Warning - slight cnc at the end but enjoy!
It happens mid-afternoon when Steve's being all Steve, and by that, Bucky means Steve's got him facedown on his bed as he slowly takes him apart, rutting into Bucky so deep he feels like he's gonna fucking choke on it.
"Hmf–oh," Bucky whines brokenly into a pillow, mouth hanging open. Coherent speech continues to evade him due to the fact that he's being dicked seven ways to Sunday and it's so good he can barely even see and Steve's making him talk now, making him beg, asking him, "What do you want, huh? C'mon, sweet thing, let me hear you," low and dirty, right in his ear, his grounding weight settled right on top of Bucky, formidable chest pressed right up against his back and Bucky cracks, alright?
Anyone would, okay?
"Harder, Daddy," he slurs.
The words slip out in a rush, and then Bucky freezes, eyes blinking open as his brain catches up with his mouth, and.
Listen.
Don't get him wrong, he's no prude; he's dabbled in his fair share of kink. It's not like he's never called another man daddy before, he's a sexually active twink, of fucking course he has, but it's always been at their request rather than any particular urge to do so himself, and besides, those times were different. Those times all consisted of lazy groping in some backseat or suckjobs in some club or quickies in the darkness of a bedroom, where they were just using each other to get off and whatever the other was into was of no real consequence to either of them, they didn't care about each other, it didn't matter.
But this is Steve, who Bucky practically lives with now and cares about a terrifying amount and has eight o'clock dinner reservations with this evening, which is going to be awkward, because as of ten seconds ago, the unfortunate reality is that Bucky can never face him again.
So, he goes rigid, and hopes that Steve's super-hearing has done him a solid and failed for once, but then Steve's sitting up a little, taking his heavy warmth with him, and Bucky's turning his face into the sheets and flushing an even deeper shade of red.
"What was that?" Steve says, voice low. He doesn't exactly sound disgusted with him. Still, Bucky squirms in embarrassment.
"Nothing," he squeaks into the mattress. "Nothing. Just. Keep going," he says uselessly. Steve, of course, does not keep going. Instead, he pulls out of him so suddenly that Bucky yelps, before unceremoniously flipping Bucky over onto his back, presumably so he can make him look him in the eye and admit to his secret depravity like a man.
Bucky attempts to roll back over, maybe off of the bed, but Steve pins him, strong hands grabbing his shoulders and laying him flat. Bucky groans and stubbornly looks away.
"Buck," Steve tries, sounding a little gentler, grip loosening just a little. Somehow, that's even worse.
"It's nothing, Steve," he snaps, staring at the nightstand.
"Bucky."
"Just drop it," he tells the lamp, self-conscious. If he's ruined the mood irreparably and Steve can no longer look at him the same then Steve should just say that instead of trying to "Bucky" his way into one of his stupid, mature conversations about Bucky's feelings or whatever.
"Doesn't sound like nothing if you're screaming it while I'm driving you home," he says.
Bucky refuses to answer that, and Steve's quiet for a moment, as if to emphasise how ridiculous he thinks Bucky is being.
Then he's settling between Bucky's legs, spreading his thighs as he lines himself up again, which is. Promising. If nothing else, at least Bucky's not beyond dicking. He'll take it. Maybe he can seduce Steve into forgetting about his ultra-Freudian slip altogether. Drain his memory out of his dick like when he tries getting out of bed early on weekends to go running but then changes his mind after Bucky disappears beneath the sheets to make his case for sleeping in a little longer.
