Tired of all this bullshit

"the hell is that?" his book dropped into his lap as he watched you walk back in like you weren't carrying a plate of whatever that was. you shrugged as you sat down next to him and balanced the plate on your lap. "okay, so… the last of the cake we got from the farmers market, string cheese times two, goldfish crackers, and some strawberries." you pointed out each thing, perfectly arranged so none of it would touch and contaminate anything else because god forbid. "girl dinner." you smiled as picked up a strawberry and took a bite, the juices staining the corner of your lips.

he blinked at you once before he looked down as your plate and then back up at you. "girl dinner… that's not—none of that goes together." he thought that he'd seen everything the modern world had to offer at this point, every tiktok, every trend—until this one sneaked up on him in his own living room. "is that even legal?" you snorted as you fed him a cracker, shaking your head. "you lived through the great depression, bucky, you've probably seen worse than this." he just shook his head as he watched you explain it all completely seriously.

"this is like girl math all over again." he was still minorly traumatised by the fact you confidently believed that things were free if you used cash instead of your card or the fact you were actually saving money by buying more things to get free delivery. "eh, not really. this is better than girl math because you get whatever you want for dinner. you should try it sometime, it's not that hard. dinner is just a concept made up society anyway."

he laughed at that, properly laughed as he bumped his shoulder against his. "hey!" you protested, looking utterly offended which was diminished by grin spreading across your face. "it's true! why should we stand around for hours to make something that we're going to eat in like ten minutes, when this does exactly the same thing, y'know?" he nodded solemnly like you'd just handed him state secrets instead of an opinion. "you say the same thing about matcha." you rolled your eyes as you shuffled closer, worming your way under his blanket and curling yourself against his side. "matcha is different. matcha tastes like grass and i'm convinced that it's some kind of brainwash of the masses thing. no offence." you were guilty of having opinions on a lot of things—one of the things he loved the most about you— but matcha was high up on that list because it made no sense at all.

"none taken." he huffed as he snaked his arm around you shoulders, metal hand rubbing circles against your shoulder as you carried on eating. "you do have a point, though. it's like blended up grass that people pay for the privilege of. what's wrong with a normal cup of coffee, huh? kids these days. but…" he reached over and plucked the plate from your hands despite your protests, setting it down on the coffee table.

"i can think of something else i'd rather have for dinner, for the record." he lay you down against the couch, hands warm against your sides as they slipped under your t-shirt. a whine left the back of your throat as your back arched up off the couch as you tried to chase his touch—heat already brewing between you thighs. "not fair…" you breathed softly as his fingers hooked under the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down slowly. he pressed a kiss just above your navel, using his nose to nudge your t-shirt up. "who said anything about fair? life's not fair." he murmured against your skin as his kisses trailed lower and lower until he reached the waistband of you underwear, pulling back just enough to look up at you.

you were wrecked already, an effect that only he'd ever managed to have on you. he put his hands on you and suddenly your brain turned to mush and you'd never had a cohesive thought in your life, and you were okay with that. your hands flew out on instinct, fingers curling around his hair and tugging as your underwear joined your shorts somewhere on the floor. "bucky…" you whined as he nudged your legs apart with his shoulders as he settled between them. "just trying to see my girl, look at her. so wet for me already, you're so easy sometimes."

your hips jumped up as dived in, his tongue flattening against your clit as his way of easing you in before he really started, circling and sucking and teasing as you turned into a trembling mess underneath him, hands still tugging at his hair. the way your thighs tremble around his head feels like a reward, paired with the moans and whines spilling from you freely. it's almost like a game for him, seeing how much he can pull from you. "fuck—you can't—oh god, don't stop, please…" you were vaguely aware of the words that were spewing out from you as his hands come up to your hips, vibranium cool against overheated skin as he pinned you down to try and stop the squirming.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his chin already dripping with your slick as a grin spread across his face. "you want me to stop, baby? you gotta use your words for that, c'mon. you're a big girl, or have you gone all shy on me?" he cooed as one hand slipped down from you hip, brushing past your thigh. "poor baby, dumb already. look at you." his words snapped something inside of you, the last of your restraint crumbling as your hips bucked wildly and he stopped trying to hold them down.

"please. please, fuck—i—" you whimpered as he slipped a finger inside, crooking it just right but it wasn't enough. it was never enough. you needed the stretch, needed to be fuller. "more. you need—i need more." you pleaded, and who was he to deny you? he slipped another finger inside, moving them rhythmically as he hit that spot that had you seeing stars as you repeated his name over and over again like a prayer. you rutted against his hand shamelessly as you chased the friction—anything to get you over the edge.

when you did reach it, it felt like a live wire running straight through you.

every muscle in your body seized up as it burst like dam, your climax washing over you as you saw nothing but white for a couple of seconds as you lost yourself in the pleasure. it tore through you in waves and for a minute, you thought it was never gonna end. "that's it, baby. that's it. you did so well. look at how good you were for me. good girl." he murmured as he guided you through it, sitting back on his heels as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand. everything softened as he looked down at you underneath him, panting and writhing—your skin flushed from exertion. "hey, look at me." he reached down and tipped your chin up until your eyes found his. "you good?"

It turns out that running for Congress isn't all sunshine and rainbows, especially when you have a past as colorful as Bucky's. And it seemed like you were the only person who knew that he never wanted to do those things, that he was forced into taking the lives of all those people. Or maybe all these people did know, and just enjoyed throwing it back in his face to get a reaction from him.

You couldn't even count on your hands the amount of times someone whispered the words "Winter Soldier" around the two of you, as if it was a failing on Bucky's part. He didn't ask to fall off a train, be kidnapped and tortured, and turned into a killing machine. And people knew this—he'd been cleared of his transgressions for years now. They just didn't have the common decency to keep their comments to themselves.

"Are you sure that you want to go to this banquet tonight? I'm pretty sure most of the people that are going to be there have all but submitted their ballot." It wasn't that you didn't think Bucky could manage to change their minds; you knew better than anyone how charming and persuasive he could be. In truth, you just didn't want to leave the house tonight. The Food Network was calling your name.

"It can't hurt to try." Bucky says, shooting you a knowing smile. He knew this was a very poor attempt at getting him to cuddle in bed with you, and as much as he wanted to give in, he had a job to do. "When we get home, I'll run you a nice bath, pour you a glass of wine, and we can relax for a bit. How does that sound, baby?"

"Let me get this straight; you're going to spend all night kissing the ass of everyone we come into contact with, but when we get home you want to spoil me?" You laugh as you adjust his tie, shaking your head in mock disappoint. "What happened to putting yourself first, Mr. Barnes? You know how important self care is to me."

"That'll be Congressman Barnes to you soon enough, Mrs. Barnes." He mutters as he stares down at you, his metal arm wrapping around you to bring you closer.

"Careful, Bucky. Don't start something that you know we can't finish; we have to be out the door and in the limo in like 5 minutes." You say, waving a teasing finger at him.

"Hm, and how do you expect me to keep my hands to myself when you look this good?" Bucky's arm tightens ever so slightly around you, and if this were any other time, you would've taken the bait and tore his clothes off. But the two of you had business to attend to, and if you had to suffer, so did Bucky.

"Nice try. Come on, we need to get going." You say as you grab your clutch, ignoring the dramatic groan coming from behind you.

"I hope you know that you're going to pay for that later." Bucky calls as he watches you walk down the steps.

As much as you hated to admit it, you weren't having the worst time at this gala. The space was decorated beautifully, unlike some of the previous ones that you'd been to. You'd seen kindergarten classrooms that were less garish. And they were serving the good alcohol, so that was always a bonus.

You were standing off to the side while Bucky talked to one of the other candidates—one of the men who probably only ran to uphold his "family legacy" at the demand of his mother and father. The family legacy that has kept New Yorkers down and out of power for years, if you had to guess.

Usually, Bucky could handle your average pompous asshole. But you could tell that even this one was starting to get to him; his jaw was locked, he hadn't even opened his mouth in at least 3 minutes, and he was holding onto his glass of whiskey.

You could save him, theoretically. But being able to sit back and watch as he tried to keep control of the situation? Well, that was a much more fun option. So you stayed rooted in your spot, swirling an olive around in your half empty martini glass.

"Isn't he just so handsome?" Someone said as they came up to stand on your left. You look over to see an older woman, probably in her mid to late 50s, ogling your husband. As if she could ever have a shot at him.

"He is." You state simply, deciding to humor her a little. "Wouldn't it be nice to have someone in Congress that isn't covered in wrinkles and grey hairs?"

"Hey, greys and wrinkles aren't all that bad." She says with mock offense. "Although, I guess I wouldn't know. I froze my face before I hit 30, just to make sure of it."

Alright, maybe this lady isn't all bad. "So, is that handsome man over there the one you plan on voting for?" You ask as you gesture towards Bucky.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. His policies are solid, especially for a first time runner, and he seems hellbent on making sure that he makes a change." The old woman paused, tilting her head almost thoughtfully as she looked at Bucky. "But I'm just not sure. I mean, how can we trust someone who's been through all the things he's been through to not…fall into old habits? I mean, can brainwashing like that ever truly be undone?"

If this had been a couple years ago, those words would have gotten to you. Not because you believed them or you hadn't heard people say them to or around you a dozen times, but because Bucky had said them to you on multiple occasions. When he first came off the ice in Wakanda, he didn't believe that he could really be fixed.

"You shouldn't be thinking of it as something that needs to be fixed." You'd told him. "Think of it more so as you returning to your old self. The you who would step in between Steve and that week's bully without a moment of hesitation."

But it had worked. You knew it did, because Bucky would still make you test it sometimes. Just to make sure.

So when you responded to her, it came from the mouth of James Buchanan Barnes' biggest supporter, because you had seen all the work he had put into making sure he never turned into that person again. "I can assure you, he has everything under control. If something were going to happen, don't you think it would have happened by now? There is nothing for you to worry about; if Bucky is elected, there will be zero chance of him harming anyone. I can promise you that."

"My, that was quiet a response." The lady says with a chuckle. "What are you, his campaign manager or something?"

"Actually, she's my wife." Bucky says as he comes up to your other side. You'd been so focused on this lady and her unwanted commentary, you'd taken your eyes off of Bucky. "You wouldn't mind if I stole her for a quick dance, would you?"

"Of course not." She says, waving a dismissive hand. As if she hadn't spent the past few minutes implying that your husband would fly off the rails and start killing people in the middle of a congressional meeting. Bucky shoots her an appreciative smile, taking your glass and setting it on the tray of a waiter passing by before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the dance floor.

"You looked like you were about to pounce on that lady, doll. It's a good thing that I got there when I did, or that would've seriously hurt my chances of winning this thing." He jokes as the two of you step onto the dance floor. "What was that all about?"

"Just an old lady who had no idea what she was talking about." You shrug, letting Bucky take the lead in your dancing. "Nothing to worry about."

"Oh yeah? That's not what it looked like. At least, not from where I was standing." Bucky says with a smirk. "Come on, tell me what she said that's got you all so worked up."

"I am not worked up." You say defensively, not missing the way his eyebrow raises. "Okay, fine, maybe I am a little worked up. But I already didn't want to come to this stupid event tonight, and having to stand there listening to her act like the Winter Soldier was going to come out and strangle her to death made me a little angry. So what? I'd say that it's perfectly normal to get upset when someone calls the character of your husband into question."

Bucky shakes his head, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he too was upset by this news. But you did know better, so you could tell from the look on his face that he was trying his hardest to hold back his laughter. "I thought that you would be used to those stupid comments by now, baby. What happened to the girl that used to tell me to block all of that bullshit out?"

"She's on vacation." You grumble as Bucky spins you around. When you fall back into him, his arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer.

"You just have to let this stuff go. Like water off a duck's back, you know?" At your unimpressed look, he looks at you and smile. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because that's something that only grandpa's say." You say with a snort. "I know that you're like, over a hundred years old, but you don't have to sound like it too."

"Careful, young lady. You're already on thin ice because of earlier, remember?" He says as the two of you sway to the rhythm of the slow song.

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my boots." You say sarcastically as you roll your eyes.

Bucky chuckles and shakes his head, looking down at you with thinly veiled desire. "Yeah, you're going to regret all of this sass later on tonight."

"Are you sure that you're going to make it to later tonight? I'm pretty sure that we're a couple hours past your bedtime, Mr. Barnes. You might fall asleep during the car ride home before you can even make good on your promise."

You were well aware that you were digging your own grave this at this point, but you didn't really care. After all, that was what made nights like these fun for you.

After the night comes to a close and you and Bucky say your goodbyes, you practically shove him into the limo, ignoring the smug look on his face. "Jesus, doll. I'm not completely indestructible, you know that, right?" He says with a laugh as you climb on top of him.

"Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to have to stand there all night, watching you talk to all those people? I don't know if you know this, but you're really fucking hot, and I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself at these events." You ramble, your fingers struggling to undo his tie.

Bucky scoffs, shaking his head as he reaches up to put a stop to your hands, placing your arms around his neck instead. "Wow, I appreciate the nice words, doll. It's so great to be looked at like a piece of meat."

Your eyes roll involuntarily at that, and you attempt to get back to what you were doing when Bucky pinches your thigh. A noise of pain comes out of you, and you're about to voice such pain when Bucky gestures his head to the open partition that's meant to be separating the two of you and your driver.

"Excuse me, sir, could you roll up the partition, please? My husband and I need to have a private conversation." The saccharine tone of voice you'd been using the whole night comes back pretty easily, despite how desperate you are to be doing something much more fun.

"No problem, ma'am." The driver replies curtly, his hand rushing to push the button that would put some separation between him and whatever you and Bucky were getting up to in the back of his limo.

You wait until the divider is fully closed before turning your attention back to Bucky, smiling down at him like a kid in a candy store. "Now, where were we?"

"You were looking at me like I'm a piece of meat." Bucky quips, laughing softly at the way you glare at him.

"I am not looking at you like you're a piece of meat," You say as an almost manic sort of grin tugs at your lips. "I'm looking at you like you're my very handsome husband. Which you are."

"You really know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" Bucky asks sarcastically as he runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Why don't we slow down for a bit, okay? We are not having sex in a limo right now."

"And why the hell not? It's not like we haven't done it before, you know." You remind him as you trace your finger down his jaw. "There was that one time, on that mission in France a few years back. And then there was that time we had a quickie while Sam was in that meeting dealing with something. Don't tell me that you've gotten boring in your old age, James."

"I am far from boring, and you know that, sweetheart." Bucky had that look in his eye—the one that said that he was still holding back, but the strings of the rope keeping him there were slowly starting to snap. After all, he wasn't always the most patient man on the planet, especially when it came to you and your body. And you knew exactly what buttons to let that part of him loose.

"Well you're not being any fun right now." You grumble as you card your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "It's late and there's traffic outside, which means that there is more than enough time for us to do something, James."

"Don't call me that, that's not fair." Bucky says as if the name physically pains him.

"Why not? It's your name, isn't it?" You tease. You knew more than anyone how much he hated being called by that name. He said that it made you sound like his mother, back when she would scold him—and Steve, because where Bucky went, Steve went—for tracking water in the house or for spending their last dime on something frivolous.

"Don't get smart with me. You're already in enough hot water as it is, so I wouldn't push your luck if I were you." Bucky warns as he trails his hands along your sides.

Any other time you might have finally taken the hint and backed off, but not tonight. You just knew that if you pushed a little harder, maybe even begged a bit, you could get what you wanted from your husband. It was just important that you played your cards right.

"Fine." You sigh, slumping against Bucky's body and resting your head on his shoulder. "Just wanted to have a bit of fun, you know? It was a long night tonight."

Bucky looks you up and down, his eyes narrowing as he assesses you. If he saw through this whole act of yours, he didn't comment on it. Bucky was a lot of things, and he could usually hold out for longer. But when you had a pout on your lips and those pretty little lashes of yours fluttered? There wasn't much he could do to deny you what you wanted, no matter how hard he tried.

"God, you're killing me here, doll." Bucky groans as he flips the two of you around so that you're sitting on the seat. You yelp in surprise, gripping onto his shoulders as he lowers himself down between your thighs. "This will not become an every time thing, you understand me? No matter how much you beg and plead."

"Yes sir." You say, hiding your triumphant grin by biting down on your lip. Bucky glares at your teasing, but chooses not to comment on it. Instead he hikes up your dress, humming in approval when you lift your hips so he can remove your underwear. You watch as he kisses up your left thigh, nearly getting to your core before switching to your right leg and repeating the process, slower this time. He always loved to take his time when it came to eating you out; said that there was no need to rush when he had something so precious right there in front of him.

"Are you always so wet for me?" He murmurs as he nips at your thigh. It was a useless question; one that you both knew the answer to. How could you not be constantly aroused when you were around him?

"I meant what I said earlier about you being really fucking hot." Your giggle is cut off by a low moan as Bucky finally presses a kiss to your lips, the feeling of his warm breath already overwhelming you.

"Pleasure to be of service." Bucky hums before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit. Your legs twitch in response, pressing against his head as he dives deeper.

A whine falls from you, your hips canting upward in a silent plea for more. More touch? More pressure? More what, you're not really sure. But you're feeling needy at the moment, and Bucky is the only person who can satisfy your desperate needs at the moment. His name gets caught on your lips as he sucks on your clit, your head resting on the back of the seat as he does it again and again. "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum."

"That's the goal, sweetheart." Bucky says with a smirk as he flicks his tongue just right, watching in thinly veiled satisfaction as your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Come on, doll, I know you can. Why don't you give me a little taste?"

There's a fuck you sitting right on the tip of your tongue, but you know that being a brat won't get you what you want right now. And right now, that coil in the pit of your stomach is painfully tight, but it's close to snapping. You just need a little bit more from your husband to set it free. Your hand reaches down and tangles itself in Bucky's hair, pressing him hard into your cunt.

"More." You beg—or would plead be the better word? It doesn't really matter, because Bucky seems to know exactly what you mean. He always knows what you need to be thrown off that ledge.

A combination of licking, sucking, and nipping comes next. It could all happen in minutes, or it could have all happened in a mere matter of seconds, but it doesn't matter. When you cum you have to remind yourself that you and Bucky aren't in the comfort of your own home, because if not for the way you were biting your lip, you'd know for a fact that the driver would have heard the moan that clawed it's way out of your throat.

"God, you always looks so beautiful when you come undone for me." Bucky says, giving you one last lick before getting up and sitting beside you. Your head falls onto his shoulder as you try and catch your breath, Bucky's arm wrapping around you.

There's a few moments of silence as the two of you collect yourselves. "Thank you." You whisper, pressing a kiss to Bucky's cheek.

"I hope you know that we're continuing this when we get home." He says as the fingers of his metal arm trail up and down your arm.

"Yeah, I'm counting on it. You look like you could use some release." You tease as your hand brushes against the very obvious bulge that is threatening to rip his pants in half.

Bucky groans, the hand on his knee tightening slightly. "You just can't help yourself, can you? You always have to push your limits."

You shrug, an unrepentant smile on your face as you grab his hand and lace your fingers together. "It is a hobby of mine, yes."

As soon as you and Bucky stumble into your apartment, his jacket comes off and your dress is ripped off your body. A soft laugh floats between the two of you as your back is pressed against the wall. "Careful, careful. We don't need anymore noise complaints from Mrs. Lovett."

"She'll be fine." Bucky dismisses as he taps your thigh, signaling for you to jump into his arms. Once he has you properly settled in his grip, he starts trailing kisses across your collarbone, pausing to suck on your skin every so often. "Besides, there are more pressing matters that we need to attend to at the moment, Mrs. Barnes."

"Oh yeah? And what might those matters be?" You ask with a giggle as you tilt your head back. Rather than answering with his words, Bucky pressed himself against you so that you could feel just how much he craved you.

"Is that enough of an answer for you, doll?" He questions as he starts carrying you towards the bedroom. The door barely has time to shut behind you before he's throwing you on the bed and climbing on top of you, his arms pinning you in on either side of your head.

You don't even give him the chance to say something else, pulling him down by his shoulders and smashing your lips together. This isn't a soft kiss—it is one of need, want, passion, devotion and everything that comes in between. The two of you kiss like you could very well die tomorrow, and you want this to be the last thing you remember about the other.

"It's not fair that you're still so clothed, and I'm laying here naked." You point out when the two of you finally break the intense kiss. "Why don't you get naked too?"

"Would that make you happy, doll?" Bucky asks with a smirk as he pulls back slightly. "Because you know that I'd do anything you wanted if it made you happy."

"It would make me very happy, Bucky." You whisper, watching as Bucky slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt and slips it off his shoulder. A soft sigh comes out as his chest comes into view, and you have to fight every bone in your body to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him. Before he can undo the buckle of his belt, you reach out and place your hand over his. "Let me help you with that."

Bucky's gaze intensifies as he watches your hands undo his belt, a hum of approval coming out when you also undo the button of his pants. "So helpful for me, sweetheart." He murmurs, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling you in for another kiss. This one is much softer and slower, like he just remembered that there was no need to rush through any of this; you had the whole night ahead of you.

He pushed you back down again, keeping a hand on your stomach so that you would stay still while he removed his pants and his boxers in one motion. Most people wouldn't see a dick and have the first thought that came to their mind be about how pretty it looked, but you would. Especially when it was Bucky's—it was almost as if it was handcrafted by the gods to be everything you could ever want and need in a husband. The way it curved slightly upwards and to the right, the way it twitched whenever you so much as breathed near it, the tiny bead of precum that traveled from his tip and down his shaft.

It was nothing short of perfect, and it was all yours. Forever.

"Never seen anything prettier than when you're all laid out in front of me like this." He whispers into your ear as his hand travels up your legs, the cold metal of his fingers settling on your clit and drawing small circles. He swallows the gasp that comes from your lips with his mouth, his body pressing against yours.

"Oh, fuck." You whine against his lips, raising your hips up in hopes of getting some more pressure. "Bucky—"

"Shh, I know, baby. I know. I just need to work you open a bit more, okay? Don't wanna hurt you." His words are meant to be reassuring, but all they do is make you whine even louder.

"Don't care, just want you." You grumble, wrapping your legs around his waist and flipping the two of you over. Bucky lets out a noise of surprise, his hands shooting out to your hips to make sure you don't topple over.

"You can't just be patient for two minutes, can you?" Bucky asks with a scoff, but it's clear from the smile that sits on his lips that he's not particularly upset about you taking control.

"I've been patient all night long, I think I've earned some kind of reward." You say with a huff as you wrap your hands around Bucky's shaft and give it a few pumps, biting your lip at the way Bucky's breath catches in his throat.

"Alright, yeah. That seems fair—fuck, doll. You're gonna make me cum if you keep doing that." He groans as his eyes screw shut. You giggle, rubbing your thumb along his tip as your other hand joins the first one on his shaft.

"What was it you said earlier? Something about working me open?" You pretend to think about it, tilting your head slightly before speaking again. "Think of this as my version of doing that."

"You're going to pay for this later, and I won't be as kind as I was earlier." Bucky warns as his grip on your hips tightens.

"Oh, honey. I'm holding you to that." You say as you line him up with your entrance before sliding down. The two of you moan as you become one, Bucky's head falling back into the pillows while you place your hands on his chest to steady yourself. You take a moment to adjust to his size—had he somehow gotten bigger?—before starting to rock your hips, your mouth falling open as quiet sighs and curses escaped you.

"Fuck, doll, you feel like heaven." Bucky grits out as he aids you in rocking yourself back and forth. You were definitely going to have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow morning, but it would all be worth it if it meant you could be reminded of this moment. "No place I'd rather be right now."

"Me either." You manage to choke out as your start moving faster, your clit rubbing against the hair at the base of Bucky's dick. Everything just felt so good; it was all too much, but not enough at the same time. You wanted more, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to get what you needed without more of Bucky's help. "Can you…?"

"Can I what, doll?" He asks with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what it was you were asking for. But you'd been so insistent on taking what you wanted, and he was going to make you do some begging before giving into what you wanted. "I thought that you could handle all of this by yourself?"

On a different night, at a different time, you would have fought back. You would've given him some lip, and showed him just how much you could handle on your own. But this wasn't any other night, and you'd been so worked up all night long, and he was right there, looking like sin incarnate with that stupid grin and his perfect hair. Swallowing your pride just this one time wouldn't kill you.

"Please? Feels good, feels so good, but not enough." You whine as your hips momentarily halt their motions. Bucky tsks, using his hold on your hips to make you start moving again.

"Did I tell you that you could stop?" He says scoldingly, removing his hands once you return to your previous pace. "You wanted this so bad, no way you're stopping now. In fact, I'll just lay here until you can make yourself cum."

You knew from past experience that that wasn't just an empty threat; Bucky could restrain himself all night if that's what it took. Stupid fucking super soldier serum. You couldn't pout and plead your way into getting what you wanted tonight, unfortunately.

With a whine that you would almost certainly deny later, you readjusted your position on Bucky's lap so that you could get more comfortable, focusing on getting him deeper inside of you so that he'd hit that spot inside of you that desperately craved attention. This new stance and new focus put more attention on your clit, the feeling of Bucky all around you creating a sense of pleasure that you knew like the back of your hand.

"There you go, good girl." Bucky whispers mockingly as he trails a hand up your thigh. He chuckles at your almost pained noise as his hand makes contact with your skin. "I can feel you tightening around me, you know? It can't possibly feel that good, can it, doll?"

Tomorrow morning, you were going to make him pay for that smug look in his eyes right now. But currently, you were too preoccupied by the fact that he was so deep inside you there was a chance he would never come out. "Bucky, please. I promise, I'll be good—I'll be so fucking good, just help me cum!" You plead as your fingers scratch down his chest.

Bucky finally seems to take pity on you, rolling his eyes as if this was the biggest inconvenience before flipping the two of you over once more so he was hovering over you. "How can I deny you when you beg so prettily when you need something from me, hm?"

There's barely any time for you to form a response before Bucky hooks one of your legs up and over his shoulder with one hand, the other one finding it's place against your neck. His hips snap against yours, the pace almost punishing.

"Fuck!" You shout as you throw your head back, your fingernails digging into his shoulders as he speeds up. He knew just what to do to send you over the edge, and you were forever grateful for that.

Moans, whimpers, sighs, and curses all fell from your lips, but you couldn't make out exactly what was being said. The scent of sex mixed with Bucky's cologne and your perfume was simply too much for you to handle all at once, and that familiar swirl in the pit of your stomach was building up once more.

"So fucking perfect for me, sweetheart." Bucky grunts as he tightens his hold on your neck, watching the way your eyelids flutter shut and your mouth falls open once more. "No other way to describe it, other than utterly fucking perfect. And all mine."

"All yours, Bucky." You repeat once he removes his hand from around your throat. Your own hands scratch down his back as that feeling that you've been chasing comes back, your words almost stuck inside you. "Gonna cum."

"It's okay, you can cum. Cum for me, doll, come on." Bucky whispers as he trails his kisses from your forehead, to the tip of your nose, to your cheeks and your jaw, and finally to your lips. The hand that slides between of you to give your clit a little extra attention is the straw that breaks the camel's back, an orgasm so powerful that the corners of your eyes fill with white spots. You can distantly feel Bucky's load spilling out of him and into you before everything fades away.

When you come to a few minutes later, Bucky is slowly lowering the two of you into the tub in your en suite bathroom. Your head lolls back against his shoulder as you slowly blink away the fuzziness clinging to your vision.

"Well, well. Look who's back." Bucky says with a soft smile, his arm wrapped around your midsection. "You passed out on me there for a bit, had me all worried."

"I'd say that I was sorry, but we both know that that would be a lie." You say with a cheeky grin, earning a snort from the man behind me. "You should be proud of yourself, honestly. The sex is so good it made me pass out for a couple minutes."

"And squirt." Bucky adds casually as he reaches for your favorite soap. You whirl around, sending warm water splashing out of the sides of the tub.

"I what?" You shriek, jaw dropped as you stare down your husband. He just shrugs, as if he was sharing the morning's weather report with you. "But we just changed the sheets." You whine as you turn and lean against Bucky's chest.

"We just had mind blowing sex, and you're worried about the fact that we have to change the sheets again?" Bucky asks incredulously before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "And you have the nerve to call me old."

"Well, that's different. You're like, over a hundred years old." You counter with a small smile. "I just don't like changing the sheets or doing laundry."

"If it bothers you so much, I'll change the damn sheets." Bucky says with a scoff as he puts some soap on the towel and begins washing your back.

"Such a perfect husband. What would I do without you?" You tease, adjusting so that Bucky can clean your back properly. Although, it wasn't a joke. Bucky really was the perfect husband to you, and you wouldn't trade him out for anything or anyone else.

Because when it came down to it, you loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else.

You were fresh out of college and in need of a job - really any job - and he was…Well…Lifetimes ahead of you comparatively. But, lately, he was becoming increasingly less subtle about his preference for you - and, it was kind of hard to ignore. Of course, he wouldn’t come out and say it to your face because Congressman Barnes wasn’t a man of very many words, but it was the little gestures that did all that sweet-talking for him.

It was the way he smiled at you so warmly when you brought his coffee straight to his desk each morning - just a splash or two of cream and a dash of sweetener was how he liked it. It was the way his sparkling baby-blues would flit across your silhouette like a lion sizing up prey - especially when he particularly enjoyed your outfit that day. And, if you were lucky enough, he’d give you a short, “Lookin’ sharp, kid. How are those surveys coming?” And the intense glint in his eyes as he spoke with that low Brooklyn drawl is what gave away the true infatuation hidden beneath his words.

That’s how it all started. Small gestures that were just barely noticeable, unless you were around him as often as someone in your position was - you were, after all, his personal assistant. His one, true tether to the Earth. And, given adequate time, these small gestures appeared to escalate.

A year into your humble employment, it developed into a subtle brush of his warm, calloused hand against yours while you were trying to explain something important. It became the way that same large palm would find the small of your back with such ease and his fingers began to splay across the fabric of your blouse possessively as he started walking you to your car each evening. You quickly realized he wasn’t doing any of it for you - he was doing it for himself. To make sure you were safe because if he didn’t try hard enough, then he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

If you’d been having a particularly hard day, he’d excuse himself a little early for lunch and then return an hour afterwards with a small bouquet of your favorite flowers from the florist just down the street, and your latte made exactly how you liked it. He often referred to it as a ‘morale boost’, but you saw through that excuse after it became less of an occasional treat and more of a frequent one.

You were slowly coming to the realization that this grumpy old man didn’t go out of his way for very much, but he certainly went above and beyond if it involved you.

“Late night, huh?” His gruff voice startled you, even though the only thing you could think about was how the words on your laptop screen were beginning to blur into a mess. Cohesive thoughts and bright ideas had left your brain a few hours before.

You blinked, glancing to your left where he’d entered his office in that scarily quiet way he had a habit of doing.

He’d noticed when you flinched, and he laughed softly. “Sorry, doll. I know. Need to get better ‘bout announcing myself.”

You smiled, tight but polite. “By now I think I should know you have a habit of materializing out of thin air, Houdini,” you teased.

You let out a heavy breath, one you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, and closed your laptop with a soft ‘click’ - having a short break from the screen would surely do you some good. “Also, it’s not a late night until it’s past midnight, remember? It’s only eleven.”

Bucky’s gaze darted up to the standard-issue clock ticking away just above his desk. “And so it is,” he confirmed, shooting you a half-smile before he walked over to inspect the numerous files you’d left atop his desk. “You still shouldn’t be here so late, you know. You never know who’s roaming these halls.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, your speeches aren’t going to write themselves, and I certainly don’t think anyone nefarious is sneaking about a heavily-secured government office. Unless you’re talking about yourself.”

That squeezed yet another dry laugh out of him. “The only thing nefarious about me right now is my appetite,” he admitted, picking up one of the various navy blue folders you’d set atop the polished mahogany throughout the evening. His eyebrows furrowed and his tongue jutted out just past his blushed lips as he fanned through the top document.

His look of absolute concentration was so amusing to you, especially since most of the time you still needed to explain all of the political jargon to him. But, you appreciated his efforts to learn, in the very least. “There’s something you should take note of on page five,” you piped up.

The stiff papers rustled as Bucky flipped back through the pages, and he appeared even more confused. “Am I blind or…?”

“Oh!” You quickly shifted your laptop onto the coffee table across from you as you jumped to your plush-socked feet. You grabbed a sticky note and pen from the table before flitting over to his side. “My bad, it’s been a crazy day…”

You were wearing plaid pajama pants and an oversized tourist shirt you’d picked up from a girls trip to Vegas. You were casual on these late-night stints - and, as long as you got your job done, Bucky didn’t really seem to mind.

You gently plucked the file from his hands and hunched down over his desk as you skimmed through the bill to find the clause you wanted to highlight. As your finger danced over the black ink, your hand was visibly shaking from the sheer amount of caffeine you needed to drink in order to stay awake as long as you had.

You immediately froze when you felt his hand slide up against your lower back - steady, warm, heavy - and then heard his voice, something low and soft that you had maybe only ever heard once before. “You’re shaking, doll. I think it’s time to call it a night.”

You swallowed thickly - your tongue suddenly felt too big for your mouth and your heart was skipping beat after beat…And it certainly wasn’t from the caffeine this time. “I’m fine,” you assured him curtly, trying to keep some level of professionalism alive between you two - but, that was becoming increasingly difficult under the weight of his piercing blue stare.

He hummed, like he was thinking it over but not really. “I’m sure whatever it is can wait another seven hours for you to come back in the morning.”

You sighed, slapping the sticky note down onto the paper and then scribbling out a small notation for him. “There,” you said, like he hadn’t just given you his explicit blessing to stop. You glanced up towards him - his eyes were still boring into yours.

“I’m being serious,” he murmured, his gaze momentarily flicking down to the file and then back up to yours again. “That’s an order. Go home.”

Coming from literally anyone else, you likely would have been offended at how strongly he was coming off. But, this was Bucky. This was…Kind of normal.

You chewed on your bottom lip, pulse hammering loud in your ears. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, he was pressed so damn close to you - and the direct touch of his palm was hot enough to melt away the icy chill of the office on that autumn’s night. Finally, you gave up - you nodded and closed the file. “Alright.”

You turned to gather your laptop and your bag, but he was already doing it for you. You felt your cheeks flush hot. “Sir, really. You don’t have to-“

“Sir?” he interrupted with another laugh - wow, three in one evening. You were on a roll. “Aren’t we way past the formalities?” He cocked an eyebrow as he held your coat out to you.

Neck, cheeks, and ears dusted pink and on fire, you took the coat and shrugged it on before you reached for your bag. “Uh-uh,” he tutted with a small smile. “Let me carry this for you and I’ll walk you out to your car.”

Right. Once again, anyone else and this would have been plain creepy. But no, this was just good, old-fashioned Bucky Barnes who couldn’t stand to let chivalry die.

“Fine. But just so you know, I’m coming in early in the morning just to spite you,” you muttered, giving him a quick once-over.

If you had to be honest, he looked as if he’d just wrestled with a bear and lost. Your lips gravitated into a frown as you took a quick step towards him. You reached up, not hesitating to take the delicate, blue silk of his tie between your fingers. “Did you try to redo this yourself?” Your eyes flicked up to meet his. This pitiful knot certainly wasn’t your workmanship.

Right then, you swore that in the dim, golden light of the ancient desk lamp, you saw dark pink bloom across the apples of his cheeks. “Perhaps…” he mumbled, jaw ticking as he glanced off to the side.

You worked the tie off with ease, and you could feel your heartbeat racing under the influence of his constant stare. He definitely had a problem with that, the whole staring thing. But, you’d learned to not mind it so much. “Next time, come to me first,” you said quietly, making quick work of fixing the knot and then taking a step back to admire your work.

Bucky, who was trying very hard not to be visibly flustered by the gesture, just nodded. “Noted.”

The next morning, your heels were clicking against the polished marble as you marched your way back towards Bucky’s office. The gray light of the dawn was beginning to seep through the dusty window panes, painting the halls in a pale glow.

You weren’t much of a high heel girl yourself, but today was a rather important press conference and you knew that the Congressman always gave you a few more glances than usual when you wore them. Just for the satisfaction of making him hot and bothered, you were willing to set aside your personal qualms with one of the most heinous footwear designs ever invented.

You paused at his door, knocking exactly three times so he knew it was you - this was something you’d agreed upon within your first week once you learned he had a habit of ignoring just about anyone who bothered to knock. “Come in!” You heard faintly through the aged, wooden entrance.

You turned the tarnished, brass knob and shouldered the creaky door open all while balancing his coffee and yours, along with several binders and your purse and laptop bag. You weren’t afraid of multitasking - no, multitasking was afraid of you.

You tossed him a polite, cheery little smile. “G‘Mornin’, Congressman,” you chirped, tossing your purse and laptop bag down on an ornate armchair before you piled the binders high on his desk and promptly held his coffee out to him. “You can take the girl out of work, but not the work out of the girl,” you said as he huffed in annoyance at the binders.

“I take it that you didn’t sleep?” He took the coffee from you as his eyes searched your face for signs of adequate rest - or, the lack thereof.

You shook your head. “Not until a few hours ago. I was really engrossed in those speeches…” You pouted and perched yourself up on the edge of the solid mahogany desk. You crossed your legs over one another out of politeness only, since you were wearing a short, black pencil skirt.

You couldn’t miss the way his eyes tracked the satiny flow of your midnight blouse, or the way they followed the gentle curve of your body downwards to how the skirt hugged your ass so nicely and the lace of your stockings peeked out from just underneath the skin-tight fabric. They settled on your heels, a sharp exhale coming from his nose before his eyes flicked back up to your face.

You tilted your head. “Yes?”

His jaw ticked because he knew he couldn’t say anything. Well, he could but he was risking an HR complaint if he did. “Nothing. You look ready for the press.”

You beamed. “Oh! Do I?” You giggled. “I tried my best. You know I always do.” Your voice was honey and velvet and everything so sweet and tempting to him…

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat and then pushing the new pile of binders aside. “I was reading over the press conference address this morning…”

You cocked an eyebrow in silent question.

“Am I…It doesn’t feel right to be taking this harsh of an opposing stance to something that feels…” He trailed off, trying to find the right words. Once again, political jargon was not his forte.

“Mostly bipartisan?” You interrupted with that sickly-sweet smile.

He nodded. “Yes, that.”

You took a rather pensive sip of your coffee. “Bipartisan doesn’t always translate to ‘good’, Congressman,” you quipped, and then reached across to flip through the speech pages yourself.

“Mmm, you see here?” You quickly pointed to a clause on the bill he’d be opposing. “This right here is some pretty…Sneaky business.”

He hummed, his gaze flicking between your delicate finger, the words on the paper, and your glossy lips. The tension that settled in the air between you two felt thick enough to cut with a knife…And that’s when you were rudely interrupted by your first phone call of the day.

“Congressman Barnes’ office, how may I direct your call?” you answered, sliding off the desk. Teasing him would have to wait, although as you glanced back over your shoulder to check, you could see his eyes were still making a meal out of you and your little skirt.

The press conference was a whirlwind as you’d expected it to be.

Before all the lights and the cameras, you’d stood behind him in the mirror, smoothing down the sleeves of his suit jacket with careful attention. You could tell from his stiff expression that he was uncomfortable with the level of professionalism he needed to maintain as your hands just so casually ran along his biceps. “I think navy is more your color than black,” you muttered, stepping around in front of him as you moved to fasten his cuff links in place.

He was trying to look anywhere but directly at you, but it was so hard when you looked so pretty and the aroma of your perfume was dancing dreamily about the air. “Are you saying I wear too much black?” he asked, still staring straight ahead.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not your stylist. I’m just the one who buffs out the rough edges before it’s showtime.”

You straightened his tie and then took a step back. “Go on and get ‘em, Bucky.” With a satisfied grin, you gave him a little wink and the most chaste, polite peck on the cheek you could give. Then, you left him standing there as you made your way to the media room.

In his office, Bucky stood in a silence that felt too heavy to breathe in. He was…Stunned. Every nerve in his body felt alive and buzzing with electricity - and it wasn’t because of the televised address. No, it was because he could still feel the softness of your lips lingering against his stubbled cheek; and, he could kick himself for just letting you leave after that.

During the conference, you tried to ignore the way he was staring at you more than the cameras, but he was making that awfully hard. You crossed your legs, one atop the other, and squeezed your thighs together as you desperately wished you could disappear. And, before you could even think about making a clean escape from the media room, a gloved vibranium hand was wrapped around your wrist and tugging you back from the double doors. “Prep room. Now.”

He didn’t leave room for protest as he nearly dragged you along to the back briefing room. Once the door clicked shut, he let go of your wrist, mumbling a quiet ‘sorry’ like he’d realized he was being a bit too rough. “What was that?” he questioned.

You blinked. “What was what?”

He sighed. “Before the conference?”

“I…Adjusted your tie?”

“No. You kissed my cheek.”

You couldn’t help the way your cheeks turned crimson and sold you out before you even had a chance to defend yourself. He took that as enough of an answer, beginning to pace the length of the room.

“I should fire you for that,” he said, hands clasped behind his back and his eyebrows furrowed in thought as his gaze stayed glued to the government-issued blue carpeting.

You leaned back against the conference table and crossed your arms over your chest. “But you won’t.”

That stopped him in his tracks, mid-stride. His eyes snapped over to you, piercing and icy. But the threat fell flat. “How do you know?” he huffed.

“Because if you were really pissed enough, I wouldn’t be standing here alone with you. You have a team that handles anything and everything you could need, myself being one of them. I’d have been sent home from the audience if you so wished.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. He knew you were right. He didn’t really tolerate nonsense, in fact there wasn’t much he did tolerate. A few people. Select members of the press. Last you’d heard he was still struggling to accept therapy. He didn’t deal with things that he didn’t want to deal with, not since being freed from the mental prison of being the Winter Soldier - which, you knew very little about but just enough.

“You’re not one for a power-trip, but you also don’t put up with bullshit,” you continued, eyes meeting his as you cocked an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same question about the flowers. The lattes. Walking me to my car-“

“That’s just called bein’ nice, doll,” he said, tongue darting out across his bottom lip.

“Not when your hand is on my back. Not when I can feel you practically eye-fucking me every time I wear something nice. Which, news flash, is almost every day in this industry,” you argued back.

You watched as big, bad super soldier Bucky Barnes’ cheeks turned pink. Bright pink. And there was that tick of his jaw again.

You pushed yourself off the conference table and grabbed him by his tie, tugging him down so close you could smell the coffee and wintergreen mint on his breath. His eyes widened. “You could tell me to stop,” you whispered. “But I know damn well you won’t.”

You released the hold on his tie and walked back towards the briefing room door. “You have thirty minutes before the vote. I suggest you get going,” you called over your shoulder, smile in your voice as you flung the door open and - once again - left Bucky Barnes too stunned to speak.

The days that followed were…Long and dull and irritating. The old man was somehow grumpy all the time, seemingly moping about how you’d called him out on his little stunts. No flowers, no coffees, no offers to walk you out.

The routine was simple - you’d hand him his coffee and he’d grunt out a very half-hearted ‘thanks’. His eyes - the same ones that used to shamelessly stare - would avoid you at all costs, even if it meant gazing into blank space. He spoke only when absolutely necessary, and you continued to do your work on your laptop while quietly nestled in the armchair across from him. The tension was heavy.

Finally, you’d had enough. You turned up to work on a gloriously sunny Friday morning in your very best dress, tights, and godforsaken high heels. You appeared to be dressed for the most important press conference of your life, except not even a low-level briefing was scheduled for that day. In fact, nothing was scheduled for that day and that was exactly the point.

You set the paper coffee cup down on his desk, fingers lingering around the cardboard sleeve before retreating. “G’Mornin’, Congressman,” you greeted in your usual cheery tone, not like it mattered that much recently.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, reaching for the cup. And as he did, his eyes caught sight of your dress. For the first time in nearly a week, he gave you a quick once-over that ended in an expression of confusion. “Did I miss something on my itinerary?”

You smiled sweetly and shook your head. “Oh, no,” you assured with a little shrug, batting your eyelashes.

His brows furrowed. “Then…What is all of this?” he questioned, gesturing to your outfit.

You looked down at yourself, playing stupid even though you knew exactly what you were doing. “This?” you asked with a small laugh. “Oh, I have a lunch date. Figured I’d get a little dressed up.”

You watched with satisfaction as his jaw ticked. You’d struck a nerve. His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t even know you had a boyfriend,” he remarked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“First date.”

“Lunch for a first date?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not a very good impression.”

“And what is?”

Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, annoyance flickering behind his eyes. “I think a nice dinner would be suitable,” he muttered, and then hunched back over his desk as he pretended to shuffle some papers around. “What’s he like?”

You were a little taken aback that he was so invested in your lie, but you supposed it helped to sell the point. “He’s older. Stubborn. A little hard to talk to, but he’s hot so…”

He huffed. “Good luck with that. You’ll need it.”

Oh, yeah. You’d definitely need it…

Your lunch date ended up being between yourself and a disgustingly healthy salad from the cafe across the street, eaten quietly in the comfort of your car as you watched an episode of a sitcom.

Once the hour had gone and passed, you returned to Bucky’s office. And the second you sat back in the armchair and reached for your laptop, he was questioning you. Prying.

“How was the date?”

“It was…Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Eh…Men. You know how it goes, I’m sure.”

His piercing blue gaze was boring into you, you could practically feel it. But you paid him no direct attention as you navigated to a spreadsheet. “Oh, I’m sure. Just like I’m sure you didn’t actually go on a date.”

You felt your mouth run dry and your heart skip a beat. Your eyes flicked up from your laptop. You cocked an eyebrow. “And how are you so sure about that, Barnes? Don’t think I’ve got a line of suitors a mile long?” You really didn’t, but he definitely didn’t know that.

He chuckled, something dark and low and gravelly - honey flowing over jagged stone. “Doll,” he drawled. If you hadn’t been seated, you were sure your knees would have buckled beneath you. “I’m sure you do. But we need to start being honest with ourselves.”

You tried incredibly hard to play it cool, but you were losing it - especially over the fact he was turning this into a ‘we’ situation instead of a ‘me’ situation. You’d long since accepted that you were in love with him - it was he who needed to be honest with himself.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you snapped back, arms folding across your chest defensively. “I’m not the one wallowing in denial.”

Bucky’s jaw did that little tick-and-set that you knew damn too well and had become awfully acquainted with over the last week in particular. Except, this wasn’t a tick of defiance. You could see it in his eyes - his resolve was crumbling, slowly but surely.

“It’s not right.”

His words sat in the air for a moment, heavy and hard to ignore. Of course he’d be obsessed over thinking through whether something was right or wrong…You knew him. He wanted to do whatever was right.

“Just because it’s not right, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist,” you replied. “Plenty of wrong things exist that we can’t just ignore and push away.”

He sighed, closing the folder he had opened before tossing it aside on his desk and scrubbing a hand down his face. He looked…Exhausted. Clearly you meant something to him in a way he couldn’t control, and the lack of control was eating him alive.

You closed your laptop, slowly unfolded your legs like you were giving yourself an extra second to back out, and then you made your way over to his desk. You propped yourself up against the corner, a finger hooking just beneath the Congressman’s chin and gently bringing his gaze to yours.

“What do you want?” you murmured, searching his face for answers. “Tell me…”

You didn’t expect it. Not in the very least - not with how conflicted he seemed. But he stood up from his chair, towering over you and leaving your hand hanging in the negative space. Then, his palms were on your cheeks - large, warm, calloused…Comforting. And he stooped down, lips colliding with yours.

He didn’t even need to use words - the kiss expressed it all. It was firm, confident. Reverent and gentle like you were a precious treasure for the taking. He pulled back just briefly, just long enough to whisper, “You.”

His lips were back on yours before you even had a chance to react - rough, claiming, and messy. It was like he was trying to make up for lost time, devouring every bit of you that he could. The kiss suffocated you and gave you life in the very same breath, and everything that followed was uncoordinated chaos.

Without breaking the kiss, his hands reached behind you and shoved everything off the desk - he sent papers, pens, binders, folders, paper clips…Everything tumbling to the floor. Luckily, the carpet muffled most of the sound.

His tongue was slipping into your mouth now, entangling itself with your own as you both moaned into the kiss. His hands grabbed roughly at your waist, picking you up and setting you down on the dead center of his desk - cold mahogany bit at the backs of your thighs through your stockings as he impatiently nudged his chair out of the way with his hip.

Although reluctant, he finally broke the kiss and knelt between your legs - he wasted no time rucking your tight dress up over your thighs. He couldn’t help himself - Lord knows he tried. He audibly groaned just at the sight of the silver garter clips biting into the delicate, black lace frill of your stockings, and how they squeezed at the plump flesh of your upper thighs just slightly. “Smart girl,” he murmured, tongue darting across his bottom lip as his eyes traced gradually upwards to where you were already soaking through your matching lacy panties. “You know what I like, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed dark crimson - guilty as charged! And you figured you didn’t need to actually answer that question seeing as you were already wearing the bastard child of all the clothing items that had ever gotten his attention.

Looking up for just a moment, breath hitching in your throat, you noticed the full-length mirror set just behind Bucky’s desk - the exact one you’d convinced him to get so he could keep better tabs on his appearance. And, right now, reflected back at you was a most scandalous image of yourself with Congressman Barnes nestled between your legs and your red-bottom heels dangling over his broad, muscled shoulders.

He noticed the way your breath caught and how you tensed beneath his touch, and his gaze followed your awe-struck stare to the reflective surface. A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Mmm…I see,” he said, plotting. “Wanna watch while I make a mess of you?” His voice was low, quiet.

You nodded, coming off more eager than you’d intended. “Y-Yes…” you managed to stammer out, brain still stuck two minutes ago on the kiss and the confession.

He hummed in approval, and then you felt his fingers hooking into the lace of your panties - you began to feel the soft, slow drag of the thin fabric as he guided them down your legs and left them hanging off the pointy toe of your left heel - it was like he was displaying a trophy, soaking wet and glistening in the dim light.

You watched as he shifted himself barely off to the side and tugged you closer to the edge of the desk. Now, displayed proudly in the mirror, was your dripping heat. You swallowed hard, throat running dry as Bucky watched your reaction through reflection. “She’s pretty, huh?” he cooed, bringing his flesh hand up and gently spreading your folds apart with two fingers - he was touching you like glass, something fragile.

You saw how you clenched around nothing at just his words - needy and involuntary like your body knew exactly what and who it wanted - no, needed. “She’s cryin’ f’me already,” he drawled, voice slurred in lustful wonder. “Beggin’ for somethin’…Don’t ya think?” He tilted his head, stormy blues flicking up towards you. “Look at me and answer me, doll.” He was almost pleading.

You managed to peel your gaze away from the mirror and gaze directly down at him, seeing those once icy orbs turning dark as blown pupils swallowed nearly all signs of brilliant color. “Y-Yes,” you whispered. “N-Need it…”

“Need what?”

You could feel a shameful heat blooming up your neck and across your cheeks to the tips of your ears. “Y-You…Y-Your fingers…”

“Mouth too?”

You whined and nodded, so eager yet again.

“Greedy…” he muttered, but he didn’t protest any further as he leaned in and licked a long, slow stripe up your exposed cunt.

You shuddered at his delicate touch, his breath fanning warm against your skin as he circled the tip of his tongue teasingly along your clit and then trailed back down to your entrance. You gasped, hands flying up and finding purchase in that perfect raven hair.

You hung your head back and then felt him pull away, drawing a whimper of protest from you. “Want you lookin’ over there f’me,” he said, nodding towards the mirror. “Don’t you be closing those pretty little eyes on me now.”

He leaned up and kissed you, soft and chaste but just long enough to get a good taste of yourself on his lips. And, as he sat back, you felt him slowly push a finger inside you. You moaned - soft and breathy - while glancing into the reflection across from you and watching as his digit slowly disappeared inside you. Your legs trembled a little as you felt him crook that finger up, burying even deeper against your fluttering walls. “Fuck…” you sighed out.

“That’s it, doll. Beautiful. Think you can handle one more?” he murmured, kissing at the side of your neck - wet and sloppy - as he slowly moved his finger in and out in a rocking motion that was borderline hypnotic.

“Mmm…Mmhm,” you whined, gasping as you felt him immediately slip a second finger in right beside the first. You continued to watch the obscenities play out in the mirror as his fingers stretched you open, pumping in and out of your weeping cunt - slow and deep.

“Got a tight little pussy…She’s greedy, not wantin’ to let me go…” he teased, and you swore you saw stars as he shoved them in even deeper and curled them up right against that soft, spongy spot that had your back arching towards him. He seemed pleased with that reaction. “Is that it? That where ya need me, doll?”

You nodded almost frantically, crying out as he started to bully his fingers into that spot over and over and over. “Yes! Yes! Buck-“ He quickly clapped his metal hand down over your mouth.

“Quiet, doll,” he warned, shaking his head, “Don’t wanna get caught…”

You swallowed hard, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from the blinding hot pleasure building inside you. “B-Bucky…” you mumbled against his hand, watching as his fingers fucked in and out of you, curling deep and scissoring apart to stretch you open for him.

“Atta girl…C’mon…Just let go f’me…” he encouraged, pupils blown as he glanced between you and the mirror. “Let me see how gorgeous you are when you cum f’me…”

And so you did, screaming out against the cold vibranium vice across your mouth as you felt yourself clench down tight around his fingers. The rolling tide of your orgasm washed over you - a warm, electric wave that left you breathless and panting and pulsing around his digits.

After coaxing you through your high, Bucky slipped his fingers out and held them up in front of him as he watched your glistening slick drip down the length of them. He licked his lips. “Look at that,” he breathed, not breaking eye contact as he popped the soaked digits in his mouth and moaned as he sucked them clean.

You whimpered. God, he was so fucking hot. The salt and pepper of his beard was also coated in you, shining golden in the lamplight. Watching how his eyes fluttered shut as he savored the taste of you on his skin…

He pulled his fingers out, wiping them dry on your dress before diving in head-first and beginning to lap up all the sweet release that coated your cunt.

“A-Ah~! B-Bucky…” you gasped out, chewing down hard on your bottom lip as he made the most obscene sounds while he licked and sucked you clean - devouring you like it was his last meal.

“Sweetest little pussy I’ve ever tasted,” he mumbled against you, voice sending vibrations straight through your ruined core.

As he stood back up, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the way he was absolutely towering over you. You were entirely in his shadow and at his mercy.

He shrugged his suit jacket off, tossing it onto the nearby chair and then he slipped off his tie, balling it up in his fist. He looked at you with dark eyes, but there was a softness peeking through that contrasted so heavily with the words he spoke. “Open up, doll,” he drawled, low and slow. “Gotta make sure the whole of Congress doesn’t hear ya now.”

You obediently parted your lips, mouth almost being shoved open as he stuffed the balled-up silk into your mouth. You tried to moan, just to see how you’d sound. It was muffled, but just loud enough that he could still get the satisfaction of hearing it.

Then, metal clinked softly against metal as he slowly undid his belt and threw it over the chair where his jacket lay discarded. He popped open the button on his dress slacks, pulled down the fly, and then unfurled himself from inside his boxers. He wasn’t trying to put on a show, but that didn’t stop you from staring the entire time.

You weren’t sure you’d ever seen such a delicious sight in your life, let alone the glaring fact that he was huge. His cock stood, curved slightly at attention and flushed red - aching and already leaking incessantly at the thought of being buried inside your tight cunt.

Bucky took a step towards you, almost completely closing the gap between his pelvis and yours, save the length of his throbbing dick. Flesh hand wrapping around the base, he teasingly guided the fat tip of his cock up and down your folds, lubing himself up before just notching himself at your entrance.

You whined through the gag, the corners of your eyes already damp with tears.

“Hmm? I didn’t quite catch that, doll,” he murmured as he began to push himself inside inch by agonizing inch.

And it wasn’t agonizing in the sense that it hurt. No, it was agonizing because all you wanted was his entire cock sheathed between your walls, but all he was doing was feeding it to you little by little. The stretch burned, but in a way that once again had your back arching off the damn desk and your toes curling in your heels as you locked your ankles around his waist.

Once he bottomed out, hips pressed flushed to yours, his hands roughly gripped at the flesh of your thighs as he carefully pulled out and then slammed his hips back against yours. You moaned out, voice muffled by the tie. Your eyes screwed shut, tears of pleasure tracking black trails of mascara down your cheeks.

“Uh-Uh,” he grunted. “C’mon, sweet thing. Open those pretty eyes f’me again. Don’t close ‘em now…”

You whimpered at his words, but obeyed like your life depended on it - like you were tethered to him and existing there just to grant his every lustful plea. Your eyelids, although heavy, fluttered back open and you gazed up at him through wet lashes.

The pace he set was brutal and breathtaking, and it had you moaning and sputtering around the makeshift gag as he dragged out to his tip and then slammed back in so your body was flush to his. You could feel the way his cock so perfectly nudged against that soft spot inside of you, leaving your thighs trembling in his grasp.

“Perfect little pussy is takin’ me so well,” he breathed out, head dropping down by your shoulder and soft grunts falling from his lips as he continued to pound into you. “Want me to fill ya up? Hmm?” he growled. “C-Cum f’me, doll. I can feel it…Know ya want to…”

Every merciless intrusion of his cock sent sharp, white-hot sparks of pleasure straight to your core. And it didn’t take very long before you were trying - and failing - to scream his name through the spit-dampened tie. Drool was running down the corners of your mouth and dribbling onto your tits from your chin - and, your cunt clenched down around his cock as your body shook and your fingers white-knuckled the edges of the desk.

Bucky followed shortly afterwards, your name rolling off his tongue so effortlessly and entangled in sweet praises. “That’s it, doll…Mmph~ Give it all to me…” He buried himself in as deep as he could, his cock throbbing and filling you up completely with his thick, warm release.

After a moment where the two of you were catching your breaths in the electrified silence, he suddenly slipped out and tucked himself back into his slacks. You squeaked a little in shock when you felt your combined releases leaking all over the dark mahogany of the desk in pearlescent, white streaks.

Bucky looped his belt back on and then reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket to retrieve a large, embroidered handkerchief - of course he had one of those. “You made such a mess, doll,” he scolded softly, taking a corner of the soft, cotton square and dabbing up your hot, inky tears and pathetic drool before folding the hanky over itself and wiping up the cum that was still lazily dripping from your entrance.

Once you were clean enough, he retrieved your panties from the toe of your heels and helped you slip them back on. Only then did he take the tie back from your mouth.

“I expect you to have that speech done by six,” he said, like he hadn’t just fucked you right there in his office. “And then I want you to go home. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

You were shaking as you wobbled on your heels and tried your best to fix your mussed dress and hair.

As you turned to walk back to the armchair, head still floaty and fuzzy and warm in the afterglow, his hand caught your shoulder and you turned around.

“But don’t forget to let me walk you out tonight, okay?”

For a few moments, his attention drifted back outside. The rain lashed violently against the windows of the room in a relentless patter. Every few seconds, a clap of thunder tore through the sky, so close it made the glass rattle. It didn’t take long for him to focus on what was right in front of him when he heard your muffled moan and felt your hips move as he fucked you with his fingers.

Bucky gave a crooked smile at the sight of you in need. His fingers shot out of your wet, swollen pussy to deliver a quick slap that made you whimper, then he mercilessly thrust those long fingers back inside you.

“Your father’s worried because his beloved daughter is away from home, and all you’re thinking about is coming.” He taunted as he thrust and curled his fingers harder.

Your lips parted to let out a sharp moan as Bucky pressed upward, right on that spot he knew so well thanks to all those secret encounters.

“O-Oh, fuck,” you gasped as you arched your back. “Keep going, Bucky.”

He could see you were getting close just from his fingers, but he knew better than anyone what drove you wild.

Without wasting any time, he pulled his fingers out again, making you whine in frustration until his hands moved to your thighs, spreading your legs wider as he knelt on the floor.

He didn’t hesitate to bury his face between your legs, sealing his lips around your swollen clitoris and sucking hard enough to make your legs tremble and release your flesh with a wet pop. His tongue slid through your slippery folds, savoring you as if you were his favorite meal.

His thick, graying beard rubbed against your inner thighs and your swollen flesh with every movement of his licks and sucks.

Bucky loved being loud and making it clear to you that only he would eat your pussy like that. And of course, you loved him all the more for it.

Your fingers tangled in his dark hair, pushing him even closer to your pussy as you felt that intense pleasure coil through your belly.

“D-Don’t stop!” you commanded, your voice broken by moans.

Your hips shook as the orgasm hit you with devastating force.

His tongue licked desperately, refusing to let a single drop of your juices go to waste.

You gasped for breath as your body went limp in a haze of pleasure and satisfaction, while Bucky trailed open-mouthed kisses down your abdomen, leaving a trail of saliva and your arousal on your skin.

His large hands reached for your breasts, squeezing them gently, and his lips pressed against yours in a passionate kiss.

“Will you tell me what you were doing out here at this hour, gorgeous?” he asked between kisses on your jaw and neck.

Your hands slid down his torso, savoring the contours of his abdomen and letting his kisses set you ablaze once more.

“Just… a date with a guy,” you whispered as your hand brushed against his erection.

Bucky’s body tensed for a second. A second in which that pang of jealousy and possessiveness flashed through his chest, but he could brush it off as a reaction to the movement of your hand over his underwear.

“A guy?” he teased as he leaned in to take a playful bite out of one of your breasts. “You and I both know a guy couldn’t treat you the way you like… Only a real man can do that.”

His comment didn’t surprise you at all. After all, every time a boy showed up in your life, Bucky would tease you, saying, “Oh, come on. You can do better than that,” or “Stay away from boys and date a man.”

He pushed you to the center of the bed and effortlessly turned you face down. One hand pressed between your shoulder blades to hold you down while the other guided your hips upward.

“And are you really that man, James?” you teased playfully.

His palm immediately smacked your butt, making you let out a little yelp, then he immediately spread your butt cheeks apart and his thumb teased that tight little ring just to watch you squirm in embarrassment.

It was clear he wouldn’t go in the back door if you weren’t ready, but damn, how he enjoyed making you nervous and bringing you down a notch.

“You know the answer.”

Bucky pulled his boxers down just enough to finally pull out his hard cock, the tip flushed and dripping.

The way the head brushed against your pussy made you gasp until it finally began to press against your entrance, forcing you to press your chest against the mattress as you moaned at the sensation of it sliding in.

Feeling it thrust those last few inches in one go made your hands clench the bedsheets.

The initial rhythm consisted of slow glides and quick thrusts, simply because James enjoyed the doggy-style position—it allowed him to see every detail of your ass bouncing and his cock disappearing into your tight heat, while controlling the depth and pace.

“Yes… I love it…” you blurted out without thinking. His voice was tense and breathless. “I love seeing my beautiful girl take it like this.”

His hand on your waist and your hip held you in place to receive the thrusts that were beginning to increase in strength and speed. Each pelvic thrust made your skin slap loudly and the bed sway beneath you.

“O-Oh, Bucky! You fuck me so good.” You moaned as you buried your face in the sheets.

Each thrust was accompanied by a moan or a growl from him as your words pierced his chest.

If he fucked you so well and your little pussy squeezed him so perfectly, it could only mean one thing to him: you were meant for him.

It didn’t matter that you were younger than him, that your relationship was casual and without commitment, or that you were his best friend’s daughter; he didn’t want to let you go anymore—you fit perfectly in his arms.

His movements grew wilder, more primal.

His body leaned over yours to wrap one arm around your torso while his other hand slid between your legs. The touch on your clitoris was bold; his fingers pinched and rolled the swollen nub in time with his thrusts.

“Mine. My pretty girl,” he growled into your ear. “My little toy.”

Your tight walls clenched around him as you moaned uncontrollably and tears streamed down your cheeks. Each contraction made his vision blur for a second and his muscles tense like a spring ready to snap.

“I should knock you up…” he whispered to himself at first. “No more worried dad because you’re away from home. No more idiots who don’t know how to treat a girl like you. Just me, having my beautiful girl at home and being so sweet as to let me use her gorgeous pussy whenever I want.

His cock slid in as if its sole purpose were to tear your tight pussy apart as it should be.

You trembled uncontrollably beneath him while your face was covered in tears and saliva—you’d started drooling, completely drunk on his cock. It was the first time James had been so possessive and talked about getting you pregnant, but you were so overwhelmed that you could only nod weakly.

Bucky’s hips shuddered. He was thrilled to know you were willing to be his.

“I’m going to fill you up… I’m going to put a baby inside you.”

Your eyes rolled back as the orgasm left you breathless for a few seconds and your walls squeezed him tightly. With a hoarse groan, he slammed his hips into you one last time, burying himself deep inside you as his orgasm washed over him.

His hips jerked with every spurt that was released inside you; for your part, you could only tremble and whimper as his throbbing cock pulsed against your sensitive pussy.

“That’s it… Good girl. Take it all.”

He was still fucking you shallowly to squeeze every last drop from his balls, while his hand moved to your belly and he let himself imagine a future in which he would have you all to himself, living in his house with his child growing inside you.

☆*⁀‧₊˚☆*⁀‧₊˚☆*⁀‧₊˚☆*⁀‧₊˚☆*⁀‧₊˚☆*⁀‧₊˚☆*⁀‧₊˚

The mattress creaks and the frame knocks into the wall, chipping the paint, denting the wood where the two meet.

Forehead to forehead, sweat accumulating with torrid breaths and aching muscles, Bucky's hips caught to yours. Pressing, slamming, holding down as he clenches his glutes and humps, elongating the pleasure, taunting.

But the light chime of his tags kept ringing. They keep batting across your chest, cold and moist, patting your chin and dragging across your skin when you were right there.

It was just as your legs fell open, knees laying up as his dick dragged in and out, and he willed his noises to stay at a minimum, when the tags flittered to the dip of your neck. Your lips parted, sighing, rolling your eyes as it tap tap tap's and sings against your hot skin. You move, careful not to ruin the precision, pressing the chain against his peck, holding them firm to his chest.

At first, Bucky almost sat up, almost paused to ask if you were okay — pushing at his sternum, brows taut and eyes glassy, whining with every breath. Instead he pushed deeper, metal fingers drawing up your body until they held your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, making you look into his eyes.

"What's the matter?" His breath sticks to your face, bumping his nose to yours. "Pushin' me away? C'mon, speak to me."

You can't. That's the problem. It feels like with each pull and push, each pulse around his cock, and every kiss his tip grants your cervix, he drives all linguistic knowledge out of your brain, spilling it from your lips in garbled nonsense and breathy moans.

A whiney hum spills out as you tighten your lips into a line, keeping your jaw firm. You lean back into the pillow, shutting your eyes trying to find any semblance of words, but his hips keep moving. Slower now, yet still as effective, still holding you rigid and perfectly, and tauntingly precise. Rutting the length of himself inside of you while the fuzz of hair that littered the base kept grazing your clit. It isn't until one hand claws at the meat of his shoulder, and the other, the hand that pushed at the chain, leaving tiny dents in it's wake, fisted at the metal.

It clinks as the tags stay dangling from your palm, bumping to and fro.

"Oh, sweetheart," Bucky soothes, the warm metal of his thumb strokes against your bottom lip, slicked with spit and salty with sweat. "We're they botherin' you?"

You nod quickly, leaving a sharp smile on his face, dipping down to leave gentle kisses against your jaw.

"My smart girl," you keen into the praise, leaning deeper into his hand, letting his voice rasp and vibrate into your skin, leaving more room for him to lick and kiss. "Thought you wanted me to stop."

Ardently, you shake your head, ruffling your hair into the pillow behind you.

"No, no stopping. 'M not gonna stop." And he doesn't. His flesh hand replaces your own around the tags and he slots them between his teeth.

Salt and iron cover his tongue, sweat that had dripped from his down body, and your own that had mixed in as it had laid against your own skin, or tapped annoyingly your neck. It makes a dull sound as they sat firmly between his teeth, braced to the side, just where his molars start and his canines dig into the printed letters of his name.

It shouldn't be hot.

The sight of his mouth full, his teeth bared, carrying something precious with an iron grip of his jaw, made your walls pulse. You almost wanted to swap it out, to reach up and take the tags in your own mouth, enveloped in the debauched taste of century old metal, skin and spit.

But its hedonic. You love how he looks. Skin slick, chest heaving, drool already pooling at the edges of the tags, at the corner of his mouth right where his lips met. Animalistic in a way.

"There we go, there we go," his speech muffled, yet still affirmative and firm as he brings back the pace. Making your head drop back and mouth hang open on a gasp, arching your back. The warmth of his palm glides up your torso, leaving goosebumps as he drags up and down, before pulling your leg up by the thigh to latch onto his waist and holding you firmly at the hip. All while holding himself up on his forearm, vibranium fingers holding the top of your head reassuringly, grazing his thumb on your hairline.

He hums, unable to speak with his mouth full, unable to gather the spit about to fall. Your hands claw at the contorting muscles of his shoulder blades, moving to capture his hair between your fingers.

The tug you force has him stuttering, hips pressing to your own, the hair surrounding his base tickles again, right against your nub.

"Oh—fuck," you breathe out, jaw slack and tight all at once, the light feeling of release easing up your back as your thighs begin to tingle and tremble around his torso. "Bucky… Bucky, please."

The rivulets of spit drop, coating your neck and chin, and he follows them down until his hot, wet breath finds your temple. His chest caves with each inhale, keeping his hips up, holding down the pace that has you throbbing up his shaft, your nails digging into his shoulder and thighs shaking. He can feel the ring around the root of him, creamy and white, mixed in with the dark patch of hair.

The tags tinkle dully, let go from the cell of his teeth to lay wet next to your neck. You pay no mind to the slurping sound of him gathering spit from his lips; only staying in the blissed out haze of Bucky's body atop of yours and his pretty cock slapping in and out of you.

"C'mon, c'mon…" he repeats like a mantra, whispering under his breath, heated on the shell of your ear. "You got it, fuck, you feel so good. Wanna cum—cum inside of you, wanna push it in deep, n'keep fuckin' it in… Please, please, please…"

As your nails print crescents into his skin, your mouth holds a jumble of 'yes's to his shoulder. Balm and torrid to the meat of his shoulder, your body locks and a sweet ache begins to release around the stretch of him. Your lips press to his collarbone, muffling the shudders and whines and gasps that release as he fucks you through it, wet slaps and mumbled grunts chorusing together while you jolt and pulse.

It isn't long until he follows through, finishing deep inside, pressing and holding himself as his cock twitches with each spurt of cum. As if awoken from his daze, he keeps his hips moving.

Splatterings of white coat both of your pelvises and thighs, shuddering with overstimulation, muscles limp from overexertion, eyes half lidded and lips parted and red.

Bucky slowed himself as your jerking lessened and your teeth bared to hiss at the mild pain, and his dick softened. He watched, holding himself up with his knuckles to the pillow, guiding the softer limb to stay inside of your full warmth, uncaring about the mess that now coats his fingers — absentmindedly licking them off like candy residue.

Sighs and soft groans alike leave you both as he slips out. Your nails caress his torso, gliding gently up the red marks you printed on his back, down to the sensitive muscles of his ass, making him twitch and press his hips to yours again with a stifled laugh to your jaw.

"Careful, might get hard again before I can clean you up." He kisses and breathes you in, holding you into his body as your fingers hold their gentle rhythm.

You huff a lazy version of a laugh, nosing against the sweet smell of sweat where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Oh no, how awful," You croak sarcastically. The weakness in your voice makes you both laugh fully, rumbling chests pressed against one another, cheeks tight with smiles, and eyes watching with warm fragments. After a short moment of silence, of lungs catching up, you follow down the column of his neck to where his dog tags laid lopsided on your chest, and hummed. "I liked that thing you did."

"'That thing'?" He pressed, smirking, lowering his voice. "I've got many things goin' for me, sweetheart, be specific."

Another laugh breaks, crinkling your eyes at the corners, playfully pushing at his chest.

"That dog tag thing, you know, putting them in your mouth."

"You liked that?"

You nodded, fervently. "Uh-huh. Very much."

His lips move into a soft smile, catching the slick metal cards between his fingers to bring them up.

"That so?" He teases quietly, dragging them across your bottom lip, leaving the dewy residue to sit, sliding them just between the seam of your lips only to jut it out with a pop. "Maybe next time you can hold them for me?"

With your tongue poking out, you get a taste of the flavour that pooled alongside Bucky's own tongue. Musky and sour, tangy with body heat. And with a soft press on your thigh, you know that you're under a limit.

"Next time meaning five minutes?" You prod, tilting your head innocently. "Haven't even gotten cleaned up and it seems like little Sergeant Barnes is reporting for duty."

With a tut, he holds your chin, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, fuck that and your smart mouth. Open wide, hold tight."

You obey and bite down as he slots the tags between your teeth, tugging at the chain twice to test out your grip. You scrunch your nose and furrow your brows, playfully pulling back at the chain. The grotesque brackishness of the tester you got grips you fully and drips down your throat.

"'Little Sergeant Barnes'," he repeats, sitting up as far as he could to grab ahold on himself. Sticky, wet and just as hard as before. He strokes himself, groaning as he fists tighter at his ruddy tip, coaxing a pearl of precum. Defiantly, he taps his heaviness on your clit. "Keep that up and making sure every inch of you aches with me the next day, understood?"

A giggle bubbles up before you could force it down. He slaps his cock against your clit again, holding and coating it down and between your lips, still creamy and dripping his own release, bullying your button with his tip. Your whine is muffled between your teeth as you bear them down.

"Understood?" He pushes, voice firmer, harsher, and you nod, heart racing, ribs already quivering. The sounds of your joint bodies squelch louder and louder, as your head lays dizzier and dizzier, but his voice whispers so soft and the way he terrorises and hounds your insides brings stars to the corners of your eyes.

taglist: @devililithh @buck-star @buckyfmd @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins @wint3rbarnes @swimmingnightcolor @ilovestizzy @chronic-fangirl-222 @ornateglass @bucklesby-barnes @avgdestitute @demiebarnes @sunkissedspell @stanmarvelous @castielscaplan @ladymiseryy @phoenix-in-writing @layaflores @wherewinterblooms @sunday-bug @buckybunni @filthgf @angelryex @megsavengersslut @sassandscribbles @amidnightwish21 @goobers-mcgee @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelryex @iloveotters101 @venigrantrogers

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seb taglist: @slutdier @clover1004 @colettebarnes @metal-armed-muse @68ep @herejustforbuckybarnes @quantumbarnes @buckysdecaflove @erina00 @onyx8514

“But what if it’s not fine,” you’d pleaded. “What if there’s a- A storm, or more people than we thought, or- Or Bucky gets hurt-“

“Who is in charge of Bucky’s health?” Yelena had cut you off with a pointed look, and you’d swallowed.

“I’m not- I wouldn’t say in charge-“

“You make him eat vegetables. That is in charge.”

“I make all of you eat vegetables-“

“You don’t make me eat vegetables,” Walker had muttered, and you’d flipped him off.

“That’s because I hate you.”

Walker had scowled, Ava—pressed against the wall of the room and clearly trying not to be involved in this conversation—had snorted, and Yelena’s mouth had twitched.

“See,” she’d given you a winning grin. “You are a natural leader. You will be fine.”

“I will not be fine-“

Bucky had said your name, and everyone in the room had gone still. He’d been left out of this meeting. From Yelena’s wide eyes and Ava’s smirk, it hadn’t been hard to work out that it was on purpose.

“What isn’t going to be fine,” Bucky had muttered, and Walker and Yelena had an exchanged sharp, you do it looks.

Walker had lost the glare off, sighed, and turned to Bucky with a wide, winning grin.

“You’re taking the scout on her first mission, buddy, congrats- Shit- Hey-“

Bucky had stormed forward, metal hand flexing like he was thinking about wrapping it around Walker’s throat. He’d stopped himself, shot you a strange look, and jerked his head.

“Out,” he’d grunted, before pausing and adding, “Please.”

The please hadn’t been necessary. You’d almost run out the room with a nervous look back, a little worried you were going to come back to a bloodbath. The glass was supposed to be fully soundproof. You’d still been able to hear muffled, furious shouting. 

Bucky had stormed out after almost an hour, given you a tight look, strange look, then stomped down the hall. Yelena had given you a thumbs up. You’d—foolishly—hoped that meant you were off the hook.

It hadn’t.

You’d been dropped in Norway with Bucky a week later, an hour after planned—Alexei wanted to bring his camera, and wouldn’t hear anyone tell him no—with plans to be picked up in the morning.

“Stay close,” Bucky had muttered, not meeting your gaze. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You’d nodded, your voice barely more than a  breath. “James, I- I don’t know what you’d do.“

“Then don’t do anything.” He’d snapped.

You’d shrunken into yourself. You knew he didn’t like this—you weren’t a big fan either—but the bristling, electric anger almost radiating off of him, it wasn’t anything you were used to. Bucky was usually kind to you. He opened your doors and brought you muffins from the bakery down the street. You made him watch movies when he couldn’t sleep, and he asked you questions about pop culture when he was confused. You had a good—confusing, but good—relationship.

Yelena likes to tease that he like likes you. You try to punch her in the face, and always miss. He doesn’t. He couldn’t. He’s Bucky Barnes, and you’re a dork with a computer that he’s nice to because he’s a good man.

A kind, handsome, perfect man with a jawline you’d kill to kiss and hands you’d die to hold. A man who remembers your birthday when you sometimes forget, and knows your coffee order, and lets you push him around even thought he could crush you with a single hand. You’d like him to crush you with that hand. Maybe pin you down with it and split you open and kiss you with those soft lips that always ghost with a smile at your stupid jokes.

You never should’ve told Yelena about your tiny, little, totally manageable crush on him to begin with. It’s going to be the death of you. You’re sort of starting to worry that this was Yelena’s grand plan to finally make you talk to him. If it was, you’re actually going to kill her, or hire someone who can.

Because it started raining. And after it started raining, lightning cracked through the sky, and thunder followed, and you and Bucky got slowed down. Slowed down enough that—combined with the weather conditions—Alexei couldn’t come pick you up. And you had to find a hotel in Norway.

And the only room left had one bed.

And you’re going to jump off the balcony and pray that Bucky doesn’t catch you.

“You should take a shower,” he mutters, tossing your bag onto the couch. “I’ll go find some extra clothing.”

You nod, pulling at the sleeves of your drenched shirt. “I- I can take the couch-“

“No.”

You sigh. “Bucky-“

“I’m on the couch,” he shoots you a stern look, bracing his hands on his hips. “And you’re on the bed.”

You swallow, and nod. Arguing with him right now doesn’t seem productive. You’re lucky he’s still talking to you after the mission.

It didn’t go poorly. In fact, given everything, it actually went better than you could’ve hoped for. But Bucky is still looking at you like you’re a problem, and it’s making you sort of sick. You don’t want to be something extra that weighs on his shoulders. Don’t want to be an extra layer of ice, pressing down on his chest when he’s already the one keeping you both together. It’s already cold enough as it is.

You shower. Bucky finds clothing—an oversized, thin fabriced shirt that just drapes past your thighs—and follows after you. Neither of you say much, and you try not to let the silence feel like poison, but it’s hard. He’s never been quiet with you this long, but you’ve also never been in this kind of situation with him before.

“Alexei will get us in the morning,” he mutters, stepping out of the shower with only a towel wrapped around his waist. “Then we’ll get you home.”

“Oh- Okay.” You flush, staring down at your hands. His chest is broad, and bare, and warm looking. The rivers of scars over his shoulder and pecs look like they’d be easy to map, and the dip of his towel show off the strength of his stomach. Thick and muscled, soft in all the right places, probably easy to wrap yourself in, and-

Bucky mutters you name, and you’d stopped staring at your hands without thinking. You clear your throat and slide into the bed, grabbing your phone with shaking fingers and pretending to be deeply invested in the blank lock screen. In your periphery, Bucky doesn’t move for a long moment. You dare to look at him under your lashes, and find him staring back.

“Bucky?” You ask softly, and Bucky’s throat bobs. “Are you-“

“You did good,” he grunts, and you blink, heat rushing between your thighs.

“I- I did good?”

He nods tightly. “Today. You did good.”

“Oh.” You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “I- I didn’t do much-“

“You got me through the lab. You listened.”

“Anyone can listen, James.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches, and he huffs something close to a laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he mutters, grabbing his warm clothing off the arm of the couch. “And don’t sell yourself short, doll. You listen real well.”

Your mouth falls open, and you think you might be frozen in place. Bucky retreats back to the bathroom, and you’re not even sure what to do with yourself. You’re sure he didn’t mean it like that, but god, it would’ve been nice if he did. Your head certainly takes the thoughts and runs with them. Bucky over you in this same bed, that metal hand pressed against your stomach, cooed praise and light orders of take it and make some noise for me, doll. The gleam in his eyes when you’d listen, the way he’d feel buried inside of you, the burn of blue eyes as he’d watch you come apart, driving into your cunt over and over and over-

“Night,” Bucky grunts, and you blink at him through the dark.

“Night,” you breathe back, and for a second, you just stare at each other.

Bucky’s gaze softens slightly. You could swear is does. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light, but his gaze drags down the fabric of your sleep shirt, catching on your bare thighs and spread legs. His tongue darts over his lips, and you press your thighs together, shifting nervously on the mattress.

He looks back up to you, jaw working tight. 

“Night,” he mutters again, and you swallow.

He goes for the light, and you glance at the couch. It’s small. More of a sectional than a functional piece of comfort.  

“Bucky?” You say, before you can think better of it. “Do you- Do you want to sleep in the bed.”

Bucky freezes, his hand on the light switch. You swallow, pulling the sheets higher up your body, and Bucky mutters your name. “You don’t have to-“

“Are you going to be able to sleep on the couch?” You whisper, and his jaw ticks again.

“That’s not your shit to worry about-“

“Alexei’s going to talk the whole ride home,” you push, and his throat bobs. “And you- You get really grumpy when you don’t sleep.”

Bucky chuckles. “I get grumpy, huh.”

You nod, and he sighs. His hand curls into a fist, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to tell you no.

“I- I really don’t mind-“ 

“Alright,” he cuts you off, words short and clipped. “You win.”

You blink, and try not to smile when he hits the lights. The streetlamps outside let you see his figure, walking over to the bed. You force yourself not to hold your breath, and lie down like everything is perfectly normal.

The mattress dips. Bucky lies flat and stiff on his back, slowly pulling the sheets over his body, and you turn away, trying to hide the flush blooming over your face.

This was a mistake. That’s clear now. You adore him too much, and you wanted to help, and it made you forget about the actual consequences of Bucky being right there, next to you, wearing only sweats and emitting heat like a furnace. The bed feels smaller than it did a moment ago, but that might just be the size of him. Your fingers brush, and his hand jerks away like he thinks you’re going to burn. You twist further over, pulling the blankets with you.

“You’re hogging,” Bucky grunts, and you pull your knees a little into your chest.

“Sorry,” you mumble, trying to loosen your grip. “Just- Cold.”

It’s not cold. It was, before he climbed in next to you. Now it’s impossibly humid, like you’ve been dropped in to a hot spring. Bucky sighs, and doesn’t take the slack of the sheets you offered. You shift in the bed, trying to make yourself smaller, trying to offer him more space.

The minutes crawl past you. It’s been an exhausting day, but you’ve never been more awake. You’re worried he can hear your heartbeat. You’re worried he can smell the arousal, pooling between your thighs whenever your feet brush. You’re almost curled fully into a ball, the sheet wrapped around you like a cocoon. A restless, anxious pill bug of a cocoon, trying to find a spot on the bed where you’re not painfully aware of Bucky’s presence.

His hands, brushing near your spine when you roll the wrong direction. The steady sound of his breath, that should be calming but only works you up more and more. The line of his jaw when you risk a look, and the flutter of his lashes as he stares at the ceiling. At least he’s not sleeping either. You can be grumpy together, in the morning.

“You’re movin’ too much,” Bucky grunts, and you’re flushing so deeply you’re worried you’re going to light on fire.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he sighs.

“’S fine.”

You think he might just give up and go back to the couch, but he doesn’t. You consider taking the couch yourself, but you’re stubborn. You asked him to do this, and if you try to go to the couch, Bucky will just throw you back to bed and take the couch himself.

That’s a nice idea. Strong arms wrapped around you, manhandling you, folding you over and tossing you wherever he pleases like a fuckdoll.

You risk another look, and almost whimper.

He’s staring at you in the dark, that strange, hooded look gleaming in his eyes. Your heart pushes into your throat, and your fingers dig into your hips as you hold yourself. Neither of you seem to be able to think of anything to say. Bucky licks his lips again, his eyes darting down to the arch of your neck, and your breath catches. The air seems to be pressing over your skin like a shroud. You’re not sure what to do with yourself but try to breathe.

This must be a dream. Bucky wouldn’t look at you like that during the day. And if it isn’t a dream, he probably doesn’t mean it the way your sleepy, addled brain thinks. He’s always had the same effect on you as a strong drink. Making you a little loose-lipped and foolish and delusional. There’s a reason you don’t go out with him. You’re not trying to ruin the good, steady friendship you’ve had for so long.

“I’m sorry you got stuck with me,” you whisper, and Bucky frowns.

“Stuck with you?”

“On- On the mission.”

His frown deepens. “I’m not stuck with you, that’s-“

He cuts himself off, rolling onto his back with a groan. He runs a hand over his face, and you swallow, pushing up a little to hold his gaze.

“It’s okay, I- I get it-“

“I wasn’t stuck with you,” he cuts you off, tone surprisingly stern. “I mighta been- Harsh,” he lets out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “But listen to me, I’m never- I like havin’ you around, alright? Never stuck with you.”

“But-“

“You matter,” he grunts, staring firmly up at the ceiling. “I don’t like this ‘cause you- You’re not supposed to be in these kinda situations, doll. That’s it. Don’t think it’s anything else.”

“Oh- Okay.” You whisper, and Bucky’s eyes dart to yours.

“Got it?”

You nod, and he sighs, looking back to the ceiling. His arms are still crossed, and he doesn’t look cold, but just lying there without blankets, it can’t be comfortable.

“Bucky?” You say softly, and he grunts. “Do you want the blankets?”

“I’m good-“

“We could share,” you add quickly, and he shoots you an amused look.

“I tried to share. You’re the one who kept yankin’ them away from me.”

You flush, wrinkling your nose. “They’re small-“

“They fit the mattress. Should fit two people.”

“Well, they didn’t think one of those people would be you.”

Bucky raises his brows, and your eyes widen.

“I- I just mean- You- You’re very big, and- I’m smaller- The sheets are smaller, and you’re big-“

“Said I’m big already,” he drawls, and you’re going to smack him.

“Well, you are,” you snap, yanking the sheets fully around you. “And now I’m not sharing. Because you’re being a butt.”

You flip over, burying your face in a pillow when Bucky laughs. It’s a low, deep sound that rolls through your body, almost making you dizzy. You feel the mattress shift behind you, and curl further into yourself.

“Your heart is racing,” he mutters, low and rough, and you’re sure you’re dreaming now.

“Your heart is racing.”

Bucky chuckles again. That’s a dangerous sound. He shouldn’t be allowed to make it.

“You’re bein’ bratty tonight,” he murmurs, a large, light hand tracing over the curve of your hips. “It’s cute.”

You want to roll over and hit him or something. It’s not fair to do that. Not right now, not to you. “James…” You whisper, and he hums.

“Love when say my name like that,” he toys with your hair between, and you bite back a moan. “You know you’re the only one I let say it, right? Only one who could get away with damn near anything ‘round me.”

You make a disgruntled, confused little sound that’s a mix between a moan and whine. You’re really not sure what the fuck is happening, but you’re terrified to ruin it. To move wrong and break from the dream.

“But Christ, doll,” Bucky wraps his hand slowly around the back of your neck, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning back into the touch. “I’m tryin’ real hard to be gentleman, and you’re not making it easy.”

His thumb drags over the base of your hairline, and the mattress dips again. Your breathing becomes shallow, as Bucky leans down. His lips brush near your ear, and you whimper, clinging onto the sheets for dear life.

“I can smell you,” he says, and you’d like the mattress to just swallow you whole. “Can smell how you get fuckin’ wet looking at me, how you gush whenever I touch you,” he squeezes that back of your neck gently. “Tell me to back off. Before I do something real stupid and selfish.”

You roll over slowly, and try not to moan at just the sight of him. Hanging over you in the dark, broad shoulders and parted lips, staring at you like he wants to eat you alive.

“Selfish?” You manage to breathe, reaching up to rest your hand, flat against his burning chest. “James, you’re not-“

“Don’t.” He catches your wrist, but doesn’t push you away. “I want you all to myself. I’d call that selfish.”

You shake your head, your heart pounding your ears. Your nails scrape over his skin, and his whole body almost shudders with restraint. He mutters your name, cupping your cheek, his thumb dragging against your lower lip. 

“Please,” he rasps. “Don’t look at me like that, doll, c’mon-“

“What if I want you to look at me like that,” you whisper, and Bucky’s fingers flex against your jaw. “What- What if I want you too.”

Bucky’s gaze drops back to your lips. His tongue flicks out again, and when he looks at you, you can feel the desperation, tight as a wire between your bodies, begging to be snapped.

You’re not a brave person. You have never been. But under his attention, you feel like you could do anything. You drag your hand over his shoulders, and he shudders. You hold him, trembling with anticipation, and tug him down. He lets you, lowering until your lips are just brushing, his eyes lidded and features blown out.

“You sure?” He mutters, letting out a sharp breath when you nod. “I’m not- One night ain’t gonna be enough-“

“Good,” you whisper, and Bucky groans, fully dropping his brow. “Bucky- Please-“

Bucky kisses you, and you’ve dedicated countless hours to dreaming of this moment. You’ve played it out in a million scenarios, a million different ways, with a million different results. You never dared let yourself think that the reality would be better than the dream, and yet you’re here. And Bucky’s kissing you, and you didn’t know anything could feel so good.

He’s slow. Almost cautious, like he’s trying to test the waters of just how much he’s allowed to take. His lips are chapped and warm, working softly against yours, lighting a little fire with every single, teasing kiss. His tongue brushes over your low lip and you suck in a sharp breath. Bucky hums, pressing a little further down, caging you beneath the mass of his body, trapping you beneath him.

You’re exactly where you want to be. You open your mouth when his tongue presses on your lower lip, tugging gently on his hair to coax him on. He moans down your throat, weaving his fingers into your hair and tugging ever so lightly back. You let him guide you, clinging to his shoulders, getting swept away in the mass of him, the feeling of having him everywhere. His free hand drags down to caress your side, and you arch into the touch with a soft, uncontrolled sound.

Bucky groans, and his kiss gets sloppier. His movements become shorter, his lips demanding against yours. You’re already out of breath, but you don’t dare to push him away. You’ll let him kiss you like this until your head is spinning, until you pass out from the pleasurable, burning ache of his kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters against your lips, kissing between every word as if he can’t stop himself. “You’re so fuckin’ soft for me, doll, so sweet and easy.”

You whine and Bucky chuckles, kissing you deep and long and so torturously slow. His hand drags further down, tugging the hem of your shirt up. Your legs spread mindlessly, all the thoughts in your head being sucked away by Bucky’s kisses. Cool, metal fingers drag up your sensitive thigh, and you gasp, whole body shivering under the touch.

“You like that, huh,” Bucky kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other. “Tryin’ to take it nice and slow, but you’re already begging for a little, more. Look at you,” he kisses up your cheek, over your jaw. “Gonna take real good care of you, doll. Make it feel real good for my pretty, needy girl.”

Words are already failing you, and you’re getting a little worried for what kind of boneless, fuckdoll puppet you’re going to be when he’s done with you. It’s an electric, hopeful fear. You hope you can feel him when you sit down tomorrow. You hope you can’t walk straight for a fucking week.

Bucky kisses over your nose, then your neglected cheek, and down your jaw. His teeth graze against you, his hand in your hair angling you around so he can suck little bruises right under your jaw. Those thick, metal fingers are still teasing along the inseam over your panties, and when his thumb brushes against the embarrassingly wet spot against your core, he groans against your skin.

“So wet,” he mutters, kissing over the sore mark under your jaw, then attaching his lips near your pulse point. “All for me, isn’t it? Thinkin’ about me fucking you, nice and slow.”

His tongue flicks against your throat, and you make a borderline pathetic noise.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You cry out, wrapping your arms fully around his neck. “Just for you- Only for you- Please-“

Bucky groans, pushing his face further into your neck. His thumb drags back against your clothed slit, teasing the lightest amount of pleasure until you’re clenching around nothing.

“More,” you try to demand, but it’s breathy and broken. “James, I- I need more-“

You roll your hips up, and Bucky’s thumb bumps right up against your clit. Your thighs try to push together and hold him there, but he grabs them forcing them back open and pushing his knee right against your core.

“Demanding,” he presses a quick kiss to your lips then pushes back up, tracing his thumb over the curve of your swollen bottom lip. “You wanna try that one again?”

You swallow and shake your head, trying to push him just a little, just to test what will happen. Bucky’s jaw ticks. He pushes his knee further forward against your cunt, and you cry out, rolling your hips to chase a little extra friction. Bucky lets you, his thumb pushing a little further into your mouth.

He groans when you take him, swirling your tongue and sucking as the need between your thighs builds impossibly high. He keeps hitting against your clit, but not with nearly enough pressure, and he’s planted against your fluttering cunt, but you need him in you. You need to not be able to think, outside of Bucky all around you. If you were stronger, you’d try to pull him back down, but you’re not. You’re  a messy, fluttering mess beneath him, unable to remember how cold it was moments ago as you suck on his thumb like a whore.

Bucky presses on your abdomen, pushing you deeper into the mattress, and you grab his wrist. You give him your best, watering, pathetic eyes. You need more of him the same way you need oxygen. His knee isn’t enough, no amount of him is enough. If you don’t get to drown in the pine scent and massive strength of him, you might start actually screaming.

“Look at you,” Bucky mutters, leaning over your body with a smirk. “So pretty like this, doll. Could drive a man fuckin’ crazy.”

You whimper, eyes dropping to his crotch. To the thick, massive tent pressing against his sweats, and the slightly dark spot against the gray fabric. You moan around his thumb, and watch it twitch slightly. Bucky groans, leaning further down so the head of his cock drags against your soft thigh. He pulls his thumb away, smearing a line of spit over your cheek, then ducks down and lick it away. You moan, turning your face to try and meet his lips, and he chuckles.

“That’s right,” he mutters, indulging you with a slow, gentle kiss. “I know what you need, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hum, eyes fluttering closed and Bucky goes back to kissing you like you’re something priceless. You’re still fucking yourself on his knee, the feeling spreading like a warm, rising tide through your body. Bucky hums, his now free hand slowly dragging under your shirt. Teasing up your side, under your breast, then pinching your nipple between two fingers and rolling it in tight, fast circles.

He swallows the cry that leaves your lips, flicking your nipple before soothing the hurt with his thumb.

“Easy,” he mutters. “Nice and easy. Let’s get you ready, huh?”

You nod, thinking back to that tent in Bucky’s pants. You’re going to need to be ready to take that. And whatever he has to do to get you there, you’re more than willing to let him.

Bucky pulls back up and slowly guides your t-shirt over your head, tossing it off to the side and helping you settle back into the mattress. A low groan rumbles through his chest as his eyes rake over your body, and your arms instinctively go up to cover yourself from the unrelenting, almost feral gaze.

He catches your wrist and pins it over your head, giving you a stern, knowing look.

“Don’t hide,” he scolds, his metal hand slowly trailing down your exposed body. “Most gorgeous fuckin’ girl I’ve ever seen, trying to hide her pretty little body from me.” He grabs your waist, squeezing the soft skin before massaging it, holding your gaze the whole time. “Been driving me made for years, baby. Thinking you were right there and I’d never get to have you like this.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Torture. Goddamn torture.”

Your mouth is hanging open, your breaths coming out in short helpless pants. You’re not even really sure what to do with yourself but lay there, and you’d feel worse about that if it didn’t seem to be exactly what Bucky wanted as well.

“Thought about just fuckin’- Living with my face here,” he palms at your breast, the cold of his metal hand a sharp contrast to the fire, brimming under every inch of your skin. “Marking those up until the whole world knew that you were mine. My needy little slut.”

You whimper, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“Yeah, I know you like that,” he flicks your nipple, watching with dangerous attention as your body seizes up. “Always could smell you gettin’ wet when I’d tell you what to do. Drove me out of my mind, you got no idea.”

You think you’ve got some idea. His grip on your hands is tight like he’s trying to fuse your bodies together, and his every muscle is rippling with restraint. You let out a low, soft whine of his name, and Bucky makes that deep, hungry sound again.

“This pussy,” he mutters, dragging his hands back down your body, cupping your pussy and grinding the palm of his hand against your clit. “It’s mine, isn’t it, doll.”

“Ye- Yes,” you whisper. “It’s yours, James- Please.”

Bucky grins, hooking two metal fingers around the ruined fabric, knuckles bumping against your needy pussy, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Damn right it is.”

He rips your underwear off in one motion, and you don’t even get a second to adjust to the feeling before Bucky’s shoving his ring finger straight into your cunt, pressing his thumb down over your sensitive clit. You make an embarrassingly loud sound, almost bucking off the bed, but the metal hand is impossibly strong. He pushes you back down, crooking his finger deep inside of you, and laughs when your eyes roll back in your head.

“Come on, doll. Eyes on me,” he pumps his finger once, twice, the slaps your sensitive cunt before shoving his hand back in. “Eyes on me.”

You force your eyes to open back up, locking onto his as you try to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It’s just one finger. One thick, massive, metal finger that you can feel straight through your core and to your toes. The cold makes every sensation starker. Bucky’s forced eye contact makes you feel raw and exposed, like a meal he’s about to savor.

“Good girl,” he coos, pulling that finger almost fully out, swirling his thumb around your clit, and pushing it back in.

“Buckyyyy-“ You moan, lashes fluttering as he bumps right against that gooey spot deep inside of you. “Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“I’m not teasin’,” he leans over you, his hand picking up the pace. “Keep those pretty eyes on me, baby. You can do it.”

You try. God you try. Bucky fucks his finger into you like a machine, reangling his hand so the metal palm is slapping against your clit, working you open more and more and more until you’re whimpering and unravelling beneath him. It’s so overwhelming, you’re almost forgetting to breathe. You strain against his hold on your hands, but it’s hopeless, and you just end up wiggling below him, tits bouncing in his face.

Bucky groans at the sight of you, his hips jerking and cock dragging against your sensitive inner thigh, but he doesn’t slow down or offer you another kiss. He just keeps you pinned beneath him, drawling out praise and mocking words, shoving in a second finger when the first starts to slip in and out too easy.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy,” he rasps, eyes burning against yours. “Bet my cock is gonna slide right in, doll. Made to take me like the pretty slut you are.”

You moan again, every last bit of dignity slipping through your trapped fingers. The eye contact makes it too intense, and the second finger is bullying you open just right, offering a little extra pressure against your sensitive g-spot. Bucky’s eyes flash, when a tiny, hitched noise leaves your throat, and presses down harder.

“That’s it, isn’t it,” he mutters, watching every twitch of your face, every flutter of your wet lashes like some kind of incubus sex-hawk. “There’s the spot, baby. Feels so good, I know you want to cum.”

You whimper, nodding desperately. Bucky grinds his hard palm against your over-stimulated clit, and your think you’re going to explode.

“It’s alright, babydoll,” he coos. “Let go.”

Your orgasm snaps through you like a rocket, ripping every nerve of your body and making your vision go white. You thrash and scream as you pussy gushes and clenches, your eyes still unable to leave Bucky’s. His jaw is hanging open, his face lust-drunk and predatory, and it just makes your orgasm crest higher. You think he could shove his whole arm in you and you’d be able to take it, with how he’s unraveled.

If the size of his cock in his pants is any indication of what’s coming. That’s for far better than worse.

You’re trembling when you come down, tears streaming down your cheek and broken mewls escaping your lips. Bucky leans down slowly, kissing your cheek, then your closed eyes, then your open mouth.

“You’re doin’ so well, baby,” he murmurs, letting your wrist go so he can cup your jaw. “Gonna fuck you so good, my sweet girl.”

You make a pathetic, eager sound, and Bucky’s faint smile ghosts over your lips. He leans back up, his thumb dragging against a hickey he left on your neck, and his shoulders shake.

“No idea,” he mutters. “No fuckin’ clue what you do to me.”

He pulls a little further back, tugging down his sweats, and you squeak at the sight of him. You didn’t think dicks could actually look like that without steroids or surgery or something. Thick and veiny, a good amount of hair cropped around heavy balls, his thick, angry head twitching as he fists himself and drags his thumb over his slit.

You look up at him, almost drooling. “You- You’re-“

“Big?” He teases, and you try to scowl, but it’s more of a pout.

“Shut up,” you whine, and he laughs, crawling slowly over your limp body.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bucky leans down, kissing you like you’re not both sex-addled, ruined wrecks of people. It’s the kiss you imagined when he would be a knight, and you’d be a princess, and he’d sweep you off your feet in your dreams. Slow and loving, more of an oath than an act of need. Trying to say things neither of you know how to articulate with words. You reach up, cradling Bucky’s face between your hands, and he lets out a shuddering breath, muttering your name.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he warns, and you smile against his lips.

“Yay.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but kisses you again, holding onto that soft, honey-sweet moment. His cock rubs between the lips of your pussy, and your breath catches.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, and it’s not a joke anymore. He’s nudging against your entrance, and a sting is already building back up behind your eyes. 

“I know,” Bucky mutters, kissing away your tears. “But you can take it, doll. Know you can.”

You nod, letting Bucky kiss you into the mattress. He’s holding you down with the weight of his hips, stopping you from squirming or crawling away as he nudges in the first inch.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans. “So tight, doll, shit-“

Another inch, and you’re struggling for air. The stretch burns in the best possible way, making your head spin and your mouth hang, agape and useless. Bucky kisses your open lips like he can’t help himself, and you can feel his control already slipping as he groans, pushing a little more inside.

His thumb fumbles to find your clit, rubbing tight circles, easing you further and further open. Bucky moans when he bottoms out, his whole body tensed as he tries to hold himself still, giving you time to adjust.

Your eyes cross, and your toes curl, and slowly the pain shifts into a warm, desperate pleasure.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You whisper, scratching at his back. “Move, please.”

He grunts, and pulls his hips fully out before driving them slowly back in. You moan, and he grabs your jaw, forcing his mouth back over yours.

“Feel so fuckin’ good,” he grunts against your lips, repeating the long, torturous motion. “Sweet fuckin’ doll, gonna milk this cock, aren’t you. Let me fuck you however I want.”

You mewl and nod, a molten puddle in Bucky’s arms. The sheets are long tossed to the ground, so you grab his bicep, blinking up at him with needy, pathetic doe eyes. Bucky groans, his pace picking up slightly.

“That’s right,” he grunts, finding an angle that makes him bully your g-spot, a rhythm that pushes broken moans out of your throat. “So sensitive, gorgeous when you cry for me, shit-“

Bucky groans, pressing down to kiss you, all bruising force and spit. You let him, unable to think outside of the consuming way he’s around you, the brutal split of his cock inside your abused pussy.

He’s fucking you so that the bed creaks, so that everything feels floaty and light and impossibly good. His abdomen presses against your clit and his dick hits every good spot inside of you, rearranging your guts and turning you into pure putty.  It’s embarrassing, how quickly you’re getting to the edge again. Bucky notices, and doubles down, slamming his hips down just a little harder.

“Like that, baby?” He grunts, watching your slack, cockdrunk expression. “Like bein’ fucked like this? Wanna soak my cock, show me how fuckin’ good it feels?”

You nod, another wrecked noise escaping your throat. Bucky snakes his metal hand between your bodies, rubbing your clit in small, tight circles.

“Again, doll, cum on this dick,” he spanks your clit, then goes back to the circle. “Cum for me-“

You shatter with a cry of Bucky’s name, pussy clenching and fluttering, body arching off the mattress. Bucky groans and doubles over, pressing his face between your breasts and mouthing at them like an animal. Your hands shoot into his hair as you try to hold onto something, your orgasm just cresting higher and higher as Bucky keeps fucking into you. You can feel his cock pulsing inside of you, his shallow thrusts desperate and uncontrolled, his moans vibrating against your skin and making your whole body twitch.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You sob with pleasure, pressing his face further into your body. “Fuck- James- Oh my god-“

Your orgasm doesn’t seem to be settling. It just builds higher and higher as Bucky keeps fucking into you, desperate and rough. You rock beneath him, overstimulated and dazed, and his wraps his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard as his thrusts start to get jagged.

You pet his head with trembling fingers, gasping every word with a hoarse voice. “Come on, James, pleaseee-“

Bucky moans your name, and crashes back up to your lips as he slams home, and cums deep inside your cunt.

There’s so much of him. He kisses you with tongue and long moans, and you’re barely even able to return the affection as he empties himself into your warm cunt. You can feel him in your throat, in the tips of your fingers, almost bursting out of your tummy and seeping through your pussy lips. Bucky fucks you through his orgasm, slower and slower with every thrust, panting against your lips. You clench around him and he buries himself back in with a grunt, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you up into his lap.

You kiss his slowly, everything a little bit of a haze as you finally float back down from your long orgasm. Bucky kisses all over your face as the last of him spills inside of you, then presses his face against your neck, letting out a shaky breath.

His tongue flicks against another one of those bruises he left, and you shiver.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, and you hum, leaning your cheek against the side of his head.

“’S okay.”

Bucky sighs, leaning back to meet your hooded, starry eyes. You’ve never been so exhausted, but fuck, you don’t care. You’ve also never felt so close to someone. To Bucky. You never want to let go.

“That’s gonna hurt in the morning,” he mutters, and you’re not even sure which part he’s talking about, but it doesn’t matter, so you just shrug.

“Worth it.”

Bucky swallows, glancing down at your lips. Like he’s suddenly not allowed to just kiss you.

You lean forward for him, and he immediately melts over you. You smile into the kiss, curling into his chest, and he lets out a low, rough groan. You should probably get off the bed soon. Neither of you are going to be able to sleep in it now. But you really don’t care. If you could, you’d just stay here forever.

Bucky leans back, tracing his thumb over the corner of your mouth. He’s looking at you like you’re a dream. You hope he thinks you’re looking at him the same way.

“Might be a little late,” he rasps. “But can I get you dinner?”

You giggle, and nod. Bucky’s shoulders sag.

“Thank god,” he mutters, leaning back in for another kiss. “Got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, doll. Really.”

You hum, and just kiss him back. You’ll show him that you know exactly how long later, because you’ve been waiting even longer. For now, you just let him kiss you. You’re going to have all the time in the world, to ruin other beds. You don’t want to waste a single second of his heat and ease in this one. Finally, in Bucky’s arms.

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“So nice to me, sweetheart.” He mocks, leaning a little further down. “Bet you dream about me, don’t you. Up all night with that rabbit Nat got you-“

You shove your foot up, slamming it square on his chest. He’d been getting too close. You’d been able to smell his cologne, and it made your head spin like opium. Bucky laughs again, walking away like you’re not even worth the argument. Your heart stings, but you ignore it. It’s an old bruise. You’re usually good at not pressing it, at pretending it doesn’t exist.

But Bucky exists only to torture you. So it never fully heals.

He’d been teasing about the rabbit thing. It had been a gag gift for secret Santa, and after Nat had even gotten you a very nice pair of shoes when you were in private. But Bucky’s clung onto it, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of. You, with a vibrator. You possibly being able to get off, when you’re the uptight little prude. The one who never brings back hookups, never dates, just sits in corners like an ivy, clinging to the shadows and watching everything else live around her.

You’ve never been fun. Never been someone Bucky would’ve chosen to know. He didn’t choose to know you. You knew a girl who worked with another girl, and that girl had a boyfriend who knew a girl who needed a roommate. You needed a roommate. You had good credit—because you’re boring—and the girl interviewing you had taken a liking to you.

Natasha rode a motorcycle. She worked in a job she was allowed to tell you about—something in black ops, that explained all the wigs in her closet—and spoke five languages. She baked calm down, and went to shooting ranges to calm down, and insisted on getting you a gun license so she’d feel more comfortable with all the hidden guns in the house.

“Hidden guns?” You’d asked, feeling your face blanch. She’d just smiled.

“You’ll never find them all. Let’s go, it’ll be easy.”

It had not been easy. But you understood how—to someone like Nat—it might be. She’d never lost patience with you, but she’d still made it look easy. When you’d gotten home and mumbled that you needed to go shower for an hour, she’d just patted your head like you were a bunny and smiled.

She might’ve been your first real friend in a while. Because it’s not that you’re not… personable. You’re just a little mean tongued. And nervous. And boring, and blunt, and you don’t like leaving the house unless someone grabs the scruff of your neck and drags you. You go to work, and you go home, and that’s mostly it. Your closest friends before Natasha had been co-workers. And you’d been really, truly happy with that.

But interesting people have interesting friends.

Natasha had a lot of friends. And they moved in and out of your apartment like they lived there. 

Tony was a tech titan who you used to watch on the news, and now he left crumbs all over your couch. Wanda was a refugee and artist, and Clint worked in that same black ops thing Nat did. Steve had worked in it, but left to start his own non-profit with Sam. They all went far back, to elementary schools and playgrounds and clubs. They had history, but they were kind to you. Treated you like your little bachelor’s degree and normal person job fit in with their grand showmanship and large personalities that had been sucked right off the movie screen.

Most of them treated you like that.

Bucky didn’t.

Before you’d been introduced to him, Nat had described his as basically Steve’s brother, and it had been a striking endorsement. Steve had been kind to you. He brought you to a movie you’d really wanted to see, and never made fun of your stuffed animal collection. No brother of his could be all that bad, certainly not one even Nat described as charming and kind and not bad on the eyes.

Only one of those things was true.

Bucky Barnes is not bad on the eyes. You’d classify as maybe a medicine for the eyes, a miracle for the eyes, a blessing on a weary and tired viewer. He works in security or something, and it shows in his body. Sometimes he lets his hair grow out, and it’s frames his strong jaw and nose perfectly, all while making you want to run your fingers through each lock. You’re sure it would be like petting a very well-kept dog. He cares for it better than you care for yourself.

He’s got those eyes that knocked all the thoughts out of you, the moment you saw him. They’d sparkled and shone with his polite, white smile, and you’d just been swaying there like a lost scarecrow in a tornado. Your brain had been reduced to a fuzzy TV static and loud blaring noise, like you’d lost your own connection. Bucky had flexed his hand, a silent reminder you were supposed to shake it, and you hadn’t been able to get enough control over your body to even smile back.

His hand had been big. Calloused, with thick fingers and a lot of tiny scars. You’d shivered just at the idea of his touch. It might’ve been warm.

Might’ve been.

If Bucky had ever bothered to touch you at all.

By the time you’d dragged control back into your body, Bucky had given up and moved on. His ears had been a little red, in the moments after. You’d opened your mouth to apologize, make any excuse that would get him to offer a hand again.

He’d turned and walked away. Hadn’t looked at you for the rest of the night.

And when he looks at you now, it’s with something sharp behind his gaze. He never looks at anyone else like that. Never teases or mocks them, either. Acting like their mere presence in the room is a plague on his refined, perfect existence. He certainly never suggests they won’t be able to make it up five flights of stairs or asks if they’re sure they want to go out for the night.

You hate stairs. And you don’t want to go out for the night.

There’s only one thing more powerful than your picky little aversions, though.

The petty, blistering feeling at the top of your chest, that refuses to let Bucky win.

“You’re really coming with us?” Bucky calls your name from the kitchen, and you lift your chin, trying to look down your nose at the massive man.

“I was invited.”

“You’re always invited, you never actually get off the damn couch-“

“Barnes.” Nat walks past him, whacking his arm. “Don’t question miracles.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a miracle-“

“Yes it is.” She grabs your arm, hauling you off the couch like you weigh nothing. “I’ve been asking you to do this for years, I’m not letting Bucky frighten you off with his Buckying.”

That makes you giggle, and Bucky frowns. You catch him shooting Steve a look you can’t really read, and Steve just shrugs in return.

“I’m not trying to ruin it.” Bucky says, lofty and bored. “I’m just sayin’ she never comes out with us, and it might be a lot for the little doe to be shoved into the jungle or whatever-“

“You’re a poet.” Natasha says, giving him a flat glare. “Go wait in the car.”

Bucky scowls. “The car-“

“If you act like a dog, you wait in the car.”

“I am not acting like a dog-“

Sam raises his hand. “I caught him humping the furniture this mornin’ when he heard about it-“

“Sam.” Bucky hisses. “Shut the hell up before I knock your teeth out-“

“Steven.” Nat gives him a firm nod, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Bucky and Sam aren’t small men, but Steve grabs them by the collar and drags them out of the room without breaking a sweat. Leaving you and Nat in a suddenly very quiet apartment, a lingering smell of spice and pine still clouding the air.

Another reason you hate Bucky coming over. He’s mean to you, and he’s nice to everyone else, and he questions you then leaves the whole room stained in his presence.

“Ignore Barnes.” Natasha says it like an order, and it probably is.

You smile at her. “I always do.”

You think it comes off airy and convincing. Nat looks at you like she’s trying not to either scoff, or laugh. Before you can insist on anything, she’s grabbing your hand and dragging you into the bathroom. You did promise you’d let her get you ready. When you’d told her you could do makeup and prep yourself, she’d snorted and said maybe, but I’ll do it better.

One of the first lessons you learned was not to argue with Natasha when she’s sure of something. You let her sit you on the counter and sort through your makeup bag, finding everything she deems worthy of being on your face tonight. Your outfit hangs on the door, and you did choose that, but after Nat vetoed three others.

It’s nothing special. A short dress and heels that will blend right in a club. It hadn’t been that different from your other suggestions. But it had gotten a curt nod of approval and smirk from Nat, so it had something. You’re smarter than to question what.

“You should talk to Bucky tonight.” Nat says suddenly, and you blink at her in surprise.

“I- What?”

“Make him apologize. For being an ass to you.”

“That’s- It’s fine-“

“No, it’s not.” Nat gives you a firm look, and you sigh.

“I know, but- I don’t really care, okay? That’s just- It’s Bucky, right?”

You give her a weak smile, and this one doesn’t even convince you.

It is just Bucky. He’s charming and sweet and handsome, and he hates just you. So you hate him in return, just for being so perfect and deciding you’re the only person in the world not worthy of his attention. It would be easier if he really was a bad man. If you didn’t know he volunteered with kids and Steve’s foundation, if he didn’t advocate for his fellow veterans, if he hadn’t made his ma’s chicken soup when you and Nat had both caught something last winter, and taken the time to drop it off in person.

For Nat.

Because you’re just… Not worth it for him. Not worth his time, not worth his smiling, barely worth anything more than glowering stares and taunting words. And you’re not weak. You fight back every day, and keep all of your desires and affection buried deep in the pit of your stomach and swollen like an infection around your heart.

He never has to know that you think about him all the time. That you feel yourself bloom whenever your eyes meet, then wither when his gaze snaps away. Whenever he presses his body over yours just to tease you, the heat of his body makes your breath hitch. You spend long days daydreaming about how good a boyfriend he’d be, if he didn’t hate you. Attentive and caring and giving.

Every night you think about how giving he’d be. Flowers and coffee like he brings Wanda for galleries, or for Nat or Clint when they’ve been working late night shifts. He likes watching TV, you know, because he spends a lot of time sitting next to you on the couch and loudly making comments until you threaten to force-feed him bleach. But if that wasn’t the blunt and unforgiving knife of reality, you could just lay in his arms forever.

He could pick you up and carry you to bed. The same bed that you put that accursed vibrated between your legs, close your eyes, and dream of him railing you into the mattress. Fucking you until you can’t stand, until you can’t speak or thing, until your eyes are rolling back and your mouth can’t even figure out how to close, so he kisses you possessively or gives you some of those thick fingers to suck on-

“You should still talk to him.” Natasha’s words are blunt. If she’s noticed how you’ve been working yourself up, she doesn’t say a single word. “Before he does something stupid.”

You snort. “Bucky always does something dumb-“

“No. He does a lot of dumb things. Close your eyes.” Nat picks up an eyeliner, and you obey. “But there’s a difference between dumb and stupid. Stupid is harder to take back.”

You grunt, and you don’t think anything stupid Bucky does is going to have anything to do with you. But something scratches at your brain, and it’s green and bitter. Your fingers fidget in your lap, and you shouldn’t ask, but-

“Is he bringing someone?” You blurt, and just the idea makes you sick. Bucky with some model-type, holding her hips while she grinds onto him, all the honey he’d pour into her ears and down her throat while you just hugged yourself in the corner of the room. Her sitting on his lap in your apartment, you trying to hide the ugliness of jealousy but never being able to spare her more than a crude sneer. It’s the only reason Nat would possibly want you to talk to him. You and Bucky’s childish game of pulling each other’s hair and biting without teeth and seeing who breaks first, it ruins his picture of the perfect suitor. If you keep it up, you’ll ruin this for him, and he deserves to be happy but the thought of him being happy while you just sink into yourself like quicksand makes you want to die-

“Jesus, no.” Nat laughs. “That’s- Never mind.” She shakes her head, still chuckling about some secret you apparently don’t get to be a part of.

“What?” You try to push. “I’ve heard about his- You know. Promiscuity.”

Nat snorts. “From who?”

“Sam.”

“Sam’s an idiot.” She dismisses plainly, and you frown.

“Tony’s mentioned it too-“

“They’re both idiots.”

“Bucky’s told me, he said he leaves all his girls satisfied-“

“Bucky is the biggest idiot of all of them. Open.”

You listen again, and find Nat smiling at you with a strangely soft affection. Like you’re some wet kitten she rescued off the street.

“Put on your dress.” She says, wiping the corners of your slightly pouting lips. “Talk to Barnes.”

At the very least, you manage to follow one of those orders.

The dress is a little shorter than you thought it would be. It rides up your thighs, forcing you to pull it down with every step. In the car you cross your legs and stare at the floor, grounding yourself in the bass of Nat’s loud music as your heartbeat starts to pick up. You’re going out. You’re going out. Spiting Bucky was not a good enough reason to do this, it’s going to be loud and you can dance but not in front of strangers, and you’re going to be even more boring than usual and you feel like a fraud.

“Nice dress.”

Bucky’s voice is a low behind you, his breath fanning on your neck. You almost scream.

“Christ, calm down.” He’s grinning when you whip around, leaning forward in his seat to whisper. Sam and Steve are next to him, one very pointedly staring out the window, the other looking at something on his phone and humming like he’s already trying to drown out you and Bucky’s fighting.

“You scared me-“

“You saw me get in the car, sweetheart. Not my fault you’re jumpy-“

“I am not jumpy-“

“You are. Like a bunny.” His grin widens, and you scowl.

The shifting streetlamps make him look like an angel. Golden halo rays behind his head, long shadows that make him look even more rugged than usual. His lips look fuller, softer, eyes glimmering like a floodlight through the dark, and-

“Shut up.” You snap, turning back around. You can’t keep looking at him. It’s dangerous.

“I was just saying your dress was nice.” Bucky’s breath tickles your neck. You wrap your arms tight around your stomach.

“You also called me a rabbit.”

“Called you a bunny-“

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s-“ He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You flip him off over your shoulder, glaring firmly out the windshield. You can feel him retreat, but the closeness had lit up your nerves, and now they’re buzzing with hope that he’ll return.

Stupid fucking body. Stupid fucking Bucky.

You refuse to look at him when you arrive. You stumble a little bit in your heels—Natsha insisted on six inch, which is far too tall for anyone—and Bucky catches your arm, holding you upright. You brush his hand off like a fly and march on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of some other comment about how you’re like a baby deer.

When you get inside, you can smell it. The stench of sweat and alcohol and something fruity they probably use to cover the first smells. You cling to Natasha, letting her guide you through the crowd to the bar. She orders you two shots because you need them, and you don’t argue. Between Bucky and the club, you do. 

You down them both without flinching, and Sam whistles from behind you.

“Damn, you took those like a champ.”

You shrug, and Sam elbows Bucky.

“You see that, Buck-“

“Yeah. I saw it.”

Bucky’s voice is lower than usual. Almost sullen. You’d examine him, try to figure out what’s wrong with him, but you’re not supposed to be letting yourself care. He’s not your problem tonight. You’re here to indulge in fun.

You’re already not very good at that as is. Bucky’s consuming presence isn’t going to help.

Another drink might.

You’re three shots in when Nat brings you out to the dance floor. The liquor is pulling you lose, the frayed knot that’s always in your chest going slack enough to allow you to dance. You’re smiling and laughing like a normal person, almost completely able to forget to check where Bucky is in the room.

Near the edge of the crowd, drinking and talking to Steve.

A fourth shot might be needed.

You’re smiling like a fool now. The room is tilted a little, all the colors neon, but they blind out your usual worried and the tilt helps your worries slide off your body. You’re able to forget about Bucky until you notice a girl talking to him, and you take a fifth shot. A sixth, when he vanishes for nine and a half minutes, and your brain starts to map everything he might be doing to that girl.

Seven, when the first stranger asks you to dance and you’re not drunk enough to forget about Bucky and say yes.

Eight, when he tries to kiss you and you shove him away, because his lips aren’t pink enough and he’s not broad enough for you to every pretend.

Nat tries to cut you off there. You slip past her, and take a ninth. The room is just a blur now. You can’t fully remember who Nat is, and why you’re trying to avoid her. There’s a man with his hands on your hips, and he’s got dark hair that looks too greasy for you to touch. Another man calls you sweetheart, but he says it a little wrong and it makes you want to cry. None of them have the right eyes, and the ones that are closer don’t have the right smile.

You feel like you’re going to cry, by the time you’ve rejected the eleventh man. Or only fourth. Numbers don’t feel real right now. Most everything doesn’t feel real.

Everything except Bucky.

Because your own name is just a sound in your head that sounds foreign, but Bucky says it and you know to turn around.

It’s less because it’s your name. More because Bucky called you.

You smile, swaying on your feet, and you’re not even sure where you are anymore. It’s somewhere with a lot of people. Loud music. It’s dark, but bright at the same time, and Bucky looks like a walking dream as he moves towards you. Your vision swims, but he’s made of clear lines and a stern expression.

He’s mad at you. Your face falls, lip wobbling, and you take a step back. You don’t want him to be mad at you. Your heart is already beating in your ears, Bucky’s anger or distain might make it burst.

“Where the hell did you go?” He snaps, and you bow your head.

“I- I dunno-“ You hiccup, hugging yourself tight.

“Nat’s been looking for you, Steve barely stopped her from trying to make the building go into lockdown, and I-“ He cuts himself off, running a hand over his face, and you blink the tears away.

You’re looking up at him under your lashes, and he’s still angry. Some distant voice in your head tells you it’s your fault entirely. That he must’ve been about to go home with someone when they lost you, and now he’s pissed he had to pause his night to find you. You sniff, wiping your nose with your arm.

Bucky’s frown deepens. He takes a step forward, and you try to step back but balance feels like an Olympic feat right now.

His arm loops around your waist, pulling you right against his chest. You stare up at him, tears streaming down your cheeks from feelings you can’t even name anymore. They’re hollow and big and full and made of a million little cuts. They burn in your heart and through your blood, but also freeze in your throat and muscles. You can’t move. You don’t want to move.

Bucky’s big hand is splayed on your back, and you don’t want to go anywhere you can’t feel him.

That voice from before reminds you that’s not allowed, so you wiggle a little.

Bucky holds you tighter, and you surrender in a split second. His frown deepens, and you think you’re still crying. Your cheeks are certainly burning, and your throat feels oddly tight.

Gentle fingers brush under your eyes, and you hum softly. Bucky’s nostrils flare, those fingers brushing hair from your face before cupping the back of your head, forcing your gaze onto his.

“Jesus, woman.” He mutters, those beautiful eyes scanning over your slack face. “How much did you have to drink.”

“I dunno.” You breathe. His brow furrows.

“Best guess.”

You shrug, shaking your head, and Bucky sighs. You want to shrink and hide from him, from his obvious annoyance and disappointment. It’s nothing new, but it’s raw like this. You can’t figure out anything, let alone how to pretend like his hatred doesn’t bother you. You try to turn and hide your face, but Bucky just pulls it right back.

“Over five?” He prompts, and his voice is so soft. Like he’s trying to coax the answer out of you.

“I- I don’t know.” You whine slightly, and he sighs.

“Yeah. Alright.” Bucky’s throat bobs, and he looks up. Glances around you, his hands never leaving your body.

You stare up at him in the dark. You’re not supposed to be looking at him, but it’s impossible. He’s magnetic, and beautiful, and you’ve never been this close to him without one of you trying to claw at the other.

But your fingers cling to the fabric of his shirt, and it’s not to draw blood. You just don’t think that if he walks away you’re going to be able to stand up.

Bucky looks back down at you, and his tongue flicks over his lips. His thumb drags slowly over your cheekbone, leaving a little trail of fire in its wake. Your breathing gets shallow, your eyes fluttering. Everything feels like a lot. Like you’re so high in the atmosphere the air is starting to get thin. Bucky’s brow furrows, and he works his jaw like he does when he’s thinking.

You’ve always wanted to reach up and touch the lines that form on his face, when he worries. They’re deep, and still handsome, but they only ever mark that he’s stressed. He shouldn’t be. It’s only you, and you’re nothing to him.

He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, his hand dragging down to cup the back of your neck. You tip your head back, waiting for him to do something. Kiss you. Bite you. Slam you back against the wall and relieve the ache, building up between your thighs. Maybe just smell you and let his lips brush over a sensitive spot on your neck, teasing you like always until you’re crying and begging for him. 

Instead, Bucky just sighs. He pulls you forward, twisting you until you’re in front of him. His arms cage you to his chest, and he’s almost herding you down the hall.

“Where’re we going?” You tip your head back, and find him glowering at everyone around you.

They’re all moving so fast, stumbling in your path then scrambling away under Bucky’s glower. His eyes flick down to yours for a second, and maybe it’s the delusions of grandeur and liquor, but you could swear they soften slightly.

“We’re gettin’ you home.” He mutters, shouldering the door open. “You need to sleep this off.”

You wrinkle your nose as the chill of night air hits you. “But it’s cold-“

“Car will be warm.”

“But we don’t have a car-“

“We’re taking Nat’s.”

You scoff. “Nat would never give you her car-“

“Well, she did.” He grunts, voice dropping under his breath. “You’d never give me your car.”

“I don’t have a car.” You snap, and Bucky chuckles dryly.

“Yeah, I know.” He opens the door, giving you an amused look. “Up and in, baby.”

Your whole world stops for a second. You feel like you’re floating, a ditzy smile crossing your face, and you start to giggle because he called you baby. Bucky called you baby, like you matter to him, and he’s touching you.

Bucky sighs when you don’t move, and bends down. He scoops you up and drops you in the car like you weigh nothing. You’re still giggling when he closes the door and walks around the hood, sliding into the driver’s seat. For a second you stop, looking out the club with a frown. The world is still hazy, but you can see the neon sign, and it feels like you’re forgetting things that are very important-

“They’re all goin’ back to our place.” Bucky grunts, and you look over to find him staring at you with one of those stone-faced, unreadable expressions that he only uses around you. “It’s closer, cab will be cheaper.”

You frown. “Why aren’t they riding with us?”

“’Cause we’re going back to yours.”

“Why?”

“’Cause.” Is all Bucky offers. He starts the car before you can ask another question, and puts his arm around your seat to back out of the spot.

Nat has a back cam. He just always does it like this, and you’ve always chalked it up to his big, responsible man thing. Usually when the arm is around you, you glare out the window and pretend you can’t feel how close he is. How his fingers brush your upper arm, or how his smell gets stronger.

Tonight you can’t really remember why you do that. And Bucky does really smell good.

You turn your cheek, pressing it into his bicep. Bucky freezes, the car jerking to a stop, and you can feel his attention. It sparks a tiny fire in your core, and seeps down between your thighs. Your lips graze his skin, and he coughs.

His fingers dip down, brushing near your collarbone. You hum happily, and the car starts moving again.

When you’re out of the parking lot, Bucky doesn’t remove his arm like usual. You’re grateful. If he did, you might have chased it right into his lap.

“You have fun?” Bucky breaks the silence, voice gruff.

You nod, turning to watch him drive. He always does it in a way that’s almost unfairly attractive. He holds the wheel lazily, like he knows it’s under his control. You want him to hold you like that.

Bucky clears his throat. “You, uh- You did good.”

“Good?” You murmur, not fully understanding the praise.

You know it makes you throb, and press your thighs together. Bucky’s eyes flick to the motion, and his throat bobs.

“Yeah.” His grip on the wheel is white knuckled. “Good.”

Silence settles again, and you let yourself stare at him. He’s beautiful. So beautiful it makes you unsure that he’s real. You’d like to trace the line of his jaw, hear his smooth, deep voice again. Hear it say your name, because it’s the only thing that reminds you that you’re real. You can’t remember why you ever deprived yourself of this. Of him, and all his quiet glory. He’s a loud man, but never boastful.

He’s only really boastful to you. When he fixes the shower for Nat or someone brings up his army service, he waves them off and laughs, and you’ve always loved that about him. You love most things about him, even when he’s being insufferable. You sort of love that he’s insufferable, too. You’re not that easy either. And if you wrapped around him, you’re hoping he’d be too chivalrous to cut you off. He could mock you all he wants, you’d just hide your face in his neck and breathe him in. Grounding. Handsome. Impossible to resist.

Your fingers are itching, to touch that sad little furrow. There’s nothing for him to worry about. The world revolves around him.

“Saw you got some numbers.” He grunts suddenly, and you pause.

“Numbers?”

“Phone numbers.”

“Oh.” You reach for you bag, checking that the hard line of your phone is still there. It is. You don’t know what he’s talking about.

“You gonna call any of them?”

“Any of who?”

Bucky gives you an exasperated look, then double takes slightly. His worry lines deepen. It makes you pout, grabbing at your own hands to stop them from reaching for him.

“The guys.” He says slowly, frowning at the road. “That you were talkin’ to.”

Oh. Phone numbers. “No.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head, and Bucky prompts you with an oddly tight voice.

“Why?”

They’re not you. Even your drunk brain seems to know it’s bad idea to say that. “I didn’t want them.”

“Hm.” Bucky taps his hand on the wheel, shooting you a strange look. “Why?”

You can’t tell him that, but you also can’t think of a good excuse this time. You make a lame, half-hearted sigh, and turn your face back into his arm.

He doesn’t push it. He doesn’t talk for the rest of the drive. His thumb drags little circles on your upper arm, lulling you into a half-sleep only interrupted by the bump of the road. You’re not sure how much longer you’re in the car, and when it stops you can’t really remember what you’re supposed to do now.

Bucky helps. He slides away from you, squeezing your thigh in a silent reassurance before he steps out of the car. Your hand traces over where he’d touched you. Bare skin on skin, hands still light and gentle. He seems to have burned his handprint into you, and it spreads until you’re tingly and weak-kneed.

The door on your side opens, and his voice is low in your ears.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” A strong arm loops around your stomach, pulling you back. “Let’s get you in bed.”

You hum, and let Bucky guide you. You trust him completely, with all your heart and not a single question.

He handles you carefully. Guides you inside, holds you steady in the elevator, takes your keys  from your shaking fingers and opens the door. You’re sent to take a shower, but start to trip over nothing the moment Bucky lets go of you, so he sighs and draws you a bath.

“How am I gonna stand?” You mumble, sitting on the toilet while he runs the water. “Or rinse.”

Bucky grunts. “I’ll help.”

You hum in approval, and start to pull off your dress. Bucky makes a strangled sound, eyes flying up to the ceiling, and you’ve never seen his face so red.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting ready for a bath?” You frown at him, and he groans.

“You- Fuck.” He takes a heavy breath through his nose, closing his eyes. “Just- Keep your underwear on, alright?”

You nod, trying to ignore the heavy sting that he doesn’t want to see you naked. Bucky won’t even fully look at you as he helps you into the tub. He leaves the room while you sit helplessly in the water, barely moving until he returns. You wrap your arms over your chest, suddenly consciously that maybe you’re not pretty enough for him to look at you. You pull your knees to your chest and sniffle, just waiting for him. You don’t even know why he left in the first place. You wanted him here.

Bucky sighs, when he opens the door to find you crying.  

“Christ, I leave you alone for five seconds- Hey, woah-“ He kneels on the bathmat, hand flexing before he reaches out and wipes away your tears. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Don’t cry, sweetheart, you’re okay-“

You bite down a sob and turn your face, pressing it right into his shoulder. Again, Bucky stiffens. His arms hover for a second, breathing shallow, and you think he’s going to shove you away.

But he doesn’t. After that single, million year heartbeat of a moment, he grabs you. Holds you tight into his body, cradling your head and rocking you back and forth. The water flows under you, pushing up on the lip of the tub. A little bit flows over, splashing his pants.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

“C’mon, baby.” He murmurs, slowly starting to rise. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nod, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. When he gets you on your feet, he stops for a second. His lips brush near your ear, and an electric rush dart through you. Then, fast but certain, he kisses the side of your head.

It’s so quick you’d think you imagined it, if you couldn’t feel the burn of his lips long after he pulls away. You reach up to brush it, when Bucky deposits you on your bed. You watch him move around the room like he belongs there.

He does.

He’d belong with you, if he wasn’t such a massive butt about your existence.

“It’s your fault, you know.”

Bucky glances up from your dresser, fisting a shirt in his hands. “What?”

“You.” You say, because it’s that simple.

He’s the reason you’re drunk. That you didn’t score tonight, that you’d been crying, that you have to be coddled like a baby.

Not that you mind that last one. It’s wonderful, having him touch and speak to you like he cares.

It’s still all his fault.

“What’s me?” He says, and you roll your eyes at the ceiling.

“All of it.”

Bucky says your name, and you wave him off with a dramatic sigh. You can hear him pad slowly across the room, and when he pulls you up gently you flop over his body. A useless ragdoll he’s trying to get a shirt onto.

But the harder you make it, the longer he’ll stay. The longer he’ll be nice, and touch you, and-

“I love you.”

Bucky stills. Your words hang in the air, but you don’t understand why. You’ve said far worse things to him, and he must have known. You know. You’re pretty sure Nat does too, with all the looks she’s always giving you after Bucky teases you and you flush, or you bicker and he marches away with a scowl.

It’s not some grand confession. You love him like the seasons turn and the sun always rises. It’s a deep, mechanical part of you that can’t be rewired, and you know because you’ve tried. But Bucky’s leans back and stares at you like the sky is falling.

“What?”

His voice is a croak, and you frown at him.

“I love you.” You say it slower this time. Maybe you’d slurred the words, and he hadn’t understood. “It’s your fault, because I love you and you’re just… There.”

He blinks at you slowly, obviously still not understanding. You roll your eyes, and flop back down.

Bucky coughs, grabbing your knee as if to steady himself. He’s sitting down, and it’s not like he’s in love. The world is perfectly under his feet. You’re the one suffering.

“I’m here?”

“All the time.” You whine, and his grip on your knee tightens.

“But you love me.”

“Mhm.”

“So why’s it problem that I’m here-“

“Because you never do anything.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “I do things. I do lots of things-“

“You never touch me.” You prop yourself on your elbows, glaring down at him. “You just- You’re there, and you don’t like me and it- It makes me-“

“Makes you what.” Bucky’s voice is deep, his eyes dark on yours, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You don’t get to know.”

“I don’t get to know?” He snorts. “No, you can’t just- You can’t say that kinda stuff then-“

“I wish you’d touch me.” You tell the ceiling.

Bucky grunts. “Yeah, I’ve heard. But-“

“Think I could cum just from listening to you talk.” You hum, your voice sounding like a faraway dream.

Your eyes are getting heavy, and Bucky’s gone completely silent. The words start to float out of you, like steam escaping through windows, into the warm, open sky.

“I’d like to touch you, too. Put you in my mouth, or just- ride you.” You sigh. “I want everything. I’d do- Do anything you told me too if you asked. Anything.” You look back up at him, your lip wobbling again. “But you never ask me. Why don’t you ever ask me?”

Bucky’s gaping at you, and he shakes his head, his voice a low croak. “I, uh- You’ve never-“

He swallows, glancing down, and you follow his gaze.

He’s straining through his jeans, shifting uncomfortably. You giggle, flopping back down. Your eyes start to droop, the room fading in and out. Bucky rises over you with a sigh, pulling the blankets up.

“’S nice.” You murmur. “You. Bein’ here.”

You yawn, and Bucky’s laughs. Under his breath, like an inside joke he won’t bring you into.

“Yeah. I know.” His hand grazes over your cheek, and you hum sleepily, eyes closing.

His lips press to your forehead, and it’s like a spell. The world, slowly and easily, starts to slip away.

“Sleep well, baby.” He mutters, and under that command, you do.

He’s not there when you wake up, and you have to be okay with that.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to face him again anyway. There’s a fog hanging over your brain, but it’s not thick enough that you can’t remember last night.

Bucky saw you naked. He was in your room, and put you to bed, and you-

You told him you loved him.

That you wanted him. That you could cum just from him talking to you.

You have to move. You have to change your name and move as far away as possible. Maybe Siberia, or Russia, or Romania, or somewhere he’ll never find you again. Because you told him you loved him, and now he’s gone.

He left a water on your bedside table. Mocking you with the fact that last night was real.

You force yourself to sit up, rubbing your temples, and take the glass. If you’re never going to see Bucky again, and you don’t plan to, there’s no need to spite him with ignoring it.

When you stand up, it takes a few deep breaths to start moving. Nat isn’t home yet, and she probably won’t be for a while. That gives you plenty of time to wallow before you vanish forever. You can spend the morning moping and cursing yourself, then worry about consequences.

You make cereal and put on coffee. Stare at the little bits floating through the milk, and try not to think about Bucky. If he’s thinking about you.

If he is, you don’t want to imagine what. That you’re a whore for throwing yourself at him, a fool for think he’d be open to such a confession—from you of all people—or maybe just the same as he always did. Maybe he’d known the whole time, and he just thinks you were gutsy to say it aloud when he so clearly wants nothing to do with you.

Nothing at all, but taking care of you while you’re drunk. Giving you a bath and putting you to bed, handling you like something precious and kissing the side of your head.

That could have been just more mocking. The same game he’s always played, accusing you of wanting him then laughing. Like he’d already known.  

But playing that game while you’re out of it isn’t Bucky’s style. He likes you biting back, sometimes he dangles comments over your head and grins when you snap at them. So there’d be no reason for him to play when you weren’t even able to a join him. But then there’s no reason for  him to act like that at all.

It’s too early to be thinking this much. You put all your hopeful bets on Bucky having somehow forgotten everything, so you don’t have to move.

The door opens down the hallway, and you glance up. It’s early for Nat to be back.

But it’s not Nat that calls your name through the house.

“Where’d you- Hi.”

Bucky walks into the kitchen, and you stare at each other. He’s wearing his clothing from last night, his hair mussed, two paper coffee cups in his hands. You swallow, and he coughs, glancing around the kitchen.

“I got you coffee.” He mutters a little bitterly, and you follow his gaze to the rumbling coffee machine.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to- It’s here.” He puts it on the counter, and you nod, focusing back on your cereal.

You’re both silent for another long moment. There air is thick, like a swamp at the height of summer. You’re not sure how you remember to speak.

“How’d you know I was up?”

“Your door was open.” He mutters. “Made sure it was closed before I went out.”

“Did you-“

“On the couch. Just, uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone, and- I think we, uh- You said some things. That we should talk about.”

You rip your gaze away as you flush, but if you’d had any hope of pretending you’d been too drunk to retain the night and just hoping he’d leave you be, that ruins it.

Bucky’s eyes narrow. He walks forward, until he’s right at your side. You can feel his presence buzzing through you, and swallow.

“You remember.” His voice is low, and he leans further down before you can protest. “Don’t lie to me. We’ve both been lyin’ way too much.”

You don’t dignify him with an answer. With even a glance.

Bucky leans closer.

“You said you wanted to touch me.” He’s almost growling in your ear. “You said you wanted me in your mouth, that you wanted me to ride you, that you’d do anything I told you-“

“James.” You hiss, twisting to glower at him.

Mistake.

He looks hungry. His eyes are blown out, only inches from yours, his tongue darts over his lips when you look down at them. He’s watching you like a dog that’s finally been told it can have its bone. Your grip on the counter tightens. It’s hard to stay upright.

“Full name.” He hums, the corners of his lips tugging up. “I’m in trouble.”

“You’re being a dick-“

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“I- You-“

“You love it.”

You freeze at that word. The air feels thin now. Your face is burning, and Bucky’s as collected as ever. Like this is all still just a game to him.

“Fuck you.” You spit. It takes everything you have.

Bucky doesn’t even flinches. “Yeah, you want to.”

Your mouth falls open, and he leans in closer.

“You meant it, right? Everything you said?”

Denying seems pointless. You try to anyway, but your lips barely prepare for the word no before Bucky’s giving you a stern look—don’t lie to me—and your voice dies.

He says your name, and it’s the same voice he used last night. Lighter, gentler, man trying to tend instead of force. You weren’t any match for it last night, but that doesn’t seem to be the drink’s fault. You give in just as easily right now.

“Yes.” You breathe.

Bucky’s eyes flash. “All of it?”

“Bucky…”

“Do you want me.” His voice is demanding now, and you try to look away.

He catches your chin, pulling you back. Forcing your gaze onto his, onto those beautiful, enchanting eyes.

You nod, and he hums in approval. The sound settles, molten and warm in your tummy.

“Do you love me?”

His words sound so sincere and taunting at the same time. You can’t look away, so you glare, and he chuckles.

“Come on, baby.” He brushes his lips over yours, his voice becoming something low. Something dangerous.

You don’t even bother to move away this time. You’re breathing in your chest, your stomach filled with too much desire to do much else. The brush of his lips let you taste coffee and mint, and his grip on your chin is commanding. You’re only putty in his hands. A lost cause that doesn’t really want to be found.

“Don’t make me fuck it out of you.”

Bucky’s eyes gleam, and he’s playing again. He knows he has you, that you want to be had.

His hand drags slowly, gently, on your waist. His fingers dip under your shirt, the soft touch making you gasp. You lean forward, and Bucky leans back. He tilts his head slightly, something stern still in his gaze. You blink hopelessly, trying to figure out what, and he squeezes your hips. It’s grounding and electric, and he presses back forward as you go still below him.

“Do you want me to fuck it out of you.” He growls, and your mouth falls open with a whimper.

Permission. He was holding himself on a leash for your permission.

Doubt drains from your head, far down south where a warm, summer storm is brewing between your thighs.

You spread your legs slowly, and grab his hand on your hips. Push it slightly down, until his attention follows.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and his hand on your chin drops. You watch as he moves so tantalizingly slow, brushing the band of your panties before dragging down the seam at the apex of your thighs. He rubs you over the fabric, and your hips buck into the touch.

“Fuck.” Bucky hooks two of his fingers, tearing your underwear in one rip. “You’re so wet. Soaked through the panties, soaking my fucking fingers.”

You moan, pressing your face into his shoulder. Bucky dips his fingers into your heat, smearing the arousal all over your pussy, and you shake.

“Bucky-“

“You got this,” he spanks your pussy, then drags the mess down your inner thighs. “’Cause I’m here? Or just from thinking about me?”

“B- Both.” You mumble, trying to keep still as the broad pads of his fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, tantalizing circles.

He hums. “You think about me a lot?”

Pressing hard on the sensitive button. Your knees give out, and you’re only caught by his arm around you’re lower back.

“Careful, baby-“

“All the time.” You whimper the confession, looking up at him with big, teary eyes. “Think about you all the time, Bucky, you’re- You’re so- Oh my god-“

Bucky yanks his hand from your pussy, grabbing your jaw and angling it back for a kiss.

It’s slower than you thought it would be, with how he crashed over you. You’d been expecting rough and harsh, all spit and ownership. Instead there’s a certainly behind it—a rough passion that’s demanding and hot—but it’s slow. Bucky doesn’t use his tongue until you open your mouth, and he hums in satisfaction when you grab at his hair, tugging slightly.

He grabs your ass, hauling you up on the kitchen counter. His hands wander your body lazily, tracing the softness of your hips and curve of your spine. He chuckles when you arch into the touch, deepening the kiss. Stars swim behind your eyes, and you realize you’re still grinding up into his torso.

“Bucky.” You plead, and he presses another tiny kiss to your lips, taking his sweet damn time.

“Off.” He tugs at the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms to help him.

He leans back when you’re uncovered, and this time he isn’t trying to cover anything else. He palms one of your breasts, licking his lips before he takes the nipple between his fingers and rolls it. You squeak and his eyes dart up, almost studying how you shiver and blink at him.

“So reactive.” He switches to the other breast, and your fingers dig into the nape of his neck. “Almost came before I even really touched you, sweetheart. If you can’t hold it, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ wreck before I’m even done with you.”

You shake your head, face heating further. “It- It’s been a long time-“

“Yeah, but that’s not it.” He drags his hand down, over your abdomen. Back between your thighs. “You got that little toy keepin’ you satisfied-“

“Not satisfied.” You breathe, head lolling to the side as Bucky resumes his tight circles on your clit. “Not you, Bucky, fuck-“

He groans, dragging you back into a deep kiss. You give him everything you have in return, nipping at his lips and yanking his hair. Bucky groans and picks you fully off the counter, walking you both to your room and kicking the door shut.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He grunts between kisses, his own steps getting a little uneven. “The stuff I wanna do to you, no way we’re covering it in one night. Years to make up for, gotta ration it.”

“Years?” You pull back, and Bucky grins.

“Oh yeah. You’re not the only one who’s not satisfied, babydoll.”

“But-“

“Ah.” He kisses you, lowering you onto the bed. “Nope. Not now.”

You frown up at him. “Bucky, you said we needed to talk-“

“And now I’m sayin’ not now. And if my memory’s right,” he grins down at you. “You’re the one who said she’d do whatever I want.”

You flush, crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky laughs. He pulls his shirt off, and you almost fall backwards on the sheets like it’s an atomic blow.

There have been glimpses. Moments. You’ve been to the pool with him before, and he’d been shirtless there too.

But he hadn’t been standing over you, massive and radiating power. You hadn’t been close enough to trace your fingers over the scars littering his muscle, remnants from his time in the army. You reach up in a trace, tracing one closer to his pant line, and he flexes under your touch. A low sound rumbles through him, and he catches your wrist with a warning look.

You giggle. “You’re not the only one who’s sensitive.”

Bucky’s eyes flash, his voice dropping impossibly low. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak.”

Your shift in the sheets, more desire building in your already aching pussy. Bucky’s attention darts to the movement, and his throat bobs. Every muscle in his body strains, and you give him a sweet smile.

“Prove it.”

Bucky makes that deep, growling sound again and grabs your face between his hands. He presses over you, shoving his tongue down your throat, and this is the kiss you’d been expecting from before. Rough and starved, almost marking you as much as kissing you. He bullies you down into the mattress with his weight, and you spread your legs wide to accommodate him.

“You’re so soft.” He mutters, kneading your thighs as his mouth starts to trail hot kisses down your neck. “Thought about touchin’ you like this forever, about how beautiful you’d be under me. And let me tell you, baby,” he nips under your jaw. “Better than I managed to dream.”

You grind up below him, trying to chase a little more friction. You keep meeting the rough fabric of his jeans, and the drag is beautiful, but it’s still not enough.

“Needy girl.” Bucky drags your legs apart, pressing his hips firmly over your core. The sudden pressure does the trick, and you moan, tipping your head back in brief relief. “Yeah, you like that. Feels so good and I’m not even doin’ anything.”

“Bucky, don’t- Don’t tease-“

“But it’s so fun.” He coos, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You get all nervous, makes me want to stuff you up with cock and see how you squirm-“

You make a loud, wanting sound, trying to fuck your hips up into the air. But Bucky’s heavy. You can only claw at his shoulders, and it just makes him tease more.

His rolls his hips, dragging the bulge in his jeans over your burning core. Your mouth falls open, and he kisses you, sneaking and arm tight around your back.

The forced arch of your back makes your legs open widen, giving him further access. He starts to rut against your bare pussy, and it’s perfect torture. Your arms are tight enough around him to choke, but it doesn’t slow him down. Bucky dry fucks you, your pussy throbbing desperately for release, arousal trickling down your ass and every thrust filling you with a burning pleasure.

You hadn’t been lying. It’s been a long time. But that’s not the only reason why you’re already so close to the edge again. Bucky’s body is everywhere around you, his thick arms holding you tight, his lips wandering over your neck and cheeks, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. The friction is everything, he’s everything, and you don’t have enough restraint to fight it.

The orgasm is sudden and harsh, shaking your whole body. You claw at his back, twitching and whining in his ear. You didn’t know you could cum that hard, hard enough to make eyes close from the overwhelming sensation, and it’s just from dry humping.

Bucky groans in your ear and pulls back suddenly. His eyes are lidded, expression lustful, and his palm flexes near his bulge like he’s forcing himself not to rub it. Your breathing is uneven, your pussy still aching, and you reach down to try and rub your clit until he collects himself.

He catches your wrist and pins it to the mattress, shaking his head. “You just fuckin’ came, baby.”

“I- I know- I just-“ You try to turn, and Bucky slaps your cheek lightly. Forces your attention back to him.

“You’re a big girl. Use words.”

You want to glare at him, but something about the slightly mocking order makes your pussy throb. Bucky raises his brows, and you barely manage not to drool.

“Want more.” You mumble, and he grins.

“And?”

“And?”

“You what?”

You stare for a second, then roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

Bucky smirks, squeezing his hold on your wrist. “’S alright. We’ll get there.”

You stick out your tongue, and he hums.

“That’s not very nice, baby. Think we need to work on your manners.”

“My manners are fine-“

“You’re a brat.” He teases, and you flush.

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. You’re a wet, needy little fuckin’ brat.” Bucky starts to move your hand between your legs, and you pretend to try and pull away.

He sees the challenge, and yanks it down. Presses it against your core, making you shake. Your eyes flutter, and Bucky laughs.

“Look at you.

“You really still got that vibrator?”

You nod, and he pulls your hand up. kisses your knuckles, eyes sparkling. 

“Grab it.”

You scramble up the moment he lets go of you, yanking open your bedside drawer and pulling out the pink rabbit. Bucky grabs your hips before you can roll back over, pulling you backward with your ass in the air. You twist to look at him and find his attention entirely fixed on your core. On the mess between your legs.

He’s almost in a trance, as he drags two fingers through your pussy lips. You flutter, overly sensitive from before, and Bucky shoves his fingers right into your pussy.

You go limp, at the sudden stretch. Bucky’s fingers are everything you’d imagined they’d be, and more. Rough in all the right place, deft and thick, crooking right at the edges as he finds your g-spot faster than even you can sometimes. He hums like he’s figured out something interesting and kisses the curve of your ass. He starts to rub the tips of his fingers, massaging that happy, spongey place inside you, and you moan into the sheets.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“You’re tight.” He mutters, kissing between your ass and pussy, the tiny patch of skin that sends a shiver up your spine. “And wet. Gonna feel real good around my cock, babydoll. Got a perfect pussy for me to fill up.”

You make another desperate sound, and Bucky presses further in.

“Oh, that sounds good to you, doesn’t it. Getting stuffed full of my cum, being my pretty cockslut. I’d make you walk around with it after, wear a skirt so I can fuck you again whenever you run out. Fuck you until it’s stained on your legs, until everyone can fuckin’ smell it. ‘Till they know you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenches at the possessive promise, and Bucky groans.

“You wanna be mine, don’t you sweet girl.”

“Ye- Yes-“

Bucky yanks his fingers out of you unexpectedly, and you almost scream in frustration. You try to twist around again to chew him out, but he grabs the back of your neck and shoves you into the sheets. You go limp, trembling as tears prick at your eyes. Bucky arms snakes around your stomach, his thumb resting under your clit. Never touch it, or where your pussy is fluttering, desperate to be filled.

“Say it.” He grunts, and you shake your head. You’re not that easy.

Bucky doesn’t seem in any rush to give up though. He spanks your pussy, and you cry out in a mix of pain and delight.

“Say it.” He orders, and your hands fist in the sheets as he spanks your pussy again. You grind against him, chasing more, and he pinches your clit hard.

You almost fly out of your skin, a lewd, garbled plea escaping your lips as another orgasms rushes through you. This one is shorter, but no less consuming. You clench around nothing, mouth hanging stupidly open, and Bucky sucks near your throat, his teeth brushing and making the pleasure all the more intense.

“Fuckin’ brat.” He mutters, awe almost coating his voice. “I’m a damn saint, making you cum again when you’re so greedy. When you got this hungry little pussy, begging to be stuffed with cock, and I’m letting you go first.”

“Please,” you try to flip over, but Bucky’s hold on you is too strong. “Bucky, please- Please just fuck me.”

“Oh, I will.” He kisses under your ear, voice silken and taunting. “But not now, babydoll. Then we would’ve brought this out for nothing.”

“What’s-“

A buzzing sound fills the air, and your eyes widen.

“Bucky, wait-“

“You know, you get more sensitive after you cum.” Bucky drawls, dragging the thick tip of the rabbit up and down your pussy. You try to focus on your breathing, squeezing your eyes shut as your body starts to get swept away in a wildfire.

“God, fuck-“

“Quiet.” He grunts. “I’m trying to talk, sweetheart. Be good.”

You nod, biting on your lower lip, desperate to listen well. To be good.”

“Like I was saying.” Bucky drawls, shoving the vibrating dildo up against your clit, then yanking it away. “You get more sensitive. And I was thinking all night about your little confession. That you can cum just from listening to me talk.” Bucky hums, dragging the head down to rest right over your entrance. “I like a challenge, but I’m got enough on my hands with you today. And since I’m so nice.” He pushes the thick length a little inside you, and your pussy clenches around it. “I’m gonna give you some extra hands. Extra sensitive,” he gives your clit a series of tiny hits, shoving the rabbit in deeper. “Some fake fuckin’ cock to get you ready for the real thing, and me.”

Bucky drags you back into his lap, right as he shoves the dildo home. You almost scream as the smaller bit presses over your clit, the thicker part driven right against where Bucky already knew your g-spot was.

“Bucky- Holy shit-“

He pulls your face to the side, silencing you with a deep kiss as you shake. You’ve already cum twice. That’s more than usual, and you’re not sure if you’ve got another.

You don’t get to tell him that, though. You don’t think he’d care to hear it right now, and fuck, do you want to see him try.

“I said quiet.” He growls when he pulls away, and before you know what’s happening he’s shoving the same fingers that had been in your pussy into your mouth.

You melt immediately, sucking on them as your eyes flutter. Bucky groans in your ear, moving his free hand to hold the rabbit inside your gushing, oversensitive pussy.

“Good girl.” He drawls in your ear. “Didn’t even have to ask, you just knew didn’t you. Fuck, you suck my cock half this good I’m not gonna be able to last ten minutes.”

You moan, and Bucky kisses the corner of your jaw before continuing.

“I know you’d like that. What was it you said? That you wanted to touch me? When this is done we can get you on your knees. If you behave.” He nips at your sweaty skin. “I’ll let you suck my dick. I’ll even fuck your face if you ask real nice. I hope you’re nice, baby, cause I can imagine it. You crying, lips around me, fucking your fingers while you choke on my cock. My pretty baby, my sweet fuckin’ doll loving me so much.”

You slump back against him fully, hips rolling uselessly, and it’s more subtle this time. The heat building at the bottom of your tummy, winding tight and made of a strange pressure.

“You’re gonna say it.” He coos in your ear, and your pussy starts to fight against the rabbit. Like it knows you can barely take it.

But you can’t lend it much energy. You like this position well enough.

“After you cum for me again, I’ll fuck you. Fuck you properly like the brat that you are.” Bucky groans, pressing his nose into your hair. “Walking around, making me feel like I’m the asshole for wanting you, for loving you when you’re snapping off at me,you’re a mouthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you babydoll. Lotta bark but,” he pushes his fingers further into your mouth. “Not even a little bit of bite.”

Your eyes roll back, head pressing into his shoulder, and you give him a silent look of pleading that’s only met with a mocking grin.

“So pretty like this, sweetheart. Stupid and quiet, I ain’t even fucked you yet. Won’t clean you up after you’re done, just let you walk around with it dripping. Maybe I’ll fuck you until it sticks. Until you’re mine.”

Your back arches, and you’re so close. You can feel Bucky’s dick twitch against your ass, and somewhere in the distance your thoughts manage to collect enough to tell you that he removed his bottoms at some point.

“Fuck, ‘course you’re into that. Shouldn’t have expected more from you, with how much you love this. You’re close, baby.” His lips tease the shell of your ear. “So close.”

You whimper, grinding down onto him as the dildo vibrates, and Bucky groans. He pins you down to his lap with a hiss, fingers flexing on your stomach.

“Shit- You can’t just-“

He presses his mouth where your neck meets your shoulder, kissing and sucking as his dick throbs against you, and his dirty talk becomes mumbled and deep. 

“My pretty fuckin’ girl, can’t even wait for it, cum for me, babydoll, come on, fuckin’  show me how much your greedy pussy wants my dick-“

The pressure breaks like a flood. Your pussy gushes so hard it pushes out the rabbit, and your head flies back as you grind into the air. Bucky moans, fully moans, and starts to rub your clit back and forth with the palm of his hand. You grab his wrist, spasming and trying to chase it and escape all at once. You whine as it becomes all too much, batting at Bucky’s hand.

He stops, collecting your release on his fingers.

When he presses them against your lips, you open. Hum as he feeds your own juices to you. All you can do is lap at his fingers and look at him under fluttering lashes, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He coos, and your body seizes up again. You moan around his fingers, and Bucky laughs.

He pulls them out, turning your head for a gentle, deep kiss. You’re boneless and cockdrunk, only able to let him give and give whatever he’s willing. You can’t even try to drag him close.

Bucky rolls you over, making sure your back is pressed into the mattress as he kisses you lazily. He rises up after a few moments, his gaze raking down your body, and you flush. If you had more strength, you’d cover yourself. You’ve never been good at being looked at.

But there’s nothing expect awe and affection in Bucky’s eyes. He traces a hand over your every curve and softer spot, rising slowly on his knees to part your legs.

“You’re a miracle, baby.” He murmurs, pumping his cock in his hands and for once, you feel like one. “Look at what you do to me.”

You do, and you might be about to burst into flames.

Bucky’s thick. Long, but not enough to worry you, and thick. He’s going to drag, be able to get balls deep and make you feel him everywhere.

You’re drooling, and he sees it. He smirks knowingly, and you wrinkle your nose.

“Come on.” He teases. “Say it, and it’s all yours.”

You shake your head, and Bucky hums. Crawls back over your body, notching his cock right at your entrance. His hovers his lips over yours, not quite fully kissing.

“Say it.”

When you find your voice, it’s raspy and broken.

“No.”

“But you know you want to.” He presses the first inch inside, and if you’d had any worries about not being able to take more, they’re knocked away with how good he feels.

You were right. He’s an even bigger stretch than his two fingers, and it perfect. There’s a slight ache, but it’s overwhelmed by the closeness. By how well he fits, how much you need more of this brimming, explosive pleasure already threating to take you over.

“Just say it, pretty girl. Say it for me.”

You shake your head, and Bucky pushes further in, and your hands fly into his hair like they were pulled there.

He groans, rutting into you, and bottoms out. You didn’t know you could feel this good. Be this full. Bucky moans in your ear, and you breath slowly, trying to adjust.

“You feel so good.” He smashes his lips over yours, the kiss demanding and long. “Knew you’d feel this good, always knew you’d feel this good, Christ-“

You roll your hips up, and it makes Bucky jerk. He slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs, and your toes curl in delight.

He barks your name, grabbing your jaw, and you beam at him.

“More.” You breathe, and Bucky’s eyes widen in slight surprise.

He recovers fast.

“Yeah?” He pulls out slowly, then slams back in, his tip kissing your cervix. “You like that? Like being fucked like a toy?”

You moan happily, and Bucky laughs.

“Thought you might surprise me, babydoll, but no.” He taps your cheek, and you open without a thought. “You’re just the pretty cockslut I thought you were.”

He drags all the way out again, but this time pushes in slower. You whine, but he doesn’t even acknowledge you, setting a slow pace that feels good, but is far too much. The roughness made you numb with a good, fuzzy sensation, but this makes you feel it. Bucky’s cock dragging against your gummy walls, the press of him over your g-spot and heat of him, right over your clit.

You can barely take it. You’re already so fucked out from the other orgasms, you’re barely able to hold onto Bucky properly. You think you might be about to black out from pleasure, but no part of you wants him to stop altogether, and how you’re trapped somewhere between paradise and hell.

“Look at you.” He grabs one of your breasts, palming it as he thrusts smooth and deep. “Nobody else does this to you, do they. Makes you feel so good, gets you so stupid on their cock.”

You shake your head, and Bucky taps your mouth again.

“Words.”

“Bucky…”

“Want to hear you, sweet girl.” He kisses your cheek, words pure filth in your ears. “Here you scream for me while I fuck you, hear how much you love it.”

“Can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” He slams a little firmer, giving you a pointed look. “Good girls listen. And when they listen,” he repeats the motion, holding your gaze. “They get filled up.”

You whimper, but nod. Bucky smiles in satisfaction, returning to his torturous speed from before.

“Anyone else do this to you?” He grunts, and you shake your head.

“No- No. Never, Bucky, only you-“

He groans, picking up his pace. “That’s fuckin’ right. No one fucks you like this, I’m gonna ruin you. If you wanna cum you’ll have to find me, I’m the only one who plays this perfect fuckin’ pussy- Shit-“ He groans, jaw clenching as he hits a little deeper than before. “Nobody takes care of you like me-“

“No one.” You echo, and you’re rewarded with another rough slam. “No one, Bucky, only- Only wanted you, needed you- Fuck-“ You cry out, pressing your cheek into his jaw. “You and your thick cock, needed you so bad-“

“I know. I know, babydoll, but I’m here now.” He kisses you quickly, speeding up again.

It’s enough to make you start to feel it again. Not slowly building, but being dragged out. The tip of Bucky’s cock drags through you, and that hot feeling in your core starts to fill up again. 

“Wanted to do this for so long.” He groans in your ear, and a loud moan escapes your lips. “You really got no idea, I thought I was gonna lose it every time I saw you, thought you’d never let me- God-“

You clench around him, and Bucky angles your hips up, allowing him to hit deeper. You moan, and he kisses the back of your neck, sucking a dark mark.

“My girl.” He mutters possessive, and you babble an agreement. “My smart, mean fucking baby, drunk on my cock. Prettiest girl in the world, mine-“

You moan, and Bucky cuts himself off with a groan. He kisses you again, then rises over you. Bracing his arms on either side of your head as he looks to where he’s fucking into you. Your gaze follows, and the warmth in your gut flares at the sight.

It’s the most vulgar, pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Bucky’s thick cock, sliding in and out of you with ease. Precum and your own need for him shining on the thickness of him, his chest flexing with restraint as he forces himself to keep the same pace. You watch his cock vanish into your body, and feel him deep inside you, and God-

You look up, checking if Bucky’s as strangely moved by that as you are, and find him staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he grabs your jaw, pressing you back down into the pillows with a rough kiss. You’re unable to do anything but take it all. Bucky’s tongue pressing down your throat, his lips moving expertly over yours, his cock fucking every word but his name out of your head.

“Look at me.” He rasps when he pulls away, and you nod.

His eyes are almost wholly black, and shining. Tears prick at yours, but Bucky leans down, kissing them away before going faster again.

His balls start to slap on your ass, his cock pumping in and out of you until it’s all you can think about. Bucky deep inside you, lighting you up, how you can feel a rush up your spine with his every thrust. A lewd, wet sound is filling the room as he pounds into you. Your pussy burns and spasms every time, but it’s too good to fight.

Bucky’s too good to fight. You don’t know why you tried for so long.

“Bucky-“ You breathe, and he grunts.

“You’re close, sweetheart.” He mutters, and you don’t know how he knows, but he’s right.

You’re about to snap again. To lose it from how he’s fucking you like you’re a doll and the love of his life, all at once. You grab his wrist, squeezing tight.

“Pretty girl,” he teases. “Gonna soak this cock like a good girl, aren’t you. Give it to me, baby, show me how much you love it-“

“Love you.” You breathe out, and Bucky freezes.

Balls deep, he stills. His cock throbs in protest, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

You blink at him, praying you didn’t ruin it. Bucky swallows, and rasps out your name.

“What?”

“I- I love you- Oh.”

He jerks into you when you say it, and you almost fly out of your skin.

“Fuck, Bucky- I- I love you-“

It happens again, but you don’t think he’s doing it to mess with you. He can barely seem to control himself, his attention almost feral as his cock jumps inside you.

“I- I love you- Oh my god-“

Bucky dives over you, kissing you like he’s trying to steal the words from your mouth. Like he can taste them.

“Damn right you do.” He grunts, cock dragging inside you as he starts to fuck you, shallow and brutal. “Love you, love you so much, you’re-“

He kisses you, and somewhere through the floating, hazy dreamworld his cock is fucking you into, you think he’s run out of words.

Bucky’s fucking you like an animal, because there’s nothing left for either of you to say. He pulls your hips back up to that angle from before, returning to that pace from before that pulled the confession out of you. You’re in incoherent, babbling mess, tugging at the sheets and watching Bucky above you like he’s God.

“Good girl.” Is all he’s grunting out, but it’s deep and every word of a noise than anything else. “Mine, my good fucking girl, gonna fill you up, you’re-“ He moans, doubling over your body as his thrusts become short and harsh. “You’re perfect-“

From nowhere, you find the strength to reach up and grab Bucky’s face. You pull it down, kissing him with every word you’re too ruined to say, and he moans.

Bucky slams home, muttering your name against your lips like a prayer. You can feel him everywhere. Hot and sticky, pumping deep into your own heat, coating your walls, dripping out and running down your ass. When Bucky starts to move again, slow and lazy, he presses it deeper, spreads it everywhere.

It’s hot on your clit, and Bucky’s still jerking and spraying inside of you. You’ve never been this full, it’s addicting. Your brain is empty, body alight with the feeling, Bucky’s cum so thick and demanding that you could swear you feel it washing through your whole body.

He reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

You get there all on your own.  

Your vision goes white, as you cum. You’re so out of it you feel it the same way you feel a cool breeze. Light and relieving, washing over the heat inside you and pulling a happy sigh from your lips.

Bucky kisses you, and this time it’s only sweet. All his mean words and taunts so easily dissolve as you reach up, running your fingers through his hair. He smiles against your lips, and you smile back.

“Told you I’d do it.” He mutters, and you shove his chest with a weak laugh.

“Shut up.”

He grins, moving up to kiss your brow, then the side of your face. He’s still buried inside you. Neither of you are in a rush to move any time soon.

“You mean it, though.” He pauses, moving back over your body.

There are those worry lines again. You reach up with a tiny smile, and soothe your fingers over them. Bucky hums, leaning into your touch, and you smile.

“Yeah.” You whisper, and his shoulders sag.

“Thank god.” He presses his face between your breasts. “That would’ve been bad.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair, and he wraps his arms around your body. He’s slid out a little, but you’re still connected to him, and you never want to move again.

“How long?” He mutters against you, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Cause mine was when I saw you.”

You flush stupidly—he’s inside you—and mumble, “Me too.”

Bucky frowns. “But you were always- “

“And were you any better?”

He snorts, leaning up to peck your cheek. “Fair shot.”

“I know.” You snip, then, “You- You meant yours, right? I mean- What you said while…”

You trail off, because you didn’t imagine it. I love you and mine, too sincere to just be dirty talk.

Bucky rises back over you, gently guiding your gaze back to his. He smiles when your eyes meet, and kisses the tip of your nose.

“With everything I fuckin’ got.” He mutters, and you smile.

“Good.”

“I know. I mean, I did really well for myself- I’m complimenting you, woman!”

You’d shoved him, and Bucky grabs your wrists, wrestling them down into the mattress. He looks at you with a rough, fond exasperation.

“You’re a gremlin.”

“You like it.” You beam up at him, and he lower back down, kissing you lightly.

“Tough curse.” He mutters. “But I’m enjoying it.”

You roll your eyes at him, and he grins. Beautiful and all yours.

“Can we stay here for a while?” You ask, just because you want to have this, and sit in it. “Please.”

Bucky nods, and you feel your heart shine like it’s been given new batteries. Beating out of your chest and comfortably all at once, as Bucky rolls you both onto your sides, wrapping tight around you.

“We can do whatever you want.” He mutters, rubbing your hips and kissing the marks on your neck.

You relax, because you believe him. About all of it.

And now, you have him with you for all the time in the world.

“You’re squirmy.” He grumbles, glaring at you in the dark. “No one ever teach you to sit still?”

You stick your tongue out. “No one ever teach you to mind your own business?”

“Hard to mind my business when you’re movin’ all the cushions, doll-“

“Then go sit somewhere else, robot man.”

Bucky’s jaw twitches. “I’m not a robot.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not-“

“You act like one.” You snap, and Bucky closes his eyes. Like he’s fucking praying.

“I was here first.” He mutters. You don’t balk.

“Congratulations.”

You hold his glare, and Bucky lets out a heavy breath through his nose. He narrows his eyes, tongue flicking over his lips. His full lips. Pretty and chapped, but in the perfect, soft way-

Get a fucking grip.

“There’s a chair over there.” You point across the room, sinking back into the cushions. “Go sit in it, if I’m so squirmy.”

Bucky scowls, and opens his mouth, but whatever jab he’s got for you, you don’t want to hear it. You reach over and unpause the movie—probably another one of Sam’s this is what you gotta catch up on, Barnes suggestions, because there’s no way Bucky picked out the Goonies himself—and fix your glower on the TV screen. You hate this movie. You’re going to watch it all the way through, just to show Bucky that he doesn’t bother you.

You spread your own legs wide, too. If men are allowed to do it, so are you. Bucky grunts as your knee pushes over his thigh, and you smirk at the TV.

It has nothing to do with the thick muscle you can feel under his sweatpants, that you keep your legs like that for the rest of the night. Bucky’s fingers flex a few times, and brush over the inner curve of your knee and the top of your thigh, like he’s thinking about just shoving you away. At one point, you hear him grunt, and look over with mockingly raised brows.

“Everything okay?” You almost simper, and he grunts and nods.

That’s all you get. Bucky fixes his anger on the movie, you win this round, and you get to be close to him without thinking about it.

You’ll think about it later. In the comfort of your own bedroom, you’ll think about it and think about it and think about it all night. You’ll think about it until your wrist hurts. But Bucky doesn’t get to know that.

As far as he needs to be concerned, you never spare him a second thought. It’s all he spares you. And you’re not going to be the pathetic girl who falls for someone who only thinks of her as a buzzing gnat around his head. Who worships the ground of a man who would step on her like a flower into concrete, not because he was seeking to hurt, but just because he didn’t notice you were there at all.

Although Bucky does seem to notice where you are.

The farmer does like to keep track of pests in his crops.

“You skipped the mission briefing.” Bucky grunts in the morning, glaring at you over a cup of coffee.

Something soft in you swells like a prodded bruise. He noticed where you were.

You ignore it in favor of flipping him off.

“I was busy.”

“Too busy for your job?”

“It’s not my job-“

“Your name was on the roster.” Bucky slams the folder down on the table, and your lips twitch.

“Have you been carrying that around all day?”

“That doesn’t matter-“

“Yes, it really does-“

Bucky hisses your name. There’s a fury under his tone, that makes your mouth snap shut. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“You need to be there, Steve was talkin’ about safety shit, and if you don’t know it you could get killed-“

“I know how mission briefing work, I’ve been here longer than you have-“

“Really? ‘Cause you don’t act like it-“

“I don’t act like it?” You snort. “Last I checked I’m ranked higher than you, Sargent.” You raise your chin, letting your lips curl. “Which is why I’m allowed to defer missions, and you’re not.”

Bucky blinks, recoiling slightly. “Defer? What, you-“

“I’m skipping.” You shrug, grabbing an apple from the counter. “And if I’m skipping, I don’t need to be at the briefing. But thanks for checking on me, dad.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow. You expect him to snap something about experience and you not being responsible enough or needing to care more.

But instead his fists curl and uncurl at his side. His nostrils flare. He grabs the counter, his scowl burning right through you. You take a large bite of your apple, and his gaze darts down. Juice drips down your chin, and you wipe it off with light fingers. That only seems to make him angrier.

“Why’re you skipping.”

You shrug. You should say none of your business. But part of you is childish. A very big, loud part that wants him to react to something you know he isn’t actually going to care about.

“I have a date.”

“A what.” It’s not a full reaction. He’s mostly staring at you like he didn’t understand the word. Maybe they called it something different in the 40s.

“A date?” You roll your eyes, a little meaner than you mean to be. He always bring that out in you, though.

Bucky always brings everything out in you. It’s incredibly annoying.

“You know.” You push mockingly. “Where you go out with someone. And flirt like people, instead of robots.”

“Robots flirt.” Bucky grunts, and you snort.

“Yeah, but they don’t have sex-“

The counter cracks. It’s loud, echoing through the kitchen. You start and twitch, and Bucky blinks at his metal hand, like he’s just as surprised as you are. He looks back to you, shakes his head, and takes a large step back.

“What’s-“

“Steve’s callin’ me.” He mutters, and you blink.

“No, he’s not-“

“Have fun.” Bucky ignores you. His words sound pushed through his teeth. “On your human date.”

Then he’s gone.

And you’re left in the kitchen with your apple and a cracked counter, staring at where he’d vanished through the door. You don’t care about the date.

You just need to know what the fuck that was.

There’s a part of you that feels bad, for the man Natasha set you up with. She’d picked him out specifically because he had a vague resemblance to Bucky—because you’ve never told her your secret, but you didn’t need to, she’s Natasha—but it wasn’t enough.

He didn’t have the underlying accent, or the gleam in his eyes. You made a sharper edged joke, and he just laughed. He didn’t spar. He didn’t push your buttons in a way that made you light up. He just smiled at you all night—wrong smile, too—and then didn’t pay. Bucky would’ve paid.

You have no evidence of that. It’s just a feeling, that comes from how he still opens doors for you, even when you’re at each other’s throats. All polite and handsome and insufferable. You hate him.

And there’s not a single point during the night, where you’re not thinking about him.

“We should do this again.” The Date—you’ve forgotten his name, and it’s certainly not a good time to ask—says at the end of the night.

You’re shivering. Bucky would’ve offered you his jacket. He did once, on a mission in the Andes. You got all cold and he rolled his eyes and muttered that he told you to bring another layer, but still gave you his jacket all the same. This man is just grinning at you after not calling you a cab and saying he wanted to stand outside in the misty, chilly night. He said he wanted fresh air, and now your freezing, and he thinks he’s getting a second date.

At the very least, you feel a little less guilty about only thinking of Bucky and the mission the whole time. He deserved it.

“Sure.” You smile, because even with superstrength, it’s easier to tell a man yes and then vanish than it is to deny them to their face. “Have a good night.”

He tries to hug you. Your phone buzzes, and you duck away to check it.

The mission is over.

Two days early.

Your jaw tightens.

Most people would think that a job being done early is a good thing. That it means the team was just so focused and coordinated that they sped through every single step, and ended in a total victory. But you’ve been on this job too long. Early mission conclusions only ever happen for one reason.

Something went wrong, and they have to come back.

You rush back to the compound with barely a goodnight to the Date. It’s mostly because you forget, in the blur of worry. You’d skimmed the mission files before they left, just to make sure it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Bucky had been mad about you not going with them. Maybe he’d thought they’d need the hands, but it had just looked like a retrieval mission. Old Hydra facility with some data Tony wanted. Nothing too hard.

But they’re back early.

And if someone’s hurt, you could’ve stopped it. You could’ve been there, instead of on that stupid fucking date. Which also means that Bucky was right, and that’s incredibly annoying. He’s going to weild it over your head, and the mocking is going to turn you on more, and you’ll have earned it which isn’t going to help anything at all. 

You get back to the compound, and it’s not in lockdown. There aren’t med staff flooding the grounds or emergency sirens blaring. You go right to the hanger, and find that it’s already been cleared out. The jet isn’t being quarantined.

Maybe they really did just… Finish early.

You’re heading back to your room when you slam right into them.

Steve and Bucky, standing in the middle of the hall, arguing in hushed voices.

“You need to go, Buck-“

“I’m fine-“

“No, you’re not. You can lie to the docs, don’t lie to me-“

“I ain’t lyin’, I’m fine-“

Your too lost in your own head, barely even hearing what they’re saying. You barrel straight into Bucky’s back.

He goes rigid. You stumble a little, and he grabs your upper arm.

His hand is hot.

Not sexy hot—although it’s also that—but literally, physically hot. Almost searing, against your shivering skin. You look up at him, and swallow.

He’s flushed. There’s sweat clinging to his brow, and an exhausted shadow over his features. His eyes are so blown out they’re almost fully black. You blink at him, and his mouth falls open in a ragged pant.

“Hi.” You whisper.

His throat bobs. “You’re back.”

“I- I got the alert.” You glance over to Steve, who’s gone oddly pale. “Did the mission go okay? It was fine that I wasn’t there, right-“

“Yep!” Steve almost shouts, and you blink. “I mean- We were all good. Wish you were there, we all missed you, but- We were fine. Right, Buck?” Steve grabs Bucky’s shoulder. “We were all good.”

Bucky doesn’t look away from you for a single second. He grunts, and his grip tightens on your arm.

“Let go.” Steve mutters, and Bucky shoots him a glare.

He releases you like you burned him, then wipes his hand on his pants. You scowl. He was the one touching you.

“I was gonna.” He grumbles, and Steve sighs.

“I know, but-“ You get a weary look. Like Steve doesn’t want you to hear their conversation. “I think- You know what I think-“

“Steve-“ Bucky cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face.

He still hasn’t looked away from you. Or moved that far out of your proximity.

“I’m fine.” He says, low and under his breath. You’re rooted to the ground under his gaze, unsure what you could even think of to say. “It’s- I’m fine.”

Steve’s lips press in a thin line. Bucky takes a large, jerking step back. Like he’s dragging himself away.

“How was your date?” He grunts.

“Bucky-“

“I’m just askin’ a question.” He snaps, still not sparing Steve a look.

The attention is getting to be too much. Bucky is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive, and it’s making your body almost buzz in anticipation. You want to jump on him and feel those hot hands all over your body. His nostrils flare like he can smell your arousal. If he can, you might jump off a bridge.

You hope he’d catch you, then fuck you until your can’t even walk.

Get a fucking grip.

“Bad.” You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your heart from bursting out of your chest. “He sucked.”

And that’s the kind of thing Bucky would usually mock you for. Skipping a mission just for a bad date.

But a low, rumbling growl falls from his chest. His tongue darts over his lips. He takes a half-step forward, and you lean in to the gravity of his stare.

“We have debriefing!” Steve shouts, grabbing the collar of Bucky’s suit. “Bye!”

Before you can even register it, Steve’s dragging Bucky down the hall. You swear you hear another feral noise, and a crash after they turn the corner.

Something had to have happened on the mission. You just have no fucking clue what.

Bucky’s only been acting stranger. You’d pretend it didn’t bother you, if you could get away from it for a single fucking second.

You walk through the compound, and he’s somehow more everywhere than he was before. Around every corner, in the library, on the grounds, even in the control room while you’re going through the mission files.

“What’re you doin’.” He grunts, and you sigh.

You’re not surprised he’s there. It’s the fifth time today that he’s snuck up on you.

“I’m going through the reports on the mission.” You drawl. “Don’t you have better things to do than follow me around?”

Bucky grunts. It seems to be a no. You roll your eyes and go back to poking through the system. It’s hard to pretend that you can’t feel his presence behind you. There’s heat almost rolling from his body, and thick, spicy and musky scent that’s filling the room. It’s making you a little dizzy. It’s all you can do, not to look back at him.

That would be dangerous. He probably still looks feverish and animalistic. You might moan.

You find the files for the mission, and try to open them. Big, read access denied, contact your handler for permission to these files flashes over your screen. Your mouth falls open, and you whip back to glare at Bucky before you can think about it.

Mistake. Just like you’d thought, big mistake.

He looks even worse and better than you thought. He’s wearing just a t-shirt and sweats, and they’re clinging to his sweaty body. His eyes are hooded and his lips are parted. His attention is so wholly fixed on you that it almost makes you fall out of your chair. You almost forget you’re annoyed with him. Every single nerve in your body is alight, and your fingers are itching to comb through his sweaty hair.

You somehow—just barely—fight it.

“Why can’t I access these files.”

Bucky leans over you, his nostrils flaring. If you reach up, you could trace the stubbled line of his jaw. It’s hard to maintain your glare.

“Barnes-“

“You weren’t on the mission.” He mutters. “Not your files to see.”

You scowl. “I can access the files of every other mission I was on-“

“Steve should change that.”

God, you wish he wasn’t so pretty. It would be easier to think about punching him.

“I know something happened out there.” You hiss, sitting up a little taller. “You can’t hide it from me. I’ll figure it out.”

Bucky chuckles. It’s a low, raspy sound that runs through your body, making you shiver.

“Sure, doll. Have fun with that.”

You shoot to your feet, and Bucky lurches back. Another one of those deep, rumbling growls rolls from his chest, and for a second you think he’s going to pounce on you.

And then you blink, and he’s gone. Leaving you with only that hazy smell, and desire rolling through your veins.

You wish that was the extent of it, but it’s barely the start. And it only gets worse.

Bucky doesn’t do his movie nights anymore, which means you get the TV all to yourself. You watch what you want, and try not to look at the spot next to you. Where your body feels like he’s supposed to be. You stretch out your legs, but they ache strangely without his touch. You get more restless without him. Around midnight, you shuffle to the kitchen, hoping one of those soothingherb thingys that Wanda says help with her nightmares will be there.

Instead, you find Bucky. 

He’s drinking a glass of ice, with a little bit of water. He freezes when he sees you, and moves further behind the counter.

You sigh. You’re too tired to fight him.

“Can’t sleep?” You mumble.

He just nods.

You sigh, and walk over the cupboard.

“You want hot chocolate?”

A grunt. Better than silence. You make two mugs, one for you, one for Bucky.

And maybe it’s just that you’re really starting to worry, but you don’t bother pretending to hate him. Your fingers brush when you pass him his mug, and his body seizes like you shocked him, but you just offer a tiny smile.

His mouth falls open. He stares at you like he’s spent years only looking at the muddier reflection of stars in the water, and has finally thought just to tilt his head up. You let out a small, shaking breath. He’s still burning up. You can feel it from your place a foot away. But you don’t dare to push it.

Not when he’s looking at you like this. The way you’d always, secretly and shamefully, dreamed he would.

“I’m watching Star Wars.” You mumble. “You wanna…”

You trail off, and Bucky’s throat bobs.

He nods again. A new tendril of worry blooms, overlapping with the growing tangle of them in your gut. He might not be able to speak.

But he follows you to the living area, and takes his place on the couch. His knee pushes against yours. He’s breathing awfully shallow, but you’re a selfish coward that wants him close, so you don’t mention it.

You barely pay attention to the movie. All you can focus on is Bucky at your side. How he doesn’t even seem to be sparing the TV a glance. He’s not really touching you, save for that place where your thighs are always pushed together, but every time you shift he grabs your knee. You blink at him, and his throat just bobs. He still hasn’t said a word. You’re afraid that when he does, it will break this fragile illusion.

That he wants to be here.

Near you.

He passes out near the end of the movie. His head falls against your shoulder and his body goes limp, almost a blanket over yours. You don’t move, just staring at a lit up, black screen. He looks more peaceful than you’ve ever seen. His fever isn’t breaking, but it does seem to be easing. You run your fingers through his hair, and he makes a low sound like a purr.

Then he takes a deep inhale, right against the crook of your neck, and a different noise leaves him.

It’s almost a moan.

You swallow. Suddenly you need to move. You don’t know what’s going on with him, but this can’t be what he actually wants. To be asleep almost in your arms, purring and moaning. That’s not a part of him you get to have.

But when you try to move, his grip around you tightens.

You feel almost sick.

It takes almost an hour, to roll off the couch without him pulling you back. When you’re free, you still cover him in a blanket and press a hand to his brow. Just to check. You can’t really help it.

His fever is building again.

You wish he would just tell you what was wrong. Even if he thinks you hate him, he can’t think you wouldn’t care enough to help.

When you start to walk away, he moans again. You could swear it sounded a little like your name.

You force yourself to go to bed. You’re not sure if you want him to remember in the morning.

If anything, you just pray he gets better. It’s hard to hide your undying care for him, when he’s in pain. Impossible to ignore how much it bothers you, that he’s hurting. ‘

But it is Bucky.

And he’s never going to make anything that easy.

You walk out of your room in the morning, and he’s right there. Lingering in the hallway, staring at you with those blown-out eyes, working his jaw like he’s trying to bite his own tongue off.

“Hi.” You say lamely.

He stumbles back like you punched him. “You- You’re-“

“Bucky, are you-“

“’M fine.” He says it mostly to himself again. There’s sweat gathering on his brow and bags under his eyes.

You’re not going to tell him, but you’re getting worried. This is the third morning in a row you’ve found him here. The first night you asked if he’d slept there, and he’d scowled and stomped away.

But from the look of him, you don’t think he’s been sleeping at all.

“Do you need something?” You ask. You sound soft, but you can’t help it. The worse he looks, the more your heart tightens. “I can call Steve-“

“Don’t get Steve.” He steps back. The same jerked movement from the first night. It’s the only way he’s been moving around you, lately. “I’m fine.”

You give him a doubtful look. His tongue flicks over his lips. You take a step forward, and he takes another step back. Like you’ve got a polarity field around you. Like he can’t even stand to breathe the same air.

And yet he’s here. Outside your door, and breathing through his mouth like an animal.

“Bucky-“

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, stumbling another step back. “Just- Don’t.”

You swallow, and don’t give chase when he walks away. Jogs away. He yanks himself away, then runs like he thinks you’re going to catch him and drag him back. You won’t.

But you do go right to Steve.

“What happened on the mission.”

Steve flinches, gagging on his sandwich. You’re glaring down at him with your hands on your hips, and you think he knows his little charming smile isn’t going to work on you here. That doesn’t seem to stop him from trying anyway.

“Hey, um- Do you want a cookie-“

“Steven.” You hiss, and he swallows. “What happened.”

Steve winces, avoiding your gaze. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”’

“What do you mean you’re not supposed to tell me-“

“I mean I- I can.” He mutters. “But then Bucky will kill me. And I don’t want Bucky to kill me.”

You scowl. “Tough shit, because guess who’s going to kill you if you don’t tell me?”

Steve sighs. “Is it you?”

“Yep.”

He stares at his sandwich, like it’s somehow going to get him out of this situation. You wait for him to realize it won’t. You have plenty of time.

“I’m really not supposed to tell you-“

“I really don’t care.”

“Well- You will.” Steve looks up with a sad little puppy eyes.

You don’t have the same reservations about punching him in the face, that you have with Bucky. He’s basically asking for it right now.

“Steven, I swear to fucking God-“

“I can’t tell you.” He cuts you off with a shake of his head, and you scoff.

“No, you just won’t tell me-“

“That’s not- I can’t, okay? Please stop asking me to-“

“Why, because Bucky doesn’t want you to?” You leer. “Because last I checked, you’re the Captain. And if Bucky is your friend, you should be telling his teammates he’s in danger so they can help-“

“That’s the problem!” Steve shouts, and you blink. “You- Look, you’re going to want to help, and I can’t let you.”

“You can’t let me help?” You echo, and Steve winces.

“I know how it sounds-“

“Do you? Because what I’m fucking hearing that your best friend is in danger, and you won’t let me fucking help-“

“Why do you even want to help?” Steve fixes you with a pointed look. “All you ever do is complain about Bucky and how he’s annoying you. I would’ve thought you didn’t care.”

You narrow your eyes, and Steve raises his brows. You know what he’s doing. Smug fucking asshole. 

“That won’t work on me.” You grunt, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve-“

“But,” he says causally. “If I did, I’d say that’s why I can’t tell you. And you know that.”

You hate it when he speaks in riddles. Like you’re just supposed to read between the lines when your brain is fogged with worry about Bucky.

“I- I don’t-“ You let out a slow breath, looking down to your shoes. Heat is flooding your cheeks. It’s annoying. “It’s not- I’m just- Please.”

Your voice cracks suddenly. You’ve been losing more sleep over this than you’re ever going to tell anyone. You almost feel ill with it—like the worry is an infection, knotting up your stomach and making your heart pick up—but that might just literal exhaustion. Something happened. No one will tell you what. It’s making you feel useless and hopeless and torn up to tiny, useless shreds.

“Bucky.” You say slowly. “Is- He’s not okay. I know he’s not okay.” You force yourself to meet Steve’s gaze. “Just- Lie to me and say he’s fine, and fix it, or tell me and let me help. But I- I can’t just-“

You don’t even know how to finish the sentence. There’s a burning feeling behind your eyes and a lump in your throat. You’re so worried. Worried this is something that’s going to kill him, and you’re going to lose him forever.

And there’s pity, in Steve’s gaze. It’s enough to make him break, his voice softening completely.

“Alright.” He murmurs. “But- You can’t tell him I told you.”

You nod quickly. “I’ll say I just got into the files, or- Something- Please.”

Steve sighs. “Okay. Okay.” He shakes his head. “It was on the mission. Bucky was distracted the whole time, and when we got jumped he wasn’t being controlled with his punches. He swag to hard on an Hydra agent. Knocked them back into some vials, and- Well they burst. All over both of them. We put the agent in containment, but he was displaying worse symptoms. Bucky- I think it’s the serum, or just… Bucky. But he’s been controlling it better.” Steve grimaces. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not still knocked up with stuff.”

You nod slowly. That’s not that bad.

But Steve didn’t want you to know for a reason.

“What are the symptoms?”

Steve won’t meet your gaze. “Fever. Nausea. Hormone flares. Um- Increased… libido.”

Your eyes widen, your mouth falling open. “What.”

“Hydra makes some weird stuff. Tony thinks this was, um- A breeding drug. We don’t know why they were developing it, but- There’s no other name.” Steve’s nose wrinkles. “The agent- His cell is disgusting.”

“But- Bucky-“

“I told you, he says he’s got it under control.” Steve shrugs, but doesn’t really sound like he’s convinced himself. “The agent has been, ah… begging for anyone. Bucky doesn’t have the same liberty with what will help. He says it’s going to pass, and he’ll be fine.”

“And will it?” You breathe. “Pass?”

Steve shrugs. “It did for the agent.”

“Before or after the mating?”

Steve’s silence is an answer. You swear under your breath.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me this, Steve? We- We need to get him to someone, this could fucking kill him-“

“I know that!” Steve snaps. “I know that just as well as you do! As he does! But- Jesus.” He shakes his head. “He won’t take anyone. He’ll only- Well- You know.”

“I know? I don’t fucking know, none of you have been telling me shit-“

Steve says your name plainly. You blink.

“What-“

“Nothing. Just- Why do you think he’s been lingering around you?”

You stare at him. He raises his brows, and you swallow.

“Steve-“

“I didn’t say anything-“

“Yes, you did-“

“Nope.”

You press your lips in a tight line. He can’t mean what you think he means. That would be to easy. Too good. “Bucky- He doesn’t- That’s not how he feels about me.”

Please don’t say it is. It’s not fair if you’re lying.

“Funny.” Steve shrugs. “He says the same thing about you.”

This is a bad idea.

Bucky hasn’t left his room in a day. You’d spent all of last night replaying your conversation with Steve, trying to pick it apart for a single reason he didn’t mean what you thought he did. What you hoped he did. What you’d always hoped for, only in the dead of night where no one would ever find out.

But it didn’t matter how you turned or picked at Steve’s words. There was only one conclusion. The beautiful, horrible one that you can’t even fully wrap your head around. It would mean you spent years hating him for no reason. Year thinking about kissing his stupid face, when you could’ve been actually kissing him. If Steve’s right, you’re going to kill Bucky.

After you fix this for him.

If Steve means what you think, you can fix this for him. He just has to let you.

Which is why this is a horrible idea. If Bucky turns you down, you’re going to have to quit your job and change your name and  move to Indonesia.

But if he doesn’t turn you down…

You steel yourself and knock on Bucky’s door. It’s worth the risk, just for him. Always just for him.

“Fuck off, Stevie-“

“I’m not Steve!” You call, and for a second there’s no response. 

Then there’s a muffled banging, and you almost fall forward when Bucky yanks the door open.

He looks even worse than before. And better. And hotter, and oh God, your knees are already weak.

His shirt is gone, and his broad, muscled chest is shining with sweat. His hair flops over his eyes, mussed up and soft looking. He’s breathing through his nose, even as his swollen mouth hangs open. His metal fist is curled against the door, making the wood crack under his fingers. Standing through his sweatpants is the long, proud outline of his cock.

You swallow, your mouth watering. Bucky says your name, and you can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a plea or a prayer.

“You shouldn’t be here-“

“Steve said you need me.”

You stare at each other. Bucky’s tongue flicks out, and you chew on your lower lip. This is it. If he turns you down, you’ll walk away and live. A new life, across the world. You’ve never been to Indonesia, but you hear they have good food and community, and you’re sure you’ll be able to fit right in over time, and if you don’t at least Bucky will never find you to make you relive this humiliation, because it’s been almost two full minutes and he hasn’t said anything, so you should probably pull out your phone and start researching Indonesian names-

“Steve shouldn’t have told you anything.” Bucky growls, and you swallow.

“I- I made him.”

He sighs. You could swear his dick twitches. “Of course you did.”

“I was worried about you-“

“You don’t have to be, doll. I’m-“

“If you say I’m fine, I’m going to fucking punch you.”

Bucky scowls. You scowl harder. You have a feeling neither of you are going to back down.

“You’re sick.” You say plainly, and Bucky lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“Maybe. But it’s not the kinda sick you can help with-“

“Steve says it’s the kind of sick only I can help with.”

He’s silent again. You risk a tiny step forward, and he takes one back, muttering your name. It’s a warning. A plea.

“Don’t do this.” He mutters, fists balled at his side. “Not outta pity, not for me-“

“It’s not pity.” You stop in his doorway, making your voice soft. “I want to help, Bucky. Let me help.”

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, you- You just- You don’t feel like that for me-“

“You don’t feel like that for me.” You breathe, and Bucky’s body locks up.

“Who says?”

“You’re an ass to me-“

“You’re an ass to me.”

“I don’t mean to be.” You whisper. “I- I don’t- I’m not good at… You know.”

Bucky’s throat bobs. He still doesn’t move.

“Me neither.”

You nod. “But…”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah. I do.”

You take a deep breath. His whole room is filled with that musky, spicy smell. The heat is almost rolling off his body.

“Please ask me to help.” You don’t bother to hide the desperation in your voice. He needs to know that you mean it. “I- I want to, Bucky, I want you so bad-“

Bucky muffles your pleas, crashing forward and pressing his mouth over yours.

It’s not the soft, loving kiss of your fantasies. It’s rough and desperate, the kiss of a man finally letting his leash snap. He grabs your neck and scrunches his fingers in your hair, dragging a moan from the back of your throat. It turns into a hungry cry, when he pushes his tongue between your lips. Your knees wobble from the bruising force of it. You grab his shirt for balance, scrunching the fabric between your fingers.

Bucky grunts, pressing further over you. One arm drops to wrap around your waist, and the other slide up to cradle the back of your head. The touch his shockingly gentle, for the demanding way he’s almost eating your kisses. You’re standing nowhere near a wall, but he’s caged you all the same. There’s nothing to do but feel the way his cool, metal fingers dig into your hips, and the unrelenting heat of his mouth.

You kiss until your breathing is ragged. He tastes like mint and salt, and it’s a little addictive. Even after you’re light-headed and whimpering, Bucky sucks on your lower lip and takes just a little more. You whimper, gasping for air that he doesn’t seem to need. He tugs on your hair, forcing you to tip your neck back, and he plants open, hungry kisses over every place he can reach.

“You gotta be sure.” He murmurs against your skin. “Tell me you’re sure, doll, ‘cause- I don’t think I can go easy.”

And oh God, isn’t that lovey thought. Bucky not going easy. Combined with his tongue flicking over a pulse point, you almost fall over from the pure thought of it.

But he’s asking real permission. His hold on your hip is getting tighter, and his shoulders are squared and tense. He’s keeping himself from taking what he really wants, until you give him total permission.

You didn’t know you could want him more.

“I- Oh-“ Your eyes flutter, as he nips on sensitive skin under your jaw before kissing away the hurt. “I’m sure, Bucky, I- I don’t want you to go easy.”

For some reason, that only makes him more tense. He takes an uneven breath, pressing his brow against your head and almost pulling you off your feet as he hugs you tighter. You wait, slowly wrapping your arms around him and dragging your nails soothingly over the nape of his neck.

Bucky draws himself back, his expression unreadable as he scans over your face. You offer him a tiny, nervous smile, and he lets out a shaky laugh.

“You- You got no idea, do you?”

Your face falls to a pout. “I have a lot of ideas-“

“No, you don’t.” He drops his brow over yours. “You got no fuckin’ clue, what you do to me.”

And your brain stalls. It gets all gooey and soft, as you just blink up at him. You’re already on unsteady legs. You never thought he’d catch you if you fell, but with the way Bucky’s looking at you right now, you think he’d dive off a cliff to be at your side.

“Bucky…” You breathe, and he drops his forehead against yours. Your noses bump. His gaze darts between your lips and eyes, and you think you might be burning alive.

“You smell so good.” He mutters, before leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You-“ You almost whimper, when he pulls away. “You imagined?”

He chuckles, kissing just your upper lip. You’re already putty under his hands, and you might turn to just a steam of desire if he doesn’t stop kissing you so softly.

“Didn’t you?”

You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch.

“Bet I imagined more.”

And you doubt that, but Bucky’s kissing you again before you can tell him that you imagined so much it scared you sometimes. The way you were sure that you’d never be able to recover, from an addiction to a drug you’d never even taken.

You’re certainly never going to recover now. Kissing Bucky is even better than you’d let yourself dream about. His lips are just as soft as you thought. Even with the way he’s holding himself back, his touch is possessive. He traces your sides like he’s trying to memorize them, and kisses you the same way.

“Got no idea what I’m gonna do to, either.” He rasps against your lips. “If you let me, doll… You shouldn’t- But-“ He groans, pushing his nose into your cheek, kissing over the slope of your jaw. “Fuck, I want you to.”

You want him to. You want to feel those sloppy, devout kisses everywhere, to get that infernal tongue between your legs. His cock is almost bursting through his sweats, protruding into your thigh. He’d be heavy on your tongue, and split you better than the toys that you’ve used in his place before. The ache in your core throbs from just the idea, and you can feel your heart trying to burst all out of your throat with confession of desire and adoration. But you’re not sure if he’s going to believe them.

“Tell me.” You whisper. “Tell me what you’ve dreamed about doing to me.”

Bucky pulls back, and you worry you’ve stepped on an invisible landmine. That you’re going to be shoved out of the room, the door slammed in your face instead of behind you, locking you out of the room you’ve longer to be in since you met him. Bucky stares at you. You open your mouth to apologize and take it back, but he loves to move faster than your lustdrunk mind can understand.

You squeal as he walks you backward, but not out of the room. He kicks his door shut as you pass it. It slams, right as Bucky pins you between against the wall. He kisses you before you can protest or ask questions, and keeps going until you’re squirming against him and unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away. His kisses wander your cheeks, over your nose and hairline and back down to your ear.

“I wanted you just like this.” He chokes out, and your swallow. He sounds wrecked, and you’re not even kissing anymore. “Wanted you everywhere. Would see you in a meetin’ and think about bending you over the table. You’d get under me on the training mats and I’d wanna get in a headlock between your legs. Bet you taste so good.”

He shudders, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His dick has shifted to push right near your core, and it’s almost too much pressure, while not being nearly enough.

“Would sit next to you on the plane and think about gettin’ on my knees.” He rasps, beard ticking against your skin. “Worshipping your pussy like it deserves. Makin’ you- Fuck- Call my name-“

Bucky moans, his hips jerking forward. A tiny moan escapes your lips, and Bucky almost whines and does it again. You don’t think he can help it.

“Wanted to stuff your pretty little lips with my cock.” He thrusts again, his whole weight almost collapses over your body. “You’d get all mouthy and I- I jerk off to the idea of puttin’ you over my knee or gettin’ you lying in my bed. I’d- I’d fuck you so nice, doll, I swear I’d be good, but- Fuuuck-“

He’s rutting between your thighs, and seems to forget the story he’s supposed to be telling you in favor of sucking on your neck. You whimper, pushing your hand between your bodies. Not to stop him—never to stop him—but to wrap your fingers around his cock through his sweats.

Bucky moans, his voice breaking with raw, starved relief. You try to pull him back to kiss him, but he just wraps closer around you. He’s almost shaking. You think he’s trying not to fuck your hand.

You can’t have that.

“It’s okay.” You drag your fingers over the line of his cock, and he whimpers against your neck. “I- I’ve thought about it too.”

Bucky slams forward, and you smile at the air.

“Wanted you to shove me down and fuck me stupid. Wanted to ride you until I passed out. I bought a dildo, baby, just to pretend it was you.”

You use your free hand to pet the back of his head, slowly sliding his sweats down to give yourself better access. Bucky’s thick and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don’t even come close to wrapping fully around, and whenever your nails graze his balls, he bucks forward with a strangled moan.

“Wasn’t as big.” You breathe, stroking his dick in long, tight motion. “You’re so big, Bucky, I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

He grunts, his teeth grazing your neck. “Gonna- Fuck-“

You squeeze him at the base, and he doubles over. He’s almost fully collapsed against you. You want to feel him come apart.

“Gonna make it fit.” He hisses in your ear, and you hum.

“How?”

“Open you up.” He mutters, words slurred like he’s drunk. “Get you all over me, doll- Wanna watch you cum over and over and- God-“

His dick is twitching, and you giggle. He’s working himself up.

“You think this is funny?” He rasps.

You smile, swiping your thumb over the weeping slit of his dick. “A little. You wanna make me cum but you won’t even touch me.”

He makes an annoyed sound, and tries to push off of you. You tug his cock a little harder, and he falls back over with a moan. You giggle again.

“You- You’re a fuckin’ brat-“

“I’m helping you, Barnes.” You whisper in his ear.

He chuckles, and the sound rolls through your body. “Helpin’ me would be sitting on my face- Fuck-“

Bucky’s whole body shakes, when you squeeze him one last time, and his control slip. You pet him through his orgasm, unsure if you want him to notice how you press your legs tighter to try and get more stains of his cum. He pants and groans against your skin, his lips latching back around that one bruise he seems to be obsessed with.

There’s so much cum. Bucky grinds into your fist, and it just keeps coming and coming and coming until your fingers are sticky and drenched. The idea of him doing that inside you is almost a little terrifying. You’ve never wanted anything more.

A choked sound like your name comes out, muffled against your skin. You smile, leaning back to try and meet his gaze.

Bucky seems to need a second. You hope you didn’t already wear him out.

“You okay?” You whisper, and he tenses.

Bucky pulls back, and your pulse picks up into a drum.

Whatever he’d been before, it had been tame compared to this. His jaw is clenched, his attention fixed on you like a predator. His chest heaves, his hands limp at his side. You swallow, feeling a lot smaller than you did a second ago.

You can’t stop yourself from looking down. It only makes things worse.

He’s bigger than he felt. His cum is dripping down his thigh, and it’s barely been a minute, but he’s already getting hard again. You drag your eyes up the expanse of his chest—all flushed skin and muscle—and realize he hasn’t stopped staring at you. You lick your lips. He mimics the movement.

“It won’t fit.” You says again, but your tone has lost all the teasing mockery of before.

And Bucky’s smirk is dangerous. A thrill rushes through you at the sight of it. You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted.

“Gonna make it fit.” He growls.

You yelp, as he grabs your wrist and yanks you forward. You don’t even slam into his chest before he’s lifting you off the ground with another mind numbing kiss. It’s a distraction. You know that. You don’t really care, though, returning it in a second.

Bucky carries you like you’re a doll, your knees bent like some princess and his warmer arm locked around your waist. He leans over, lowering you to the mattress with a shocking care. For a second you’re fully lost in him. The gentle motion of his lips over yours, the way his hands wander and map your body as he settles you into the mattress.

“So soft.” He mutters. “All that bite, doll, but I knew you’d be so fuckin’ soft for me.”

You’d like to protest, and say that you’re not soft. But Bucky’s kisses are making your head spin, and no single, clear word can make it out of the daze. All you manage is a high, long whine.

Bucky chuckles. His hand pushes under your shirt, almost tickling over your sides.

“You like that?” He tease, his knuckles tracing over the underside of your boobs. “You like bein’ my sweet girl?”

You are not sweet. You try to snap that, but it mostly just comes out a feral grumble. You don’t know how he’s the one with a sound mind right now. You’re not under a sex drug.

You’re just under Bucky. Where it’s very, very warm, and sticky, and nice. His cum is dripping over your clothed core and midriff. You shiver as it hits bare skin, and Bucky smirks against your lips.

“Say it and I give you more.” He rasps. “Say you like it.”

And it’s a game. You know that you like it. He does too. But he’s poking and teasing you, trying to get you spar with him. To get you to play.

So you glare at him when he leans back, spreading your legs wider at the same time. You keep your mouth stubbornly shut.

Bucky grins. He traces the curve of your hips with massive hands, his thumb angling to smear his cum over your navel.

“Look at you.” He mocks. “Beggin’ for me and then can’t even admit she likes it.”

You wrinkle your nose, turning up your chin. Bucky smacks your inner thigh, then rubs his metal palm right over your pussy. The sudden sting then harsh pleasure make your hips push off the bed with a cry. Bucky takes his hand away to splay it on your abdomen, shoving you back down.

“You like gettin’ tossed around, too?” He laughs, and heat floods right to your core. “I’ll toss you around, baby. Make you into a nice little cockslut for me, even let you put my in that pretty mouth.”

He grabs your jaw, and you part your lips in a second. Bucky groans, his cock getting impossibly harder.

“Already listen so well.” He mutters, teasing his two forefingers over your mouth. “Just can admit you fuckin’ love it, do you? Can’t be a good girl and tell the truth.”

You narrow your eyes in defiance, and pretend to bite down on his fingers. It’s not a real bite. Just teeth grazing knuckles. But Bucky understands what it means.

Permission to go further.

His eyes gleam. His cock is already leaking with pre-cum.

“Alright, babydoll.” He rubs your thighs, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way.”

In a single second, Bucky rips off your clothing like it’s paper. You barely have time to feel the cold of the air before he’s grabbing your waist, flipping you onto your stomach, and dragging your ass up in the air. You yelp, fisting your hands in the sheets, and try to twist and see where he is.

A dazed part of your brain that doesn’t remember his hands on your hips sees no one behind you, and almost freaks out.

Then the first stroke of Bucky’s tongue hits your pussy, and you collapse fully into the sheets.

“Oh my-“ Your eyes roll back, as he teases the very tip of his tongue around your clit before dragging it through your folds. “Oh my God-“

“Sensitive fuckin’ pussy.” Bucky muses, and you feel the stubble of his cheek pressing against you thigh. “Barely even touching it. Wonder if I-“

 His thumb drags circles just around your clit, and you squeak. He kisses the curve of your ass, going a little fast. You whine trying to drag your own ass in circles to match his motions. You can’t see him. Can’t know if you’re doing well outside of his lips tracing your thigh, and the pleased hums against your skin.

Bucky jerks his thumb suddenly to the side, pushing directly over your clit. You scream, your knees sliding back. Bucky grabs them and pushes them back up, fully exposing your pussy to the air.

“Look at you.” His breath is warm, over that most sensitive spot. “Bet I don’t even need to fuckin’ prep you. You’re so wet, you’d just…”

He makes a deep, rumbling sound, and you almost sob as he drags his tongue right back between your puffed pussy lips. You clench around nothing, his stubbled scraping your clit. Bucky angles his face, letting his tongue flick over your clit. It goes back and forth and back and forth, toying with it before pressing flat. He sucks, hard like a lollipop, and you almost sob into the mattress.

“Sweet.” Bucky whispers, his metal arm wrapping around your legs. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

“Bu- Bucky-“

“Shhh.” He kisses right over your pussy. “Wanna taste, pretty girl. I gotta fuckin’-“ He moans, and the vibration shoots right up your spine. “Gotta taste-“

Bucky presses his face fully into your cunt, and the sound that leaves you almost isn’t human.

He’s good at this. So good at this. It’s a little unfair. Your mouth can’t do anything but hang uselessly open, as Bucky works his jaw against you. He eats you like he’s starved for it. Like he’s a man that wants to drown of an insatiable thirst.

Two hands hold you up in the air, as his tongue plunges ruthlessly in and out of your cunt. You keen, trying to push further back, and the warmer hand wraps up to your spine and shoves your stomach down. It’s a tighter fit like this. Bucky drags his tongue around, and it hits every sensitive area. His beard tickles and scratches, and cold fingers tease your skin.

You get more and more sensitive, with every flick and suck and groan. You’re so wet it’s almost drooling down your legs, mixing with the stains of cum he’d gathered from your midriff and smeared over your legs. The dual heat with his cold hand makes all your nerves stand on end. You pussy clenches again, and Bucky chuckles.

“That’s right.” He mutters, making out with your clit as you gasp for air into the bed. “That’s it, baby, you’re already lettin’ go, aren’t you.”

You whine, and Bucky nips at your ass.

“Aren’t you?”

“Ye- Yes.” You mumble. “’S good, Bucky- So good-“

“I know.” He grunts, pressing his cold, metal thumb down into your clit. “Fuck, baby, I know.”

You whimper, and Bucky starts up on your dripping pussy again. He’s lapping at it, pushing his tongue into your tight hole as he plays with your clit, and white lines your vision.

“I- I’m gonna- Fuck- Bucky-“ You scratch at the sheets. “I’m gonna- Oh God-“

He smacks your clit, spits onto your pussy, and resumes with double the effort. You cry his name, as your orgasm wracks your body. You can feel yourself seizing around him, twitching and writhing in his tight grip as your vision lines with white.

And Bucky doesn’t stop. You’re making a mess all over his face, and he’s rising up, but it’s just pushing you further into the mattress. You whimper, your cunt too sensitive, but he doesn’t even come up for air.

“Shit- Bucky- Oh- Ohhhhh-“

The ache quickly fades into pleasure again. Blinging pleasure that’s just on the wrong side of too much, but pleasure all the same. You squeal, and Bucky just moans against your cunt.

Then you hear it. The slam of his fist against his cock.

He’s jerking off while he eats you out.  He’s fucking himself so hard you can hear it, hear the slap of skin, feel all his little moans and grunts right against your pussy, and the thought sends you right over the edge again.

Bucky moans louder, as you cum on his tongue. Just like before, it seems to make him more and more feral. You have a feeling what lucidity that let him tease you before is gone. He’s eating you out the same way he’s kissed you, with rough lips and a fervor that’s almost animalistic. You’re boneless and whimpering into the sheets, taking it over and over as Bucky just keeps working his mouth against your cunt, and fucking his hand.

Then, suddenly, he’s gone. You whine from the lose, trying to roll over and look at him, but he just shoves you back down with a growl. The sound of his hand is getting faster and faster, and a hot weight drops over your back. Bucky presses his face into your neck, and takes a deep breath. You whimper, and he groans. His hips must be rocking, with how the bed is shaking.

“Smells good.” He rasps. “Gonna- Fuck-“

Bucky snaps back up, and you feel him cum more than you even hear it. Hot ropes spurt over your ass and back, seeping down the back off your thighs and into your pussy. You moan at the sensation, pushing back on trembling hands. There’s always just more of it, until you’re so marked up with him you’re sure you’ll never be able to wash it off.

You don’t want to.

With how Bucky grabs your hips and spreads the stain over your skin, you don’t think he does either.

“Shit.” He breathes out, and you hum in agreement. “Gotta- Flip for me, c’mon-“

Bucky helps you roll over. His touches are gentle again, but the gleam in his eyes hasn’t faded. You blink at him, flat on your back with your legs spread. Bucky traces the lips of your cunt, then slowly pushes two fingers inside you. Fucking his cum back into your tight hole. You mewl, eyes fluttering. Your head tosses back, and Bucky smiles

“Good girl.” He coos.

You try not get all gooey and weak just from the praise. Bucky laughs, and you think you might’ve failed.

“Strangling my fingers, doll.” He teases, pulling them right out.

You whimper. You’re too wet and ready not to take something. It’s really not fair to make you wait.

“I know.” He kisses your brow, voice rough. “Trust me, I fuckin’ know. You just gotta tell me you like it, then-“ His cock drags between your folds, and you keen. “All yours.”

You blink at him, opening your mouth to comply.

But you’re at an advantage.

Bucky’s hard again. His body is wound so tight above you, and his every word is thick. Like it’s an effort to speak. He’s still trying to fight against the drug running through his veins.

You want him to give in.

So you close your mouth, and give him a defiant glare.

Bucky growls again, and there’s no more teasing.

His mouth pushes over yours, and it’s not a loving kiss. It’s rough and quick, stealing your breath in seconds and distracting you as Bucky grabs your knees and shoves them back. You try to chase his lips, when he pulls away, but he shoves you back down with a grunt.

“Wanna be a brat.” He grunts. “Gonna get fucked like a brat.”

You almost beam. Yes, please.

Bucky folds you under him, your knees pressed to your chest and your cum-stained pussy on full display. He doesn’t waste time, tapping the head of his cock against your clit before slamming right inside. You’re so soaked you take it with only a hitched breath, but that doesn’t mean your eyes don’t roll back.

He hits right against you pelvis, when he bottoms out. His heavy balls sit on your ass, and the stretch of him is just enough pain to heighten the pleasure. Bucky kisses all over your face as he lets you adjust, but your pussy is greedy. He’d prepared you too well. You’re more than ready within seconds.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You gaps out, and he growls against your neck. “Move.”

If he’d told you to wait, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

But the drug seems to have overtaken him again, and all you get is a noise like a snarl against your throat before Bucky draws almost all the way out, and slams back in.

The air is knocked clean from your lungs. This time, he hit right against your g-spot, and your whole body seizes up. Bucky makes a low, deep noise, and repeats the motion. Again, he drives right into that gooey spot deep inside of you. You clench around him, and he doubles over, rutting deep inside of you.

“The- There-“ You whimper, fingers scrambling in the sheets. “Fuck, baby, right there-“

Bucky grunts an agreement, and starts to fuck you into the mattress. The angle is so deep you’re worried he’s going to permanently rearrange your guts. Every slam of his cock into your makes you see heaven, and Bucky pants over your, his eyes locked onto yours as your face contorts with pleasure.

He’s not even fucking you like a brat. He’s fucking you like a doll. He grabs at your limbs and moves them below him like you’re just a sleeve for his dick, and he needs you into just the right spot. One hand fists in your hair, forcing your neck a little up so you can watching your arousal gleam on his cock every time he pulls out. He moans every time he pushes back in, and you watch your cunt swallow his dick whole. A wet, smacking sound filling the room as he drills into you. He bends you even further to kiss over your neck and breasts, his tongue dragging in rhythm with his dick.

You try to clench around him every time he bottoms out, but your head is sort of empty, and now you’re just a drooling pussy around his massive cock, moaning his name and happily milking every bit of pleasure.

“Oh- Oooooh-“ You mewl, smiling like a cockdrunk idiot at the air. “Buuuucky-“

His mouth presses back over yours, and the kiss is strangely soft. His fucking hasn’t slowed or relented, but there’s a care with how his lips move over yours that makes you feel worshipped.

That’s what he’d said he’d do. Worship you. And you can really feel it here.

Bucky draws back, and the hand that had been fisted in your hair moves to your jaw. He squeezes again. You open for him easily, and his lips twitch.

“Good girl.” He coos, even if the words are tighter than before.

He spits into your mouth. You swallow obediantly, and open again when he squeezes your cheeks. Bucky slams forward with a groan, looking like a man wrecked.

“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you-“

“Love it.” You gasp, unable to even think to deny him again. “Love you, Bucky- Oh- Oh my god-“

Bucky makes a ragged, choked sound, and cums almost without warning. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, as he pumps you full of his release. It feels like even more than before. Like you’re going to burst with how full you are, spurts of it still being forced out as Bucky fucks you through. You’ve never felt so totally claimed, with him all over every inch of your skin. He kisses you and you giggle, dazed and almost high on the feeling.

And he’s not even done.

The period of lucidity between orgasms gets shorter before it gets longer. Bucky’s ability to control himself almost vanishes all together. You get a kiss and broken mumble of your name before you’re being flipped back onto your stomach and fucked from behind. There will be handprints on your ass and thighs in the morning, and the sheets are stained with your drool from how Bucky railed you from behind.

You’re dragged into his lap right after, and he pushes his thumb into your mouth, then ruts up into your gaping cunt. You’re all moans and ditzy smiles by that point. When rolls you back onto your stomach and sits up on his knees, you just take it with moans and giggles and cries of delight.

He hasn’t just ruined you. He’s pulled you apart a million times over, until you’re just a puddle that sings his name.

You don’t even fully realize he’s done, when he kisses pulls out that last time. You whine, and clench around nothing, but expect to get filled right back up.

Then Bucky kisses you, and it’s slow. Savoring and sweet. Romantic. His voice is hoarse, but it’s lost the strained quality. He’s fully teasing again, smiling against your lips.

“So soft.” He coos, rubbing your thoroughly abused pussy with his warm hand.

You writhe, trying to get further and closer at the same time. Bucky chuckles, and kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Jesus, doll. You’d think you were the one that got sex drugged.”

You try to glare at him, but forget why the moment you see his pretty eyes, shining on yours.

They’re blue again.

“You’re back?” You breathe, and Bucky grins.

He ducks down, and presses another quick kiss over your lips.

“I’m back.”

 You’re ordered not to move, while he cleans up. You don’t think you could if you tried. Your body is jelly, everything is sore in the best way, and your head is spinning with too many thoughts of what the fuck happened.

You told Bucky you love him. You told Bucky you love him. You’d never even fully admitted it in your head and he just fucked it right out of you. You said it fast, too fast, he thought you hated him four hours ago and now he must think you’re some kind of freak for just saying you love him.

He makes you drink water and go to the bathroom. Draws you a bath and brings you a snack and changes the sheets. You manage to find the strength to stand out of the tub and dry yourself off, wrapping the towel around your body before shuffling out in the center of his room.

God, he’s so handsome. All tan muscles and scars you want to trace with your tongue. Too bad you fucking blew it, and now you’re never going to get to touch him again-

Bucky turns, and smiles when he sees you. You swallow, bracing for the worst as he crosses the room.

He takes your face between his hands and kisses you. Deep and gentle and maybe he just forgot-

“Love you too.” He says against your lips. “Just- Uh- While we’re saying it.”

Oh.

Or that. That’s nice.

You throw everything you have into kissing him back, but end up tackling him down onto the bed with the sudden surge of strength. Bucky chokes out a laugh in surprise, wrestling you over onto your back with kiss and wandering hands. You giggle, trying to push back, and he nips at the tip of your nose.

Then he pauses, and pulls up with a small, worried frown.

“You’re stayin’ the night, right?”

You almost snort. There’s no getting rid of you now. You’re going to stay forever, and as long as he’ll allow after that.

“Yeah. I’m staying.”

✦End note: this was longer than my college thesis btw. and i. put more effort into it.✦

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