Bucky had been sloppy and let on to how frustrated he was in from of Steve.
HYDRA didn't want their weapon to be distracted by human pleasures like sexual stimulation, but they didn't want to have to bother with the consequences of castrating it, whether surgically or chemically. So instead they had wrapped Bucky's cock in a vented little metal sleeve and pierced the flesh underneath through with crisscrossing pins connecting a hollow sound to keep the cage in place.
And of fucking-course the whole thing had to be made out of an adamantium-vibranium alloy. Seriously. What was the deal with that?
In any case. What this meant was that Bucky hadn't gotten off in 70+ years. Unless you counted a couple of particularly vivid rape-parties over the decades. Which Bucky did NOT do.
After everything, and despite it, Bucky felt rather well adjusted. Partly due to the serum's effect on his brain; allowing him to compartmentalize 'like a boss', as people would say nowadays in the future where he and Steve now lived. And also in part due to the half-a-million-dollar-an-hour therapists that only Stark money could buy. Tony was just the best.
Not that Bucky didn't have bad days. Because there were bad days. But those seemed fewer and and farther in between the good days the longer time moved on.
So you could say that Bucky was moving on. He had even rekindled his relationship with Steve, and it was good despite the damn chastity device. They indulged in the small and tender affections they could never have gotten away with before and during the war. They held hands in public. Bumped shoulders whenever one passed the other in a hallway. Stopped for breakfast and coffee after their joined morning runs around Manhatten.
In bed it was a little bit more complicated but no less fullfilling. After all, sex was so much more than just the act of penetration. Not that they didn't do that either, both of them; Steve for one tended to go wild with Bucky's metal fist up his ass. The kinky fucked.
Nothing felt as good as seeing Steve all spent and happy in Bucky's arms at night. Except for the part were neither of them could do anything about how it ramped up Bucky's arousal to unbearable levels and left him hanging.
But Bucky was fine with that. He had accepted that he would never come again. Steve didn't need to know.
Now Steve knew, and he'd done the typical Steve thing to do and try to fix it.
"What do you mean?" Bucky asked casually like he didn't already know.
"I mean, Buck," Steve responded with a tone that said he knew full well that Bucky knew. "That I want to help you let loose some of that pressure."
"You can't." Bucky deadpanned.
"I think I do." Steve looked sure of himself, like he hadn't had an asthma attack in a week and therefore believed he could run around the block without stopping for breath. Like an idiot. "I did some research."
Bucky sighed in defeat and settled in to listen to whatever mad plan Steve had concocted this time. Carefully not getting his hopes up.
Fill: Circumventing the Problem 1/?
Bucky had been sloppy and let on to how frustrated he was in from of Steve.
HYDRA didn't want their weapon to be distracted by human pleasures like sexual stimulation, but they didn't want to have to bother with the consequences of castrating it, whether surgically or chemically. So instead they had wrapped Bucky's cock in a vented little metal sleeve and pierced the flesh underneath through with crisscrossing pins connecting a hollow sound to keep the cage in place.
And of fucking-course the whole thing had to be made out of an adamantium-vibranium alloy. Seriously. What was the deal with that?
In any case. What this meant was that Bucky hadn't gotten off in 70+ years. Unless you counted a couple of particularly vivid rape-parties over the decades. Which Bucky did NOT do.
After everything, and despite it, Bucky felt rather well adjusted. Partly due to the serum's effect on his brain; allowing him to compartmentalize 'like a boss', as people would say nowadays in the future where he and Steve now lived. And also in part due to the half-a-million-dollar-an-hour therapists that only Stark money could buy. Tony was just the best.
Not that Bucky didn't have bad days. Because there were bad days. But those seemed fewer and and farther in between the good days the longer time moved on.
So you could say that Bucky was moving on. He had even rekindled his relationship with Steve, and it was good despite the damn chastity device. They indulged in the small and tender affections they could never have gotten away with before and during the war. They held hands in public. Bumped shoulders whenever one passed the other in a hallway. Stopped for breakfast and coffee after their joined morning runs around Manhatten.
In bed it was a little bit more complicated but no less fullfilling. After all, sex was so much more than just the act of penetration. Not that they didn't do that either, both of them; Steve for one tended to go wild with Bucky's metal fist up his ass. The kinky fucked.
Nothing felt as good as seeing Steve all spent and happy in Bucky's arms at night. Except for the part were neither of them could do anything about how it ramped up Bucky's arousal to unbearable levels and left him hanging.
But Bucky was fine with that. He had accepted that he would never come again. Steve didn't need to know.
Now Steve knew, and he'd done the typical Steve thing to do and try to fix it.
"What do you mean?" Bucky asked casually like he didn't already know.
"I mean, Buck," Steve responded with a tone that said he knew full well that Bucky knew. "That I want to help you let loose some of that pressure."
"You can't." Bucky deadpanned.
"I think I do." Steve looked sure of himself, like he hadn't had an asthma attack in a week and therefore believed he could run around the block without stopping for breath. Like an idiot. "I did some research."
Bucky sighed in defeat and settled in to listen to whatever mad plan Steve had concocted this time. Carefully not getting his hopes up.