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There's metal encircling Steve's head, the cool smoothness pressing against his neck and scalp. Its not quite everywhere, but there's enough for it to feel dangerous, sending thrills through his skull and down his spine. Its grounding, like the chafing of his wrists against the rough leather of his belt where his hands are tied behind him. The air in the room is electric, heavy with salt and iron.
Steve shudders, and fresh lines of blood trickle from the newly etched star on his back. The metallic fingers in his hair tighten and he lets out a muffled moan, which only makes them pull harder. "Bad," a voice murmurs, oddly gentle in contrast to the pain in his back and his head. "I told you to be quiet." The flat of a blade drags teasingly across his shoulder and he squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling sharply. There's a low chuckle from above him, and then the knife is gone and a hand is on Steve's throat, forcing him to swallow.
The bitter slide of a cock on his tongue nearly makes him gag, and he clenches his fist behind him, focusing on breathing and trying to remember the way the pain had felt, following the path of wicked sharp silver. The memory calms him, and he goes pliant as impatient fingers tug at his hair until his nose is buried in dark, coarse curls. "Slut," the voice growls, and he shudders in agreement, trying to relax so Bucky can fuck his throat like he wants to.
Bucky. It has literally been a lifetime since they've done this, and yet every touch still sends sparks ricocheting through his brain. They're equals now, physically, and there's no fear of Bucky hurting Steve when he thrusts past Steve's spit-slick lips, which just makes it that much better. This, right here, is exactly what Steve has wanted since he was fourteen, and he can't believe that it feels this good.
Each push of Bucky's cock into his mouth forces his head back just a bit, flexing muscles that keep the star open and bleeding. It's all he can do not to hiss at how good the pain feels, at how well it burns. A particularly hard thrust brings him spinning back to the task at hand, and he focuses on trying to make it as good as possible for Bucky, despite the fact that he can barely get enough air through his nose. For a moment he can't breathe at all, and he almost panics. But then Bucky's fingers curl in his hair, and he remembers that Bucky would never hurt him, not on purpose, and that's all it takes for the tension to slip away into a steady rhythm of breathing in, out,
In
Out
In
Out
In
Out
"Fuck," Bucky rasps, "fuck, you're so perfect, such a pretty little cockslut, such a good boy for me." He punctuates every other word with a thrust against the back of Steve's throat, and suddenly it feels like the safest place in the world, because there is no way Bucky would hurt him. The thought shoots through him like fire, and on the next thrust he takes the opportunity to suck hard, swirling his tongue over the underside, and a full-body tremor runs through the other man.
"Steve, shit, Steve," Bucky gasps, a momentary loss of composure, and then he's yanking back, leaving Steve's lips sore and spit-slick. He moves fast, his hand almost a blur to Steve's fucked-out brain, and then he flicks his wrist just right and its over. Bucky comes with a breathless moan, white striping across Steve's face as he falls apart, shaking.
Steve whimpers, there's come dripping down his face and he's so, so hard, but he can't do anything unless Bucky says so. There are rules to this game, and Steve's a soldier - trained to take orders. So he keeps still, good boy, waiting quietly as Bucky does up his pants and takes a step back, appreciating. He crouches down and reaches out with his real hand, dragging two fingers through the mess on Steve's face. Steve parts his lips and Bucky pushes the sticky fingers into his mouth, watching as Steve runs his tongue over them until they're sucked clean.
Bucky pulls his fingers out and does it again, and again, until all the come has been wiped away and Steve is actually shaking with want, even more turned on by the overwhelming taste of Bucky. Bucky, who hums quietly when Steve licks the last streak of white from his skin, stroking the blond hair as Steve's mouth falls slack. "Good boy," he murmurs, and something high in Steve's chest glows with pride.
But then he reaches down to palm Steve's erection through the material of his uniform, and Steve can't stop the noise he makes. "Do you wanna come, whore?" Bucky asks, and he's smirking, because he knows that Steve's sense of pride is enough to make him hate this part. "If you want it, you're gonna have to ask," he says, and Steve shakes his head, and he wants to say no, he won't, you can't make me, but then Bucky's metal fingers are running along the edge of the star and all he manages is a whimper. Bucky gets to his feet suddenly, jerking the blond's chin up as he does, forcing Steve to look at him.
"I want," he says, voice dangerously low, "for you to beg." The last word is razor-sharp, and Steve is expecting the blow before it comes, a backhanded crack! against his jaw, spilling his words into the air. "Buck, Bucky, let me come, please let me come, Buck please, please I, I need, Bucky please." The rest of what he's saying is swallowed by Bucky licking into his mouth, hands forcing Steve's head back up as he kisses him hard and hungry. He pulls Steve to his feet and then shoves him, pushing Steve back onto the bed, and Steve hisses as his bloodied skin hits the sheets.
Steve's breath is coming in short, sharp pants, gasping as the cotton catches and reopens the already healing star, staining white with crimson. The belt digs into his wrists and his lower back, but that doesn't matter because Bucky is everywhere, yanking the uniform off, biting at a nipple, tracing patterns on his stomach, sucking bruises into Steve's neck. His hands skim down Steve's body, his mouth following close behind, and Steve cries out as Bucky licks a stripe down the underside of his cock and then swallows him down and sucks once, hard.
Steve is a mess, babbling desperate half-syllables at Bucky, still begging because he's so close, he's so fucking close, and he doesn't give a damn anymore. He can feel it building everywhere, static dancing over his skin and heat flooding his veins as the edges of his vision begin to blur. For a moment, he's perfectly balanced, knifepoint, but then Bucky presses a single sugar kiss to the inside of his thigh, telling Steve to come for me, sweetheart, such a good little slut, come on...
And Steve does.
~~~
When he can see straight again, he finds they're on the other bed and he's dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, his uniform and the belt gone. Bucky is curled up beside him, and Steve can tell that he's almost asleep, but he stirs when Steve shifts closer to him. The brunet gives Steve a lazy smile and reaches up to trace over a cheekbone with his thumb. "I still can't believe we found each other again," he murmurs. "I still can't believe you still let me do that." Steve grins, "Well, I did promise," he reminds Bucky. "To the end of the line. That meant," he swallows past a sudden lump in his throat, "that meant everything, for as long as you want it."
Bucky laughs quietly. "I don't think I'm ever gonna stop wanting you, Stevie," he says, brushing a few loose strands of hair from Steve's face, "But right now I'd just like to sleep with you next to me."
"I think that can be arranged," Steve whispers, burying his face in Bucky's chest like he used to do years ago. He takes comfort in the fact that they still fit together, and breathes in slowly, already slipping into a steady rhythm of in, out,
In
Out
In
Out
In
Out
Sleep.