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The Stark plane landed on the ledge of Stark Tower, engine sputtering and spitting unidentifiable human chunks out the high-tech propellers. The AVENGERS™ exited the plane, led by a bleeding and bruised Captain America. Iron Man followed, helmet bent and dented just enough that he could inconspicuously stare at Steven’s patriotic, bouncing, jiggling-with-each-step man cakes. Behind him was Thor, carrying Bruce in his muscly, more-beef-than-a-burger-joint arms. Bruce was out like a suburban white mother out of her house on Scented Candle Sales Day, much to Clinton’s amusement as he poked him with a sharp, explosive arrow. Finally came Natasha, looking like a flawless goddess with an arsenal on her back and not a sexualised costume because feminism and this is not a Joss Whedon installment.
“Good work, meat!” Steve exclaimed patriotically, saluting the tired AVENGERS™ behind him.
“Don’t you mean team?” Natata scowled in Russian.
“Yes!” Steve exclaimed patriotically. “I was not thinking about human meat at all!”
“What the fuck Steve,” Cling asked, jabbing his explosive arrow into Bruce’s arm and contentedly watching the timer of the little bomb tick.
“You forgot Steve’s bisexual,” Tony quipped sarcastically, momentarily pulled out of his ritual of staring at Steve’s luscious flesh buns to acknowledge this outstandingly gay fact. “He was talking about dick, not cannibalism.”
“Boy, all this talk about teamwork is getting me exhausted!” Steve sighed, patriotically. “I’m gonna sleep!”
“Steve it’s fucking two pm,” said Clit.
“Well call me two pm because I’m about to get fucked!” Steve smiled like this :^) as he skipped down the hall, leaving daisies growing in the fertile soil of his footprints. He made it to his room, unlocking the door with his Dainty Hand Sausages™.
“Bucky I’m back!” he called.
“I’m in the bedroom,” the grunt came from the bedroom. Steve dropped his boots to the floor (though with the strength of his super serum the boots dropped straight through the ground, making a hole to the floor below and hitting Clintoris). He ran a hand through his sweaty hair as he opened the door to the bedroom, only to see the most surprising of surprises.
His boyfriend of 80-something years was sitting on the bed, surrounded by lit scented candles. The candles came one by one to Steve’s enhanced nostrils- American bacon, American sweet tea, American rifle ammunition, American internalized racism… it turned him on faster than a virgin on Pornhub. The most peculiar thing about this arrangement was the large wrapped box Bucky was sitting in. Only his head poked out.
“Come unwrap your present,” Bucky chuckled. Steve walked patriotically to sit on the bed.
“Bucky, what-”
“Shh, doll,” Bucky whispered, caressing Steve with his boxy edges. It made an awkward slide sound on Steve’s spandex uniform, but the only sliding Steve could think of was Bucky sliding into him.
Steve undid the blue bow on the top of the box and watched the sides fall apart to reveal Bucky wearing bubble-gum-pink lingerie that lightly caressed his Brooklyn-born man titties and groped his cumulous-cloud-emitting dude piston in just the right places. His metal arm flexed, as if calling out to him, “Paint me whiter than your ethnicity, Steve!”
“You look like you need a hit of Buckley’s,” Buckley drawled seductively, to which Steve let out a submissive moan.
“Gosh diddly darn,” he whispered, looking at his bf (but in a no-homo way) up and down.
“Language, Stevie!” Bucking snapped, making a come-hither motion with his finger. “I saw a drugstore infomercial about a bottle of medicine and a sick woman and I thought you might want to roleplay it.”
“You do know Pepto is the pink one, though, right?” Steve mentioned as he sat on the bed.
“Buckley’s can still cure you of your thirst. It works.”
“Your creamy man juice is the only medicine I need, bro.”
“Bro,” Bucky whispered in reply, forcing Steve on his hands and knees on the bed. Steve squeaked patriotically, feeling the zipper of his skin-tight uniform slide down his sculpted back. The uniform came off, and he was left naked and waiting, glorious asshole spread and waiting for the sweet release of penetration. His American heat-seeking moisture missile swung back and forth, tickling the bedsheets. His balloon-shaped boobs twitched in anticipation, frantically speaking a sexual sign language.
“Bucky, please, I need you so bad,” Steve whined in his underlying Brooklyn accent, pushing his ass back onto Bucky’s Winter Boner. The sexual feelings repressed in his Atlantic Popsicle of a prison were resurfacing, leaving the captain panting and pining for more.
“You’ll get me, Stevie,” Bucky whispered in his blond lover’s sensitive ears. “But you have to beg first…”
“Bukie…”
“Beg for me to shove this flesh pole up your mangina,” Bucky growled, slapping Steve’s plump mangina gates with his metal arm. Steve automatically fired off everything he had read in a Stucky porno he saw on display at the Smithsonian.
“Bucky, I need you to fuck me and love me, make me your American Girl dominate my patriotic asshole with your Winter Snow-”
“Aw yiss bby,” Buchanan moaned, his penis jumping out of the pink satin panties and racing right toward the glory hole.
“No, not yet!” bucky screamed at his little hydra. “Imma prepare this lil bitch first.”
“How’re you gonna do that, Buck?” Bucky’s tanned banana inquired.
“With my arm, of course,” Bucky explained, flexing his flesh arm and grabbing the Froot-Loop scented asshole lubricant and, instead of squirting some in his hand, he spread Steve’s gaping asshole with his fingers and poured the whole contents inside. Steve arched his back at the cold fluid sliding down the walls of his anass, his patriotic boner twitching at the scent of the magically delicious starchy cereal.
“Bucky… I’m ready,” Steve moaned so loud Hitler six feet under was making a face.
“I know, darlin,” Bucky growled, flexing his metal fingers and slowly inserting them one by one into Steve’s lubed asshole. Steve gasped at the cold sensation, twitching under his Russian-speaking lover. And with a mighty growl of “это моя хорошая американская сука”, Bucky’s entire metal arm was shoved inside Steven’s anal cavity. His fingers tickled the captain’s large intestine, and the red star near his shoulder tasted like a red Froot Loop.
“SWEET JIMINY CRICKET!” Steve shrieked patriotically, submissively begging for more as Bucklin withdrew his arm slowly. The ridges of his metal arm brushed against Steve’s nearly-destroyed prostate, and he was surprised his American twink didn’t cum right then and there. With furious vigor, Bucky used his metal arm as a piston-like fuck machine, feeling it punch at Steve’s insides, while the human hand jerked off his massive American Dangle™. Steve bucked wildly (hahahahahahha), leaning into his brunet lover’s touch, revelling in the feeling of James’ arm fisting his ass.
“Hey Cap!” the voice of Nick Fury sounded outside the door, seemingly unaware of the romantic activity happening not ten feet from him, “some kids wanna come take some motherfucking pictures with you and your shield, can you come the fuck out and-”
“I’m kind of in somethin’ right now, Fury, I can’t!” Bucky answered for Steve, who was burying his face in the pillows and levelling up his Boner Power by sniffing Bucky’s Old Spice shampoo.
“Barn BOy? Is that you?” Fury questioned, agitated, pounding on the door again with Steve’s shield, which was left outside the door.
“Yeah, I’m kinda in something and I don’t think Steve can come!”
“But Buck!” Steve keened, though he was silenced by a hard smack to the left flesh Jell-O™.
“What y’all motherfuckers doin in there that’s more important than some fuckin ten-year-olds?!” Nick was left with a dropped jaw as he finally burst through the door. He was greeted with the sight of two naked 90-year-olds, one on his hands and knees and receiving up the manhole the entire metal arm of a deadly ex-assassin. Bucky didn’t know what to do, so he just casually kept fisting Steve.
Steve, however, looked up at his one-eyed boss’s eye and shrieked, clenching his asshole in such shame that Bucky’s arm got jammed in it. Frustrated, Bucky tried to pull his arm out of Steve’s ass, but it was so tight (even with the strong amounts of Froot Lube) that his entire metal arm was ripped from his body. He was left with a frantically-waving left arm stump, and Steve with a metal arm up his asshole. Bucky shrieked in Russian, Steve shrieked as he waved his vanilla cupcakes around. Since Bucky was midway-in, the joints at the elbow swung the upper metal arm wildly around as Steve shook his literal metal tail-feather.
It made quite the spectacle for Nick, who simply screamed, “MOTHERFUCKER” and slammed the door shut.
“Well that was unexpected,” Steve chirped.
“What’s unexpected is my arm still up your asshole when it’s not even attached to me!” Barky barked. With his mind, he angrily controlled the arm to viciously vibrate in Steve’s moist shadow forest. Steve clenched his luscious booty around the vibrating forearm, in turn this caused his entire patriotic body to shake more intensely than a frail leaf holding onto a tree branch in a windstorm.
“Oh, Sweet Jesus in a manger in a stable in Bethlehem, Bucky, I’m gonna-”
“Let go, you sexy Vanilla Boston Cream Pastry,” Bucky grunted, smacking Steve’s left titty reverently. Steve turned back to say thank you to his boyfriend, glancing into his cloudy-blue eyes. But he was struck with the cleansing, pure feeling of man milk exploding from his little luigi, as well as his lactating, patriotic busom. Steve cried semen, it foamed at his mouth. It painted a mosaic on the bedsheets with the paintbrushes of his nip-nops and his manly American ding-dong. Bucky leaned over him, licking at the shell of Steve’s ear and tasting his sub’s cum mixed with the scientific taste of super-serum. The bomb arrow stuck in Bruce’s arm two floors down exploded, shaking the floor and adding a new meaning to ‘seeing fireworks’.
Bucky was so turned on at the sight that his bright, bubble-gum-pink panties turned a new shade of white cloud in the horizon of a rosy sunrise. His mind thought nothing but SteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteve
SteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteve
SteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteveSteve SteveSteveSteveSteveSteve, so prominently that the mental transmitters in his brain sent a message to his metal arm (still lodged and vibrating in the gay love cavity of America’s Hero) and on his prostate Bucky’s metal fingers traced the letters of his name. Steve felt it, each letter of his name lovingly traced on his M-Spot (that’s man-spot for y’all straight virgins). But as his orgasm started to subside, he turned to his assassin lover.
“Steven Grant Barnes?”
“Will you marry me Stevei?”
“O fuck yea Barnsy!” Steve crooned, doing a backflip in bed to meet Bucky’s lips Spiderman-style. He hovered midair, powered by his vibrating orgasm. Bucky fervently kissed back, slipping a large cock ring onto Steve’s sausage ring finger.
It fit perfectly.