Bucky knows what he's doing with those hands; his fingers find the outline of Steve's cock beneath his clothes like a bloodhound takes to a scent, and they start touching Steve in a way that has his cock growing hard faster than it ever has before in his life, as his body takes notice of the undivided attention and clearly likes it. He can feel that liquid fire still spreading through his veins, his head starts to tip forward, bangs sliding into his face before he comes back to himself and tries to explain why Bucky shouldn't be sucking Steve's finger into his mouth (oh, but if his hands were clean…).
Bucky says he's okay - Steve's honestly not sure about that, but could a person in such a bad heat really lie? Why would they want to? He can't figure it out, so Bucky's got to be telling the truth; part of Steve, too, doesn't want to get up. A selfish part that's absolutely basking in the attention Bucky's giving him, even if he still doesn't know why. And so for a second, that request of Bucky's still doesn't make any sense. Bucky always takes care of Steve, always makes sure there's money coming in, makes sure Steve eats or has enough blankets or rolls him over so he doesn't get sick all over the bed. So during heats that have gotten bad is the only time Steve really gets to take care of Bucky, and he's been okay with that from day one.
But then take care of you suddenly takes on another meaning; it's the huskiness of Bucky's voice, the way his fingers were just tracing out the shape of Steve's hardening cock through his pants, the way Bucky's hands, still hot, so hot, are spread against him from behind, trying to urge him forward. Bucky's touches have all had that insistent edge to them, but they've had something else, too. He's not trying to get Steve hard just so Steve can fuck him - they've done that too, when Bucky wants it that way, and not the other way around. He's trying to get Steve hard so he can… make Steve feel good, make him come?
Steve shivers again at that idea, whether it's the right or wrong one, even as his body starts to follow Bucky's wordless prompting, hips scooting up his stomach and chest some, pausing just at Bucky's throat because he's not entirely sure what Bucky's thinking, where he wants Steve to end up or how.
"Okay," he breathes; anything that can get Bucky to groan like he did just a minute ago has got to be a good idea, in Steve's book. "What do you want me to -" He catches himself, realizes that he's always asking what Bucky wants him to do, because that's just the way things have usually gone. He tries to correct it, marveling a little at the concept - oh, but in a good way. It's like he's suddenly won some prize, like he's having the luckiest day on Earth, and honestly, the idea of coming because someone else wants to make him come has never not been appealing. He just never much got the chance to try it out. "What do you want to do? Just - don't lick the pastels," he adds with a half-laugh, just because saying that sounds a little ridiculous. "Anywhere else, but not the pastels, okay?" His head drops a little, blonde hair brushing the arm of the couch just over Bucky's head; he's got to put his hands on the couch for balance, too, and he just hopes he doesn't get pigment all over the fabric too badly.
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Bucky says he's okay - Steve's honestly not sure about that, but could a person in such a bad heat really lie? Why would they want to? He can't figure it out, so Bucky's got to be telling the truth; part of Steve, too, doesn't want to get up. A selfish part that's absolutely basking in the attention Bucky's giving him, even if he still doesn't know why. And so for a second, that request of Bucky's still doesn't make any sense. Bucky always takes care of Steve, always makes sure there's money coming in, makes sure Steve eats or has enough blankets or rolls him over so he doesn't get sick all over the bed. So during heats that have gotten bad is the only time Steve really gets to take care of Bucky, and he's been okay with that from day one.
But then take care of you suddenly takes on another meaning; it's the huskiness of Bucky's voice, the way his fingers were just tracing out the shape of Steve's hardening cock through his pants, the way Bucky's hands, still hot, so hot, are spread against him from behind, trying to urge him forward. Bucky's touches have all had that insistent edge to them, but they've had something else, too. He's not trying to get Steve hard just so Steve can fuck him - they've done that too, when Bucky wants it that way, and not the other way around. He's trying to get Steve hard so he can… make Steve feel good, make him come?
Steve shivers again at that idea, whether it's the right or wrong one, even as his body starts to follow Bucky's wordless prompting, hips scooting up his stomach and chest some, pausing just at Bucky's throat because he's not entirely sure what Bucky's thinking, where he wants Steve to end up or how.
"Okay," he breathes; anything that can get Bucky to groan like he did just a minute ago has got to be a good idea, in Steve's book. "What do you want me to -" He catches himself, realizes that he's always asking what Bucky wants him to do, because that's just the way things have usually gone. He tries to correct it, marveling a little at the concept - oh, but in a good way. It's like he's suddenly won some prize, like he's having the luckiest day on Earth, and honestly, the idea of coming because someone else wants to make him come has never not been appealing. He just never much got the chance to try it out. "What do you want to do? Just - don't lick the pastels," he adds with a half-laugh, just because saying that sounds a little ridiculous. "Anywhere else, but not the pastels, okay?" His head drops a little, blonde hair brushing the arm of the couch just over Bucky's head; he's got to put his hands on the couch for balance, too, and he just hopes he doesn't get pigment all over the fabric too badly.