(Captain America) Left And Slow
Title: Left And Slow
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Bucky/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1097
Notes: Fisting. Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier. For avengers_tables, prompt "hard", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: He'll accept every part of Bucky, old and new.
Steve’s hands are wrapped around the wooden rungs of the headboard, his knuckles white. Chest throbbing, lungs burning, and he hasn’t felt this out of breath since the serum, hasn’t felt this winded since his last asthma attack all those decades ago.
He feels open. Ass stretched out by Bucky’s fingers, feeling exposed, legs spread wide, knees bent and feet braced against the mattress. Four warm fingers inside him, and Steve can’t fight back the soft sound of disappointment when they withdraw.
Bucky’s staring down at him, eyes intent. Breathing slow and shallow, pupils dilated, and his hand slides down Steve’s leg, squeezes his calf. He touches Steve differently now, not as casual as they used to be, not as playful, and that hurts, makes Steve want to gather him up and never let go. The way Bucky touches him these days, it’s more deliberate, like he’s studying Steve, like he’s trying to commit everything to memory while he can, as if it could be stolen from him at any moment. Still feeling the echoes of the Winter Soldier, still expecting to be called in and wiped clean.
Steve aches for him.
“You said you’d take all of me,” Bucky says, and his voice is quiet, testing, like he’s expecting Steve to want to stop, laughable as that seems.
“Anything,” Steve answers instinctively, and Bucky swallows, eyes gleaming with something Steve can’t place. He hates that he can’t read Bucky so easily anymore, that there are parts of him still shadowed and hidden that Steve can’t reach. Bucky’s coming back to him, piece by piece, and Steve knows he can’t rush that, but he’s still impatient to chase the pain away.
And then all thought is leaving his mind, inhaling sharply, cock pulsing against his stomach, because Bucky is slicking up his left hand. His metal hand, the coat of lube glinting obscenely over the surface in the lamplight. He’d been using his own hand, his flesh-and-bone hand to open Steve up, but now he’s watching Steve’s reaction carefully as he flexes the metal of his left fingers. “You said -” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off.
“Do it,” he hisses, voice ragged, red flashing across his vision, and Bucky inhales through his nose. Lips a thin line, looking like it’s taking everything he has, taking every ounce of control not to just grab at Steve, not to just turn him over and fuck him raw.
Reaching down slow, like Steve’s a spooked animal, like he’s expecting Steve to bolt, and Steve shivers. Wonders if that’s how it’s felt for Bucky, if Steve’s been treating him like that since they stumbled their way back into this kind of relationship, treating him like a ticking bomb. But he can’t dwell on that right now, because the metal is cool as it brushes against his inner thighs, and Steve steadies himself and stares right back into Bucky’s eyes.
Wills him to understand that Steve isn’t going anywhere, that neither of them is going anywhere alone ever again.
Long, slow, deliberate stroke of Bucky’s index finger along the cleft of Steve’s ass, and Steve takes in a shaky breath, chest pushing up and hips pushing down, trying to twist after that contact. Metal fingers against his asshole, cold and slick, and Steve shifts his grip on the headboard, tries not to hold his breath.
Making a low sound as they push inside, three at once. He’s open for it, ready, but it feels so different to the softer touch of flesh. Thick and solid and hard, and Bucky isn’t stopping. Steady slide within, little finger and thumb too, pushed up tight against his palm, and Steve bites his lip against the burn. Feeling his muscles pulling and spasming, stretched wider than he’s ever been, and Bucky still doesn’t stop. Wideness of his palm, and Steve’s trembling, groaning, gasping for air, and the headboard cracks under his fingers.
Feeling like too much, and he can’t do this, wants it so bad but it must be impossible. And then Bucky’s whole hand is inside him, moving against his inner walls, Steve’s hole clenching up around his wrist, and Bucky’s eyes are blown. Panting as he watches Steve try to adjust, and the metal feels so strong, nothing like skin at all. So smooth, and Steve whimpers for it, for the way it drags inside him but still doesn’t give him the friction he craves.
And then Bucky’s pushing in deep, and Steve lets out a cry that’s barely human, head thrown back against the bed. So thick, so wide, and if Steve thought he couldn’t breathe before, that’s nothing compared to the way he struggles for air now. Whole fist fucking into him, slow but relentless, Bucky’s wrist working against Steve’s rim as he takes him. Steve’s cock flexes against his stomach, leaking pre-come against his abs, heels skidding against the bed as he tries to spread wider.
Nothing like flesh, cold and hard but somehow the opposite of impersonal. Because this is a part of Bucky, a part of the man he is now, and Steve’s making noises constantly, babbling incoherently, coaxing and loving and begging for it.
And through it all Bucky watches him. Lips parted, sweat on his brow, hair curling behind his ears. On his knees, rocking forward, putting his whole body into it, all his weight into the way he fucks Steve. Unyielding, brutal pressure, and Steve’s moaning, arching, trying for more. Stretched so open, dry sob rattling in his chest, because Bucky’s looking at him the way he used to, mixture of vulnerability and hunger, lust and awe. Looking at him like Steve’s the most important thing in the world, and Steve shakes and shouts, hips pushing forward, clenching up hard as he comes. Feeling himself grip down on the metal of Bucky’s arm, and that only makes things better, flutter of sensitive muscles, only draws it out, drags another spurt of heat from him, until he’s trembling uncontrollably, come painted up his chest.
“Bucky,” he whispers, and he sounds fucked-out, husky and used. And Bucky’s eyes flare for him, the fist that had stilled within him thrusting deep once again. Making him cry out, still so hard, cock flushed and wet. Watching the way Bucky’s tongue drags over his lower lip, Bucky’s gaze caught between Steve’s legs. The serum means he can go all night like this, and just the thought makes him clench up around the thickness of that metal arm, ready for more, ready to take everything Bucky can give him, always.
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Bucky/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1097
Notes: Fisting. Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier. For avengers_tables, prompt "hard", and a prompt at avengerkink.
Summary: He'll accept every part of Bucky, old and new.
Steve’s hands are wrapped around the wooden rungs of the headboard, his knuckles white. Chest throbbing, lungs burning, and he hasn’t felt this out of breath since the serum, hasn’t felt this winded since his last asthma attack all those decades ago.
He feels open. Ass stretched out by Bucky’s fingers, feeling exposed, legs spread wide, knees bent and feet braced against the mattress. Four warm fingers inside him, and Steve can’t fight back the soft sound of disappointment when they withdraw.
Bucky’s staring down at him, eyes intent. Breathing slow and shallow, pupils dilated, and his hand slides down Steve’s leg, squeezes his calf. He touches Steve differently now, not as casual as they used to be, not as playful, and that hurts, makes Steve want to gather him up and never let go. The way Bucky touches him these days, it’s more deliberate, like he’s studying Steve, like he’s trying to commit everything to memory while he can, as if it could be stolen from him at any moment. Still feeling the echoes of the Winter Soldier, still expecting to be called in and wiped clean.
Steve aches for him.
“You said you’d take all of me,” Bucky says, and his voice is quiet, testing, like he’s expecting Steve to want to stop, laughable as that seems.
“Anything,” Steve answers instinctively, and Bucky swallows, eyes gleaming with something Steve can’t place. He hates that he can’t read Bucky so easily anymore, that there are parts of him still shadowed and hidden that Steve can’t reach. Bucky’s coming back to him, piece by piece, and Steve knows he can’t rush that, but he’s still impatient to chase the pain away.
And then all thought is leaving his mind, inhaling sharply, cock pulsing against his stomach, because Bucky is slicking up his left hand. His metal hand, the coat of lube glinting obscenely over the surface in the lamplight. He’d been using his own hand, his flesh-and-bone hand to open Steve up, but now he’s watching Steve’s reaction carefully as he flexes the metal of his left fingers. “You said -” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off.
“Do it,” he hisses, voice ragged, red flashing across his vision, and Bucky inhales through his nose. Lips a thin line, looking like it’s taking everything he has, taking every ounce of control not to just grab at Steve, not to just turn him over and fuck him raw.
Reaching down slow, like Steve’s a spooked animal, like he’s expecting Steve to bolt, and Steve shivers. Wonders if that’s how it’s felt for Bucky, if Steve’s been treating him like that since they stumbled their way back into this kind of relationship, treating him like a ticking bomb. But he can’t dwell on that right now, because the metal is cool as it brushes against his inner thighs, and Steve steadies himself and stares right back into Bucky’s eyes.
Wills him to understand that Steve isn’t going anywhere, that neither of them is going anywhere alone ever again.
Long, slow, deliberate stroke of Bucky’s index finger along the cleft of Steve’s ass, and Steve takes in a shaky breath, chest pushing up and hips pushing down, trying to twist after that contact. Metal fingers against his asshole, cold and slick, and Steve shifts his grip on the headboard, tries not to hold his breath.
Making a low sound as they push inside, three at once. He’s open for it, ready, but it feels so different to the softer touch of flesh. Thick and solid and hard, and Bucky isn’t stopping. Steady slide within, little finger and thumb too, pushed up tight against his palm, and Steve bites his lip against the burn. Feeling his muscles pulling and spasming, stretched wider than he’s ever been, and Bucky still doesn’t stop. Wideness of his palm, and Steve’s trembling, groaning, gasping for air, and the headboard cracks under his fingers.
Feeling like too much, and he can’t do this, wants it so bad but it must be impossible. And then Bucky’s whole hand is inside him, moving against his inner walls, Steve’s hole clenching up around his wrist, and Bucky’s eyes are blown. Panting as he watches Steve try to adjust, and the metal feels so strong, nothing like skin at all. So smooth, and Steve whimpers for it, for the way it drags inside him but still doesn’t give him the friction he craves.
And then Bucky’s pushing in deep, and Steve lets out a cry that’s barely human, head thrown back against the bed. So thick, so wide, and if Steve thought he couldn’t breathe before, that’s nothing compared to the way he struggles for air now. Whole fist fucking into him, slow but relentless, Bucky’s wrist working against Steve’s rim as he takes him. Steve’s cock flexes against his stomach, leaking pre-come against his abs, heels skidding against the bed as he tries to spread wider.
Nothing like flesh, cold and hard but somehow the opposite of impersonal. Because this is a part of Bucky, a part of the man he is now, and Steve’s making noises constantly, babbling incoherently, coaxing and loving and begging for it.
And through it all Bucky watches him. Lips parted, sweat on his brow, hair curling behind his ears. On his knees, rocking forward, putting his whole body into it, all his weight into the way he fucks Steve. Unyielding, brutal pressure, and Steve’s moaning, arching, trying for more. Stretched so open, dry sob rattling in his chest, because Bucky’s looking at him the way he used to, mixture of vulnerability and hunger, lust and awe. Looking at him like Steve’s the most important thing in the world, and Steve shakes and shouts, hips pushing forward, clenching up hard as he comes. Feeling himself grip down on the metal of Bucky’s arm, and that only makes things better, flutter of sensitive muscles, only draws it out, drags another spurt of heat from him, until he’s trembling uncontrollably, come painted up his chest.
“Bucky,” he whispers, and he sounds fucked-out, husky and used. And Bucky’s eyes flare for him, the fist that had stilled within him thrusting deep once again. Making him cry out, still so hard, cock flushed and wet. Watching the way Bucky’s tongue drags over his lower lip, Bucky’s gaze caught between Steve’s legs. The serum means he can go all night like this, and just the thought makes him clench up around the thickness of that metal arm, ready for more, ready to take everything Bucky can give him, always.