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the story of what the night is thinking (it’s thinking of love, it’s thinking of stabbing us to death)

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“Jesus Christ, look at you.”

It’s not a suggestion. The last thing Bucky wants is to see what he looks like, but the fingers twisted in his hair are merciless when they yank his head back. Bucky keeps his eyes closed even as the rest of his body reacts to the words, clenching around Steve with a violent shudder. He’s burning inside, hole loose from Steve’s mouth and forced tight around his cock. His scalp stings when Steve tightens his grip, shaking Bucky like a disobedient dog.

Look.”

Bucky looks, helpless to resist that edge in Steve’s voice or the promise of violence inherent in his touch. He regrets it the moment he does, wonders if a beating wouldn’t have been better. He’ll like it anyway, Steve will make him, but this – he can’t–

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve breathes, meeting Bucky’s eyes in the mirror. “Never seen anyone get so fuckin’ desperate for it the way you do.”

He sounds so fucking pleased, but Bucky can’t see what he sees. He wants to look down again, just give in and let Steve fuck him stupid, but his eyes are drawn back to his own reflection – a figure in battered blue, bent over the bathroom sink and flushed a splotchy red down to his neck. He’s a fucking mess, tears staining his cheeks and lips red from being bitten raw, mouth open and gasping with each thrust that rocks his body.

He’d rather look at Steve, red and white and blue and still filthy, drilling into Bucky like he wants to break him open. America would have a heart attack to see this side of their Captain, and Bucky’s both proud and possessive of this Steve Rogers. He’s got no right, but who gives a fuck. This is his.

This is their first time fucking in their supersuits, and Bucky can feel all the places where the weapons stashed on his person are pressing bruises into his skin. His pants are at his ankles, a mobility nightmare, and Steve’s padded pants slam brutally into the back of his thighs with each thrust. He’ll be black and blue by the end of the day, and Bucky almost comes just thinking about it.

But he doesn’t, not even when Steve rams home with a guttural sound and spills hot into him. The heat of it gets to Bucky, always does, making him clench around Steve’s softening cock and throb between his own legs. One touch, and he’ll come, fucking explode, but Steve doesn’t so much as glance at him, and when he lets Bucky’s hands go, it’s with a warning squeeze that tells him to keep them where they are.

Bucky does, fists clenching and unclenching at his back, even as his shoulders ache from the strain of this position. He accidentally meets his reflection’s eyes and has to squeeze them shut at the look in them, all sweet and wanton.

Needy. Pathetic.

He likes it. Steve does too, maybe a bit too much, and it’s not that they don’t know what’s good for them, just that they don’t care.

And because he has his eyes closed, he doesn’t know what Steve’s doing until his cock is slipping out of Bucky – though it’s half-hard again, god bless America and Abraham Erskine – but he jolts back with wide eyes when something cool and hard presses against his opening.

“S-Steve?”

It pushes in easy enough with Steve’s come slicking Bucky’s hole, and it barely aches, really, after taking Steve’s monster of a cock. It’s sheer shock that keeps Bucky frozen, mouth open for a thousand questions that never come.

The flared base settles snugly between his cheeks, and Bucky finally comes to grips with the realization that Steve just shoved a butt plug in him.

A butt plug he must have had with him, secure in one of the pockets of his fucking Captain America uniform. He had it with him in the field, tucked away while they tore through the month’s flavor of mutant creatures – frogs, of all things – and he knew Bucky would be his partner for the mission but couldn’t possibly predict that he’d ambush Steve afterward. Yet, he still had it.

Steve’s hand wraps around the base of Bucky’s cock, and he groans in gratitude before he realizes that Steve’s not stroking him to relief but squeezing tight. Bucky whines, pain sparking up his spine and tugging at his gut, arousal flaring hot. He jerks, shuddering wildly in a mockery of orgasm, but his cock only softens in Steve’s hand, aching with need but utterly denied.

He thinks he complains, but the words don’t even register in his ears. All he can feel is the plug in his ass, keeping him open and pushing against his prostate.

“No time,” Steve says sweetly, the goddamn bastard. “The others will be here soon.”

Steve yanks him upright and turns him around, manhandling him like a limp doll. Bucky slumps against the sink and watches blankly as Steve kneels to pull Bucky’s pants back up. For an instant, his mouth is inches away from Bucky’s cock, and he can’t help but jerk forward, pleading with his body. Steve leans away, calmly zips Bucky up, rises, and then just as calmly grips Bucky between the legs.

He screams, sharp for an instant before Steve muffles it with his palm. He writhes and whines at the pain, clawing at Steve’s chest. He spits curses against the hand over his mouth, but that just makes Steve tighten his grip, and Bucky’s begging before he knows it, no no no steve please stop please no

Steve lets go and grabs Bucky by the waist before he can sink into a puddle on the floor.

“Clean up, Barnes. You’ve got five minutes.”

“You gotta be–” He doesn’t even finish the sentence before Steve’s expression tells him that no, he’s very much not kidding. He shifts, pulling away from Steve and almost stumbling when the plug shifts in his ass, pushing and pulling at his insides. “Cap, I can’t – this thing’s too big, I can’t walk around with it.”

Steve’s smile is more of a smirk.

“I’m not asking you to fight aliens in it, Barnes. You won’t be walking around either. It’s a debrief. All you got to do is sit tight and look pretty. You’re good at that, aren’t you?”

Bucky tries to glare, but he thinks he just ends up looking inviting instead. The plug’s not enough, he wants Steve back inside him, and god, Steve’s right, he’s fucking desperate for it.

“Sir, please–”

“Five minutes,” Steve cuts him off, already walking away. “Don’t be late.”

 

-

 

Sit tight and look pretty, Steve said, and Bucky’s gonna murder that rat bastard with his thighs.

That gets him imagining Steve’s head between his thighs and the way he gets with Bucky’s cock in his mouth, bossy fucking shit biting his way up his legs and holding him down by the hips and turning him over to set that sin of a mouth to his hole and fuck

Across the table, Clint gives him a nonplussed look that Bucky summarily ignores.

He doesn’t blame Clint though. Bucky’s notorious for his uncanny ability to be as still as a goddamn rock when he needs to be, and he hasn’t been above using it for a few pranks either. But he’s been squirming ever since he took this seat, the last one to slide into his chair despite being the first to get back to the tower. Steve was already in place, hunched over his datapad with a considering frown on his face. He barely spared Bucky a glance.

It’s been half an hour since then and everyone except Bucky has been talking, laughing, arguing, and it’s all just washing over him. Clint’s not the only one who has noticed something amiss – Natasha cocked her head at him ten minutes into the meeting but was mollified by a shake of his head. Stark’s too caught up bickering with Steve to notice, and Wilson’s watching the two with an expression that’s both amused and exasperated.

Steve’s in all his Captain America glory, and he hasn’t looked at Bucky since this started, and it shouldn’t make Bucky so hot and bothered but god help him, it does. He wants to sink to his knees at Steve’s feet and nuzzle him until he twists those long fingers into his hair. He wants to climb into his lap, audience be damned, and grind on him until Steve slaps him hard and makes him behave. He wants–

He shifts again, crossing his left leg over the right, and clenches his teeth tight against the moan that wants to escape. The plug’s fucking him up, pressing in deep and tugging at his rim, and he can’t take this, he can’t–

It’s Steve’s voice that penetrates the fog in his mind. Bucky’s eyes snap to him like a man adrift spotting a sandy shore.

“–for the day. Keep an eye on things, Tony. But rest first. All of you. It’s been a long fucking day.”

There’s a chorus of agreement to that, and its testament to the truth of the statement that everyone files out immediately, a staggering bunch of worn-out superheroes.

Almost everyone, Bucky amends a second later, spotting Natasha still in her seat. As he watches, she gets up and crosses over to Steve, peering down at him with half-quirked lips.

“That goes for you too, o’ fearless leader.”

Steve gives her a longsuffering look, threaded through with affection. Bucky feels a little like he’s intruding, watching the two of them, but he can’t look away either. He rarely sees Natasha likes this; she’s soft with Clint and his family, but her dynamic with Steve is different in ways he can’t articulate. It’s fascinating, but something inside Bucky churns unpleasantly at each easy word and shared smile.

“You’re not coming, Bucky?” Natasha asks, and when Bucky blinks, she’s already at the door, waiting expectantly for him.

Bucky opens his mouth, a little panicked, but it’s Steve who answers, smooth and nonchalant like he didn’t fuck Bucky’s brains out and then stick a sex toy in him and is keeping him trapped here with just an unspoken promise.

“I’ve got something to discuss with Barnes. You go ahead, Nat.”

She shrugs and leaves, but her eyes are sharp as they glance one last time at Bucky. She’ll ask, of course she will, but she’ll back off if that’s what he wants. She always does.

“–to me, Barnes? Bucky.”

Bucky jolts and turns wild eyes on Steve, biting his lips at the evaluative look he’s given.

“You’re a fucking mess,” Steve says plainly, and there’s nothing left in his voice of the warmth he aimed at Natasha.

The question’s out of his mouth before he can stop it.

“Do you have feelings for Nat?”

Steve blinks, surprise splashing gracelessly along his expression.

“What the – where’d that come from? Of course I don’t have feelings for Natasha, Barnes, what the hell?”

Bucky shrugs, turning away and hissing quietly when the plug shifts again.

“Look at me,” Steve orders, and Bucky does, freezing in place like a frightened animal. Steve tilts his head, and the smile that curves his lips is soft but the look in his eyes is predatory. “A wildly inappropriate relationship with one member of my team’s all I can handle, Barnes. Nat’s my friend.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Bucky says, glancing down at Steve’s chest, away from those piercing eyes.

“Yeah, you did,” Steve tells him, tone deceptively gentle. “I’ll forgive you this time because your brain’s clearly addled from that thing inside you. This all it takes, Soldier? A little plug, and look at you, you’re drooling for it.”

Bucky licks his lips, pressing his legs together like that will grant him relief from his straining cock and aching ass. He glares at Steve as best as he can while simultaneously squirming to get fucked, but the past half an hour has roused his pride from the sweet death it dies each time he lets Steve fuck him up, and he can’t help snap back despite knowing it’s a bad idea.

“I’m not the one who went to battle carrying a fucking butt plug, so who’s desperate here, sir?”

It’s weak and Bucky knows it, but he injects a healthy dose of venom into that last word, gripping the arm rests like they’ll lend him strength. Whatever comes after will be worth it for that momentary glimpse of Steve’s face darkening.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Steve says very quietly. “Spread your legs.”

Bucky obeys but takes his sweet time, holding Steve’s gaze with as much defiance as he can muster. He’s so busy keeping up that front, not giving in to the vocal part of him that wants to crawl to Steve and beg for release, that he doesn’t notice what Steve’s doing until the restraints snap into place.

“What the fuck,” Bucky mutters, jerking instinctively at the metal circlets around his ankles and wrists. Even his left arm doesn’t find much purchase, and he’s broken handcuffs with that thing.

“You gotta appreciate Tony’s tech,” Steve says blithely. “And his paranoia. Even Fury would approve.”

Of course. Trust Tony fucking Stark to build chairs that double as traps.

Bucky still struggles, heaving with his whole body while Steve watches silently. One errant glance shows him leaning back in his own chair with a ghost of a smirk, watching Bucky squirm, liking it.

That’s what makes him relax in the end, melting back into the chair with forced composure. Steve nods, approving, and Bucky looks away with a grimace. There’s no ignoring the flare of warmth in his chest, but he damn well tries.

 “JARVIS?”

“Captain Rogers.”

“Restrict access to this room for everyone. Avengers included. If Tony tries for an override, please dissuade him.”

“I shall try my best, Captain.”

Sometimes, Bucky thinks that JARVIS has a soft spot for Steve. Or maybe he’s just concerned about preserving the Avengers’ collective ignorance concerning their supposedly innocent Captain’s sexual deviancy. Stark sure acts like he’d have an aneurysm if it turned out that Steve knew how to use his dick.

Whatever. Bucky kinda likes being the only one to see this side of Steve, intimately.

“What now?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve. “You’ve got me at your mercy, Captain? Gonna ravish me?”

Steve’s smile is serene, and Bucky knows by now that an expression so sweet spells trouble on this man. The thought barely passes through his head when the plug starts vibrating.

Bucky jerks with a yelp, arching off the chair as best as he can. There’s no escape; the plug is snug inside him, huge and thick and pressed all up against his prostate. It vibrates with slow, strong pulses, and it takes all of five seconds to get Bucky strung up tight, each muscle taut as he squirms in the chair. It feels good, past the initial shock, but he can’t quite stop his hips from bucking up, trying to fuck into something, cock aching for a touch. He gets nothing, just the weight of Steve’s eyes on him, somehow more electric than the vibrations.

“I’m gonna–”

A smile, implacable, is Steve’s answer to that bitten-off plea, and then Bucky’s coming with a howl, spilling untouched in his pants.

He shudders through the aftershocks, wrists and ankles aching where he strained unconsciously against them. The chair’s still got him trapped, and for several long moments, that’s all that keeps him from melting into a puddle on the floor.

The plug’s still vibrating, each pulse a small shock to his oversensitive prostate.

“S-stop,” Bucky manages to say between panting breaths. “Too much, turn it off.”

Steve does, and Bucky heaves a sigh at the–

Ah!

He screams, whole body jolting as if electrified. The vibrations are stronger than before, the window between each one lesser, and it’s killing Bucky, tearing deep into his gut and pulling out more than he has to give.

It hurts, his cock and ass throbbing with oversensitivity, but there’s pleasure mixed in, so intense that it might as well be pain. He’s at the edge too soon, kept there by the relentless assault on his prostate. It’s too much and not enough, and if he could catch his breath, he’d beg and plead and give Steve anything he wants, just for this to stop.

It doesn’t let up, not even when Bucky’s gasping wetly and writhing for relief. He looks at Steve, begging with his eyes, and catches one glimpse of dark eyes and parted lips before the vibrations get worse.

Don’t–” he snaps, the rest of his breath rising into a shriek that echoes in the room, ringing in his own ears and twisting in his gut. Bucky squirms, can’t help it even when each twitch of his wrecked body makes the plug shift within him, rubbing up against that spot and stretching his sore hole. He can feel his second orgasm hovering close, fingertips away from ruining him.

Steve’s silent still, but Bucky can feel his gaze like a physical weight, and it drives him crazy. He must make one hell of a sight, screaming and arching in the chair, but Steve likes him like this, desperate and broken, and he’s gotta be getting off on it, cock hard in his fucking stars and stripes, leaking against the unforgiving fabric because it wants to be inside Bucky–

He whimpers as he comes, biting his lips bloody, but it grows into a wail when the plug keeps pulsing, painfully wringing every last drop of come out of him.

It doesn’t stop even when Bucky’s slumped boneless on the chair, and Bucky wants to beg for it to end, but it takes him too long to even find the words. He’s shaking violently, all twisted in on himself.

“Please,” he rasps in the end, and he sounds fucking pathetic but that’s alright. “Steve, stop, I’m sorry, sir, please, you’re – fuck, can’t, I – I’ll break.”

“Look at me, Bucky.”

Bucky does, forcing his eyes open to meet Steve’s, thrilled in spite of everything at how desire has turned those pretty blues into bottomless dark pools.

“Ask me again,” Steve says, and Bucky trips over his tongue trying to obey.

“Please, sir, turn it off, please, I can’t.”

Steve listens this time, smiling contently. The sudden relief is overwhelming, and Bucky tucks his face away to hide the tears and the trembling, biting his lips against the sobs that want to escape. His body’s thrumming with a barrage of sensations, aftershock and an odd sort of numbness. A lot of things hurt, tired and sore and satisfied.

The restraints melt away, and Bucky slumps further.

“Get up.”

It’s an order, gentle but no less commanding for it, and Bucky lurches to his feet, swaying precariously. He clings to the table, barely keeping himself upright. His legs feel like jelly, and his ass twinges with every movement.

“Come here,” Steve says, pitiless. “You can crawl if you’d like.”

Bucky would not like, but he makes two staggering steps before falling to his knees. He stays there a moment, face burning, the only sound in the room the impatient tap-tap of Steve’s boots on the floor.

He crawls.

Steve’s hand slides into his hair the second he’s within reach, and Bucky’s almost scared by how quickly it grounds him, pulling the ragged edges of his head close together. He massages Bucky’s head, his palm huge and warm, an instrument of violence made so gentle.

Steve’s hand trails down, knuckles smearing Bucky’s tears along his cheeks, and tilts his head up by the chin.

Bucky blinks up at Steve, opens his mouth for the fingers that probe at his lips.

“Hey there,” Steve says softly, and Bucky can’t read the look in his eyes, only that it’s not right, not when it’s Bucky kneeling at his feet. “Come up here, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” he starts but loses the train of thought when Steve coaxes him up and onto his lap, wrapping his tree-trunk arms around Bucky. Steve’s cock settles against his ass, and Bucky dimly realizes that he never even saw him take it out, too caught up in his own body.

He clumsily reaches back and gets a hand around it, only realizing it’s the metal one when Steve hisses quietly at the cold.

“I – sorry, I’ll–”

“Ssh,” Steve says, stroking Bucky’s hair back. Bucky lets himself be drawn closer and held gently like something precious, if only for a moment.

Steve’s mouth brushes his temple.

“Let’s get you out of these, hmm?” he says, tugging at Bucky’s pants.

Bucky ends up with his knees on either side of Steve’s thighs, clinging to his broad shoulders as Steve works his pants down his legs. They’re too tight to be taken off in this position, but Bucky doesn’t want to leave Steve’s lap and the security of his warm, hard body, and Steve seems in no hurry to push him away either.

Steve huffs a laugh against Bucky’s ear, kissing the lobe just as he tears his pants straight down the middle.

Bucky’s startled into laughter, muffling it in Steve’s hair. Steve just calmly sets about clearing the scraps of fabric clinging to Bucky, leaving him bare from the waist down. He spreads his ass wide the next moment, and Bucky’s chuckle turns into a choked groan.

The plug drags at his walls as it’s pulled out, like Bucky’s ass is trying to suck it back in. It finally slides free with a filthy pop, leaving Bucky empty and aching.

Bucky doesn’t resist when Steve guides him down on his cock, only thinks distantly that he didn’t notice Steve lube up either.

It’s a slow, smooth glide. Steve’s slick and Bucky’s loose, but it still hurts, a slow, hot throb that sends mixed signals to Bucky’s lethargic brain. He moans low in his throat when he’s seated in Steve’s lap, stuffed full of dick.

“Was gonna ask you to ride me,” Steve says, and Bucky’s lizard brain perks up at the strain evident in his voice. “But that’s a bit too much for you, isn’t it, baby?”

Bucky answers with an aborted jerk of his hips that raises him maybe an inch on Steve’s cock. Even that makes his legs shake violently and his insides scream with sensation. It won’t be much better if Steve fucks up into him, if he moves Bucky on his cock like a pretty toy, but that’s fine; it’s Steve, taking what he wants, and Bucky’s all too glad to collapse against his reassuring bulk and be used until he can’t breathe.

Fuck, Bucky,” Steve hisses, but when Bucky makes an enquiring noise, he’s answered with a large hand that sprawls against the back of his head and tucks him closer to Steve. “It’s alright. I’ve got you. Breathe.”

Steve moves, hips rising off the chair and cock plunging in deep.

Bucky breathes.