[ 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.]
[That's what makes Steve finally tug the blindfold off to look up at Bucky, pushing his own emotions aside. They don't matter, not while Bucky's convinced he did something wrong.]
No, I'm fine. [Well, not fine, per se, but-] You didn't hurt me, okay? [Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky's flesh hand, running his thumb over it.] It was good, Buck, real good. Promise.
[ When he sees Steve start to pull the blindfold off, Bucky's stomach flips and he feels a stab of panic. He ducks his head and looks away, unable to face the disappointment- the recrimination in Steve's eyes that won't quite be tempered.
He swallows a lump, unconvinced. ]
Okay.
[ But Steve's voice gives it away, and Bucky just wants to pull his hand back and crawl under his bed. ]
[Whatever Bucky's looking for, it isn't there, and Steve's more concerned that Bucky doesn't want to look at him, doesn't want him to look at him.]
C'mon, let's go- [He gestures vaguely.] Sit on the couch or something. Watch some Netflix. [Pretend they're normal for about thirty seconds.] I'll let you pick and everything.
[Or maybe they both did. But he knows that Bucky can't be left to shoulder the blame alone.]
Look, Buck, I liked it. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? I mean- [And he blushes a little, trying (and failing) to articulate it.] I really liked it. No one's ever done that kinda thing with me before. And something about it just felt right.
[ Bucky still can't bring himself to look at Steve, to have Steve's piercing blue eyes on him. That's part of the reason for the blindfold, in case this very--
I really liked it
Bucky can hear it in Steve's voice: this is something that really got him going. Maybe Bucky didn't irreparably screw this up after all. He flushes a little himself, stumbling over his own confession. ]
It's all I could think about for weeks, just you there, and me on you, and. Geez, what's the matter with me, Steve?
[Oh, jeez. Just Bucky talking about thinking about it - for weeks - makes Steve feel hot under the collar, and he squirms a little on the chair. He huffs a humorless-sounding laugh.]
What's the matter with both of us?
[He swallows hard, fidgets with his hands, and then suggests, a little reluctantly (mostly because he doesn't want to sound too eager)] If you. Uh. Tied me to a bed. [Steve pauses to lick his lips.] You could fuck my mouth, too. Or, hell, just have me on my knees.
[Bucky might not want to do it on a bed; it might be too intimate for him. There are rules to this that he's just trying to blindly figure out.]
[ Bucky flushes an even deeper shade of red, hearing Steve not only go along with it, but offer suggestions on how to do it. His fingers twitch, and suddenly his clothes feel too tight.
He lifts his gaze, looks at Steve somewhere in the vicinity of his left eyebrow. His mouth has gone strangely dry, and he's fighting the urge to put his hand on Steve's throat. Geez he's fucked up in the head. ]
Shi-- Steve, god, I feel like some sleaze for even thinking about this. For thinking about you and- and here I am, here you are... is this even something normal people do?
Probably not, [he admits with a wry twist to his mouth.] But I don't think either of us are really normal people.
[Steve slides off the chair, goes down onto his knees. The rope's still behind the chair, the handkerchief somewhere on the floor. Not that he really needs either of them.]
I- um. Just tell me what to do. Please. [He doesn't lift his head up to look at Bucky, but there's desperation in his voice.]
[ Bucky whines, his knees going weak at Steve's honest plea. His fingers find their way into Steve's short hair, curling against his scalp. Already, his dick is interested all over, aching and straining against his jeans.
He closes his eyes for a moment, maybe to pray and ask forgiveness, or-- he's not sure. This could be totally perverse, broken beyond repair, but fuck he wants this. And he wants it bad. Bucky licks his lip, and glances down at the rope. He takes a breath to steady himself. ]
P-- [ He clears his throat. ] Pick up the rope, Steve.
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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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No, I'm fine. [Well, not fine, per se, but-] You didn't hurt me, okay? [Steve reaches out and grabs Bucky's flesh hand, running his thumb over it.] It was good, Buck, real good. Promise.
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He swallows a lump, unconvinced. ]
Okay.
[ But Steve's voice gives it away, and Bucky just wants to pull his hand back and crawl under his bed. ]
Sorry.
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C'mon, let's go- [He gestures vaguely.] Sit on the couch or something. Watch some Netflix. [Pretend they're normal for about thirty seconds.] I'll let you pick and everything.
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No, no. It's okay.
[ He wants to hide forever. This was a horrible idea. Dammit. ]
I didn't mean to make it weird. Just ah, forget about it?
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[Or maybe they both did. But he knows that Bucky can't be left to shoulder the blame alone.]
Look, Buck, I liked it. You didn't do anything wrong, okay? I mean- [And he blushes a little, trying (and failing) to articulate it.] I really liked it. No one's ever done that kinda thing with me before. And something about it just felt right.
[You know, before everything fell apart.]
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I really liked it
Bucky can hear it in Steve's voice: this is something that really got him going. Maybe Bucky didn't irreparably screw this up after all. He flushes a little himself, stumbling over his own confession. ]
It's all I could think about for weeks, just you there, and me on you, and. Geez, what's the matter with me, Steve?
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What's the matter with both of us?
[He swallows hard, fidgets with his hands, and then suggests, a little reluctantly (mostly because he doesn't want to sound too eager)] If you. Uh. Tied me to a bed. [Steve pauses to lick his lips.] You could fuck my mouth, too. Or, hell, just have me on my knees.
[Bucky might not want to do it on a bed; it might be too intimate for him. There are rules to this that he's just trying to blindly figure out.]
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He lifts his gaze, looks at Steve somewhere in the vicinity of his left eyebrow. His mouth has gone strangely dry, and he's fighting the urge to put his hand on Steve's throat. Geez he's fucked up in the head. ]
Shi-- Steve, god, I feel like some sleaze for even thinking about this. For thinking about you and- and here I am, here you are... is this even something normal people do?
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[Steve slides off the chair, goes down onto his knees. The rope's still behind the chair, the handkerchief somewhere on the floor. Not that he really needs either of them.]
I- um. Just tell me what to do. Please. [He doesn't lift his head up to look at Bucky, but there's desperation in his voice.]
oh these precious children
He closes his eyes for a moment, maybe to pray and ask forgiveness, or-- he's not sure. This could be totally perverse, broken beyond repair, but fuck he wants this. And he wants it bad. Bucky licks his lip, and glances down at the rope. He takes a breath to steady himself. ]
P-- [ He clears his throat. ] Pick up the rope, Steve.
2 pure for this world
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boxers? briefs? boxerbriefs?
YES
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