[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.
[A noise catches in Steve's throat at the fingers in his hair, and he wants to lean forward and rub his face against Bucky's thigh. He can already feel his mind sliding back to where it was, back where it's so easy to just listen to Bucky and do what he wants. It feels so good to just relax, to have someone else make all the choices for once in his life. All he has to do is what he's told.
He reaches out behind him, feels around on the floor till his fingers meet the rough texture of the rope and close around it. Drags it over the floor and holds it up in front of him, offering it to Bucky without looking up at him.]
[ Bucky takes the rope, holding it as he reaches for Steve's hair again. His voice is low, a whisper. ]
Good. That's-- that's good, Steve.
[ Bucky is still trying to breathe through this, to process that all of the things he thinks about at night are right here, standing (kneeling) in front of him, in reality. He can be intimidated, or he can face it like he's faced challenges before. ]
[Even though Bucky's voice is a whisper, the words run straight down Steve's spine like a jolt of electricity. He shivers, goosebumps rising on the bare flesh of his forearms, and he can feel his erection already starting to strain at his jeans again. His breath quickens as he holds his wrists out for Bucky, keeping them pressed together. Submitting to bondage that he could break in the blink of an eye if he wanted to.]
[ Bucky feels a laser sort of focus creeping over him, something firm and a little dark, but determined. His nerves from the first time have settled quite a bit now that they're both doing this with full consent, and the lack of guessing or reactions is enough to keep him entirely set on what he wants. What he has wanted.
So Bucky pulls the rope taut between his hands, pulling them so they make a soft 'snap' in the air, and begins winding them around Steve;s pale wrists. This time, the wrapping is tighter, the knot secure. If Steve wants out, he'll need to actually work for it this time; no slipping the ropes or jiggling the knot loose. ]
[Not that Steve wants out. As the ropes wrap around his wrists, he bites his lower lip to hold back a whimper. Next time, the part of him that's still capable of planning ahead thinks, he's going to take his clothes off first. Make himself completely naked and vulnerable when he submits, make it clear that his entire body is Bucky's to use.
The room is silent as Bucky works, but the silence isn't oppressive like it was earlier. Instead, it holds the electric charge of anticipation for both of them. Maybe they're both perverts, but they're in this together, and that's all that matters to Steve.]
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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
He reaches out behind him, feels around on the floor till his fingers meet the rough texture of the rope and close around it. Drags it over the floor and holds it up in front of him, offering it to Bucky without looking up at him.]
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Good. That's-- that's good, Steve.
[ Bucky is still trying to breathe through this, to process that all of the things he thinks about at night are right here, standing (kneeling) in front of him, in reality. He can be intimidated, or he can face it like he's faced challenges before. ]
Hold your wrists out.
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So Bucky pulls the rope taut between his hands, pulling them so they make a soft 'snap' in the air, and begins winding them around Steve;s pale wrists. This time, the wrapping is tighter, the knot secure. If Steve wants out, he'll need to actually work for it this time; no slipping the ropes or jiggling the knot loose. ]
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The room is silent as Bucky works, but the silence isn't oppressive like it was earlier. Instead, it holds the electric charge of anticipation for both of them. Maybe they're both perverts, but they're in this together, and that's all that matters to Steve.]
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boxers? briefs? boxerbriefs?
YES
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