You loved watching him.
Even though it was a fight and you needed to be focused, he made it difficult. The way he moved, the plates in his arm, shifting with every movement.
Like poetry.
He pulled out the knife, flipping it his hand before shoving it into the side of the Hydra agent. His brow was furrowed in complete concentration. And fuck, if it didn't turn you on.
"Pay attention!," Steve yelled out, and you ducked just in time, another agent's fist flying at your face. His knife jammed into your side, making you cry out in pain. "What the fuck were you thinking?!"
Bucky hovered over you, his hand going to your cheek. "Where's your head, Y/N? You're gonna get yourself killed!" You blinked a few times before closing your eyes, the loss of blood making you weak.
You weren't entirely sure where you were when you woke. The lights burned your eyes and you shut them again. The soft sigh from the corner made your heart race. How long had he been there? Hell, how long had you been there?
"I wasn't sure if you were gonna make it," he said quietly, standing. He sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a hair from your face. It was gentle, loving. A sharp contrast to the man you saw earlier.
"You were distracted. Nearly got yourself killed. Where was your mind?"
You couldn't look at him. Your cheeks burned. You didn't want to tell him the truth. You couldn't. He'd never want to hear it. He didn't see you the same way you saw him.
"Pretty baby," he cooed and your heart stopped. Your eyes flew open, meeting his blue ones. "Where was your mind, Sweetheart? 'Cause you were all kinds of distracted out there. And that's not you."
His Brooklyn accent was coming in thick and damn it, it turned you on.
"I...," you whispered, your throat dry. Oh god, you could not tell him. No way. There was no way you could look him in the eye and tell him the truth.
"Sugar," he said softly, "you know you can tell me anything." He looked at you with such admiration. It made your heart ache. "I...you're right. I was distracted."
"By you."
You swore his eyes changed. Darkened. There was no surprise there, it's like he knew. He knew that he was the reason, the reason you couldn't focus.
"What about me?," he asked. His voice was low, dark. Full of something you'd never heard from him. You swore it was lust and you hoped to the God of Thunder that you were right.
"The knife," you said softly, embarrassed. His eyes widened a fraction and he reached down, pulling it from its sheath. It glinted, and your own eyes widened. Why did it turn you on so much?
He flipped it in his hands and you audibly moaned. The idea of it pressed against you was more than you could bear. You were so weak for this man.
"You want me to touch you with it?"
You nodded, all inhibition went out the window. The idea of the cold steel against your flesh made you wet, wetter than you were proud to admit. "Tell me, pretty baby. Tell me. Say it, say 'Sarge, touch me,' and I'll give it to you."
You moaned, nodding. "Please. Sarge, touch me," you repeated and he released a moan of his own. He pushed the sheet off of you, grinning when he found you in the thin pair of panties.
"Someone's wet. What a pretty girl."
You blushed at his words as he flipped the knife again, cutting the panties and tossing the scrap to the floor. "My, my...," he sighed softly, "what a pretty pussy you've got." He turned the knife, letting the blunt end brush over your thigh.
You moaned, arching your back. The cold blade only served to make you wetter. "You love this. I can smell it, you want it so bad." You nodded, trying desperately to get closer.
"Look at you," he breathed, his voice wrecked. "Who knew you were such a dirty girl?" He trailed the blade up, brushing it over your clit. You cried out again, your slick now running down your thighs.
You were sure he could make you cum like this.
He moved it again, circling each nipple gently with the tip of the blade. Your breathing became shallow, slipping your fingers to your aching cunt, desperate for relief.
"Did I say you could touch that pussy?," he asked and your eyes opened. "Be patient. I'll take care of you. I'll make that cunt quake. I promise." You pulled your hand away, determined to wait.
He moved the knife slowly, until he reached your throat, pushing it in, just a bit. "You like it dangerous? Knowing I could hurt you? You've seen what this knife can do."
"You've seen me hurt people. Yet here we are. You want me to hurt you?," he asked and you shook your head. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He could hurt you, but you knew he wouldn't.
"So, what do you want me to do with it? Hmm, baby? You want me to make you feel good? Trail this blade over every inch of you? Make you beg for it? Beg me?"
You nodded, your mouth dry. You couldn't think straight. Your mind was clouded. His hands, his voice. That god damn knife. It was almost too much. "What do you want me to do?," he asked, the knife still pressed against your neck.
"Make me cum."
He grinned wickedly. The blade came down again, pressed against your folds, and he shivered, seeing how wet you were. He worked it slowly, gently until you were nearly in tears. The friction was too much, you tore at the sheets.
"Oh my god," you breathed, surprised that it did this much, that it had you this close to your release. The coolness of the blade, the words from his lips, you were completely blissed out.
"Cum." He whispered it, his blue eyes nearly black. "God damn, little girl. Fuckin' soak it. Cum all over."
Your head fell back at his words and your toes curled, your release washing over you, soaking his blade in the process. "Shit, baby," he panted, watching your face. "All because of this?," he asked, holding up the knife and you nodded, not trusting your voice.
He leaned over and kissed you softly, still unable to believe it. That knife, his knife made you do that. "Get some rest," he whispered in your ear.
"Because I think I wanna do that again."
