A/N: This is such a beautiful prompt, OP! I hope this is something close to what you had in mind. Title from "Perfect," by Marianas Trench.
Sex with his new team is, comparatively, a lot of work. Not that James is complaining, obviously - he can handle it, no problem. But they want him hard, for one thing, which takes concentration. He hadn't realized, the first time, until it was too late, and Steve had touched his face with love and worry and infinite gentleness and asked if they were going too fast. Which, fuck that. You don't last long if you make stupid fucking mistakes like that.
And then there's the way they talk to him. Not just the usual filth - you're so tight, so hot, god, you feel so fucking good - although, sure, there's some of that, but questions. Endless questions, it sometimes seems, that they want him to answer. May I? as Sam's hand drops to his belt. Is this good? as Steve licks teasingly up his cock. How're you doing? Does this hurt? Do you want this?
And that's the heart of the matter, right there, as it hadn't taken him long to figure out. They want him to want it. They want to hear yes, and good, and please, over and over. When he gives the correct responses, Steve smiles at him like a sunrise. When he shudders and moans and cries out as if he can barely stand how good it feels, Sam's fingers dig into his hips and his thrusts turn hard, wild. When he reaches for them, leaning into their space, pulling them in for a kiss, they look at him like he's the best part of their day, like they can't believe how goddamn lucky they are. So sure, it takes focus, but he can give them what they want. They're gentlemen, in fact, if James is thinking comparatively: they cuddle him afterwards, which is (embarrassingly) really fucking nice, and they hardly ever hit him for getting it wrong.
Tonight, though, he has fucked up. He knows this, because he's kneeling face down on the bed, his hands tied behind his back, and his ass is stinging from the slap of Sam's heavy palm. You're sure? Yes, I fucking want it. You'll tell us if it's too much? Yeah, of course. That part is over, mercifully - as pain, it barely registered, but it made him feel sort of sick and sad, as if that wasn't a ludicrous emotion from the former Winter Soldier. More justifiably, he is annoyed with himself, because he hasn't figured out what he did wrong this time - and a little worried, as he fucking should be, because the failure to please is always dangerous.
Even when he's being punished, they don't let him off the hook. You like that? Fuck, yes, I love it. You want more? Please. Now Steve is behind him, working him open with a toy, and it feels huge and awful. The pain is minor - Steve used plenty of lube, and again, former Winter Soldier, James can take it - but he hates feeling so open, so exposed. He had a few handlers who were into shit like this, and he doesn't exactly cherish the memories. He's not fucked up about it - he goes to therapy, he knows what PTSD is, knows there's a difference between reliving and remembering, and he's not about to forget where he is anytime soon - but all the same, he doesn't like being made to remember.
His hands are tied with an actual tie, one of Sam's, he thinks it might be fucking silk, and it's worse, somehow, not being about to strain against it. Anyone says red, this thing's off you in a second. You don't feel like waiting a second, snap it. Which takes actual effort not to do by accident. He does that, they're going to think he doesn't want it, and he might be stupid but he's not that stupid. "Look at him, god, bet you could get your whole fucking hand in there," Sam says, and James hears the heat in his voice, hears Steve's low answering noise of shocked arousal. So, of course: "Fuck yes, come on, god, do it, Stevie, want you so fucking bad," etc. He knows all the words, has gotten reasonably good at saying them, he thinks, so that it no longer demands such careful attention. Which is a relief, at the moment, because what he's thinking now is okay, this is actually going to hurt. Former Winter Soldier or not, this would hurt anyone. He knows what they like, though, which means he'll have to stay hard for it. So he focuses on that, and resolves, not for the first time, that - whatever he did - he's going to fucking well do better next time.
more for less, 1/?
Sex with his new team is, comparatively, a lot of work. Not that James is complaining, obviously - he can handle it, no problem. But they want him hard, for one thing, which takes concentration. He hadn't realized, the first time, until it was too late, and Steve had touched his face with love and worry and infinite gentleness and asked if they were going too fast. Which, fuck that. You don't last long if you make stupid fucking mistakes like that.
And then there's the way they talk to him. Not just the usual filth - you're so tight, so hot, god, you feel so fucking good - although, sure, there's some of that, but questions. Endless questions, it sometimes seems, that they want him to answer. May I? as Sam's hand drops to his belt. Is this good? as Steve licks teasingly up his cock. How're you doing? Does this hurt? Do you want this?
And that's the heart of the matter, right there, as it hadn't taken him long to figure out. They want him to want it. They want to hear yes, and good, and please, over and over. When he gives the correct responses, Steve smiles at him like a sunrise. When he shudders and moans and cries out as if he can barely stand how good it feels, Sam's fingers dig into his hips and his thrusts turn hard, wild. When he reaches for them, leaning into their space, pulling them in for a kiss, they look at him like he's the best part of their day, like they can't believe how goddamn lucky they are. So sure, it takes focus, but he can give them what they want. They're gentlemen, in fact, if James is thinking comparatively: they cuddle him afterwards, which is (embarrassingly) really fucking nice, and they hardly ever hit him for getting it wrong.
Tonight, though, he has fucked up. He knows this, because he's kneeling face down on the bed, his hands tied behind his back, and his ass is stinging from the slap of Sam's heavy palm. You're sure? Yes, I fucking want it. You'll tell us if it's too much? Yeah, of course. That part is over, mercifully - as pain, it barely registered, but it made him feel sort of sick and sad, as if that wasn't a ludicrous emotion from the former Winter Soldier. More justifiably, he is annoyed with himself, because he hasn't figured out what he did wrong this time - and a little worried, as he fucking should be, because the failure to please is always dangerous.
Even when he's being punished, they don't let him off the hook. You like that? Fuck, yes, I love it. You want more? Please. Now Steve is behind him, working him open with a toy, and it feels huge and awful. The pain is minor - Steve used plenty of lube, and again, former Winter Soldier, James can take it - but he hates feeling so open, so exposed. He had a few handlers who were into shit like this, and he doesn't exactly cherish the memories. He's not fucked up about it - he goes to therapy, he knows what PTSD is, knows there's a difference between reliving and remembering, and he's not about to forget where he is anytime soon - but all the same, he doesn't like being made to remember.
His hands are tied with an actual tie, one of Sam's, he thinks it might be fucking silk, and it's worse, somehow, not being about to strain against it. Anyone says red, this thing's off you in a second. You don't feel like waiting a second, snap it. Which takes actual effort not to do by accident. He does that, they're going to think he doesn't want it, and he might be stupid but he's not that stupid. "Look at him, god, bet you could get your whole fucking hand in there," Sam says, and James hears the heat in his voice, hears Steve's low answering noise of shocked arousal. So, of course: "Fuck yes, come on, god, do it, Stevie, want you so fucking bad," etc. He knows all the words, has gotten reasonably good at saying them, he thinks, so that it no longer demands such careful attention. Which is a relief, at the moment, because what he's thinking now is okay, this is actually going to hurt. Former Winter Soldier or not, this would hurt anyone. He knows what they like, though, which means he'll have to stay hard for it. So he focuses on that, and resolves, not for the first time, that - whatever he did - he's going to fucking well do better next time.