Hyperfixation Graveyard

He couldn't find his sweater. He had to head out in less than five minutes and he couldn't find that stupid navy Greyhounds sweater. Ted ran a hand over his face before leaving his closet to search the rest of the bedroom.

He could've sworn he left it on the dresser the night before, placing it neatly folded before crawling into bed beside you. However, when he'd woken to the sound of his alarm, throwing his legs over the side of the bed to get his day started, it was gone. Briefly, he was confused, but then just assumed maybe he'd imagined setting it there before heading to take a shower. But now he was out of the shower and he had checked his drawers, now his closet, and it was nowhere to be seen.

Dammit, he thought as he started to button his undershirt, starting to walk to the kitchen. He wore the damn thing every other day, it's not like it could've gone far.

"Hey, sweetheart, have you seen my-" He cut himself off as he finally looked up from his buttons to see you. Hip resting on the counter, mug of tea in hand. His sweater swallowing your form, not seeming to wear much else.

The navy material hung loosely on you, sleeves covering your hands as the bottom only stopped mid thigh. God, he wanted to lift it, feel the skin that's hiding beneath. He wanted to take the mug from your hands, bend you over the counter and swallow you whole. But if the bedhead and half-asleep look in your eyes gave him any impression, it was that you had thrown on his sweater without even thinking. In a tired daze, all means to an end to be warm. So he wouldn't act on his instincts, but that didn't diminish the now tightness of the front of his khakis. He settled on standing on the other side of the counter to try and cover the growing tent.

Leaving his shirt half buttoned, he placed his hands on the counter to lean on. "Now, darlin', I've been looking for that sweater for an upwards of twenty minutes."

Your eyes went from him down to your body, seeming to widen a bit at the realization. You tugged up at the bottom hem a bit, gaze going back to him with a sheepish smile. "Well shit, I'm sorry, Ted. I just grabbed the first comfy shirt I saw."

He didn't say anything immediately, just watching you with a look that you couldn't quite decipher. He still had that same closed mouth smile he usually had, so that probably meant he wasn't mad, right? But still. Saying nothing? Yeah, that wasn't like Ted.

You set your mug on the counter before rounding it, fiddling with the hem still. "Do you want me to go change or-"

That seemed to snap him out of it. "What? No! God, no."

He stood in front of you in two quick strides, putting both of his hands on your arms, his thumbs moving in small circles on the fabric. "Please, never take this off," he said, his accent deeper, thicker.

Relaxing your shoulders, you placed your hands on his chest, leaning into him. "You don't mind?"

"Well, that depends- you said it's comfortable?"

You nodded, lowering your gaze to his chest, shirt still half unbuttoned, the hair there peaking out. The sight stirred something in you, but you began to start buttoning his shirt for him anyways, not wanting him to be late. "Comfiest thing in the house, smells like you," you said absentmindedly.

His hands moved to cover yours, stopping your actions to place them flat on his chest again, before they instead moved to your waist. His grip was tighter than usual, you noted, at least for 8:00am on a Tuesday. "Well, in that case, no. I don't mind at all, darlin'."

It started to dawn on you what was happening. The intense gaze he had, the way his voice dropped, the way his fingers seemed to clench and unclench on your sides. He was horny, and if the signs were a tell for anything, his composure was holding on by a string.

You leaned back to look up at him. "Ted, you have to get ready for work."

He merely hummed, easily tightening his grip to lift you onto the counter, spreading your legs to step between them. His sweater had ridden up at the action, exposing more skin on your thighs. The skin had barely been exposed before his hands were on them, fingers flexing on the flesh there.

"Searching for this thing was going to make me late anyways. A little later won't hurt anyone," he said in a hushed tone, his hands moving higher up, disappearing under the navy that hung off you.

You shudder at the contact, clearing your throat to hold your own composure. "That's not like you, though. What about Roy and Beard, what if they-"

The feeling of his digits finding purchase at the front of your wet panties has you choke on the rest of your words.

"You really thinkin' those guys are gonna care if they miss an hour or so of me yapping?" The pads of his fingers began to move slow circles over your clit through the fabric, a low groan leaving his throat as he felt your wetness spread. "Roy may even thank you for keeping me."

You wanted to reply, but only managed a soft, strained, "Ted."

Your fingers were now curling into his button down, wrinkling the fabric beyond repair. Good thing you didn't get the chance to finish buttoning it, he'll have to change it anyways. His hand that sat on your hip tightened more to keep you in place as his other began the slow, torturous path underneath the waistband of your panties.

"Now, sweetheart, you know I love when you argue a little, really gets me wound up. But as you've so kindly said, we're a little crunched on time. So," he leans in to place kisses on your throat, the touch of his lips and the prickle of his mustache on your skin overwhelming, "why don't you hush and just let me fuck you on this counter? Been on my mind since the moment I saw you in my clothes."

Damn him. He swore so rarely, and he knew exactly what it did for you when he did. Unable to respond, you nodded your head profusely, letting a gasp fall from your lips as his middle and ring finger finally sank into you. As they began to quicken in pace, your skin felt like it was on fire. You made a move to rid yourself of his sweater, only to have the hand that was on your hip halt the movement.

You’re not casual. You’re obsessive, and quietly insane. You don’t become the top of your field like this while being anything else. It’s easy to contain yourself in this kind of work, in it’s order and chaos all at once. There are rules that you to follow, then break, and everyone praises you and you glow like a diamond catching sunlight.

Not absorbing it. Because it passes right through, and it’s never enough, and you get addicted to it. The praise, from these living gods. They all love you, and you bask in it, and then you look at him.

Bucky.

The only one who doesn’t praise you. Who doesn’t treat you like a good dog, bringing them treats and newspapers. When you met him, he barely treated you like anything at all. Tony had introduced you, he’d looked you up and down, shaken your hand, and walked away.

But you.

You’d been a fucking goner.

Bucky’s handsome in the way you used to only see in movies. Your exact type, from the hair to the eyes to the way he carries himself. Silent and in control, kind but not overly nice, polite without expectation. You’d made it two years without developing a crush on anyone. Somehow, surrounded by some of the world’s most handsome men, you’d maintained that tiny sliver of your sanity.

Then there was Bucky. And you lost yourself.

You’re not weird around him. You’re not a stalker, and you’re not that kind of insane. You’re perverted in the privacy of your head, drooling over his massive hands and muscles, but swallowing it before it leaks out of your lips. You don’t react when Tony says his name, save for a traitorous pulse in your cunt.

“You ready to look at his arm?” Tony asks, and you hum.

“Think so. Just maintenance?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony sighs. “I’d work on Terminator myself, but Cap says I spend the whole time looking like I want to throat chop him. So,” he shrugs. “Don’t look like you wanna throat chop him.”

You laugh softly, and grab the tools off the bench. It’s not a big deal. You’re the only person besides Tony, in the whole building, who’s qualified to work on Bucky’s arm.

But that means you get to be close to him. Just the thought of it makes your skin hot, your heart buzzing more than thumping, your fingers fidgeting with the straps of your toolkit as you restlessly wait.

Bucky says your name, and your head shoots up. He’s there. He’s right there, and watching you with those careful, beautiful eyes.

“Hi,” you say, and it sounds so pathetically breathless.

Bucky tilts his head. His hair looks soft. You want to run your fingers through it, to pull on it, to feel it tickling over your face as he ruts into your drooling pussy-

He’s staring at you. He must’ve said something that you didn’t hear. Fuck.

“What?”

His lips twitch. Just the smallest movement up, almost impossible to catch. Your heart skips, and you almost miss his words again.

“You the one workin’ on me today?” His voice is low. It rolls through the air like thunder.

You wonder, if there’s any part of him that isn’t addictive.

You’re here for a job. You’re here to give him medical treatment. You plaster a sweet smile on your face, and gesture to the chair. You can be normal about this.

“Tony has bad bedside manner,” you say smoothly, and Bucky chuckles.

God, that’s worse than the smile. It echoes through your chest, and you almost choke on it. How fucking bad you want him.

“He does call me Schwarzeneggerevery time I’m here,” he mutters, crossing the room. “Don’t even know what that means.”

You hum, pretending to look at your tools. He’s sitting down next to you. Your knees are bumping. You’re normal. “Arnold Schwartzinagor. Actor who played the Terminator.”

“Ah.” Bucky pauses. “Sam calls me that, too. It a good movie?”

“It’s fine.” You shrug. “If you like stuff from the 80s.”

“I don’t know things from the 80s.”

You laugh softly, and look up with an apology on your tongue. You find Bucky staring at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes are so intense, you think they can see right through you. To the lust, pounding in your bloodstream. You have to open your mouth to breathe. Bucky’s eyes flick down. Just tracking a movement. Nothing about you.

You kick yourself internally, and push the casual smile back into place.

“I think you’d like some of it.” You reach for his arm, and Bucky turns it palm up, still staring at you. “I mean, any decade will have it’s ups and downs.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You run your fingers over the plates of metal, and for a second, forget all about the Bucky attached to them. It’s a beautiful artwork of technology. Overlapping, gold-inlaid, smooth under your fingers. You turn the wrist slowly, and there’s only a faint whir. No clicks. Shuri must be using a muffler, or some kind of fluid that moves the wires instead of gears-

“You want me to go?”

Your head shoots up, a panicked flush spreading over your cheeks. “No- No- I- I’m just-“

Bucky raises his brows, light amusement dancing in his eyes. Your words falter. He’s fucking with you.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes, and Bucky chuckles again.

God, that sound. It’s going to be the death of you.

“It’s just- It’s amazing technology.” You mumble defensively, and Bucky shrugs.

“I can tell, from the way you’re eye fuckin’ it.”

“Eye fucking.” You shake your head, biting back your smile. “How do you even know what that means?”

“Too much time with Sam.”

“Hm,” you grab your screwdriver, running your hands up the mock muscle—he should be thanking Shuri even more, she didn’t have to give him biceps—looking for a panel. “Tony told me you weren’t going to talk.”

“Tony’s got that bad bedside manner,” Bucky shrugs with his good arm. “You gonna be nicer to me, doll?”

You just hum, ducking your head to hide your flush. Doll. He called you doll.

And Bucky huffs an amused laugh, at your non-answer. But he keeps talking to you. He tells you what Sam’s already gotten him to watch, and what Steve’s trying to get him to watch next, and what Steve’s saving so they can look at it together.

“Is Star Wars any good?” He asks, and you snort.

“Do you like cowboys?”

“I’m neutral.”

“Do you like space?”

“Yeah,” he pauses, then mutters, “I wanted to go to the moon. When I was a kid.”

You look up, and find a faraway look, etched over his handsome features. Your smile softens, and you lower your voice to a whisper, because this feels like a secret. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods, his eyes finding yours again. “I heard we got up there eventually.”

“We did. A few times.” It’s hard to hold his gaze. An unbearable ache is staring to pool between your thighs. “But now there are aliens on earth, so the final frontier is less… Coveted.”

Bucky’s lips twitch. It seems to be the closest he really gets to smiling. You want to see it over, and over, and over again.

“I think you’d like Star Wars.” You’re still whispering. You don’t know why.

“Alright,” Bucky says. And that’s it. He just… Trusts your words.

He asks for you again, next week. Tony claps you on the shoulder and thanks you, because Christ, he stares at me and I feel like I’m under surveillance. You roll your eyes and don’t respond. It doesn’t feel like that when Bucky stares at you, but he also does stare at everyone. So you’re not special. You’re just another person in his line of sight.

“I tried those donuts you were talkin’ about,” he tells you one afternoon, and you hum.

It’s the new routine. Bucky comes for you to work on his arm. You’re normal about it. You talk like people, and his lips twitch, and you feel something press on top of your chest, trying to gnaw your heart right open.

“Liked them,” he adds, staring at you. As always.

You hum, looking at him under your lashes. “Did you have the cookies and cream?”

He nods. “Just like you told me to.”

You smile despite yourself. It’s those small confirmations that he thinks about you, which get you the most. It means you mean something to him. It drives you insane.

“Sam says there are all kinds of ice cream flavors now, too.”

“Sam’s right.”

Bucky sighs. “Hate it when that happens.”

You laugh, a bubbly, pathetic sound that only Bucky pulls out of you. His fingers twitch under your hand, and you glance up.

It would be wise, if you stopped doing that. Every time you find him staring at you, you feel fucking insane.

“You should try cotton candy ice cream,” you murmur. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“That is my favorite kind of thing.”

“I know.”

Bucky’s lips twitch, and your heart almost bursts. “You got a good place? For ice cream?”

You shrug. “The grocery store?”

Bucky grunts, and his fingers twitch again. You focus back on his hand, because you don’t understand why they keep doing that. The rest of the session passes, and Bucky smiles at you before he goes, and you hold onto it like he just handed you a pearl-strung noose. Clutched between your teeth and priceless, but making your breathing short.

The rest of the day always passes in a daze, after you see Bucky. The seconds rush past you in an avalanche, and then you’re in your room, and  you let it take over.

How much you want him. How much you need him.

You lay, flat on your back in bed, and let your thoughts run wild. Bucky’s massive hands, one cool and one burning hand, would wander up your thighs. He’d shove your knees open, and kiss over the sensitive, hidden patches of skin. The stubble he’s been growing would scrape and tickle, as he kissed over your weeping pussy.

“All for me?” He’d murmur, and you’d nod helplessly. “You just walk around, pussy leakin’ because of how bad you need it?”

And you’d whimper. You do. There’s nothing you can do to help it, but save that desire for locked doors and hot, tangled sheets. Your fingers—smaller than Bucky’s, but all you have—rub over the swollen lips of your pussy, spreading your arousal as you picture that it’s Bucky instead. You push one finger in slowly, then a second one because you need them to stretch you like Bucky’s would.

“Messy girl,” he’d coo in your ear, and your back arches. You start to fuck yourself, slow and tentative as your thoughts run wild.

This is what just one of his fingers would feel like. Pumping in and out of you, his palm grinding down on you clit until you’re trembling beneath him. You’d try to push up into his hand, but he’d shove you right back down and kiss over your throat. Licking and nipping and driving you out of your fucking mind.

“Buckyyyy...” You moan at the air, and when you squeeze your eyes shut you can almost feel him.

“There you go, babydoll,” he’d kiss under your ear, his body pressing over yours. Warm and massive, pinning you to the bed, forcing you to just take it. “That’s it. You like that, don’t you. Like fallin’ apart on my fingers.”

You whimper and grab at the sheets. Your wrist aches, and you can’t hit that gooey, wet spot inside you, but god you just need to cum.

“I know,” Bucky would hit deeper. Wet, lewd sounds would fill the room, as he pounded his fingers into you at an unforgiving pace. “I know, sweet girl. C’mon, show me how pretty you are when you cum.”

Your back arches off the bed. Your hand shoots over your mouth as you moan and cry out his name, your thighs shaking and pussy squeezing down on your fingers. You lay there for a while after you’re done, holding the sheets in a vague form of Bucky.

Tomorrow, you’re going to see him again. Maybe just over breakfast, or passing in the hall. But you’ll see him. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes, and pray that he can’t see it just under your features. That all he’d ever need to do it touch your head, and you’d fall to your knees.

You’re devoted to him. He thinks of you as a friend, and he’s not your boss, but he’s boss adject, and there’s nothing about him that’s accessible. There’s no world where this ever goes beyond fantasy.

But god, you’re going to fantasize. You can’t hurt anyone, by just fantasizing.

That’s what you’ll tell yourself over and over, to avoid the guilt.

It’s all just a fantasy.

You‘re perfectly professional about it. It’s not Bucky’s fault that he’s so handsome it feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to look at him. You can keep your desire bottled up, keep in the warmest, wettest pits of your stomach. It can seep out between your thighs when it becomes too much to bare. It can breed into itself and spread up into your heart, festering in the dark. But Bucky will never see it. You’ll be good, and you’ll act sane, and that will be it.

He’s been through too much already, to add your insatiable, ardors devotion to his list of problems.

You’ve developed an easy friendship. That’s all you’ll allow yourself to have, all you let yourself think about in his presence. When you’re working on his arm, you don’t think about those big, cold fingers being buried in your pussy until you’re alone in your room. All your daydreams are trapped in your sheets, and your moans absorbed and locked in your pillowcase.

You think about Bucky pinning you down with a warm, splayed hand on your abdomen. About his smirk, as he bullies three metal fingers into your pussy, forcing a perfect stretch before fucking you like a toy. His cold thumb swiping over your clit, sending shivers through your body. His eyes gleaming and attention burning, as he drags out orgasm after orgasm.

That hand would be like having a personal fuck machine, and he’d act like it until the very end. All taunting and teasing until you were spent and limp below him. Then he’d kiss the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the space between your eyes. He’d coo about what a good girl you were for him, and you’d whimper, your voice lost from screaming his name.

“What’re you thinking about?” Bucky says, sitting next to you at the kitchen counter.

You swallow, and shrug meekly. You never feel small around anyone but him, but you’ve never been this lost in anyone but him. It’s a miracle no one’s noticed, how Bucky shows up and suddenly you’re all flushed cheeks and girly giggles. You might as well be twirling your hair and kicking your feet. It’s pathetic. You can’t stop.

“Nothing?” Bucky pushes a little, and you give him a close-lipped, full smile.

“Nope.”

“You looked like you were thinkin’ about something.”

“I wasn’t.” You look back to the sandwich you’d been working on. Bucky keeps staring at you. He always does. “Nothing going on up here, Barnes.”

Bucky’s lips twitch.

The whole world seems brighter, like he’s just like some holy kind of candle.

“I don’t believe that,” he murmurs, and you shrug.

“You don’t have to.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Good for you.”

“It is, isn’t it,” he chuckles. “I’m gonna love being right.”

You blink, shooting his a sideways look. “Being… Right?”

“I know you’re thinkin’ about something.” He shrugs. “I’ll figure out what.”

Oh. Under no circumstances can he find out what you’re thinking about. “It’s not anything interesting,” you try lamely, and Bucky smirks.

“Ah. So it’s something.”

“I- That’s-“ You sputter. “Why do you even care-“

“I like knowin’ what you’re thinking,” he shrug. “It’s always interesting.”

You blink at him. For some reason, that makes your throat close up, your eyes burning with embarrassing tears. Your knees are wobbling, and you’re sitting down. You grunt and look back to your sandwich, and Bucky chuckles.

“C’mon. Tell me.” He leans closer. There’s a gravity, from his heat, and it makes you want to just collapse over his chest.

You look at him from the corner of your eye, and you won’t tell him. That’s against the rules. It defeats the purpose.

But god, he’s looking at you. Really looking at you. You can count each shade of blue in his eyes. If you move just an inch, your noses might bump.

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, and Bucky’s brow knits.

He looks down to your sandwich. Then back to you. Adorable confusion flashes over his face. “You should… Uh- Eat.”

You nod, and he clears his throat, leaning back. You wish you could grab the collar of his shirt, and drag him back.

“You ever seen this thing called the Princess Bride?” He asks, not touching any food himself.

Just sitting there. With you. You try not to think about it too much.

You nod, chewing on your sandwich with puffed out cheeks. “’S a really good movie-“

“Chew then swallow, doll.” Bucky’s lips twitch, and you flush and obey.

“It’s a good movie,” you mumble, giving him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Bucky shrugs, his gaze dropping to your mouth. Your breath hitches. You go perfectly still, afraid that if you shift, he’ll look away.

His tongue darts over his lips. He tips his head, his forearm flexes as he curls his fingers, and your breathing gets shallow. Something electric has shifted in the air, and it’s making you dizzy. Bucky reaches up slowly, and if you weren’t rooting in place, you think you’d fall out of your chair.

His thumb wipes the spot right above your lips, and a shock rushes through your body. His nostrils flare, his eyes lock onto yours, and his touch lingers.

When he pulls back, the movement is slow. Controlled. Your tongue flicks out, to lick where his thumb had been. Bucky’s nostrils flare.

There’s something on his thumb. Tiny little breadcrumbs that must’ve been stuck to your cheek from the sauce. Bucky brings the finger up to his mouth, holding your gaze, and sucks the crumbs away. Heat pools in your tummy, and your thighs press together.

Bucky stares at you. You grab the edge of your seat with white  knuckles, trying to keep yourself from falling off.

“Crumbs,” he mutters, and you nod.

“Yeah.”

“I- Uh-“ He coughs, and looks away. Disappointment sinks like a boulder into your stomach.

You don’t know what you expected. Hell, you’ve told yourself what to expect. You’re not allowed to be disappointed by him. You’re not allowed to want anything from him, except for what your head can offer.

“Sam’s been tryin’ to make me watch it,” he mutters, and you blink.

“What?”

“Princess Bride.”

“Oh.” You’re still a little drunk on his proximity. He smells like something rich and spicy, and it’s fogging up your brain. “Cool.”

Bucky nods. “We’re gonna watch it next Friday. In that common room, where Stark makes us do game nights.” He gives you a sideways look. “I never see you at those.”

You shrug. “I’m not an Avenger.”

“Stark says you get invited.”

You do. But that would be a night of drinking and laughing and being closer to Bucky than you can handle, so you usually lock yourself in your room and pretend he’s fucking you stupid.

“You’re invited to movie night, too.” He adds casually, and you swallow.

Movie night. Where Bucky would be near you. In the dark. You can’t go there. You’ll lose your mind.

But he’s looking at you with such dim, cautious light in his eyes. There’s no expectations. Just hope. And it pulls the words out of you before you can stop them.

“Oh- Okay.”

Bucky beams, and that makes it worth it. The risk, that he might brush your hand in the dark and you’ll moan loud enough for everyone to hear.

He reaches up, and wipes a few more breadcrumbs from your cheeks. Time seems to stop, when he touches you. It’s dangerous, and you barely manage not to fall all over him before he pulls away.

“You get messy,” he mutters, and oh, God.

You shouldn’t have said yes. Why the fuck did you say yes. Now you’re going to have to sit next to him, after that.

You get messy. He has no idea.

That night, you end up back in your bed with a vibrator pressed over your panties. It makes the feeling stronger, with the friction of the fabric, and you toss your head back. It’s easier and easier to get lost in the fantasy, lately. The better you know him, the clearer it gets.

You can almost feel his hands, mapping over the curves and soft dips of your body. You can almost smell him.

He mouths at your breast, pinching and rolls your nipple between metal fingers. You make a broken, pathetic sound, and he smirks.

“I know, doll. Too much, isn’t it?”

You whimper, pressing the vibrator down. Bucky hums, his hand wrapping around yours, and your hips jerk when he angles it to shove right against your clit.

“Too much,” he coos, making out with the softness of your breast. “I’m barely even touchin’, and you’re already about to fuckin’ fall apart for me.”

Your eyes roll back, as Bucky starts to guide the vibrator up and down. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, as he grabs your hips and pushes them higher, further exposing your pussy. He bites at your nipple, then turns his attention to the neglected one. You writhe in the sheets, gasping his name, and he smiles.

“Dirty girl.” He pushes your hand back, just enough for him to rip away your panties, exposing your cunt to the cold air. “Look at that, pretty little pussy fuckin’ shining for me.”

You grind down, trying to find friction on the sheets. Bucky pushes the vibrator against your bare pussy, and your eyes roll back in your head. He starts kissing all over your chest, pawing at your breasts and swirling his tongue around you nipples, sending electric shock through your body. He licks the sensitive buds the same way he licked his thumb. Your hips start to roll mindlessly, as the coil in your stomach threatens to snap.

When you cum, it’s with a cry of his name. The coil snaps, and heat floods out of your pussy, all over the vibrator and your hand. Your body convulses with the sheer force of it, and Bucky kisses down. Over your abdomen, your hips, your inner thighs.

“What a mess, baby.” He mocks, before pressing the sweetest kiss to your clit.

You sob, trembling in the sheets, and grab at his hair.

But your hand finds nothing.

Because it’s just another fantasy, kept in the confines of your mind.

Movie night was a bigger mistake than you could’ve ever imagined.

You show up, and it’s just Bucky and Sam. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, because men are strange creatures.

“Stevie’s on a mission,” Bucky says, staring at you like he’s seeing an angel. Like he didn’t invite you.

There’s an odd rasp to his voice, too. Maybe he’s just tired.

Sam says your name, that signature, I know something that everyone else doesn’t smirk on his face. You don’t think much if it. He always has it, even when he doesn’t know shit.

“Buck told me you’d be comin’. I didn’t believe him.”

“Sam.” Bucky grunts, and Sam shrugs.

“What? I didn’t.” He grins at you. “You never leave your lab-“

“She leaves her lab.” Bucky gives you an apologetic look, but you just laugh.

“No, he’s right. I really don’t.”

Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes, and pats the seat next to him. You smile to yourself, taking a long breath before you move. You’re going to be normal about this. Very, incredibly normal. So normal, they’ll think something’s wrong, because no one’s ever been this normal in history.

You last ten minutes.

The movie starts. You’ve seen it before, but you try to pay attention to every, tiny detail. The only other option is paying attention to Bucky. To the weight of him at your side, the way his knee brushes against yours and his arm is slung over the back of the couch. You’ve never seen him so relaxed and tense, all at once. He’s sunken into the cushions, but whenever you look over, his jaw is tight.

You could swear you catch his gaze, once or twice. If you do, he looks away immediately. And you feel it, that buzzing heat over your skin. But you’re supposed to be watching the movie. He’s supposed to be watching the movie. So you really, really try not to look over.

Bucky’s knee pushes against yours, and you swallow. His fingers trail near your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around your stomach to suppress the shiver. He’s warm. So fucking warm you can feel it, blooming in your core. You shift in your seat, and you’re already wet.

The movie isn’t even a third of the way done.

Bucky’s fingers rest on your shoulder. It’s so light, so casual, you’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it. You take the risk, and turn to fully look at him. He’s gotten even more relaxed, the knit of his brows loosened, pretty pink lips parted as he watches the TV. You want to reach up, and trace the stubble of his jaw. Maybe kiss up the column of his throat, dig your nails into his pecs and make out with that full, perfect mouth.

You let out a tiny sigh. Bucky doesn’t react to it. Too lost in the movie. Not paying you any mind.

And you should look away. You’re not here to Bucky watch.

You turn your head for three whole seconds, before your eyes start to ache. As if they can’t stand not to look at him. You try to resist it, but it plays over and over, on a loop in your brain. The image of him in the dark. The heat from him, almost penetrating under your skin and making you rise up like a balloon. Your head is in the clouds. You have to look at him.

You close your eyes, trying to fight it. Bucky’s hand drops from your shoulder, down to your upper arm, and your breath hitches.

Your eyes shoot open, and Bucky’s right there. Staring at you, with the same intense, focused need that’s clawing at your ribs and up your throat.

He grabs your chin, between strong but gentle fingers. You swallow, letting your gaze trail down his body. His massive chest, torso that looks perfect to hook your legs around, his thick thighs and his crotch.

The bulge, pushing through his sweats. It looks thick. Long and thick, demanding some attention. You look back to Bucky with your best, doe-eyed pout. He smirks, and leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and deep, his tongue swiping over your lower lip before pushing into your mouth. You moan, and Bucky weaves his hair through your hair, tugging slightly. Your second moan is downright pathetic. You grab his thigh, letting your nails brush against the outline of his cock.

Bucky hisses against your lips, and pulls back. You bat your lashes at him, and his lips twitch.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, before pressing a sweeter, mocking kiss to your lips.

He pulls away too quickly, but before you can give chase, you’re lost in a daze. Bucky’s pulling down his pants, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs free, thick and veiny, massive even in his own hand. He strokes himself slowly, giving you a prompting, amused look. You swallow, licking your lips.

“C’mon, doll,” he beckons. “Show me what you can do.”

Almost in a trance, you nod. Bucky’s eyes darken, as you crawl over his lap. You move his hand away, and fist his cock in one hand. He grabs the back of your neck, not to push, but for balance. A low, guttural sound rolls through his chest as you start to pump him, and you smile to yourself.

He really is perfect. A heavy, certain weight in your hand, jumping slightly whenever you squeeze him near the base. You shift back on your knees, using your other hand to massage his balls. He hisses, his grip tightening on your neck, and you smile. 

When you look at him, there’s nothing but pure devotion in his gaze. You squeeze again, then pick up your pace, and he groans out your name.

You kiss him, pushing his head back against the couch cushions. He grunts, but lets you guide him. As if he knows that it’s all just a show, before you let him fuck your face like an animal.

“Relax, baby,” you breathe against his lips.

Bucky lets out a deep, rough laugh. “Little hard to do that right now.”

You giggle, swiping your thumb over the slit of his cock. “Is it? Hard?”

Bucky groans, and deepens the kiss. You slide off of him, before he can just grab your hips, pick you up, and sit you on his dick.

You move back, lowering down to your stomach so you’re eye level with his dick. He’s pulsing in your hands, trying to hold himself back. You don’t want him to. You want him to cum everywhere. Down your throat and over your face and tits, claiming you in one of the most primal ways possible.

“Doll…” Bucky rasps, and you look up at him under hooded eyes. He’s a wrecked. Bulging muscles and sweat, slicking on his brow. “Don’t tease- Jesus-“

You wrap your mouth around him, and take him as deep as you can go. He bumps against the back of your throat, but you suppress your gag reflex, relaxing to try and get even more. Your nose brushes against the hair at base of him. Your tongue presses flat against Bucky’s shaft, your fingers still working his balls, and he fists his hand in your hair.

“So- So fuckin’ warm-“ He chokes out. “Holy- You’re somethin’, sweetheart- God-“

You hum, and Bucky’s hips jerk up. He stutters out an apology, but you just moan again. He tries to pull you off, muttering more apologies, and you dig your nails into his thigh. You want it. You want him to use you.

He gets it, after a moment. His grip on your hair tightens. He starts slow, jerking his hips up as he pushes you a little further down, before yanking you back. You moan around his cock, drool falling from your swallow lips. Your eyes roll back. He’s using you, god, he’s using you, and it’s the best fucking thing in the world.

Bucky fucks your face like a fleshlight, and you grind your ass up against nothing. He hits the back of your throat, over and over, salty and heavy on your tongue. The sounds he makes are beautiful and sinful, and-

“Something on my face, doll?”

You blink, and Bucky’s cock isn’t in your mouth anymore. You smack your lips, trying to find it. Bucky frowns at you, the light of the movie making him even more, impossibly handsome. Sam ignores you both, popcorn stuffed in his mouth.

Bucky looks worried. He said something.

“Hm?”

“You were, you were- Uh-“ He clears his throat, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He looks back to the TV, and your face burns. His thigh is pressed right against yours. You can swear, when you lick your lips, you can still taste his dick.

You’re so, so fucked.

It only gets worse.

Eating breakfast becomes a trial, because Bucky is always there, and you’re always thinking about his fingers while he eats. How they’d feel stuffed down your throat, gripping your hips, scissoring deep inside of you. He wipes cream cheese off your cheek, and you almost moan.

“You feelin’ alright?” Bucky says, always so caring and worried, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah. Just- Just tired.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t believe you, but lets it go. If you were smarter, you’d be avoiding him. But you’re not. And you still have to work with him, anyway. It makes avoiding him rather impossible.

For a while you cling onto the idea that work would be sacred. That while Bucky’s in your office and you’re examining his arm, it’s purely professional. Not a single dirty thought.

You last about a week, with that one.  Bucky startles you walking in. You trip, and he catches you around your waist.

“Careful,” he smiles down at you, all handsome and stupid.

“Uh huh,” you breathe out, and you could’ve sworn a flood gushed out between your legs.

Bucky’s nostrils had flared, and he’d helped you up to your seat. You’d already had the new fantasy, blooming in your mind like the little fucking pervert that you were. You’d tried to shove it down, swaying in the middle of the room, but then you’d looked at him. Sitting with his legs spread in your chair. And you’d been lost.

You imagined climbing into his lap. His arm wrapping around you as you sat down on his cock, grinding slowly, lashes flutters as he kneaded and pulled at your hips and breasts. He’d stand up, taking you with him like you weighed nothing, and pin you to the wall. One arm would stay around you, holding you in place as his mouth started to explore your dripping cunt.

His tongue would work you open, pushing in and out of your pussy. He would’ve already cum inside of you, and every stroke of his tongue would send a wave of your mixed arousals over his beard. You’d watch him, moaning his name, and his thumb would bully and flick and tease your clit, until your were dazed and gasping for air and-

Bucky says your name, and you could slap yourself. This is getting out of hand.

“Sorry,” you mumble, sitting next to him. He smiles at you, so kind.

Always so kind.

“You’ve been kinda out of it, lately.” His words are casual. You still daydream about shooting yourself and running away.

“Just getting lost in thought,” you murmur, and he hums.

“Anything I can help with?”

You shake your head, because if you speak you’ll start begging. Please, please, please, he’s the only one who can help you, you’re going insane with how much you need him, and he could save you, he could really save you-

“Movin’ usually helps me.” He offers softly. You almost don’t hear him. “Y’know. Using my body. Remembering that it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” You say softly, cleaning the panel near his shoulder. He looks at you, and you risk looking back.

You can’t read that expression. You’re not sure you want to.

“Yeah,” he mutters. His gaze might flick down to your lips, but you don’t trust your own mind anymore. “You wanna try it with me? I head to that gym in the basement every night. It ain’t bad.”

And you should say no, but you can’t help it. You nod, and Bucky’s lips twitch, and God, what you won’t do just so he smiles.

You will torture yourself, apparently. Bucky’s too hot to be allowed in a gym. Wearing a tank top that shows off his massive arms, smiling at you all lazy, in the way that’s more of a guard than the slip that you always crave, but a smile all the same.

First, you try walking on the treadmill and just watching him the mirror. He’s lifting weights, and his arms, they should be classified as weapons. You want those biceps keeping you in a head lock, against his chest or at his side. Keeping you still, while his cock pounds relentlessly into your pussy.

Bucky meets your gaze in the mirror. His lips twitch, and you look away, face burning.

You feel him, more than you see him coming over. The gravity of his presence, you think you’d be able to feel him blindfolded and dropped in a crowd of a million people.

“Come on,” he offers you a hand. “Lemme show you something.”

And you can’t say no to him. You really should learn how.

Because the something is training. Wrestling. Throwing fucking punches and trying to get the other down.

“Bucky, I can’t-“

“Yeah, you can.” He raises his fists, nodding to your own. “Up, doll.”

You sigh, raising them slowly. “You’re going to kick my ass-“

“I am. And then you’re going to get better.”

You scoff—he’s ridiculous—but listen. Bucky smirks, and lunges. You yelp and try to scramble away, but he’s too fast. You’re pinned under him in seconds, whacking at his arms and wiggling.

“Bucky- Get off-“

He laughs, standing up with a proud grin. You’ve never seen him so relaxed, so confident. It makes you hornier than you ever could’ve imagined.

He’d been over you. Everywhere over you. Pinning you down and manhandling you, and- Oh God-‘

“Up,” he beckons, and you swallow.

“I- I don’t know-“

“Yeah, you do.” He gives you a playful smile. “Get up.”

You sigh, and scramble to your feet. Bucky raises his fists again. You narrow your eyes, and match.

He chuckles. “Getting competitive?”

You shrug. “You wanted me to.”

Something flashes in his eyes. You’re not sure how to read into it.

“Damn right I do,” his voice is lower. You’re not imagining that.

You don’t get time to think about it, before he’s moving again. You hold your own exactly a second longer than before, but it ends the exact same way. You, pinned under Bucky’s broad, strong body. His face is pressed near your breasts, his fingers digging into your hips, his legs shoving yours apart to stop you from flailing around.

It goes on longer than it shoulder. This strange game that you like playing more than you should. Bucky starts trying to properly get you to throw a punch, but he gives up fast. Soon you’re more play wrestling than doing anything else. You’re giggly and dazed, charging at him like a bull, and he acts as bored and collected as always, but you can see the amusement dancing in his eyes, every time you try to climb him like a tree.

Then something shifts.

He gets you beneath him, and you try to shove at his chest. He catches your wrists and pins them up over your head. Your breath hitches, and he blinks. His hips drop against yours, and you can feel it. The bulge of his cock, pressing into your core.

He’s hard.

Not fully, but enough. Enough that you can imagine every ridged and curve of him, sliding between the puffy lips of your pussy. Your thighs clench, and Bucky grunts, rutting forward.

You both freeze, and your eyes lock. It’s one of those seconds, where you just stare hopelessly at each other. You almost apologize, but your tongue is limp. Bucky’s face is redder than you’ve ever seen it. His cock twitches in his pants.

And this isn’t a dream or fantasy. Bucky mutters your name, and it’s so real you think your heart might pound of your chest.

Bucky moves first. He clears his throat and moves to his feet.

“Better.” He offers you a hand. “That was…”

He trails off. You stare at each other, lost for words.

Bucky turns, and leaves without another word. You sway in the center of the room, breathing shallow, head spinning.

What the fuck just happened.

Bucky kisses up your spine, his mouth hot and possessive. His tongue flicks against your neck, and his fingers dig into your hips. He drags your ass up in the air and you mewl, pressing your face into the sheets.

“Ah,” he scolds, slapping your soaked, swollen pussy. “Lemme hear you, doll.”

You turn your head, moaning loud and shamelessly. Bucky chuckles, kissing a soft spot on your neck.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, notching his cock against your entrance. “Good girl.”

You coo like a baby bird, flushed and dazed. He’s big, so big that it almost hurts. He doubles over you with a groan, pressing his face into your shoulder as he slowly pushes every inch inside of you. The stretch burns in the best way, and you clench down around him.

Bucky hisses, hips jerking forward. “Careful,” he grunts. “Gonna strangle me.”

“S- Sorry-“

“No,” Bucky leans down, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Nothin’ to apologize for. Just gotta relax, babydoll. Lemme do the rest.”

You hum, and take a deep breath. You’re grounded, in the feeling of Bucky everywhere. His warmer arm wraps around your neck, forcing you up enough for his lips to trail open kisses over your face.  

“That’s my girl,” he mutters against your ear, bottoming fully out. “That’s it. Just take it for me, just like that.”

You mewl, pushing your ass back up, then crying out with delight as Bucky pulls out, and slams back in. He’s met with no resistance, from how your pussy is gushing out with every thrust, every touch, every hot kiss.

But there’s nothing else to be expected. Not with how Bucky’s using you, how worshipful his every touch and kiss is, all while he fucks into you so hard you think the bed is going to break. His breath is hot on your back, the head of his cock drill against that one, gooey spot deep inside you. His cold arm locks around your middle, and his fingers tease and graze over your clit. Rubbing in tight little circles, making your eyes roll back in your head.

Bucky grunts, hauling you up so you’re pressed against his chest. You’re pinned down on his cock now, wet and warm and tight. So fucking tight that it pulls a low, rumbling moan from his chest. His hips slam up in a barely controlled rhythm, chasing more of your heat. You’re limp in his arms. Dazed and smiling like you’re drunk. Bucky uses his arm around your neck to push your head further back, and you have the nerve to fucking giggle.

You’re so beautiful like this that he almost cums right there. Fluttering lashes and the sweetest sounds, you pussy milking him like a machine. He kisses you because he can’t help it, and you hum happily, grinding your ass down into him.

He needs you to cum first. He gropes at your clit, letting his fingers fumble for a second to work you up into a teased, messy frenzy, before he pushes down and rubs in a steady, unyielding rhythm. You cry out his name, squeezing down so hard on his cock, and Bucky buries his face in your neck.

He cums, so hard that his vision goes white. Thick ropes of cum spurt over his hand, squeezing hard at the base of his cock.

It’s not as warm as you’d be, he thinks.

And he thinks. All the time, Bucky just thinks about you. About how you’d feel, molding around him. About how you’d sound right in his ear, how you’d get smiley and drool, and he’s feed you his fingers just so you have something to do with that pretty mouth. You’d moan around them, and he’d thrust up into you so hard he’d knock the damn worries out of your head.

It’s his favorite time of the day, this. Your rooms are closer than you seem to think, or you just forget how good his hearing is.

And every night, right before bed, he gets to settle into the mattress and beat his cock into his hand, listening to you moan and call his name. He’d never tell you. You deserve better, than a broken robot like him. He counts himself lucky he even gets to be your friend, because he’s a man well practiced at restraint. At not getting what he wants.

But this space, where no one can see, he allows himself things. He allows himself you.

But only ever in his head.

✦End note: this might be one of my fave bucky fics i just got to be soooo horny with it✦

✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦

✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦

He only hummed in response, the sound sending a tremor up your spine. Of course, he looked particularly sinful tonight, his dark hair messy from the days work, dressed in one of Remus’ too large button-down shirts that showed off way too many of the tattoos on his chest to be considered appropriate in decent society.

Sirius was hot. He knew it, you knew it, but it didn't change the fact that he was a decade older than you and in a committed relationship with another man. Who also happened to be exceptionally attractive. And also a decade older than you.

It was fine. You were fine.

It's not like you've had a debilitating crush on both of them since Bill brought you into the Order, right?

Right?

Then, like a vision from your filthiest daydream, Remus came plodding down the stairs, dressed in sweats and…nothing else. Just bare, burnished skin, lightly muscled and littered with pearly scars.

You and Sirius both sucked in a breath, then glanced at one another. Your eyes were wide like a deers, while Sirius’ narrowed, unreadable. Then, the faintest smirk hooked the corner of his mouth, and your lungs withered.

“Sorry, dove. Thought Sirius would have sent you to bed as well,” Remus said, his voice still thick with fatigue as he made his way to the kettle.

“And miss out on her charming company?” Sirius crossed the room to greet him, pressing a kiss to the taller man's scarred shoulder as he took over tea-making. “You're supposed to be sleeping, love,” he chastised, thought there was no real bite to it. Like he had anticipated Remus wouldn't be able to sleep.

“Couldn't,” Remus replied, glancing at you again before taking a seat at the kitchen table. “House is too quiet.”

“Ah, so you could hear her pacing a hole through the earth’s crust?” Sirius teased, winking at you.

You stuck your tongue out at him.

Remus chuckled. “It was hard to hear anything over Bill's snoring.” He pulled out the chair beside him, gesturing for you to take it. “Something on your mind?” He asked when you sank into it, your body suddenly feeling heavy on your bones.

Merlin, it had been a long day.

“Wouldn't even know where to start,” you said, sounding petulant even to yourself. You weren't usually the sort to sulk, but something in your body felt out of sorts, your mind racing a million miles a minute.

Remus' brow furrowed, eyes lifting to Sirius as the other man set a mug of tea in front of him, and then another in front of you.

Sirius' hand landed on your shoulder, squeezing experimentally. “Saints, you're coiled up like a snake, love,” he muttered, bringing his other hand up to massage your shoulders. “Poor thing,” he cooed, and your stomach flip flopped, heat climbing into your cheeks.

What the hell was happening? Had you fallen asleep on the couch and now were having the best dream?

His hands were burning, long-fingered and etched with ink, and the tension in your body started to give way to his coaxing. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and you quickly bit them together, stiffening once again.

“Sirius, you don't have to—”

“Ah, ah,” Sirius warned, squeezing a bit harder. “Relax, doll. Let us help you.”

Remus was studying your face, his eyes growing darker when Sirius tilted your head to one side, working his thumbs along the vulnerable curve where your shoulder meets your neck.

Your heart picked up, thrumming eagerly under your skin, between your legs.

“How's that feel?” Sirius asked, his face so close you could feel his breath tickled your skin. “Good?”

You nodded. “Y-yeah,” you breathed, perilously close to a moan.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, then his lips caressed your jugular, the faintest brush, but it felt like you'd been electrocuted, a gasp wrenched from your chest.

Remus made a low sound of approval in his throat. “Seems you were right, Padfoot,” he said, taking a sip of his tea like nothing out of the ordinary was transpiring.

Sirius smirked, his lips on your skin growing heavier, more insistent as he charted a tingling path towards your ear.

“Right about what?” You asked, hands gripping the table, unsure of what was happening, or if you were allowed to touch him back. But fuck, you wanted to comb your fingers through that gorgeous hair so bad it made your skin itch.

“That a pretty thing like you could want us,” Remus answered with a knowing smile, and your jaw dropped.

Who wouldn't want them?

“He thought I was mad,” Sirius chuckled, one of his hands coming up to hold your jaw, turning your face towards him. His storm-cloud eyes were molten, dark lashes heavy with unmistakable desire.

“Not mad,” Remus corrected. “Just thought it was wishful thinking.”

“Was it, baby?” Sirius asked you, the tip of his nose grazing yours. “Am I dreaming that needy look in your eyes?”

You shook your head. If he didn't kiss you right that second, you thought you might die.

“Words, pet,” Remus ordered, his tone gentle despite the clear command. “Tell us what you want.”

“I want you both,” you whispered, hardly believing that you were saying it aloud. This long buried secret of yours that you only brought out in the dead of night, fingers between your legs, desperate moans muffled by your pillow.

Sirius surged forward, molding his lips to yours, and it felt like he knocked your soul out of your body. Gentle but insistent, tinged with nicotine and honey, he coaxed you open in a way only a man with experience could.

Already, this was different than any experience you'd had prior. Better.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, dragging you closer, his tongue prying apart your teeth to taste you. Your hands fisted his hair, rising up to try and press your bodies together, desperate to feel him.

Remus loosed a low chuckle. “Ever been kissed like that, dove?” He asked.

You shook your head, unwilling to break the kiss to answer, and Sirius smirked, his teeth catching your lower lip and tugging before disconnecting your mouths.

“Have to taste her, Rem,” Sirius said, his thumb collecting the string of spit still connecting your lips and feeding it back to you. You wrapped your lips around the digit, the salted, smokey taste of him it's own aphrodisiac. “So sweet, aren't you?” He cooed, watching you with open appreciation, eyes dark with desire.

“Come here,” Remus said, and your heart seized, excitement pooling low in your belly.

You released Sirius' thumb and slid off your chair, taking measured steps towards Remus in the hopes of not betraying just how eager you were. But he had no such reservation, his big hands grabbing you by the hips and pulling you down into his lap.

“Feel a little different than what I'm used to. All hard angles, that one,” he murmured, glancing at Sirius. His calloused hands glided over your curves, almost reverent as he studied you. “You’re a soft little thing.” He tightened his grip, pressing you harder against him, and you could feel just how eager he was pulsing against your covered heat.

“Remus,” you whined, nails biting into his bare shoulders. Meager lines of pink amid a map of scarred ruin.

“Shhh,” he soothed, bringing one of his hands up to cradle your face. You couldn't help but lean into his warmth, craving the safety, security you associated with him. “Don't worry, dove. You trust us?”

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his inner wrist. And it was true, Sirius and Remus had protected you on countless occasions against Snatchers and Death Eaters. You trusted them with your life.

He smiled, and Sirius made a soft, affectionate noise in his throat. “You are sweet, aren't you?” Remus asked, his thumb ghosting over your lips. He leaned forward, laving his tongue across the seam of your mouth, and you squeaked in surprise, parting for him instantly. But he didn't kiss you, leaning back against the chair again. “Can hardly taste anything through the smoke, you degenerate,” Remus remarked with an amused smirk, looking over at Sirius.

“Mhm, just like me,” Sirius purred, suddenly right behind you.

“Don't go getting territorial now, mutt.” Remus’ grip tightened even further, belaying his real strength. It made your head swim. The two of them could tear you apart, a werewolf and a murderous hound. “We both know that's a fight you'd lose,” Remus added, voice low.

“Oh, look what you've done, doll,” Sirius chuckled, running his fingers through Remus' hair to soothe him, the professor's grip loosening a bit. “Got us acting like proper beasts.”

It clicked then that they were just playing with one another, circling like dogs before they pounce. Just part of the game. You were the proverbial rope in their tug-of-war.

Remus stood suddenly, lifting you into the air and dropping you onto the table and rattling the tea cups. He finally kissed you then, towering over you like a god of war, he pillaged your mouth with his, laying waste to your mind and soul. Remus kissed like it was the first and last time—all desperation and ravenous fury. With none of the sweetness and reservation he carried on a normal day.

You were helpless to it, giving yourself to him, to them, completely as he laid you back on the wood. His hands slid beneath your knees, pushing your legs back and out, his body settling between them.

“Want a real taste,” he muttered, kissing down your neck before lowering his head between your thighs.

Sirius appeared by your head, smoothing back your hair. “We've wanted this for a long time,” he said. “Since that first day and you dove headfirst into battle with those Snatchers…”

Remus hummed in agreement, guiding your jeans down your legs and laying them over the chair he vacated.

“Knew then that you could handle us,” Sirius continued, lifting your shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare to them.

“So fucking pretty,” Remus said, pressing a kiss just north of where you ached for him. “You sure about this, dove?” His hazel eyes met your over the naked stretch of your body.

“Please,” you said, carding your fingers through his tawny hair. “I've wanted you both for so long too.” The admission made your head spin, relief ballooning in your chest.

“Yeah?” Sirius asked, nosing into your neck to kiss your pulse, the hot muscle of his tongue making you tremble. “You've been a little slut, daydreaming about older men, haven't you?”

“Padfoot,” Remus huffed at his crude language.

But you loved it, the filthy words electric. “Yes, Sirius,” you panted, arching your back when his lips reached the peaks of your chest, the liquid heat of his mouth enveloping you.

“You touch yourself thinking about us?” He asked, teeth scraping fragile, rose-colored skin. “Our names muffled into your pillow when you shatter?”

“Yes—countless times.”

Whatever was holding Remus back seemed to give way at your confession, and his mouth enveloped you over the fabric, his tongue laving a demanding stroke.

You cried out, pleasure crashing through you, and Sirius clapped a hand over your mouth, bringing his face up yours.

“Quiet, love. Unless you want Bill to get an eyeful,” he warned.

Something rumbled from Remus’ chest. Displeasure at the idea of Bill finding you, you imagined. Almost instinctively, you scratched at his scalp to soothe him, lifting your hips to encourage him to continue, and he obliged, settling once again.

A dog with a bone.

Sirius smiled, removing his hand and stealing a quick kiss. “Seems she's got you figured out, Moons,” he teased.

Remus didn't reply, his finger hooking in the gusset of your panties and tugging them aside so he could taste your properly. Your mind lit up like it was a reward, you'd passed some test.

Another moan bubbled up and Sirius caught it with his fingers, pushing them past your lips again while his free hand explored. You sucked on his fingers, lapping at the texture of his rings, quickly getting lost under their expert attention.

Remus was insatiable, sloppy with it, devouring you like a hot meal on a winters day. You felt like you were flying, pitched and tossed through crests of ecstasy and agony.

“Such a good girl,” Remus praised, easing a thick finger inside of you. “So fucking pretty. C’mere, darling.”

Intuitively, you knew he wasn't talking to you.

Sirius abandoned his work, having left a row of marks along your sternum, and slipped his fingers from your mouth. “Look at that,” Sirius hummed, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, watching Remus work.

Remus chuckled, shifting back so Sirius could have a taste while he toyed with you slowly, deliberately. Stretching you, you realized before another wave a euphoria crashed over you, rendering you thoughtless once again.

Sirius groaned, nuzzling closer as he savored you. His enthusiasm was your undoing. You had to bite your hand to keep from crying out when you finally came apart for them.

“That's our good girl. Well done, dove,” Remus praised, splaying his free hand over your ribs to stop you from shaking the table with your aftershocks. Feeling the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the clammy sheen of sweat over your skin. He withdrew from your heat when you started to wince, but Sirius didn't let up, drinking you down like a mountain spring.

You whined, trying to inch up the table and away from the overstimulation, but Remus wasn't having it, wrapping an arm around your thigh to keep you locked in place.

Sirius finally came up, ending your torment with a wicked a smile on his face. Tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Not done yet, are you, love?” He asked as he moved back up towards your head.

“No, just—fuck,” you panted, slumping back against the table. “I've never…that hard before.”

“No?” Remus asked, placing a final kiss on your inner thigh before straightening.

“A travesty,” Sirius said, standing fully behind you now, his eagerness straining against his jeans just a few inches from your face.

Now it was your turn to lick your lips.

“Surely, we must get a reward for that?” He asked, undoing his belt with one hand, the sliding under your hair to hold the nape of your neck.

“You think so?” You teased.

“I do.” He yanked you across the table, your head dangling just slightly over the edge. “And I know just what I want.”

“So rough,” Remus tsked, tugging you back the other way so your head was fully supported. “You'll break her neck.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, and you giggled. “I'm not going to break her neck—” he tugged you back down, though not quite as far as before. “I'm going to fuck her throat.”

Your hands immediately went to undo his jeans, practically salivating at the thought. Merlin, how many times had you dreamed tasting Sirius Black?

“I was going to tell you ask nicely, but apparently she likes being manhandled,” Remus chuckled, watching as you freed Sirius from his boxers.

“Fucking made for us, Moony,” Sirius moaned, head falling back on his shoulders when you took him fully into your mouth.

You moaned at the heady flavor of him, hot and silken on your tongue. You could already tell it was going to be a concerted effort to take all of him like this, but you were determined to please him.

“Yeah?” Remus tugged you back down, pulling you slightly off of Sirius. You were about to complain when you felt him glide through your heat, a ruthless tease. “Were you made for us, dove?”

You whimpered around Sirius, nails scratching on the table for something to hold. Sirius grabbed up both of your wrists, gripping them in one of his hands against your chest, effectively immobilizing you.

Like that, pinned and at their mercy, Remus finally eased into you, bullying through your clenched cunt into the gooey warmth of your body.

“Fucking saints,” he hissed, sandy hair falling across his brow.

“That’s a good girl,” Sirius praised, withdrawing a bit so you could breathe through the stretch, thighs trembling on either side of Remus' hips. “Take us both so well, don't you, dolly?”

You tried to nod, a strangled moan escaping from your chest when Remus started to move, the two men falling into a punishing but hypnotic rhythm.

They were everywhere, everything. They were twin planets, massive, grasping stars, and you were a speck of space dust, flung helplessly into their orbit.

You didn't stand a fucking chance.

“Going to come for us again?” Remus asked, lifting one of your legs to rest over his shoulder, hitting an entirely new, eye-crossing spot deep in your guts.

“Such a perfect little plaything, aren't you? Being fucked open by men a decade older than you—fucking hell,” he groaned when your throat tightened around him, your whole body winding tight as your orgasm built. Higher, higher, higher—

“Go on dovey. Show us how much you love this—”

You combusted, starlight exploding under your skin, and if Sirius hadn't been painting your throat white, you probably would have screamed loud enough to wake the dead. It ravaged you, scorched you, left you a pile of smoldering ash on the poor, abused table.

Remus released across your stomach, his moans stifled when he sunk his teeth into the meat of your calf, fucking into his clenched fist.

Sirius leaned forward, kissing along your face and neck, his hand massaging your wrists where he'd held them. “Did so good, baby. Fuck me, you're perfection—”

“Dove, are you alright? Did we hurt you?” Remus asked after tugging on some pants, his hand smoothing over your hip, the skin still stained pink from the ferocity of his grip.

“Blimey, look. We damn near broke the table—”

“Padfoot, not now—”

“M’okay,” you giggled, managing to press a kiss to Sirius' jaw, and the two of them relaxed a bit.

They managed to get you wrapped up in a blanket and onto the couch, tucked securely into Remus' chest. Sirius pressed your magically re-heated mug of tea into your hands.

“Please tell me you enjoyed that as much as we did?” Sirius asked, catching your lips in an airy kiss before you could respond.

So instead, you threaded your fingers through his wild hair, drawing him deeper. Trying to pour every ounce of excitement and relief you were feeling into him.

“No going back now,” Remus chuckled, grabbing your chin to turn you toward himself, nudging Sirius away so he could steal a kiss too.

A creak snatched your attention, making the three of you jump and look towards the stairs. But they were still dark and vacant, the air around them undisturbed.

Another creak, then—CRASH!

The table collapsed, the legs buckling entirely under the weight of the tabletop, and fell into a wooden heap on the floor.

Bill came flying down the stairs before any of you could move, wand aloft and still dressed in his pajamas.

“What the fuck?!” He cried, skidding to a halt by the table, his wand arm lowering a bit. Then, he turned to face the three of you, still mostly undressed and looking, well, thoroughly fucked. “Wha—what the fuck?”

Yep, no going back now