garbage all the way down (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trashmod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hydratrashmeme2018-05-26 03:51 pm
trashmod) wrote in hydratrashmeme2018-05-26 03:51 pm
Dumpster #5: We didn't start the trashfire
Welcome to the latest, greatest, scummiest iteration of hydratrashmeme. Come on in and please check your sense of shame at the door.
Rules in brief: Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because this is emphatically not a safe space. Link your fills on the fill post. Unprompted fills: make a prompt or a header comment and reply to it with the full text. Continuations of fills from earlier rounds: just make sure you link in both places.
What's on-topic: Filthy and perverted twists on all the quality whump served up by Cap: Winter Soldier. Noncon, aftermath, uncomfortably sexualized violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves.
What's off-topic: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, shippy/romanticized noncon, MCU heroes repurposed into OOC or edgydark delivery vehicles for your fave's suffering. If you've got a prompt for one of those burning a hole in your brain, head on over tomcu_trash.
[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Round 4] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive] [Round 5 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]
hydratrashmeme. Come on in and please check your sense of shame at the door.Rules in brief: Don't be a jerk except to fictional characters. Warn if you want, but read at your own risk, because this is emphatically not a safe space. Link your fills on the fill post. Unprompted fills: make a prompt or a header comment and reply to it with the full text. Continuations of fills from earlier rounds: just make sure you link in both places.
What's on-topic: Filthy and perverted twists on all the quality whump served up by Cap: Winter Soldier. Noncon, aftermath, uncomfortably sexualized violence, mind control, inappropriate uses of Bucky Barnes' metal arm, bad guys doing dirtybadwrong things to your faves.
What's off-topic: a/b/o, D/s-verse, soulbonds, mundane AUs, shippy/romanticized noncon, MCU heroes repurposed into OOC or edgydark delivery vehicles for your fave's suffering. If you've got a prompt for one of those burning a hole in your brain, head on over to
mcu_trash.[Rules in full] [Round 1] [Round 2] [Round 3] [Round 4] [Fill post] [Chatter post] [hydratrashmeme Pinboard archive] [Round 5 in flat view (comments in non-threaded chronological order, most recent last)]
rape fantasies during otherwise vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-07-05 12:15 am (UTC)(link)+ Not going for dissociative flashbacks here - Bucky is thinking about the badwrong stuff on purpose
++ This is the only way he can get off now
+++ The truth comes out because Bucky accidentally starts struggling or saying no
++++ Steve is only briefly horrified and then like, wait, why didn't you just tell me so I can make that happen for you?
Re: rape fantasies during otherwise vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-07-05 07:03 pm (UTC)(link)Re: rape fantasies during otherwise vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-07-05 09:03 pm (UTC)(link)FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 03:14 am (UTC)(link)I've combined both our prompts together (since I'm all about easy access ;), my prompt is here: https://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/2807.html?thread=6330359#cmt6330359)
***************************
It’s easy enough when Bucky’s alone.
He jerks off before bed, usually, or sometimes in the shower. Liminal spaces, edge case temporalities; afterwards his guilt can simply slide down the drain or seep into the fabric of his sleep. He does his best not give himself time to think about it, otherwise, and so it is simply a few perfunctory motions, a few quick-passing minutes, and then he packs it away again, the pit of want and terror, and goes about his day.
It goes like this: he begins with light, exploratory touches, as though he is choosing a book from a shelf, running his fingers along the spines, and in a way, he is. He closes his eyes, and though some part of him is aware, always, of the windows and the locks and the heating vents, their measurements and thicknesses, he drifts, nonetheless, by his standards. He considers: the kidnapping, tonight, with the ropes he cannot get out of, and the hot, dark trunk and the isolated destination? The collar tight around his neck, the people discussing him like a specimen, a frank assessment peppered with bawdy jokes? Or maybe the coiled brutality of a beating, one against many, and the slick inevitably coating his throat as he begins to know he has lost, the blood and snot and tears and sweat running down his face only the first fluids that will coat him before it is over, yes, yes, that one, yes.
His speed picks up, and with it his pressure, and his other hand digs nails into the flesh of his leg or his chest, and yes, he would gag on the first cock shoved into his mouth, and no, its owner would not pause. He slicks his palm with his own pre-cum, and it’s barely enough to ease his hand, and yes, that’s what they would do to him, touch him like this as they fucked his throat one after another, yes, cum shooting into his mouth in hot spurts, yes, the thick slide of it down his cheeks, yes, a hand in his hair, grip tight, pressing his face to the floor to lick cold drops of cum out of the dirty tiles, yesyesyes.
He lies in bed afterwards, curled up but still not small, and he licks the evidence off his fingers of this thing he will not name. There are churning things inside him, sweet angers and bitter hurts, because he knows exactly who broke him, and how, and this hunger seems to be one stubbornly-enduring result. But if he thinks instead of the afterglow suffusing his limbs then he can usually pull sleep around himself before too long.
***
So the problem is not really when he is alone. The problem is when he’s with Steve.
Steve stares into his eyes when he’s inside Bucky. His look is one of eager reverence. Sometimes, Bucky can almost pretend Steve is not gentle, but even the firmest of Steve’s touches remain stubbornly free of ulteriority. Warm hands against his chest. Warm lips pressed against Bucky’s own, and it’s nice, it is, but it’s so straightforward. There is nothing Bucky can catch himself against on the smooth mass of Steve’s affections.
So Bucky smiles at Steve as Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s cock, and he tries for as long as he can to hold Steve’s steady gaze. He lets it build, the need, the frustration, and only when he is close, only when he hovers on the knife edge and needs to know that it will cut him if he asks—only then does he close his eyes, and only enough to see (yes, yes) the bright white of a medical exam room, and the press of restraints against his flesh, and the cold slick-stretch of a gloved and lubricated finger, and (yes) his orgasm crests, and he opens his eyes as he feels the joy of it, so that he locks eyes with Steve once again as he spills over Steve’s hand.
“It’s so good to have you back, Buck,” says Steve sometimes—often—afterwards, and Bucky thinks of his momentary absence only moments before, and he does not know whether to snuggle in closer or make himself get up.
***
When Bucky told Steve--a pre-emptive flaying, early on; he is no one’s blackmail material--he flung all the harshest words out of him all at once. Rape, he said, and he liked the way it cleaved the air, so he said it again: They raped me. I was raped. After he said it seven times in different ways (all of them at once, they thought I didn’t get it so soon after a wipe, made me beg for it, downtime on missions), he sat down, lightheaded as though he’d just run a mile.
Steve was trying so hard not to cry that his hands were twin white-knuckled statues, gripping the arms of his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said, when the tears pushed their way through anyway, “I want to do whatever you need, Buck, I don’t want to make this about me, I just—I’m so, so angry that happened to you. I want to make sure it will never happen again.”
Steve’s touches have become even more gentle since then. Bucky’s fantasies, much to his dismay, have not changed one bit.
Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 03:46 am (UTC)(link)this is EXQUISITE
Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 05:00 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 05:31 am (UTC)(link)I found the concept hot, after the first paragraph I knew I found your writing incredibly hot and well-executed, I was unsurprised to be like “oh WOW big mood”, etc.
There is nothing Bucky can catch himself against on the smooth mass of Steve’s affections. took my breath away because I’ve been chipping st describing what I need before I can understand, believe, and/or get off on something in terms of grip and abrasiveness and assuming that would never make sense to anyone.
Also like cool story still speefhlessly gay, thank you much.
Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 06:10 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 04:52 pm (UTC)(link)“Rape, he said, and he liked the way it cleaved the air, so he said it again: They raped me. I was raped.”
Damn. That sentence... Bucky finally calling it “rape” so it has a name and then feeling the need to repeat it, to insist on the terminology is something I strongly identify with for personal reasons. Very well done.
I hope you feel strong enough about this to share it on ao3. I kinda wanna save it forever.
Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
Re: FILL: Secrets [1/3?] - Steve/Bucky - Bucky's rape fantasies during consensual, vanilla sex
(Anonymous) 2018-09-05 09:55 pm (UTC)(link)FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-06 04:04 am (UTC)(link)********************
Steve moans into the pillow, the muscles of his shoulders rippling as he clenches and unclenches his fists. His ass squeezes around Bucky’s cock, and nothing has any business feeling as good as this does. Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, breathes cool air onto the back of his neck. Steve’s back and Bucky’s chest are sleek with commingled sweat. The skin of Bucky’s hips slap, loud and obscene, against Steve’s ass cheeks with each of his thrusts.
It’s harder when Bucky’s on top, harder to imagine himself being forced and degraded. But it’s easier, at the same time, when Steve can’t see him. Bucky keeps his eyes open, but conjures the usual faceless crowd of his fantasies, concentrates until he can almost see the nondescript bulk of their bodies, their cruel but indistinct mouths, out of the corner of his eye.
Look at them, someone might say, look at how desperate they are for it.
Going at each other like animals, another might chime in, and a third would laugh.
Someone else might take out a phone, begin to film as someone threw something at them, or no, spit on them, yes, and then more laughter as all of this wouldn’t slow him and Steve down at all, disgusting, they don’t care that anyone is watching, and yes, Bucky is coming in Steve’s tight heat, buried as far as he can go inside him.
He banishes the jeering crowd, and bends down and around to kiss Steve on straining lips.
***
Steve’s thumb down Bucky’s cheek is tender. Bucky allows himself to imagine a dark, possessive edge to the gesture. A moment later, he stops himself. There is no need to disappear this way, to descend into the broken place, not so soon.
And yet, as he moves from tonguing the tip of Steve’s hardening cock to swallowing him down, he allows himself to choose the harshest angle for his jaw, his back. He rests his weight on his knees, feeling flesh and bone pressed hard against the tile of the bathroom floor. He lifts his arms, holding them so his palms almost but don’t quite rest against the wall on either side of Steve’s hips, and waits for the strain of the stress position to make itself known. Above him, Steve groans, and the sound is loud in the small space.
“Do you want something under your knees?” says Steve. “We could put down a towel.”
Bucky shakes his head without removing Steve’s cock from his mouth. He smiles as best he can, eyes cast upwards in reassurance until Steve’s head rolls back in pleasure. Then, he closes his eyes.
Is this carefully-curated discomfort what it would feel like, if Steve were forcing him? Is it at least close enough for him to spin himself a story? When this kind of thing happened to him with HYDRA, it was never quite like this. There was always a fear of his teeth, for one thing, although that never saved him, never in a way that mattered, not when there were threats and promises and spider gags and the bone-deep fatigue of days without end spent being nothing.
Bucky shudders, and he chokes without warning. Sputtering, he pulls himself off Steve’s cock. His arms fall to his sides. For a moment, his body is alive with terror, and then, when he knows he is safe again, he is filled instead with the churn of dispersing panic with nowhere to go.
“Are you OK?” says Steve. He crouches down, and their knees knock together. Bucky nods, but Steve says, “You know I like whatever you do to me, right? You don’t need to go any deeper than you want to. You don’t need to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, nothing at all.”
“I’m fine,” says Bucky. He has never tasted so much gratitude mixed with so much disappointment.
***
After that, Bucky goes back to imagining the faceless crowd. He should not drag Steve down into the broken place with him, and there is something about mixing in his memories of HYDRA that stretches his fantasies so far that they are liable to snap without warning. There is an irony in that, since they must be the ones who made him this way. There is a joke there, or a poem, or some other kind of truth.
Steve uses lube when he wants to take a long time touching Bucky. The slick of it feels so different from Bucky’s own dry palm, and Bucky arches up into Steve’s grip.
Steve is lying on his side, propped up on one arm while his other strokes Bucky’s cock in slow, even motions. He stares down at Bucky, and Bucky looks up at Steve’s face—his teeth biting his lip, his eyes wide with wonder. Bucky moans as he closes his eyes, keeping his movements eager. Other people close their eyes during sex, right? Normal people, who think of nothing but how hot their partner’s touch is, how deep their love—some of them must close their eyes, they must.
Look at how much he likes it, the crowd in Bucky’s mind’s eye mutters. They are descending, circling, but before anyone fucks him, he must be made to get off, so that he is an active participant in his own degradation. No, I don’t want this, Bucky imagines himself gasping, but they are tying him up so that he can’t get away, and even as he struggles his cock keeps responding. Shut him up, we all know he wants it, look at how hard he is, and yes, Steve, just keep going, just like that.
Bucky opens his eyes, and still Steve’s eyes are watching him as though he is a holy thing, and Bucky can’t concentrate on the pull of his need with Steve’s gaze hitting him like that. Bucky winces as he lets his eyes fall shut once again. That’s enough warm up, says the crowd, make him come and let’s get on with it, and Bucky says, “No, please, I’ll do anything, please, stop.”
The absence of Steve’s hand around Bucky’s cock feels cold as ice water. Bucky’s eyes shoot open.
“I’m sorry,” says Steve. “For whatever I just did. What do you need from me right now?”
“Nothing,” says Bucky. If there were a way to just fade away, become far-away stardust, Bucky would do so. But then, he would have done so long ago if he could. “It’s not like that. I’m fine. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize,” says Steve. His hands hover over Bucky, like birds unsure how to land. “I hurt you.” Then he freezes, his eyes narrowing. “Or was that—did you want to play out that kind of thing again?”
Bucky sits up. His cock slaps against his thigh, sensitive the way tears make his throat sensitive. His fingers twitch with a need he does not know how to untangle, his mind feels the deep pit of chopped-up memory open like a chasm beneath him.
“What kind of thing?” he says. “And what do you mean, ‘again’?”
Re: FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-06 04:56 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-06 05:25 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-06 05:33 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-06 11:18 am (UTC)(link)“I’m fine,” says Bucky. He has never tasted so much gratitude mixed with so much disappointment.
Delicious! This is so perfect! You’re absolutely killing it with Steve’s tenderness here. Can’t wait for part 3! I’m at the edge of my seat here.
Re: FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-06 10:25 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [2/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-07 03:37 am (UTC)(link)FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-07 03:35 am (UTC)(link)*************
“Don’t worry about it,” says Steve, his voice steady in a way that indicates self-control more than calm. “I just thought—nothing. I thought wrong. Tell me what you need.”
Bucky suspects Steve read that phrase in a book, which would be charming if it didn’t feel like so many other things as well. “I need you to tell me,” says Bucky. The words have the feel of a snappy comeback, but the tone he delivers them in is the kind of flat that makes Steve worry. He should care about that, probably. His ears ring like the aftermath of an explosion.
Steve sighs. They are both sitting up on the bed, now. Steve twists his fingers together. He takes a deep breath. “You told me once,” he says, “before...everything, that you liked to think about being...forced. So I thought for a minute just now—but I’m sorry. I’m sure things are different now. I didn’t mean to…” He trails off.
Bucky is stuck on “before everything.” “You mean when I first came back?” he asks.
“No, I mean before,” says Steve. “When we were—it was the year after my mother died. We were lying in bed together, we’d only just started being with each other like that. It was late at night, and we were whispering so the sound wouldn’t travel through the airshaft, and we were confessing things. It’s always stuck with me because—well, it doesn’t matter. Because that’s not what happened now, is it? I hurt you somehow. Tell me how so I don’t do it again.”
“What’s your angle here?” says Bucky, the last of his affect seeping from his voice like a beloved possession sold to make rent.
“My angle?”
“Yeah. Why would you say that? What are you—is this some kind of joke?” Bucky rises from the bed. The panic from before threatens to boil over once again, and the jolt of it sets his limbs into motion. He paces to the window and back again.
“Buck, I’m not—I’m sorry. It was a dumb thing to bring up right now. We don’t have to talk about it. We can do whatever you want.”
“No,” says Bucky. “Tell me. Tell me about my rape fantasies.” The word slices just as sharp as before, the “p” sound popping past his lips, but the slicing feels different, this time. Less clean.
“How about we get up and make some breakfast?” tries Steve.
“Tell me,” says Bucky. He has stopped pacing. “You asked if I wanted to play them out again.” He would remember, wouldn’t he, if they’d played them out before?
Steve lays his hands on his knees, palms down, a gesture of quiet resolve. “I’m telling you because you asked me to, OK? But I’m still sorry I brought it up.”
Bucky nods, and Steve continues, “You just told me the once. You said sometimes you’d read adventure stories or watch westerns at the pictures and there would be kidnappings and you would—feel things. That’s all.”
Bucky starts to pace again. That can’t be true. HYDRA put the broken place inside him, twisted his desires into a form they never took before and carved out a spot in his gut to hold the thick mess of want that resulted. He wasn’t this way before. He was something simpler, more open, something worth trying to restore.
Steve continues, “I asked if you wanted to try any of that out together, and you said maybe, and I think you meant yes, but I couldn’t see myself doing it. And you never brought it up again, so I never asked you, and then after you were gone, sometimes I felt sad that I could have made you happy that way and I didn’t, but it’s all different now. I’m just happy to have you back.”
“No,” says Bucky. “You must be remembering it wrong.”
Steve’s mouth twists into something apologetic. “I’ve thought about that conversation a lot,” he says.
“I didn’t used want that,” says Bucky. “I never wanted it before.”
“We don’t have to talk about this,” says Steve.
“I wasn’t like that before,” says Bucky. “I didn’t want it when they did it to me. Only afterwards. It’s because of what they did, that’s why I’m like this.”
It’s only once he says this that he realizes he has made a confession. A memory stirs inside of him, the dark of a long-ago bedroom, the clanks and mutters and snores from apartments above and below and to either side. The soft sound of Brooklyn asleep. And in the not-silence, whispers in the dark, from his lips and Steve’s, their words and their clouds of cold breath both dissipating as they pressed secrets into each other’s palms.
Inevitability is descending onto him, but there are still moments, surely, before it presses around him completely, so when Steve starts to say his name again, his tone soothing, Bucky says, “Get out.”
And, of course, Steve does.
***
Alone, Bucky considers the crowd of his fantasies.
They are not, he has to admit, HYDRA. Sure, with some trick of the imagination they could be, but they could just as easily coalesce into the men he remembers watching down at the docks when he was seventeen, or the mixed-gender crowd he sees at the gym he goes to now, or their default, a kind of faceless mass of cruelty, affiliated with no time, no place, no people. They are, in short, more primordial than Bucky would prefer. The deeper he digs, the more he remembers them making a home in him for as long as he has known.
Bucky sits back down on the bed. He turns this over, this new hypothesis: the broken place has been in him all along. Maybe not as intense, not as all-consuming, but it was with him before, and it is with him now. It is not a result of any kind of breaking.
The timeline is all wrong. His fantasies (clench up, we’re not done with you, we’re paying good money for this) should only have come after the horrors he knew later (he can take anything you give him—why? Because he doesn’t have a choice). If they came before—if he used to think about all that to get off, even just to get off sometimes, if he told Steve about it once, if he maybe wanted to act it out together—what does that mean for what was done to him? Where does the blame fall now?
Look at him, he’s practically begging for it.
Bucky feels sick. He lies down on the bed. Will Steve walk in on him like this, bearing pancakes and practiced words and his same kind smile? What do you need? What does Bucky need? What does he need to hear? What can he hear that will feel true?
Sometimes I felt sad that I could have made you happy that way and I didn’t.
Would Steve really do it? Would he hold Bucky down, slap the defiance out of his eyes? Would Bucky want him to?
Freedom is overwhelming, and all the words he can see spooling out ahead of him are an endless dull rasp against his skin, but there is something bubbling up inside Bucky, past the dread, something like possibility. He gets up. He is still naked. He runs his hand through his hair.
He walks. He reaches out. He grips the doorknob.
Turn. Open. Forward.
Re: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-07 04:10 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-07 09:20 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-07 01:29 pm (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) - 2018-09-08 00:31 (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) - 2018-09-08 06:03 (UTC) - ExpandRe: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
Re: FILL: Secrets [3/3]
(Anonymous) 2018-09-10 04:47 pm (UTC)(link)FILL: Secrets - Coda
(Anonymous) 2018-09-13 02:18 am (UTC)(link)*************
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.
Re: FILL: Secrets - Coda
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(Anonymous) - 2018-09-15 05:41 (UTC) - Expand