Archive of Our Own

“You can be rougher,” Bucky says. “If you want.”

They’re about four minutes post orgasm and Steve is still trying to figure out where his legs are. “Muh?”

Bucky, who is clearly very aware of where every one of his limbs is and by the sound of it has been for a while, sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. It puts his back to Steve. “During sex. You can be rougher with me.”

“What?”

“People do that stuff,” Bucky says shortly, which doesn’t answer anything.

Steve struggles to roll the boulder of consciousness back up the steep slope of afterglow. Ten minutes ago Buck had been gasping into his fist as Steve blew him, and now he’s using a tone he only brings out when the neighbor’s Pekingese shits all over his tomato garden. “People do lots of stuff,” Steve tries. He rewinds the audio of the past several minutes. “You - want me to be rougher with you in bed?”

“That’s what I just said,” Bucky says curtly.

Steve pushes himself up on his elbows. Buck’s clearly wound himself up about this, to get so unflinchingly snippy about it, and that means Steve needs to press. “What do you like about it?”

“Oh, for - don’t,” Bucky says. “Don’t make this some - some psychoanalysis thing. I just - I want -” He breaks off. “It’s fine. Forget it.”

“I’m not making it some psychoanalysis thing, I’m asking you what you want,” Steve says, pushing himself to sit up further. “I need more intel to go on here.”

Bucky looks back at him, so direct it becomes a challenge, a muscle in his jaw working. For a moment there Steve thinks he’s not going to say anything, but then Bucky looks down. “Hit me. Or - spank me or whatever. Be in charge more. Make me do what you want.”

“You already do what I want,” Steve says automatically, and Bucky makes a disgusted noise and turns away. “Wait,” Steve says, grabbing his wrist and overbalancing, flopping on his side in Bucky’s direction. “Hey - I’m saying yes. We can do whatever you want.”

“I know,” Bucky mutters, clearly not listening, pulling his wrist out of Steve’s grip.

“Buck,” Steve says, but Bucky’s already climbing to his feet.

“We need to get up,” he says over his shoulder, like he wasn’t the one to start this - conversation, and leaves the room without saying anything else.

Steve flops back and sighs. He has a lot more sympathy for twenty-year-old-Bucky these days, who had largely been on the receiving end when Steve was the one pulling this shit.

He pries himself out of bed and staggers after Bucky into the kitchen, where he’s already somehow put on a pair of sweatpants and started the kettle boiling. “You need to clean up,” Bucky tells him without looking up.

Steve glances at the clock. He’s got a fundraising dinner in fifty-seven minutes, which means he needs to be out of the house in fifteen. Of all the times Bucky could have brought this up - which, Steve thinks with a touch of wryness, is probably why Bucky chose it. Fucked him first, too, so Steve’d have to jump in the shower instead of trying to argue all through buttoning up his pants. Christ.

Steve crowds in from the side, so Bucky’ll see him coming, and wraps an arm around his shoulders from the back, kissing the top of his head. “I’ll be back around eleven. We’ll talk more then.”

Bucky flaps a hand at him. “Suit’s pressed, cufflinks on the dresser. Use the ones in the brown box.”

That’s a dismissal if Steve’s ever heard one. Well, if Buck wants breathing room Steve’s not gonna deny him. It’s not like Bucky doesn’t know a little time between isn’t enough to make Steve drop it.

Steve goes to the dinner. He spends the whole time thinking about Bucky, so nothing new, really. The flower arrangements on every table are lovely; Steve stares at them and turns his fork over in his hands and thinks. Does he want to hurt Bucky? Well, no, of course not. Put like that, of course not. But that’s not really what Buck was asking for.

Steve’s well aware that people get up to all sorts of things in the bedroom, from flogging each other to pretending to be farm animals; there had been a period of around two months or so in 2012 where he’d watched what felt like half the blue movies on the internet and, in retrospect, probably qualified for a masturbation addiction. A combination of a two-week-long mission and a moment of thunderbolt self-awareness had gotten him out of that cycle, at least, when he realized that the first thing he’d done when he got home was open his laptop and click on a video about a man and a woman inserting a variety of truly impressive vegetables into each other.

Between one thing and another he hasn’t really seen much porn since, but it’d been enough to show him quite a lot of… the human condition. He’s watched videos of men being slapped around, tied up, fucked hard; he’s seen plenty of what Bucky so delicately called getting rough.

Bucky’s seen some of those videos too, probably.

Steve thinks of how Peggy had fucked him, laughing and sharp all at once, pulling his hair, scratching her nails down his back and making lights pop behind his eyes. She’d bossed him around; it hadn’t quite felt like orders. Bucky isn’t bossy, but he pulls Steve’s hair too - after the serum it takes a lot for Steve to register some physical sensations, and a lot of what used to be pain is now just a pleasant sting - but Bucky hadn’t really asked for that, either.

Steve thinks of Maisie Williams, who’d been their official-unofficial stage manager and lead dancer on the USO tour. He thinks of the way she snapped at the other girls’ looks, berated them for their missteps, corrected their posture and fixed their hair and ordered them around like a field marshal. She patched up every scrape, sat with every crying girl, ran off more creeps than Steve and Bill and Tom combined, was merciless in her affection.

Steve thinks maybe he can be rough with Bucky, if it’s rough like that. And it’s not like being mean doesn’t come naturally to him. He knows he’s a fucking asshole ninety percent of the time.

And with a little effort, he thinks, not without humor, he can close that last ten percent. He thinks about backing Bucky into a wall, a corner, and feeling him squirm against his chest. He thinks about biting Bucky, about not letting him get away, about leaving fingerprints on his skin, and - yeah. Alright, he decides, pushing back his half-finished plate of tiramisu. He can do this.

When Steve gets back the apartment’s quiet. Bucky’s asleep on the couch, curled on his side, their tablet in front of him. Steve looks at him for a while as he pries his bowtie off - not too long, though, Bucky’s got some kind of sixth sense about being watched - and goes to get a blanket. He spreads it over Bucky’s legs and picks up the tablet to move it to the table.

It lights up under his touch. It’s open on the browser, a site in black and gold, the typeface clean and elegant. The top of the page says Mr. & Mrs. Smith: Corporal Punishment, Bondage, Body Play & More. It’s a FAQ page of services they offer.

It’s nearly ten minutes before Bucky stirs. Steve’s read through the whole site by then, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch, his jacket off and folded to the side.

Bucky shifts and blinks muzzily at Steve, face puffy with sleep. His eyes drift over Steve’s chest, and Steve remembers he’s still in his fancy suit, unraveled bowtie around his neck. Then Buck focuses on the tablet in Steve’s hands. His eyes go wide.

Steve holds it up. “Any good?”

“No,” Bucky says, too fast, hoarse from sleep. “It was just a stupid -”

“It’s not stupid,” Steve says. Seeing Bucky caught off-guard like that has set something in motion, but he can’t quite feel the exact shape of it yet. “This is something you want. Let’s figure out if it’s the best way for you to get it.”

Bucky closes his eyes and flops back on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. “It’s not,” Steve says. “Is it.”

Bucky just lays there rubbing his face for a while, but then he shakes his head.

“You want me to do it.”

Bucky drags his hands down until they’re covering just his mouth. He’s still staring at the ceiling but his face has gone tight, with unhappiness and frustration and something else. “I said I did.”

“And you think I can’t,” Steve says. The shape of the thing is getting clearer now, uncoiling inside of him.

“That’s not - look,” Bucky prevaricates, pushing himself up on his elbow, not looking at Steve, one hand distractedly pushing his hair out of his face. “We don’t have to. I just wanted - ”

“To shop around? Not getting what you need at home?”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “Well?” Steve says. If Bucky wants him to be rougher - this pretense is as good as any.

Bucky swallows. “I - didn’t mean to,” he says carefully.

“Didn’t mean to what? Go online?” Bucky’s responding more to the tone of Steve’s voice, sitting up more, his eyes rapt on Steve’s face. “What, did the tablet fall in your lap and open the website all by itself?”

“No,” Bucky says. “I was just - researching.”

“Researching,” Steve repeats. “Let’s see. Corporal punishment. Domestic discipline. Behavior modification. Is that the kind of research you were doing?”

Two pink spots of color have appeared on Bucky’s cheeks. He nods.

“Because you aren’t getting what you need,” Steve says. “Are you.”

This makes Bucky look down, licking his lips before looking back at Steve again. “No.”

Steve watches him, considering, then sets aside the tablet with a click. Then he reaches out and grabs Bucky by the back of the neck, getting a good grip on his nape. “We can fix that.”

Bucky’s eyes have gone huge. Steve feels Bucky’s pulse quicken under his palm, his heartbeat starting to kick. “You want orders, you’ll get orders,” Steve says, his own blood picking up. “You want to call me sir?”

Bucky hesitates. Steve doesn’t. “It’s an easy question, Buck. You can nod,” Steve says, moving Bucky’s head up and down, “or you can shake your head.” He makes Bucky shake. “Well?”

Bucky swallows, licking his lips. He’s so red now his ears are practically glowing. He shakes his head, just a bit, his hair moving against Steve’s hand.

“There,” Steve says. “Wasn’t that easy?”

Bucky nods in the same small way, not taking his eyes off Steve’s face. “Want me to smack you?” A nod, perceptibly eager. “Want me to call you names?”

Bucky bites his lip. “No names,” Steve offers, testing. “But you don’t want me to be nice.”

Bucky nods, something like relief in his eyes, and Steve adjusts his grip, squeezes in warning and then pulls Bucky to stand by his hair.

He doesn’t go fast, doesn’t make Bucky stumble, but there’s no give for Buck to go anywhere but where Steve takes him. He brings Bucky to stand at parade rest in front of the coffee table; the whole time Bucky’s looking up at him with a half-stunned look in his face, like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Steve lets him go and sits back down, deliberate, legs wide, arms spread along the back of the couch. He lets his gaze travel down Bucky’s body and back up again, slow and shameless. Bucky’s eyes flick up a few times but mostly stay somewhere around Steve’s knees, his chest rising and falling quick, his face somehow blushing even harder.

Steve undoes his cufflinks, one at a time, and starts rolling up his sleeves. He takes his time about it, paying attention to the cloth, making the folds crisp and carefully tucking the cufflinks away in his pocket. Bucky shifts his weight from foot to foot, his cock visibly hardening in Steve’s peripheral vision; seems like being pointedly watched isn’t quite as good as being even more pointedly ignored.

Steve considers making Bucky stand here while he gets up and puts his jacket away, maybe pours himself a drink - or making Bucky do it, wait on him while he answers email or something.

But, Steve thinks, this is supposed to be about what he wants. Steve wants to see him. And Bucky always liked to show off.

“Pull your pants down,” Steve says. “And turn around.”

Here, Bucky hesitates. Steve takes a second to wonder if this is going to be a problem, or if Bucky’d just prefer to get smacked with the clothes on, but then Bucky does it, his ears flaming as he looks away. He pushes his sweatpants down - no underwear - and turns to face the wall, moving awkwardly with the pants bunched around his knees.

Steve lets him feel watched some more, running his eyes down Bucky’s wide shoulders in the thin grey shirt, down to where the hem of it touches the top of his ass. Bucky’s got a scar on his thigh and a fading bruise on the back of his forearm. His ass is pale next to the skin of his arms, the line of his tan distinct halfway down his thighs where his running shorts usually fall. His hands flex briefly at his sides.

Steve wants him closer. “Over my knee,” he says.

Bucky goes. He turns around, moving slow and a little uncertain, but his whole face is flushed now down to the neck and he’s not hesitating. He gets one knee on the couch, then the other, looking at Steve’s lap like it’s a bear trap he’s got to get over. Steve doesn’t help a bit, just sits there and lets Buck crawl awkwardly over his lap and then lower himself, braced on his hands like he’s doing a pushup.

Bucky doesn’t quite settle, holding himself up like he’s afraid to put his whole weight on Steve’s legs, so Steve puts a hand between his shoulder blades and pushes him down. Bucky twitches and lets out a startled huff of air, but then he seems to relax, his shoulders slumping and his ribcage expanding with deeper breath.

And now that Steve’s got a hand on him he doesn’t want to stop. He shifts Bucky to settle more squarely in his lap and runs his hands over his shoulders, down his thighs. Bucky lies quietly and lets Steve arrange him, raising his chin when Steve cups his jaw, his heartbeat rabbiting under the thin skin. He’s never this docile, this pliant, and Steve - he likes it. He likes it a lot.

As long as Steve can remember he’s wanted Bucky, wanted inside of him, to know him the way his blood knows him. He hadn’t known it could be satisfied this way, but to have Bucky give himself up like this - hard and hot and wanting, wanting this from Steve so much that he’d gathered himself up and asked - well. That goes right to his head.

Steve lingers, stroking down Bucky’s back, adjusting his bunched pants so they’re even around his knees. He runs his hand back up Bucky’s thigh, squeezing at the thick muscle - and then, when he moves to spread Buck’s legs further apart, he sees the wet shine of lube between his cheeks.

Steve stops. He reviews the soft pants and old shirt Bucky’s wearing, no belts or buttons or buckles; he thinks of how Bucky’d been curled on his side on the couch, right in front of the front door. He reassesses. “What was the plan?”

Bucky’s gone still too, like a field mouse that’s spotted a hawk. He breathes in twice before saying, “I was gonna rile you up.”

“And?”

“Get you to fuck me. Over the table.”

“The kitchen table.”

“Yeah.”

“So you got yourself ready,” Steve says. That thing that’s been percolating all day inside him is unwinding like a spring. “Then you sat down and started looking up how to get fucked by someone else.”

Bucky draws another breath in, about to speak, but Steve cuts him off by giving a sharp little tap between his cheeks. “You know, Buck, I’m not convinced this was for me.”

“What?” Bucky’s head comes up. “I -”

“Don’t interrupt. You greased yourself up,” Steve says, and he doesn’t even have to fake the incredulous scorn in his tone: it’s coming up all on its own, easy as anything. “You got yourself all ready for some stranger. Do you need it that much? Having something in you?” He presses his thumb hard to Buck’s hole, not pushing in, just pressure, and Bucky jerks and makes a loud, shocked noise. Louder than he means to. Steve can tell.

Steve pauses for a breath, his heart hammering even though he’s hardly done anything at all. Bucky’s still again, his breathing gone shallow and quick. Steve digs the rest of his fingers in, squeezing the meat of Bucky’s ass. Bucky’s hips jump even harder this time, his breath a startled inhale. “But you get plenty of that,” Steve says. “Don’t you. So it’s the stranger part that’s got you hot.”

“No,” Bucky says immediately, trying to push himself up. “No, it wasn’t -”

Steve plants a hand between Buck’s shoulder blades and pushes him back down, the movement almost casual. It’s so easy. “Did you get hot thinking about it?” Steve says, riding the sharp, hot feeling, making his voice come out cool and unconcerned. “Did you get excited? Some guy you don’t even know just sticking it in you? Did it get you hard?” Steve pushes Bucky’s cheeks apart, watching his hole clench. “I bet it did. I bet you were panting like a dog just thinking about it.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, and Steve lets go of his ass, hauling up on his hips to settle him more squarely in his lap. “I’m going to fuck you,” Steve decides. “That’s what you wanted, that’s what you’ll get. But first,” he says, “you asked me for something else. Didn’t you.”

Bucky pants, hanging onto the couch cushion. No answer appears to be forthcoming. “I asked you a question,” Steve says mildly.  

Bucky doesn’t answer. “Alright, then,” Steve says, and brings his hand down with a crack.

A handprint blooms red on Bucky’s ass, making him jerk up sharply. The noise Bucky makes is high-pitched and shocked and beautiful.

Something hot and unbearable sparks alight at the base of Steve’s spine. “Yeah,” he says, using his other hand to squeeze Bucky’s nape and push his cheek back down to the couch. “Yeah, that’s what you want.” Steve gives him another, and another. Bucky’s back bows again, more half-swallowed noises spilling from his throat, and Steve gives it to him without holding back.

Bucky thrashes, first from the shock of it and then from the intensity: Steve can feel the force of his hand reverberating through Bucky, forcing those gasping yelps out of him, shaking him. Bucky’s arms are free but the way his face and chest and shoulders are all being shoved into the couch means all he can do is claw awkwardly, desperately at the upholstery. Steve takes pity on him and handles it, taking his hand off Bucky’s neck so he can gather up Bucky’s wrists and bring them to the edge of the big seat cushion one at a time, giving him something to grab onto.

It’s so good. Bucky kicks up and Steve shoves him back down. Bucky twists and Steve brings him back in line. It’s heady, Bucky so heated and twisting in his lap, unable to get away, his cock hard against Steve’s leg where Bucky can’t help but shove up against it. “Steve,” Bucky gasps and Steve bends down and pushes Bucky’s hair up and bites down on the back of his neck.

Bucky makes a thin noise and raises his hips, trying to shove his ass back up. Steve lets go. “You want it harder?” he hisses right in Bucky’s ear. “I can give you harder. I can give you everything. All you have to do is tell me,” and Bucky writhes, whimpering, as Steve’s hand cracks down again.

Steve can see the marks of his fingers on the edges of the redness on Bucky’s bottom. His palm stings, dully. When he’d decided he could do it he didn’t think he’d like it so much, or at least not so viscerally. He feels ten feet tall and capable of levelling mountains.

He stokes the feeling, striking Bucky harder, breaking off to pull his legs apart before starting in again, slapping at the insides of Bucky’s thighs. It makes Bucky yell and try to rear up again, as much as he can with Steve’s other hand keeping him down. Bucky’s not like Steve: whatever the serum did to him gave him more sensitivity, not less, and Steve's thinking things he’s never thought before, how he wants to hit even harder, mark Bucky up some more, make him walk around for days in what he let Steve do.

“You want it, you come to me,” Steve bites out, his whole body thrumming with every wet, choked-off noise Bucky makes. He rakes his nails down the inside of Bucky’s thigh and then slaps over the marks; Bucky bites the couch cushion. “I’ll make it hurt for you, I’ll do it any way you like, hold you down, fuck you up, I’ll make it so good for you - ”

Bucky jerks against Steve’s lap and goes rigid, a strangled wail forced out of his throat, his whole body tensing hard as he comes. “Yeah,” Steve manages, close himself. “Yeah, there you go. Good.” He pets roughly down Bucky’s back, squeezing at his nape with the other hand. Another second and Bucky collapses, sprawling and shuddering on Steve’s lap.

Steve returns to himself somewhat, finding himself breathing hard and deep, sweat broken out all down his spine. His whole body feels so lit up that he half expects sparks to come off his hands. Bucky’s sides are heaving with every breath, his ass scarlet; Steve resists the urge to press his palm to it, matching his fingertips to the marks. He can’t help but hover his hand over it  - but Bucky feels that, too, breathing in sharp at the heat of his palm.

Steve jerks his hand away. He tries to drag his brain back on track. It must hurt. Pulling Buck’s pants back up will probably just make it worse. Instead Steve tugs them off, working them down his legs.

Bucky lies limp and lets it happen, his fast, wet breathing loud in the quiet room. His flesh hand is white-knuckled on the couch cushion. Steve covers it with his own, then rubs and squeezes until Buck’s fingers loosen. His metal hand’s tucked under his body, probably to avoid ripping holes in the upholstery. Steve gathers him up, lifting him up off his lap and carefully shifting until Bucky can shove his face in Steve’s shoulder without putting weight on his ass.

Steve ends up holding Bucky more or less in his arms, Bucky’s face mashed to his bicep. He’s half-hard still, wet all down his front from coming; Steve’s aware of his own erection the way he’s aware of thunderstorms, electricity looming on the horizon. He puts his cheek to Buck’s damp temple and holds him, feeling the residual sting in his palm, Bucky’s uneven breaths spreading a growing patch of humidity between Steve’s neck and shoulder.

When Bucky’s heartbeat returns to something reasonable Steve shifts to get a look at his face. Bucky tries to turn away, his hair everywhere, just his red nose sticking out.

Steve takes him by the chin. “You think I don’t know you’re a crybaby?” It comes out too soft, no bite at all. Steve tries to put a little more authority in his voice. “Look at me.”

Bucky blinks back at him, wet-eyed and soft-mouthed. Steve can’t help but kiss him. He’s seen Buck take a bullet with no more than a grunt and now here he is, all because Steve worked him over. Somewhere in between Bucky asking and Steve going to town it went from something Steve was doing for Bucky to something he couldn’t believe Bucky was letting him do.

He lets up after a second, kissing Bucky’s cheek and forehead instead. He’d kiss deeper only he knows full well just how fun it isn’t to kiss with a stuffed-up nose. He pulls back and wipes at the tear tracks on Bucky’s face with his other hand. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Steve tows Bucky off the couch by his arms, putting him on his feet and walking him to the bathroom. Steve strips Bucky’s shirt off and guides him to the sink, turning on the water and tossing the sweaty shirt onto the towel rail. Bucky doesn’t seem all the way back from wherever he went, just standing there blinking at the stream, so Steve scrapes his hair back from his face, nudges him in the side and says, “Drink.”

It takes a few seconds, but Buck reanimates enough to take a few sloppy gulps out of his hands and is processing enough to rinse and spit. That wakes him up a little further. Steve lets him spend as much time at the sink as he wants, focusing on keeping him standing and his hair out of the way. When Bucky finishes blowing his nose Steve wets a washcloth in warm water and turns Buck to clean up his front. Most of the jizz got on Steve’s slacks, but then Bucky went and rubbed his entire stomach and groin all over it.

Bucky’s cock is at half mast still, though when Steve wraps a hand around him it’s barely a second before he stiffens up. Buck lets out a shuddering breath and sways back slightly into Steve.

Steve strokes him once, slow. “Not enough?”

Bucky stands there, his legs still shaking in barely perceptible tremors, then gropes back awkwardly for Steve’s dick.

Steve catches him by the wrist. “That’s not what I asked.” He looks down Bucky’s body to his cock, which had given a pretty valiant twitch when Steve grabbed him. “Let’s try again,” Steve says. “You need more?”

Bucky breathes in, out, then swallows hard and presses back against Steve, turning his face in to Steve’s neck. Steve decides it’s enough of an answer. He lets go of Bucky’s dick to wrap an arm around his waist, using it to haul him up off his feet like a toddler and carry him out of the bathroom.

Bucky squeaks and kicks once before going stiff, grabbing and bracing with both hands against Steve’s forearm. Steve totes him into the bedroom and tips him onto the bed on his front, picking up his legs to push him further up to the headboard. Bucky’s breath is louder against their pillows, his hands up by his head again, fingers curling against the sheets.

Steve takes the time to look him over again, lying still where Steve put him, his ass still a bright pink and not pale at all anymore. He’s gone limp on the mattress, head down, sweat shining in the groove of his spine and the backs of his knees. He looks used. He looks wrung out.

Steve shoves out of his dress shirt and slacks, the bowtie landing god knows where across the room. He detours briefly to the nightstand for lube - it’s clearly been a while since Buck opened himself up, and Steve’s not exactly small. He kneels up on the bed and drags Bucky up by the hips, letting him brace himself on his forearms. He’s perfunctory with the lube, not as gentle as he probably should be, but it doesn’t look like Bucky is complaining. He’s braced on all fours, hair hanging in his face, listing towards his metal arm as Steve gets three fingers into him.

It’s enough. Steve pulls out, grabs Bucky by the hips and pushes in. Bucky’s whole back bows, his legs spreading, his chin lifting, chest pushing out. Steve wishes for a mirror; he’d bet money Buck’s eyes have squeezed shut and his mouth is hanging open. Steve knows getting fucked can feel good if it’s done right, but Bucky’s one of the ones who really feel it, who gets his legs shaking with something pressed up in there, opening up just like that.

Steve gives him a moment to feel it, holding still. He’s grateful for the changed sensation brought by the serum, making both pain and pleasure arrive as distant signals, ignorable. Bucky’s hot and trembly beneath him, his head hanging, chest heaving in and out; he’s so, so warm inside.

Steve’s thumbs press into the top of Bucky’s ass where the bruises are starting to show. Bucky stirs, breath hitching, and makes a drunken effort to push his hips up, back on Steve’s cock. “No,” Steve says aloud, grabbing Buck’s nape again and squeezing a threat. He’s left a bite mark there, livid against the skin - and that, suddenly, makes it hard to keep still. He doesn’t want Bucky moving. He wants him to take it just like this. Bucky should just lie there and let Steve do this for him, to him, until his whole body shakes and sweats and begs.

Steve breathes deep, steadying himself. He can feel Bucky’s toes curling against his calf. He pulls out slow, watching his cock slide out, then starts to thrust.

He doesn’t rush, taking a slow, easy, merciless pace, making each movement count. Bucky’s breath hitches in time, his whole body rocking with Steve’s thrusts. Bucky bows to the hand on his neck and just takes it, letting his head hang and his hands start to slide out from under him. Steve hauls him back a couple of times but eventually Bucky’s flesh arm wobbles and folds, tipping him sideways and then planting him face first on the mattress. That gives Steve a little more leverage, and that makes Bucky’s knees just slide right open, dropping them both onto the bed. Steve lets his weight follow Bucky down, shifting just enough so that he’s not completely crushing him and planting his elbows on either side of Bucky’s head.

Steve rolls his hips again, pushing his cock deeper, and Bucky just makes a little noise in his throat and lets it move him. Normally Steve would have ribbed Buck for making him do all the work, but there’s something about having him so pliant, so owned that he can’t even hold himself up. It wouldn’t feel right to tease him now, either, not like this - not when Bucky's grasping weakly at the sheets by his head and rubbing his cheek on the mattress, his eyes closed, cheeks reddened, face slack with pleasure and completely devoid of any pain. A strange fierce tenderness wells up in Steve, watching Bucky grow more and more boneless underneath him.

Steve wants more of it. He gives a harder thrust and Bucky gasps, hands curling in the sheets. Steve does it again and watches his eyelids flutter, mesmerized: Buck usually doesn’t get this responsive until the last few moments of sex, when he’s close and too overloaded to keep himself coiled up and tense. Steve thrusts harder again, then harder still until Bucky’s breath is stuttering and he’s pressing his open mouth to the mattress, his body loose but his hands starting to claw at the bed again.

Steve plants his knees, getting more leverage, and then three more thrusts is all it takes. Bucky makes a small, raw noise and comes again, rippling around Steve’s cock. “There you go,” Steve says mindlessly, watching his shoulders shake.

The squeeze around his cock brings him back into himself, reminding him he’s hard, aching, and has been for a while. He plants his hands and starts rolling his hips again, his own head hanging now, closing his eyes as he feels it - Bucky right there, so hot and close and - fuck, so wrecked, his ass wet and used and still glowing with heat. Steve did that to him. Bucky shifts underneath him, spreading his legs a little wider, and that’s it, that’s all it takes for Steve to shut his eyes and shake as he comes.

The flipside of taking so long to get to orgasm is that when it does hit it knocks him on his ass. Steve tries to collapse to the side instead of directly on Buck, but his dick is still inside Bucky, so that doesn’t really work. Bucky grunts and dislodges him, and after thirty seconds of zero brain function a few feeble synapses struggle to attention. This isn’t their usual; Steve can’t just lie here like a jizz-covered sandbag. Bucky is snuffling into the mattress and trying to get up.

“Where d’you think you’re going,” Steve slurs, grabbing him around the waist and hauling him over, turning onto his back. “Come here,” he says unnecessarily, bundling Bucky in. “Shh. Lie down now. You earned this,” he says, and he’s not quite sure where that came from, but it seems to have been the right thing to say because it makes Bucky shiver and go limp, spreading out all on Steve’s front.

They lie there for a long time, getting their breath back and coming down from the high. Bucky’s hair is damp and starting to curl; Steve strokes under it, running his fingers through Bucky’s hair and over the slight indents of the bitemark. Christ. He’d really worked Bucky over.

Eventually the prickly feeling of drying jizz permeates the afterglow, and Bucky can’t be any more comfortable either, so Steve slowly eases out from under him. That makes Bucky jerk up with a snort, wild-eyed, grabbing Steve’s forearm in his metal grip.

“Shush, I’m coming right back,” Steve says, and detangles himself long enough to go get a washcloth and run a hand towel under ice water. Bucky’s more alert when he comes back, propped up on his elbows with his hair looking like a tumbleweed, but he rolls over at Steve’s gesture, letting him clean them off. Bucky pushes back onto his stomach after, wincing slightly, but he puts his head back on the pillow and sighs when Steve spreads the cold towel out over his reddened ass.

Steve clambers back onto the bed and stretches out again, pulling Bucky back onto him. They lay there long enough that Steve falls into a doze, stroking down Bucky’s back. Bucky gives the occasional sniff but otherwise lies quiet, his metal hand curled on Steve’s chest.

“Holy shit,” Bucky finally says, muffled.

Steve picks his head up. “You asked!”

“I did ask. Jesus. Holy shit.”

“Too much?”

“No.” Bucky shifts, pushing his face further into Steve’s neck and mumbling something that has the words “showoff” and “hand like a shovel” in it. Steve lays his palm on the back of Bucky’s head and smiles at the ceiling.  

Then, in a different voice, Bucky says, “I really was just researching.”

“What?”

“The - website.”

Steve raises his head again, incredulous. “Buck, you hate strangers,” he says. “And if this was something you were actually trying to hide from me, I damn well wouldn’t come home to it on our shared tablet on the couch. I wouldn’t even know there was anything going on.”

“...Yeah,” Bucky admits in a grudging voice.

“And if this was something you needed, and somehow I couldn’t give it to you, I’d help you find and vet someone who could.” Steve props himself on one elbow and lets the smug grin break out. “Though I think I did a pretty decent job.”

Bucky thumps him on the leg, but with about a fifth of the force he usually uses. It’s really more of a fumbled slap. “Shut up.”

“If only I’d known that all it takes is a little spanking -”

“- shut up -”

“- to get you to go all sweet for me -”

“I want a divorce,” Bucky says loudly, trying to pull the pillow over his face.

“Was it good for you, baby?” Steve says gravely, lifting the pillow right back up again. “It’s okay to have needs. If we gotta do this every time, well, I’m prepared to make that sacrifice -”

“I’m never having sex with you again,” Bucky growls, but Steve can tell half the outrage is directed at himself. “I can’t believe I let you put it in me.”

“Regularly,” Steve agrees. He pushes the pillow back further and uses the movement to stroke some hair off Bucky’s face. “Seriously. Every time, if you want.”

The frown line in between Bucky’s eyebrows gets deeper even as his cheeks go pink again. “What?” Steve says.

“I - it’s - it doesn’t turn off,” Bucky mutters, sounding resentful and upset about it. “It doesn’t go away - ”

“I don’t either,” Steve snaps, suddenly burning again. “You hear me? Neither do I. You want it, you’ll get it,” and for good measure he rolls on top of Buck and applies all four limbs in a bullying hug. “Asshole. You think I was, what, sitting back and thinking of England? Did it look like I wasn’t enjoying myself?”

“No,” Bucky admits even more grudgingly, once he’s raised his head out of the pillow.

Steve digs his chin into Buck’s shoulder. “So if you liked it and I liked it, there’s no problem.”

Bucky spits hair out of his mouth. “Alright already. You made your point.”

“Good.”

“You can get off now.”

“No.”

“You are sweaty.”

“It’s the glaze of love,” Steve says seriously, which gets him kicked so hard he falls off the bed, laughing.