fic: Writing My Life on Your Skin (Avengers; Steve/Bucky; adult)
Writing My Life on Your Skin
Avengers (2012); Steve/Bucky; adult; 730 words
Steve likes leaving marks on Bucky's skin.
All
angelgazing's fault, as usual. Title from Steve Miller Band, sort of. Another 10 in 10 story.
~*~
Writing My Life on Your Skin
Steve enjoys working on his bike. He's no genius mechanic--if something were seriously wrong, he'd ask Tony to have a look at it, since he's the one who customized it in the first place--but he can tinker as well as anyone, and it keeps his hands busy when there's nothing else to do.
He's humming to himself when Bucky appears in the doorway to the garage. He's barefoot and shirtless, jeans riding low on his hips, and his hair wet and his skin still slightly damp from his shower. He saunters over to where Steve is working and raises an eyebrow.
"Having fun?"
Steve wipes his hands on his already-stained t-shirt and threads a finger through one the belt loops on Bucky's jeans. "Why? You got a better idea?"
Bucky's grin is wicked. "Maybe."
Steve tugs him close and he comes willingly, face tipped up and ready when Steve kisses him. He tastes of toothpaste and warmth, and Steve slides his hands over the jut of Bucky's hipbones, leaving dark streaks of grease behind. He likes leaving marks on Bucky's skin, proof that he's alive and here, that he lets Steve touch him and love him. Usually it's pastels or charcoal or paint, but grease is good, too, dark against the fair skin of his hips and belly.
"I just showered," Bucky grumbles, but there's no heat in it, and he tips his head back to let Steve press kisses down the curve of his throat. He nips at Bucky's clavicle, and licks gently at the gnarled proud flesh where the metal arm joins his body, and Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, the way he always does when Steve kisses him there.
Steve swings them around so Bucky's leaning against the seat of the bike, and then continues kissing his way down Bucky's body, the firm muscles of his chest and belly jumping at the light, teasing touches from Steve's lips and tongue.
He eases to his knees and gets Bucky's jeans open as quickly as he can, laughing softly at the discovery that he hadn't bothered to put on any underwear. Bucky's cock is hard and flushed, precome already starting to pearl at the tip, and Steve flicks it with the tip of his tongue, enjoying the way Bucky moans and bites off a curse.
Steve grins up at him before wrapping a hand around the base and sucking the head into his mouth, tongue swirling along the slit. Bucky makes a low growling noise and threads his right hand through Steve's hair. He holds still as Steve licks and sucks and strokes him, but the heavy rasp of his ragged breathing, the tension in his thighs, and the quick tightening of his hand in Steve's hair are evidence enough of how turned on he is.
Steve loves the feel of Bucky in his mouth, hot and heavy on his tongue, the taste and smell of him filling Steve's senses, the hitches in his breath like music to Steve's ears, encouragement to slide his lips down further, taking as much of Bucky in as he can. His own dick is hard and aching now, and he reaches down to unzip his own jeans and give himself a squeeze. Then he hollows out his cheeks and wrings a loud, "Christ, Steve," out of Bucky, who cups his cheek gently and thumbs his swollen lower lip. Steve shivers and hums in response, focusing on Bucky's face, which is flushed and tense with pleasure.
Bucky tugs at his hair, a warning Steve chooses to ignore, and his mouth is flooded with the bitter warmth of Bucky's come. He swallows down what he can and then leans back, stroking Bucky through it, and then finally stroking himself, his own pleasure doubled at the sight of Bucky loose and satisfied and draped against his bike. He gets to his feet and kisses Bucky, who eagerly licks the taste of himself off Steve's tongue, fingers curling in Steve's shirt to hold him close, shredding it in the process.
They use Steve's ruined t-shirt to clean up, though now they're both smudged with grease.
"I just showered," Bucky repeats, running his fingers through the black streaks on his skin.
"Well, then, I guess we'll just have to shower together," Steve says with a smile, pulling him close for another kiss before they head back inside.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/601298.html.
people have commented there.
Avengers (2012); Steve/Bucky; adult; 730 words
Steve likes leaving marks on Bucky's skin.
All
angelgazing's fault, as usual. Title from Steve Miller Band, sort of. Another 10 in 10 story.
~*~
Writing My Life on Your Skin
Steve enjoys working on his bike. He's no genius mechanic--if something were seriously wrong, he'd ask Tony to have a look at it, since he's the one who customized it in the first place--but he can tinker as well as anyone, and it keeps his hands busy when there's nothing else to do.
He's humming to himself when Bucky appears in the doorway to the garage. He's barefoot and shirtless, jeans riding low on his hips, and his hair wet and his skin still slightly damp from his shower. He saunters over to where Steve is working and raises an eyebrow.
"Having fun?"
Steve wipes his hands on his already-stained t-shirt and threads a finger through one the belt loops on Bucky's jeans. "Why? You got a better idea?"
Bucky's grin is wicked. "Maybe."
Steve tugs him close and he comes willingly, face tipped up and ready when Steve kisses him. He tastes of toothpaste and warmth, and Steve slides his hands over the jut of Bucky's hipbones, leaving dark streaks of grease behind. He likes leaving marks on Bucky's skin, proof that he's alive and here, that he lets Steve touch him and love him. Usually it's pastels or charcoal or paint, but grease is good, too, dark against the fair skin of his hips and belly.
"I just showered," Bucky grumbles, but there's no heat in it, and he tips his head back to let Steve press kisses down the curve of his throat. He nips at Bucky's clavicle, and licks gently at the gnarled proud flesh where the metal arm joins his body, and Bucky sucks in a sharp breath, the way he always does when Steve kisses him there.
Steve swings them around so Bucky's leaning against the seat of the bike, and then continues kissing his way down Bucky's body, the firm muscles of his chest and belly jumping at the light, teasing touches from Steve's lips and tongue.
He eases to his knees and gets Bucky's jeans open as quickly as he can, laughing softly at the discovery that he hadn't bothered to put on any underwear. Bucky's cock is hard and flushed, precome already starting to pearl at the tip, and Steve flicks it with the tip of his tongue, enjoying the way Bucky moans and bites off a curse.
Steve grins up at him before wrapping a hand around the base and sucking the head into his mouth, tongue swirling along the slit. Bucky makes a low growling noise and threads his right hand through Steve's hair. He holds still as Steve licks and sucks and strokes him, but the heavy rasp of his ragged breathing, the tension in his thighs, and the quick tightening of his hand in Steve's hair are evidence enough of how turned on he is.
Steve loves the feel of Bucky in his mouth, hot and heavy on his tongue, the taste and smell of him filling Steve's senses, the hitches in his breath like music to Steve's ears, encouragement to slide his lips down further, taking as much of Bucky in as he can. His own dick is hard and aching now, and he reaches down to unzip his own jeans and give himself a squeeze. Then he hollows out his cheeks and wrings a loud, "Christ, Steve," out of Bucky, who cups his cheek gently and thumbs his swollen lower lip. Steve shivers and hums in response, focusing on Bucky's face, which is flushed and tense with pleasure.
Bucky tugs at his hair, a warning Steve chooses to ignore, and his mouth is flooded with the bitter warmth of Bucky's come. He swallows down what he can and then leans back, stroking Bucky through it, and then finally stroking himself, his own pleasure doubled at the sight of Bucky loose and satisfied and draped against his bike. He gets to his feet and kisses Bucky, who eagerly licks the taste of himself off Steve's tongue, fingers curling in Steve's shirt to hold him close, shredding it in the process.
They use Steve's ruined t-shirt to clean up, though now they're both smudged with grease.
"I just showered," Bucky repeats, running his fingers through the black streaks on his skin.
"Well, then, I guess we'll just have to shower together," Steve says with a smile, pulling him close for another kiss before they head back inside.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
This entry at DW: http://musesfool.dreamwidth.org/601298.html.
people have commented there.