to his flushed, golden skin, sweat glistening in a breathtaking sheen over it, just under his dark, gorgeous body hair, to his draped, nonchalant hold on a lazily smoking cigarette, the clouds spiraling off the lit tip into the charged, polluted air between them. Their own atmosphere.

Their world.

After another unrushed drag, Bucky makes a display of dropping his head back, exhaling another cloud.

Steve makes a meal of him.

Fucking Christ.

He never wants to look at this damn painting ever again. He doesn't want to see the muddy, thick mess of oils he's surely fucking making, not at all paying attention to it. Anything he has put, paint to canvas, was a damn muscle-memory miracle. He is so focused on Bucky.

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.

He already had his cock shoved—fucked—deep into his throat, but they both fucking know one is never enough. It's never enough.

Steve wants more.

Again.

He didn't want to swallow pump after pump of cum, moaning, letting Bucky stay hard and stiff in his loose, drool-dripping, sloppy mouth only to be shoved back, kneed in the shoulder, the little amount of air he got around thick cock knocked from his chest, and suddenly reminded how he said earlier he wanted to paint today. The words just as delectable coming from Bucky's pleasure-slack lips as his knee to Steve's body, hurting him just how he needs—

"C'mon darlin’, it's almost sunset, you're gonna wanna get goin’ on that paintin’, aren't you? Can't let me go wastin’ all your time, go on. Get. 'll even pose for you. Give you somethin’ to paint."

Steve shivers, trembles, shakes apart more just remembering the fucking smirk that split his handsome face, knowing exactly what he was doing. Spreading out. Lighting up. Taking his cock into one fist, jerking himself hard and slow (making it fucking last, the same way he does when he's pumping inside Steve, riding him into the mattress), as if he needed a boost to keep himself stiff and mouthwatering—he didn't. He was still plenty fucking hard. He's always liked to show off.

Christ.

How is Steve supposed to paint like this?

How is Steve supposed to not touch? Himself or Bucky or—

Anything.