I'm baaaaack! Like I said in a previous comment, once I posted part 3 I realized I wasn't quite done after all. Here's the actual conclusion that just wouldn't leave me alone--hope you like it!
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Steve’s eyes dart up to meet Bucky’s, but they do not linger; after a moment, Steve directs his awed gaze back to Bucky’s body, to the dip of his hips and rise of his stomach. It is this which makes Bucky allow himself to keep looking, taking in the scene: his own body sprawled across the mattress, Steve kneeling between Bucky’s spread legs.
Steve’s mouth is a wet heat on Bucky’s cock. Bucky moves against it, but languidly. One of Steve’s hands is wrapped around the base of his cock, adding pressure but also ensuring that Steve’s enthusiastic motions only take him as deep as he wants to be. Setting that kind of limit so matter-of-factly is not a thing Bucky ever would have thought of doing, which is something Bucky will worry about later.
For now—Bucky lets himself get lost in the sensation. Steve’s tongue paints a smattering of strokes along Bucky’s length, and Bucky’s breathe grows shallow.
If someone had him, somewhere, tied up and at their mercy, maybe they would suck him off like this and then pull away at the last minute, leave him wanting and desperate. The crowd of Bucky’s fantasies emerges from the shadows of him mind. Laughter. Pathetic. If you really want it, you’ll beg better than that.
Bucky stares down at Steve. There is nothing different in Steve’s motions from the last time they did this, but this time, Steve knows about the dark wants that twist in Bucky’s stomach. When Bucky’s cock twitched just now, Steve may have guessed that it was because Bucky was imagining hands holding him down. Bucky’s breathless exhalations are as likely to come from the people of Bucky’s mind, spreading him open and tying him down for ease of use, than they are to come from Steve’s ministrations. Steve knows all this, because they talked about it just this morning, talked until Bucky was itching in his skin. And Steve is still here, the same gentle hands on Bucky’s skin, the same mouth wrapped around Bucky’s cock.
You want to come so bad? You gotta work for it. Feel that? It’s my boot. Grind against that, show me how much you need it.
Bucky thinks he remembers, now, some of the fantasies he used to have before. He doesn’t remember telling Steve about them, though, nor does he remember any thoughts about them that he may have had the first time some HYDRA agent had the bright idea to bend him over. Maybe that’s a mercy, but all it feels like is a hole in the ground, ready to be tripped over in the dark.
Steve has settled into a rhythm now, and Bucky feels close, his balls tightening against his body, his cock rigid and so, so eager. This would be the moment they would pull off, leave him vulnerable, legs spread, cock bobbing obscenely in the air. Someone from the crowd would reach out and slap his exposed length, and all assembled would laugh as it got even harder from the painful gesture.
Bucky isn’t sure, yet, if he’d like to play out any of his fantasies, although Steve was insistent, when they talked, that he would be willing to do that if Bucky wanted. It is a future thing, something to be thought about. There are too many things like that.
What Bucky hadn’t expected, though, not until it started happening right now, is how much of a difference it makes, just having Steve knowing, even if they never do anything about it.
Bucky feels dually enveloped, now, covered by both Steve’s knowing mouth and by the images running through his mind. Both hold up different parts of the experience; for the first time, he does not feel as though he is retreating from one in order to embrace the other. His orgasm hovers around him, ready for him to seize it. Steve’s lips are tight, slicked with saliva and pre-cum. Bucky keeps his eyes open, but super-imposes an image on top.
You want me to touch you? says a different member of the imagined crowd. Not HYDRA, but maybe they could be if he wants them to sometimes; another future question. Bucky cants his hips up just a little, but in his mind he grinds wildly against the air. Wherever this fantasy takes place, he has only just enough sense of dignity to be aware of the indignity of his position. He is ready to beg.
Steve’s rhythm grows faster—still smooth, still even. He reaches out his free hand to clasp at Bucky’s metal one, their fingers intertwining. Yes, please touch me, but someone produces clamps, small and nasty, from behind their back, and begins attaching them to the tender flesh of Bucky’s cock, Is this what you meant? Is this how you want us to touch you?, and Steve’s mouth is so hot and so ready, ready to take all of Bucky into him, all of it no matter how strange, Let’s see if you can get off now, Steve’s hand squeezing Bucky’s fingers, and, yes, Bucky is coming, coming together instead of coming apart.
FILL: Secrets - Coda
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Steve’s eyes dart up to meet Bucky’s, but they do not linger; after a moment, Steve directs his awed gaze back to Bucky’s body, to the dip of his hips and rise of his stomach. It is this which makes Bucky allow himself to keep looking, taking in the scene: his own body sprawled across the mattress, Steve kneeling between Bucky’s spread legs.
Steve’s mouth is a wet heat on Bucky’s cock. Bucky moves against it, but languidly. One of Steve’s hands is wrapped around the base of his cock, adding pressure but also ensuring that Steve’s enthusiastic motions only take him as deep as he wants to be. Setting that kind of limit so matter-of-factly is not a thing Bucky ever would have thought of doing, which is something Bucky will worry about later.
For now—Bucky lets himself get lost in the sensation. Steve’s tongue paints a smattering of strokes along Bucky’s length, and Bucky’s breathe grows shallow.
If someone had him, somewhere, tied up and at their mercy, maybe they would suck him off like this and then pull away at the last minute, leave him wanting and desperate. The crowd of Bucky’s fantasies emerges from the shadows of him mind. Laughter. Pathetic. If you really want it, you’ll beg better than that.
Bucky stares down at Steve. There is nothing different in Steve’s motions from the last time they did this, but this time, Steve knows about the dark wants that twist in Bucky’s stomach. When Bucky’s cock twitched just now, Steve may have guessed that it was because Bucky was imagining hands holding him down. Bucky’s breathless exhalations are as likely to come from the people of Bucky’s mind, spreading him open and tying him down for ease of use, than they are to come from Steve’s ministrations. Steve knows all this, because they talked about it just this morning, talked until Bucky was itching in his skin. And Steve is still here, the same gentle hands on Bucky’s skin, the same mouth wrapped around Bucky’s cock.
You want to come so bad? You gotta work for it. Feel that? It’s my boot. Grind against that, show me how much you need it.
Bucky thinks he remembers, now, some of the fantasies he used to have before. He doesn’t remember telling Steve about them, though, nor does he remember any thoughts about them that he may have had the first time some HYDRA agent had the bright idea to bend him over. Maybe that’s a mercy, but all it feels like is a hole in the ground, ready to be tripped over in the dark.
Steve has settled into a rhythm now, and Bucky feels close, his balls tightening against his body, his cock rigid and so, so eager. This would be the moment they would pull off, leave him vulnerable, legs spread, cock bobbing obscenely in the air. Someone from the crowd would reach out and slap his exposed length, and all assembled would laugh as it got even harder from the painful gesture.
Bucky isn’t sure, yet, if he’d like to play out any of his fantasies, although Steve was insistent, when they talked, that he would be willing to do that if Bucky wanted. It is a future thing, something to be thought about. There are too many things like that.
What Bucky hadn’t expected, though, not until it started happening right now, is how much of a difference it makes, just having Steve knowing, even if they never do anything about it.
Bucky feels dually enveloped, now, covered by both Steve’s knowing mouth and by the images running through his mind. Both hold up different parts of the experience; for the first time, he does not feel as though he is retreating from one in order to embrace the other. His orgasm hovers around him, ready for him to seize it. Steve’s lips are tight, slicked with saliva and pre-cum. Bucky keeps his eyes open, but super-imposes an image on top.
You want me to touch you? says a different member of the imagined crowd. Not HYDRA, but maybe they could be if he wants them to sometimes; another future question. Bucky cants his hips up just a little, but in his mind he grinds wildly against the air. Wherever this fantasy takes place, he has only just enough sense of dignity to be aware of the indignity of his position. He is ready to beg.
Steve’s rhythm grows faster—still smooth, still even. He reaches out his free hand to clasp at Bucky’s metal one, their fingers intertwining. Yes, please touch me, but someone produces clamps, small and nasty, from behind their back, and begins attaching them to the tender flesh of Bucky’s cock, Is this what you meant? Is this how you want us to touch you?, and Steve’s mouth is so hot and so ready, ready to take all of Bucky into him, all of it no matter how strange, Let’s see if you can get off now, Steve’s hand squeezing Bucky’s fingers, and, yes, Bucky is coming, coming together instead of coming apart.