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“So I can command you?” you ask, arms crossed as you stare down the Winter Soldier himself. Or Bucky Barnes, but there is always a hint of the Soldier, especially when the two of you are deciding who gets to be in command.
A dark chuckle rumbles through his chest as he leans down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, vibranium fingers tightening on your arm just enough to make you feel the restrained strength in them.
“Sweetheart, you’ve been commanding me since you kissed my scars like they were something holy.” His teeth graze your pulse point, not quite biting, not quite yielding. “Try it. See what happens.”
“Oh, I plan to.” You circle him as you talk, setting the parameters. “Green is go, yellow is slow down, red is stop, no questions asked. That work for you?” You stand in front of him, brow cocked.
“Sure. Green is my favorite color,” he says. Just when you think he’ll surrender completely he leans in, nips your earlobe and growls “But fair warning? I always fight back.”
That elicits a tremor from you, the anticipation hitting in all the ways you plan to take him apart. “Warning received. Let’s see how well you take commands tonight.” You say. “On your knees. Now.”
A sharp, punched-out breath escapes him, eyes flashing with something feral as he obeys in one fluid motion, knees hitting the floor. His vibranium hand braces himself, fingers denting the hardwood floor of his apartment slightly as he looks up at you through dark lashes.
“Fuck.” The word is half-groan, half-laugh, like he can’t decide if this is a battle or a sacrament. “Knew you were trouble.” His flesh hand rises to grip your thigh, not pushing, just holding on as his voice drops to that rough-edged whisper. “What’s next, командир?”
The way his Russian curls around that word? You weren’t ready, your core starting to warm, your panties getting slightly wet.
“Командир? You’re not going HYDRA on me, are you?” you ask, part teasing, part serious.
“Old habits, doll. Trigger words are gone but commands always do something to me. Especially when it comes from a pretty mouth,” Bucky rumbles, looking up at you with deep blue eyes.
“Such a tease, Sergeant Barnes,” You slide your fingers through his hair. He leans into it like a starved thing. “Kneeling is just the beginning.”
He gives a full-body shudder at those words like you just lit a fuse within him. His grip on your thigh tightens, vibranium fingers leaving faint imprints on your skin that you are sure will bruise as he leans into your touch with a low, dangerous hum.
“You keep using that voice,” he growls, “and I’ll give you everything you didn’t even know you wanted. All you gotta do is ask.”
Then he bites. Quick, sharp, just above your wrist. A warning dressed as worship. “How long you think you’ll stay in control, darling, before you’re begging?” He asks languidly, like he has all the time in the world to wait you out.
You snap your next command sharply. “Not your turn. Eyes down. Don’t move until I say.” You’re the one giving orders, but damn, he was hard to control.
A muscle in his jaw jumps like he’s barely holding the Soldier in check. But he obeys. Instantly. Head bowed. Shoulders braced. His breath slows, body relaxed, except for the slight tremble in the vibranium hand where it meets the floor.
“Yes, ma’am.” Ground out between gritted teeth. Submission with a razor tucked inside. The Soldier is coiled beneath the surface, bristling. But Barnes? Barnes is grinning like you just handed him the detonator.
You breathe. You own this. You are in control. For now. “Better,” you say. “Do you know why you’re kneeling?”
His lashes flicker once, calculating. “Because you told me to.” The Soldier's answer. Flat. Immediate. But his lips twitch, and Bucky bleeds back in. “And because I like proving I still follow orders... when they come from the right mouth.”
You hate how much that gets to you, turns you on, makes you want to clamp your thighs together to relieve the ache that he draws from you. You hate that he knows it. You love it, too.
He tilts his head, that damn smirk pulling at his lips. “That what you wanted to hear, командир?”
“Mouthy,” you say, stepping closer. “From this position, you exist only to serve. You don’t speak unless I say. You don’t move unless I ask.”
You run your hands through his hair again, slow, indulgent, and he groans like it hurts.
“And you don’t touch me... unless I let you.” Then you pull back. Just out of reach.
He inhales sharply, hands fisting against his own thigh. The smirk is gone. Something darker takes its place. Primal. Caged. “Yes, ma’am.” The floor might as well be a shrine the way he stares at it, breathing ragged, barely leashed. He’s trembling with the weight of your control.
You're starting to realize what it means to hold a loaded weapon and ask it to behave.
“Look at me.”
He does, his eyes a deep ocean blue. You run a hand through his hair and trace his jaw, he looks at you in devotion.
“You're really beautiful, you know that?”
His breath stutters at the praise, eyes widening fractionally before darkening with something painfully raw. The way he looks at you now isn’t submission; it’s devotion laid bare in the trembling set of his jaw and the quiet wreck of his voice.
“Ain't never been beautiful ‘til you looked at me like that.” His vibranium arm flexes uselessly at his side, aching to touch but obeying your command. He’s vibrating with need, visibly fighting himself and you become concerned.
“Hey. Pause. Color. Are you ok?” you ask, his head bowed.
He looks up at you, blinks as if startled by his own reaction. His voice comes out hoarse but steady. “Green.” A beat, then a shaky smirk as he tilts his head. “Real fuckin’ green. Just... forgot how to breathe for a second there.”
“You’re... different,” he says, softly. “In the best way.”
No one ever checked on the Winter Soldier mid-kneel. But you aren’t just anyone. And he’s not just a weapon anymore.
“I’ll always check,” you say, and kiss the calloused pads of his fingers, letting his hand drop. He shudders. Still kneeling. Still waiting. “Point of clarity,” you add, voice firm. “Hard limits? Anywhere I shouldn't touch? Anything I shouldn't do?”
He flexes both fingers against his thighs, grounding himself before answering with military precision.
“Left shoulder joint’s… finicky.” A flicker of discomfort at the admission. “HYDRA maintenance wasn’t exactly gentle. And…” His jaw clenches briefly. “...don’t cover my mouth unless I’m begging you to.” Then, quieter, “The rest is negotiable. Just fuckin' talk to me like this when I come apart. That’s all.”
The unspoken plea in his eyes is louder than words: Keep being the one who sees him as more than a weapon.
“I don't do pain. Unless you ask.” You say.
A sharp, almost startled exhale, his shoulders drop an inch, tension bleeding out as he nods once. “Then we’re golden.” The smirk that follows is pure Bucky, bright and reckless. “Unless you count the pain of bein' this goddamn patient while you stare at me like I’m about to be your favorite sex toy.”
He shifts just enough to make the floor creek, still kneeling, still yours before adding with devastating sincerity, "Never asked for gentle before. Think I might with you."
“But remember, you're not the one in command. I am.” But are you? You try to get him back on track. “Stay kneeling. You comfortable?”
He rolls his shoulders back with a satisfied groan, adjusting his weight just enough to flash you that infuriatingly charming smirk. “Doll, I’ve slept in cryo tubes and HYDRA dumpsters, this is a fuckin’ throne.” But the way his vibranium fingers absently massage his left knee betrays him. He catches you looking and huffs a laugh. “Alright, maybe gimme a pillow in five minutes.” Then quieter, all Brooklyn-boy earnestness. “You checkin’ on me is hotter than it should be.”
“We have a long night ahead. Super soldier or not, I'm taking care of you.” You hand him a pillow for his knees. “Use that.”
He catches the pillow with a startled chuckle, but the way his fingers linger on yours for half a second says everything. He tucks it under his knees with exaggerated care, rolling his eyes even as he melts into the relief. His voice drops to a conspiratorial murmur, “Keep this up and I might just worship you properly.”
“We'll get to that.” You begin pacing deliberately around him, looking down at him, his eyes on the floor, mouth smirking. “I could let you kiss my thigh....or make you beg for the privilege. I could use you right here, or leave you aching. Would you like that?”
A ragged exhale escapes his lips like he’s already tasting the denial. His vibranium arm whirs faintly with restraint, fingers digging into the pillow beneath him as his smirk twists into something hungrier.
“You’re killin’ me, sweetheart.” His voice gravel-rough, eyes darting up just once, a blatant challenge before dropping obediently again. “But we both know I ain’t above beggin’. ‘Specially when you pace like that.” His tongue drags across his lower lip, slow and deliberate, shoulders tightening as your shadow cuts across him again. “So,” he rasps, “yeah. Leave me wrecked. Still won’t say red.”
You circle him slowly, you make him wait. You command, voice soft and merciless. “Say: I exist for your pleasure.”
He sucks in a quiet breath but you catch it, the smirk vanishing like a mirage as something rawer takes its place. When he speaks, the words are scraped from somewhere low and gutted. “I exist for your pleasure.”
A beat.
Then he rolls his shoulders just enough to flash you that insolent gleam. “Happy now, командир?” But his pulse betrays him, pounding high in his throat. This man hates obedience, except when it’s for you.
“No,” you say, voice like velvet. “Say it slower.”
He breathes in sharp and shallow, your command hitting him like a slap. His vibranium fingers curl into the pillow beneath him, steadying.
“I…”
His voice is gravel.
“…exist…”
His teeth graze his bottom lip.
“…for your pleasure.”
Then he looks up just enough for those ruinous blue eyes to lock on yours. “Better?” he whispers. “Or you wanna hear it in Russian next?”
Your back is to him before he finishes. You don’t look at him, you know he wants you to.“Yes. Say it in Russian.”
Behind you, you feel it shift. His posture goes taut, and when he speaks, his voice a blade whispered in Russian:
“Я... живу... для твоего... удовольствия.”
Each word is a caress and a curse. Then, in English, barely a growl:
“Still ignorin’ me, командир? Or you gonna punish me for talkin’ outta turn?”
He’s grinning. You can hear it. You want to knock it off his face, or let it stay and make him regret it.
You circle around and stop in front of him, lean in close, and brush the back of his neck, lightly, like you’re mirroring a nervous tick he thinks you don’t notice.
“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” you whisper. “How badly you want to use me. How badly you want me to touch you. How much it’s killing you that I haven’t.”
A shudder rips through him the moment your fingers graze his skin. He breathes sharp, jaw clenched, like he’s holding back an avalanche.
“Then you know I’m thinkin’...” he growls, slipping into Russian like it’s instinct, “Как ты пахнешь... как ты смотришь…” How you smell. How you look at me. His vibranium hand flexes against his thigh like a broken throttle. “If you don’t touch me properly in the next ten seconds…” He cuts himself off with a low growl, visibly forcing himself still. “…I might just…..”
You raise an eyebrow. “Color?”
He exhales a ragged laugh, hips shifting just enough to betray him. “Still green, солнышко.” Then, quieter. Crueler. Hungrier. “But if you drag this out much longer? Gonna be fuckin’ scarlet.”
You cup his face. Gently. Tenderly. He closes his eyes like your touch is a prayer. “You’re aching, aren’t you?” you murmur. “Tell me how much.”
He trembles. “Fuck... so much it’s stupid.” His throat works around the words. “Metal arm’s whirrin’ like a damn engine block. Can’t decide if I wanna bite your wrist or beg you to choke me.” His eyes lift. That stare. Those eyes. “You happy now? Or you need me to say I’d wreck myself twice over just to hear you call me ‘good’?”
You smile slowly. Then let your hand fall away.
He lets out a dark, low chuckle. “Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters. “Knew I shoulda been in command tonight.” Then softer, a whisper wrapped in want: “Tell me, солнышко, you always torture men who kneel for ya, or am I just lucky?”
You lean in again, whisper in his ear, “Desire without satisfaction, that’s where the truth comes out. Where obedience is tested. You kneel for me, ache for me, need me and I get to decide when you break.” Then a pause. Just long enough to sharpen the blade. “And yes, Bucky. You’ll get your turn being commander of me.”
You step away, every nerve in your body singing. Your panties are soaked, clinging with need. Your clothes feel too tight. The room too hot. But you remind yourself: You are in control. You clear your throat and speak again, firmly.
“Stay. Still. Hands behind your back. Eyes down. I want you to sit in the hunger. Let it burn through you.”
The order lands like a detonation. He moves instantly. Spine rigid. Metal arm folding behind his back, flesh hand fisting tight against it. His breath leaves in one violent exhale.
“Да, командующий.” Russian, thick with submission and something that tastes like worship. “Burn me alive then,” he mutters. “Still won’t be hotter than you right now.”
You lean in again, voice a whip of velvet. “You don’t get to touch yourself. You don’t get to come. Not until I say. Not until I’ve watched you fall apart. Whimpering. Desperate. Ruined.”
A punched-out breath escapes him. His whole body shudders like a live wire trying not to snap.
“Fuck.” he gasps. “Knew you were cruel, солнышко. Didn’t know you were a goddamn artist.”
His vibranium fingers twitch behind his back like they’re imagining themselves around your throat, gently. Always gently. But his hips jerk forward, useless and empty, chasing air. “Fuck if I don’t love watchin’ you realize how much power you really got over me.” He swallows hard, chest trembling with each breath. “So go on,” he murmurs. “Wring me out. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
You step behind him, fingers feathering down the back of his neck, barely there. Still so obedient. Still aching. “Good boy,” you whisper.
A full-body shiver wracks him. His metal arm groans behind his back with the force of his restraint. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even twitch. He breathes, head bowing low. “Ain’t even touched me proper and I’m already-”
He cuts off with a strangled sound, hips twitching forward. “Keep callin’ me that and I’ll die right here for you.”
You remind yourself you are in control. You are in command. You lean in and run a fingernail down his shoulder. Deliberate. Cruel. Then you drag it down the line of his spine, feeling the shiver that coils in response. His whole body trembles under your touch, and when you press your palm against his left shoulder blade to ground him, it’s like plugging into a live wire.
"You feel that?" you whisper.
He shudders.
Of course he does.
The moment your nail scraped down his back, every muscle went taut. He bit back a groan, shoulders jerking like he had to fight the urge to arch into you. His breath comes in ragged bursts, heat rolling off his skin like steam.
“Feels like you’re rewiring my goddamn spine with that hand.” He pushes back into your touch, starved, desperate, for half a heartbeat before forcing himself still again. His exhale is shaky, wrecked.
“Still playin' fair though, ain't I?” he mutters, and the way his throat bobs when he swallows is enough to break things inside you.
“Keep going?” you ask, teasing. “You saying red yet?”
He laughs, short, breathless, fraying at the edges. Then his voice dips into a thick, smoldering growl, Russian and English tangled together. “Ты режешь меня, котёнок…you’re cutting, kitten. You wanna see how fast I can turn the tables?”
Then he tilts his head just enough to catch you with those wicked blue eyes, barely holding back the hurricane. “Or keep going. Watch what happens when your good boy snaps.”
You smile. Slow. Decisive. Confident in your control. “I think I’ll see how far I can stretch you before you do. Be a good boy.”
A guttural sound tears from his throat as his metal arm shreds the pillow beneath him like tissue. His hips jerk forward, grinding into nothing, and when he speaks again, it’s pure heat and ruin.
“Yeah? Then start countin’, солнышко. I’ll let you stretch me ’til my bones crack if it means your hands on me after.” Then, lower, almost pleading, “Good boys get rewards, don’t they?”
“They do.” You step just out of reach. His hands are locked behind him, the strain in his shoulders clear. He’s holding the line by sheer will. “Can you obey, Soldier?”
He exhales sharply, fists twitching behind his back like his body’s begging to be let off its leash. "Yeah. Can obey. Always for you.”
His fingers flex against his own back, restrained but not relaxed. When he glances up, his eyes are chaos, blazing, pleading, defiant. “Just know every second I’m playin’ nice…” he says, dragging his calloused palms higher with aching slowness, “...I’m countin’ how loud I’ll make you scream later.”
A violent shudder rolls through him. His body doesn’t know whether to melt or explode. His lips brush your thigh, breath hot and wrecked. You didn’t give permission to do that, but you don’t step away.
“Gonna worship you ’til my tongue’s numb. ’Til you forget every name but mine.” Then he nips at your inner thigh, quick and sharp, before softening it with a long, lingering kiss. “But I’ll be countin’ every whimper, солнышко. Payback's a bitch.”
“We’ll see,” you murmur, deciding to lean into his mouth instead of stepping away. A reaction to Bucky Barnes you have no control over, it seems. “Kiss me there. Use your warm, filthy mouth.” You tell yourself you are still in command. You do want his mouth, after all.
He groans low in his chest, vibrating against your skin as he lowers his mouth to your thigh, slow, reverent, scalding. He doesn't ask permission, he runs his hands up your thighs and pulls your panties off, helping you step out of them, you take off your shirt unprompted, you stand naked in front of him, looking down as he looks up from his knees.
“Perfect,” he breathes.
Then his tongue drags up in one long, agonizing stripe before he seals his mouth over you. Filthy. Devoted. The sound he makes, like a starving man finally fed, shoots straight up your back to your shoulders and elicits a moan from you.
"So sweet," he murmurs, licking your pussy, your folds, your clit with his warm tongue. “Gonna drown in you….and say thank you after.”
FUCK. Your thoughts scatter like glass underfoot. Your knees buckle. For a moment, just a flash, you almost give in, almost fall into him completely.
But even then, he’s there. Arms around you, catching you as you tip forward, holding you up as he feasts on you like your body is a promise and a prayer. His tongue dips into you, hot and eager, and you moan, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling. Not to stop him. Never that.
It’s laughable, but you still try to excerpt command over him. “If you make me come,” you hiss, panting, “I might let you come. Might.”
The snarl that breaks from his throat sends a fresh wave of need through you. His grip tightens like steel, dragging you flush against his mouth.
“Tryin’ real damn hard not to flip us over and show ya how sinful I can really be,” he growls, circling your clit with his tongue, sharp and maddening. “But since you asked so nice…”
He pulls back just enough to flash you a smirk, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide. “Gonna make you feel it in your goddamn teeth, солнышко.”
You come hard then, crashing into it, crying out as he laps at you, his tongue still working you through the tremors. You’re gasping, clinging to him, legs shaking, thoughts obliterated.
And he doesn’t stop, he suckles your clit as the aftershocks hit you, his arms holding you up as you brace yourself on his shoulders. He slowly licks your pussy, kissing his way up your pelvis and then back down to your core, his face pressed to your hip as he trails a hand down the back of your quivering thigh.
You catch your breath, sucking in a deep gulp of air and holding yourself steady. Command, you are in command, so act it.
“Hands behind your back.” You order, surprised that your voice sounded so authoritative.
He freezes. Then obeys instantly. His metal arm clicks as his hands snap into place, locked tight behind him. You take one step back, looking down at him as he kneels, his face flushed and lips glistening with your arousal. He licks his lips slowly and you track their progress as he very thoroughly traces his full mouth with his tongue.
“That was decent.” I say, voice neutral.
His chest heaves, and his voice is wrecked with something almost close to laughter. “Decent?” he repeats, incredulous. “You came so hard you damn near cracked the ceiling, котёнок. But sure. Let’s call it ‘trying.’”
Then, lower, darker, he leans in and murmurs against your thigh. “Guess I’ll just have to ruin you properly next time.”
You step away, regaining ground. Your breath stills. He’s still kneeling, still obeying, but it’s costing him. You see it in every tremble of restraint. Your hold is tenuous, and you know it.
You give him a look. Bored. Dangerous.
“I let you taste me. I let you worship me. That was your reward. You think your cock has earned something?”
You laugh. Soft. Cruel. Gorgeous. “Absolutely not.”
His teeth snap together with a sharp clack, the sound like a loaded gun. His eyes lock on yours, wild, unrepentant. And that smirk? That smirk is a promise.
A low, dangerous chuckle vibrates from him as he stands, closing the distance between you, pulling you to him with the inevitability of a wave crashing to the shore.
“W-what..what are you doing? I'm in command,” you say fiercely, he chuckles.
“Oh, you are. But command’s got nothin’ to do with who’s in charge right now, солнышко.” His teeth graze your pulse point claiming without asking, and then you know: you are not in command anymore.
“Tell me to stop.” A challenge as his free hand slides down your ribs. “Go ahead. Use that pretty voice I like so much.”
The smug bastard already knows you won't.
“Bucky....”
His hands are .....everywhere....you can't keep up with him.
“Green, командир?” he asks you, fingers tangled in your hair, mouth on your throat, hand cupping your naked ass to his own tightly wound body, his hardened cock a thick outline on your thigh. “You tappin’ out?”
Dammit. Dammit. “Green,” you whisper and you feel his slight smile against your throat.
“Finally,” his breath is hot on your skin when he growls the word in triumph. He takes you both down to the hardwood floor easily, a move you’ve seen him do in training a thousand times. His muscular body, bulky and wound tight with tension hovers over you as he flips you effortlessly to your back, his vibranium fingers threading through yours to pin them above your head, his other hand tracing an easy path down your stomach.
“Bucky....mmm....gods!”
He sinks two fingers into your core and you cry out, throbbing with pleasure. A dark, satisfied growl rumbles against your throat as his metal fingers tighten around your wrist, keeping you pinned while the others work you open with ruthless precision.
His voice is pure sin when he murmurs, “Louder.” Teeth scraping your shoulder. “Wanna hear how bad you want it. Wanna feel that pretty cunt clench.”
He crooks his fingers just right, dragging a broken moan from your lips as his thumb circles mercilessly over your clit. “There it is. That’s my girl."
When you finally shatter he drinks every gasp like a man starved.
“Bucky….”
He doesn’t let you finish, crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that tastes like victory and your own pleasure. His voice is wrecked when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your swollen lips.
“Just the start, doll.” His fingers glide through your slick, coating his cock in it with a filthy groan. “Gonna ruin you proper now.”
When he finally sinks into you it’s with a reverence that burns like every thrust. Another way to say what words can't. His breath stutters, eyes wild as he braces over you, forehead pressed to yours like you're the only solid thing in his spinning world. His voice cracks open on a whisper. His next thrust is slow enough to hurt and deep enough to brand.
“Fuckin' hell, I know you can hear it.” A broken laugh. “Seventy years of bein' nobody's goddamn thing, and now?” His teeth sink into your shoulder, not a claim, a covenant. He whispers against your skin, just three syllables, repeated like a prayer. “моя любовь. моя любовь. моя…”
The tables are turned and he’s in command now, but you relax in his grip, letting him take the lead. You lean forward though, and bite him in the neck. Hard. He hisses and fucks you harder, you feel the burn as he stretches you, almost too big to fit.
“Bucky!” A ragged growl tears from his throat as your teeth sink in his skin, his metal arm snapping tight around your waist while the other fists in your hair, forcing your head back to expose the mark you just left. His eyes blaze with something feral.
“Oh, you wanna play dirty, Котенок?” A harsh laugh as he drags you flush against him, letting you feel exactly how much that bite affected him. “Good.”
In one fluid motion, he flips you onto the floor pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other yanks your shirt up over your hips. His voice is pure molten sin against your ear.
“Now let's see how long that 'command' lasts when I make you scream my name loud enough for the Avengers to hear it three floors down.”
“Command me then. If you think you can get me to comply. I’m not as pliant as you, soldat,” you say, your dignity still trying to exert some control over this man, but you both knew who was really in charge now.
A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he hands whips down, vibranium fingers splayed possessively over your throat while the other hand now pins both your wrists above your head. His Russian is pure liquid fire against your lips.
"Лежишь.” (Lie still.) “Не двигайся." (Don’t move.)
His teeth graze your jawline, voice dropping to a guttural whisper
"Ты мой." (You're mine.) "И я заставлю тебя помнить это. (And I'll make you remember it.)
Then, with a brutal roll of his hips that steals the breath from your lungs-
"Скажи мое имя, ведьма. Или я разорву этот командный тон на куски." (Say my name, witch. Or I'll tear that commanding tone to shreds.)
“James! Gods. James!”
He sinks wickedly inside you, you wrap your legs around him, welcoming the pain.
“Bucky!” you cry out, mouth on his shoulder.
A ragged groan tears from his throat as you take every inch of him, his metal arm moves from your throat and hooking under your knee to yank you impossibly deeper, forehead pressed to yours in a panting delirium.
“That’s it… fuck,” His thrusts turn brutal, punctuating each broken word. “Wanna feel you ruined for anyone but me. Wanna watch you come so hard you forget where you are.”
When he feels your walls start to flutter around him he steals the scream from your lips with a kiss and murmurs, “...Моя. Моя. МОЯ.”
His breath is ragged against your lips, hips snapping with a brutal precision that drags another moan from your throat every syllable of Russian rough with possession.
“что ты моя. Что каждый крик, каждый вздох.” He snarls as he seats himself fully inside you. “That you're mine. That every cry, every breath…”
A particularly deep thrust steals your oxygen as his teeth sink into your shoulder.
“Принадлежит мне. Belongs to me.” Right as he feels you shatter around him his voice breaks on a growl. His body locks tight as your climax wrings his own from him, buried to the hilt with a roar that’s half snarl, half prayer. He collapses over you, still trembling, forehead pressed to yours as he gasps. Then he’s kissing you filthy, licking into your mouth like he’s chasing every kiss you ever tried to deny him when you were in command.
“C'mon, doll.” A dark chuckle vibrates against your throat as he nips there. “We both know you're the damn snack here.”
Suddenly he's licking a stripe up your neck, savoring the gasp it pulls from you before murmuring against damp skin. “And I skipped breakfast.”
“There is no way I can ever say no to you. You know that?” You moan as he pulls out slowly…slowly…making you ache with the loss of his girth inside you, only to cry out as he slams inside you, giving a satisfied grunt.
“Yeah?” A slow, devastating grin spreads as he leans in, close enough that his next words brush over your lips. “Good. 'Cause I got seventy years of requests saved up. Starting with remindin' you exactly where my mouth works best…”
“Bucky…..” you moan, then melt as his mouth covers your nipple and slowly suckles you.
“Ahhhhhh…..noooo……yesssssss. James. Yes!”
His growl vibrates against your chest, all teeth and filthy promises as his metal hand pins your hips down to the floor. The other slips under you, fingertips digging into your ass as he looks up through his lashes. He withdraws from your slowly, watching you arch as he pulls away, then trails kisses down your stomach and settles between your thighs.
“That's it.” He lowers his mouth to your swollen clit, a deliberate suck that makes your back bow. “Tell me who you belong to when you come.”
His tongue swirls ruthless circles then flattens just to hear you whine. When he speaks again, it’s against slick skin, hot breath huffing laughter.
“How’s command working out for you?” His lips curl into a smirk against your skin before he licks slow and flat from clit to core making sure you feel every ridge of his tongue. When he lifts his head, his chin glistens and his voice is pure gravel.
“Told you.” A nip to your inner thigh. “Seventy years of research, doll. Now quit squirmin'...” Metal fingers spread you wider. “...or I stop just shy every damn time.”
“James… James… Fuck.” You look at him with worship as you moan. “Gods, your mouth. What does it even do?” Your hands thread through his hair as your thighs begin to tremble. “I can’t, it’s too much, James!” You’re overstimulated, but he doesn’t seem to care.
His answering growl vibrates through your core as he sucks harder, tongue flicking mercilessly over your clit. His metal arm hooks under your thigh, yanking you impossibly closer like he wants to drown in the taste of you. When he pulls off just long enough to speak, his lips are slick and swollen.
“That's it, gimme those pretty sounds. Wanna feel you come apart.” A sudden deep thrust of two fingers curls up inside you as his mouth seals back over your clit with a filthy, obscene suck. “Right on my goddamn tongue.” he rumbles.
“James…please…,” you rasp, but please what? You didn't know what you were asking for, only that he had it.
His answering smirk is devilish as he releases your clit with a filthy, wet pop. His tongue replaces his fingers in one slow, torturous lick from core to clit, savoring the way you jerk against his grip. When he speaks, it’s rough with want and something dangerously close to worship.
“Please?” He bites your hip, just sharp enough to make you cry out. “Don’t think you're in the position to make demands.”
His mouth is back on you in earnest, relentless, licking and sucking like a man starved. His fingers curl inside you again, ruthless, twisting just so until your thighs clamp around his head and that sweet, broken noise spills from your lips. He doesn’t let up for a second. Not until he feels the first flutter of your release against his tongue and only then does he groan into you, deep and satisfied.
“There she is. Mine. Now come for me properly.”
“I…..oh fuck oh gods…..noooo……yessss.” The orgasm feels like butter melting in your core, it washes over your body as his tongue chases down every ripple.
The second your thighs spasm around his head, he locks down, mouth sealed tight as he drinks every pulse of you, groaning like it’s the best goddamn thing he’s ever tasted. His metal hand pins your hips through the aftershocks until you're whimpering from oversensitivity then finally eases up just enough to let you breathe.
He drags himself up your body with filthy intent, chin dripping, claiming your mouth in a kiss so deep you can taste yourself on his tongue. When he pulls back, his pupils are blown black, voice wrecked.
“Look at that.” Thumb swipes through the mess on his lips before pressing it against yours. “Fuckin' ruined. And we ain't even gotten to the main event yet.”
He suddenly flips you onto your stomach with one effortless motion, biting down on the back of your neck as his vibranium hand spreads you open again.
“Told you I had requests. Time for round two. Or are we on three?” He exhales a deep chuckle against your spine, pressing one broad palm between your shoulder blades to keep you pinned beneath him. His voice is pure sin as he nips at the sensitive spot behind your ear.
“I need…need just a second,” you pant as his knee pushes your thighs further apart.
“Nah.” His metal fingers trace slow, teasing circles over your clit, just enough pressure to make you squirm. “You don’t get a second. I want you wrecked and half-conscious before I even fuck you.”
Then his lips are on the curve of your ass, biting down just hard enough to sting before soothing it with his tongue.
“You like me messy, don’t you?” you breath, forehead on the hardwood floor, arms pinned on the small of your back with a vibranium hand.
A rough groan vibrates against your skin as his teeth sink into the soft swell of your thigh, not asking, not apologizing. When he lifts his head, there’s something feral in his gaze, fingertips painting sticky proof of your pleasure across your back.
“Love you messy.” His tongue licks a stripe up your spine just to hear you sob. “Love you desperate. Love you begging.” He pauses, you feel his vibranium hand on your back. “It doesn’t matter who’s in command, all I want is the feel of you. You think I ruin you? You ruin me, too.”
Then he’s sinking into you in one brutal thrust, chasing that look on your face like it's his goddamn religion. A guttural “Fuck!” tears from his throat as your body swallows him whole, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. For a heartbeat, he just stays there, buried to the hilt, hips twitching like he’s fighting for control. When he finally speaks, it’s ragged, barely in check.
“Yeah. That’s it.” He withdraws abruptly, flipping you once again to your back, his metal hand fists in your hair, angling your mouth harder against his as he pulls out almost completely, then slams back in with enough force to make the headboard crack against the floor. “Take every goddamn inch of me.”
The rhythm he sets is punishing, merciless, each thrust punctuated by filthy praise growled into your skin.
“Feel how wet you are? How perfect? Gonna keep you like this forever. Split open on my cock where you belong.”
Suddenly he bites down on your collarbone as his free hand slips between you, ruthless circles over your clit again, applying just the right pressure in time with each deep, driving thrust. His breath is ragged against your ear, voice a dark growl. “C’mon…” A particularly sharp snap of his hips punches a cry from your lips. “Let go again. Wanna feel you break on me.”
The rhythm stutters as he presses deeper forcing that perfect, stretched-full sensation until tears prick at the corners of your eyes. His thumb moves faster now, insistent.
“That's it, gimme one more. Then I’ll fill you up so good you’ll still feel it tomorrow.”
“Bucky! Gods….y-yes!” The second your walls clench around him, he loses it, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged snarl as his release surges hot and thick inside you. His metal arm locks around your waist, keeping you impossibly close as he rides out every pulse, groaning your name like a prayer.
“Fuck yes. Take it,” he rasps against your shoulder, teeth scraping skin as his hips jerk through the last aftershocks. “Every damn drop.”
When he finally collapses onto his back, taking you with him in a sweaty, breathless tangle, his fingertips trace lazy patterns down your spine. The smirk he shoots you is equal parts sated and smug.
“You can keep the command, Командир. I’m still the one you salute.”