bakerstreet | In Heat/Rut

In Heat/Rut

THE IN HEAT/IN RUT AU MEME
not an alpha/beta/omega meme

There's no need for elaborate backstories for this AU. You go into heat, rut, whatever you'd like to call it. You've always done so since you were of age to do so. It's a socially accepted norm, and people have gotten used to the difficulties that come with the mating seasons. Life goes on.

Isn't this alpha/beta/omega, then? No, not at all. In this meme, there are no gender-variant genitalia unless your character comes prepackaged with those. No giant cocks - again, unless your character is already packing - or self-lubricating assholes or anal wombs, and no knotting. Unless that's your thing. There's also no set in stone roles with regards to dominance and submission, and some people do not even feel the inclination towards either. Still, there are a few similarities, mainly being that the pheromones of others can put someone into heat that was not in it before and the bond between mates. In addition, some humans/human-stand-ins have created packlike dynamics in response, but this is not universal.

In this meme, it's just regular old human...oids feeling the urge for sex. And by "urge," we of course mean all-consuming drive. If characters choose to ignore that urge, it will backfire on them. The more they put it off, the more they will lose their control, becoming more irritable and aggressive, and eventually be nothing but a rutting animal until the need to mate is satisfied. Not all heats call for mating, of course, and most people can just relieve themselves, but when you do mate, you feel the urge to stay by their side and essentially "nest." These desires don't always pan out into offspring, and mating isn't forever unless it's mutually decided upon. However, impregnating your mate is said to be one of the most euphoric experiences a person can have, even if some people only mate because they want to utterly possess someone, as mates are bonded for a while.

If there's anything that's to your fancy that's been left out, go ahead and add it in. Play it how you'd like!

HOW TO PLAY

Comment with your character and preferences.

Include what you're interested and not interested in.

Respond to others!

PROMPTS

first heat: Baby's first heat. YOU'RE A TEENAGER/LATE BLOOMER AND WHAT IS THIS?

old hand: You've done this a million times, but it never gets any easier.

happen to be here: You're not picky. You can't afford to be. You'll take anybody who's nearby.

old faithful: You're going to the person you always go to in order to relieve your problem.

worked something out: The two of you aren't involved. You just help each other out.

unexpected: You never expected to rut with this person, but here you are.

forbidden: AKA the obligatory incest or age difference option.

volunteer: You've offered yourself up out of the kindness of your heart.

tribute: This isn't your offer. You're the offer from others, a gift for someone powerful to sate their appetite.

mating: You've decided to go one step further and make your relationship deeper.

nesting: Aaah, (temporary) domestic bliss. And lots of fucking. Lots and lots of fucking. Like, you'll barely be able to stand.

bonding: The bond, which is mildly psychic and intensely physical, makes sex even more intense.

the natural conclusion: Heat calls for pregnancy. Get someone pregnant.

already pregnant: Unfortunately, being knocked up doesn't abate your partner's desires. Or yours.

mates for life: Now you're absolutely certain that you want to be with no one else. Of course, this means you'll be in synch with their heat for the rest of forever.

save you: You've been saved from the advances of an undesired mate by someone who may be much more suited. Show your gratitude?

cockfight: Two people want the same mate. That won't do. There are ways to figure that out, not always involving fists.

increase in dominance: Exactly what it says.

increase in submission: Again, exactly what it says.

unexpected dominance: No one expects you to ever be dominant. Prove them wrong.

protect: You want to protect your mate from others, and that means putting your scent all over them.

set off by someone else: You were doing fine until you got a whiff of someone else's pheromones.

resisting temptation: Your heart belongs to someone. You want to stay out of this "heat" thing. You want to rise above it. Whatever it may be, you just have to not take the bait. Easier said than done.

all worked up: You're beginning to lose control and yourself. Quick, do something before you're jumping anything that moves.

pack: As mentioned prior, some people, especially those far out from civilization proper, have formed packs that hold to the more traditional alpha structure. Of course, these packs come with their own rules when it comes to heat and mating.

suitable partner: The desire for certain mates can come from a subconscious level, and you can find yourself aroused by someone showing how strong they are (they can protect you), how curvaceous they look (that must mean they're fertile), or any other number of traits that can benefit you.

desperation: You'll take anyone! Anything!

final release: You've reached your breaking point and your mindless. At least you'll get relief.

fighter: Part of your process is seeing who's worthy of you by testing their mettle. That, or you want to fight anything.

off your meds: It's fairly rare, but some can get blockers for their heat. What if those blockers run out? Why, it makes your heat ten times worse!

noncon: They don't want this. You don't want to stop this.

dubcon: You say no, but your body says yes and you can't stop loving it.

calm you down: Whether it's to fuck or to fight, you're going mad, and they have to bring you back down to Earth.

territorial: How dare someone look at what belongs to you? You'll have to make things right.

odd man out: For some reason, you don't go into heat. Never have. Being with you is pretty relaxing, and some find it appealing to not have to deal with pheromones that aren't theirs. You do have to learn how to appreciate their problems, though.

WILDCARD

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Oh, sure, Steve can edit out whatever he wants. But it won't help things if he's too busy trying to keep a straight face because Bucky's hair is trying to do this little flyaway deal in the meantime. Bucky's always pretty put-together, anyway. The only times he's not are when he's been working so much he can't see straight or when he gets home from a date that obviously went pretty well. And maybe, Steve thinks, a couple of times when he sat up, when Steve's been really sick. Sometimes it's hard to remember those times, though, they're more like flashes, snatches of memory. There's so many of them, they all tend to blur together.

And honestly, Steve's not even that concerned about the grade on this thing. He just wants to prove he can do it. He's not doing badly in this class, it's been mostly black-and-white work or monochrome and he's done fine with those. It was only today, when the teacher started talking about capturing all the colors in a subject, that Steve started getting this feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, like how was he supposed to do that when his world's limited to just a few of those colors? It doesn't seem strange to him - it's just the way things are. He honestly can't fathom what anyone else sees, or how what he sees could actually be wrong. He just knows it is, ever since the day his mother asked him for her red kerchief, and he'd brought her the green. But when she'd laid the two side by side, tried to show him they were different… he couldn't tell the difference at all.

Steve's just getting to a clean page, dating it, when Bucky shifts forward again. He's never minded Bucky pressed right up against him; human contact's nice, you know, and when you don't get much of it from the outside, you take it where you can get it. Besides, he trusts Bucky with everything he is, feels comfortable with him, even when Steve's not at his greatest (which is, admittedly, a lot, some years). But that shift includes this little slide of soft skin against this spot right behind his ear; Steve wasn't expecting that, and that spot feels sixty times more sensitive than the rest of him. He can't help but squirm at the little moist puff of warm breath. "What -?"

Although when he looks at Bucky, after those lips and that nose slide to the side and away from his skin when Steve turns his head, Bucky's blinking like he was dazed or asleep or something. Steve's starting to wonder if he really doesn't feel lousier than he's letting on, and he's starting to frown - although mothering Bucky isn't the way to get anywhere. "You were the one going on the date today, not me," he tries to tease, but it's got this hint of suspicion behind it. "But I did take a shower. I even washed behind my ears."

Bucky's the expert in his own eyes - besides, it's not like the teacher will know, so Steve just wants to get it satisfactory for Bucky. He studies the new color, glancing between Bucky's eyes and the stick, before giving this little satisfied nod. This one he doesn't have to label. Although he's still looking at Bucky suspiciously. "Are you really up for this? Look, if you're feeling that bad, it can wait. It's not due 'till the end of the week."

Bucky starts suddenly when Steve mutters out this puzzled what. For a second, he's not sure what Steve's going on about. Then it strikes him what he'd just been doing; his lips and nose grazing against the soft skin at Steve's neck, feeling the tickle of hair against his lips, and taking in the scent that smells only of Steve. It smells like home.

The arousal that twists in his gut's embarrassingly sharp and abrupt, despite the confusion on his end. What the hell? He's not due for a heat, but this is starting to feel a lot like one. When does he go nuzzling Steve? Because looking back at the last few seconds, that's exactly what he just did. Just leaned in like that, didn't think about it, nuzzled him. And Steve sure as hell caught him. His cheeks heat suddenly.

Embarrassed at being caught out, Bucky scrambles for an answer that hopefully saves his pride some, "Hey, I know you skimp sometimes when you're in a rush to get back to your drawings. Besides, I wasn't smelling you," scoffs Bucky, "I just dozed off for a second."

As white lies went, Bucky thinks he's just found the absolute worst so far. He's pretty sure no one with any brain would believe it for a second, and if he did, pal, he's got some snake oil you might like too.

Steve's checking his pick of color against Bucky's eyes (he looks directly at him to help him out, but it doesn't hurt when just looking at him's really what he wants to do right now), maybe checking the value against his to make sure it's not too light or dark. "I'm fine, I can model for you. Clothes on or off for this one?"

This time it's pretty easy to ask that. There's not too much of a blush rising to his face this time. Though with that thrill of excitement through his stomach, maybe it's not a good idea. The first time he'd done it, Bucky had almost asked for that towel, cause it's one thing to get naked for a jump in a pond out of town or a roll in the hay, another when you had an artist staring at you for hours on end. He'd relaxed once Steve just went in like a professional, treated his nudity about as big a deal as someone's ear. Now he likes to think that heck, if they're ever short on money, maybe he could model for one of those schools.

Edited 2014-08-22 09:58 (UTC)

Bucky's not the only one confused - because sorry, pal, Steve's not buying what you're selling. His look says as much - really, asleep? That wasn't dozing off. That was this little move that Steve's seen people pull before, maybe seen Bucky pull before, too - but even though it's been a while since Bucky's last heat, it hasn't been long enough. He doesn't even consider that an option. The only thing Steve can think is that Bucky got worked up over that date, and then ended up coming home instead, and now he's got to work it off, but… that doesn't make much sense, either. He really did look like he was feeling pretty bad, a couple of minutes ago.

"And you call me a bad liar," he snorts softly. He's not sure if he should ask for a real explanation - is Bucky just being annoying, because he's Bucky? Or is something else up? He looks critically at Bucky for a minute, but Steve guesses maybe he could let it slide. Bucky's still offering to help him out. He sets the blue aside, then looks to see what else Bucky has picked out. At the question, he thinks for a minute. The teacher didn't say, and… "Off? Steve suggests hesitantly - honestly, he's thinking clothes are just more color, and maybe he should stick with as simple as he can make it. He doesn't think that's cheating. And Bucky's never seemed to mind too much, after they both got used to the concept. Steve's drawn plenty of people before, clothes on and off. It's nothing special. It's just how people are.

Besides, Bucky's not wrong, that he could probably pick up some spare cash doing this, if he ever needed to. He's a good model. He looks good, even Steve can't deny that, after having seen countless models of both sexes. He can see the appeal. But right now's not about appeal - it's about getting this drawing started. If Bucky's got a couple sticks picked out, Steve will move the box and start to push himself up off the couch. "You can stay there, though." He'll sit on the floor, let Bucky sit or whatever he likes on the couch, give him that, too, if he's feeling off. "Just don't fall asleep, I still need your eyes," he teases with a wry smile. "What have you got for me?" He wants to check out which pastels Bucky thinks are good for which bits; maybe get a good look at them, try to make them make sense to his eye, too, before he gets started.

Yeah, he can tell immediately Steve's not going for that one either, not for a second. Bucky just shrug, doesn't confirm it or deny it, but does squirm just the tiniest bit when those blue eyes pin him down and study him, like Steve's working a puzzle out. He's with you right there, mostly because he can't figure out what the hell nuzzling Steve just then was all about.

He's not sure if he's relieved Steve's gotten right down to business or suddenly apprehensive. Sure, Steve's moving on from that embarrassing not-nuzzling thing. But there's this growing tingling heading through his limbs, this slow blossoming of restless warmth that he's worried can only mean one thing, and it's a little hard to hide his cock slowly starting to stand to attention if he's naked. And he's a little afraid Steve might actually draw that. Last thing he needs is an entire class seeing him at full-mast here.

He levels a look of mock disdain at Steve. He makes sure to lift his nose in the air, just for that added snobby air. "I'm a professional, I'm not gonna fall asleep on you."

That said, time to get to work. Bucky sits up, curls up a little so his back is mostly to Steve, and begins to strip out of the shirt, undoing the buttons with clumsy fingers. He drapes that on top of the couch backrest. After a moment, the pants and briefs follow. Bucky stretches out, muscles coiling and uncoiling and gets into a pose. He keeps his back mostly to Steve, hips twisted away from him. And then, as an after thought.... This is gonna kill his neck, he just knows it, but Steve did want to say he wanted to see his eyes, so Bucky twists a little so he's looking over his shoulder, head resting on the pillow and throat arched. He flails a little with what to do with his arm; he decides to rest one on his hip, have it hanging down near his stomach, and he coils the other one under his head.

He tenses then relaxes into the pose, muscles going as limp as possible, even as his cock does this small little throb that he's starting to worried really is the beginning of a boner.

"How's this work for you, boss?" Bucky says a little sarcastically.

Edited 2014-08-24 07:14 (UTC)

If Bucky's a puzzle… he's one Steve can't figure out at the moment. He wouldn't put it past Bucky to play him just because he's feeling like it, and he wonders if it's worth really getting into it, because Bucky is still helping him. Even if he's going to give him that mock-disdain and snooty attitude in the meantime.

This time, Steve can't quite hide the smile or the laugh. "Uh-huh. A professional." Well, Bucky's modeled for him a time or ten, sure. "I hope I can still afford you when you get famous… or your head gets too big to fit in the room," he teases, right as Bucky twists a little to start shuffling out of his clothes. Steve gathers up his supplies and relocates to the floor, taking a minute to get himself comfortable and let Bucky do the same. He sets aside the colors Bucky chose, noting their names, trying to put them in order by shade - he can't tell what color they are, really, although the names are helpful in one or two cases. And he can go from lighter to darker, and that's a start.

He looks up from arranging himself (knees up, sketchpad balanced against them like an easel) to check on Bucky, who's mostly twisted away, but not completely. At the sarcastic question, Steve lets out an equally sarcastic snort, and actually studies the line of Bucky's body, objectively, from one end to the other, and nods. "If it's good for you, it's good for me." He can definitely see the way the light's playing over his skin, and it's still going to be a challenge, but with the line of his back to Steve, Bucky's actually going to force him to work more on the color than the details, here. It's both good - the point of the assignment - and a little worrying, but Steve Rogers never did try to waste time on worrying. He'll just jump right in - with a pencil first, though, something familiar in his fingers, to get the image down first. "Just lemme know if you need a break," he mumbles, and gets to work, eyes flickering between the paper and the couch as he sketches Bucky out, this part going quickly because it's something he's familiar with, something he's gotten good at, but it still takes concentration, and Steve's stopped looking at Bucky as his best friend, just for the moment, and started looking at him as something to recreate on paper.

It's better this way, anyway - if he thinks about it too much, studies Bucky's body as more than just an image he wants to recreate, he'll just start wishing he could be as tall or as strong, as naturally relaxed and good-looking as Bucky. And he doesn't want that. It doesn't do either of them any good, to wish things like that.

It's fast work, getting the basic sketch down. After that... Steve's hand stops moving, goes to the pile of pastels, tries to pick a shade or two and gets started. Now it's a lot more staring, a lot more scrutiny along every patch of skin he can see. Still, he can't help the way his eyes flicker to Bucky's face every time he picks up or puts down a pastel, trying to look for guidance there, for some kind of look in his eyes that might tell Steve whether he's on the right track or whether he's reaching for the wrong color entirely. There's definitely an instance or five where he goes for one stick, the swaps it out for another, then another, trying to differentiate between them, but it's hard when some of them don't look very distinct.

Bucky's shoulders shake a little as he snickers under his breath; good one, Steve, he'll give you that one. "I'll give you the friend discount. Just since we've known each other so long."

And with that, Bucky shuts up, because the more he talks, the more distracted Steve gets and the more the pose draws on longer, and the more likely he is to forget and fall out of it. It's not that he minds trying to remember what he was doing or getting back into the pose (or trying), or where Steve just takes over and starts moving his limbs until he gets it, it's just that he prefers to get it done as smoothly as possible. His muscles tend to thank him in the end. He'll ask for that break when he needs it.

Steve goes quiet, gets to work. Normally there's something relaxing about Steve just peeking up now and then around the sketchpad, the soft scratch of the pencil on paper, even during those few times where Bucky got a little over ambitious and chose a pose he regrets ten minutes later. But right now, he can't relax. All he can think of is Steve's scent, that soap, and that growing itch in the back of his mind. Only that inch is getting worse, that one that's starting to go sprinting past a stupid itch and blooming into full-bloomed, worst possible timed arousal. Maybe the only saving grace is that he's twisted just so that Steve can't see it.

He's not sure how much time has passed. His neck's starting to go a little stiff, start to ache a little. It's nothing in comparison to the blood heading straight for his dick. Bucky's eyes keep drifting closed, then hurriedly opening (Steve wants to get his eye color here), then drifting closed. His thighs shift, trying to get some much needed friction, only that's not enough. The arm resting against his hip begins to move; he can't help it, he needs the relief, so he slowly runs his fingers down his half-hard length, before wrapping his fingers around himself. He's not quite able to stop the soft sigh of relief

"Gee, thanks." But Steve's got this lopsided smile at that, when he gets down to work. The smile eventually fades, though, as he's got to concentrate on what he's doing. Getting the basic image down isn't hard, it's something he likes doing and something he's good at. It's just when he goes for the pastels that he's really got to put some thought into it, looking from Bucky to the little line of pastel sticks next to him and back again. He's doing his best, just jumping into the deep end here, but it's harder than he wants it to be, and that's frustrating, because sometimes it feels like everything's harder than he wants it to be. Sure, it's just life, and if he let it get him down, he'd never get up out of bed whether he was feeling sick or well. But it doesn't mean he can't get a little frustrated, now and again, taking six times as long to choose any one color, pausing often, trying to work out the way the light's playing on Bucky's skin and how to show that on paper with a set of colors that look to be vaguely the right shade, but still seem to get mixed up with each other every time he sets one down. He doesn't realize it, but before too long, he's got color smudged across his forehead, some on the side of his nose and one cheek, a new smudge for every time he absently pushes his hair out of the way, sometimes when it's not actually needed, an absent gesture. His hands are smudged too - he can see that much - but he's trying not to get it on his clothes, even though it's not a total success.

He loses track of how much time has passed, too - he's not paying attention to much other than his work when he hears Bucky shifting around some. That gets Steve's attention - how long has it been? Is Bucky getting stiff? Steve glances up - catches Bucky's eyes falling closed, then snapping open again. This has to be the third or fourth time he's seen that happen, he realizes - and he starts to think Bucky's getting tired. He must be shifting around to keep awake, and Steve pauses, pastel stick in hand, opens his mouth to say something, to suggest a break - if Bucky needs one, it's a nice excuse, because Steve's feeling pretty frustrated here, and maybe walking away for a second would be good. It's not his first inclination - Steve Rogers tends to beat at something until he gets it, no breaks - but he can't deny that he wants Bucky to take a look, make sure he's on the right track, or this is going to take twice as long if he has to redo it.

He's s just starting to draw breath, ready to form words when Bucky lets out that sigh. It's this strange sound - one that's almost a little familiar, and it kind of goes right to the pit of Steve's stomach for a reason he can't really say. He blinks, then realizes that Bucky's shifted a little more, his hand isn't in the same place on his hip. It's trailed down his front some, but that's all he can see from here. "Buck?" His voice catches in his throat, he's not sure why. "Hey, look, you need a break? You look tired." He thinks. He hopes. Unless there's really something wrong here. "Come on, are you really okay?" Steve suddenly feels bad - here he's been, staring at a piece of paper for God knows how long, and Bucky's probably uncomfortable, tired, feeling worse than he's letting on, and yet Steve let him steamroll right on ahead into agreeing to help out.

Steve's saying something but those questions don't really register, not when Bucky's suddenly focused on the sound of his voice, or that little rumble to it. He's always had that surprisingly deep note to his voice, especially for such a little guy, except right now, Bucky's wishing he had a voice that was less going-straight-to-his-dick, and more annoying-in-a-mood-shattering-kinda-way. Steve doesn't even have a horse laugh he can help him out with.

Goddamit.

The only answer Steve gets is this low grunt right before Bucky breaks the pose without warning. Bucky turns his head from Steve, eyebrows pulled together and eyes squeezed shut as he buries his face into the cushion, teeth sinking into the fabric to try and hide the moan threatening to come out.

Then he remembers through that blooming heat through his chest and the pit of his stomach that that's not gonna matter a whole lot when Steve's model just curled in on himself, or the part where Bucky's suddenly forgotten how to speak. It's a little hard to focus when that ache is pulsing through him. Bucky presses against the couch, that last bit of common sense (and there's not a heck of a lot left) reasoning that at least he's not technically giving Steve a whole show here. His hand begins to work faster, more firmly up an and down, pumping the hard flesh pressed against his stomach and sometimes grazing the couch's back rest in a way that squeezes out past his grit teeth in this huff of air. His elbow works in that rhythm that's unmistakeably, even as he struggles at the same time to keep it down, not to breathe too hard or not to let Steve hear that slap of skin against skin that's familiar to any guy.

Bucky rolls over, away from Steve, without warning. He doesn't actually answer the question - instead, he lets out this muffled sound, like his face is buried in the pillow. It's hard to make out what the sound is, exactly - but it's not words, and that's a clue in and of itself. Steve stops what he's doing; he can't help but sit and stare at the line of Bucky's back, suddenly tensed and for just a split second, Steve thinks he's in pain.

No, he might not be getting the whole show, but a couple of seconds later, when Bucky's arm starts up that rhythm… oh, he's getting a pretty clear picture. Bucky might be trying to "keep it down," but it's a little had to miss what's going on when he's less than five feet away and Bucky's lying naked on the couch, working himself a little faster with every passing heartbeat.

Steve can't help it - he flushes a little, because look, this isn't exactly what he was expecting when he walked in the door this afternoon. He even manages to look away, to stare at the floor, but he feels rooted to the spot, he can't get up and move, leave the room, give Bucky a little privacy like maybe he should. A hundred thoughts seem to chase through his head in the next split second, and they're starting to add up into a whole: Bucky feeling a little too warm, Bucky's heart beating a little too fast… Bucky smelling - nuzzling - Steve behind the ear, no matter how he tried to pass it off.

None of those behaviors make sense, by themselves. But if you put them all together… Steve doesn't have heats, he doesn't know what they feel like. He doesn't know what they smell like, either - never could sniff out a person in heat, like it seems most people can. But he's learned to pick up on other signs, and they've been right in front of his face this whole time. They were just more subtle than usual, and he wasn't expecting it, to boot. Bucky usually warns him, and there's usually a little more lead-in time, and he's not due for one, anyway. But what if something - that guy's cologne, Steve doesn't know - tipped it off early? What if it was the girl Bucky was on the date with? He might have come home to avoid embarrassing her, and here Steve's been -

Well, it doesn't really matter. Steve tries to get his limbs moving - finally manages to, pushing up off the floor with his sketchpad in one pastel-smudged hand. "Hey," he says - yeah, a little awkwardly, his eyes sliding back up to Bucky's body; Bucky doesn't seem to be paying him much attention, but maybe he can't. Steve really does start to feel bad - the best he's had it described to him, a heat's something that can't be ignored. If you try, you just make it worse. And he's seen Bucky in heat before, he knows how it gets. "Buck, I - you went into heat early, you blockhead, didn't you? Lemme - I mean, sorry, I should've realized. I'll… give you some space?"

He assumes that's what Bucky wants. He's not going to be any help with colors or modeling or anything like this, anyway.

Although that also assumes Bucky's capable of answering him. Steve winces - he is a little busy at the moment.

His palm's working himself faster and faster, trying to get enough friction to get this over with, to hurry up and come because he might just die early if he doesn't. Only it's not enough, it's never enough to get through a heat, and this one's hit him as suddenly as an oncoming train. Usually he knows generally when he's due for a heat, and usually, he's got more warning before he starts doing something as awful as jerking off in front of Steve.

His arm's going like it's got a mind of it's own, desperately trying to bring himself off, only....Bucky cringes into the cushions when something besides the sound of Steve's voice finally registers, and that's the part where Steve's feeling about, realizing what Bucky's realized too late. And he's not giving him too much trouble (Bucky's starting to go past the point where he'd care anyway, Steve can scold him all he wants, it's not getting rid of the part where he needs to fuck someone or be fucked), he's doing the decent thing, offering some privacy.

Some space would be nice, Bucky thinks, cause he's this close to just rolling over and trying his lucky at grinding off on the cushions. He opens his mouth to jump at the opportunity, salvage what little's left of his pride here, only-

"Sorry, Steve, I wasn't supposed to- Just-yeah that's fine, space is fine-" the rest of the sentence chokes off in a miserable groan that's part desperate arousal and part pain, 'cause he's jerking himself hard and fast enough here that it's starting to hurt. Bucky's practically curling in on himself, breathing hard and fast through his nose, his other hand sinking into his hair and curling too tightly into his scalp.

Steve's actually a little impressed when Bucky answers him - the apology's not necessary, and he's about to say that, say that it's not Bucky's fault this has hit him, and hard, and something must have triggered it, how's it his fault? Yeah, it's a little awkward to stand here like some kind of voyeur while Bucky jerks himself, but it's not the worst thing in the world. Steve's pretty sure it could be a hell of a lot worse, and he's starting to feel amazed that Bucky managed to hold the pose for as long as he did, if this heat's hitting him this hard.

Bucky asks for that space (well, says it would be fine, at least) and Steve's about to give it to him. His muscles tense to move, he's planning to turn and head for the bedroom - or maybe the bathroom, take a shower, really give Bucky that space. The problem is, Steve knows Bucky well enough that the undertone of pain is glaringly obvious to him when Bucky groans, even when it's mingled with the (expected) arousal coloring his voice. His body's tensed with as much discomfort and desperation as pleasure, and Steve frowns as Bucky's fingers twist too tightly in his hair. It makes his breath catch in his throat, his stomach twist, because that's not right, he can't ignore those signals and let it be, not when Bucky's his best friend.

And instead of turning, he takes a step forward; ignores the sound of skin on skin, the way Bucky's hand is practically a blur, and puts a hand on Bucky's shoulder. Touching him, skin to skin, proves that his skin's definitely hotter, but Steve's grip is firm, trying to get Bucky's attention with a careful squeeze. His fingers leave little pastel smudges on the warm skin that's starting to develop just the slightest sheen of sweat. "Buck - hey." He sets the sketchpad aside, carefully, on the little secondhand table they've got sitting by the couch and tries to slide onto the cushion behind Bucky with one knee, half on and half off the couch. "Hey, this is - I mean, if this is hitting you so hard, let me help."

Steve doesn't know from personal experience, of course - but he knows by now that a serious heat, one that's hard and fast like this... "helping yourself" isn't going to cut it. And Bucky's not in any shape to go out and find someone for some relief. Steve's right here. He can help - and he tries to prove it by sliding his other hand over Bucky's hip (he should have washed his hands, this one's covered in pastels, too, but it's too late now), trying to slip his fingers over Bucky's, offering to take over even if he's not sure a hand's going to be enough at all - even someone else's hand. "What do you need?" He hopes Bucky can figure out that he means everything's on the table, whatever Bucky needs right now - he just has to ask. Or at least make it obvious what Steve can do to help him.

Bucky goes a little stiff when slender fingers settle on his shoulder, but even then he can't stop his hand frantically trying to work his dick over, just slow it down to something less embarrassingly desperate. Like that's gonna save any of his pride.

He unburies his face from the couch cushion, fingers still tight in his hair to look at Steve as he sits down against his back.

Somehow Bucky's not entirely surprised that Steve doesn't follow through, and there's a selfish part of him, the part that's taken with the heat crashing all over him that's damn relieved; Steve's not the type to leave Bucky out when he's in this much trouble, even if it's going to cost them both a little dignity here. It might've been easier if Steve could fall into heats too, because at least Bucky could help him out, feel like he's doing something instead of just taking all the time. He's not so far gone that he doesn't feel some guilt.

But he needs the help. It feels like he's going to burn out if he doesn't. That familiar hand skating down his hips, leaving pastel streaks on his damp skin helps prod this blush onto his face right before Steve's hands curl around his, has his breath hitching, and his dick makes the rest of the decision for him. Only as far as Steve wants to go, Bucky thinks, no matter how bad the heat is. He has to hold onto that. He'll never hurt him.

But he wants Steve to like this too, not just offer a helping hand like he always does. In reply, Bucky awkwardly rolls over towards Steve, and half props himself up, he tugs Steve down by the collar into a clumsy kiss, nose bumping into his.

Edited 2014-08-30 10:13 (UTC)

Steve trusts Bucky - even in the absolute throes of the worst heat he could possibly experience, he'd never hurt Steve. (Whether that's true or not, it's what Steve believes, always has.) But Bucky's never let it get that bad, either, to where he can't think. There were some close calls, maybe, when he first started getting heats, but Steve knows that some people can turn into absolute mindless animals if they really let things get bad, and Bucky's not that kind of person. Any time it's gotten bad, it's been a mistake, nothing more - and right now it's the same. Something triggered this heat, Bucky wasn't expecting it, and that's not his fault. And if Steve knew how Bucky felt, like he was just taking all the time - well, he'd be giving Bucky a piece of his mind. Steve's the one who spends days or weeks, sometimes, in bed - the one who has trouble holding down a steady job with so many sick days and the one who's taking the art classes. Bucky's always been the one with pretty steady jobs, who goes hungry to make sure Steve gets enough to eat or gets the medicine he needs. If anyone takes more than his share, it's Steve, and besides, this isn't something you repay. This is something you do because Steve can't bear to think about just leaving the room and leaving Bucky like this, whether pride or dignity maybe say he should.

Although he's got to admit, he wasn't quite expecting the kiss so suddenly, either. Bucky tugs on his collar and Steve's leaning in before he knows it - it's reflex, between them - and their noses bump and the kiss is sloppy but it's a kiss, once their lips meet. Steve's not the world's greatest kisser, but he's not unfamiliar with the concept or the execution - it's just that usually when he helps Bucky, that's all it is: help. There's not usually a whole lot of intimacy past the raw physical kind that Bucky needs, and Steve's okay with that; it's sort of been the same on his other dates, the few times he's managed to get past just the talking. He's always sort of figured people in heat weren't much interested in making sure their partner was satisfied, they were too busy filling up that need for themselves. It's just what he's used to - giving his partner what they need, and sure, it feels good, but he's not used to getting a lot in return. He almost doesn't expect it, really - can't blame anyone either, he's not exactly a study in physical appeal and he knows it. So even a kiss, a sloppy one, feels like something kind of special - something that gets this little twist of heat going in his stomach, even as he's letting out this surprised (but not unhappy) sound against Bucky's lips, and instinctively tilts his head, trying to align their lips together a little better.

Despite his surprise, he's managed to get his fingers around Bucky's - and then, the next time Bucky's fingers slide desperately over his cock, Steve's fingers try to push them out of the way so he can start doing the same, trying to keep up the same pace. It takes him a second to get the angle and the movement right as Bucky changes position and turns toward him; Steve takes the opportunity to try and move onto the couch a little more, to straddle Bucky's hips on his knees, fingers tightening against Bucky's shoulder as he tries to support his weight above him without either stopping his other hand or breaking the kiss, once their lips get better aligned. Although he's got to pull his mouth away a little a minute later to ask, "Like this?" He's still not sure his hand is what Bucky wants, but if he needs more, at least Steve's in a position to let Bucky work on his clothes and he can keep touching Bucky while he does it. He figures that's the best way - give Bucky plenty of freedom to take what he needs. Anything Steve's got is his, that concept is nothing new between them, at least.

The first thing he notices are Steve's lips are soft. Really soft. And with his face pushed this close, he can smell that something that's always been Steve, just like before; it's comforting, it's home.

It's that's little startled sound against his lips that has Bucky start to back off hurriedly, he's never kissed Steve before, that opens up a whole 'nother can of worms that really doesn't need opening when Steve already helps him out when he shouldn't have to. There's this sinking feeling despite the arousal that he just pushed that on Steve. "Sorry, sorry-"

Only Steve tilts his head, and their lips just fit. It's even better than that clumsy smash of lips. That surprised sound that comes from him this time gets swallowed up, flutters against Steve's lips as a soft groan.

Steve moves to straddle him, sitting on his knees, fingers gripping his shoulder for balance as he doesn't quite rest all all ninety-something pounds on his hips yet - God, he wishes he would, but he knows not to press it. Up to Steve what pace to take, even though it's killing him here to be patient but he's never, ever going to be one of those people in a heat who throw themselves at the other person and just start grinding off on them. Steve's settling into what he always does when a heat gets really bad; Steve's urging his fingers out of the way and Bucky complies, grunting a little as Steve's fingers take over and wrap around his stiff cock, start trying to work his straining erection at the same pace Bucky had been. It's close, not nearly as frantic, but it hurts a little too. Not enough to get rid of the heat, but it's not entirely helping either. Bucky's hips squirm and roll under Steve, unsure whether to thrust into his palm or back off into the couch, while his hands hover uselessly over Steve's haunches.

Bucky's breath comes hot against Steve's chin when he pulls away. He wants more, but maybe Steve working him over will be enough, maybe he doesn't have to put so much on Steve all the time, so Bucky nods instead. "Yeah, like that, just....can you lick your palm or something?"

Or - and Bucky's eyes dart down towards the slim hand wrapped around his cock, tongue darting out unconsciously- or he could do it for him, he'd really like that.

That should be enough, but Bucky blunders on, his voice uneven; "Can I touch you?" And because that's stupid, of course he does have to touch him, Steve's done more than just a handjob to help him out, but- Bucky's flushing a little, he's never made this request. "I mean, not just take your clothes off. But if you don't wanna, that's fine too."

"Oh - yeah, yeah, sure. Sorry." Steve's pulling his hand away as soon as he says it, wincing inwardly because he understands that request, probably should have thought about it before he started just going at it.

Steve's still feeling about two steps behind; so when Bucky asks if he can touch him, he doesn't quite get that Bucky is asking on Steve's behalf, and not his own. He blinks, pausing at the question, because it's just as unexpected as the kiss. He's usually the one touching, not being touched. Oh, it's not so completely one-sided as that, but the touches he gets are usually absent or desperate or demanding, whether they're from Bucky or one of Steve's few second or third dates. It's a little impersonal, usually, like anyone would do, it doesn't matter to his partner that it's Steve in particular they're touching, but that's what he's expecting, and that's fine with him. So while he doesn't know the reason for the question, he doesn't even have to consider the answer before he gives it - it's automatic: "Yeah - of course," he says. "You can do anything you need to, Buck - I don't mind."

His body's not excited yet - Steve figures either he'll get excited or he won't, but either way it won't matter to how Bucky comes out of this. That's what matters, although the truth is that more often than not, even with his pretty long build-up time... Sex is sex, and Steve doesn't get heats, but he's not dead, either. He'd just figured, well, if Bucky's satisfied enough before Steve can get any relief, he can just take care of himself.

Although if Bucky wants to touch him... There's the beginnings of this excited sort of arousal starting to blossom in his gut, at that thought. He's not sure why it's so very appealing, the way Bucky asked, but it's not exactly a bad thing to have someone want to touch you, no matter the reason, is it? Maybe he should say that. "I mean... I'd like that. If you want to."

It's true, too - sure, they've gone farther than just handjobs, and the question Bucky's just asked has pretty much tipped Steve off to the fact that his hand isn't going to be enough here. But bad heat or not, Bucky won't hurt Steve, so what's the real harm in anything else he wants or needs to do?

If Bucky wants more than Steve's hand, though... He's trying to think ahead. They've got a jar or two of Vaseline in the bathroom, just for things like this. He's thinking maybe it's better than just saliva, too, but on the other hand maybe he should give Bucky a little relief, try to make him come at least once, before Steve abandons him to get it.

Steve brings his hand to his lips, starts to lick a wet line up his palm, but encounters a strange taste and stops, brows knitting. He pulls it away for inspection and realizes that he's got pastel smudged all down the side of his hand, across his palm where he was holding the sticks, and it's not exactly the most pleasant of tastes. He looks at the hand on Bucky's shoulder and realizes it's in the same shape.

Oh. Maybe that Vaseline is the better idea - and maybe he should get it now, although he's a little slow in actually extricating himself from Bucky, looking sheepish for a moment instead. "Wait, I've got pastels all over my hands." Maybe he should wash them while he's at it, or he's going to get it all over Bucky and possibly the couch, too.

That's the thing. Even if this heat's hitting him like a bolt striking a tree, he's still finding he's able to think straighter (in some ways) than normal. Like enough to feel some guilt here the more he thinks about it, even as his hips squirm uselessly into the air when Steve removes his hand. It's always Steve helping him, always Steve saying Bucky can do whatever he wants, Steve doesn't mind. Sometimes Steve gets something out of it. Most of the time, Bucky remembers, he doesn't; Bucky gets off, gets the heat to cool down and they don't really talk about it again.

This time's gonna be different. He's making Steve feel good, if it's the last thing he does. And the few times he saw Steve's face go slack with pleasure, it had been burned into his mind; Steve's face got this really nice flush, those long, sinful lashes fluttered against his pale skin-

And Steve doesn't have that much luck on dates. Bucky can't think of a single time where he's gotten laid - if at all- without the other person being in heat, much less gotten taken care of. 'Course it's not helping either that now Bucky's in heat, but he wants to do it right. Bucky repeats that in his head, tries to drive that, brand it there so when the heat comes crashing in more (he can feel the worst of it at the edges, he's taking too long), it'll be there. Don't hurt Steve, never hurt Steve, make him feel good, real good.

His eyes watch Steve's tongue dart out, lick a line up his palm that has his hips canting, as if he can thrust his flushed cock between those lips with a small moan. Only Steve doesn't keep going, his eyebrows knit and he pulls away, then he's looking all over his skin. Why isn't he touching him?

Pastels. Right. Dirty hands. He doesn't even care if Steve's going to smear that stuff all over him, he just wants to touch him, be touched. It doesn't strike Bucky that stuff is stuff you don't want to go ingesting, not with the pigments in the artist grade stuff Steve saves up for. All he knows it that he wants to help Steve out here. He doesn't mind. Really. So Bucky's hand darts out, wraps around that thin wrist, and brings his hand towards his, lips wrapping warm and wet around his index finger; tongue curling around the pad of the fingertip as his eyelids slide half-shut. His other hand smooths up Steve's thigh, up and down, palm flat and fingers gliding. He hesitates then slides his palm over those hips and down against Steve's crotch, the heel of his palm rubbing insistently against him.

Steve feels the way Bucky shifts under him a little, when he pulls his hand away - that sheepish look a minute later is partly because he knows Bucky's got to be feeling like he's about to go insane. Steve just had his hand wrapped around him, he could feel how hard he is, see how flushed the skin of his cock is, trapped between them even though Steve's not putting his weight on Bucky, trying to stay balanced over him, especially if he's got to get up.

But in the second that he hesitates, Bucky's fingers start sliding up and down his leg, over the fabric of Steve's slacks. They feel hot, he can feel it through his pants, and they feel good. It's distracting - distracting enough that when Bucky grabs for his wrist, Steve lets him - until suddenly Bucky's lips slide over the skin of one finger, the soft, supple, hot touch of his tongue pressing against the same fingertip. Steve lets out this sound he doesn't think he's ever made before. It's halfway between a squeak and a groan. His eyelids are just starting to flutter when Bucky's hand on his leg switches tracks without warning. Bucky's not pulling any punches with this wanting to touch Steve thing, because there's suddenly the hot, firm warmth of Bucky's palm sliding right over Steve's cock through his pants, and his hips give this jerk as heat suddenly blossoms in his stomach and starts spreading through his veins at lightning speed - and Bucky's still licking at his finger; Steve groans, starts to forget how to think for a second, sags against Bucky and shivers in this way that gives him just a little more friction, in the process.

No one's ever touched him quite like that before. There were a couple of times, on dates, when said dates got annoyed when he wasn't ready to go right out of the gate once they got down to things. Those girls had done their best to "help him along" - insistently, sometimes almost painfully so, grinding or squeezing or anything else to get a reaction out of him. But this isn't that - yeah, it's insistent, but it's a different kind of insistent. A good kind. Defintely not painful. But while Bucky's probably been the gentlest, most courteous person he's ever "helped" with a heat, he's never been all that much for reciprocation, either. It only happened when Steve was so close to the edge that it was almost impossible to pull back from it, and it had taken so little effort to push him over the final hurdle into orgasm that Bucky hadn't really been so very responsible for it, consciously, as just gotten Steve off at the end by moving against him in the right way at the right time.

Bucky's definitely moving against him in the right way now. Steve's brain shorts out for a second, but thankfully it's only for a second. The next time Bucky's tongue slides against his skin, Steve comes back to himself with a start. "Buck -" he says; it's half a gasp, but he manages to start tugging his hand away, even as his hips are trying to get closer to the heat of Bucky's palm. "Stop, stop - you can't eat that stuff." It's not even so much the dirty hands as the fact that he knows what's in those pastels, and maybe there's not really enough on his hands to matter, but he doesn't want to find out the hard way. "It's poisonous, stop. Lemme wash my hands, I can get the Vaseline."

He feels his face flushing as he says that - funny, that it's doing it now, and not at the way Bucky's got a hand between his legs - or at the way that hand seems to have gotten his body's attention, and definitely a lot faster than anything else Steve was doing had been. He tries to pull both hands back toward himself, arms tucked up against his chest, as he stands his ground even in the face of the sudden rush of blood right down to his cock. "It'll only take a second."

His argument's probably a little less convincing, given how breathless he thinks he sounds.

His eyes watch Steve's face through dark lashes, drinking in the way Steve's eyes almost roll back a little, and Christ, that little strangled groan that squeezes out of Steve's mouth is incredible, it's addicting, why didn't he ever really try this before? His mouth suctions around his finger, drawing it out, lips skating on the joints, up until Steve's hips jolt forward, push against his palm in what can only be desire.

He has to gasp for breath around his finger. He works him firmly, cups him through the slacks, clever fingers feeling the shape of him, trying to coax him to hardness even as his own cock sits painfully neglected against his stomach. He's reaching with his free hand to pop the button, he's got this idea he wants to run with, make sure Steve gets a good time and not just by accident or luck this time. It feels like he's gonna go mad here any second, but he holds on. Not until he's taken care of Steve.

Like willpower's gonna hold back a strong heat for long. Never does. He's going to damn well try.

He blinks owlishly up at Steve for a moment when Steve's finger slides out from his mouth, as Bucky's hand traces the shaft filling out in Steve's clothes with his thumb and forefinger. His eyebrows furrow. What?

All he got out of that was "stop" (that has him wanting to freeze with a little panic, did he hurt Steve or something? Do something he didn't want?) and Vaseline (oh thank god, he can almost feel the relieving thrums of pleasure as he's fucking something or getting fucked, he doesn't even care any more), which means Steve's going to get off of him. And if he comes back with that now, Bucky just knows he won't be thinking of Steve too much, he'll want to get off.

"The Vaseline can wait, I'm okay," Bucky lies through his teeth with a hell of a lot of effort. He can't wait. He's so desperate that for a moment, he's really thinking of just turning over, throwing the last of his dignity out the window and humping at the couch cushions.He feels like he's going to fly out of his skin any second, or he's going to burst or die or anything, but there's something about taking the time to actually touch Steve, get that pulse thrumming excitedly that's almost enough to hold it at bay even for a second. He'll do anything Steve wants, anything, just name it.

Bucky's larger hands both settle on his hips, then slide down to cup Steve's ass through the trousers, nudging him forward, trying to get him to scoot up so he can straddle his face, just rest on his knees, maybe sink his cock between his lips and thrust away. The thought brings this sudden, harsh groan out of him, he can almost taste him at the back of his tongue for a moment, and that has his cock twitching against his stomach. He wants to make sure he comes before the heat gets really worse, before he can't think much more; now's the time to do it.

"Let me take care of you for once, please," he says insistently, throatily.

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.

Steve's cock's filling out fast under Bucky's touch; figures, it won't take a heck of a lot if you don't get touched much, Bucky realizes, and that fills him with even more guilt, and this need to do better by Steve here. Steve's never going to know how bad a heat gets, how mindless you get if you leave it too long, how desperate it seems and how it hurts the longer you put it off. And Bucky thinks he's lucky. Bucky's hips squirm on the couch, try to twitch upwards like they've got a mind of their own, cock lifting upwards as if to press into Steve even as he moves away. He forces himself to keep still, please, God, let him hold out on the heat longer, that's all he'll ask for the entire year when it came to miracles.

His eyes never leave that mouth-watering bulge starting to form in Steve's slacks; he did that, this part of him wants to crow a little, he can do better, Steve likes it. The rest of him, the rest that's losing out to the heat wants him to stop wasting time here, just grab him by the hips and force him to take all of his cock, slide into that tight heat. Bucky's breath shorts out, he can practically feel it. His hands go tight over his ass for a moment, digging in, until Steve moves away from temptation, settles over his neck.

He's going to open his mouth, tell him to be careful - sure Steve knows it, and sure he's just south of a hundred pounds but he'd rather not have him get lost in the moment and lean on him the wrong way. The part that's consumed with wanting to fuck Steve might not bail him out, might not actually have much of a self-preservation part to it.

Bucky shudders a little under Steve at the new question. It's the wrong question. The obvious answer is he really wants to screw Steve into the mattress or pillow or floor or bend him over across the table, hips slapping into his until he finally, finally comes in him. He really, really wishes Steve hadn't asked that; Bucky's cock gives this throb that's both pleasure and pain and a large drop of precum beads at the tip and drools onto his stomach. His legs part.

He reaches out quickly, and shakily begins to pop the buttons, slide the zipper down, and peel the fly back. There's this rising line pressing against his briefs, and Bucky can't resist. He nudges Steve forward so he can mouth against him through the fabric, presses desperate kisses against that bulge, before he reaches in to pull him out. Bucky's eyes darken as he stares for a moment. He's already half hard, he's gorgeous looking, why didn't Bucky do this before?

He doesn't tease him or start him off nice and slow. Bucky tilts his head up, lips parting around the head of his cock, and relaxing his jaw, Bucky starts to slide the hardening length into his mouth, tasting that musk and arousal on his tongue.

Steve's acutely aware of Bucky's erection between them, even as he slides his hips forward a little awkwardly. In the back of his mind, he's honestly as impressed with Bucky's willpower as Bucky himself is; he feels Bucky's hips do that little shift, and for a second, he fully expects to be shoved to the floor and his clothes torn off, good intentions on Bucky's part or not. He doesn't really know how bad this heat is, or what a bad one feels like. Bucky's tried to explain, a little, but it's not really something they talk about - not something Steve asks about. It seems kind of personal - which is maybe crazy to think, given how personal things have gotten, now and again, to deal with them. Especially given how personal they're getting, right now.

Steve squirms a little, feeling the fabric of his briefs and slacks pressing against his growing erection, and it's starting to drive him a little crazy. Not crazy like a heat, of course, but crazy in the way that his body wants more, it likes what it's getting, and he's excited by the idea that Bucky might want to do anything more, give him a release before they even start in on the one he knows Bucky must be dying for. He almost starts to say something about that, to ask again if Bucky's okay waiting his turn like this, but the words die before he can get them out around the panting breaths he suddenly realizes he's taking when Bucky's hands go to his pants, open them without wasting a second, and then Steve's being urged forward a little more. He leans closer and - oh, oh, his jaw drops and his eyes flutter at the hot, moist press of lips against his hardening cock through the cotton of his briefs.

But even that little hint of paradise does't last long - he lets out a gasp that's harsher than he means, when the lips disappear, opening eyes he didn't realize had fallen shut just in time to see Bucky's hand moving. Then he feels Bucky's hand, feels the cool air of the apartment (well, cool relative to the way his body's heating up, degree by degree) hit his cock, and then Bucky's staring at him with this strange look on his face that makes Steve squirm a little again, this time with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. He's not sure why Bucky's staring, but then it doesn't matter. Bucky opens his mouth, and Steve all but stops thinking altogether.

Still, the funniest thought runs through Steve's mind, just then - I did say he could lick anywhere but the pastels.. And Bucky sure as hell is licking anywhere but the pastels; but it's not so much licking as enveloping Steve whole, inch by inch, with no warning and no time to prepare. Steve's been inside a girl, before - he's been inside Bucky, too. But no one's ever taken him in their mouth before, and it's a completely new experience. He's not even fully hard yet, but it doesn't matter - he's fully sensitive, and, right now, fully on his way to getting aroused all the way, and fast. He lets out a sound that's something like, "Hnnnng," thighs flexing and fingers curling tightly into the fabric of the armrest as Bucky's lips and tongue slide over skin that suddenly feels feverish and straining. He wants to push forward, but thinks he shouldn't - not into Bucky's mouth, it's different, he could choke him. Steve's body shivers with the effort of keeping still, his eyes watching Bucky's face - his mouth and lips - but they're having trouble staying in focus. "Oh," he manages to say, hips canting forward a little - then he stops dead, tries to hold still again. "Where did you learn to do that?"

He's not expecting an answer - doesn't want one, actually, given where his cock and Bucky's mouth are at the moment. He lowers his head the rest of the way to the armrest; he can feel little beads of sweat from his brow soaking into the fabric, and Bucky's hair is tickling Steve's stomach, making the muscles flutter. He wants to curl around Bucky, but he can't quite - the position is awkward and he's still afraid to press his hips forward, so instead he just arches his back, tries to lift up closer to Bucky's lips, then wars with himself again and tries to stay still again, chest heaving with each breath. "I don't care where you learned it," he says absently into the fabric of the couch, voice muffled, and he's just rambling now because his brain's not really at home, it's sliding down to where Bucky's lips are wrapped around his erection. "It feels so damn good."

The weight of Steve's hardening cock sliding against his tongue, and even better, that taste hitting his tastebuds, Steve's smell is heady, dizzying. And he's surprisingly warm against his cheek. Bucky pulls off slow, tongue dragging along the underside and cheeks hollowing a little as he sucks, until the head's just sitting barely in his mouth, lips pressed tight against the underside, before he slides him back in.

Bucky glances upwards when Steve makes this choked off sound, to find Steve's all but curled around him, bracing himself on the armrest, and his stomach nudging against Bucky's head as those thin hips shiver with the effort it's taking not to push in more. There's something raw about this, something he likes about the image here; he's completely naked, long limbs stretched out while Steve's straddling his shoulders, cock sliding past his lips while he's still clothed and quivering with the sensation and trying not to thrust forward. Then again, his dick's leading most of the show here and it's finding almost everything hot, but even if he wasn't caught in this heat, he thinks he'd really like it. He really thinks he likes that look on Steve's face, the way his eyelids flutter, how pleased he sounds, how good he sounds. Bucky manages a tight smile up at Steve around the throbbing length sliding past his lips, about all he can manage with his own erection sitting jutting up and angrily ignored. He's glad Steve likes it. Not enough people actually pay Steve enough attention, and he hates to say that times like these - before- Bucky had been one of them.

Learned it? It's not like he went around sucking dick like a regular event here. Bucky's cheeks flush a little; it's not all arousal either, it's a little embarrassment. He'd given head a grand total of once when he'd been caught in a heat while working overtime down at the docks. He hadn't noticed that the guys next to him had had gone into heat until later at night, when the pheromones hit him over several hours, and he'd dragged the guy off into one of the alleys. He remembers it well; dark, the lamp had been broken nearby, fumbling in the shadows as the guy's hand slipped down and groped at the bulge in his slacks, while Bucky just had this brilliant idea to get things started with more of a bang; he'd nudged the other man's hand off, sank to his knees on the wharf planks and start reaching for the other guy's zipper with eager hands. Luckily Steve had been dead tired, out like a light by the time Bucky had dragged himself back at about two in the morning, reeking of sex and aching in all the best ways and with this bitter taste he wasn't sure he really liked on the back of his tongue.

He's just going to tell Steve he's his first, he's naturally talented for a first timer, so Bucky just hums something generally non-committal around the vein pulsing against his tongue. Bucky's eyes close, and his head begins to bob, drawing that heated, heavy cock in and out. His hands tighten on Steve, trying to drive him forward, squeezing at cheeks of his ass through the slacks. Steve's asked what a heat felt like more than once, and he's never been able to get across the desperation, the need to screw that takes you over well enough. But maybe this will work, and Christ, he can practically see Steve clutching at the arm rest or his shoulders or his head and just rolling his hips against his mouth that his his cock crying out for attention behind Steve.

His hands nudge him forward again, wordlessly giving him permission here; Bucky's really not sure if this is another brilliant or brilliantly stupid idea in the heat of the moment but... maybe Steve can try it, try to screw past his lips. Bucky's mostly sure Steve won't hurt him, and if he thinks this is swell, pal, there's a lot to learn here. What he's worried about, however, is that he's not going to be able to touch it before that heat takes the last of him, before he's turning Steve and climbing over him, please, not yet-

Honestly, Steve wouldn't care one way or the other whether he's Bucky's first blow job or his fiftieth - he is liking it, he's beyond liking it, he's moved right into deciding this is pretty much one of the best things that's ever happened to him, because he's never thought about how nice it would be to have someone paying him attention just to pay him attention, but right now that's exactly what he's getting, and it could get really addictive, really fast. Instead, he's trying just to enjoy it while he's got it, which is actually pretty easy considering every time Bucky's head bobs and takes Steve in or lets him slide out, Steve's mind goes all but blank.

To top it off, Bucky keeps nudging, pulling, squeezing his ass, like he's trying to encourage Steve to rock forward. It's exactly what he wants to do, but he's still hesitant - this is Bucky's mouth they're talking about, he's got to breathe, and Steve's not sure Bucky's really in his right mind (in fact, he's a bit sure he's not). But at the same time, thrusting between Bucky's lips is pretty much exactly what Steve wants to do - he wants more of that slick, wet heat, and whatever Bucky's doing with his tongue along the underside of his cock, and that suction… yeah. He wants more. He wants a lot more.

And yet still, it's a bit of an internal war - on the one hand, Steve's pretty sure he'd like this to last forever. That would be great. On the other, he knows it can't - sure, there's the practical reasons, because of course it can't last. First and foremost, Steve has gone from normal to completely hard in what feels like a heartbeat, and he's not sure how long he's going to last when there's all this undivided attention on him. He tries to tell himself it's okay, though - when he's screwing someone in heat, he's got to last at least as long as they do, or they tend to get mad. If this is about him... he only has to last as long as he wants, right? And second, if he's got time to think about it, is the fact that he knows Bucky's hard and wanting, he can practically sense the need rolling off him in waves, and part of Steve wants to finish this, come, so he can give Bucky a hand. Maybe it's crazy, but he wants to come so he can show Bucky how much he appreciates the attention in the only way he's sure Bucky will really understand right now.

Either way, for whatever reason, there's one single driving force in him right now—he wants to come. And so, hesitantly at first, because he's not sure if Bucky's thought this through or how well it's going to work or if it's going to work at all, he grips the couch with both hands, digs his knees into the mattress, and gives this shaky, shallow flex of his hips, rolling forward, deeper into Bucky's mouth. He has to bite back a groan, shaking his head a little, trying to clear it and forcing his eyes open, trying to focus on Bucky's face - his eyes, his lips, to make sure Steve's not hurting him. He's already pulling his hips back again, retaking the small distance he'd rolled them forward, cock sliding to the edge of Bucky's lips, and now he's really shivering with the effort not to do it again, but he doesn't dare until he can see, clear and plain on Bucky's face, that that was the right thing to do. "O-okay?" he tries to confirm, mouth hanging open as he feels like he's wearing far, far too many clothes, but he doesn't really want to waste the time it's going to take to get them off - or lose the contact the head of his cock is still making with Bucky's wet, hot mouth. Bucky's lips look this perfect shade of red, even against the flush on his cheeks, but maybe, Steve thinks, it's because they're so perfectly wrapped around him, and he never thought that sight could get him as worked up as he is right now.

He wasn't sure Steve was going to do it or not, because for a long - too long- moment, Steve sits there, cock throbbing in his mouth as Bucky tries to tempt him into it, into maybe experiencing a fraction of what a heat's like as he swallows him down. Then Steve takes that first baby step.

Bucky's breath shudders out along Steve's cock as Steve's hips give something that's more of a half-roll, more of a twitch than an actual thrust, but it's enough to drive his cock an inch deeper into his mouth, and even just as good, is that look plastered on Steve's face right then. Like he's just barely keeping it down for the neighbors, or just barely keeping down what Bucky hopes is the filthiest groan ever heard in New York. His hips slide back - so it wasn't that deep of a thrust- drawing his cock out enough that Bucky's worried he's going to pull out, get the Vaseline. His cock gives this aborted little stab upwards as he shudders around the head of his cock sitting just on the tip of his tongue, lips wrapped around it.

Not until Steve's come, Bucky has to tell himself. Hes' going for fierce determination there, but it sounds weak even to himself. He's dying for it. He can practically feel Steve's muscles wrapping around him tight and-

His hands spasm a little on Steve's hips, a little too tightly before he forces himself not to pull Steve off him, forces himself to look at Steve. Steve's mouth is moving. It takes Bucky a second to realize he's actually saying something among the thundering in his head, the burning coursing through his body. Steve's looking to him, asking him if it's okay. Bucky nods, a little dumbly, tongue suddenly flattening itself along the blunt head of his cock, swiping at the slit and this low groan rumbles out of him as he tastes the first tang of bitterness beading up from it. It's okay. You'll love this, Bucky wants to say with his eyes here.

He's not sure if he's getting it across. Bucky's trying for supportive, but it might have come off as this desperate arousal. His hands squeeze again, give that little push that nudged him into that first thrust as he leans up, trying to ease Steve back between his lips, because he needs some encouragement. Go at it as much as you want.

That shuddering breath almost gives him pause - not that Steve's really gone too far into Bucky's mouth, but he's just not sure what to expect here, what's okay and what isn't, and it's awfully difficult to keep trying to work out which are good signs and which are bad when he just wants to unravel into the wet heat around him.

But when he asks if it's okay, Bucky's look is earnest, even if he's kind of giving Steve these heavily-mixed signals he's been getting all along. He truly believes that Bucky wants him to feel good, wants to make this about him and not the heat (not yet, anyway, although it's been about the heat since Bucky rolled over and started working himself, there's no denying that). But there's this desperation underneath everything Bucky does that Steve can't miss - he understands it, maybe not in literal terms because he's never felt a heat, but he knows Bucky, knows how heats affect him, and he can understand it like that. Bucky's dying here, and he's pretending he's not, but it's there, in the way his hands clench too tight on Steve's hips, in the way his eyes are dark and his pupils blown, in the way his arousal is practically this presence that's taken over every inch of Bucky's body.

"Sorry, sorry," Steve says when Bucky nudges him again, because he shouldn't draw this out, he should enjoy it but he should go at it like Bucky's trying to urge him to do, because in a way, that's still Bucky taking care of Steve. Bucky hasn't given in to the heat completely yet, but he's not going to be able to hold out for much longer, everything about him is screaming that he wants to turn this around and screw Steve like an animal but he won't let himself until Steve gets a little something for himself. This heat is bad - worse than any's been in a while; he can tell because Bucky has barely said anything, and yeah, okay, his mouth's busy at the moment, but mostly he's been giving Steve looks and pushing or pulling at him and groaning and grunting, but he's not talking much, and that means his concentration's definitely somewhere else. This heat is going to swallow Bucky whole if Steve doesn't help him out, and that's something neither of them wants.

So, Steve thinks, he'd better damn well take what Bucky's offering while he can still offer it, because hesitating any more is just hurting them both, right?

"I promise," he says, with a sound that's half a laugh, half a groan, as he carefully gives his hips another roll - a bigger one, this time, trying to keep it controlled, but there's more movement this time, the underside of his cock sliding against Bucky's tongue and he forgets what he was going to say for a moment, before it becomes painfully clear to him when this heat shoots up his spine the more he's enveloped in Bucky's mouth and he finishes in a hoarse, breathless voice, "I won't last long."

And even though there's still that one part of him that does want this to last, he ignores it, shoves it down, and lets the part of him that's already addicted to the feel of Bucky's mouth around him take over. He shifts his weight a little, tries to spread it between his hands and his knees, keeping it off Bucky and keeping it controlled because he's not quite willing to thrust, given their situation, but oh, he'll roll his hips, over and over and over again. He keeps his head up, this time - his eyes are glued to Bucky's face, because as his motions get bigger, he needs to make sure Bucky's still okay. But damn if watching his cock slide in and out of Bucky's mouth like that isn't the most erotic thing Steve Rogers has ever witnessed.

He can feel the heat building, and fast - he wasn't kidding when he said he wouldn't last long; he's got experience, but not necessarily stamina, and he's not doing any of the things he normally does, thinking about whatever mundane thing that comes to mind other than what's going on like he sometimes has to in order to make sure he lasts. Now, his full concentration is on what's going on, how it feels, how it's just for him, and it's not long, a minute or two, before the rolls of his hips start to lose their rhythm, start to get a little less controlled, as his body feels like it's starting to practically burn up inside his clothes and he can feel that tidal wave of release inching up on him.

But it's just as he's starting to finally let his eyes close, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead (and he's going to have pastel pigment in his hair well before the end of this) that he realizes -

What's he supposed to do, when he's going to come? Part of his mind stutters to a stop - he shouldn't just come in Bucky's mouth, that can't be right, but it's as he's realizing it that he's starting to feel the heat coil in his gut, ready to snap. He lets out a desperate sound, one hand fumbling for the base of his cock, trying to squeeze, trying to keep himself from coming until he knows what to do, how to do it, what Bucky wants. "Buck -" he gasps desperately, forcing his eyes open, trying to ask the question without actually asking it, because he's hovering on the edge of release here, he wants it so badly, but he's afraid to let go just like this. "Gonna - how -"

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