(Captain America) Deep Connections
Title: Deep Connections
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Natasha/Bucky
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1077
Notes: Fisting. For avengers_tables, prompt "empty", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: Bucky's safe beneath her hands - Natasha will give him everything he needs.
He’s so pretty like this. Almost strange, to think of him that way.
Sure, Natasha’s seen the photos from when Bucky was younger, when he was an active member of the Howling Commandos. She’s read the files, gleefully dragged Steve through the Smithsonian exhibit just to enjoy his wry exasperation as she read every plaque out loud in her most dramatic voice.
For that Bucky, pretty is definitely a good word.
But he hasn’t been the young man from those photos in a long time. Bucky may not have aged all that much, despite the passing years, but the things he’s done, the things he’s been forced to do, she can read them on his face.
He’s handsome now, instead of pretty. It’s an arbitrary distinction, true, but valid enough. When Natasha looks at him most days, she sees handsome, and also sad.
But like this, it’s back to being pretty, with his eyes bright and glassy, lips bitten red, flushed and panting and overwhelmed.
He looks young, and very pretty indeed.
Bucky whines when her hands leave his skin, but Natasha doesn’t go far. Sat behind the sprawl of his legs as he lies on his side, but he’s twisted at the waist, neck arched so he can watch her as she reaches for more lube.
She looks at him, lets her expression be playful, enjoying the way he licks at his lower lip.
His chest is heaving, but it catches, breath caught in his throat, as she slicks her hand all the way up her wrist.
“Natasha.” Said so softly, voice already hoarse.
“You ready for me?” she asks. She knows he is, but she needs to hear him say it.
Bucky’s eyelids flutter. “Yes,” he replies, breathless.
He needs this. She understands that. Understands what it’s like to feel empty, in every way.
He’s getting there, working on that emotional void in his chest. It’s slow going, and Natasha remembers the frustration of it from her own experiences, knowing you’re wrong, knowing that you can be fixed or something close to it, but not being able to do anything to rush the process along.
She can’t do that for him, can only give him time and her patience.
But physically, Natasha knows exactly how to fill him.
“Turn over,” she says, voice calm but firm. Orders are easier for Bucky to follow when he gets like this, when she’s pulled him so thin he’s struggling to hold himself together.
He has his safeword, they’ve practiced him using it. She knows he understands they are orders only in tone, not in intention. It’s just another level to the experience, and Natasha will do whatever she can to make things smoother for him.
Bucky rolls back on to his side, outer knee pushing forward so he can press his weight into it. Metal hand bracing against the mattress, not quite on his front, not entirely, because he’s uncomfortable and skittish like that. But this position is a familiar compromise that allows Natasha to work more easily.
The angle of his cocked leg means he’s spread so nice for her, and she’s been fingering him long enough that his hole is red and a little puffy.
He’s so ready.
She runs her fingertips over his cleft, firm pressure so Bucky knows exactly where her hand is. His skin is shiny with lube there, but Natasha smears a little more over him, lets her thumb catch at his rim. Some nights she teases him like this for so long she thinks he’ll snap, that he’ll just get up and leave, but he never does. Just lies there and takes it, because he knows that she’ll always be good to him, that she understands how important it is to have someone to lean on for this kind of release.
But the teasing, that’s not for nights like this. Tonight is about that feeling she can give him, that sensation of being whole.
Three fingers slip in easily enough after all the stretching, and Natasha can feel him clenching down on her, trying for more. She rubs his back with her free hand, just holding herself there, spreading her fingers as much as she can, watching him open around her.
He’ll be gaping by the time she’s through.
She pushes in slow, always slow. His breathing gets heavier as her thumb and smallest finger push in too, thumb pushed tight against her palm, fingers held carefully straight. She can see Bucky shaking, feel it beneath the hand that strokes up and down his spine. Ass twitching around her, hot and smooth.
She gives him more. Fingers pushing deeper, deeper, until she’s up to her knuckles, and those fine tremors turn into shivers that wrack his whole body.
Natasha wraps her free hand around the back of his neck, and he gasps and stills. It’s a familiar gesture, one that helps him through it, brings him some personal form of comfort. It’s not a gesture she’d appreciate being done to her, from him or anyone else, but for Bucky it works. It’s about control, she suspects, surrendering it, but to somebody he trusts instead of the people who’ve forcibly taken that control away from him.
Whatever the reason, Natasha has learned that it settles him when she holds him there, reassures him, and he groans when she squeezes.
“Take it,” she murmurs, and the groan cuts off into a keen, pitched higher and needier, as she pushes further. The widest part of her hand stretching him open, and Bucky pushes back into her grip on his neck, letting out noises that sound wrecked and helpless as he takes her whole hand.
He feels so tight like this, rim trying to clench around her wrist. She holds his neck just a beat longer, before sliding her hand up into his hair, brushing it from his face where it hangs damp and dark. His face is mostly turned into the pillow, but she can see his mouth hanging open, lips wet and eyes squeezed shut.
“Natalia,” he whispers, and she feels her heart throb for him.
That emptiness in him, she’ll keep filling it, like this, or any way she can.
There are tears at the corners of his eyes as she begins to move, fucking into him slow and steady, wrist disappearing into the tightness of his ass. But Natasha recognises the sounds he makes, and knows that they’re sobs of relief.
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Natasha/Bucky
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1077
Notes: Fisting. For avengers_tables, prompt "empty", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: Bucky's safe beneath her hands - Natasha will give him everything he needs.
He’s so pretty like this. Almost strange, to think of him that way.
Sure, Natasha’s seen the photos from when Bucky was younger, when he was an active member of the Howling Commandos. She’s read the files, gleefully dragged Steve through the Smithsonian exhibit just to enjoy his wry exasperation as she read every plaque out loud in her most dramatic voice.
For that Bucky, pretty is definitely a good word.
But he hasn’t been the young man from those photos in a long time. Bucky may not have aged all that much, despite the passing years, but the things he’s done, the things he’s been forced to do, she can read them on his face.
He’s handsome now, instead of pretty. It’s an arbitrary distinction, true, but valid enough. When Natasha looks at him most days, she sees handsome, and also sad.
But like this, it’s back to being pretty, with his eyes bright and glassy, lips bitten red, flushed and panting and overwhelmed.
He looks young, and very pretty indeed.
Bucky whines when her hands leave his skin, but Natasha doesn’t go far. Sat behind the sprawl of his legs as he lies on his side, but he’s twisted at the waist, neck arched so he can watch her as she reaches for more lube.
She looks at him, lets her expression be playful, enjoying the way he licks at his lower lip.
His chest is heaving, but it catches, breath caught in his throat, as she slicks her hand all the way up her wrist.
“Natasha.” Said so softly, voice already hoarse.
“You ready for me?” she asks. She knows he is, but she needs to hear him say it.
Bucky’s eyelids flutter. “Yes,” he replies, breathless.
He needs this. She understands that. Understands what it’s like to feel empty, in every way.
He’s getting there, working on that emotional void in his chest. It’s slow going, and Natasha remembers the frustration of it from her own experiences, knowing you’re wrong, knowing that you can be fixed or something close to it, but not being able to do anything to rush the process along.
She can’t do that for him, can only give him time and her patience.
But physically, Natasha knows exactly how to fill him.
“Turn over,” she says, voice calm but firm. Orders are easier for Bucky to follow when he gets like this, when she’s pulled him so thin he’s struggling to hold himself together.
He has his safeword, they’ve practiced him using it. She knows he understands they are orders only in tone, not in intention. It’s just another level to the experience, and Natasha will do whatever she can to make things smoother for him.
Bucky rolls back on to his side, outer knee pushing forward so he can press his weight into it. Metal hand bracing against the mattress, not quite on his front, not entirely, because he’s uncomfortable and skittish like that. But this position is a familiar compromise that allows Natasha to work more easily.
The angle of his cocked leg means he’s spread so nice for her, and she’s been fingering him long enough that his hole is red and a little puffy.
He’s so ready.
She runs her fingertips over his cleft, firm pressure so Bucky knows exactly where her hand is. His skin is shiny with lube there, but Natasha smears a little more over him, lets her thumb catch at his rim. Some nights she teases him like this for so long she thinks he’ll snap, that he’ll just get up and leave, but he never does. Just lies there and takes it, because he knows that she’ll always be good to him, that she understands how important it is to have someone to lean on for this kind of release.
But the teasing, that’s not for nights like this. Tonight is about that feeling she can give him, that sensation of being whole.
Three fingers slip in easily enough after all the stretching, and Natasha can feel him clenching down on her, trying for more. She rubs his back with her free hand, just holding herself there, spreading her fingers as much as she can, watching him open around her.
He’ll be gaping by the time she’s through.
She pushes in slow, always slow. His breathing gets heavier as her thumb and smallest finger push in too, thumb pushed tight against her palm, fingers held carefully straight. She can see Bucky shaking, feel it beneath the hand that strokes up and down his spine. Ass twitching around her, hot and smooth.
She gives him more. Fingers pushing deeper, deeper, until she’s up to her knuckles, and those fine tremors turn into shivers that wrack his whole body.
Natasha wraps her free hand around the back of his neck, and he gasps and stills. It’s a familiar gesture, one that helps him through it, brings him some personal form of comfort. It’s not a gesture she’d appreciate being done to her, from him or anyone else, but for Bucky it works. It’s about control, she suspects, surrendering it, but to somebody he trusts instead of the people who’ve forcibly taken that control away from him.
Whatever the reason, Natasha has learned that it settles him when she holds him there, reassures him, and he groans when she squeezes.
“Take it,” she murmurs, and the groan cuts off into a keen, pitched higher and needier, as she pushes further. The widest part of her hand stretching him open, and Bucky pushes back into her grip on his neck, letting out noises that sound wrecked and helpless as he takes her whole hand.
He feels so tight like this, rim trying to clench around her wrist. She holds his neck just a beat longer, before sliding her hand up into his hair, brushing it from his face where it hangs damp and dark. His face is mostly turned into the pillow, but she can see his mouth hanging open, lips wet and eyes squeezed shut.
“Natalia,” he whispers, and she feels her heart throb for him.
That emptiness in him, she’ll keep filling it, like this, or any way she can.
There are tears at the corners of his eyes as she begins to move, fucking into him slow and steady, wrist disappearing into the tightness of his ass. But Natasha recognises the sounds he makes, and knows that they’re sobs of relief.