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bakerstreet2018-08-24 06:49 pm
cuemusic) wrote in bakerstreet2018-08-24 06:49 pm
Entry tags:
Dubcon
THE DUBCON MEME
WARNING - MEME MAY CONTAIN TRIGGERS
Whether it gets awkward and painful or if it goes perfectly smooth, generally speaking the basic fundamentals of sex are the same: there are two (or more) attracted parties who both decide to act on that attraction. If there's not attraction involved, there's still a mutual consent involved. If it's not mutual, there's a problem in the line somewhere...but what about when there's strong grounds for that mutual consent to be disputed on one or both sides?
Sometimes, things get a little bit (or quite a lot) dubious.
Step One: Post your character with Name/fandom/preferences, and be sure to consider just how closely to what side of dubious consent you're willing to walk (slightly dubious, or very obviously invalid)
Step Two: Others respond, rolling up or choosing a scenario.
Step Three: One or both parties get consent all muddled up.
Step Four: Deal with the fall out afterward, if you choose.
1. Outside coercion - On display, or some perverted laws, or maybe there's a breeding facility of some sort.
2. Aphrodisiacs - Accidental or on purpose, one or both have been doused heavily in some sort of irresistible aphrodisiacs.
3. Biological imperative - Baby-making (or many attempts) must happen NOW. For the sake of children, or just to survive something.
4. Intoxication - Beer goggles and impaired judgement.
5. Illicit substances - Lack of any judgment whatsoever, nor probable recollection.
6. Sleeping - Sleeping may not be 'yes' but it's also not 'no'.
7. Control - Through actual control or some sort of blackmail, the 'yes' probably isn't sincere.
8. Trickery - Deceit and misrepresentation of one party to convince the other.
9. Manipulation - Bedazzle and confuse them somehow into saying yes when they normally wouldn't.
10. Wildcard - Some form of dubious consent circumstances not listed.
no subject
Uh.
[ He mouths wordlessly for a second, his alcohol-addled mind rushing to catch up to the situation at hand. Bucky’s got him by the collar, so to speak, and up close that expression on his face that Steve’s been trying to figure out this whole time looks a lot like … interest. He’s seen that look before, but never on Bucky’s face, never directed toward him, and for a moment Steve’s worried he’s been found out. But how could he? Steve’s been so careful these last few years. Did he let on, somehow? Or is it just the drink getting to Bucky?
The drink, or maybe the girl. Maybe Steve should just play along, maybe Bucky’s just playing around, and Steve reacting like this is probably a huge slip up. (Maybe Bucky’s testing him.) ]
I’d bite. [ It’s a rasp, and Steve tries to return Bucky’s mean little grin with one of his own, trying not to think about how much deeper Bucky’s voice has gotten, or the way it makes something in his chest twist. (Or the way he wants to take that smirk off Bucky's face with his own mouth.) His hand on Bucky’s shoulder seems warmer than it should, but he doesn’t take it away, not wanting to risk his balance to go off completely and also just plain enjoying the sensation itself. He rarely lets himself indulge in that these days. ]
And scratch. And other stuff that I ain’t tellin’ you about, it’d just give the game away, so. [ Steve wets his lips. ] Not worth it, buddy. There’s tough and then there’s just ... trouble.
no subject
He licks his lips unconsciously. Wonders what it is about this whole thing that's giving him an electric charge, that's making him stiff in his slacks. Pushes the air from his chest like he's the one with asthma - through the number of cigarettes he smokes on a bad day, he might eventually be.
Today's a good day, though. Well, it is now - at least for a minute, and with Steve issuing a challenge like that? Well, Bucky's happy to oblige with a little trouble.
So with a huffy laugh he moves abruptly, snagging Steve around the waist and bodily flipping them. He weighs ten pounds shy of nothing, it's not so hard to do at all, takes a second at most to get his back on the cushions and Bucky's knee pressed between Steve's thighs. To get his wrists pinned above his head, and to hover a foot over him with a glint in his eyes and a wry curve to his lips. ]
Go ahead, pal. Bite me. See what happens.
[ He drolls it out lazily, flatly.
Amused, maybe, or something else. ]
no subject
Whatever it is, Steve finds himself belly up, his wrists caught in a grasp he knows he can’t wrench out of. (Pinned down.) And for all that he’d been chatting freely thus far, Steve can’t seem to come up with a word now. He just stares up Bucky, eyes wide, heart hammering, wondering how things got this out of hand this fast. From this vantage point, he can clearly see exactly how dark Bucky’s gaze has gotten, the moonlight making his features stark and soft at the same time. Dreamlike.
Again, the thought comes to him that he’s still back at the bar, asleep, because this has to be a dream. He feels Bucky’s knee between his thighs, the press of it electric enough to make him twitch there, and he’d feel nothing short of humiliated if he couldn’t feel something hard pressing against his own thigh. As it is, he just feels drunker than ever, wanting more badly than ever. But drunk or not, dream or not, Steve has to do what he always does whenever his back’s against the wall. ]
You got it.
[ It’s as breathless as his laugh had been a moment ago and he bucks his hips up hard, feet bracing against the couch to give him some sort of leverage, twisting his wrists in Bucky’s hands. He bucks one way and twists in the other, knowing he doesn’t have the sheer strength to get Bucky off of him, but giving it a try anyway.
And, y’know. Snaps his teeth on air. It’s an empty threat, a last ditch attempt to try and play this off as a joke, even though he knows now that it isn't. ]
no subject
It's damn near unmistakable, the whole thing. There's no denying what it was Steve pressed up against, and no denying Bucky's reaction is anything other than enjoying it.
For a long beat after that, there's just silence and stillness as Bucky breathes through parted lips and stares down at Steve at a loss. There's not much the guy can do from this position, not much he can do to fight back from here, and it's whiskey that dictates what he does next.
He's hard, he's throbbing in his slacks, he's in the perfect position to take advantage, and for a hazy minute, he does. He dips his hips down with deliberateness and drags them up Steve's, a low and languid fucking slide. Uses Steve's body to garner some friction for himself, and the smallest breathy exhale of satisfaction follows it. ]
no subject
He’s beautiful.
He’s drunk. Steve’s drunk too, but maybe Bucky’s at the point where doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. Or, he does know what he’s doing; Steve doesn’t know which is worse (better). That this is just some sort of drunken need for a warm body after a frustrating date, or that he’s figured out the thing Steve’s tried to hide for so goddamn long and wants to give it to him. Wants to give his scrawny, lonely pal something he knows Steve’s probably never gonna have. Either way, Steve’s gotta put a stop to this, because Bucky’s gonna regret this. He isn't like Steve.
Except Bucky doesn’t seem like he’s regretting this at all, and Steve’s entire body goes rigid when he feels Bucky lean in again and grind against him, slow and sinuous, like a cat. And Steve can’t help the gasp it pulls out of him any more than he can himself from getting hard. ]
Bucky. [ If he could, he’d put his thighs together to try and hide the tent he’s starting to pitch, but Bucky’s knee is still there and all Steve can accomplish is to squirm against him. It floods him with heat, and without permission, his mouth blurts out the the last explanation his hazy mind can come up with for all this. ]
This isn't funny.
[ The words are raw, shaky. He could handle being a warm body. He could handle a — a pity lay, even, or at least the overtures of one. But if Bucky was making fun of him, it would break Steve’s stupid, stupid heart. ]
no subject
He's drunk as hell but he can feel with vivid clarity the stirrings of an erection beneath him that isn't his own. Can feel his slender friend start to pick up in interest - he's not so sure it's because of him or if it's just because Steve's never been touched before like this. Knows the second part shouldn't be a turn-on, should make him feel guilty, and it will eventually. Tomorrow sometime, when his judgement's back and his head is clear. Now, though, it all feels like a game, a dream, a lark almost.
A tease.
Steve thinks he's joking, but he isn't laughing. No, far from it, he's still focused on the word that came out of Steve's lips the second before, and he ducks down to erase the space between their top halves, to hover his lips somewhere just to the right of Steve's ear. To murmur a raspy instruction. ]
Say it again, Steve.
[ His name. He means his name, and as if to drive the order home, he painstakingly rolls his hips back, and then forth again - this time seeking out Steve's cock with his own. Layers of clothes separate them, but even despite that he can feel the drag of it, the heat of it, against him. He exhales a quiet, shuddering breath. ]
no subject
The warm brush of air against his ear is simultaneously delicious and terrifying, raising the small hairs on Steve's neck. The roll of Bucky's hips after that — the deliberate drag of Bucky's dick against his own, hard and hot even through the layers between them — temporarily drives all sense out of Steve's head, has him making a long, wretched hum in the back of his throat. It takes him a good minute to understand what Bucky means when he orders, Say it again.
He wants his name. This time, the heat that spreads through Steve manifests itself in a flush, darker than the pink that the whiskey had already given him. It rises up his throat, and he ducks his head to the side, pressing his face into the sofa as best as he can.
He's hiding. ]
Bucky. [ It's a whisper, this time. If he could, he'd throw an arm across his face, but all he can do is strain his wrists against Bucky's grasp ineffectually. He feels dizzy, overheated, and it's not just the drink. It's the realization that he's all the way hard now, that this isn't just another one of his dreams — that somehow, Bucky knows. ]
no subject
He'd always imagined Steve would be defiant in bed - not that he's in the business of admitting he's imagined it at all, but he has. Any time he's been drunk enough and alone enough to indulge himself in the dark of night with his hand on his cock, he'd imagined Steve looking up at him challengingly. Imagined Steve giving him that look he gives when he thinks Bucky's doing something stupid or reckless, like he needs to be punished and Steve aims to be the one to do it.
Maybe he's just got a million variations of this in his head, and he's not about to say one's better than the other. No, frankly everything he's seeing and hearing right now feels fucking perfect to his foggy mind and his unabashedly hard prick.
Bucky lowers himself a little, doesn't release his grip on Steve's wrists but does take the pressure off of them by settling onto his own elbows so that they're chest to chest, so that he's draped on top of Steve's smaller body and pinning him properly from top to bottom. ]
Look at me.
[ He murmurs from that too-close space beside Steve's ear. Even as he says it he doesn't stop moving, devolves into what's now a full-body rhythm propelled by the flexing of his stomach to roll his spine in a deliberate beautiful rocking drag. ]
no subject
He shivers again when Bucky speaks again, voice hypnotically low and so damn close to his ear and throat that it’s driving Steve crazy to feel it in such a sensitive area. What he asks for drives Steve even crazier, and he swallows convulsively, shaking his head once before quickly turning his face into the nearby crook of Bucky’s neck. He has to crane his own neck slightly to do it, knows he can’t hold the position for too long, but like hell is he going to be able to look Bucky in the eye right now. Not like this, pressed chest-to-chest, his desire laid bare to that dark gaze. ]
I — I can’t.
[ Steve's voice is muffled and his breath keeps hitching. The word please is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t know what he’d ask for even if he said it. He hooks one leg over the back of Bucky’s instead, not to stop him but to pull him impossibly closer, until he can feel every inch of Bucky’s cock against his own. He suddenly wants to feel it skin-to-skin, silken and hard and hot, more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life. He wants it so bad he can feel his mouth go wet.
Christ. Slow but with intent, Steve rocks his own hips into the next sweet, perfect drag of Bucky’s, going faster with every rut. Above his head, his fingers curl. ]
Bucky. [ It’s as plaintive as any please could be, his lips brushing against Bucky's throat. ]
no subject
He's never gotten this hard with his pants on, never gotten this close by over-the-clothes dry humping. It's god damn pathetic, and he thinks the only thing keeping him from spilling into his trousers so soon is the amount of whiskey coursing through his veins.
He wants to shred their clothes off and explore Steve's ribs with his fingertips. He wants to slip a hand between them and unbutton their flies, to press hot skin against hot skin and jerk them both between their stomachs. It's just that he thinks Steve might run, or stop, or use that extra bit of freedom to push him off and- god, he doesn't want to stop. Not yet, not when he's so close, not until he's finished. So he keeps Steve pinned down, and uses him like the worst god damn friend on the planet.
Doesn't know what he'll do if Steve asks him to stop. Thinks it might break his heart.
He won't kiss Steve until Steve looks at him. That's one thing he won't do, he thinks that's different somehow, stealing a first kiss like that. Instead, his lips find a soft place along Steve's neck and he mouths, murmurs into the hollow of his throat. ]
Steve... [ It's a needy, self-indulgent noise almost like a groan, punctuated by a double-time jerk of his lips as a sharp spike of god, electricity hits him. ] You're so good, Christ... You feel...
[ And it's a trailed-off mutter that doesn't go anywhere, just dissolves into a little hiss between his teeth like he's talking to himself the way he does when he's dreaming, fantasizing, jerking off in secret. ]
no subject
Steve does whimper, then, his thighs tightening around Bucky. God, how often has he dreamed about those words in Bucky's voice? How often has that been the thought that's sent him hard over the edge, the knuckles of one hand between his teeth, the other wrapped tight and wet around his twitching prick?
Except he doesn't have to imagine it right now, does he? He's getting his deepest fantasy handed to him on a silver plate, and all Steve can do is press his face tighter into Bucky's neck, where it's hidden and safe. Where he doesn't have to look his best friend in the eye while he makes his darkest, sweetest dreams come true. ]
Mmh, mmh — [ The sensation of Bucky's lips along the sensitive skin of Steve's throat is maddening, makes him want to tilt his head back and give Bucky more room to do whatever the hell he wants. Kiss, bite, mark it so that everyone can see, so that everyone knows. Steve squeezes his eyes tightly before doing just that, letting his head fall back against the sofa. The action is so much like an admittance of defeat that it goes straight to Steve's dick, makes him grind up harder against Bucky's groin, shameless, his wrists going slack.
Fuck.
His eyes stay closed for a brief moment longer, and then he's opening them slowly, looking at Bucky with a half-lidded gaze, a strange thrill shooting through him as he does so. He's panting, afraid of what he'll see in Bucky's eyes and even more afraid of what Bucky'll see in his own. That if Bucky sees how desperately Steve wants him, needs him, he'll take it away. ]
no subject
And then Steve looks at him, wide eyed and there, present in the moment and half-lidded, gone with lust and heat, slack and giving in to it. He almost loses it right then, a breathy exhale punches out of his lungs and ghosts over Steve's lips. His eyes are wide where Steve's are narrow, dark and unflinching and searching. His hips stutter at the sight of them. ]
Steve--
[ It barely clears his throat, choked and desperate.
For a wild second, he almost says I l- but he doesn't, he seals the words into Steve by pressing their lips together, and only once their mouths are crushed does he release his grip on Steve's wrists. One of them at least, anyway, to drop down and curl and fist in Steve's shirt. ]
no subject
He whines, shocked and needy, straight into Bucky's mouth. The hand Bucky's no longer holding down is free to cradle his head close, fingers trembling even as Steve curls them into Bucky's hair. All of him is trembling, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through him, the feelings making his heart skip one beat and then another.
Bucky's kissing him. Bucky's kissing him. Jesus Christ, Steve never wants it to stop. More than anything else, this is what he's dreamed about, longed for, wanted. He tilts his head to the side, swipes his tongue along the seam of Bucky's hot, sweet mouth, clumsily trying to deepen the kiss before drawing back to breathe. ]
Please. [ He's only half-aware of what he's murmuring in between each damp press of his lips to Bucky's, twisting so that both of his legs can hitch up around Bucky's waist as the fire inside him blazes hotter. ]
Bucky, c'mon. I w-want —please.
no subject
He drowns in it, the world is dizzy and fuzzy, clouded with liquor and with the flurrying hormones flooding him. He almost feels vertigo, the tilt of the world on it's axis, listing him forward and deeper. God, he's drunk, this can't be real, can it? Reality wants to creep in, horror and disbelief and longing threaten to overtake him for a second and so he surges forth to bury them in Steve's tongue.
They split to breathe, they part to suck in air and stare at one another, and for a second it's like he's seeing Steve for the first time tonight, trembling beneath him where Bucky's pressed him into the couch. That fist in Steve's shirt goes lax and slides up, palming the sharp angle of his jaw, his cheekbones. ]
I got you. M'gonna take care of you-
[ He breathes, he swears it.
And then he's shifting back in a desperate scramble, wobbling on his own axis, on his knees to fumble with Steve's belt. It's gotta go, it needs gone yesterday. Shaking fingers slip his button, pull down his fly in unrestrained urgency. ]
no subject
I know.
[ It’s barely more than a wavering whisper, Bucky’s words hitting a strange chord inside Steve, striking through the haze of drink and lust. A wave of warmth and affection sweeps over him, and Steve doesn’t even register that his other hand is free until he sees that Bucky’s sitting up, getting his belt undone. When he starts opening up his pants, Steve makes a soft noise and sits up too, reaching out to touch his fingers on the back Bucky’s wrist. Not to stop, just to let him know. That. ]
Bucky. I wanna ... [ The eye contact from earlier was more than enough; Steve trusts Bucky with his life, and now even with whatever this is, but that doesn’t stop him feeling — feeling shy, so he keeps his gaze down as he speaks, face hot. Trails his fingers up the back of Bucky’s arm before dropping it to his lap, stroking over the hard curve of Bucky’s clothed dick, biting his lip. ]
I got you, too.
[ Even if this is just once — even if tomorrow, Bucky wakes up and decides this was a one-time drunken error, or tells Steve that he was doing it out of pity, or just an indulgence — Steve wants to make sure he does it right. Makes it good. And with that thought in mind, Steve leans up to brush his mouth against Bucky’s again, asking silently for another kiss as he works his slacks open with one hand, the other sliding inside. ]
( ooc: i'm sorry about the delay, rl slows me down sometimes!! )
no subject
The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry, never was the statement more true than when Steve's hand slips into his trousers. He's not expecting it, maybe because neurons aren't firing the way they ought to or maybe because Steve distracts him by initiating for the first time, by taking initiative and brushing his mouth against Bucky's. It's hard to perceive anything but the gentle question of lips against his own, at least until there's a slender and purposeful hand on his cock.
He short-circuits. He stutters away from Steve's lips as a noise like a quiet click overtakes the back of his throat, closes up on him, chokes him. He pulses then in Steve's grip, one undeniable twitching throb that he couldn't help if he wanted to. The left-handed grip he's got on Steve's spare wrist goes bruising on accident, he doesn't mean for it, he just--
God. Yeah, god yeah. His head ducks, butts into Steve's forehead gently as a low sort of keening sound works it's way out. ]
(ooc: never a problem, friend! well worth the wait. )
no subject
But it’s too dry. He needs to make it good, can’t screw this up ... but now that he’s finally got a hand around Bucky, he can’t seem to stop or pull away long enough to even lick his palm. Steve frowns for a long moment of inebriated confusion before an idea strikes. Of course, he thinks with muzzy satisfaction, and tilts his head just enough to give himself the right angle before parting his lips. Saliva drips down along his tongue, dripping down to the waiting pads of his fingers, wetting them enough so that his next stroke is slick.
His hand squeezes a little tighter, each stroke surer than the last, touching Bucky the way Steve knows he likes it himself: tight around the shaft, wet gentle circles against the tip. Fuck, Bucky’s beautiful even here, and Steve can’t look away. He wishes the lights were on, suddenly, wishes he could push Bucky back and use both hands to explore him, use his, his mouth to— ]
Is this — it’s good? [ He asks instead, desperate and hushed, moving closer so that he can rub his nose against Bucky’s gently, eyes half-open as he takes in the play of moonlight on Bucky’s handsome features. It all still feels like a dream, as though if he speaks too loudly or he moves too suddenly, it’ll break, it’ll end. He leans in to brush his lips against Bucky’s, a shy ghost of a kiss. ]
That how you like bein’ touched?
( ooc: thank you!! and right back atcha! )
no subject
Managed to keep his shit together all the way up until Steve asks him for a flat out answer after that shy little kiss, and then it all comes tumbling down. ]
Oh my fucking Christ, Stevie-
[ He answers, a long and pained sounding sing-song of slurred desperation. A plea not for more so much as for him to understand just what exactly it is he's doing to Bucky right now. At long last his hand releases that painful grip on Steve's wrist and it ventures up, curling around the back of Steve's neck to keep their heads pressed there together, fingertips curling and pressing and kneading. ]
God- you got no idea- Jesus- fuck- m'
[ And then a sharp exhale of breath from his nose from a spike of it when that thumb circles his tip again and he- there's no other word for it, he's babbling. The floodgates open up because there's no denying now that he's skirting the edge. It's a wonder he's lasted this long, and with that rhythm, that slick steady tight followed by searching, searing soft- ]
I didn't- I never thought you'd be so- ugh, you're gonna drive me out of my goddamn head-
no subject
Yeah, Bucky. [ Urgently, his fist pumping faster at every single curse that falls from Bucky’s lips, eager to hear more. Hear Bucky fall apart. God, it’s perfect. ] Just like that —
[ Sweetheart, Steve wants to whisper, and it almost slips out until he reels it in at the last second, just enough lucidity in his head to remember that’s not what’s happening here. To realize it might throw Bucky off, even through the whiskey. Might make him wanna stop. No. He wets his lips, fumbling at the buttons of Bucky’s shirt, opening them one after the other until it’s open to the navel. ]
C’mon, you feel so good. You, you want it? [ His cheeks burning at his own daring, Steve swallows, sliding his hand inside Bucky’s shirt to palm across the warm expanse of skin. ] Like this? Or — you want somethin’ else?
[ He leans in as much as he can to press tiny wet kisses to the hinge of Bucky’s jaw, slowing down his stroking fist to thumb teasingly at the head of his dick, back and forth. ]
no subject
His breath shakes loose in rhythmic sounds, a near-hyperventilation, in- out- in- out- because he can feel himself toeing the line, an ebb and a slightly smaller flow pushing him close but not quite tipping him over. He doesn't want it to end, he's not ready yet, he wants to ride this edge until next fucking year and watch Steve's face the whole time as he palms Bucky's cock.
Teeth press hard into his bottom lip, brow knits in intense concentration, and he peels back from Steve's searching hands to fall backward onto his elbows so he can stare down the length of his body and see. Take in the whole picture, with Steve there curled up around him, with his working fingers and the flush on his face asking him what it is he wants- god, drunk or not he's never gonna forget that. It's seared into his memory for the next hundred years, nothing in the world will tear it from him, not a magic or a medicine could drive it out.
It's god damn beautiful. ]
I want- [ He starts, chest heaving, looking agonized for a second before he has to tear his eyes way and tip his head up. ]
God- I want everything- your fucking mouth- I see that in my dreams, Stevie, Jesus, I'm close- I'm-
no subject
Your mouth. Fuck. Steve makes a strange, keening noise, his dick pulsing hard in the confines of his slacks. He’s nodding before he’s even able to speak, scooting forward and bracing one hand on the sofa as he leans down. Pauses, as the rest of Bucky’s words catch up to his muddled brain. ]
… You dream about me. [ It’s a slur more than anything Steve’s said all night, a dazed reaffirmation more than a question. He feels more drunk than he has all night, this close to the heat between Bucky’s legs, the feel of him, the scent of him. He leans down the rest of the way, holding Bucky’s cock by the base gently. ]
Doin’ this?
[ He licks a long, sticky stripe up the shaft of his dick, barely able to taste it, he’s so goddamn excited, half-lidded eyes locked on Bucky’s face so he doesn’t miss the way he reacts. The way Steve is making him react. God, he can't believe what he just heard. Another swipe of his tongue, closer to the head, tasting the slick coming out of him and feeling embarrassed and hot at the same time as he thinks about what he’s gonna do next.
Bucky said he was close. Steve swallows the bitter-salt on his tongue and drops his gaze, face growing impossibly hotter as he takes the tip of Bucky’s cock into his mouth and sucks on it, stroking the rest with a firm hand. ]
no subject
Did not expect it, almost can't handle the sight, eyes go wide and a hand grips- scrambles- at the couch cushions. ]
N- if you do that, Steve, I'm not gonna be able to- I'm-
[ He stammers it out urgently, desperately, but he doesn't even manage to finish the warning. A tongue on the underside of his dick drives the words right out of him, replaces them with a long and languid groan. He pulses hot, heady, a warning, an electric shot that curls his toes and shoves him with abruptness to the precipice.
Watches, dreamlike, parted lips, as Steve ducks in and wraps his lips around the head- warm and wet and fucking perfect- strokes-]
Ahh-
[ And that's it, it's all over folks, it sends him careening with a choked sob over the edge. He comes violently, hips stuttering up toward Steve's lips gently, spilling hot and thick, cock twitching out a pleasing rhythm under Steve's fingers.
It's fireworks, it's the fourth of god damn July. It's spreading heat and warmth that fills his heart and his spine in equal measure, and the lack of inhibition keeps him from holding back a second of it. ]
no subject
Steve feels Bucky’s dick pulse in his mouth, in his slick, pumping hand, and ain’t that a kick in the head? He knows what’s about to follow, feels the blush on his face spread down to his throat and his chest at what it’s making him feel, doing this. He knows anyone would think he should feel ashamed of doing this. Hell, he knows he should be terrified at what Bucky might think of him after this, when things cool down.
But all Steve feels is embarrassed pleasure and a drunken high so steep that his pulse is hammering in his veins. All he can think about is every sweet word Bucky’s said to him tonight, all he can hear is Bucky calling him Stevie, looking up at him with desire written all over his face; all he can remember is that he’s wanted this for so damn long and he’s allowed to have it, for once in his fucking life — have something he wants.
The first hot, salty spurt to hit his tongue has him moaning, a little shocked and a lot pleased, and he tries to take in as much of it as he can, his other hand steadying Bucky’s hips. It’s too much, though, and Steve draws back, watching the rest of it dribble down his length with satisfaction. (He did that. He made Bucky do that.) Uses it to keep his hand wet as he keeps stroking, slower now, bringing Bucky down. ]
You’re … you’re goddamn perfect, Bucky.
[ Breathless, hoarse. Steve raises glassy eyes to Bucky’s face, seeking out his expression in the dark. He can feel how wet his mouth is and sticks his tongue out to try and clean it absently. It’s not much use, he can feel some of the wet on his chin, and the sensation makes him grind down again, trying to bring some relief to his straining cock. ]
no subject
When he looks, Steve's there licking his lips, wet and wanton, and his dick gives one last valiant twitch at the sight. ]
God-
[ He murmurs breathlessly. Steve's a fucking Monet, he's a Van Gogh right now, he's Starry Night. The Mona Lisa. The swiss alps. Bucky shudders on an inhale, holds his breath.
Feels creeping sobriety, and can only again say: ]
God, Steve...
[ And then he shifts forth, slowly peels himself from the couch to reach a hand out, to palm the sharp angle of Steve's cheekbone and to press their lips together again with aching slowness. To taste himself at the seams. ]
no subject
As it is he just shifts up, following Bucky’s lead dumbly, wondering what he’s going to — oh. Steve jolts minutely at the slow touch of Bucky’s lips to his own, feeling surprise and then a sudden, sharp longing that has both everything and nothing to do with the thrum of desire still coursing heavily through his body.
God. He kisses back, tentative at first and then melting into it, into the hand caressing his face, a shiver curling down his spine. He wants — he wants, and the hand that had been at Bucky’s hip moves down between Steve’s legs, palming at his own aching dick, rubbing it through his open fly. That Bucky would be willing to taste himself, on Steve’s lips no less ...
He moans softly against Bucky’s mouth, his clean hand carding through Bucky’s hair. ]
Bucky. [ A pleading whisper between their lips. ]
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