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“Please,” Bucky murmurs, his lips ghosting along your neck. “Please, I need you. You look so good.”
“Mm,” you hum back, laying there on the sofa, watching the documentary. It’s some silly thing about some exotic ingredient native to some exotic place– Bucky hasn’t paid any attention to it. How could he? You’re sitting there, completely undone in front of him, and wearing his shirt.
It’s one of the many henleys he has lying around. Nothing is special about this one– it's just a dark blue one that he usually wears with the top button unbuttoned. It's one that you’ve said you like before because it makes his eyes look bluer. It doesn’t quite fit you, with excess fabric in some places and stretched across your body in other places. The swell of your breasts, in particular, well– that’s one of his favorite places to look at under any circumstances, but seeing you in his clothes, smelling like him? It’s enough to make him crazy.
You’re his. Right? You’re wearing his clothes. You’ve accepted yourself as his. His scent is all over you. You’re wearing his shirt. You’re wearing his fucking shirt.
And you’re teasing him.
You’ve been teasing him since you woke up together this morning. You teased him in the shower. You teased him when you made breakfast. You teased him when you settled down on the sofa and started playing with your phone.
It’s almost lunch time and he’s reaching his breaking point. Bucky doesn’t know what he did to deserve this; actually, he doesn’t care. You do this to him sometimes. You tease him all day, on purpose, and he goes along with it because he fucking loves it.
To the outside observer, you might look like you’re just going about your life. Bucky knows better. He knows you better.
In the shower today, you ignored his hard cock and just asked him to switch places so you could rinse off. He should have known then that you were up to something, but no– it wasn’t until he walked into the kitchen to see you wearing his clothes that he knew he was fucked.
When you made breakfast, you swayed your little hips to some music only you could hear, but he could see your ass move so smoothly under his henley. Even under the little shorts you were wearing, he could see that tantalizing movement just begging for him to grab you.
After breakfast, you declared that today is a lazy day, and then you promptly dropped onto the sofa. You sprawled out a little bit, began playing with your phone, and he came sniffing after you like a bloodhound.
You do this thing when you’re playing with your phone. You lick your lips a lot, your cute little tongue dragging slowly against your lips, circling that mouth he knows tastes so good. Your lips get pinker, shinier, as you rub them and suck your teeth and occasionally stick your tongue out in concentration. You’re playing some stupid mobile game that Bucky’s complained about too many times already.
It drives him fucking crazy.
And then you finally stopped playing with your phone, decided that you wanted to Netflix and chill, which Bucky was eager to do. It usually results in cuddling, which if nothing else is one of his favorite activities with you. You’ve always been so good to him, and so affectionate. Even when he’s being a whiny brat, you never deny him what he truly needs. You might tease him by not quite letting him kiss you, but you show your love for him in more subtle ways.
Right now, it’s not subtle.
“Dollface, can’t you feel what you do to me?” he pleads. “You know you do this to me on purpose…”
He groans a little bit and nuzzles into your neck again. He presses more desperate kisses to your skin and he tries all the tricks he knows to try and entice you to reciprocate. He knows how to turn you on. He knows how to make you snap, if given enough time and with a bit of patience.
“Bucky,” you say, sounding bored, “I know, but calm down, tiger.”
Bucky groans again and presses his hips to yours, letting you feel how much he wants you. The teasing is driving him mad, but in the best way possible.
“A tiger can’t change his spots,” he mumbles.
“Stripes,” you correct him.
“Whatever,” Bucky grumbles, trying to discreetly rub his erection against your body because he needs something here.
You finally tear your eyes away from the screen to look at him and give him a sort of unimpressed look. Bucky tries to give you puppy eyes, but then you press your leg against the juncture of his thighs and he can’t help but sigh in relief. Finally you’re giving in, you’re going to give him what he wants and needs–
“Fine,” you say, sounding smug, “Show me how much you need it.”
For a moment, Bucky can’t understand. He perks up a little and leans up to kiss you, but your touch stops him.
You put your hand on his ass and push him down.
“I said show me,” you say, smirking insufferably at him, and Bucky is so goddamn turned on he just does what you tell him to. The heat of your leg against his erection… it’s a bit pathetic and maybe Bucky should be humiliated, but he doesn’t feel any shame. You’re giving him permission to show you what he needs, and you want him to.
It’s an enormous turn-on.
“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky moans, and he starts to rub himself against your legs. He feels like an animal, rutting against you, his cock straining to do what comes naturally, but all he can do is pleasure himself as best he can.
Your thighs are bare in contrast to his sweatpants, but warmed by him half-laying on top of you for the last several minutes. Bucky’s enjoying the slow, delicious friction of the fabric against his cock. Two little layers, fleece and a cotton blend, and then he could be skin-to-skin, inside you, even…
Bucky’s breathing picks up as he continues to thrust his hips to your body. He buries his face in your chest, moaning, feeling the soft globes of your breasts against his cheeks. Your hand lazily comes up and while one hand stays on his ass, the other hand tangles in his hair. He moans blissfully, wrapped up in you.
His cock is throbbing. He just closes his eyes and breathes deeply, one hand grabbing you around your waist and pulling you in closer.
“You’re such a slut,” you say teasingly. “My little super soldier slut, huh? I can’t even get through a movie without you needing to get off. You’re humping my leg like a dog, my sweet, desperate boy.”
You’re cooing to him sweetly and it’s turning him on so goddamn much. Oh, he loves it when you’re a brat, when he’s being a brat, when he’s being good, when you’re being good— he didn’t know this was something he liked so much, not until he met you.
“Yours,” he moans, “You treat me so good. Please, tell me…”
“Tell you what? Do you want me to talk to you?” you ask playfully. “Do you like it when I talk dirty and tell you how slutty you are?”
The hand on his ass grabs, almost claws at him, and pushes him down even closer. It makes him whimper, feeling your heat against him. God, it’s not even that pussy that he worships, it’s just your thigh, and it already feels so good. Being inside you would be heavenly, but that’s not in the cards for him right now and he knows it.
“Please,” he blurts out, nuzzling his way into your breasts. He almost bites at your shirt— his shirt— in his quest to get to them. He just wants you. He wants all of you. But a part of him, still, he loves seeing you in his fucking shirt…
“Mm, you’ve been a good boy, but not that good. Why don’t you show me how good you’ve been?” You tease, and he rubs himself against your soft, warm thighs with a bit more of a frenzy.
“I haven’t— fuck— I haven’t gotten off once without you, babe. Been savin’ up all this cum for you, isn’t that what you want?”
“Sweetheart, we had sex last night,” you say, sounding bored. He can still hear the arousal swirling under your voice, something that makes him throb.
“I know,” he groans out, rubbing up on you even harder. “I know, but I need you again, please, I need you…”
“I dunno, babe, I think you’re doing just fine right here.”
This is driving Bucky fucking crazy. He groans and he buries his face into your soft chest again, his hands diving down underneath your ass. He rubs himself against you, harder and harder, chasing the feeling he’s so goddamn lucky to feel almost every time he’s with you.
He’s using you. He’s using your pretty body, riding your thighs, holding you like a fuckdoll while he rubs his hard, aching cock against you. You’re smaller than him— hell, almost everyone is smaller than him— but it makes it easy for him to control you.
“B-babe,” he whimpers. “Honey, please.”
“You gonna come, baby boy?” you say sweetly. “You’re gonna get off humping my leg? Like we’re teenagers… god, you little slut, you just love being told what to do, huh?”
Bucky whines, squirming against you. He's so hard and hot, desperate for more. He could rip off both your clothes and his and just shove himself inside you, but he won't. He needs to be good. He wants to hear you goad him on and tell him what he wants to hear.
"Stop it, you're not gonna come just yet."
Bucky groans but he stills his hips. He's still throbbing in his pants, and he almost sobs when he feels you flex your thighs underneath him. But he stays still, even if his cock is pulsing, even if he knows it won’t take much longer for him to come in his pants like a teenager.
You pull him up by the hair. He has to be a mess: flushed, panting, his hair messy, a sheen of sweat on his face. He doesn’t bother trying to hide how desperate he is. After all, he knows you like to see it. Bucky can be good. Bucky can be so good.
“What a good boy,” you coo, stroking his hair. Bucky presses his head into your touch, craving more. He knows that you love it when he’s a brat, but sometimes he just needs it.
“Yours, all yours,” he murmurs, nuzzling your wrist. You giggle a little bit and squeeze his butt.
“Slower, babe. You’re gonna break me if you’re not careful. We’re not all super soldiers like you,” you pout.
Bucky groans and buries his face in your chest again. It’s a semi-punishment and it’s a semi-reward. He’s never gotten himself up just rubbing against you like a bitch in heat, like a desperate slut whose body craves sex, but god does he want to.
“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs and he slowly begins to grind his hips against your soft, warm thighs. He’s clinging to you and trying to find more and more pleasure, but he has to control himself. It’s so hard to control himself around you.
“Careful,” you remind him warningly. “Metal arm. Mind your strength.”
Bucky groans again and he nods, adjusting his grip on you. He has to be careful. He’s never, ever wanted to hurt you. Instead he forces himself to relax a little more, hips beginning to move again after a moment.
He eventually pushes your shirt up and just buries his face in your breasts. It’s not even fully sexual– although he’s definitely that– but Bucky gets so much comfort from touching your breasts, squeezing and grabbing and nibbling these tits that feel so good in his hands and his mouth…
You giggle a little and you sigh, laying relaxed underneath him. Bucky is moaning, rubbing his lips against your soft skin, his hardened cock finding the groove between your legs. You don’t even tense them up for him to give him a little more friction. You just lay here and his cock is flat against his lower stomach, nestled perfectly between your legs.
“You look like you’re having a lot of fun. Maybe after this I’ll ride your thighs, too. Would you like that? Me rubbing my pussy against you like you’re rubbing your cock against me?” you ask him sweetly, warmly. Bucky groans and he grinds his hips against yours. His cock is trapped between you two, restrained in his clothes, so fucking ready, hard and aching for you.
“Please,” Bucky chokes out. He sucks a nipple into his mouth, sucking desperately as he feels himself being slowly driven to a loss of control. His thrusts are still slow but hard, rough, trying to get as much as he can and as close as he can…
Your hand tangles in his hair and tugs. Bucky lifts his head and he knows he’s a desperate mess. He feels like a desperate mess. He’s panting, nearly sobbing.
“Please what? Do you want me to ride your thighs after this, or do you want to come?” you ask, that casualness in your tone and on your face but Bucky sees desire there, too.
“Please– both– please, I’m so close, don’t you feel how hard I am?” he whimpers, his hips rolling against the channel between your thighs.
You smile, and then finally push your thighs tight together.
Bucky gasps and he moves faster, harder, rubbing himself against you wantonly, shamelessly. He feels like a desperate slut, and he knows he is. He’s always been a slut for you.
“Yeah, you can come. You’ve waited long enough,” you coo softly, “Go on, babe. Get yourself off humping my thighs.”
Permission granted, Bucky buries his face in your tits, frantically sucking your nipple into his mouth. He loves having a mouthful of you in his mouth when he comes.
And he does, and the release is so sweet. He’s whining like a spoiled child, shaking as he grabs you and he finally just fucks your thighs like he’s wanted to this whole time. His cock is pulsating in his underwear, string after string of his cum staining his pants, rubbing his cock against your bare thighs. Pleasure crests over him, filthy, pure pleasure knowing that he can do anything with you, for you, and to you.
Bucky finally pants as he calms down, his head on your chest. He’s sticky and uncomfortable but he doesn’t care, he’s sated (for now) and curled around you. He’s buried in you, the satisfaction making his body hum as it washes through him.
You stroke his hair. You kiss his forehead, pushing his sweat-soaked hair off his face. Bucky just cuddles into you harder, wishing to sink into your skin, to keep this moment alive forever…
But eventually he does ease away, wincing a little. It’s a bit uncomfortable to have so much semen in his pants.
“Aww… told you that you could change your stripes,” you say teasingly.
“Huh?” Bucky asks stupidly. You bring a hand up and a single finger traces down the front of his pants, causing him to hiss in sudden, overwhelming pleasure.
“Your cum. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes, and there are some new ones right here.” You grin. Bucky looks down and sees your finger dragging down the long lines of cum that decorate the gray sweatpants he’s wearing. It’s absolutely clear and unmistakable what that is.
“Maybe I should give you some,” he says, swallowing hard. How do you always do this? He just calmed down and he’s getting turned on again.
“Yeah? I think I’d like that,” you agree nonchalantly.
“Anything you want, sweetheart. But leave my shirt on.”