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kstarker · 14 days ago

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Who Started It? Who Cares?

(Or, basically, if both Bucky and Steve are asleep when the shenanigans start, is it still considered somnophilia, or are they just too horny to function?)

Dim, cool morning light swims through the tangled dark kelp of Bucky's fluttering, almost-caught-together eyelashes as the delicate muscles in his face twitch and quiver. Slowly waking, his eyes open once, twice, and then a third time. Blinking, blinking, blinking. Blurry as the world is, so early this morning, Bucky knows by the pools of light spreading on their mused, rucked-up sheets that it is morning. The sun, beyond the cocoon of their calm bedroom oasis, sits just barely half on the horizon, curled up and purring like a well-fed cat. Friendly. Welcoming Bucky home.

Bucky's awake, teased out of sleep by seemingly nothing at all. Except, soon, the moment breaks and Bucky's lounging mind becomes roused enough from its slumber to know that, well, maybe one thing woke him up after all.

It's not so much that the mattress squeaks, silence pads his ears, and so that isn't what pulled him to consciousness. But, the way the mattress dips softly and shudders excitedly beneath Bucky's limp, heavy body says enough to compensate for the lack of sound. The way the bed quakes underneath him is loud enough, running its mouth to a rhythm almost musical. It's singing and Bucky's body is starting to hum a melody alongside it. Pulled out of sleep by the howl.

Steve's body is moving.

Rocking.

Grinding.

Thrusting.

Steve's big, impressive body is lying in front of Bucky's with his back flush to Bucky's chest while his lower half squirms and wriggles. 'Wriggles' might not even be a good enough word for it, though, 'cause, Jesus, his hips roll so smoothly that before Bucky even registers the encircled, warm fingers trapping his wrist, his body flushes hot.

Hot as hell.

Heat, sticky and pink washes through Bucky, sweeping him out to sea. Oh. Bucky doesn't flounder or struggle but lets the current lap at him instead. Every wave is a thousand tongues against his naked body. All his warming, fever-mounting skin is half-caught in the fisherman's net of their bedsheets.

Steve is grinding against him. Moving. His hips. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. Forward. Back. His, his--

Oh.

It only just hits him. On a delay, after the tsunami of heat, he realizes that Steve has his hand--more accurately, his wrist.

Those lovely, entrancing artist's fingers are curled around Bucky's sleep-limp wrist, barely holding on. Steve's almost limp himself, but he's grasping just enough to keep Bucky's arm in place. And he's got ahold of his hand to hold it just so in front of his hard fucking dick, making Bucky give him a fast-asleep hand job.

That tsunami builds higher. The wave building. Crashing onto shore. He's so down for this, giving his hand away to Steve for his filthy desires. Any time Steve gets worked up enough to get a little selfish is so fucking sexy. The way he gets growly and rough with his teeth grazing his skin, unashamed as he leaves sizzling marks behind, taking chunks of him, biting him down to size to put him in his mouth or use however he likes. Fucking him. Sucking him. Torturing him. Anything he wants.

Anything.

Steve ruts sloppily into his captive hand, keeping his hand at dick-level for all these selfish, dirty proposes despite how Bucky's woken up. Normally, he would have some level of shame. He wouldn't just keep it up.

Jesus.

How worked up must he be then? How long has this been going on? Has he spent hours agonizing over every sleep-twitch, waiting for Bucky to wake up, throbbing harder and harder, anticipating every minute that that will be the minute Bucky wakes and teases him for getting so hard, you dirty fucking dog. What a pervert, fucking my hand even when I didn't give you permission. Bastard.

Bucky's whole body ripples like the surface of a pond, a stone thrown into the middle of it. Suddenly, he can't resist sneaking a little grope, just for himself, squeezing his just-woken hand around Steve's cock.

Steve lazily, shamelessly moans to himself, grinding looser, rough around the edges at the pleasure gets to him.

Steve's heavy and hot in his hand, dripping into his palm, leaving him so slick and wet it can't be contained. Steve's pre-cum rolls down his wrist and spills over the sides of his palm, getting stickily onto the sheet.

Fuck, he loves this dick.

Bucky squeezes a little harder, so unspeakably turned on to have a handful of cock. He could purr. Damn, he's so fucking tempted to drag his hand down and get a feel for those full, taut balls, but, clearly, Steve's got a craving this morning. He needs attention to his dick. Bucky will take a detour a little later... much later. After he gets this fat dick in him.

Unable to stand the thick silence for another second, Bucky groans, his voice rough with sleep, "Christ, Rogers, can't you jus' get in me, already? We're too old for this kinda teasin', darlin'," Bucky can't stifle his deep, vibrating chuckle, "jus' gimmie that dick."

He's expecting to hear an answering laugh, getting some quick snark back that turns into kissing and kissing that turns into licking into each other's mouths and filthy licking that turns into moaning, mouths wet and open, lips-to-lips, useless and too hot to properly lock-lips any longer. Bucky isn't expecting--

"Huhh?"

--the big, dumb oaf to jolt sluggishly under his arm, the weight of it draped around his waist, hand cupping his way too fucking hot cock, but not restraining him. Leaving him free to push his hips forward boldly while his empty head lulls back, a sexy, sleepy little grin on his lush mouth, slurred words groggy as ever, "ohhhfuh-fuck," his throat clicks as he swallows, throat thick, tongue too big for his big mouth, "g'mornin' to you, too, Buck."

It takes a minute to register in Bucky's head, he's a little preoccupied with the cock in his hand, okay?

But the pause is long enough to give Steve's big mouth room to run farther, "have your way with me, why don't ya," he murmurs through a jaw-cracking yawn.

Wait.

He was fucking asleep?

This whole time?

"You dog," Bucky growls, overcome with a cruel kind of arousal, venomous and coiling. He's ready to pounce, his claws are out. He's hissing, groping cruelly at Steve's fat, twitching dick and pushing his own erect cock straight into that fat ass. "You, you--" he pants, losing his train of thought to honey-thick arousal "--you don't get to blame me for this. You fuckin', you took my hand and were humping me! Don't turn this around on me."

"Dunno, don't you want me to turn it around or is it one of them times--two times a year--you wanna do me?" Steve, the son of a bitch, snarks back, twisting the curved length of his pale, gorgeous throat around to narrow his eyes at him.

Staring, hot for it, he flickers a look down to his mouth.

Bucky snarls and then they're just fucking devouring each other.

Teeth and lips and tongue.

They're helpless. They can't even keep their hands off each other when both of them are fast asleep. They're gonna be here, twisted up in bed, until the sun is hanging high over the horizon.

Jesus.

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kstarker · 14 days ago

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I Wanna Be Your Provider

I just can't fucking resist the song "Provider" from Sleep Token, so, fuck it, I have to stucky-ify it now (with omegaverse and daddy kink mixed in, of course). Also, I'm tagging K @howdoyousleep3 because she has to suffer with me for this band. Also, I know this is gonna be her shit so...

Even if Bucky didn't know how his mate gets around this time of the year, and speaking of the time, even if he didn't know the month, the week, the exact fucking pattern Steve's rut cycle follows, and even if he wasn't able to smell it on Steve for himself--that burning-deep scent clouding the electric atmosphere around his big, big body, simmering for the past few days, waiting to boil over--Bucky would know that Steve's coming up on his rut purely based on one thing: he doesn't wake up to the smell of breakfast already cooking.

And that's enough to tip him off.

Steve is nothing if not a provider. He thrives on taking care of people, but especially his mate. Bucky is lucky enough to be his lover and mate and he can confirm, he's never been so fucking spoiled as he is with Steve.

Bucky figured out how deep Steve's alpha need to provide went within the first date. The dripped, sopping wet, from Steve in the way he insisted on picking Bucky up, driving him safely to their destination, opening his door to help him out of the car as if he wasn't the same damn height as the alpha himself, guiding him into the upscale establishment with a baseball-mitt-sized hand on the small of his back and another steading his elbow, pulling his chair out for him, cracking open the wine for them, pouring it, pouring Bucky a glass first (later insisting he have the lion's share of it when there was only enough left for one deep glass), and paying for it all. Bucky would've put up more of a fight--he can take care of himself, thank you very much, he didn't wake up with muscles like this, he sweated and fought and earned them, and he fucking hears about it every day from every fucking knothead he encounters--if not for the immediate crackling, daring energy between them. It was dangerous. Over from the moment it began. There was no way to avoid each other once in orbit; gravity just pulls too hard.

'Cause Steve smelled so fucking good. He looked so good, too, with his jawline-length hair brushed back from his handsome face, putting in enough effort to style it without going all the way to the effort of having it scissored recently. And he was dressed to kill with his classy suit done all the way up his huge chest, save for the last two, casual yet calculated to be just enough of a tease to immediately leave Bucky drooling--or so it felt. That damn suit. Bucky only gets Steve into a suit when he pushes for those provider instincts. Do it for me, alpha. C'mon, Daddy, you know I like to see it, don't'chu? Steve would much rather be in anything else. What a shame. His suits don't even have to be tailored. He's just that good. He sounded so good, that first night, doing everything for Bucky yet hanging on every word with all his careful, almost-too-intense attention.

He did it all, every motion, as if compelled.

Propelled through it with a sure, fierce confidence. If asked to quit, he could clearly dial it back. Steve is a man in control of himself. His instincts would never win over his immense self-discipline. But., in lieu of those signals too cool it down from Bucky--his date for the evening, and foolishly soon to be his mate, unable to help themselves from rushing in--he would continue through it all, eyes blazing, treating each action like a sex act itself.

Each act confidently, smoothly undressed Bucky, unveiling him layer by layer. More and more skin on display. If he were a more traditional omega, well, he would've been wearing more, and he certainly wouldn't've ended up naked, taking Steve into his own bed at the end of their evening together, just a few smoldering hours of knowing each other, eye-fucking across a dim table, trying desperately to have a civilized conversation.

Hands on his body, gripping, holding, squeezing, Steve's determined, single-minded focus turned out not just to be an appetizer. It is a meal. Steve is a provider.

His alpha works as a craftsman, mainly in wood, but is handy at everything. And, sure, that's traditional. Manly. All-alpha. And very arousing in that socialized corner of Bucky's brain that was taught to be meek and submissive to any alpha, but especially those who have big hands and rough calloused and can hunt and fish and breed him full of pups. What. But, too, he cooks, he cleans, he gardens, and he makes.

He makes everything, anything, Bucky could want.

He's delightfully good with his hands, proving it time and time again.

And, impressively but perhaps not surprisingly, even when out of his mind, in the throes of rut, his instincts demand: provide.

He seeks out Bucky's pleasure with a determination that Bucky has never encountered in another lover. Steve--his alpha, his Daddy, his partner--will make him feel good. He will strip him to muscle and bone and rawness. He will make Bucky scream, so wet he can't believe his body is capable of that.

Now, here, Bucky shivers in bed; he's not stretching, thinking about getting ready for his day, he's just waiting, thinking about his mate and all the things he is capable of making his body feel.

God.

The omega lies there, lost in his filthy daydreams and glazed, erotic memories until the rumble of the engine of their (just Steve's originally, before Steve stole Bucky away from the polluted city air to his rural oasis with surprisingly high speed internet for Bucky's job, remote until a big shot case comes in that demands the hour-to-hour-and-a-half commute) truck comes grumbling down the drive, gravel crunching beneath its worn tires. He stays spread and relines lazily, tantalized by the drag of their sun-dried sheets and heavy quilt against his warming skin and hardened nipples with every just-under panting breath.

Bucky waits and waits until just the right moment--

Then, he wanders out into their home in time to catch Steve, hot and flushed around the edges with rut, barreling through their front door. He's got too many canvas shopping bags in hand (naturally doing it all in a single haul) and a backwards old baseball cap slapped over his wildly bed-headed hair, curling in dirty blonde waves around his ears, the ends of his beachy-waves catching the bulk of his thick, trimmed beard. He didn't even have the decency to shower before he left, and the smell of him lures Bucky in a step closer, his lip unconsciously parting with an instinctive desire to smell him. More. Open up. He wants the smell inside him--to fill him, penetrate him, pollute him.

What he always wants with Steve.

Jesus Christ, Bucky takes him in, feasting on him, head to toe.

If he didn't already know his fuckin' Daddy was in rut, he'd know based on how the exact moment he's back in his own home, Steve kicks off his shoes, dumps his wallet and keys, and knocks his hat to the ground by peeling off his worn t-shirt.

He'd know.

Only an alpha in rut can strip so frustratedly and so efficiently, uncaring who sees and who might it hurt--sending anyone near by tumbling back, flat on their ass under influence of the sudden delicious smell, exposed hairy armpits and chest and all, throwing their shirt over their shoulder.

Fuuuck, Steve.

On a mission to provide, Steve doesn't blink once at all his omega's bare skin or at the half-step he falls back, nearly cracking the back of his head against the wall, even with the scent of rut rolling off his farmed-tanned skin, teasing Bucky with the knowledge of how goddamn horny he has to be. Nah. Steve just bends over, now only in sweatpants that slide obscenely low on his hips, revealing that there isn't any underwear under 'em, to pick up his hat, hooking it on Bucky's head as he walks past with a filthy grin. He has the fucking balls, too, to pat him on the head as if rowdying him up. Go get 'em, champ.

"Mornin', darlin'," he drawls, already in the kitchen by the time Bucky blinks.

He's pretty sure he can feel himself getting wet already.

Oh my god.

And that's not even to mention how Steve's voice is either already shot like it gets when he's been groaning and hollering through a few good, dirty rounds of rut-sex (is it possible he fisted himself to orgasm once or twice? without bucky!? did he fuck his fist in the car to take off the edge? did he jerk off in bed, over Bucky's sleeping body, before rolling out and scarring the entire farmer's market with his fucking baseball bat cock half-hard in his sweats? he already smells so good with rut! there's no way he hasn't given in a little bit already... right?) or he hasn't been awake long enough for his throat to catch up. Either way, it makes Bucky's well-muscled body shiver.

Wandering, lost, into the kitchen behind him, just following his nose as his knees threaten to go soft on him, Bucky drools over the thought of Steve providing so fucking hard for him. What's wrong with him every morning this morning!? He's not in heat! It's Steve! This is Steve's fault! Bucky didn't even like being spoiled before Steve! He hated it! What is this fuckin' alpha's problem? Bucky grumbles to himself, trying his hardest to ignore the tell-tale rush and throb of his lust-thickened blood turning south, soon to make his hole all puffy and slick.

By the time Bucky plops himself down in their kitchen and can actually register what his Daddy is doing, buzzing around the space, humming something low under his breath, he realizes that Steve rushed out to get a spread. He must've been up early to get all this, jostling down the more-dirt-than-gravel road in their beat-to-shit pick-up before the sun was up. Their whole kitchen is full of fresh, prized picks from the market. He woulda had to wait in some lines for this shit. Thick-cut bacon. A golden, crispy, fluffy mound of sourdough. Slabs of sausage. Sweet little jars of a variety of handmade jams. Punnets of berries that look too juicy and ripe to be real. A new jar of honey. Expensive and luxuriously meltable, flavorful cheese to go with the multi-colored eggs collected from the coop. Fresh vegetables so green and leafy they could stand on their own, little soldiers, trying to escape the bag Steve's wrangled them into.

Bucky considers, briefly, offering to brew the coffee or wash the eggs their hens so kindly gave them but, nah, he stares down the back of his lover--the big, broad, muscled expanse in front of him like a wall, clawing his eyes down to the tight, little small of his back. He decides he knows better. There ain't no way, smelling like he does, deep as he is, that Steve would let him lift a finger now.

So, Bucky sits and waits, forgetting how stupid he probably looks, nothing on but one of Steve's well-loved baseball caps in favor of watching his alpha's big, strong fingers put in work.

Steve chops and fries and cooks it all up. He even plates Bucky's food for him, pouring him a drink of freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee, he's a provider and an overachiever, not letting him touch it until it's all good and ready. Then--

The real fun begins.

There is no other way to say it than to say it: Steve watches him eat with bedroom eyes.

Dark.

Sizzling.

Highly fucking inappropriate for the breakfast bar.

So, only fair, Bucky eats extra slow. Just because he can. Because he likes the way it riles Steve up, making the alpha shovel down his food without tasting it and pulling him to prowl closer, a little closer, and even closer as Bucky gets near to emptying his plate. Steve is not one to beg impatient, so Bucky knows that his rut is fucking eating at him now.

After he finally fucking swallows the last bite of their extensive, delicious breakfast, Steve lunges bodily at him, hauling him out of his stool by the shoulders so he can feel all of him, colliding then pressing together, warm with sunrise skin. Steve's big brute paws knock his own hat off Bucky's head uncaring where the hell it lands in favor of running his fingers through Bucky's thick, glossy hair and cupping his entire skull in those hands. Steve eases his head back at the same time he bites lushly at Bucky's bottom lip.

God.

Bucky isn't small, he's never been a dainty omega, and he doesn't feel small with Steve. Rather, he feels swallowed up by Steve.

Steve holds all of him.

Steve kisses him and kisses him and somewhere between their gasping breaths and muffled swears, his arms bulge and flex and he's hauling Bucky not just to his feet but onto the goddamn countertop. Only for getting a better grip on him. Shoving his way recklessly between Bucky's thighs, spreading them as wide as possible. Hands hot and heavy on his upper thighs. Grinding unconsciously into the hard counter's edge as Bucky leans his hips forward, wanting it. Wanting it so fucking bad. He unfolds, letting his Daddy devour him.

Devour.

Kissing down his neck with pink, slick lips and lavving at his chest, his collarbones, the veins emboldened on his neck when he throws his head back, tasting him. Biting his nipples until they're red and achingly hard. Sucking hickeys into his stomach, then growling into his hip; digging his teeth in, leaving behind the imprint of his fucking bite. Licking his dick lewdly from base to tip, nosing his balls, and diving down between his legs to drink his slick. It's spilling out of him by now. He made a mess on his kitchen bar stool and he will on the counter too.

Fuck.

Bucky wars between holding himself up and totally giving in to squirm wetly against the now body-temperate solidity of the counter, or thrusting up and fucking defiling his lover's face between his legs. The choice is made for him, in the end. His arms quiver behind his shoulders, leaving him to collapse down to his elbows and forearms. He's especially fucking weak when Steve takes a break from tongue-fucking his leaking hole like he's starving to nibbling and mouthing hungrily at the inside of his thighs. It's not a threat. It's a promise. He will eat him. He is eating him.

"Eat me," Bucky groans, eyes rolling back, "D-ahh! Daddy! Ohfuck--"

His rambling, what he knows he's saying and what's just spilling out of his open mouth unknowingly, are only serving to push Steve to greater lengths. His alpha will provide. He wants to provide and he's succeeding.

Who's your fucking Daddy? Who's making you lose your mind? Who's gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name and anything but this pleasure. Daddy. Alpha. Alpha. Daddy.DaddyAlphaAlphaAlphaalphaaaah--

"AH!" He lets it all go, bubbling over, rambling, professing how good his alpha makes him feel. He's so good. He's too good. He makes him feel so good--gives him everything. "Nnngh, guh, uh, uhh, uh! St-Steve, ohmygod."

They feed into each other, chewing and biting and swallowing and devouring.

It's a feast.

At some point between every stroke of Steve's tongue and lewd flick and dangerous graze of teeth, Bucky's slid down into an actual puddle, melted all over their previously nice kitchen, making a mess of it. Sweat rolls down his arched back--only his shoulders are touching now, he's arched the small of his back too viciously and Steve has taken it upon himself to curl Bucky's trembling legs over his shoulders, lifting his hips greedily to pull his ass closer to his sinful lips, eating him out like he wants to kill him. Slick drips from his puffy, eaten hole and slides erotically between the curves of his ass. He's leaking too much for Steve's beard to soak it all up.

Oh, god.

His fucking alpha.

"Makemefeelsogood," Bucky rushes out, struggling to grab a fistful of his hair. He can't. He just pounds his fist on the countertop and moans through clenched teeth, letting Steve take all his weight. His toes curl against Steve's fever hot muscle. His shoulders. Shit. Bucky can't look down between his thighs at his alpha or he'll spontaneously combust.

Between gutted moans, Bucky chuckles, low and aching, "too good, alpha, Daddy, ohgod, you're too good to me. Too good at this. Know just--unh, ah!--just what I neeeeed."

It's what his fucking alpha, his provider, needs to hear 'cause he's going for the kill all of the sudden. Pressing in deep. Tongue-fucking him. His handsome nose pressing against his perineum, throbbing electrically through his prostate from the outside. Shaking his head from side to side. Eating him out like a bulldog. Jesus. He won't stop. He's stubborn. His beard and his gorgeous head of fucking hair catch all up Bucky's thighs and he's just got to clench. He has to suffocate his alpha, keep him there. Keep him torturing him. Pleasuring him. Going all breathless and silent as he cums too goddamn hard.

Steve makes him cum all over his heaving belly, dripping off the side of his hip onto the counter.

And, because that can't be it, it's not enough for either of them--his rutting alpha has an appetite and Bucky is known for being a little bit of a whore--Steve flips him over, and he goes and does it again.

He licks him and feeds his hungry, swollen, wet hole some of his thick fingers while Bucky pants and squirms and dies. He's, his--his alpha. Daddy.

Daddy's fingers are so big inside him. Daddy's tongue is slick and smart, fucking between two pried-apart fingers, tasting all his sticky, sweet slick, making a meal of him. Stringing him up. Butchering him. Oh god. Again. Making his omega drip and squirt and mess up their perfectly innocent countertops before he's even plunged balls-deep into his yielding, tight body with his rut-heavy cock.

Filthy bastard.

God, he loves rut-stubborn Steve and his inability to take before he's given. It's exhausting. Exhilarating. Perfect.

Fuck.

Steve, again, doesn't give him a minute to recover before he's lugged up, first tossed over his shoulder, and then punished for his crimes when he starts to ferally bite and lick and worship any part of Steve's skin that he can reach. Tasting his rut. His fever. His lust.

Steve lowers him down, his rough, working hands guiding Bucky's thick, strong thigh around his robust waist. It doesn't stop Bucky from being a goddamn terror, though. He simply changes tactics, remaining a dirty fighter, though, and using his mouth.

Kissing and biting his bearded jaw as his alpha carries him back to bed. They've barely been gone for long enough for the sheets to cool. All the better. There's no stopping them now. Steve's rut is far from just coals, it's spread beyond the campfire pit and has begun to tear through the underbrush. It's almost a full-blown forest fire.

Before they can burn their sturdy, heavy wooden bedframe to ashes, though, Steve delays the inevitable by smashing Bucky into the hallway walls hard enough to rattle their picture frames. Again. Again. He does it a few times for good measure--not that he can help himself now, his words reduced from bitten-off swears to feral growls and particularly needy moans--sticking two thick fingers into his leaking hole to make sure he's still open while he's at it. Pfft. As if he's anything other than constantly loose and easy around Steve.

Alpha.

Daddy.

So big, providing him with so much pleasure and, just, so much. So fucking much. Their walls, their picture frames, their furniture, their bedframe, their life--built by Steve's expert hands. Skilled. Honed. If Bucky were capable of thinking, he'd smirk at the double entendre. Wood. Yeah, fuck yeah, Steve was destined to be a master craftsman with wood with that fucking thing between his legs, currently pressed hard up against Bucky.

Bucky should laugh. Knots! Even that. It's like somebody fucking planned that. His big, strong alpha working with wood, skilled at fitting his hardwood into drilled-out holes, navigating sizeable knots and--

Guh.

Another devastating kiss and Bucky shivers so hard his teeth might chatter. He is choked with arousal, sputtering and chanting nonsensically.

"Daddy, Alpha, so good, you, ah, mmmngh, you fuck--you fuck me so good, make me feel so good. You're so, ahhh, so guh-good! Please, just--yes!"

By the time they get to their actual bed, Bucky might've cum again, things are... hazy. There's too much smoke. Burning. Wood. All of that. What the hell, does it really matter? It feels so good. Steve smells good. Steve feels so good and smells better than anything underneath him because, because--

When did Bucky get on top?

How did Bucky get on top?

Most importantly how the hell didn't he notice? It's no fucking easy feat to stuff that cock inside him, especially when he's sitting on it. He's eating his cock up to his bulging knot. Balls deep.

He. is. stuffed.

Gasping, Bucky swears he suddenly tastes his alpha's heavy, thick cock in the back of his throat, gurgling on it. It's so deep. He can't speak for the moment it takes over. He can only quiver, open-mouthed, sitting on it, his own dick twitching weakly, dripping more. Leaking. Crying. Shaking and trembling.

Or, actually--god, his head is an empty mess--he isn't just wildly trembling. Steve is fucking him on his cock. His hips scream under his generous grip. He's not rutting into his omega like he'd use a tight, wet rut-toy. No. He's, as divine as he smells, not that deep into his rut just yet. He's still giving.

Providing.

Spoiling.

Spoiling Bucky.

Bucky can't take it. It just fuckin' turns him on too much.

So, with his lower lip trembling and his eyes glassy, Bucky forces himself to get it fucking together--just a little. Using everything he's got to push at Steve's hands, unclamping them from his bruised waist and instead pinning Steve's thick, powerful forearms to the bed. One arm by either side of his head. Flat to the mattress his big, virile alpha. That's the fucking stuff.

The sound that comes out of his alpha in return is fucking feral. Bucky's entire core tightens around his length. Clenching. Jesus. He could listen to that any day, any time, watching those pretty, white teeth snap and that head arch back, tendons and veins in his neck showing, fighting the urge to control, to rut, to provide, to breed.

Provide takes priority.

Provide what the omega wants.

Give the omega what he wants.

If he wants to ride you like a knotted dildo, fucking let him.

"Gimme this, Daddy," Bucky moans, starting his own jerking, aching rhythm. He's rocky at the start but he won't stay that way, he just needs to get his ass into gear, flexing and rippling around his cock. His knot already bigger. Fatter. God, he's actually gonna die from this. "Gimme," he reiterates, watching him trash his head side to side.

He will.

He will provide.

He will give Bucky anything he asks for.

"That's it," Bucky purrs in reward, seeing his burly arms go limp, surrendering to his omega's needs. Bucky's voice is all gravel and growl, easing off his wrists now that he knows his alpha will stay--trained as well as an attack dog.

With both hands free, he's rocking, grinding, and bouncing in his lap while running his greedy hands down his alpha's furry chest. No longer does his big man control the pace. Nah. It's Bucky's fucking turn. Feral and sharp with his grin, he leans farther back on that goddamn cock. Grinding, bouncing, riding, circling his hips, getting up on his curling toes, using all the strength he has in his shapely thighs and thick ass, panting, moaning, getting filled.

Fingernails scratching through Steve's thick forest of chest hair to get to the hard, hard points of his pretty pink nipples, thumbing them until Steve's hips jackknife off the bed, Bucky barely gets out, "l-lemme give you something, Daddy, oh god, always give me so mmmmgh, much, givemesomuch, alpha. treat me so good. Fuck. Gonnatreatyou, guh-gonna, gonna--"

He trails off into a high-pitched whine he'll deny later. Jesus. You try making any kind of dignified sound with a knot so far up your ass it's deliciously hard to breathe.

Frantically, he rides, pawing at Steve's rounded pecs and smoothing his hands down to his more loosely defined abs, mostly covered with his treasure trail and filled out lately by Bucky's influence. Steve likes to provide, but Bucky still wants a well-fed, well-cared-for alpha. That makes him feral. Strong but caring and cared-for. God, it gets him so wet... clearly.

He is dripping.

His fucked-loose hole just keeps getting looser, wetter, and needier. His hormones are ramping up to meet Steve's. So, he can't help but start making demands, that's, at least, what he'll blame it on if Steve sees fit to tease him later about how much his rut turns him into a knot-hungry slut.

"Gimmie it, alpha," Bucky's omega purr dips into much more of a growl, crumbling down, his teeth finding Steve's neck, "gimmie what I need, god, Jesus fuck, alpha--Daddy, big fuckin' Daddy, gimmie that knot. I need it. Right now. Haveta, hahhh, haveta have it. Gimmie."

Poetry, no, pure pornography in motion, Steve's cock twitches and jerks inside him and with a convulsion that rolls through him in one, long wave, arching his neck before rolling down to arch his back then thrusting his cock deep into him, stuffing him full, he does exactly what Bucky asks.

He always does.

He always gives him what he needs.

"Good," Bucky moans, guttural, feeling it in his gut as he's pumped full, alpha cum, hot and wet and heavy inside him, filling him, breeding him, providing, pr-providing--

Bucky struggles to speak, to think, but he does it, somehow, gritting out, "goodgod, ohgod, good alpha, always so good to me, Daddy, always give me what I need. Suh-! S-ssuch a good provider. Good alpha."

Steve's growl is so deep it vibrates Bucky with his legs spread wide as hell around his thick waist, slick overflowing from the tight, aching stretch of their tie.

His tight little rim and Steve's fat knot.

Fuck.

He's so messily dripping from his hole, down his tight balls, and onto Steve's flat stomach, smothering the hair there and drenching his alpha in his sweeter, briny scent. Sweeter compared to the heady musk of alpha that Bucky would roll around in if he could. Already, dimly, Bucky knows Steve won't want to shower after this. He must be grinning stupidly, thinking about how his big alpha's-alpha will wear the smell of his omega's lust with perverse pride, knowing he brings Bucky more pleasure than he can take.

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kstarker · 14 days ago

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idk if this ask is welcome bc i don't know if you'd be into this so you're welcome to delete this xd

but anyways i just read a doujin wherein the mc is a buff blond guy with lactating tits and a pregnant belly and all i could think about rn is steve being fucked from behind, his tiddies leaking with milk and his belly bulging with a baby 😩😩

I genuinely love that this kink has come up and you're unsure if I'm into it or not while I'm actually over here with this whole chaptered fic, "We Don't Fight Fair" that is definitely, definitely related to what you're asking for. Like, yeah, I'm here for this 💀💀 Finding out what am I not into is a lot harder game, lmaoo

Further, I used to write a shit ton of pregnancy kink, so this is, just, back to my roots, lol.

That fic is omegaverse, but this ask answer isn't explicitly so. So, just, come with me, lol, Steve is pregnant here with no explanation as to why.

Anyway--

Filth time.

"Unh, unh, uh-unh-!" Steve's sounds are pure fucking sex, somehow both guttural and high and whiny at the same time, filling the thick, humid atmosphere of their bedroom heavily.

The sounds getting forcibly pushed out of Steve's lungs by the toe-curling intrusion of Bucky's achingly hard cock in his tight ass is enough to make Bucky feel wild with molten lust. So the fact that those precious noises are underscored by little screams of the overburdened springs in their mattress and the obscene, slapping collision of their bodies together--Steve's thick thighs and thicker ass against Bucky's lower stomach and lap as he struggles to ride him underneath the weight of Bucky's baby heavy in his near-term belly--god, it's too damn much for Bucky. He doesn't fucking know how he's hanging on. He's fucking gritting his teeth until his jaw hurts with the pressure just to keep himself from busting. And that's just the sounds!

The visuals of Steve are worse.

Because, of course, Steve is better than he has any fucking right to be--more salacious and wet-dream-come-to-life than any pornography on a screen could ever be. Steve's trembling as one big, heavy mass of curves and sweet, flushed skin in Bucky's lap, speared on his dick.

If Steve weren't so fucking pregnant, they would be chest-to-chest. Bucky loves getting Stevie to ride him like that, that way he can breathe in and swallow every single noise that comes out of him, his noises dripping in sin and settling hot deep in Bucky's belly, smoldering like coals. Plus, that way Bucky can have his hands all over Steve, clutching his thighs, digging his nails into his ass, feeling up his abs as they tremble and tense, groping the swells of his pecs (more like tits... especially these days, these days they are tits), and palming his shoulders and back, or even hitting his flank like he's a pony and he needs to giddy up. But he is obscenely pregnant, and so they can't really manage the usual position Bucky likes when Steve rides him. There's too much getting in the way.

Damn.

He looks ready to pop, his body ripened into something of a capital B if only the back of the B were arched into a beautiful, painfully deep bend, sticking his ass out to compensate for the weight of his chest and tummy. Still, he's close enough to a B, shaking and riding, with his boobs and belly stacked on top of each other.

They're needing so much more room than when he's not bred up so good. Bred up big. And so, Bucky is lying flat on their bed while Steve jiggles on top of him like the best burlesque fantasy.

He's been on him for a while, pressing Bucky into the mattress and grinding, rocking, bouncing back on his big cock, driving desperate and more desperate sounds out of his own red-hot mouth. It's been so long that Bucky's wet with it. Yet, he hasn't cum. He has the patience of a saint, yes, thank you very much, but he also fucking refuses to not give the intensely pregnant love of his life everything he wants, including and not limited to being a living dildo when his pregnancy hormones get the best of him--melting him down into a round, overflowing puddle of horniness.

"Unh, unh, unnnh!" Those goddamn noises. They're enough to murder a man, he swears.

Bucky has lost track of how many times Steve's clenched so fucking tight around his cock that he swears he's going to explode, leaving his body and mind behind to become nothing but pleasure, but that's only part of why he's wet. He's soaked with Steve's release, dripping from his still-hard cock, but also drenched because Steve's been at it for so long that he fucking needs to pump again. Already somehow. It's been eons and just seconds simultaneously. His tits have been swelling up so pretty since before his tummy was that much of a bump, so it was no surprise to them when he started producing early and producing a lot.

The evidence of that production is messily smeared and dripping down Steve's heavy belly--marked so attractively with marks, his skin unable to keep up with the baby inside him, rounding him out too quickly--in rivers of milk from his tits.

As far as Bucky's fucking concerned, it's just as hot to watch his overfull tits leak milk as it is to watch his cock weep, pre-cum or straight-up cum dripping from the slit, or watch his eyes overflow with tears, streaming down his cheeks when he's so overwhelmed by pleasure. Overwhelmed by how fucking good he feels, screaming, gasping, silently choking, his mouth hanging wide open, almost drooling, or frustrated. Bucky loves breaking Steve down to tears. Overwhelmed so good. Frustrated so bad. Whatever. One or both. He likes him incoherent and needy. What can he say? Steve's raw like that. Perfect and obscene.

So, Bucky hardly thinks of it--he's not thinking about anything, actually, he fucking can't--when Steve's eyes join his cock and tits and sweat glands in leaking.

Melting.

He's flooding, the picture of sin. Debauched and drowning in pleasure and...

Frustration.

What makes Bucky's thoughtless body kick into action rather than letting the love of his life use him as a living, breathing sex toy (what a hardship, oh nooo) is when Steve starts blubbering. It's not really words. It's the attempt at words, spitting out, sobbing, and stuttering over being too full, tight, and heavy. But it's enough. Steve struggles with his words over his chest-heaving sobs, and he fights his own rhythm, whining underneath it all.

"Hey, hey, hey," Bucky coos, keeping his voice as cool as he can (it's not very), "what's goin' on, babydoll?" He can taste Steve's need on his tongue that's how fucking bad the waves of desperation are rolling off of him. Before the flavor was all sweet, now there's sour tinges.

Steve struggles, not really making words and hardly even rocking back now. "C-can't--nnngh, guh, uh! Oh! Pluh-please! Can't, I, too, I'mmmmmgh, fuck, pleee-please, Buck! Too f-full. Fuck. 'M heavyyy. I can't--"

He's, he's--

Oh.

He's trying to move and not getting very far. Not at all. His mind slowly strings together his words--his complaints--I can't, I'm too heavy, I'm too full! Bucky, please!

Oh.

"Ohh, baby," Bucky knows his lips have curled up into the widest, most salacious kind of grin as he realizes what's happening. It clicks. "Are you too tired?"

Steve nods his head frantically, stringing out this precious, feminine fuck-me whine that means he isn't done but he can't keep going. He needs. He needs.

More.

"Are you too big and heavy now?" Bucky lets his mouth run. He doesn't need to think to charm and tease. It's in his fucking nature to rile Steve up. "All ripe with my baby in you, yeah? Can't lift yourself up anymore, huh? Do you need me to fuck you 'cause you're achin', you can't hold this big belly up? Fuck, honey, I can't say no to you--lookit that face."

Steve's face is a masterpiece of agonizing pleasure.

And Bucky can fucking provide.

He will.

There's not a damn thing that can stop him from surging up, getting his elbows underneath him, and pushing up to roll Steve onto his back where he can sprawl out like an angel with body for daaaays.

Those curves.

His arms fly out to catch himself even though Bucky knows Steve knows down to his core that Bucky would never let him fall. His legs only stay spread around Bucky's sturdy waist because Bucky holds them there. His poor, overworked muscles can't function anymore. It's too much. His hands stay up by his head--a halo of sweat-matted, marathon-fucking-ruffled hair--and twist into their sheets, white-knuckling it. At the same time, he tries (and fails underneath all his own pregnant weight) to arch his back because Bucky is getting his footing, shifting his weight, getting ready to fucking plow into him, and Steve can feel it. Steve's clenching, feeling Bucky's dick move deep inside him, stuffing him full when he's already so fucking full with his baby and all that milk still goddamn pouring from his tits.

His baby and milk and cock right alongside all the pleasure inside Steve. Steve can't fit anymore. He can't take anymore. He's going to split wide open. Too full. Too much. Too good. But. He wants.

He needs.

More.

And there is no other way to say it: Bucky takes two seconds to find his balance on his knees, no longer his back, and then starts fucking Steve mercilessly, just the way he knows Steve likes it, no matter how pregnant he is, because no matter what... his Stevie's a huge slut.

Steve is immediately howling, now getting fucked into the mattress, spoon-fed his pleasure rather than having to work so hard for it. And he's loving it.

Steve's skin is so tight and hot it's on fire like he's stretching more. Immediately now, stretched around his cock and baby and making more milk and feeling more pleasure with fucking nowhere to put it. He's got no room, so all of his sounds come spilling out with his tears. Nothing can stay inside him. He's cumming without realizing he's cumming. It all feels like an orgasm. Drawn out and devasting. He's so feverish and sensitive and without doing any of the work, he no longer knows up from down, all there is is Bucky carving a place for his dick inside him, making it impossible to breathe. He can't. He can't.

And it's so fucking satisfying.

He's stuffed full. Owned in every conceivable way. He's ruined for everything ever. He'll never be the same, and he doesn't want to be. Steve wants to stay here--heavily pregnant, too heavy to writhe or squirm to twist--and take it forever. Gasping, ah, ah, ah! so urgently anyone else would think he's dying. Maybe he is. Maybe this is so fucking good it's gonna kill him.

Guh.

Steve's eyes roll back at the same time that his fingers uncurl from fisting the sheets. He's crying harder, leaking more, still cumming or cumming again, it doesn't matter. He's given into it. Laying limp, boneless, and just letting his body take it 'cause he's so full he can't moved, pinned, and yet he's still so hungry for it that that's all he can do. Take it.

More.

Jesus Christ.

Steve is going to live long enough for Bucky to cum inside him again, pumping him just that much fuller, and then he's gonna fucking die. That's what's going to end him. Bred bigger. Made fuller. Oversatisfied.

Yes.

I just re-read the prompt and realized you wanted it from behind. Oops. I may have gotten caught up in my own writing. Well, at least I can tell you that Steve definitely takes it from behind in my fic that I linked at the top, lol.

I hope you enjoyed!

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kstarker · 14 days ago

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"S-say it again?" Steve pants, too desperate and on edge as his hips jerk forward uncontrollably. Thrusting in and pulling back sharply, quickly, and shallowly, unable to take it. Too much. So much.

Feelssogood.

Steve's ears burn with the tight, wet sounds that Bucky's cunt makes around his achy, hard cock. It's already pornographic but then the wet, slick noises have to be underscored embarrassingly by the obscene, sharp collision of their naked bodies hitting together--his pelvis pressed flush to Bucky's thick ass. Smack.Smack.Smack.

Oh, God, he can't help it. Fucking forward. Short and desperate thrusts. He can't help it. A whine trips and falls out of his buzzing mouth, kiss-swollen, red, and glistening. The phantom sensation of Bucky's teeth is still imprinted on his flesh, biting his fat lower lip just enough to hurt, forcing his mind to clear so he can listen to the growled instructions Bucky gives him on how he wants to be fucked. Saying the words right into his mouth, making him swallow them, hot and heavy in his belly.

For now, Steve swallows a whimper, the sensation of fucking is too much but he can't stop. He can't stop. He's sensitive but it's too much. Not enough! He, he...

He can't formulate a single fucking thought, he's so caught up in his throbbing, coiled-tight body.

Meanwhile, Bucky sighs pleasantly, content to keep the torture going and ensuring it will by squeezing his thick, strong thighs firmly around Steve's little waist. Holding him between his legs, heaven, like he wants to bruise him, mark him, hold him there, and make him lose his mind inside his molten body, carving deep into him. He knows exactly what he does to Steve and it isn't fucking fair. Steve keens. How is he supposed to function? How is he supposed to not go stupid?

When Bucky doesn't do anything else but grip him with his fucking thighs--Jesus, his thighs--Steve wilts, subcumbing to the crackling, spitting fire inside him, melting his muscles, leaving him weak and trembling as if he's feverish. He is. He's burning up. His head hangs lower, and his lips drag over the side of Bucky's throat, nosing his jaw, his breath humid and thick as he repeats himself, "sssay it again?" Steve begs. His voice is more whine than anything else.

He doesn't mean to be so pathetic, whining, nosing, and humping Bucky like a dumb puppy getting his dick wet for the first time, but he doesn't know what else to do. He needs it! He needs to hear it. It's all he wants. He wants it more than he wants his orgasm at this point. It is an orgasm, that in of itself.

If Bucky would just say it!

He wants it. He wants it so bad he can taste it.

It's not fair--he's drowning in the taste, but he can't indulge. The inferno inside his has reached a fever pitch again and again before Bucky's gotten control over it, suffocating the flames, cooling the heat just enough. Stopping him right on the cusp. Leaving him sweating and shaking but never losing it fully. Catching him just before his eyes roll back into his head--right before release. Now, poor Steve's hypersensitive and ever-burning. So molten that he's gone beyond red-hot to pure white.

Pure heat.

Steve fucks another little sound out of himself, grinding into Bucky's cunt too deep. He's flushed pink and needy all the way to his curling, cramping toes. It aches.

Yet, his hips buck again, jostling Bucky good, his cock battering his prostate like he likes, sending pulsing, electric pleasure through him. Bucky gets pleasure. Bucky gets to cum. Bucky tells him what do to, he orders him around, he owns his dick.

"Pleeeeease!" Steve whines, especially pathetic.

Finally fucking pathetic enough, desperate enough, tears in his eyes, a sob at the back of his throat that Bucky does as he asks. Just this once. But first...

Steve keens when he's blinded, assaulted, by the electric, sparkling sensation of Bucky's fist tightening its grip in his hair, holding right at the base of his neck like he's scruffing him or, oh, fuck, like he's pulling on a leash. It causes his hips to fuck harder, grinding deeper where he's hotter, wetter, tighter. So easy to direct, such an obedient boy.

But-!

Steve needs something to do with his mouth. Steve's out of his fucking mind. Steve doesn't even care that it's embarrassing how he drools and licks and sucks at Bucky's collarbone. It's there and he needs him. He needs his mouth full. He needs more. Moremoremoremore. He really just wants--

Bucky lets it happen.

He groans, "good boyyy," as he's pounded into fervently. God, Steve gets dumb but he knows how to use that big fucking cock.

"A-AH!" Steve cries out, still humping him, "ah, ah, ah-again!" Steve whimpers, his thrusts sloppy and clumsy as he's walked right up to the line. So eager. So close.

"Magic word?" Bucky chuckles, barely avoiding a moan of pleasure. He's so deep inside him that he can feel him in the back of his throat. Jesus.

"'Pluh-please!" Steve slurrs, drunk on the tight clench of his body.

"Good boy," Bucky barely finishes the words--pulling harshly at Steve's hair as he goes faster, harder, deeper--before Steve is losing it completely, curling over top of him, shivering so hard that it's more like convulsions as he empties himself inside him, moaning himself hoarse. He can't help it, digging his fingers into the sheets and mattress as he falls apart. He hears that little bit of praise, and every bit of restraint leaves his puppy.

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kstarker · 14 days ago

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Concept: Steve is unfathomably horny for Bucky's metal arm but out of a mix of general-sexual-shyness/catholic-and-internalized-homophobia-fueled-shame/guilt-about-what-HYDRA-did-to-Bucky-without-Steve-ever-stopping-to-look-for-him, he can't admit it out loud.

Talking about things? Not your style, Rogers.

Bucky, of course, knows. This is Steve. He knows too much about Steve, always, even when he can hardly remember himself. Besides, Steve's a fucking idiot and a terrible liar--hiding in complete plain site. Every day... sometimes multiple times a day... sometimes every hour, Bucky easily sees how Steve's eyes track every slick movement and mechanical calibration hungrily. Subconsciously, Steve licks his stupidly pink lips. And if he's being especially weak and stupid and Bucky is extra smooth with his movements, he can get a ragged little exhale out of him.

The thing is, though, Bucky doesn't realize how deep Steve's hunger for his metal arm goes until he's gotten out of Steve a confession of how much he likes his hands, generally, and he has four flesh-and-blood fingers up Steve's ass. Yet, fuller than ever and Steve still asks for more, slurring, arching his back, and admitting, out of his goddamn mind, basically crying for it, that he wants the metal ones.

Up until then, Bucky's kept his metal fingers away from Steve's asshole. Tenderly, he starts. And. Bucky doesn't get fully how deep Steve's want goes until his loosened hole twitches around four metal fingers and how his pretty pink, soaked rim yields like hot butter to the thrust of his whole fucking hand. Bucky slips inside past the base of his hand before he realizes it. Steve's body devours his metal arm. He isn't just hungry for it--he's starved. He takes his whole fucking hand, just like that, up to his wrist.

Bucky, scraping his jaw off the floor and fighting to not rut himself against the back of Steve's thigh until he busts, is convinced Steve would take it up to the shoulder if Bucky let him 😮‍💨

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kstarker · 15 days ago

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Peter, who's excited for his first ever date- he actually tries to look presentable, and he spends all weekend ecstatic and giddy over the planned event. Only to get stood up by his boyfriend on the day.

Tony, who sees Peter on the sidewalk dragging himself back home. He pities the kid- feels bad for him. He knows Peter will worry over this for the next week or two, and the teen looks disappointed. And so Tony takes Peter out on that planned date, just to cheer him up. Giving the kid all the things he should've gotten today from his actual boyfriend. (subtly trying to worm my way into Starker Tumblr...)

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kstarker · 16 days ago

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Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

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kstarker · 17 days ago

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Antique Silver

Read on AO3

Steve’s arms bracket Peter’s head as he sucks possessive bruises into the skin of his neck. Steve always likes to use his whole body to cover Peter’s, shielding him from the world. They may as well be when they’re like this, the way Steve covers him. Only he can see Peter, only he can hear Peter, only he can fuck Peter.

Steve is so overwhelming. His hands are so big and his skin is so warm and soft Peter feels like he’s got so many hands on him. His skin tingles from Steve’s stubble, his lips are raw from his kisses. Yet, he’s never felt so cherished in his life. He feels cared for as if he’s a piece of antique silver that’s been polished a hundred times. Used, loved, yet no less special than last time he was filled.

Steve takes his time opening him up, he always does. He can feel his artist-honed fingers massaging him from the inside, stretching him like taffy. They’re so meticulous and careful, completely in control in whatever pleasure Steve bestows on him. He’s so skilled at whatever he put his mind to, treating Peter’s hole like his latest art project, sculpting it to take Steve’s cock.

Peter has tears in his eyes before Steve is even in him. Steve is just teasing him now, rubbing his cock head over Peter’s hole while he begs for him. He allows Peter a little relief in the form of his cock-head pressing in and out of his hole, fucking him with only the tip. Peter latches his fingers on Steve’s ass, not letting him pull back once he’s in. Steve finally lets him have it, sinking in. He’s so thick and hard and warm he stretches Peter’s hole better than he’s ever had it. He’s always so cold and Steve runs so hot and it’s all he can do to grip onto Steve’s muscles and scream as he bottoms out, cum forcing itself out his body.

Peter's brain can only think of Steve and his cock and how good his lips feel on his body and his fingertips digging into his hips. No one can fuck him like Steve does, although he does wonder how good it would feel to let others try. Steve fucks like it’s his last time, like there’s no tomorrow. His hips circle, forcing his cock into his prostate with every thrust, slow and deep, driving Peter crazy, making him take it.

His mouth can’t form coherent words anymore, only able to moan out garbled syllables. He wonders briefly between peaks of pleasure how Steve is still functioning enough to be able to fuck him like this. Steve has turned his body to jelly, his mind to liquid. Steve consumes him from inside out, his blood a raging inferno. He screams as he cums again.

He knows Steve’s ears are sensitive but he’s too out of it to control himself. He didn’t even think to try until Steve shoves two fingers in his mouth for him to suck on. God why didn’t he think to ask if he could have it from both ends? He gurgles around Steve’s fingers as he cums for the third time in his cock this evening.

He knows things are complicated between Steve, Bucky, and Tony but god, the only thing that could make sex with Steve better is another super soldier and an actual sex god. It’s all Peter can do to sink his fingers into Steve’s back and cum again thinking about it.

Steve doesn’t stop until Peter’s drained. He briefly pulls together enough brain cells to wonder why. Steve is sensitive and super powered like he is, how does he not cum every two seconds? The brief flash of silver Peter sees flying over his head answers his question. He was wearing a cock ring to wring Peter dry before pounding him into pulp. God, Steve is too good for him, waiting until he’s satisfied before taking his own. And he does take, finally allowing himself to be selfish. He tucks his face into Peter’s neck and drives into him, groaning as he cums seemingly non-stop. By the time he’s done, Peter feels like there’s a river running out of him

Steve collapses next to him, presses a kiss to his sweaty curls, and passes out. He knows Steve will wake in a few minutes to take care of them both, but for now, he dozes, wondering how he’ll convince Steve to let others see them like this.

—

“Steve?” Peter asks once they’re both cleaned up and cuddled together. Steve grunts in response. Peter looks up at him, marveling how gorgeous the other man is. Golden eyelashes, eyes bluer than the sky, plush, pink lips. Peter presses his own to them, losing himself momentarily.

Steve is the one that pulls back. “Queens, you’re gonna get me goin’ again and I don’t think either of us can handle that right now.”

Peter snorts. Steve is right, Peter’s prostate is bruised and his hole is still swollen and red from Steve using him.

“So I was thinking-“

“A dangerous pastime.”

“You shush! I shouldn’t have shown you that. I’m trying to ask you something here,” Peter says, shoving lightly at Steve’s shoulder.

“Anyway, I was thinking about how much I liked it when you shoved your fingers in my mouth while you were fucking me. It made me feel so full. And, I, uh. Was wondering-“

“Oh thank god. Me too. You’d look so good with your mouth full of cock while I stuff you full.”

“Really, you’d want to have someone else?” Peter questioned earnestly.

“One specific person, yes. I’ll ask and see if he’d want to relive old times.”

Peter grabs Steve by the hair and yanks him down into a rough kiss.

“Just so you know,” Peter gasps in between kisses, “I have a thing for brunettes.”

“Guess I gotta change that then,” Steve growls, grabbing for the lube.

So much for not getting him riled up again.

#spidershield #steve x peter #steve rogers x Peter Parker #Peter x Steve #Peter Parker x Steve rogers #my writing #nff

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