[Fuck. Steve squirms a bit, chafing at the confinement of the denim - but at the same time, it's the only stimulation he has, when his dick rubs against cloth just a little. It doesn't help, only makes things worse, but that doesn't stop him from doing it. It's instinct more than anything else, trying to squeeze out little dribs and drabs of pleasure.]
Buck-
[It's hoarse, somewhere between a plea and a whine. He's not sure if he's asking Bucky to touch him or to let him touch him. At this point, he doesn't think it matters.]
[ Bucky laughs softly, feeling his skin start to overheat. And when Steve starts begging, that just makes it even better. Bucky bites his lip, strokes himself a few times, and hums in the back of his throat. ]
Do you want this?
[ He finally tilts his chin back down, eyes blown, hair in his face. Something he can't articulate needing to be needed, desired. He's had the fear, the repulsion, the terror... but when was the last time someone wanted him? Or wanted to be close to him, just to make him feel good?
Bucky stares right through Steve, with eyes that used to pierce targets. ]
[Steve hisses the syllable through clenched teeth. He doesn't realize that he's rocking back and forth a little, trying to get whatever he can from the shifting of his erection. He just wants, every nerve in his body hypersensitive, every muscle taut. He meets Bucky's eyes, his own wide and needy and desperate. There's no way to hide how he feels right now, and Steve isn't even trying.]
[ Bucky beckons Steve over, curling his finger. Against his body's protesting, he stops stroking and sits up a little, legs still splayed like an invite. ]
[Steve walks over on his knees, a little clumsily, and positions himself between Bucky's thighs. He can feel the heat of his legs on either side of him, can practically smell Bucky's arousal. He wants to swallow him down right now, but he knows better. Knows that he can only go as far as he's told. So he opens his mouth and waits, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. his cheeks flushed and hot.]
[ Bucky's heart races, pounding away in his chest as Steve approaches, presents himself. He tries to keep his breathing under control, tries not to rush this even as he craves and craves.
He traces Steve's bottom lip with his thumb, strokes his cheek with the backs of his fingers. Bucky cups Steve's face, pulls his mouth open a little with his thumbs, just looking at the flat of his tongue. ]
Good.
[ Then he puts his hands flat on his thighs, and takes a breath. ]
[Steve leans into the touch just a little, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. He has to take tenderness where he can get it; he's figured that much out by now. Though he does make a bit of a face when Bucky pulls his mouth open - normally, he might make a crack about Bucky treating him like a horse he's trying to buy. Instead, there's the same obedient silence.
He bends his head and takes Bucky's cock into his mouth, his body convulsing in a shudder as his hands flex in the ropes. His breath comes hot and fast, and his mouth is actually watering. He wonders if that's fucked up, salivating at the thought of a dick in his mouth, but he can't bring himself to care if it is. Steve doesn't start in just yet, just pressing the tip of his tongue against the head, tasting the bitterness there.]
[ He feels a jolt go through him, then a spreading warmth that emanates out to his limbs. Steve is practically drooling over him, and that makes his guts twist in a way he could never communicate verbally.
His skin is on fire. Bucky tugs his shirt up and over his head, throwing it aside before hissing when he feels Steve's tongue on his slit. He imagines painting Steve's lips, making a swollen mouth glossy with spent fluid, and Bucky has to grip Steve by the hair to keep from trembling right out of his chair. He's so turned on it hurts, and he aches. ]
[He keens when Bucky grabs his hair, the noise muffled but unmistakable. Not a noise of pain, but one filled with arousal. That's all the encouragement he needs to start bobbing his head with gusto, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks. He works him over with his tongue like he's playing an instrument; he's never done this to Bucky before, but he listens to how he reacts, figures out what he likes best.
Steve leans in, resting his weight against the chair, taking more into his mouth - as much as he can manage without choking. He trembles at the thought of taking him up his ass, Bucky filling and stretching him just like he's doing with his mouth. God, he's so greedy; give him one thing and he already wants more. But it's like a drug, going straight to his head, coursing through his veins till he can't think of anything else.]
[ Bucky immediately starts breathing heavier, soft whines mixing in with a litany of sighs and moans. He keeps his fingers in Steve's hair, curling and releasing against his scalp, twining strands between the joints of his knuckles. It's a guide as much as feedback, steering Steve to sensitive parts and squeezing when he feels good.
Steve is intuitive about these things, as he is with a lot: tactics, adjustments, strategy. It's of course the artist in him, bringing ideas to life. Bucky knows Steve can feel his way in and out of many situations, can pick up on cues or signs as quickly as he can rearrange himself to them. He's malleable to the moment as much as he's rigid in his stance, but being outside his head cuts out the useless self-criticism and self-doubt most creative types share.
Bucky can feel his way around, but his expressions have been conditioned to stay far more internal. Sometimes he remembers how effusive he used to be, or thinks about how easily slinging an arm around someone's shoulder was. It feels like a different life, a different person. Now he has this, whatever it is, along with a set of behaviors he can never truly be sure are his own. ]
This... you feel so good. Feel so damn good on me.
[Steve loves the way Bucky's fingers wind through his hair, the way he tugs and guides him. He makes a pleased noise deep in his throat, one he can feel hum up through Bucky's cock. There's something inside him that resonates with the words of praise, such as they are, and it makes him move faster, suck harder.
He desperately wants to make Bucky feel good, to banish the ice from his veins, to remind him of what it's like to feel human, even if he isn't the same Bucky as he was before. Whoever he is now, Steve still wants him. Hell, he wants him more than the hazy memory in his head, because this one is real and solid and right there in front of him, even if he's flawed. It doesn't matter to Steve. What matters is what they have, the two of them. Whatever it is.]
[ Steve seems to bloom when he hears praise, which is something Bucky struggles to do. He knows Steve is always the one encouraging people, leading, prompting, recognizing, while Bucky is the silent type. Bucky is used to hearing corrections, consequences. Being disciplined, dressed-down... struck and not caressed.
It seems there's something in their having switched roles tonight.
As good as Steve's mouth is on him, as enthusiastic (and surprisingly good) Steve is, Bucky still burns, still wants more. He tugs Steve back some by his hair, with some reluctance. Hell, Steve looks breathtaking like this: eyes blown, skin flushed a deep rosy pink, lips swollen and reddened. ]
I need you to stand up.
[ It's a struggle to get out, and maybe he's breaking the illusion of total control by using less than emphatic language, but dammit, his body is craving and he has to fulfill that now. ]
[He has to struggle a moment to focus on Bucky, on what he's saying, his mind still stuck on the bobbing rhythm and the feeling of his cock sliding against his tongue. Steve blinks stupidly, processing the words, but he rises to his feet.
It's a slow process; he has to stand without using his arms for support, tied in front of him the way they are. But he manages it, still looking dazed as he stares down at Bucky, his chest heaving as he sucks in breaths. His jeans are still uncomfortably tight, restraining his cock, but he just stands there and waits for Bucky to make his next move.]
[ With no preamble, Bucky starts tugging Steve's jeans open, shucking them down and off his hips as quickly as he can. He taps Steve on the inside of his knee, prompting him to step out of the pants, briefs, and any footwear still on. He removes the clothing with an odd sort of delicacy, despite his urgency, caring for Steve even with calloused fingers.
It's a weird impulse, to be so firm and frantic, and yet solid and reassuring. But there's something about the way Steve seems to be half a step behind things mentally, instead of miles ahead of everyone. Bucky can't recall having seen him look like this...but then again, his memory's shot half to hell. He looks up, leans back in the chair. ]
Step in, spread your legs.
[ Bucky gestures Steve to straddle the chair much like he did earlier, and starts fishing for the lubricant. Steve's shirt isn't coming off unless he tears it off, but that's not a concern at the moment. ]
[Steve lets out a sigh of relief as the jeans and underwear finally come off and free his erection. Straddling Bucky's lap, he licks his lips nervously, jarred out of his near fugue for a moment. This is new for him, and he's not precisely sure how to do it. He understands the mechanics, but- what if he does something wrong? It's not like he'd been able to watch Bucky earlier, after all.
But, then again, he's willing to bet it had been pretty damn new for Bucky earlier, too. So maybe he won't mind if he's clumsy and inexperienced, but Steve just wants to give him the best that he can.]
[ Bucky applies some lube to his metal fingers and begins circling Steve's hole with it, gently probing. His cock is right there, at eye level, so Bucky wraps his flesh fingers around it and lightly pulls. ]
Don't clench. Relax.
[ Then he's pressing in one finger, two, the metal cool and slick as he slides past the tight ring of muscle. Bucky leans slightly in, giving his wrist a better angle, and continues gentle strokes. ]
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Buck-
[It's hoarse, somewhere between a plea and a whine. He's not sure if he's asking Bucky to touch him or to let him touch him. At this point, he doesn't think it matters.]
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Do you want this?
[ He finally tilts his chin back down, eyes blown, hair in his face. Something he can't articulate needing to be needed, desired. He's had the fear, the repulsion, the terror... but when was the last time someone wanted him? Or wanted to be close to him, just to make him feel good?
Bucky stares right through Steve, with eyes that used to pierce targets. ]
Do you want me?
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[Steve hisses the syllable through clenched teeth. He doesn't realize that he's rocking back and forth a little, trying to get whatever he can from the shifting of his erection. He just wants, every nerve in his body hypersensitive, every muscle taut. He meets Bucky's eyes, his own wide and needy and desperate. There's no way to hide how he feels right now, and Steve isn't even trying.]
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[ Bucky beckons Steve over, curling his finger. Against his body's protesting, he stops stroking and sits up a little, legs still splayed like an invite. ]
Open your mouth.
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He traces Steve's bottom lip with his thumb, strokes his cheek with the backs of his fingers. Bucky cups Steve's face, pulls his mouth open a little with his thumbs, just looking at the flat of his tongue. ]
Good.
[ Then he puts his hands flat on his thighs, and takes a breath. ]
Put your mouth on me, Steve.
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He bends his head and takes Bucky's cock into his mouth, his body convulsing in a shudder as his hands flex in the ropes. His breath comes hot and fast, and his mouth is actually watering. He wonders if that's fucked up, salivating at the thought of a dick in his mouth, but he can't bring himself to care if it is. Steve doesn't start in just yet, just pressing the tip of his tongue against the head, tasting the bitterness there.]
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[ He feels a jolt go through him, then a spreading warmth that emanates out to his limbs. Steve is practically drooling over him, and that makes his guts twist in a way he could never communicate verbally.
His skin is on fire. Bucky tugs his shirt up and over his head, throwing it aside before hissing when he feels Steve's tongue on his slit. He imagines painting Steve's lips, making a swollen mouth glossy with spent fluid, and Bucky has to grip Steve by the hair to keep from trembling right out of his chair. He's so turned on it hurts, and he aches. ]
More.
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Steve leans in, resting his weight against the chair, taking more into his mouth - as much as he can manage without choking. He trembles at the thought of taking him up his ass, Bucky filling and stretching him just like he's doing with his mouth. God, he's so greedy; give him one thing and he already wants more. But it's like a drug, going straight to his head, coursing through his veins till he can't think of anything else.]
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Steve is intuitive about these things, as he is with a lot: tactics, adjustments, strategy. It's of course the artist in him, bringing ideas to life. Bucky knows Steve can feel his way in and out of many situations, can pick up on cues or signs as quickly as he can rearrange himself to them. He's malleable to the moment as much as he's rigid in his stance, but being outside his head cuts out the useless self-criticism and self-doubt most creative types share.
Bucky can feel his way around, but his expressions have been conditioned to stay far more internal. Sometimes he remembers how effusive he used to be, or thinks about how easily slinging an arm around someone's shoulder was. It feels like a different life, a different person. Now he has this, whatever it is, along with a set of behaviors he can never truly be sure are his own. ]
This... you feel so good. Feel so damn good on me.
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He desperately wants to make Bucky feel good, to banish the ice from his veins, to remind him of what it's like to feel human, even if he isn't the same Bucky as he was before. Whoever he is now, Steve still wants him. Hell, he wants him more than the hazy memory in his head, because this one is real and solid and right there in front of him, even if he's flawed. It doesn't matter to Steve. What matters is what they have, the two of them. Whatever it is.]
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It seems there's something in their having switched roles tonight.
As good as Steve's mouth is on him, as enthusiastic (and surprisingly good) Steve is, Bucky still burns, still wants more. He tugs Steve back some by his hair, with some reluctance. Hell, Steve looks breathtaking like this: eyes blown, skin flushed a deep rosy pink, lips swollen and reddened. ]
I need you to stand up.
[ It's a struggle to get out, and maybe he's breaking the illusion of total control by using less than emphatic language, but dammit, his body is craving and he has to fulfill that now. ]
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It's a slow process; he has to stand without using his arms for support, tied in front of him the way they are. But he manages it, still looking dazed as he stares down at Bucky, his chest heaving as he sucks in breaths. His jeans are still uncomfortably tight, restraining his cock, but he just stands there and waits for Bucky to make his next move.]
boxers? briefs? boxerbriefs?
It's a weird impulse, to be so firm and frantic, and yet solid and reassuring. But there's something about the way Steve seems to be half a step behind things mentally, instead of miles ahead of everyone. Bucky can't recall having seen him look like this...but then again, his memory's shot half to hell. He looks up, leans back in the chair. ]
Step in, spread your legs.
[ Bucky gestures Steve to straddle the chair much like he did earlier, and starts fishing for the lubricant. Steve's shirt isn't coming off unless he tears it off, but that's not a concern at the moment. ]
YES
But, then again, he's willing to bet it had been pretty damn new for Bucky earlier, too. So maybe he won't mind if he's clumsy and inexperienced, but Steve just wants to give him the best that he can.]
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Don't clench. Relax.
[ Then he's pressing in one finger, two, the metal cool and slick as he slides past the tight ring of muscle. Bucky leans slightly in, giving his wrist a better angle, and continues gentle strokes. ]