a/n: sorry for the LONG delay! it is not that easy to write a group sex scene turns out
“We don’t have that long,” Steve reminds them.
“We have an hour. Have you really forgotten what we can do to you in that time?” Natasha’s grin is fierce and warm, and it sends shivers down Steve’s spine.
“No, ma’am.”
“I love when you call me that. It always sounds so sweet and polite.” Her hand goes around his jaw, gripping firmly to turn his head towards her. She makes Steve meet her eyes. “Now, I think you should stop worrying about what time it is, and how long things are going to take, and everything else, and you should relax and trust us.”
“After all, you’re not in charge here,” Rhodey adds, and Steve tries to let himself hear it.
He’s been bearing so much, for so long. Almost since the moment he woke up, he’s had the burden of protecting this team, of leading them in fight after fight, against one unknowable, awful force after another. All that time, he’s had the burden of being a legend, of being Captain America—a hero who barely existed when he fell into the ice, and who now has been adored by generations of children, featured in films and comic books, had his face on t-shirts. And now there’s Bucky’s return: the thing he wanted most in the world, a gift too wonderful to have even hoped for, and yet also (if he has to admit it to himself) a constant weight of paralyzing worry.
Here, in this room, even for a few brief minutes, he can give all of that up. He’s not in charge of anything.
“Safeword?”
“Red, as always.”
“Good.” Tony steps in close to him, crowding him, and even though he’s significantly shorter than Steve the ploy works. Steve feels himself begin to sink into himself, feels that familiar state spread gentle and complete across his mind. Tony and Rhodey work together, stripping Steve’s clothes off to leave him naked in front of them.
“Do you know what we’re going to do to you?”
“Something I’ll like, I hope,” Steve says, with what he hopes is a winning smile.
Tony rolls his eyes and slaps Steve, open handed and hard, right across the face. “Is this about you?”
Steve’s stomach flips in excitement. This is just what he needed—to be thrown off-balance, roughed up, even humiliated a little. He’s lucky he has a team that’s able to give him this, that he can trust. “No, sir.”
“That’s a little better.”
Rough hands—Sam’s and Bruce’s, Steve thinks but isn’t sure—are on his shoulders suddenly, pushing him down onto his knees. It’s a comfortable, familiar position, and Steve feels the tension he’s been carrying for too long begin to recede. Sam strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently at first, and then starting to pull painfully. Steve pushes away the instinct that tells him he has to fight and lets himself relax into it. He’s helpless here (not really, of course not really, he can’t quite quiet the part of his brain that tells him exactly how he could win this fight) and he wants to be. He wants to be used, toyed with, hurt, taken. He wants not to choose. He wants for what he wants, what he does, what he believes, to—for one precious hour—not matter at all.
Someone else is behind him. Natasha, he thinks, from the cool touch of her soft hands. She carefully arranges the rope around his wrists, then pulls it tight to restrain him with one great tug. Her motions are soothing even if the rope stings a little as it’s pulled taut. Steve just lets it happen. If he tried, he could pull himself free, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be just here, with Natasha tying an intricate series of knots all the way up his arms, with Sam petting and pulling his hair, with Tony and Rhodey standing in front of him, with Bruce at his side.
His teammates, his friends. They won’t let him fall.
After that, it becomes a wonderful blur of touch and movement. Natasha ties him so he’s on his knees, his ankles and his wrists bound tightly together. He can even struggle a little bit without moving. When the bonds are secure, Tony takes her place behind Steve and starts opening him up, his clever, careful fingers working at him quickly.
“How are you doing?” Bruce checks in. “Color?”
“Green, sir,” Steve manages, choking on a gasp as Tony’s fingers slide into him. It’s overwhelming, to have so much attention focused on him all at once. There’s so much stimulation, so much pleasure, and all at once, all focused right on him. As he gasps, his lips opening, suddenly Bruce is grabbing his head and grinding his clothed erection into Steve’s face. “Please, please,” Steve begs, hearing rather than feeling the high pitch of his voice. “Sir, please, let me have it, let me suck you—“
“Is that what you want?” Natasha’s voice again, cruel and perfect. “To be taken from both ends, passed around between us when we’re finished with you? To be used, however it entertains us, with no thought at all for you?”
“Please,” Steve repeats, his voice breaking, and Natasha just laughs at him, pulling hard on his hair as Bruce opens his trousers. A moment later, and, just as he’d been promised, Steve is being filled up at both ends. Tony and Bruce seem to move in perfect sync. Bruce is in his mouth, making him gag a little, just as Tony pushes into his not-quite-prepared ass. Steve lets out a loud cry, muffled by the cock in his mouth, down his throat, and then relaxes into it.
This is what he wanted. He’s going to be pushed between the two of them, and then passed around for the rest of the team. Every worry drifts away as he gives into this. He admits silently to himself how badly he’s been craving it, how much he’s been needing it, and at last lets himself give in.
There is a hand pulling painfully in his hair, and someone fucking him hard, and someone choking him, and it doesn’t matter who because it’s all a wonderful blur of sensation and he can trust them all completely, he can just let it happen.
He’s floating peacefully, his mind at rest as every touch sends him deeper and deeper, when suddenly there is a crash as the door is ripped off its hinges.
places [3/5]
“We don’t have that long,” Steve reminds them.
“We have an hour. Have you really forgotten what we can do to you in that time?” Natasha’s grin is fierce and warm, and it sends shivers down Steve’s spine.
“No, ma’am.”
“I love when you call me that. It always sounds so sweet and polite.” Her hand goes around his jaw, gripping firmly to turn his head towards her. She makes Steve meet her eyes. “Now, I think you should stop worrying about what time it is, and how long things are going to take, and everything else, and you should relax and trust us.”
“After all, you’re not in charge here,” Rhodey adds, and Steve tries to let himself hear it.
He’s been bearing so much, for so long. Almost since the moment he woke up, he’s had the burden of protecting this team, of leading them in fight after fight, against one unknowable, awful force after another. All that time, he’s had the burden of being a legend, of being Captain America—a hero who barely existed when he fell into the ice, and who now has been adored by generations of children, featured in films and comic books, had his face on t-shirts. And now there’s Bucky’s return: the thing he wanted most in the world, a gift too wonderful to have even hoped for, and yet also (if he has to admit it to himself) a constant weight of paralyzing worry.
Here, in this room, even for a few brief minutes, he can give all of that up. He’s not in charge of anything.
“Safeword?”
“Red, as always.”
“Good.” Tony steps in close to him, crowding him, and even though he’s significantly shorter than Steve the ploy works. Steve feels himself begin to sink into himself, feels that familiar state spread gentle and complete across his mind. Tony and Rhodey work together, stripping Steve’s clothes off to leave him naked in front of them.
“Do you know what we’re going to do to you?”
“Something I’ll like, I hope,” Steve says, with what he hopes is a winning smile.
Tony rolls his eyes and slaps Steve, open handed and hard, right across the face. “Is this about you?”
Steve’s stomach flips in excitement. This is just what he needed—to be thrown off-balance, roughed up, even humiliated a little. He’s lucky he has a team that’s able to give him this, that he can trust. “No, sir.”
“That’s a little better.”
Rough hands—Sam’s and Bruce’s, Steve thinks but isn’t sure—are on his shoulders suddenly, pushing him down onto his knees. It’s a comfortable, familiar position, and Steve feels the tension he’s been carrying for too long begin to recede. Sam strokes his fingers through Steve’s hair, gently at first, and then starting to pull painfully. Steve pushes away the instinct that tells him he has to fight and lets himself relax into it. He’s helpless here (not really, of course not really, he can’t quite quiet the part of his brain that tells him exactly how he could win this fight) and he wants to be. He wants to be used, toyed with, hurt, taken. He wants not to choose. He wants for what he wants, what he does, what he believes, to—for one precious hour—not matter at all.
Someone else is behind him. Natasha, he thinks, from the cool touch of her soft hands. She carefully arranges the rope around his wrists, then pulls it tight to restrain him with one great tug. Her motions are soothing even if the rope stings a little as it’s pulled taut. Steve just lets it happen. If he tried, he could pull himself free, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants to be just here, with Natasha tying an intricate series of knots all the way up his arms, with Sam petting and pulling his hair, with Tony and Rhodey standing in front of him, with Bruce at his side.
His teammates, his friends. They won’t let him fall.
After that, it becomes a wonderful blur of touch and movement. Natasha ties him so he’s on his knees, his ankles and his wrists bound tightly together. He can even struggle a little bit without moving. When the bonds are secure, Tony takes her place behind Steve and starts opening him up, his clever, careful fingers working at him quickly.
“How are you doing?” Bruce checks in. “Color?”
“Green, sir,” Steve manages, choking on a gasp as Tony’s fingers slide into him. It’s overwhelming, to have so much attention focused on him all at once. There’s so much stimulation, so much pleasure, and all at once, all focused right on him. As he gasps, his lips opening, suddenly Bruce is grabbing his head and grinding his clothed erection into Steve’s face. “Please, please,” Steve begs, hearing rather than feeling the high pitch of his voice. “Sir, please, let me have it, let me suck you—“
“Is that what you want?” Natasha’s voice again, cruel and perfect. “To be taken from both ends, passed around between us when we’re finished with you? To be used, however it entertains us, with no thought at all for you?”
“Please,” Steve repeats, his voice breaking, and Natasha just laughs at him, pulling hard on his hair as Bruce opens his trousers. A moment later, and, just as he’d been promised, Steve is being filled up at both ends. Tony and Bruce seem to move in perfect sync. Bruce is in his mouth, making him gag a little, just as Tony pushes into his not-quite-prepared ass. Steve lets out a loud cry, muffled by the cock in his mouth, down his throat, and then relaxes into it.
This is what he wanted. He’s going to be pushed between the two of them, and then passed around for the rest of the team. Every worry drifts away as he gives into this. He admits silently to himself how badly he’s been craving it, how much he’s been needing it, and at last lets himself give in.
There is a hand pulling painfully in his hair, and someone fucking him hard, and someone choking him, and it doesn’t matter who because it’s all a wonderful blur of sensation and he can trust them all completely, he can just let it happen.
He’s floating peacefully, his mind at rest as every touch sends him deeper and deeper, when suddenly there is a crash as the door is ripped off its hinges.