[ It's no surprise to anyone that Bucky has issues to work through. After all he's been through, all he's endured, it's only natural. How he chooses to deal with all that, though, is anyone's guess. Sometimes, it's journaling. Sometimes, it's staring off into space.
Tonight, it's a little...unorthodox.
He has Steve sit on a chair, which Steve does easily enough (and with that hopeful-concerned look in his eyes that never seems to go away). Steve trusts him, trusts Bucky, and would probably walk across hot coals for him if asked. Of course Steve wants to know what's up, but Bucky just loops a small rope around his wrists so they're behind the chair back. It's loosely knotted, but firm, more for show than anything; Steve would have no issue pulling free or snapping the fibers loose with minimal effort.
After that, Bucky steadies himself, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and holds it in front of Steve's face. He swallows, trying to work himself up to what he's about to ask. ]
Do you trust me?
[ Bucky looks like he might not even trust himself, fully. But he needs Steve to be honest with him, either way it goes. ]
[The words come easily - maybe a little too easily. But he does trust Bucky, unconditionally. Now that he's in control of himself, even if he doesn't know who he is, Steve believes he wouldn't hurt him. Theirs is a bond that's felt more than remembered, at least in his mind. (Whether or not this is accurate is another thing entirely.)
He licks suddenly dry lips, moistening them before he speaks again.]
[ Butterflies start flitting around in Bucky's stomach, Steve's admission--permission-- almost too much for him to believe. He'd hoped, been afraid that maybe...
But here they are. And Bucky wants to try something. He rolls the handkerchief into a flat strip, leans in, and covers Steve's eyes. Those bright, blue eyes that would light up a room or make people follow him to the ends of the Earth.
Those eyes that hurt Bucky too much to be on him for this.
Once Steve can't see him (he's pretty sure, he tied it well and pulled it down enough to keep Steve from peeking), Bucky steps back, surveys his work. Good so far. Well begun is half done, as his old trainers used to say.
He pushes that thought out of his brain and begins the process of disrobing: shoes, socks, shirt (he pauses here, but not too long), then jeans. When he's down to his underwear, when he knows Steve can tell what he's doing just by the rustling of clothes, Bucky stops. He picks up his jeans, pulls a small bottle from the front left pocket, and rolls it around in his hand. He's gone through this several times in his mind, but now that he's here, his heart is racing and his nerves are jittery.
He's got to push forward.
So he does, leaning in to place a tentative hand at Steve's own clothing, at the button on his trousers. Do whatever you want, he said. Bucky pops the button open, and waits, looking up to see Steve's reaction. He waits, waits, listening for signs in Steve's breathing or tension in Steve's shoulders, anything to tell Bucky stop or go.
Bucky doesn't really know which one wants more...or dreads. ]
[Once the blindfold is tied, Steve closes his eyes, focuses on his other senses instead. His throat goes dry at the prolonged rustling of cloth, that can only mean one thing. Bucky's naked in front of him, and he can't see it. He can imagine him well enough, although the vision in his mind's eye blurs between Bucky as he was and Bucky as he is now. He can't help it; he just knows one better than the other. But he tries to focus on the present Bucky, with muscles and scars and hair that brushes his shoulders, not the clean-cut young man he once was.
By the time Bucky pops the button on his jeans open, he's hard just from knowing he's naked, and he's scooted forward to the edge of his chair. His muscles are tense, but with anticipation, and his chest is rising and falling faster than normal.]
Buck. [His voice is already a little hoarse, a little breathless.]
[ Bucky pauses, but notices Steve is looking a little pink at the cheeks, a bit flushed already. And he's hard, worked up. Okay, good, that's good.
Bucky works Steve's erection free from the jeans, pushes the fabric clear, but doesn't immediately do anything else. Not to Steve, anyway. Bucky stands straight, tugs his underwear down, and kicks them aside. He's fully nude now, bared to the world, but Steve's eyes are blessedly hidden behind the makeshift blindfold.
Bucky pops the cap on the tiny bottle in his hand, squeezes a little onto his fingers. For a while, the only sound he makes is his breathing, the jagged, nervous inhales as he probes the rim of his hole and slips a finger inside. Then, two. This is something he's worked at before, holding himself open for a cock that never appears.
Not until now, not until Steve. Bucky's throat goes dry, and he takes a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them. He stands with his legs apart, feet on either side of the chair, his body still feeling tight from anticipation.
Again, he waits, maybe steeling himself or waiting to check in with Steve once more. His own cock is half-hard, an advantageous conditioned response. ]
[There's the slightest intake of breath as Bucky touches him; his hips arch up off the chair, pulling his arms taut as he strains for more, the feeling of fingers against him magnified with the loss of his vision. But the touch is gone too soon, and Steve nearly whimpers at the loss. All he can hear now is the sound of Bucky's breathing, and he can't figure out what he's doing. He wonders if he's going to kneel between his legs and suck his cock into his mouth, or if he's going to wrap his fingers around it again and stroke him.]
You still there?
[It's only half a joke. He can hear his breath, but that's all. There's no other sign of his presence, and it's almost like Steve's in the room with a ghost. Which isn't an entirely inaccurate comparison, but not one he wants to think of while he's hard and waiting for something to happen.]
[ Bucky's startled out of his focus when Steve speaks. Truthfully, he considered sucking Steve off, but it would probably distract him from what he's been working himself up to.
Bucky leans in, close enough to smell the scent of Steve's aftershave, and wraps his fingers around Steve's cock. He lowers himself, holding Steve in place, guiding the tip of Steve's erection. He feels it breach, and his breath hitches, but doesn't stop, letting the lubricant do its work as he slowly, slowly lowers himself inch by inch.
The stretch is wide, wider than he anticipated, but Bucky can't stop now. He needs this. A soft whine escapes his lips, hair falling over his eyes as he breathes, breathes, concentrating. Once Steve is all the way inside, once he's buried to the hilt, Bucky settles his weight, able to keep his feet on the floor for leverage. But he doesn't move, not yet- he adjust to the stretch, the fullness, trembling as he braces a hand on Steve's chest. ]
[His eyes open wide behind the blindfold, startled by the last thing he'd expected, Bucky's weight sliding down on him, the tight warmth enveloping his cock. His fingernails dig into his palms as his hands clench into fists - if he were gripping the chair, it would surely be splintering now. As it is, he questions whether or not it's going to survive this. Whether or not he's going to survive this, for that matter.
As Bucky puts a hand on his chest, Steve remembers to breathe again, sucks in a gulp of air.]
Jesus Christ, Bucky.
[He doesn't know what to say. What else he could say, if he should say anything at all. He's thought about this for so long, but never imagined it happening like this. Doesn't understand why Bucky has to tie him up and blindfold him, although that's something he doesn't really have the brainpower to think about right now. As much as he wants to lean forward and try to kiss him, something tells him not to. That Bucky doesn't want him to touch him any more than he wants him to see him.
There's something impossibly sad about that, but Steve makes himself focus on the more immediate matter at hand.]
[ Bucky buries his face in Steve's neck, lips brushing the skin as he breathes hot puffs of air across the surface.
You okay?
Well, that's a bit complicated, isn't it? The idea of 'okay' is a layered, complex one, but as long as he's here, he will be. Bucky starts rocking, hot waves of pleasure shooting up his spine in bursts with each movement. He shifts his hips forward, a quick snap, and moans, Steve's cock brushing over a tender spot inside of him.
Bucky clings to Steve, wrapping an arm around him and holding him by the back of the neck. His movements are needy, desperate, like feeling Steve inside of him is the air in his lungs. ]
[Bucky's silence leaves Steve alone with his thoughts - the thoughts he can muster with Bucky riding him, anyway. Slowly, his mind sinks through the haze of arousal, dropping comfortably into a place where Bucky's pleasure is the only thing that matters to him, where he's the instrument of that pleasure. He stops straining at the bonds, simply lets go, and everything clicks into perfect clarity then.
He shudders as Bucky rides him, as he presses close enough that he can feel his breath on his neck, the ends of his hair brushing against his skin. He doesn't know what to do, if he should do anything - not that he has a whole lot of options right now. And that's probably the point, isn't it?]
[ Bucky is in his own space, too, one centered on need. It took him so long to work up the muster to do this, and every movement of his body, every sensation of Steve pressed against and inside him, pushes him closer towards a precipice. He keeps rocking, body throbbing with each thrust.
Steve feels so good, so full inside him. Bucky's cock aches, hard as a rock, over-sensitive from brushing against Steve's body and his clothing.
It's only when Bucky feels Steve go loose, when he feels Steve sink into it, that another white-hot surge goes through him. He presses his feet against the floor for a little leverage, and arches hard into Steve, filling himself as much as he can-- could he do more?-- all the way in. He trembles again, fingers curling at the nape of Steve's neck, where he keeps that blond hair of his trimmed short (old habits).
He keens, a soft, desperate noise, as his motions intensify, almost selfish. Steve is an idea in his mind as much as he's physically here with Bucky; a concept, a feeling, a figure. Bucky keeps his eyes closed, listening for any commentary, any response while he chases his own pleasure like a starving man. ]
[There's a sharp inhale when Bucky takes him all the way in, god, and something that sounds almost like a whimper on the exhale of the same breath. Other than that, Steve doesn't make any noise, doesn't try to talk anymore. Instead, he listens to Bucky, to every little noise he makes, trying to pick up on any cues he can, any hints that Bucky might want more from him or less or- anything. He leans back against the back of the chair, trying to give him the room he needs to get just the right angle.
He can feel Bucky's cock brushing against him, and he imagines Bucky fucking his mouth for a moment, pinning him down on the bed, holding him with his metal arm while he thrusts into his mouth. Steve wants to be debauched and used, and he doesn't know why, just that he wants Bucky to do it. Wants Bucky to tell him what to do and tell him how good he is at it, tell him how good he is while he makes him come. Hell, he'll do all of it with a blindfold on if he has to, if that's what Bucky wants. Bucky is all that matters here; his own needs are secondary.]
[ Words won't form coherently on his lips right now...or in his brain for that matter. All he knows is sensation, desire, want. He hears Steve make that noise and it pulls him out of his fog just long enough to press down hard again. ]
Ah, fff--
[ It's hoarse, a barely-there whisper no one would really be able to hear. Steve could-- can-- and probably does, with how close Bucky's lips are to his ear.
He readjusts, sits more fully down, and feels another lightning bolt shoot up his spine. Bucky's breath hitches, he keens softly, and pulls Steve in to snag his earlobe between his teeth. Bucky bites down a little, nipping, then closes his lips on the tender skin of Steve's neck. He's close, and Steve is so vulnerable for him. That thought makes his dick ache even more. ]
[He twitches at Bucky's whisper, a full-body shudder under the comforting weight of Bucky's body. When he moves closer, he can feel his cock trapped between them, rubbing against his stomach with every movement. Steve wishes his shirt was off, that he could feel Bucky rutting against him, have him come on him and mark him.]
Sh- [He bites off the end of the word, but his hips still arch up at the sensation of lips and teeth. Steve lets his head tip back, exposes more of his neck. It's greedy, but he wants more. Wants him to bite and suck and claim.]
[ As his movements grow more frantic, his lips drift from the juncture of Steve's neck over the line of his jaw, ending at his throat. It's as much lust as it is a test for himself: not too long ago, a buried feral instinct would have reared its head.
Destroy. Rip his throat out, watch the blood spray.
But nothing from that darkness comes up, thankfully- there is only Bucky's body and a clear head and Steve beneath him. And Steve is enjoying it, being plunged into sensation despite (or maybe because of) the loss of his eyesight.
Suddenly, Bucky wants to see, so he sits up, adjusting the angle and giving himself another tremor. Both of his hands are on Steve's neck now, holding him as he rides like this could be his last night. When he comes, it is after a series of jerky motions, where he fights not to dip his head and look between them, but fails at the last.
His body shudders, shakes, his skin fire and electricity. Steve's shirt is ruined, but the spurts are small (not that it matters in the end). ]
[When it comes down to it, everything is a display of trust, from letting Bucky tie him up like this to offering him his bare throat. Steve believes Bucky won't harm him, has more faith in him than perhaps Bucky himself does. He's not stupid, he knows the risk is there. But as long as Bucky has control of himself, he trusts him to have control over him, too.
Bucky's climax is a series of sensations: his body shaking wherever he's pressed against Steve, the sharp contractions of muscle around him, the wetness that seeps through the cotton of his shirt. A groan slips from between Steve's clenched teeth, every muscle tense. He's so close, but it's almost like he's waiting for a sign that it's all right to let go.]
[ he shudders apart, and once the haze begins to clear, Bucky comes to himself and sees the strained look on Steve's face. He feels the tension, every muscle pulled taut.
He sits more upright, keeping himself heated firmly on Steve's lap, and gently rocks, carding his fingers through the ends of Steve's hair poking up through the band of the blindfold. The impulse to soothe runs deep, something beyond language or memory. The Soviets couldn't take that much from him even with decades of pain and suffering.
Bucky lets out a soft sigh, heady and sated on endorphins. It's as communicative as anything he's managed so far. ]
[The sigh, the way Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, they're what tells him that it's all right, that he's done what Bucky wanted and now he can take his own pleasure. Steve shudders, his hips rocking up again and again and again, finally free to seek his release.
His movements grow more erratic, jerkier, and with a groan he thrusts up once more, spilling over inside him. Steve shakes apart as his cock pulses, and then finally, he slumps back against the chair, spent. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, and he still doesn't say anything.]
[ A few moments pass, where he simply watches, waits. Their erections have softened and he shifts, growing uncomfortable, before managing to push up and let Steve slide out of his body. His legs shake, but the chair is a useful support, so he holds that until his feet feel steady enough.
Bucky's voice is a little scratchy when he speaks, when he steps behind the chair: ]
I'm gonna untie this.
[ But he gives no further instructions, doesn't let on as to what else he has planned. Once the ropes are loose enough, Bucky steps back to where his clothes are and slowly starts to pull them back on: underwear (he'll clean himself later), jeans, shirt. Footwear seems less important to hide under, so he skips that. ]
[The focused state of mind Steve's found himself in slowly drips away, like water seeping through cracks in stone, leaving him...hollow. Empty. When Bucky loosens the ropes, he pulls his hands through, tucks his limp dick back into his pants, but doesn't do much else. Doesn't remove the blindfold yet, even once the sound of Bucky putting his clothes back on stops.
It's a strange feeling, one he'd be hard-pressed to describe out loud. Hell, even Bucky might think he was crazy. He's just had sex - damn good sex - and real men don't feel like they want to cry after an orgasm. Steve almost never cries anyway, so he doesn't understand why his eyes sting and prickle under the cloth of the handkerchief. He doesn't know why he just feels listless, like he can't even be bothered to get up from the chair he's sitting in. It doesn't make sense to him.]
[ Bucky stands behind him, comes up close and puts a tentative hand on Steve's shoulder. Odd, for him, now that the orgasm has faded, that Bucky should feel so...calm. The wanting has driven him crazy for weeks, robbing his sleep, making him twitchy and anxious. Now that he's over the crest of feeling, it's like a lake undisturbed. He's not crawling out of his skin anymore.
Funny, he'd thought it would be-- well, not that.
Anyways. Bucky lets his hand rest on Steve's shoulder, and feels the tension lingering there. It's not that he can hear Steve crying, but he can sense something is wrong; the way Steve hangs limp in the chair, the way he hasn't bothered to leap up and pull his blindfold off. That in itself is enough to make Bucky pause. He squeezes, but keeps it gentle, reassuring. Just Bucky's presence, strong at his back.
[Just the hand on his shoulder makes him feel a little better. He tips his head back, almost but not quite burrowing into his chest, an almost childish need for contact overwhelming him. Though he keeps his hands folded on his lap, he wants to reach out for him. But Bucky isn't exactly the cuddling type, and probably even resting his head on him is more than he wants.
(Still, Steve inhales deeply, not moving his head. There's something reassuring about Bucky's scent, there under the smell of sweat and sex.)]
You're welcome.
[The words feel inadequate, but Steve doesn't know what else to say.]
[ God help him, Bucky doesn't know what he would have done if Steve had gone and said, 'no'. After all the sweating and restlessness, it might have driven him out of his mind.
He still isn't sure what's up with Steve, but he stays stil for the time being. It seems the proper thing to do. He at least has the presence of mind to ask after his friend's well-being, after being so accommodating. ]
[A 'no' comes to his lips automatically, but at the last moment he changes his mind, decides to tell the truth.]
I...don't know.
[But then he hurriedly follows with:] You didn't do anything wrong, though. 's just. I dunno, Buck. I feel weird.
[It's something to do with emotions, and if there's one thing they're both bad at, it's talking about feelings. Especially when he can't even figure out what those feelings are.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
based on art i will send u later
Tonight, it's a little...unorthodox.
He has Steve sit on a chair, which Steve does easily enough (and with that hopeful-concerned look in his eyes that never seems to go away). Steve trusts him, trusts Bucky, and would probably walk across hot coals for him if asked. Of course Steve wants to know what's up, but Bucky just loops a small rope around his wrists so they're behind the chair back. It's loosely knotted, but firm, more for show than anything; Steve would have no issue pulling free or snapping the fibers loose with minimal effort.
After that, Bucky steadies himself, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and holds it in front of Steve's face. He swallows, trying to work himself up to what he's about to ask. ]
Do you trust me?
[ Bucky looks like he might not even trust himself, fully. But he needs Steve to be honest with him, either way it goes. ]
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[The words come easily - maybe a little too easily. But he does trust Bucky, unconditionally. Now that he's in control of himself, even if he doesn't know who he is, Steve believes he wouldn't hurt him. Theirs is a bond that's felt more than remembered, at least in his mind. (Whether or not this is accurate is another thing entirely.)
He licks suddenly dry lips, moistening them before he speaks again.]
Do whatever you want.
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But here they are. And Bucky wants to try something. He rolls the handkerchief into a flat strip, leans in, and covers Steve's eyes. Those bright, blue eyes that would light up a room or make people follow him to the ends of the Earth.
Those eyes that hurt Bucky too much to be on him for this.
Once Steve can't see him (he's pretty sure, he tied it well and pulled it down enough to keep Steve from peeking), Bucky steps back, surveys his work. Good so far. Well begun is half done, as his old trainers used to say.
He pushes that thought out of his brain and begins the process of disrobing: shoes, socks, shirt (he pauses here, but not too long), then jeans. When he's down to his underwear, when he knows Steve can tell what he's doing just by the rustling of clothes, Bucky stops. He picks up his jeans, pulls a small bottle from the front left pocket, and rolls it around in his hand. He's gone through this several times in his mind, but now that he's here, his heart is racing and his nerves are jittery.
He's got to push forward.
So he does, leaning in to place a tentative hand at Steve's own clothing, at the button on his trousers. Do whatever you want, he said. Bucky pops the button open, and waits, looking up to see Steve's reaction. He waits, waits, listening for signs in Steve's breathing or tension in Steve's shoulders, anything to tell Bucky stop or go.
Bucky doesn't really know which one wants more...or dreads. ]
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By the time Bucky pops the button on his jeans open, he's hard just from knowing he's naked, and he's scooted forward to the edge of his chair. His muscles are tense, but with anticipation, and his chest is rising and falling faster than normal.]
Buck. [His voice is already a little hoarse, a little breathless.]
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Bucky works Steve's erection free from the jeans, pushes the fabric clear, but doesn't immediately do anything else. Not to Steve, anyway. Bucky stands straight, tugs his underwear down, and kicks them aside. He's fully nude now, bared to the world, but Steve's eyes are blessedly hidden behind the makeshift blindfold.
Bucky pops the cap on the tiny bottle in his hand, squeezes a little onto his fingers. For a while, the only sound he makes is his breathing, the jagged, nervous inhales as he probes the rim of his hole and slips a finger inside. Then, two. This is something he's worked at before, holding himself open for a cock that never appears.
Not until now, not until Steve. Bucky's throat goes dry, and he takes a tentative step forward, closing the distance between them. He stands with his legs apart, feet on either side of the chair, his body still feeling tight from anticipation.
Again, he waits, maybe steeling himself or waiting to check in with Steve once more. His own cock is half-hard, an advantageous conditioned response. ]
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You still there?
[It's only half a joke. He can hear his breath, but that's all. There's no other sign of his presence, and it's almost like Steve's in the room with a ghost. Which isn't an entirely inaccurate comparison, but not one he wants to think of while he's hard and waiting for something to happen.]
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Bucky leans in, close enough to smell the scent of Steve's aftershave, and wraps his fingers around Steve's cock. He lowers himself, holding Steve in place, guiding the tip of Steve's erection. He feels it breach, and his breath hitches, but doesn't stop, letting the lubricant do its work as he slowly, slowly lowers himself inch by inch.
The stretch is wide, wider than he anticipated, but Bucky can't stop now. He needs this. A soft whine escapes his lips, hair falling over his eyes as he breathes, breathes, concentrating. Once Steve is all the way inside, once he's buried to the hilt, Bucky settles his weight, able to keep his feet on the floor for leverage. But he doesn't move, not yet- he adjust to the stretch, the fullness, trembling as he braces a hand on Steve's chest. ]
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[His eyes open wide behind the blindfold, startled by the last thing he'd expected, Bucky's weight sliding down on him, the tight warmth enveloping his cock. His fingernails dig into his palms as his hands clench into fists - if he were gripping the chair, it would surely be splintering now. As it is, he questions whether or not it's going to survive this. Whether or not he's going to survive this, for that matter.
As Bucky puts a hand on his chest, Steve remembers to breathe again, sucks in a gulp of air.]
Jesus Christ, Bucky.
[He doesn't know what to say. What else he could say, if he should say anything at all. He's thought about this for so long, but never imagined it happening like this. Doesn't understand why Bucky has to tie him up and blindfold him, although that's something he doesn't really have the brainpower to think about right now. As much as he wants to lean forward and try to kiss him, something tells him not to. That Bucky doesn't want him to touch him any more than he wants him to see him.
There's something impossibly sad about that, but Steve makes himself focus on the more immediate matter at hand.]
You okay?
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You okay?
Well, that's a bit complicated, isn't it? The idea of 'okay' is a layered, complex one, but as long as he's here, he will be. Bucky starts rocking, hot waves of pleasure shooting up his spine in bursts with each movement. He shifts his hips forward, a quick snap, and moans, Steve's cock brushing over a tender spot inside of him.
Bucky clings to Steve, wrapping an arm around him and holding him by the back of the neck. His movements are needy, desperate, like feeling Steve inside of him is the air in his lungs. ]
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He shudders as Bucky rides him, as he presses close enough that he can feel his breath on his neck, the ends of his hair brushing against his skin. He doesn't know what to do, if he should do anything - not that he has a whole lot of options right now. And that's probably the point, isn't it?]
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Steve feels so good, so full inside him. Bucky's cock aches, hard as a rock, over-sensitive from brushing against Steve's body and his clothing.
It's only when Bucky feels Steve go loose, when he feels Steve sink into it, that another white-hot surge goes through him. He presses his feet against the floor for a little leverage, and arches hard into Steve, filling himself as much as he can-- could he do more?-- all the way in. He trembles again, fingers curling at the nape of Steve's neck, where he keeps that blond hair of his trimmed short (old habits).
He keens, a soft, desperate noise, as his motions intensify, almost selfish. Steve is an idea in his mind as much as he's physically here with Bucky; a concept, a feeling, a figure. Bucky keeps his eyes closed, listening for any commentary, any response while he chases his own pleasure like a starving man. ]
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He can feel Bucky's cock brushing against him, and he imagines Bucky fucking his mouth for a moment, pinning him down on the bed, holding him with his metal arm while he thrusts into his mouth. Steve wants to be debauched and used, and he doesn't know why, just that he wants Bucky to do it. Wants Bucky to tell him what to do and tell him how good he is at it, tell him how good he is while he makes him come. Hell, he'll do all of it with a blindfold on if he has to, if that's what Bucky wants. Bucky is all that matters here; his own needs are secondary.]
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Ah, fff--
[ It's hoarse, a barely-there whisper no one would really be able to hear. Steve could-- can-- and probably does, with how close Bucky's lips are to his ear.
He readjusts, sits more fully down, and feels another lightning bolt shoot up his spine. Bucky's breath hitches, he keens softly, and pulls Steve in to snag his earlobe between his teeth. Bucky bites down a little, nipping, then closes his lips on the tender skin of Steve's neck. He's close, and Steve is so vulnerable for him. That thought makes his dick ache even more. ]
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Sh- [He bites off the end of the word, but his hips still arch up at the sensation of lips and teeth. Steve lets his head tip back, exposes more of his neck. It's greedy, but he wants more. Wants him to bite and suck and claim.]
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Destroy. Rip his throat out, watch the blood spray.
But nothing from that darkness comes up, thankfully- there is only Bucky's body and a clear head and Steve beneath him. And Steve is enjoying it, being plunged into sensation despite (or maybe because of) the loss of his eyesight.
Suddenly, Bucky wants to see, so he sits up, adjusting the angle and giving himself another tremor. Both of his hands are on Steve's neck now, holding him as he rides like this could be his last night. When he comes, it is after a series of jerky motions, where he fights not to dip his head and look between them, but fails at the last.
His body shudders, shakes, his skin fire and electricity. Steve's shirt is ruined, but the spurts are small (not that it matters in the end). ]
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Bucky's climax is a series of sensations: his body shaking wherever he's pressed against Steve, the sharp contractions of muscle around him, the wetness that seeps through the cotton of his shirt. A groan slips from between Steve's clenched teeth, every muscle tense. He's so close, but it's almost like he's waiting for a sign that it's all right to let go.]
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He sits more upright, keeping himself heated firmly on Steve's lap, and gently rocks, carding his fingers through the ends of Steve's hair poking up through the band of the blindfold. The impulse to soothe runs deep, something beyond language or memory. The Soviets couldn't take that much from him even with decades of pain and suffering.
Bucky lets out a soft sigh, heady and sated on endorphins. It's as communicative as anything he's managed so far. ]
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His movements grow more erratic, jerkier, and with a groan he thrusts up once more, spilling over inside him. Steve shakes apart as his cock pulses, and then finally, he slumps back against the chair, spent. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, and he still doesn't say anything.]
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Bucky's voice is a little scratchy when he speaks, when he steps behind the chair: ]
I'm gonna untie this.
[ But he gives no further instructions, doesn't let on as to what else he has planned. Once the ropes are loose enough, Bucky steps back to where his clothes are and slowly starts to pull them back on: underwear (he'll clean himself later), jeans, shirt. Footwear seems less important to hide under, so he skips that. ]
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It's a strange feeling, one he'd be hard-pressed to describe out loud. Hell, even Bucky might think he was crazy. He's just had sex - damn good sex - and real men don't feel like they want to cry after an orgasm. Steve almost never cries anyway, so he doesn't understand why his eyes sting and prickle under the cloth of the handkerchief. He doesn't know why he just feels listless, like he can't even be bothered to get up from the chair he's sitting in. It doesn't make sense to him.]
STEEB NO ;;
Funny, he'd thought it would be-- well, not that.
Anyways. Bucky lets his hand rest on Steve's shoulder, and feels the tension lingering there. It's not that he can hear Steve crying, but he can sense something is wrong; the way Steve hangs limp in the chair, the way he hasn't bothered to leap up and pull his blindfold off. That in itself is enough to make Bucky pause. He squeezes, but keeps it gentle, reassuring. Just Bucky's presence, strong at his back.
His voice is still a little hoarse, soft. ]
Th- thanks. For letting me do that.
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(Still, Steve inhales deeply, not moving his head. There's something reassuring about Bucky's scent, there under the smell of sweat and sex.)]
You're welcome.
[The words feel inadequate, but Steve doesn't know what else to say.]
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He still isn't sure what's up with Steve, but he stays stil for the time being. It seems the proper thing to do. He at least has the presence of mind to ask after his friend's well-being, after being so accommodating. ]
...You ok?
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I...don't know.
[But then he hurriedly follows with:] You didn't do anything wrong, though. 's just. I dunno, Buck. I feel weird.
[It's something to do with emotions, and if there's one thing they're both bad at, it's talking about feelings. Especially when he can't even figure out what those feelings are.]
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[ Bucky's stomach drops through the floor when Steve admits he feels off. Shit. Shit, he fucked up and did something wrong, something not okay.
Dammit, he shouldn't have come in here, looking for this. He just shouldn't have. Now Steve isn't alright and it's Bucky's fault.
No matter how long he's alive, he can't seem to stop hurting people. Bucky's hand trembles, falters, and he drops it to his side. ]
I didn't mean to..
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oh these precious children
2 pure for this world
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boxers? briefs? boxerbriefs?
YES
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