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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

Reassurance

Title: Reassurance

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13793475

Square Filled: N4: Avengers Cuddle Pile!

Ship: None (Gen)

Rating: General Audiences

Major Tags: None

Summary: Following a hard battle, the Avengers rest, and make sure one of their own is okay.

Word Count: 1895

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full Text Below:

Steve shuffled into the common room sluggishly, his feet dragging along the carpet. He should get a shower, but really, all he wanted to do right now was sleep. Still, the need to check on his teammates after the battle was persistent, and they’d all show up here eventually.

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky muttered from his sprawl on the floor, his flesh arm thrown over his eyes and his metal one limp on the floor. It had taken a severe beating, and Steve was sure that Tony would get right on fixing it. In the morning. For now, the genius was probably so sleep-deprived that he’d end up blowing the lab sky high if he tried to tinker with anything.

“Mmph,” Steve replied, dropping down next to his friend, one arm flung over Bucky’s waist. “Wake me when I’m dead,” he managed to mutter. Bucky hummed in agreement, but otherwise didn’t move.

The sound of shuffling feet paused in the doorway, and Steve felt someone observing him and Bucky. “Oh, excellent. Heat,” Tony mumbled, staggering forward. A moment later, he was dropping down, directly on top of Steve’s back. Steve squeaked, his spine going tense as Tony’s freezing fingers tucked themselves against his back. Tony’s sigh of relief almost drowned out Bucky’s chuckle. Almost.

“Got some for you, too, Freezer Burn,” Tony told him blithely, then shifted. This time, Bucky made a pained sound, and Steve realized that Tony was now at an angle across the both of them, his hands still pressed to Steve’s back, and his feet off to the side - on top of Bucky.

“What the hell, Stark,” Bucky whined, though he made no moves to push the other man off.

“Yeah, turns out the ocean is pretty fucking cold this time of year,” Tony said almost conversationally, but Steve could hear the faint tremor in his voice, even as Tony’s teeth chattered. He slumped further against the floor, feeling guilty that he hadn’t been fast enough to stop the….acid, or whatever the hell it had been, from eating through Iron Man’s armor before a giant tentacle had slammed him into the water. Tony had been quick enough to call another suit to him - and War Machine had kept the giant kraken-snake hybrid occupied by shooting it in the eyes - and had managed to pull himself back out of the water within a few seconds, but it had been terrifying there for a few minutes.

“Ah, friend Anthony!” Thor greeted as he strode into the room, his exuberance almost painful to the men collapsed on the floor. How was it possible for the Asgardian to still have so much energy?! He had practically toasted the thing from the inside out with a huge bolt of lightning. The smell had been sickening. “It is good to see that you are well enough to have joined our Shield Brothers in their rest. Is there room for one more, perchance?”

“Knock it off with the perchances, and take a load off,” Tony told him, one hand sliding out to beckon at Thor before burrowing back to its spot between Tony’s chest and Steve’s spine.

“Thank you, my friends,” Thor exclaimed before settling himself nearby. He still smelled of storms and electricity. Steve could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, electricity tingling across his scalp and shoulders.

“Dammit, Thor,” Bucky complained. “Why the fuck do you still have so much energy?”

Thor’s laughter rumbled through his chest as he settled on the floor by Steve. Tony promptly rolled over and dropped his head on Thor’s lap. “I find battle invigorating!” he exclaimed. “Do you not feel the same?”

Tony whined. “No, I don’t feel the same,” he grumbled. “Flying is exhilarating. Inventing a new element is exhilarating. Battling a giant demon squid-hydra hybrid is not fucking exhilarating!” Thor laughed again, joined by Steve while Bucky just mumbled his agreement.

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Sam asked, strolling casually into the room and eyeing the small pile of Avengers on the floor. “Giant demon squid-hydra hybrid?”

“I’d flip you off, but that would require actual effort,” Tony muttered. “You can call it whatever you want, I don’t care.”

Sam grinned, wandering into the kitchen and rummaging around in the fridge for a few minutes. The fridge door clinked, and a moment later, Sam dropped a pile of water bottles near them before settling himself on the floor, his back leaning against the couch behind him. He cracked open one of the water bottles and took a long drink, then let his head drop back against the couch. He stretched his legs out, burying them under Bucky’s thighs. The Soldier just glared at him, but didn’t bother moving, and Sam smirked.

“What’s this? Are we having a cuddle party and nobody told me?” Clint demanded, dragging a tolerantly amused Natasha into the room with him. “Not fair!” he protested.

“Oh my god, shut up, Katniss,” Tony told him. “How about you make yourself useful like Wilson here and get us some food?”

Clint laughed as he dropped next to them, pulling Natasha into his lap. “Sure! Jarvis, order us the usual post-mission feast, would you?” he asked.

“Of course, Agent Barton,” the AI replied politely. “Expected arrival is thirty-five minutes.”

“Thanks, J! You’re awesome,” Clint complimented him. Tony forgave him and moved enough to roll one of the water bottles his way. “Thanks,” Clint said, cracking it open and offering it to Natasha first, before taking a sip of his own. He rolled slightly to the side so that his shoulder was pressed against Sam’s. “So...that majorly sucked,” he said at last.

Tony snorted. “You think?” he asked sarcastically. “The Mark Forty-Seven is not made for underwater battle. If I had know that was going to happen, I would have brought the Rubber Duckie.”

There was a long moment of silence as the other Avengers contemplated the words that had just come out of Tony’s mouth. It was, naturally, Clint who then demanded, “Rubber Ducky? Do you really have an armor nicknamed Rubber Ducky?” When no answer was forthcoming, he turned to yell over his shoulder, “Does Tony really have a Rubber Ducky armor?”

“Stop saying Rubber Ducky, you sound like a two-year-old,” Rhodey told him; but he answered anyway. “Yes, Tony has an armor he designed solely for underwater combat. He nicknamed it Rubber Ducky.”

“I fail to see why this surprises you,” Natasha told Clint, her hands scritching lightly against the blonde’s scalp. “He has robots he built that he named DUM-E, Butterfingers, and U. I don’t know why you would expect the armors to be any different.”

“I’d resent that if it wasn’t true,” Tony admitted.

The eighth member of their little group wandered into the room and observed them all with mild consternation. “You do realize that there is actual furniture in this room?” he asked. “Very nice furniture, even.”

Tony lifted his head, his extremities finally warming up, thanks to super soldier heat output. “Well, yeah, but there’s not enough room on the couch for all of us,” he pointed out. “Which sort of defeats the purpose of a cuddle pile.” There were various murmurs of agreement from the others, and Phil just sighed quietly and walked over, eyeing the sprawled out Avengers again before shrugging and dropping to the couch, stretching out along its length. One of his hands reached down and brushed against Clint’s back, a small anchor to the rest of the group. Clint smiled, turning his head to kiss the inside of Phil’s wrist, while Natasha shifted enough to wrap one hand lightly around the Agent’s ankle.

“Excellent,” Tony murmured, noting that only one Avenger was missing. “Jarvis, where’s Bruce?” he asked, hoping that the other man would decide to join them tonight. The Hulk had been needed to take down their opponent this time, and that meant that Bruce might not be wanting anybody else’s company now.

“Bruce is right here,” he man in question spoke up as he entered, carrying a pile of familiar boxes with him. “The food arrived on my way up,” he added, dropping the boxes of pizza onto a nearby table before scooping up another bottle of water and dropping down to the floor, close to the rest of the group. Tony immediately abandoned the two soldiers in favor of rolling over and wrapping his arms around Bruce’s waist. Bruce looked down at him with a fond, quiet smile, one hand sliding upwards to run through Tony’s hair. The genius practically purred, making Bruce chuckle.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m starving,” Sam spoke up, groaning as he climbed to his feet, earning a protest from Clint as his support was suddenly taken away. “Anybody else?” he offered magnanimously. He got a chorus of enthusiastic approval and huffed as he started putting pizza on plates and handing them around.

Bruce accepted a plate for both himself and Tony, his hand moving from Tony’s hair to the back of his neck and then sliding down his arms to brush along his fingers. “Still cold?” he asked quietly, concern evident in his tone.

“A little,” Tony admitted, not able to lie to his best friend. It wasn’t like Bruce couldn’t feel how chilly his hands still were. “It’s a lot better now, though,” he added. “Steve and Buckaroo helped.”

“I’m sure,” Bruce murmured wryly, then looked up with a murmur of thanks at Phil, who had gotten up from the couch to offer them the afghan that sat along the back of it. Accepting it, Bruce dropped the heavy blanket over Tony and urged him to sit up so he could eat.

Tony grumbled at losing his comfortable spot, but sat up, shivering as the cooler air of the room hit him before the blanket settled back around his shoulders. Silently, Bruce shifted so that he leaned against Tony’s left side, a warm line of heat. Steve stood to help Sam distribute the pizza, handing out the last couple of pieces before dropping back to the floor, this time behind Tony, his legs on either side of Tony’s hips.

Once he was settled, Steve looked at Bucky pointedly. The Soldier rolled his eyes, but scooted over so that he was seated on Tony’s other side. It was sorely tempting to be a dick and sprawl across Tony’s lap, but since Tony had been hit with the acidic spit while knocking Bucky out of its way, he supposed he could at least loan his body heat to the other man.

Tony raised an eyebrow at him, then rolled his eyes, making it clear that he knew exactly what was going on, but he didn’t move from his position leaning tiredly against Bruce’s shoulder.

“Oooh! Are we cuddling Tony now?” Clint asked, as excitable as always. Natasha simply stood up and moved over, settling herself back down by Tony’s knees. Tony gave her a tired smile of thanks, then let his eyes drift shut. He was barely aware of the remaining Avengers moving to curl up around him, a show of solidarity and support. He was safe and warm and full, surrounded by people that he’d risk his life for, and that would do the same for him.

Safe in the middle of the Avengers Cuddle Pile, Tony slept.

#mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic7irish #celtic's fics #avengers #mcu #tony stark #cuddles #fluff #friendship #bruce banner #bucky barnes #steve rogers #James Rhodey Rhoades #phil coulson #natasha romanov #clint barton #sam wilson #thor

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

Trust Falls

Title: Trust Falls

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13752300

Square Filled: Gi: Nick Fury x Phli Coulson

Ship: Bucky Barnes x Nick Fury

Rating: Mature

Major Tags: Ambiguous Ending, Sensory Deprivation, Bondage, Flashbacks, Mention of Rape

Summary: The Soldier doesn’t trust himself. He was too dependent on his Hydra handlers. Nick doesn’t trust anybody but himself.

Word Count: 3185

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full Text Below:

“Last chance, Soldier,” the Director told him, dark eyes boring into him as if he could suss out all the secrets that the Soldier kept hidden. “If you want to back out, this is where you do it.” He was holding a heavy half-mask in his hand, and the Winter Soldier took a deep breath before nodding decisively.

“Do it,” he said. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a flicker of approval in the Director’s eyes, which sent a warm rush of satisfaction through him for getting it right. Less than a minute later, the half-mask was over his face. It had been modified a bit, so it didn’t actually prevent him from speaking through it; that part was more of a reminder than a deterrent. But it did deaden his sense of smell.

The blindfold was next, thick and padded so that he couldn’t see anything beyond the darkness. Strong, capable fingers tested around both the mask and the blindfold to make sure it was both secure and not too tight. Not that it would have made any difference to the Soldier, but the care that it implied still left him reeling a bit.

“How’s your hearing?” Fury asked him. The Soldier gave a quick nod - he could hear just fine. Footsteps, then, as the director of SHIELD walked slowly around him. “Hydra really fucked you up, didn’t they?” the man drawled, but he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer, so the Soldier remained still, tracking the other man’s movements as he paced in a slow circle around the contraption that the Soldier was trapped in, his arms and legs spread out in an X and held in place by thick, wide titanium cuffs. He had tested the rig’s durability earlier, and had been pleased to find that he couldn’t get the leverage he needed to break out of it, even using all his considerable strength. That would make it easier on both of them to do what needed to be done. Hydra hadn’t liked it when he fought, but this man, this Nicholas Fury, didn’t seem to mind his occasional struggles. In fact, he seemed almost smugly pleased when the padded cuffs held and the Soldier stopped fighting. It had only been after he’d surrendered that Fury had added the muzzle and blindfold.

The Soldier listened to the other man moving around, the tap of his boots soft on the cement floor of the room. Goosebumps raised on his skin, the temperature just cool enough to press against his skin and make him shiver. It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly, not like the cold of the cryo sequence, but it was definitely noticeable.

“Now, I know you explained how your Hydra handlers did this, but they were assholes. We’re going to try something new,” Fury told him. The Soldier hesitated, unsure, but then nodded. “Good,” Fury said. “You remember the words?”

Words, the Soldier knew. They’d never been for him, though. Words of obedience, words of control, words of violence and death and hopelessness. “Red, Yellow, Green,” he recited dutifully. Then he paused. “I am unlikely to use them,” he admitted.

He didn’t know what expression Fury had on his face, but his tone was carefully neutral as he replied, “No, which is why this has to go to two ways. You have to trust that I will not do anything that would make you need to use the stop word, and I need to trust that if I do, you will use it. So this is likely to move more slowly than either of us would like.”

The Soldier was already shaking his head. “There’s no time,” he insisted. “I can’t fall back into their hands, and I’m a danger to your people.” A danger to Steve, he corrected in his head. But Steve’s name was not to be spoken. Steve Rogers was Captain America. Captain America was his mission. He had failed his mission. Maybe if he didn’t say Steve’s name, though, they wouldn’t think to take his name away if they caught him. Maybe he’d be able to remember. But only if he never, ever said anything.

He hadn’t even realized that his breathing had grown sharp and erratic until a large hand pressed against his back, between his shoulder blades. Fury didn’t touch him beyond that, but it was enough, and the Soldier stilled under the light pressure, his breathing settling back into a normal rhythm. “Good,” Fury murmured, something a bit odd in his tone.

“Sir?” the Soldier asked.

“Color, Soldier?” Fury asked. The Soldier opened his mouth, and a hand wrapped warningly around the front of his throat. The Director didn’t cut off his breathing, but he made it clear that he could if he didn’t like what he heard. “When I ask for your color, I expect honesty. Understood?” Fury growled, and realization dawned. The Soldier wouldn’t have to stop it on his own, wouldn’t have to speak up. The Director would ask, and all he had to do was answer. That, he could do. Had done, oftentimes to his own detriment. Prevarication and lies were not encouraged by his Handlers.

“Green, sir,” he said, waiting with bated breath to see what the other man did.

“Good,” Fury praised again, hand moving away from his throat and trailing his shoulders before sweeping down his spine to the curve of his ass. It didn’t go any lower, though, didn’t threaten to penetrate him, and the Soldier wondered if it was because Fury didn’t want him, or if he was waiting. A Hydra handler would have already been fucking the Soldier by now, not caring about his discomfort. The Winter Soldier was a toy, to be used and wound up and broken down.

Hands mapped out the divot of his spine and the swell of his hips, tracing down the outside of his legs as the Soldier’s muscles tensed and flexed under the gentle touch. He kept expecting Fury’s hands to go from exploratory to vicious, but they hadn’t, and it was throwing him off kilter.

When those hands touched the tops of his feet, the Soldier’s toes curled, and Fury made an odd sound. It took the Soldier a moment to place it; Fury was…laughing? “Sir?” he asked.

“Who would have guessed you were ticklish, Barnes?” Fury asked, sounding amused, and the Soldier flinched. He knew, intellectually, that he was James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, best friend of one Steven Grant Rogers, but the name was still foreign to him. Hearing it come from someone else’s mouth was…not unpleasant, exactly, but confusing. It made him a little anxious.

He didn’t know if he made a sound (shut up, Soldier, this is for your own good, shut up shut up shut up), but the hands paused where they were. “Color?” Fury checked in with him.

The Soldier hesitated for a moment, unsure. Fury waited patiently. “Green, I think, sir,” he said at last. “I…memories. They confuse me sometimes. I’m okay now.”

Fury still didn’t move, and the Soldier tensed, wondering if he’d messed up already. “I’m going to take your word for it this time,” Fury said. “But the next time those memories hit, I expect you to use your words. Yellow will be sufficient, just means you need a breather, a moment to recalibrate. Understood, Barnes?” he asked, seemingly determined to not refer to him as Soldier any more now that they’d started.

The Soldier swallowed. Nodded. “I understand, sir,” he said. “Green,” he repeated, feeling oddly more settled than he had a moment ago. Fury pausing when he noticed the change in the Soldier’s breathing had done more to reassure him than the gentle touch that didn’t hurt, didn’t turn cruel and merciless.

“Glad to hear it,” Fury told him, then went right back to what he had been doing before. The Soldier didn’t know where he would touch next. An elbow, his stomach, the back of his neck, the palm of his hands, the back of his knee. Some touches were firm caresses, others were gentle and tickling, leaving pebbled skin in their wake, but not a single one hurt or threatened to turn into something less innocent. Fury would check in with him periodically, the answer always the same. Green. The Soldier found himself relaxing in his bonds.

“That’s it, Barnes. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Just focus on me,” Fury instructed. He wasn’t touching the Soldier now, but his footsteps circled the chained Soldier at a steady pace, pausing on occasion. Sometimes he’d reach out and touch the Soldier, sometimes he’d just keep moving after a moment. And sometimes, he’d just hold his hand just above the Soldier’s skin, or stand close enough to him that the Soldier could feel him as a line of heat in the cold of the room, feel his breath across his skin.

And then, it all stopped. One moment, Fury was very obviously in front of him, and then he was stepping backwards, away from the Soldier, further than he’d been since they’d started. The Soldier tried to track him, recalling the dimensions of the room, but Fury had gone silent. The Soldier guessed that he’d removed his boots, though he hadn’t heard him do it. He tensed as the silence dragged out, stretching out the only sense he had left that might help him - his hearing.

For a while, he focused solely on using his hearing. The mask that muffled his mouth also suppressed his sense of smell, so he couldn’t locate the other man that way. So he listened for the soft susurration of breathing, but the low hiss of the air circulation system was the only sound he could make out.

But as the minutes ticked by, the Soldier couldn’t keep the fear from encroaching, making him tense in his bonds. He had carefully outlined what Hydra had done to him to the Director, had explained what needed to be done, but now that it was here, he couldn’t help the fear that was slowly creeping up on him. He lost track of time as he tried to control his breathing, tried to remain still and calm and quiet. There wasn’t a whisper of sound outside of his own harsh breathing, and the cooler air sent shivers wracking across his skin, even as it grew slick with sweat from the strain of the position he was in. In another hour or so, it would start to actively hurt, but for now, most of the discomfort came from him trying not to fight.

Eventually, though, he couldn’t fight the memories anymore. Memories of being chained or strapped down, even his hearing taken from him, touched cruelly and violated, left hurting and in pain. He had been grateful to be left alone at first, relieved that they were no longer touching him. But without any of his senses, time had dragged inexorably on, slow and interminable. He had slowly lost track of time as the minutes turned to hours and the hours to days. Hunger and thirst had only made things worse, and the Soldier had broken, had screamed and yanked at his bonds, had broken protocol, had panicked. That should have brought swift punishment, but nobody came.

The Soldier had screamed himself hoarse, screamed and begged until he was choking on his own blood from rupturing his vocal cords. He had been reduced to whimpers, and had finally fallen silent, nearly catatonic. The hood they’d put over him to dampen his senses kept him from realizing when his Handler walked back in, but he’d been instantly aware when they had touched him, slapping him hard upside the head. But it was touch, and he had opened his mouth, said something, he didn’t remember what. And his Handler had removed the hood, had let him see and hear and smell again, had touched him with rough hands, had fucked into him, and the Soldier had been grateful.

Afterwards, the Handler had very carefully explained to the Soldier that if he obeyed, he would not be punished, would not be left alone to suffer. Cryo was not punishment, it was rest, it was safety. He would sleep, and he would not know that he was alone. The Soldier had agreed. And his Handler had sent him out to obtain precious samples and to eliminate the witnesses. The Starks had died for the Soldier’s weakness.

The Soldier could feel his body malfunctioning, jerking against the restraints, bucking futilely. His mind was full of white static. He knew that it hadn’t been that long yet - it couldn’t have. But what did he know about Fury? He worked for SHIELD. He was the head of SHIELD, and SHIELD was Hydra, and Hydra was SHIELD. Maybe Fury had lied to him, left him here to suffer until he remembered the Soldier existed. He was alone again. Alone, alone, alone!

“Soldier!” a voice barked, and the Soldier stopped, conditioned to obey, to answer to his name. “Stand down, Soldier,” the voice said, caught somewhere between annoyed and resigned. The Soldier shivered as he realized that the man - Fury, his mind supplied - had probably been trying to get his attention for awhile now.

His mind was still buzzing, his skin overly sensitive as he strained his senses. There was a hand on his chest, over his heart, pressed between his skin and the contraption he was bound to. “Color, Barnes,” Fury reminded him.

“Red!” the Soldier replied instantly; it wasn’t even a question. He needed out. Now.

There was a quick click and his metal hand was free. He used it to grip onto the stand while Fury undid his legs and his flesh hand, allowing him to slide weakly to the floor. “I’m going to remove the blindfold first, okay?” Fury asked. The Soldier nodded, and a moment later, he was slamming his eyes shut as the light drilled into his brain. “Sorry,” the Director murmured, but the Soldier shook his head, curling up so that he was wrapped around Fury, his fingers fisted in the back of the man’s leather jacket.

Fury didn’t try to shake him off, or even try to nudge him. He just shifted so that he could get to the clasp on the face mask and pull it away. A moment later, a hand was running through his hair. They stayed like that for several long minutes - time was kind of hazy and fluid right now - before Fury spoke. “Why didn’t you use your safeword?” he asked, but he didn’t sound angry, just tired.

The Soldier flinched anyhow. “I…forgot it,” he admitted. “I knew I was s’posed to say somethin’, but forgot what.” He hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “Thank you for snappin’ me out of it.”

“I was starting to worry that I was going to have to risk you injuring us both and cut you down regardless of the state you were in,” Fury admitted after a moment. The Soldier shuddered; he had told the other man about how he had killed the scientists and Handlers that had unchained him too soon, while he was still panicking, still in fight or flight mode. He had told Fury not to risk it under any circumstances - even with just his flesh hand free, he was dangerous. Fury hadn’t seemed terribly concerned, but he’d listened, and the Soldier appreciated it.

After another few moments, Fury shifted with a groan. “Damn, I’m getting too old to be kneeling on the floor like this,” he muttered. “Come on, Barnes, you ready to get up?” he asked.

The Soldier considered, then nodded, shifting back just far enough that Fury could climb to his feet, though he didn’t release him entirely. Fury didn’t seem to mind. “Over this way,” Fury said, and the Soldier realized that he was wearing just socks, which struck him as being incredibly funny. He let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Fury gave him a wry grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t you dare tell the others about this, Barnes,” he said, letting the Soldier get a closer look at the miniature Iron Man helmets that dotted the black socks. “Stark will never let me hear the end of it.”

The Soldier nodded his agreement and followed the director over to a large stuffed chair - where the man had probably been sitting for however long it had taken the Soldier to panic. There was a pair of sweatpants next to it, and Fury tossed them to the Soldier before sitting down. “Get dressed and then come here,” he ordered. The Soldier obeyed, noting idly that the room seemed to be warming up.

There wasn’t much room left on the chair, but the Soldier didn’t complain, settling himself so that he was more or less curled on top of Fury, the Director running fingers idly through his hair. “Still the Soldier?” he asked gruffly.

“Yes,” he replied. “No. Maybe.” He struggled to find the words, and Fury waited, his hand stroking down along the Soldier’s spine now. “I….know who I’m s’posed to be,” he said. “But the Soldier is easier. It’s harder being Bucky Barnes,” he admitted, frustrated with himself. “I’m not explainin’ this very well,” he complained.

“It’s fine,” Fury said. “We’ll work on it. But for now, you don’t feel like killing anyone, right?” he asked.

The Soldier snorted. “No, I don’t feel like killin’ anyone,” he parroted back. “Not really sure I ever did.”

“That’s actually really good to hear,” Fury told him, the praise warming the Soldier. “We can work with that.”

The Soldier nodded, just enjoying the closeness of another body. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been left alone for more than an hour, but it seemed like it had been much longer. And Fury wasn’t pushing him away or punishing him or sending him out to kill people. It was different, but that only made it better. Fury hadn’t left him to suffer on his own, he had been right here the whole time, even if the Soldier hadn’t been able to sense him. But the effect was nonetheless the same.

If Fury gave him a command right now, he’d obey. He’d do it because Fury had come for him, hadn’t let him die there, helpless and afraid. He was touching him, petting along his back and arms and face, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that the Soldier had been a wreck just minutes earlier, unwilling to relinquish his hold on the other man long enough the let him get off the cold, hard floor.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but he was starting to doze off when Fury shifted again. “Barnes, ready for your next mission?” he asked, though his tone implied neither impatience or anger.

The Soldier lifted his head and blinked at the Director. The Director who was still touching him, who had promised that he wasn’t going anywhere, that he’d stay. The Soldier blinked. Spoke.

“Ready to comply.”

#mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic7irish #celtic's fics #avengers #mcu #bucky barnes #nick fury #bucky barnes x nick fury #bondage #sensory deprivation #ambiguous ending #mention of rape #flashbacks

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

A Brief Respite

Title: A Brief Respite

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13681113

Square Filled: Gi: Nick Fury x Phli Coulson

Ship: Nick Fury x Phil Coulson

Rating: General

Major Tags: None

Summary: Phil closed the door behind him with a quiet click, shutting out the busy New York City traffic. Taking a moment, he allowed himself to lean lightly against the door behind him and close his eyes, but just for a second, and then he was straightening up and toeing off his shoes before heading further into the apartment, removing his jacket and tie and dropping them casually over the back of his armchair.

Word Count: 1965

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full Text Below:

Phil closed the door behind him with a quiet click, shutting out the busy New York City traffic. Taking a moment, he allowed himself to lean lightly against the door behind him and close his eyes, but just for a second, and then he was straightening up and toeing off his shoes before heading further into the apartment, removing his jacket and tie and dropping them casually over the back of his armchair. Clint would have been aghast if he’d seen it, the normally pristine man rumpled and exhausted. But Clint would probably never see him again, even if he did find out that Phil was alive.

“Long day?” a low, gravelly voice asked from the doorway to the kitchen.

Phil shrugged. “Not longer than usual,” he admitted. Then he grimaced. “Reyes did manage to fry half the instruments in the cockpit, so we’re grounded until the system can be repaired.” And yet, somehow, nothing that had been destroyed in the blaze had prevented them from landing safely.

“An accident?” his companion asked sarcastically, moving further into the room and resting a broad hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.

Phil gave his friend and lover a tired smile. “Depends on who you ask, I suppose,” he answered truthfully. Ghostrider would probably admit, smugly, that he’d done it just to get off the plane for a bit. And while Robbie wasn’t exactly in control of the demon riding him, the Ghostrider usually didn’t come out to play unless there was terminal justice to be doled out. Phil rather suspected that the sudden failure of the generator had more to do with Robbie’s interest in their resident hacker. He seemed rather enamored with Daisy, and Phil honestly wasn’t sure whether he should encourage it or not. He had to keep reminding himself that Daisy was an adult and could decide for herself if she wanted to be involved with Reyes and his demon.

“That would explain why you’re here, and not down in Paraguay,” Nick Fury replied neutrally, moving up behind Phil.

With a sigh, Phil allowed himself a moment to just lean back into the other man, letting Nick support them both. He felt a kiss pressed to the top of his head and murmured appreciatively. “Dinner?” he asked hopefully, though he made no attempt to move away. Even if he couldn’t voice it yet, it was nice to be home for a few days, and nicer still to come home and have somebody waiting for him.

“ETA ten minutes,” Nick informed him with a wry grimace. Phil chuckled; of the two of them, Phil was usually the one who cooked, even if it was only simple dishes. Nick preferred to let somebody else do the cooking, though his paranoid personality usually meant that delivery was restricted to a small number of businesses and very specific delivery drivers, following a very thorough background check.

“Well, whatever the reason, it’s good to have you back,” Nick told him solemnly, resting his chin on Phil’s shoulder before pulling away and prowling towards the front door of the apartment, where he’d wait for their food. And woe be the driver that showed up even a minute late. “Might want to get a quick shower,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Phil grimaced, but didn’t disagree. Even with the amenities on the large military transport aircraft they called the Bus, a proper shower with heated water was something of a luxury.

Padding towards the bathroom on socked feet, Phil was grateful when he saw the towels on the warming rack and soft, comfortable clothes nearby. Stark might tease that Phil had been born in a three-piece designer suit, but when he was home, Phil preferred to lounge around in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt that was big enough to hang off his shoulders.

Phil’s shower was perfunctory at best as he washed off the grime and exhaustion of several weeks of stress and frustration, chasing Inhumans around the world in the hope that they could get to them before more hostile parties did. In the last three weeks, they had managed to save eight, but had lost another five before all was said and done. This small reprieve was a greater relief than Phil was willing to admit in the face of those he had failed.

When he was done, he toweled himself off with the large, warm blanket, smiling when he realized that Nick had chosen his favorite one - a red, white, and blue one with Cap’s shield on it, and got dressed, sighing as the heated cotton slid over slightly damp skin.

Stepping out, he sniffed appreciatively, smiling when he realized that Nick had ordered food from the little bistro about two blocks away. Their paninis were excellent, as was their wine selection. “Capri?” he asked hopefully, walking into the kitchen where Nick was busy getting food onto plates. Phil paused for a moment, then relaxed, tension easing out of his shoulders. Usually, they didn’t bother with transferring the food to plates, preferring to just eat them out of the containers they came in, but it was obvious that Nick had something more specific in mind tonight, and Phil watched as the other man cut their paninis into smaller, bite-sized portions.

“Grab the wine and a couple of glasses, would you?” Nick murmured, focusing on the meal. Phil did as he’d been asked, bringing everything into the living room and setting it on the table in front of the couch before pulling the table closer and then settling himself comfortably on the couch. He was too old to do this on the floor, but they made do.

Nick handed Phil the plate when he came out, and Phil held it while Nick settled himself on the far side of the couch. Nick took the plate back, and Phil scooted over, settling so that his back was pressed against Nick’s chest. “Comfortable?” Nick asked with quiet amusement. Phil hummed back, enjoying the closeness. Most people only saw the gruff, paranoide exterior, but Phil knew better. For those that Nick cared for, he was fiercely loyal and viciously protective. He was also incredibly gentle.

Nick speared a bite of the panini on a fork and lifted it to Phil’s mouth. Phil let his lips part just enough that the food could slide in, and he groaned in pleasure as the taste hit his mouth. Capri Paninis were his absolute favorite, and Nick’s chuckle rumbled down Phil’s spine. “It must have been a really rough ride,” Nick murmured, taking the next bite for himself while Phil chewed, enjoying the line of heat along his back and the outside of his legs.

“You have no idea,” he managed to mumble before accepting another morsel. “I feel like I’m running in circles with no actual goal.” Phil really hated not having a plan. Not that plans always worked - people like Stark and Thor tended to throw a wrench into the works just by existing - but he usually had a generalized idea of what he was getting into. With the Inhumans, the plan was just to get there and then wing it and hope Daisy and her small team of fellow Inhumans could get the job done.

“You can’t save everybody,” Nick reminded him, holding up another forkful. Phil frowned, and Nick pressed the fork against his lips, carefully. Phil opened his mouth with a sigh, accepting the truth of Nick’s statement. He was only one man with a small team of people with very little outside report. Ever since SHIELD had collapsed under the weight of Hydra’s exposure, their influence had become negligible. It would take time to rebuild the organization, and in the meantime, the Inhumans’ plight would not wait.

“Enough about that,” Nick decided. “Sheila got a new cat. She named it Thor.”

Phil relaxed at the obvious change in topic, knowing that Nick didn’t actually give a damn about how many cats Sheila had - she was up to nine now, he was pretty sure, and she kept naming them after Avengers - but that he was giving Phil something else to focus on, meaningless gossip. A bite of salad was next, and Phil twitched at the sudden sharp taste of the house dressing. Then it was back to the panini, and the occasional sip of wine, and Phil allowed himself to do what Nick wanted him to do. He drifted, listening to the rumble of Nick’s voice without actually paying more than the barest attention to his words. None of it was important right now, and while he’d be able to recall it perfectly later, there was nothing pressing about it.

Instead, he focused on the rise and fall of Nick’s chest where it pressed against his spine, the shift of muscle as the other man fed him small bites of food, or reached for one of the glasses of wine. He wasn’t required to talk, or to feed himself, or to do anything but accept what was given to him. It wasn’t a ritual that the two of them indulged in often, Nick’s impatience clashing with Phil’s need to have some sort of control over any given situation, but when they did, it was fantastic.

Eventually, all the food was gone, and Phil blinked slowly back to awareness. Behind him, Nick hadn’t moved more than was necessary to put the plate on the nearby table, and his arms were now wrapped loosely around Phil’s waist, resting against the warm skin of his stomach. It was quiet in the apartment, but it was a comfortable silence born of long-standing familiarity. Soon life outside would intrude again, and Phil would start planning for the next rescue mission while Nick did whatever it was he did on the ground while Phil was away. But right now, there was just warmth and a gentle touch and a full belly, and Phil allowed his head to drop back and rest on Nick’s shoulder. “Better?” Nick asked him, and Phil hummed his contentment, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused.

He felt a gentle kiss pressed against his temple, and then Nick was urging him off the couch. Phil went without complaint, and Nick herded him towards the bedroom. “Get some sleep, Phil,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.”

Phil dropped easily to the bed, allowing Nick to manipulate his limbs as the other man pulled the sheets and comforters over him before leaving the room. He left the door open, though, and Phil could hear him moving around in the living room and kitchen, cleaning up after themselves. He vaguely felt like he should be helping, but his body was like a lead weight, heavy and unresponsive, and so he just let himself float there, occasionally dozing off only to be awoken by the clink of silverware against glass or the low murmur of the dishwasher.

After a short stop in the bathroom, Nick made his way back into the room and under the comforter. Phil dredged up enough energy to roll towards him, and Nick hauled him the rest of the way in, his head coming to rest on Phil’s chest, over his heart. Nick had confided in him once - and only once - that after Phil had come back, before they’d woken him from the medically induced coma, he had spent the better part of a day lying just like this, listening to Phil’s heart beat, clinging to an impossible miracle.

Nick’s weight pressed him a bit further into the bed, and Phil’s eyes drifted closed without his consent. But that was fine; he was home, and they were safe. The rest of it could wait until the morning.

He might not even write Reyes up for the inappropriate handling of agency equipment.

Probably.

#celtic7irish #mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic's fics #nick fury x phil coulson #handfeeding #established relationship #avengers #marvel #mcu #fluff #agents of shield

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

All Dolled Up

Title: All Dolled Up

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13555464/chapters/31105179

Square Filled: N2: Feminization

Ship: Bucky Barnes x Tony Stark

Rating: Mature

Major Tags: None

Summary: It had started with a bet, as these things tended to. “I’ll bet you couldn’t wear a pair of heels for an hour. Much less a day.”

Word Count: 5797

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full Text Below:

Chapter 1: The Shoes

It had started with a bet, as these things tended to. Natasha had come stalking into the Tower after a long undercover operation playing, of all things, legal counsel for a very corrupt politician and promptly kicked off her high heels before dropping onto the couch and shoving her feet onto Clint’s lap, demanding a foot rub and complaining that heels were the most impractical shoes known to man, and it must’ve been a man who designed them, because no woman would intentionally torture other women like that.

Tony had just scoffed and informed her that heels really weren’t that bad, and Pepper wore them all the time. Natasha had just glared at him, and then sniffed. “I’ll bet you couldn’t wear a pair of heels for an hour,” she challenged him. “Much less a day.”

Tony had just laughed, his eyes lighting up with the challenge, and accepted. Bucky had watched in growing worry as his boyfriend negotiated terms with one of his best friends. They set a date for that Saturday, pending no world-ending crisis, of course. Satisfied, Tony wandered out the room, already on his phone. Bucky wondered who he was talking to.

Natasha caught Bucky’s gaze and smirked. “Probably Pepper,” she said. “She’s got a very impressive collection of shoes.” She looked almost nostalgic just thinking about it, and Bucky shook his head. He had thought he’d understood women, back during the war, but it was obvious now that he knew absolutely nothing about them. Then again, he was starting to wonder if he knew anything about his boyfriend, either.

Bucky had almost put the bet out of his mind, but then Saturday morning rolled around, and he got his first glimpse of Tony Stark in spiked high heels. When the man sauntered into the kitchen like he owned the place, the red heels very obvious under a well-loved pair of blue jeans, Bucky dropped his spoon and stared. The spiked heels probably added four inches to Tony’s height, making him just about as tall as Bucky, with thin straps criss-crossing over his feet and a wider cuff wrapped around his ankle to secure the shoe. The back had a thin zipper, and Bucky realized that Tony must have had to zip himself into the shoes to get them on, given the sharp angle and the tightness of the cuffs around tanned skin.

“Very nice,” Natasha commented from her seat on the counter, a cup of yogurt in her hands as she eyed Tony’s new footwear. The billionaire gave her a smirk and a little twirl, showing off the shoes. “I’m surprised you can walk in those.”

Tony grinned sharply. “I’ve been practicing,” he informed her haughtily. He caught sight of Bucky’s unabashed stare and his smile widened. “Want to take a closer look?” he offered cheerfully.

Bucky flushed, embarrassed at having been caught staring, and fled the room, ignoring Tony’s look of surprised confusion.

“I think you broke him,” Natasha told Tony, who just sputtered.

Bucky carefully avoided his boyfriend for the remainder of the day, glad when Jarvis informed him that the other man had gone to his workshop. Bucky rarely went in there for anything that wasn’t maintenance on his arm, so he had a good excuse for not seeing Tony until later that night.

Unfortunately, he forgot that the bargain had been for all day, so when Tony showed up again for the team dinner and movie night, he was still wearing the heels.

The team usually ate takeout in the living room on movie nights, and this was no different, the living room table stacked with boxes of pizza. Clint was teasing Tony about how the shoes made his ass look fabulous, and Tony was, of course, preening. Even Steve seemed to be amused from where he was seated on the couch with his sketchbook, outlining a rough image of Tony in heels. The only one who didn’t seem surprised was Rhodey, who had apparently been nearby and decided to drop in for a visit.

Natasha seemed impressed, and Bucky couldn’t decide whether he wanted to yell at her or kiss her. Tony would probably be jealous if he kissed her, though.

Tony looked up at Bucky and smiled, though it was more tentative this time, and Bucky realized that he was worried that Bucky was offended or something. “Lemme see ‘em,” he told the other man, letting a bit of Brooklyn drawl slide into his accent – Tony always responded well to that.

Sure enough, Tony’s eyes darkened with interest, and he sauntered over to Bucky, who took the time to look him up and down, appreciating the way that the shoes made his boyfriend’s stride shorten even further, which added a bit of an extra sway to his hips as he moved. Clint had been right about another thing, too; the heels actually accentuated his ass in their tight-fitting jeans, and Bucky resisted the urge to grab a couple of handfuls as the man stopped in front of him.

He did, however, drop to his haunches to get a closer luck, gripping Tony’s heel and encouraging him to rest it on Bucky’s leg so he could run his finger along the thin straps and down the heel before trailing lightly up cool flesh – which made Tony giggle from the tickling sensation – to check out the cuffs around his ankle. And now…now he could see what he hadn’t noticed earlier, and his mouth went dry as the fingers of his flesh hand felt the small ring on the inside of the cuff. It was barely noticeable from its location right next to the metal plate built into the cuff, but Bucky realized what it was immediately, and he looked up at Tony in shock, watching the man’s dark, hungry gaze stare back at him.

The moment was broken when Clint threw a pillow at him and told him, “Get a room before you start tying your boyfriend up, Soldier! Gross!” This, of course, set off a pillow fight, which Steve and Bucky handily won, leaving the Avengers – Thor included – laughing and breathless from their various sprawls.

And later, when they finally settled down to eat and watch their movie – Victor Victoria, a comedy about a woman pretending to be a man performing as a woman, probably Clint’s idea (or Nat’s) – and Tony settled his feet casually in Bucky’s lap, Bucky decided that maybe, just maybe, he’d see if Tony would be willing to keep the shoes.

Chapter 2: The Make-Up

The first time Bucky saw Tony wearing make-up, other than the concealer that he sometimes used before a press conference if he’d been battered a bit on an Avengers mission, was when he was making a gesture of support for a bullied teenager. The boy wasn’t transgender or even bi- or homosexual, he just liked wearing make-up.

It had surprised Bucky to realize that Tony Stark got a lot of fanmail. They all did, but Tony seemed to get more than most. Whether that was because people were afraid they might disappoint Captain America, or whether it was because Tony was just the most seen of the Avengers, Bucky didn’t know, but there was an entire department of people dedicated to opening and sorting through all of the fanmail. There were threats, too, but most of those got funded through Jarvis, who determined how serious the threat was and reported any red flags to the authorities. But the rest of it, those made their way up the chain of command until they reached Tony, who set aside a couple of hours every week to go through the mail and pen personal replies when necessary.

The letter from the teenager had a picture enclosed, and Bucky had caught a glimpse of the boy, his hair artfully parted and combed to the side. He was of Asian descent, from what had black eyeliner sweeping upwards from the corners of his eyes. His face had an almost ethereal beauty to it, and Bucky leaned over Tony’s shoulder to get a closer look. He noticed the faint sheen of lip gloss, and there was some sparkle mixed in with the eye shadow the boy was wearing. His cheekbones were emphasized. He looked incredibly feminine, but Bucky had no problem telling that the picture was a boy.

“Remind you of anybody?” Tony teased him lightly, grinning up at him. Bucky took advantage of his boyfriend’s upturned face to kiss him, ignoring the innuendo. Tony liked to tease him about how he’d looked like a raccoon in his Winter Soldier concealment makeup.

Bucky leaned more heavily on Tony, enjoying the closeness. “Kid looks better in it,” he replied honestly, pleased when Tony barked out a laugh. “We gettin’ involved with high schoolers now?” he asked next, curious. Because he honestly couldn’t see what this kid could want other than for the bullies to back off. But Bucky knew from experience – mostly from dealing with Steve – that removing the alleged cause of the bullying (in this case, the makeup) wouldn’t actually stop anything. They’d just find something else to pick on.

“Not exactly,” Tony grinned. “You probably haven’t seen them, but I went through a…phase…when I was in MIT. Rhodey could tell you stories. But I wore a lot of makeup.” He paused. “And occasionally a skirt.”

Bucky stared down at his boyfriend in surprise. “Whatever for?” he asked, completely baffled.

Tony shrugged. “Mostly because I was young and mouthy and too smart for my own good, and my fellow students didn’t really like it that I could talk circles around them and pick apart their entire theses in minutes. But that wouldn’t stop them from staring when I walked by in a skirt and makeup.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I made a bunch of them question their sexuality,” he smirked.

Bucky sighed. “And you got the shit beat outta you for it, too, didn’t ya?” he asked, resigned.

Tony laughed. “A couple of times,” he admitted. “Didn’t stop me. And I had Rhodey. He pulled my ass out of more fights than I can remember.” Tony chuckled. “And then he introduced me to his sister, who thought I was just adorable.” There was a fondness in his tone that Bucky rarely heard, and he squashed down the brief surge of jealousy. Tony had made it quite clear that he and Rhodey were just friends, and that Rhodey was very, very straight.

“So what’s this kid want?” he asked, nodding at the picture.

Tony shrugged. “Pretty sure he just wants somebody to tell him it’s okay. He likes what he likes, and that’s nobody’s business but his.” He tipped his head to the side. “Maybe I’ll send him one of my pics from my wayward youth.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You have pictures of you with makeup on?” he asked curiously, intrigued despite himself. Other than concealment makeup, he’d never actually seen a guy wearing makeup before. That was reserved for girls. Though he knew that actors wore it, but it wasn’t anything noticeable or whatever. Not like when a dame got herself all dolled up.

“Darlin’, the whole world has pictures of me with makeup on,” Tony laughed. “Along with a bunch of naked pics and sex videos.” He raised an eyebrow. “What? Barton didn’t show you that as part of your ‘welcome to the twenty-first century’ package?” he teased.

Bucky scowled. “Barton told me about them, but I didn’t want to see ‘em,” he grumbled. “Pretty sure a lot of those videos weren’t distributed with your permission.”

Tony’s brash grin softened into something more genuine. “Jarvis, bring up some of the pictures from MIT, would you?” he asked. “The less gaudy ones, naturally.”

“Of course, sir,” the AI replied. Tony picked up the Stark tablet sitting next to him on the table, flipping it over and handing it to Bucky, who took it with baited breath. He was curious, sure, but he couldn’t help the coil of unease that went along with the almost eager anticipation. This was a side of Tony he hadn’t even known existed, and he honestly had no idea what to expect.

The pictures had been sorted into a neat timeline, and Bucky blinked, surprised. He had expected the makeup to be bold and showy, much like the man himself, and while there were a few like that, most of them were much less noticeable. A hint of eye liner here, the pale shimmer of lip gloss there. Tony laughing along with Rhodey, the older boy’s arm thrown around his shoulder and Tony’s eyes bright with happiness, his cheeks flushed, the coloring emphasized by what Bucky realized was blush.

Tony saw the picture he was looking at and smiled with fond remembrance. “Ah. That was right after I activated Dummy,” he said. “I actually built him in my father’s workshop in eight-six,” he admitted. “I was sixteen and thought I knew everything there was to know. I spent the whole summer with Rhodey that year, both of us working on our graduate theses.” Five years later, his parents were dead and Tony was putting aside robots and whatever bits of childhood he’d managed to have under his father’s rigorous demands.

Bucky sighed. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he murmured, his finger tracing the outline of Tony’s smiling mouth in the picture, happy in a way that Bucky rarely saw. Afghanistan had changed a lot about the man he loved; his happiness was quieter now, more subdued, though no less genuine.

Tony gripped the back of his neck in the cup of his palm and pulled Bucky into a gentle kiss. “Thanks,” he murmured, smiling that quiet, happy smile that Bucky treasured so much.

Bucky smiled back, resting his chin on top of Tony’s head and looking down at the picture still sitting on the table with a note from a teenage boy. “Tell ‘im….tell ‘im that if he has any trouble, to let us know. I’ll take care of it.” Tony’s shoulders shook with laughter, and Bucky’s grin widened. “And send him that picture. Maybe with an autograph.” Because that picture showed more than a person who had worn makeup at one time in his life. It showed that there were those out there who would provide support, no matter one’s preferences.

Bucky just hoped the kid had someone like that, someone who would accept him unconditionally.

After all, Tony was his. And he wasn’t about to share.

Chapter 3: The Outfit

Bucky groaned tiredly, staggering into the Penthouse and looking around blearily for Tony. He’d just come back from a SHIELD mission with Steve and Sam and Natasha, and he was fucking exhausted. Jarvis had informed him that Tony was up here rather than in his workshop, and Bucky just wanted to find his boyfriend and drag him to bed for a couple hours of sleep. And maybe some sleepy morning sex when they woke up.

“Tony?” he called out as he approached the bedroom.

“In here, Bucky-Bear,” Tony answered back promptly, and Bucky grinned as he padded forward on bare feet. If Tony was already in the bedroom, then he was probably up for a bit of cuddling.

“Hold on a sec,” Tony told him when he got close enough to see the glimmer of light coming through the cracked door. Bucky paused, finally noticing the odd catch in Tony’s voice.

“Tony?” he asked cautiously. He heard the other man take a deep breath and release it in a sigh.

“Okay, so…this might not have been the best idea I’ve ever had,” Tony admitted ruefully. “But I thought maybe it was something you’d like, and I wanted to do this for you, but if you hate it, we can forget it ever happened, yeah?” He sounded torn, like he didn’t know if he wanted Bucky to be pleased or disappointed in whatever it was he was going on about.

Bucky leaned his forehead against the wall. “Ty vot seichas ser’yozno? Ty seichas ser'yozno?” he muttered under his breath. Out loud, he said, “Tony, whatever it is, you know I’m not gonna judge. And I’m pretty sure anything you could come up with that involves you, me, and a bed is probably somethin’ I’m gonna enjoy. A lot,” he emphasized.

Tony chuckled, and Bucky heard him shifting on the bed. “All right,” he agreed, sounding more confident now. “In that case, what are you waiting for, lover?” His voice had taken on a deeper husk, the timber of it shivering down Bucky’s spine and straight to his balls. He groaned, shoving the door the rest of the way open and taking in the site of his lover, his eyes widening in disbelieving delight.

“O, Bozhe,” he managed to stammer out, his voice hoarse as he drank in the sight of his boyfriend. Tony was leaning back on his hands on the bed, giving Bucky a look that clearly said he was trying to seduce Bucky. Not that it was hard at all, given what he was wearing.

The first thing to draw his eye were the shoes. Tony had crossed one leg over the other, showing off the gold high heels he was wearing, the rounded curve sweeping a soft line across tanned skin. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes were drawn upwards, to the delicate bones of Tony’s ankle, encircled in a slender golden chain. Bucky recognized the piece of jewelry; he’d given it to Tony on their first anniversary. At the time, it had actually been a trophy from a Hydra base that they’d taken down. The chain had been attached to a pocket watch that Bucky had used as a garrote to take out a Hydra soldier. Tony had obviously repurposed it, and the sight of it there, wrapped around Tony’s ankle like a chain, made something dark and visceral twist in Bucky’s gut.

His growl was answered by a throaty chuckle, and Bucky’s eyes flashed up to Tony’s grinning face, taking in the blown pupils and flushed cheeks before trailing downwards again, realizing that the shoes weren’t the only thing Tony was wearing. A thin collar of fabric curved around his throat and down his chest, leaving his shoulders and arms completely bare and coming to a rest about halfway down his torso. Tanned fingers traced around the glow of the arc reactor almost idly, but Bucky knew better. Tony was showing off.

He swallowed hard, stalking forward predatorily as he took in the rest of Tony’s outfit. “Where d’you find this stuff?” he managed to bite out, his eyes taking in the hotshot red mini skirt that pressed tight to Tony’s skin, no give in the fabric where it hugged a trim waist and curved tightly around the most fabulous ass Bucky had seen in his life. And he was best friends with Steve Rogers.

The skirt went just past Tony’s thighs, and Bucky caught a glimpse of underwear, his throat clicking dryly as he realized that Tony had to be wearing a thong for such little fabric to be peeking through where his legs were crossed.

“I have money,” Tony pointed out. “I can find anything I want. Even women’s clothing,” he sounded almost smug.

Bucky had reached the bed, and almost without thinking, he grabbed Tony’s leg, just about the anklet, and used it to pull him down the bed, the tight pencil skirt sliding up just slightly as Tony went down easily. Bucky’s eyes ate in the sight hungrily. Tony’s outfit was showing off an awful lot of skin, and while Bucky knew intellectually that women today went around wearing even less in broad daylight, most of his sure, solid memories were still back in the forties, where showing even the flash of an ankle of the floozy, and would have gotten a man killed by his neighbors.

Tony smiled up at him, sultry and wanting. “I’ve got a few more surprises,” he murmured. “Got tired of waiting for you, so I started on my own. Ready for you to fuck me.”

The dark promise in those words stirred Bucky to action, and he reached down for the bottom edge of the skirt, shoving it up to Tony’s waist and exposing the gold thong underneath. Tony chuckled. “Gonna leave the clothes on, Soldier?” he asked, though he seemed unconcerned, stretching his arms above his head and crossing his wrists almost casually.

Bucky growled, leaning down and kissing him, feeling the smooth sheen of lip gloss against his mouth as he coaxed Tony’s mouth open, his tongue violating his lover’s mouth even as his fingers stroked along the edges of soft fabric and warm skin, tracing the outline of Tony’s outfit. Below him, Tony mewled and sighed, squirming a bit as if trying to get closer. His legs wrapped around Bucky’s waist, the heels pressing into the backs of his thighs as he tugged him forward, so that he was pressed fully against Tony’s ass.

Bucky gasped and pulled back, realizing that there was more than just underwear between the two of them. The thin strip of fabric covering Tony’s modesty didn’t last half a second under his metal hand, and Bucky groaned when he realized what Tony had meant. He had obviously done some pretty thorough preparation while waiting for Bucky to come home, because he had in a plug in Bucky’s colors – silver, with a red star stamped on the base of the plug. It was the widest one in their collection, nearly as wide as Bucky was, which meant that Tony was open enough that Bucky should be able to push in with very little effort.

In addition to the plug, Tony had already bound his cock up and out of the way, a non-participant in whatever Tony had planned. A shudder wracked his way from his shoulders to his toes, and he pressed his fingers lightly against the base of the plug, causing Tony to gasp and arch up as it shifted inside him with a soft, slick sound. Bucky felt his eyebrows rise. He pressed on it again, then got a decent grip and wiggled it out just a bit. Tony whined, and lube slipped out around the plug and down the crack of his ass.

“You weren’t kiddin’,” Bucky rumbled, one hand pressing against the back of Tony’s leg, forcing his leg upward so he could press his mouth to the inside of Tony’s leg. He was tempted to bite, but that didn’t seem to be the kind of lovemaking Tony was aiming for here. Another time, maybe.

Instead, he let his fingers trace an idle path over the top of Tony’s foot and up his leg, not stopping until he reached the inside of his thigh. Tony gave a low guttural groan and reached for him. “C’mon already, Soldier,” he ordered imperiously. “I’m so wet for you. Are you gonna keep me waiting?”

Bucky pretended to think about that, but as tempting as it sounded, he really had no interest in making Tony wait any longer, given the amount of the trouble he’d gone through for him. So instead, he slipped the plug the rest of the way out with a wet squelch, watching as Tony’s hole twitched at the loss of the plug, more lube slipping out of the slick, glistening passage. “Fuck me,” Tony demanded again. “Please.”

Bucky’s hands fell to his pants and popped the button. The zipper slid down, and he pushed the pants off with a whisper of fabric against skin. Underwear quickly followed, as did the tight shirt Bucky had been wearing. He was grateful – not for the first time – to not be wearing his full tac gear.

He could see that Tony was still wet and open, but he had no desire to hurt the other man, so he’d have to check. Watching Tony’s face for any signs of discomfort, Bucky slipped three fingers inside, flexing them and feeling Tony’s walls tighten down on him. Stunned pleasure flew across Tony’s face, and he groaned. “Oh god, yes. Please, more.” He squirmed. “Fuck me like you mean it, Soldier,” he said, and Bucky grinned, twisting his fingers and hooking them so that they caught on Tony’s rim on the way out, bringing even more lube with them.

Tony sighed, his eyes practically rolling back in his head as Bucky slicked himself up and pressed forward, working his way into Tony in a single thrust, inexorable and unrelenting, Tony’s previous preparation smoothing the way for him. Tony was still tight, of course, like a male lover should be, but it had never been this easy. Not with a guy, at least. Bucky wondered idly how many times Tony had fucked himself with a toy before using the plug to maintain all that hard work.

Tony’s throat worked, a flush working its way up to his cheeks. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and Bucky caught a glimpse of the light dusting of gold glitter on his eyelids and in his lashes. He made a strangling noise and pushed forward a bit faster than he meant to, bottoming out with a grunt. Tony gave an approving cry, his eyes big and dark as he licked his lips, adding new shine to the gloss that was already there.

Bucky growled, reaching down to cover Tony’s mouth, his teeth catching on Tony’s bottom lip and tugging sharply, leaving a small bite before soothing it with his tongue. “So pretty,” he murmured. “Never seen you all dolled up for me before, babe.”

Tony gave him a pleased groan, arching up into the kiss, his hands moving from their position above his head to scrabble at his shoulders, leaving faint trail marks in their wake. Bucky growled and grabbed his lover’s wrists, pinning them back above his head with his metal hand, careful not to grind the bones together. Tony voiced his full-throated approval, his feet dropping from around Bucky’s waist to press into the bed, the heels punching holes in the sheets as he applied pressure. “Oops,” Tony murmured, not the least bit sorry.

Bucky picked up the pace, thrusting harder into the body below him, enjoying the easy slide. His hand fumbled for a moment between Tony’s legs before he remembered that he’d effectively taken it out of the picture, and he groaned again, his finger instead sliding up under the skirt and gripping Tony’s hip with bruising strength. “Gonna fuck you again after this,” he promised the other man, watching Tony’s eyes darken. Turn you over and slide right into that gorgeous ass of yours, so wet and perfect for me.”

“Just for you,” Tony agreed dazedly, his eyes glazing over. No doubt he was already anticipating the next round, Bucky’s super soldier stamina guaranteeing that he could easily come twice before he even thought about slowing down.

Bucky didn’t bother waiting for Tony to catch up, bending the genius nearly in half as he chased after his own release, his eyes taking in the smudged eyeliner and the gloss of sweat on Tony’s forehead and above his lips. Pressing forward, he kissed Tony like he was trying to crawl inside him, all pressure and teeth and clever tongue dominating the smaller man’s mouth, a pale mimicry of what his cock was doing.

Release, when it came, fell swiftly, leaving him shuddering in the aftermath, Tony mewling below him, his body twitching around Bucky. The way he’d bound his cock ensured that he couldn’t come, which was fine by Bucky. Instead, he pulled out and manhandled Tony, flipping him over onto his stomach before pulling him backwards, towards the end of the bed. He stopped when Tony’s knees were perched precariously on the edge of the mattress, his high heeled shoes no longer a threat to the bedding.

Without giving Tony time to recover, Bucky thrust back inside him, noticing for the first time that Tony had shaved. Everywhere. His legs were completely smooth, but there was no friction as Bucky thrust into him, lube and his own release easing the way, making an obscene squelching sound as Bucky moved, trying to bury himself inside his lover as deep as he could go.

Tony was chanting under his breath, demands and pleas mingling with filthy praise. Bucky’s hands were roaming Tony’s skin, occasionally hitting cloth and rucking it up, so that the half-top he was wearing bunched under his armpits, the skirt little more than a rumpled belt around his waist. Like this, fucking him from behind, Tony seemed almost feminine, but Bucky wasn’t fooled for a moment. The body under his flexed with strength, used to hard physical labor. Tony was all male, and the outfit he was wearing only seemed to enhance that, showing off well-built core muscles and strong legs, broad shoulders and a pert ass.

It was gorgeous, and Bucky watched, fascinated, as Tony shook apart under him. He didn’t come, not exactly, but his body clamped down and he gave a wrecked cry as Bucky found the angle that would allow him to thrust even deeper, drilling pleasure deep into Tony’s body. “Fuck, Bucky. Come on, come on, come on,” Tony was pleading, his hands sliding on the bedding as he fought to stay upright. Bucky gripped his hips, pulling him back onto his cock even as he thrust forward, and Tony let himself drop to his elbows as Bucky came a second time, spilling inside his lover.

Tony shuddered when Bucky pulled out, whimpering when, rather than cleaning him up, Bucky scooped up the plug and slipped it back inside him, sealing his release inside Tony. He wouldn’t leave it there for long, but the idea of it made him shudder, his cock twitching again in interest. He was pretty sure that if he told Tony to turn around and suck him off, his lover would do it, glittery lashes flashing prettily and his mouth distended obscenely around Bucky’s cock. He’d be so pretty.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Maybe next time.” Tony made an inquiring sound, but Bucky didn’t answer the unspoken question, instead dropping onto the bed next to Tony, who twisted around and snuggled into him immediately, seemingly content to worry about the mess later. Bucky took a moment to figure out the contraption Tony had used to keep his cock pinned out of the way and released him, grinning at Tony’s sigh of relief. “Next time, leave that bit off,” he suggested. Tony hummed in agreement, and Bucky chuckled, leaning close so he could breathe in Tony’s ear. “If you’re willin’, I’d love to have that pretty mouth around me, sucking me off.”

Tony’s face flushed red with arousal, and he glared weakly at Bucky, who grinned back unrepentantly. Tony huffed after a moment, closing his eyes and smiling ruefully. “Want me to wear lipstick while I’m at it?”

Bucky’s breath caught on the implications, of Tony leaving his own kind of mark on him, one that wouldn’t fade away in a matter of minutes. Of course, it wouldn’t last long, only until Bucky cleaned himself up, but he couldn’t deny that the idea had its appeal. Tony blinked, his lashes fluttering as he considered Bucky’s expression. Then he grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, smug about it.

“Of course it’s a yes,” Bucky replied, his gaze softening as he swept his flesh hand gently around the curve of Tony’s cheek, before coming to rest on the back of his neck, his thumb sweeping along the column of Tony’s throat. “I’m pretty much guaranteed to like anything you do,” he admitted. “Including playin’ dress-up, if you want.”

Tony smiled. “Jarvis, please let Pepper know that I expect her to clear my schedule for the next week.”

“Of course, sir,” the AI replied dryly. “I am sure Miss Potts will be pleased to hear that you won the wager.” If it was possible for a machine to be sarcastic, Bucky was pretty sure Jarvis had it down pat.

A moment later, the implications set in, and Bucky propped himself up on one arm so he could glare down at Tony, who protested the loss of his pillow with a petulant grumble. “Wait. What wager?” he asked.

Tony waved his hand negligently. “Oh, nothing big. After the high heels, Pepper bet that I couldn’t seduce you wearing women’s clothes. I proved her wrong.”

Bucky snorted. “You could seduce me wearin’ a burlap bag,” he pointed out wryly. Tony grinned, pleased with the compliment. He ignored the surge of disappointment that caught in his throat and sat low in his stomach. “So you won the bet, huh?” he asked, giving the other man what he hoped was a confident smile.

Tony nodded, considering Bucky. “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do this again,” he said, and Bucky dropped his eyes. People always forgot how observant and attentive the mouthy engineer could be, when he wasn’t busy insulting the people around him or locked away in his lab for days on end. “I told you, I used to do this a lot. Well, often enough that it got me into trouble in college,” he amended. “But none of my lovers were really into this kinda thing, so I stopped.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but Bucky saw right through him. He knew it wasn’t that Tony thought he was really a girl or anything, there was more to it than that.

Come to think of it, now that his mind was on the subject, Bucky realized that he saw a lot of women in what he’d come to think of as men’s clothes – jeans, a hoodie two sizes too big, worn sneakers. Even Natasha liked to bundle up in a robe that flowed around her slender form. It belonged to Clint, but Natasha said it was softer and felt nicer on her skin than anything she owned. So he didn’t see why the same couldn’t be true for men.

Bucky looked back up at his lover, knowing his heart was in his eyes. “Yeah?” he asked shyly.

Tony smiled. Nodded. “Yeah.”

Bucky surged forward to kiss him, pleased and aroused and desperately looking forward to seeing what else Tony had hidden away. But in the meantime….he looked down, then smiled, sharp and wicked, already sliding downwards, his gaze eager. Tony’s cock was jutting out, proud and wanting, and that, at least, was something Bucky could do.

Stroking a finger up the side of Tony’s cock, he watched the other man twitch, his, “Oh, god, yes,” breathed out through swollen, parted lips. Bucky grinned, then took a deep breath before asking his question.

“Where’s the lipstick?”

#celtic7irish #mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic's fic #bucky barnes x tony stark #winteriron #feminization #NSFW

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Photo

Another Tony in women’s clothing! Thank you to the lovely @istehlurvz for feeding my addictions! Also, this outfit is going to feature in a fic that’s only partially finished atm.

Please note, because this seems to confuse people. istehlurvz drew this for me, I just commissioned it. :)

#commissioned artwork #istehlurvz #tony stark #cross dressing #art by istehlurvz #I don't draw #lol #avengers #marvel #iron man

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

Eyes of a Predator (Or Five Times Sam Caught T'Challa Watching, and One Time He Invited Him To)

Title: Eyes of a Predator (Or Five Time Sam Caugh T’Challa Watching, and One Time He Invited Him To)

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13342707

Square Filled: I2, Sam Wilson x T’challa

Ship: Sam Wilson x T’Challa

Rating: Mature

Major Tags: None

Summary: “So that really is a thing for you, huh?” he asked, amusement creeping through him. “A King who likes to watch.”

Clawed hands reached up and unclasped the helmet, revealing T’challa’s face, cloaked in darkness as it was. Sam wondered idly if he should turn on a light, but he was pretty sure T’challa didn’t need one to see. “As a King, it is what I do,” T’challa replied. “I watch the people, I watch the land, I watch the borders, I watch the world and their politics. But it is always in a broad sense. Very rarely do I have the chance to just watch a person who has no expectations for me to protect them or guide them or serve their best interests. You are strong, Sam Wilson, and do not need a protector.”

Sam grinned. “And so you can just watch,” he teased.

Word Count: 6326

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full Text Below:

Battle Practice:

“Falcon, watch out!” Captain America called into the coms, his shield nearly skimming Sam’s right wing as it skipped past him and slammed into the drone that had snuck up behind him. Sam twisted, wrenching his wings hard and getting out of the way of the shield’s rebound.

“Thanks for the save, Cap!” he called back, chagrined. He wasn’t normally so oblivious, but he kept getting a prickling sensation on the back of the neck, like he was being watched, and it was distracting him.

He shot two more of the drones – courtesy of a team of Wakandan engineers who seemed delighted to build drones for them to practice with, and even more gleeful when they managed to destroy them beyond repair – and rose a few more feet, his wings lifting easily to give him more clearance above the battlefield. Stark’s upgrades to the EXO-7 Falcon wings were amazing, and Sam sometimes wished he’d gotten a chance to properly thank the man before all hell had broken loose and he’d been thrown in prison with the rest of Captain America’s ragtag band of followers.

“What’s got you all flustered, bird brain?” Clint demanded cheerfully as he picked off drones one by one from his perch in the treetops. One of the drones got too close, and he ran along the branches wide edge before jumping, shooting the drone before snagging another branch and swinging up into a different tree.

Lang, who had thus far stayed on the ground – or rather, in it – and therefore out of the fight, suddenly shot up, taller than the trees that surrounded them. He managed to grab two drones in one hand and crush them, before another drone managed to get a clean shot to the back of his head. Falcon bit back his laugh as Giant Man twisted and fell, shifting back to normal people size to avoid crushing the trees. A drone followed him, and Sam dove, pulling the drone’s attention towards him and shooting its camera, leaving it to careen drunkenly into a nearby tree.

“Like you’re one to talk, Hawkeye,” Sam snapped back, his feet briefly hitting the ground so he could check on Scott before he was back in the air, wings maneuvering gracefully through the air, Steve’s shield and Clint’s arrows singing through the air around him as they took out a few more drones, his own weapons so loud in comparison. “But I don’t know. I’m getting the feeling that I’m being watched. But I don’t see anyone,” he admitted uneasily, waiting for the laughter.

Steve spoke up first, which was just as well. Clint was probably going to crack a smartass joke, and Lang wasn’t much better. “Is it a threat?” he asked seriously. And that was Captain America speaking, checking that his teammates weren’t in danger from more than what was right in front of them.

Falcon twisted away from three drones that were converging on him, angling downwards. Two of them exploded at his back, and he swore. “Dammit, Barton! Could you maybe not use exploding arrows when I’m right there?” he asked in exasperation.

“Or you could, you know, fly faster,” Clint retorted with a grin as a combination of Steve’s shield and Sam’s bullets took out the last drone, leaving him to land undisturbed in the wide clearing that served as an arena for battle practice.

“It is not a threat,” Wanda reassured them, a red blast of magic shooting from her hands and wrapping around a drone, crushing it easily. “He is merely observing, possibly because we are strangers here and he is curious.”

Scott Lang was staring over towards Birnin Zana, the capital city of Wakanda. “I’m pretty sure he’s checking you out, Wilson,” he said, grinning.

Sam glared at him. “Who?” he demanded, turning to look as well. The city was too far away for even Captain America to see, so he had no idea how the hell the bug guy had any insight.

“T’challa,” Scott Lang answered cheerfully. Then cracked up as Sam launched himself at the other man, wrestling him into a headlock.

Still, as they packed up and left, leaving a group of happily chattering engineers to handle the destroyed drones, Sam couldn’t help but peer up at the city. And at the castle that lay in its center.

Food Preparation:

It was Sam’s night to make dinner in the communal kitchen of the suite that T’challa had given them for the duration of their stay. Steve was down in the labs with Bucky, watching over his cryogenically frozen best friend. Lang was…probably trying to pick up one of their Wakandan guards. Undoubtedly, he’d be home in a bit with a new bruise to show off and a story to tell; the women around here didn’t mess around, and Ant-Man’s dubious charms were completely ineffective. That didn’t stop the man from trying, though. Wanda was probably at the library; she enjoyed reading almost as much as she enjoyed her solitude.

So that left Sam in charge of making sure everybody actually got fed. Clint had offered to help, but the archer was more of a disaster in the kitchen than a five-year-old, and Sam had firmly declined. Clint had just grinned knowingly and then wandered off somewhere, probably to one of the several ranges on the palace grounds.

Sam should have been alone, which is why he was so surprised when he turned around, still humming and swaying his hips to the song stuck in his head, to realize that he was being watched. To his embarrassment, he nearly fumbled the pan of lasagna he’d been carrying over to the oven. Strong hands slid under his own, balancing the tray, and Sam glanced up into the dark, somber eyes of the King of Wakanda.

“I apologize, Sam Wilson,” T’challa murmured, his deeper drawl sending a shiver down Sam’s spine. “It was not my intention to startle you.”

Sam just sighed, pulling back a bit. T’challa let him go, and he walked over to the oven, feeling the other man’s eyes on him as he bent to put the tray in the oven to cook. “It’s fine, your highness,” he said. “I just wasn’t expecting anybody else to be here.” He straightened up, glanced back at T’challa, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the kitchen, and sighed again. “Have a seat, man,” he suggested. “Do you need the others? They’re kinda scattered, but they’ll be here for dinner, if you want to wait.”

T’challa shook his head, even as he settled in one of the chairs at the table. “No, I had not meant to disturb anybody,” he said. “I simply smelled something unfamiliar and came to investigate. I apologize for startling you.”

Sam looked over at T’challa consideringly. The King met his eyes, and Sam grinned. “What? You’ve never had lasagna before?” he asked.

T’challa shook his head. “Meals are prepared by the palace chefs,” he admitted softly, “and are made with native ingredients.”

Sam laughed. “Well, if you’re going to stick around for dinner, you can help me with the salad so I can prepare the bread rolls.” And maybe T’challa would stop staring at him if he was busy chopping vegetables.

T’challa blinked, looking suddenly unsure. “I….do not know how to cook,” he admitted.

Sam laughed, delighted. “Not even toast, man?” he teased. T’challa shook his head, and Sam grinned. “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to teach you. Can’t have a King that can’t fend for himself,” he joked.

T’challa seemed to consider that for a moment, then stood up and walked over to the counter. “Show me,” he commanded.

Sam nodded. “All right,” he agreed easily. And if showing T’challa how to properly prepare a salad required a little more touching than usual, well, that was nobody’s business but theirs.

Running/Gym:

Sam was out for a morning jog – without Steve “on your left” Rogers, thank you very much – when he felt he was being watched. This was the third day in a row. He was coming up on the three-quarter mark of his usual path, his shirt sticking to his skin and a light sheen of sweat covering him from head to toe, and he slowed to an easy lope as he looked around.

And just like on the previous days, he saw no one around. The path he took was usually pretty deserted, as it went more or less in a giant circle, which accomplished absolutely nothing. He’d asked about it, back when he’d first discovered it, and been informed that at one time, the circular road was actually more of a dirt path, utilized by wild cattle and the like, as it moved in a roughly circular pattern around food and water sources. Now, though, it was pretty much just a scenic tour around the area, where there were plenty of trees with colorful leaves and numerous statues and fountains celebrating Wakanda’s long and prosperous history.

It was, however, perfect for a morning run if a person didn’t want to get lost, and most of his teammates used the path when they had time. With the exception of Scott Lang, who pointed out that most of his fighting was done while he was ant-size, and he very much preferred to do his running with the ants. Sam thought that was creepy, but to each his own, he supposed.

A final look around, and Sam picked up the pace again, heading into the tree-lined lane that would then sweep around a large pond (or maybe it was a small lake?) and back to the palace, doing his best to ignore the creeping sensation of eyes on his back. He was probably just imagining things. Since their arrival in Wakanda, nobody had bothered them. If they needed anything, they spoke to one of the palace's many staff members, or to King T’challa himself. The general population often regarded them with suspicion, but none of them had given any indication that they meant to cause them any harm.

He finished his jog a bit quicker than usual, not taking time to slow down to admire the family of swans that inhabited the pond by the palace. As he approached the castle walls, he finally allowed himself to take a moment to breathe, slowing down to a moderate walk to give himself time to get his breathing under control before he went inside and attracted unwanted attention. Clint, especially, seemed to have an uncanny ability to tell when one of his teammates was rattled. He was a lot cleverer than people gave him credit for.

Slipping into a side entrance that would directly to the wing he was staying in while here in Wakanda, Sam failed to notice the silver eyes watching him from the shadows of the palace doorways.

Once Sam had disappeared from view, T’challa, too, moved away. He had duties to attend, after all.

Public Baths:

Sam sighed as he sunk down into the heated water in the royal bath chambers. For all that Wakanda was more technologically and scientifically advanced that most first world countries, they did enjoy some of the simpler pleasures. The baths were built directly into a large stone basin, the stones heated and keeping the water at a comfortably warm temperature. Sam didn’t know if they were heated by underground sources, or by some sort of technology, but it didn’t matter. It was like sinking into a hot tub, and he moaned with pleasure as he sunk neck deep into the hot water, the steam rising around him in thin, pale tendrils.

“Oh, god. I really need to come down here more often,” he mumbled out loud, his muscles relaxing under the heat. There was a shower in each of their rooms, which was what Sam usually used, but right now the suite was filled with moping super soldier and a bored archer, so Sam decided the royal bathhouses would be safer. T’challa had shown them where they were shortly after their arrival in Wakanda, and Sam could only mourn that he hadn’t taken advantage of the hospitable offer sooner.

He luxuriated in the water for a while before deigning to move far enough to gather some of the scented lotions from the woven basket he’d been handed upon entering. Opening several of the glass vials, he sniffs at them curiously, finding most of them quite pleasing. He poured the one that was labeled as Sage and Lemongrass and poured it into the water. The scent rose around him, and he grinned with delight.

“I’ve definitely got to get me some of this,” he said to himself, whistling cheerfully as he set about scrubbing himself with one of the bottles labeled as body wash. The smooth stones in the basin were pretty comfortable, actually, and the water was hot and fragrant, and Sam felt cleaner than he had since before being imprisoned in the Raft.

He was debating whether he really wanted to put in the effort to climb out of the water when he heard the soft brush of footsteps over stone. Opening his eyes, he peers up at T’challa, who is regarding him silently. “I apologize for disturbing your rest,” the King murmurs, “but I am glad to see that you have taken advantage of the royal baths. Perhaps you can convince your Captain to relax a bit while he is here.”

Sam chuckled, sitting up straighter, glad for the steam that rose around them and covered anything below the water’s surface. Relaxing a bit, Sam realized that T’challa was dressed only in a pair of thin, loose pants that hung low on his hips and cinched at his ankles. He was also carrying a woven basket similar to the one that Sam had been given, though a bit more elaborate, with a large black panther depicted on it in jewels.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” he apologized, glad that his darker skin hid the blush he could feel heating up his face. “I’m keeping you from your bath, aren’t I?” He looked around a bit helplessly; he wasn’t exactly shy, proud of his body and the work he put into it, but he didn’t know if it would be considered rude to bare himself (quite literally) to the King of Wakanda.

A deep rumble of a chuckle tugged at something low in Sam’s belly. “You are fine where you are,” T’challa reassured him. “I oftentimes come here when I wish to be away from my guards and advisors for a while,” he admitted with a small smile, sharing a secret. “But to be honest, I would welcome the company. Though if you are finished, I will not keep you.”

Sam smiled. “Hey, man, this water never seems to get cold, so I’m cool with staying for a bit longer.” He lifted his hands up, showing his palms to the other man. “It’s not like I can get any prunier,” he joked, pleased when T’challa smiled back at him. He shifted in the water. “This tub’s big enough to share,” he offered politely.

T’challa considered for only a brief moment before nodding. Sam politely turned his back while T’challa removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the water. Stretching, he lifted his arms out of the water and set them on the edge of the basin, slouching a bit deeper in the water, then smiled awkwardly over at his companion.

T’challa grinned back.

Bedtime:

Sam groaned in frustration, spread-eagled on the bed and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Exactly as he’d been doing for the past three hours. He was exhausted, tired beyond belief, and yet, he couldn’t sleep. It was driving him to distraction.

Twisting around, he turned over onto his side, but that just left him staring at the wall instead, which was far less interesting than the ceiling. “You need to get some sleep, man,” he muttered to himself. Cap was planning to take them camping out in the Wakandan jungle over the next couple of days, where they’d be living off the land or whatever other crap the man was spouting. Sam had only agreed because camping meant that Steve wouldn’t be sitting by his best friend’s cryo tube, moping. Besides, he’d enjoyed camping as a boy, so this should be fine. As long as the jungle animals stayed far, far away.

Which meant that tonight was his last night in an actual bed for a while. And he couldn’t sleep.

And the most frustrating part was that he knew why. They’d been here for three months, and in that time, he hadn’t gotten laid once. Heck, he hadn’t even taken care of himself. At first, he was too grateful to be alive and free – or as free as they could be, on the run from multiple governments and the Sokovian Accords themselves. And then, it had just never seemed like a good time. Or place. He was in the palace of a king, after all. Lavish rooms and huge, soft beds. And guards patrolling the hallways.

With an aggrieved sigh, Sam gave in, letting his hand slide into his sleep pants. There was no need to tease; just a quick release and he would hopefully be tired enough to get some sleep.

Of course, he really should have known that it wouldn’t be that easy, because the moment he closed his eyes, he felt a prickling sensation shiver up his spine. In his mind, he saw dark, somber eyes and heard a smooth, cultured voice. “Dammit,” he muttered, his other hand sliding upwards to brush along his stomach and chest and the dip in his throat. Light, teasing touches that made him shiver, sinking further into the soft bedding.

Turning over onto his back, Sam gripped himself more firmly, enjoying the slightly rough rub of dry friction and allowing his mind to wander. Broad hands; a lean, muscular body; long legs and a limber spine that twisted like a cat’s. He didn’t even try to pretend that he wasn’t seeing a very specific person in his mind’s eye. T’challa was intelligent and strong and compassionate; all the best that humanity had to offer. He was gorgeous, too, with his striking features and royal demeanor.

Sam groaned out loud, keeping his movements slow and careful, more teasing than anything. The hand on his throat caressed back down his chest to tease a nipple, raising goosebumps. His hand tightened on his cock, and his bit off a choked moan, twisting his hand and using the first slide of precum to help smooth the way a little. His back arched upwards, thrusting into his fist, and he huffed out a harsh breath, his other hand pinching roughly at first one nipple, then the other, nails scratching lightly down his chest, gentler and less sharp than the claws he was picturing stroking down his chest and back, leaving shallow marks wherever they went.

A jagged, guttural growl seemed to echo around the room, and Sam echoed it, letting his hands wander where they pleased, across his abdomen and down below his cock to toy with his balls, his breath catching on a whimper. “C’mon,” he murmured, writhing at his own touch, his hand tightening even further, almost painful where it gripped his cock, his movements less controlled, erratic. He had known it wouldn’t take long, given how frustrated he’d been lately, but his orgasm still caught him by surprise, cresting over him as he opened his eyes and caught movement out of the corner of his eyes.

Turning his head, the shock and the pleasure crashed into him almost overwhelmingly, and Sam came, staring into gleaming silver eyes. “Oh, god,” he panted, shuddering through the aftermath. He was pretty sure he should be embarrassed, seeing T’challa watching him in complete silence, but he was sated and relaxed and had just been picturing the guy getting him off, so he supposed he could just be embarrassed later.

“You just gonna stand there?” Sam asked wearily, his body finally relaxing as the other man approached, silent and lethal.

T’challa stopped right next to the bed and stared down at him through the eyes of the Black Panther. “I was unsure if you would welcome my attentions,” T’challa admitted, his deep voice rumbling through Sam and sending a frission of excitement through him.

“So you really have been watching me,” he finally managed, his tone rueful. “I thought I was imagining it.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” T’challa asked softly, curiously.

Sam snorted. “You’ve been watching me since we got here,” he pointed out. “If I had a problem with it, I would have said something.” His assertion was met with silence, and he huffed, grimacing as his release cooled on his skin. “Ugh, I need a shower,” he muttered.

T’challa’s voice was distinctly amused when he offered, “You are welcome to use the royal baths again, if you’d like.”

Sam grinned. “Shower’s closer,” he pointed out.

T’challa tipped his head, conceding the point, and Sam sat up, turning to swing his legs off the bed. “But it is more difficult to watch in the shower, don’t you think?” T’challa suggested. Sam was glad he was sitting down still, because he was pretty sure his legs would’ve given out.

“So that really is a thing for you, huh?” he asked, amusement creeping through him. “A King who likes to watch.”

Sam grinned. “And so you can just watch,” he teased. Standing up, he let the covers slide off his hips and held out his hand expectantly. “Fine, then,” he laughed. “Baths it is.”

Invitation:

Sam groaned tiredly, staggering into the palace after two weeks of roughing it in Wakanda’s overgrown wilderness of a jungle. He was hot and tired, and he ached all over. And he was really sick and tired of taking baths in cold streams. He wanted a hot shower, proper food, and about twenty-four hours of sleep.

“Survival training did not go well?” Sam jumped at the unexpected presence in his room. He turned his head and glared at the man standing in the corner.

“You could say that,” he grumbled. “Seriously, Steve got bitten by a snake. A snake! He’s lucky it wasn’t poisonous.” Sam had already been fed up by that point. And that was only three days in. Clint had thought the whole thing was hilarious, and laughed even as he had shot the snake so they could determine if it was poisonous or not, and Wanda had just sighed and told their sheepish Captain to be more careful.

T’challa chuckled. “Ah, yes, it would seem that the rumors about the Captain are true, then. That trouble finds him wherever he goes.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, something like that,” he agreed, his words cutting off in a wide yawn.

“And now I must apologize,” T’challa murmured regretfully. “I had not meant to keep you from your slumber, only to ensure that you made it back safely.” But there was an odd tone in his voice, and Sam blinked slowly, trying to bring his brain online enough to figure it out. He glanced over at the man standing in the corner, looking as composed as ever, but there was a nervousness in the way he held himself that Sam wasn’t used to seeing.

“What’s up, T’challa?” he asked, turning around and walking towards the other man. “You look like you want to ask something, and I’m too tired to play twenty questions. So spit it out,” he suggested, stopping right in front of the other man. Watching those dark eyes watching him, he felt a tremor shiver its way up his spine, his breath catching. Already, his body was responding, pushing away the exhaustion in favor of adrenaline and arousal.

T’challa blinked. “I had wished to provide you with a surprise to welcome you home,” he said softly, almost tentatively. “Had I realized the duration of your training, or how exhausted you would be upon your return, I would have waited until tomorrow, at least.”

Sam grinned; T’challa sounded all about out of patience. Sam supposed that making the guy wait for two weeks right after they’d come to some sort of mutual agreement regarding Sam doing and T’challa watching was plenty enough to drive the other man to distraction. “What did you have in mind?” he asked. “I’m too tired to be up for much, but definitely awake enough for something.” He gave T’challa his best seductive grin, which he must have failed at, because the other man just choked out a laugh, grinning widely down at him.

“There is a room just down the hall,” T’challa suggested. “I had hoped that perhaps you would be willing to take your rest there tonight?” The question was a bit tentative, but there was anticipation there, too, and Sam considered for a moment, then shrugged.

“Sure, why not?” he agreed, nodding. “I mean, how often does one have the undivided attention of a king?” he asked, then paused, glancing up at the other man. “Actually,” he hesitated for a moment, then plowed ahead, “how do you feel about wearing your uniform?” he asked.

T’challa’s eyes lifted in surprise. “The Black Panther?” he clarified. Sam nodded, his face heating as he flushed in arousal and embarrassment both. T’challa was strong and gorgeous, yes, but there was something almost feral about him when he was dressed as the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda. Sam hung around with superheroes on a daily basis, but the thrill that he got when surrounded by people who could take him down in an instant hadn’t faded in the slightest. He hadn’t been chosen for the EXO-7 Falcon paratrooper team because he liked to play it safe.

T’challa’s answering smirk was sly and full of heat. “If that is what you wish,” he acquiesced, and Sam bit back a groan. Holy shit. “Please, come this way,” T’challa offered, one hand gesturing towards the door and the other pushing Sam forward merely by its presence – he wasn’t actually touching Sam, just sort of herding him with the force of his desire, and Sam was helpless to stop him. It was unlike anything he’d experienced before, and he allowed himself to be guided on shaky legs to a room three doors down from his own. It was further away from the rest of the team, but Sam was pretty sure that was just happenstance, and not planned – the rooms were pretty soundproof, he’d found.

The room was completely dark when he entered, only the light spilling from the hallway illuminating a thin path that led straight to the bed, which was on a raised dais with five stairs leading up to it. The light brushed the skirted edge, and Sam paused. This room felt different. Not just larger, but…different. “Please,” T’challa murmured, and Sam obligingly made his careful way to the bed, stopping at its edge for just a moment and glancing back at T’challa before crawling onto the bed, settling himself in the center of it.

“I will return shortly,” T’challa told him, and Sam’s breath stuck in his throat. He was actually going to do it; T’challa was going to put on the Black Panther uniform. “Please, make yourself comfortable.” T’challa started to close the door behind them, then paused. “I am aware that you are exhausted. Should you fall asleep before I return, please be assured that I will not be offended.”

That startled a laugh out of Sam, and he relaxed into the mattress. “Then don’t keep me waiting,” he suggested slyly. The door snapped shut hurriedly, and Sam grinned into the darkness. “Like I’m going to be able to sleep now,” he chuckled, anticipation swirling hot in his belly.

He decided that he might as well get comfortable while he waited, so Sam shimmed out of his jeans and kicked them to the floor, then shrugged off his t-shirt, glad that he’d taken a bath that morning, as cold and unpleasant as it had been. He’d still like a hot shower, but at least he wasn’t completely gross right now.

Before he had time to really start worrying, or second-guessing himself, there was a tap at the door. A moment later, it opened, and Sam caught sight of a feline silhouette before the room was enclosed in darkness once more. He felt more than heard T’challa approach him.

“Do you need a light or something?” he asked wryly. “Or can you see just fine?”

Silver eyes lit up, startling Sam. “I can see perfectly fine,” T’challa assured him. “However, this particular room is not meant to remain in darkness,” he added, practically purring the words. Sam shuddered, his skin alighting under the possessive, satisfied tones.

Resisting the urge to roll over towards the other man and beg for his touch, Sam managed a hoarse, “Well, then, what’re you waiting for? Turn the lights on.”

“As you wish,” T’challa murmured, and the lights rose slowly. Sam blinked, then laughed. The entire room was covered in mirrors, all of them aimed towards the bed in the room’s center. It was like a voyeur’s dream room. Or an exhibitionist’s.

Tearing his eyes away from the mirrors, his gaze landed on the only other body in the room, and his breath left him in a harsh punch of air. “That’s…not your usual uniform,” he managed. Sure, it still covered everything, and was tight and black and probably made of vibranium armor or something, but more than that, it glowed. Sam couldn’t make sense of the pattern of flickering lights, but the Black Panther uniform reminded him, awkwardly enough, of the Iron Man armor when it was charged up, all sharp angles and lethal pulses of light. The eyes were silver, but the edges were ringed with a bright blue. The Panther’s claw tips were solid shards of obsidian, very obviously weapons. The entire uniform screamed of power, and Sam moaned softly, his cock firming up. Admittedly, he had been half hard just thinking about what he had agreed to, but having the impassive face of the Black Panther staring down at him brought a whole new level of awareness to the fact that he was about to jack himself off in front of another person.

“Any requests?” he managed breathlessly. The other man didn’t reply except to move back towards a chair that was placed towards the side of the bed and take a seat. Sam huffed a nervous laugh. “Very literal about just watching, huh?” he muttered. T’challa tipped his head a bit to the side in acknowledgment, and Sam sighed. He was used to his lovers taking a slightly more active role in the whole sexy times bit. Still, he couldn’t deny that the weight of that gaze on him, focused like a predator stalking its prey, made his flesh break out in goosebumps. He gave a long, ragged sigh, his eyes closing to mere slits as he tossed his head back, pressing it into the pillow so that his throat and upper chest were exposed. It was animalistic, prey realizing that it had lost, giving in, surrendering to the inevitable.

When he’d stripped earlier, he’d left on his boxer briefs, but now he shoved at them impatiently, pushing them down just far enough that he could wrap his hand around his cock with a groan of pleasure and relief. His other hand trailed upwards, over his stomach and chest and throat, fingers slipping into his mouth.

There was a soft sound of something hitting the bed next to him, and Sam glanced over to find a small bottle of lube there. “Good idea,” he managed to mumble around his fingers, letting them slide out and trail a damp path across his nipples, shivering as they peaked in the cooler air of the room. Above him, his reflection stared back at him, flushed and writhing, eyes blown dark and wide and enticing. Sam had never had any reason to watch himself in the mirror during sex before, and he had the sudden odd thought that this would be so much better with two people, tangled up in the sheets. And in each other.

The thought drew a moan from him that he didn’t even try to hide, his grip loosening until he was just teasing himself, his fingers trailing lightly up and down the sides of his cock, making him shiver with something between laughter and pleasure. He didn’t want this to be over too soon, after all.

His free hand rubbed and pinched at his nipples, sending sharp spikes of pleasure straight to his cock, and he didn’t even bother to try to hide his sounds of pleasure at the sparkling sensations that cascaded through him. He stared at the mirrors above him, watching the Black Panther watching him, but he quickly gave in to his curiosity and turned his head, his body stretching out languidly as he did so. Silver eyes gleamed at him, and T’challa made a noise that was caught somewhere between a growl and a snarl. It sent a bolt of almost-fear through Sam, and he huffed out a breathless laugh, his hand tightening around himself almost without thought.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to last long given the stress of the last few days – he was wound up tighter than a Jack-in-the-Box – Sam managed to squeeze out some lube onto his fingers, a familiar scent filling the air. He rubbed it curiously between his fingers for a moment, trying to place it, but a satisfied rumble jolted his memory. It smelled like T’challa did, like a forest, like wild things that hunted in the night. It was dark and secretive and earthy, and Sam growled back as he wrapped his now-slick hand around his cock, all but whining at the smooth glide it provided. It seemed that armor and weapons weren’t the only things Wakanda was more advanced in.

If he’d been less tired, had more time, perhaps he would have taken it more slowly, maybe even opened himself up a little bit, tried to see if he couldn’t coax T’challa to move from the chair and come touch him. But as it was, he just gripped himself tighter, using his other hand to tease and pinch at his nipples – they were actually surprisingly sensitive – and stroking downwards, stopping just shy of his balls before moving up again, making T’challa growl. Not so uninterested after all, huh?

Sam grinned over at the other man. “Come over here and I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised.

T’challa seemed to consider it for a moment, those silver eyes thinning into slits, but then he stood, stalking towards him. It was only a few steps, but damn did he make those steps count, his gaze never wavering as he prowled forward, a low growl trickling continuously from his throat and his claws flexing restlessly by his side. Sam wondered how those claws would feel against his skin, leaving scratches down his back and sides. “Oh!” he breathed, realizing that he was dangerously close to coming already, just from picturing it.

T’challa was standing over him now, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed as he stared down at Sam impassively. Above them, the mirrors showed an almost surreal sight; the predator standing over its helpless prey, ready to pounce. T’challa’s shoulders were hunched, his head bowed over Sam’s vulnerable stomach. Sam’s eyes widened, his hand moving faster now, adding a twist at the end as he raced to the finish.

“And what, exactly, do you intend to do now that you have me?” T’challa asked, curiosity and amusement in his voice. Slowly, he reached up and removed the mask, warm brown eyes gazing down at him.

And there it was, the final piece that Sam had been looking for. The Black Panther and King T’challa, the same person, dangerous and honorable and kind, with a sense of understated humor that suited Sam just fine and a way of knowing just what he needed, even without him saying anything at all.

He kept his eyes wide open as he came, staring back at T’challa, the mirrors all but forgotten already. He shuddered through the aftermath, his hand still moving almost languidly until he was too sensitized to continue.

Panting, he looked up at T’challa. “Come to bed with me?” he asked.

The King didn’t even stop to consider, just stripped off his uniform and set it nearby, in the chair he’d been seated on earlier, before yanking off the comforter and dropping it to the floor as well. He maneuvered them both under the red satin sheets – red, really? – and settled on his side, his right arm propping up his head so he could gaze warmly down at Sam. “You have not answered my question,” he reminded softly.

Sam grinned, reaching up and tugging T’challa down into a kiss before turning just enough to breathe in the other man’s ear. “I promise to never tell anyone that the Black Panther is a voyeur,” he whispered.

T’challa’s laughing rumble filled the room, and Sam smiled.

#celtic7irish #mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic's fics #Sam Wilson x T'Challa #Voyeurism #Masturbation #Get-Together Fic

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

Til the End

Title: Til the End

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13342650

Square Filled: I1 - A/B/O Breeding Kink

Ship: Steve x Bucky

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Major Tags: Dub-con, borderline non-con

Summary: After the Winter Soldier recognizes Steve on the bridge, Hydra decides that they need to bind him completely. To an Alpha. Things don't go quite as planned.

Word Count: 2978

Created for @mcukinkbingo

Full Text Below:

The door opened again, and the Winter Soldier wanted to scream. He couldn’t, though, couldn’t scream. Not through the gag in his mouth, thick and choking him so that he could barely breathe, his body trying desperately to take in oxygen through his nose, even as his body writhed, covered in cum and his own slick. Blood ran down his neck, flowing sluggishly now, but it was only a matter of time before another of Hydra’s Alphas bit him again, sinking through flesh and trying to force a bond as they fucked him raw. His body was covered in cuts and bruises resulting from the Alphas’ fury at repeated failures. The Soldier didn’t know why they couldn’t bond him; he was an Omega, they were Alphas. He was a tool of Hydra. It should work. He wanted it to work. If it would only make them stop their assault.

But with each new failure, the Alphas grew more aggressive, more brutal. And the Soldier had no way to fight it, even if he could batter his way through his programming to do so. He was chained down, his legs held wide open, his body curved painfully, giving him no leverage, no strength to try and break the chains that bound him as Alpha after Alpha came and fucked and knotted and bit him savagely, occasionally giving him a sharp shake and tearing the wounds open just that much further.

And still, the Soldier’s body wouldn’t relent, the Heat forced upon him and making him half-crazed with need. He’d been silent at the beginning, when his handlers had told him that he would be bred and bonded with an Alpha of their choosing, responding only that he would comply. He’d known it to happen before, in military units, the arranged bonding of an Alpha Soldier and an Omega Support Specialist; or the forced bonding of an Alpha soldier with the Omegas of a conquered town. This was nothing; it was to be expected. He served Hydra, in whatever way they wanted him to serve.

But it wasn’t working, and no matter how much they beat him or fucked him, he didn’t know why. He wasn’t bonded. He knew that much; they had checked. And then they had made absolutely sure, tearing away everything that would have left even the smallest doubt, until he was just an Omega, a passive body waiting for a big strong Alpha to come claim him.

“We’ve got something special for you this time, Asset,” the familiar voice informed him, still harsh with suppressed rage. Brock Rumlow had been the first Alpha to try and claim him, and the first to fail. He seemed to think that it was the Soldier’s fault, that the Asset had done something to keep the bond from working. But he hadn’t. He wouldn’t. The Soldier would comply. He had to.

“Well?” Rumlow prompted, but he wasn’t speaking to the Soldier now, and the Soldier whined, more slick spilling from his raw, swollen hole and sliding down his thighs to join the mess below him.

“You couldn’t even clean him up first?” a voice demanded, filled with anger and a sort of possessive, dominating edge that the Soldier recognized. He knew that voice, and his body jerked in its restraints. He wanted to yell at the owner of that voice, to tell them to go away, to get out while they could.

“Aw, look at it,” Rumlow laughed. “If you want to try and clean that mess up, be our guest. It’s stubborn, refuses to be bred like a good little Omega. If you’re lucky, it won’t kill you.” Another laugh, and then the thud of the door as Rumlow left, leaving the Soldier alone with the new Alpha.

“Dammit,” the Alpha muttered, pheromones quickly filling the room. The Soldier scented the air, surprised that this Alpha could overpower the scent of so many others. How had Hydra gotten hold of an S-Class Alpha?

Cold hands touched the Soldier’s flanks, and the Soldier jerked, unable to keep himself from trying to pull away even as more slick slipped out of him, reacting to the scent of Alpha. “Fucking Hydra trash,” the voice muttered darkly, too low for the cameras to pick up on, but the Soldier heard it, registered its meaning even as the Alpha retreated a ways. The Alpha wasn’t Hydra. He didn’t serve Hydra. He shouldn’t be here!

The Soldier let out a warning growl; I know what you are, you’re not one of us, you’re an imposter!

The Alpha snarled back. I am an Alpha. You will respect me! The Soldier subsided; the Alpha was correct. Even if he wasn’t a member of the organization, Hydra had brought this Alpha here. Perhaps he was affiliated with them somehow? The Soldier didn’t know what sort of outside contacts Hydra had, but it would make sense that they would have access to other Alphas. And if a bonding worked, they could always keep the Alpha here, could make him part of Hydra.

The Asset whined; he didn’t want this Alpha to become part of Hydra. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was for the same reason that he seemed so familiar. Maybe the Soldier knew him from somewhere.

“Shh, Bucky, it’s all right,” the voice soothed, and the Soldier shuddered. Bucky….who the hell was Bucky? Was he Bucky? He rolled the name around in his head for a while, only half paying attention to the Alpha who was at the door, demanding something in a low, angry voice. The name was familiar. Maybe he was Bucky. Or had been, in a previous lifetime. He didn’t know.

The pheromones grew stronger again as the Alpha approached him, and this time, when he touched him, it was with a cold cloth, rough against his abraded skin. “Couldn’t even manage to find warm water, I suppose,” the Alpha muttered, and Bucky realized that the Alpha was trying to clean him up, trying to erase the other Alphas from his skin. He didn’t protest when the Alpha pressed a little too hard against a few bruises, or scraped against a raw cut. “Sorry. Sorry,” the Alpha murmured. “Just a bit more.” Hands were at his throat, cleaning away the blood from the bite marks the other Alphas had left.

“Hah. They tried real hard, didn’t they?” the sarcasm was thick and heavy, the tone carrying the hint of an accent. Brooklyn? The Soldier remembered that voice, it made him think of Brooklyn. But why?

“Mmee?” he said, his voice strangled through the gag.

“Shh, Buck,” the voice murmured again, low and right next to his ear, presumably so Hydra couldn’t see him. “We don’t have much time, the reversal won’t work for much longer. I’m sorry about this, but we’ve got to get you out of here. Do you understand?” A hand was pressed against the back of his neck, fingers tangled in his long hair. To anybody watching the cameras, it would look as if the Alpha was pressing on his neck, forcing him to drop his head lower in submission.

The Soldier still didn’t understand, but he was starting to get an idea of what the Alpha wanted. He whined through the gag, his body shivering under the light pressure of that hand, of the scent of Alpha. But more than that, something inside of him was clamoring for attention, telling him that this would work, that it had to work. He gave a small nod of consent, as much as he was able with his restricted movements. He was sure they would’ve put a leash on him if they hadn’t needed access to his neck and throat.

“Good boy,” the Alpha murmured, his scent growing impossibly stronger with his arousal. “You’re so pretty, gonna look so good carrying our pups, yeah?” he said, the blunt head of his cock already pressing against the Soldier’s ass, slick easing the way as he shoved inside. “Gonna take you home and protect you and the pups, gonna have a family of our own,” he crooned, one hand fisting in the Soldier’s hair, forcing his head back, his back arching uncomfortably as the Alpha fucked relentlessly into him, larger than the Soldier might have anticipated based on the Alpha’s smaller stature.

He moaned in pain and agreement, tears tracking down his face as sharp fingers dug into his side, nails leaving crescent marks in their wake. The Alpha’s scent filled his nose, made him keen and shudder with wanting, with something almost like hope, if the Soldier ever allowed himself to feel anything as useless as hope. Please, please, please. Alpha. He wanted to beg, to whine and curse and scream and plead, but he could do none of that, could only force air into his lungs, could only take what the Alpha was giving him.

The Alpha was ruthless in his search for release, hitting the Soldier’s prostate on every thrust because of his girth rather than any actual attempt to give the Omega pleasure. “Gonna bond with you, Buck, gonna be your mate.” The Soldier grunted, his cock swelling under the assault, despite the fact that he was exhausted and hurting and confused. “Good boy,” the Alpha praised. “My god, Buck, do you even know what you look like, all spread out and waitin’ for me?”

The Soldier hadn’t been waiting for him, hadn’t been waiting for anybody in particular, but the thought obviously pleased the Alpha, judging by the possessive satisfaction in his voice. The Soldier pushed back as much as he could, groaning when the Alpha slid just that much deeper. “Oh, Bucky, yes,” the Alpha sighed, his pace increasing. “So pretty, all spread out and leaking, just waiting to be bred, to be claimed. And they tried, huh? Tried to breed you, to bond you, to fill you with their pups. But it didn’t work, it couldn’t. Because even like this, you remember me. You remember our promise.”

The Alpha froze, shuddered, then shoved forward rapidly, once, twice, three times and he was coming, shoving himself as deep as he could go, so that his knot pushed past the Soldier’s rim, locking inside of him as the Alpha swelled. Breath against his neck, and the Soldier knew what was coming, was ready for it.

“’Til the end of the line, pal,” the Alpha said, and the Soldier wailed through the gag as the Alpha bit him, as memories flooded through him. The man on the bridge, but smaller, like the Soldier remembered him. A blonde, scrawny Alpha with fire in his eyes and blood on his teeth, angry at the world for making him such a weak Alpha, for making him unwanted.

Mostly unwanted, the Soldier acknowledged as he felt the first stirrings of a successful bond taking root, the Alpha’s scent changing even as his own did, making them compatible to each other, souring their scents for anybody outside of the two of them and their pack. He settled into his bonds, exhausted, ignoring the sounds coming from outside – they weren’t important.

“Cavalry’s here,” the Alpha – Steve – muttered, his nose pressed against the Soldier’s throat. “Gonna get you out of here. Are you with me, Bucky?”

The Soldier – no, Bucky, he was Bucky Barnes – huffed through his gag. “Oh, sorry!” Steve apologized, reaching forward to remove the gag, making them both groan as his knot shifted inside of Bucky. “Stark is never gonna let me here the end of this,” Steve sighed.

Bucky worked the ache out of his mouth and jaw as he came back to himself, the bond helping to re-establish a baseline, helping him to break Hydra’s hold over him. No doubt, if a Hydra Alpha had been successful, he’d still be the Soldier, loyal to his Alpha, his handler, and thereby loyal to Hydra through affiliation. But Steve Rogers, little guy from Brooklyn, wasn’t Hydra. He was a fucking Avenger.

Bucky groaned. “Gonna make me an Avenger, Stevie?” he rasped, his throat dry and sore.

Steve chuckled, and Bucky whined, more slick sliding out around Steve’s cock and down his thighs as the pleasure sparked through him. “Stop that,” he complained.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured. The sound of explosions and screams could be heard outside, followed by the roar of some large beast. “As soon as I can, I’m gonna get you outta here,” Steve promised. “You can’t be comfortable.”

Bucky snorted. “What’s comfort gotta do with anythin’?” he asked derisively. He’d been in worse positions before as the Soldier, this was nothing. He’d be fine until his stupid Alpha’s stupid knot deflated enough for the lug to pull free. Speaking of size, he narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were bigger,” he said at last.

Steve’s voice was tired when he answered. “I was. Am,” he corrected. “But Tony reversed the serum temporarily. Long enough to get me in here. The hard part was convincing Hydra that I could do what they couldn’t, and that I sympathized with them.” He sounded positively disgusted, and Bucky felt his lips twitch up in an unfamiliar expression.

“Yeah, well, dunno how you convinced them you were anythin’ but you,” Bucky said, “but I’m grateful for it. And I’m gonna smack the shit outta you when we get outta here,” he threatened.

Steve shifted with a quiet, “Oh,” and Bucky prepared to have him pull away, but instead, he felt the knot inside of him grow impossibly bigger. The hands that had been on his waist grew, as well, and it was the weirdest sensation to feel the little guy revert back to the larger Captain America that Bucky cried out, his body clenching involuntarily against the cock inside of him, pressed firmly against his prostate.

“No,” he said faintly, realizing what had happened. The serum reversal had worn off, and now Captain America was knotted inside the Winter Soldier in the middle of a fucking Hydra compound. “You idiot,” he growled.

Steve reacted by shoving forward, slipping into him impossibly further, and Bucky whined, realizing that the Captain was ready for round two. The knot slowly deflated, and a rush of slick slid out, Bucky’s Omega scent rising to meet Steve’s Alpha one. “Oh, Buck,” Steve sighed, thrusting inside him, both of them ignoring the chaos happening right outside. “You’re perfect, you can take it. Take everything.”

Bucky nodded frantically. “Yes, Alpha,” he agreed. “Take everything. Anything,” he promised, pushing back as best he could.

Steve sped back up with a groan. “Gonna breed you again,” he growled. “And when we get home, gonna lock ourselves on my floor and fuck you stupid. Gonna fuck you right through your heat, breed you like a proper Omega.”

Bucky was whining, embarrassment and desire raging through him, twisting up inside his stomach and chest and brain, whirling in a cacophony of sensations. “Yes, Alpha,” he replied. “Please, please, please. Breed me. Fill me with your pups. Gonna be such a good Omega.”

Once the haze had worn off, they’d probably actually need to have a talk about what each of them expected from each other, but right now? Right now, all Bucky cared about was pleasing his Alpha, was taking everything his Alpha had to give him, giving his Alpha everything he needed. “Please, Alpha,” he whined, baring his throat in an obvious plea.

Steve growled, his thrusts growing more erratic. He pulled out entirely, wrenching himself free as he came, cum splattering along Bucky’s ass and up his spine, dripping down his thighs to join the mess of slick and cum already there. Teeth locked on his throat, and Bucky screamed out his own orgasm, his vision whiting out, the Heat seeping from his skin.

When he came to, he realized they were moving. He was wrapped in a blanket – cape? – and held in Captain America’s arms. He looked up into a determined face, and Steve caught his gaze and gave him a quick, reassuring smile. “You with us, pal?” he asked.

Bucky blinked, then nodded. “Yes. Put me down,” he insisted, hearing approaching footsteps. Steve did as he’d requested, and Bucky realized that there were others around them.

“Oh, man, I did not need to see that,” a scruffy-looking blonde complained, knocking an arrow into a crossbow before sending it straight through the heart of one of the approaching soldiers. The next arrow went through the eye of another man. Hawkeye, then, the Avengers’ archer.

A lithe redhead slipped by him, dancing on light feet as she took down a handful of enemy combatants in moments. “Oh, I don’t know,” he purred. “He is a super soldier.”

Steve’s shield arced above her head, taking out half a dozen soldiers before pinging against the wall and flying back into Steve’s hands. “Enough talk!” he snapped. “Move!”

“Delivery for Murder-Bot there!” a mechanical voice said, and Bucky snarled as a red and gold suit of armor flew past, dropping a pair of sweatpants and a handful of weapons at Bucky’s feet.

“You must be a Stark,” he observed, slipping on the pants and grimacing at the feel of cum and slick sticking to the fabric. Still, it was better than running around a Hydra base completely naked, and he picked up the weapons gratefully. A couple of knifes that he handed to Steve, and a set of handguns with extended cartridges. They weren’t Hydra-issue weapons.

“Oh, look at the genius,” Stark muttered sarcastically. There was a roar further down the corridor, and the walls shook around them. Stark cursed, then took off towards the sound of the noise. The rest of the Avengers followed, and Bucky? Well, he followed his Alpha. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight, that’s who he followed.

Besides, Steve still owed him a proper breeding.

#celtic7irish #mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic's fics #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #alpha steve #omega bucky #definitely dub-con #Winter Soldier complies #Hydra trash #implied brock rumlow x bucky barnes #happy ending #mild dirty talk #secret identity #temporary pre-serum steve rogers

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celtic7irish · 7 years ago

Text

A Safe Space

Title: A Safe Place

Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13342515

Square Filled: B1 - Nesting

Ship: Tony x Bucky

Rating: Mature

Major Tags: None

Summary: Nesting: The act of cuddling and other such public displays of affection in an open area. Also, the act of settling yourself into a cozy convenient corner of your bedroom and surrounding yourself with all the comforts of your many vices. Also, the act of leaving small stashes of your things in various places in a random and unorganized manner.Or: Bucky has a safe space of his own. Tony likes to spend time in it.

Word Count: 3683

Created for @mcukinkbingo

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When Bruce moved into the Tower, Tony made a space just for him. He had a lab – three labs, actually – and an entire floor to live on. There was a room for meditation, and another that could be locked down if Bruce transformed. There were exotic teas from the world over, and a library stacked floor to ceiling with books that covered every genre and subject imaginable. There were tablets and holo-displays and servers keyed to his unique gamma signature. It was everything Bruce could have ever wanted, and far more than he’d ever dared to hope for.

As the rest of the Avengers trickled in, one or two at a time, Tony did the same for them. Clint had a full-size shooting range; Natasha had a dance studio. They shared an armory. Steve had a gym and a track that could be raised or lowered, or have hurdles or pitfalls. He also had a room filled with things from the forties, and tech that was a bit more old-fashioned and less complicated. He had a library as well. Thor’s room was done in as close a proximity to Asgardian décor as Tony could figure out from the vivid descriptions the blonde prince enjoyed regaling them with.

Tony’s floor, however, was as Spartan and cold as if nobody lived there at all. The furniture was sleek leather, the technology high-end. The fridge and bar were always stocked, the bathroom always pristine. Even the bedroom looked like nobody slept there, though the whole team had seen him go up to the Penthouse to sleep off a four-day engineering binge.

Tony’s workshop was the exact opposite, though, covered in half-completed projects and decorated with drawings made by the bots. There was a mini fridge and a comfortable couch. Tools were scattered about in organized chaos that only Tony and his bots seemed to understand. Snacks were hidden in drawers and on shelves, and the stools and chairs were designed with comfort in mind.

The Avengers rarely had cause to go to the Penthouse, which was why it took them so long to notice the changes. It started shortly after Barnes moved in, warily following Steven into the Tower, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. Tony had taken one look at the soldier’s cybernetic arm and had practically kidnapped the man, spending hours with him in the workshop.

Barnes, one he’d realized that Tony had no intention of hurting him or experimenting on him, was content to stay down in Tony’s workshop with him, playing with the bots and pestering Tony about modern technology. It turned out that Barnes was a bit of a science nerd, and Tony was all too happy to answer his incessant questions.

Steve was the first one to realize something was going on when Bucky stopped sleeping in the floor that Tony had set aside for him. Questioning Jarvis proved fruitless as the AI adamantly refused to break the privacy protocols set in place by Tony, stating only that Sergeant Barnes was not in danger, nor was he a a danger to any of the Tower’s residents.

Steve cornered Bucky a few days later after one of their morning runs, and Bucky cheerfully told him to mind his own damn business. Steve opened his mouth to press the issue, but Bucky ignored him in favor of greeting Tony, who was staggering drunkenly down the hall.

“You’re a mess,” Bucky told him, gripping his arm carefully and steering him away from the wall he’d been about to run into. “C’mon, bed.”

Tony looked up at the soldier and gave a long, slow blnk, swaying on his feet. “Hm?” he mumbled absently.

“Bed,” Bucky repeated in mild exasperation. “Y’know, that monstrosity you’ve got up a coupla floors?” He was grinning, not bothering to hide his fond amusement at the genius’ apparent confusion. Steve just watched in mild consternation, knowing that he was missing something, but not sure what.

Tony blinked. “Oh, yes,” he agreed. “It’s a very nice bed.” He tipped his head to the side and gave Bucky a smile that Steve wall all too familiar with. “Your Nest is better, though,” he added. Steve could hear the capitalization.

“Buck-“ he started, but the other man glared at him so darkly that he snapped his mouth closed abruptly.

The soldier turned back to Tony once he was satisfied that Steve wasn’t going to interrupt, his expression softening as he gave the genius a pleased smile. “You really think so?” he asked.

“Yep,” Tony nodded, leaning tiredly against Bucky. “’S comfortable.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go,” Bucky told him. Steve was left to stare after them in stunned surprise as the two men made their way down the hall and to the lift.

“Hey, Buck?” he called, just before the two men entered the elevator. Barnes looked back at him curiously, and Steve sighed. “Try to get him to sleep more than two hours, yeah?” he asked, as close as he could manage to giving them his blessing.

Bucky’s grin was blinding. “Yeah,” he agreed, just before the doors to the lift closed on them, whisking them away.

Away from the prying eyes of Captain America, Tony straightened up with an exaggerated yawn, stretching enticingly so that the hem of his tank top lifted, revealing a strip of tanned skin by his waist. He grinned wickedly at Bucky, who was smirking back at him. “Think that did it?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged. “He’s been side-eyein’ me for days now,” he grouched. “I figured it was ‘bout time we helped him out a bit. I hate seein’ him worry like that, like he’s scared I’ll run off if he asks me somethin’.”

Tony leaned into him more firmly. “He’ll be fine,” he reassured him. “Besides,” he pointed out slyly, “I’m pretty sure we just smacked him over the head with a sledgehammer.” Bucky’s metal arm slid easily around his shoulder, a familiar weight by now. “So now what?” Tony purred seductively.

Bucky nuzzled against him, pressing lips to the top of Tony’s head. “Well, Stevie did suggest that I try to get you sleep for ‘more than two hours’,” he suggested hopefully.

Tony snorted. “Gotta wear me out before that,” he shot back.

Barnes moved suddenly, before Tony could react to the change in position, gripping him at the hips and shoving him back against the wall of the lift, one firm thigh sliding between Tony’s legs. “Oh, I plan to,” he growled teasingly, a hint of challenge in his gaze.

Tony grinned. “Oh, excellent,” he sighed happily. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, not the least bit surprised when the soldier got a double-handful of his ass and lifted him clear off the floor as soon as the doors opened, carrying him out of the lift and through the Penthouse to the bedroom. And to Bucky’s large, comfortable nest.

Barnes had been so skittish when he’d first arrived, and Tony had set Jarvis to monitoring him – discretely, of course. Mostly so he’d know if he needed to run interference with Steve, since the blonde idiot was far too reckless with his own safety. Besides booby-trapping his quarters, Barnes had taken to sleeping under the bed. At least it was clean, and Barnes had only busted up on cleaner bot before he’d realized that they were harmless. Still, Tony had fixed the bot and reprogrammed it to only attend to Barnes’ rooms when he was in the gym or the shower or something. There had been on further incidents.

Gradually, items had started to go missing from around the Tower. Mostly Steve’s stuff, of course, but also some of Tony’s, surprisingly. It had taken him a while to get up the nerve to confront Barnes about his thieving habits, but the soldier had sheepishly admitted that with his enhanced senses, he needed to surround himself with comfortable, familiar things. It was something that Hydra hadn’t allowed, but now that he could indulge without fear of punishment, he couldn’t seem to stop. Soft blankets that scented of Steve. Fluffy towels and plush pillows. Old, worn flannels. They all made their way to Bucky’s room.

Tony had kind of understood why he’d taken Steve’s stuff – the guy had been his best friend for forever, and even know, Steve only wanted to help Barnes. But that still didn’t explain why some of his own stuff had gone missing. Until Barnes had pointed out that the whole Tower belonged to him, that the Tower was, in its own way, a fortress to protect those inside of it. And so Barnes had quickly come to associate Tony with protection and safety. Especially after spending so much time in the lab, and seeing the weapons and armor he made for the team, to aid and protect them in battle.

Even so, he’d continued to sleep under the bed, despite Steve’s best efforts to the contrary. Even Sam had tried speaking to the soldier, but it hadn’t done any good. Not until Tony had asked Barnes what he needed in order to feel safe. And Barnes, perhaps surprised that somebody was actually asking him what he needed rather than trying to tell him, had admitted that he needed to wake up not alone. It couldn’t be Steve, though, because despite Barnes fighting his conditioning, Steve was still an unfinished mission, and Barnes wasn’t willing to risk waking up as the Winter Soldier and actually killing the other man.

Tony had considered that for all of thirty seconds before suggesting that Barnes come stay in the Penthouse. Jarvis watched over Tony, and the armor was never far away, should it be needed. It had taken about a week of coaxing, but Barnes had eventually agreed, and had brought his nest up to Tony’s bedroom. It was actually a mutually beneficial arrangement, because knowing that Bucky needed somebody to be there when he woke up actually led to Tony going up to bed more often than not. Sometimes he even managed a couple hours of sleep while he was there.

And then, one night, Tony had suffered a nightmare. He couldn’t even remember what it had been about now; Afghanistan or space or having his heart ripped out or drowning. It didn’t really matter. But he had woken up screaming, and Barnes had grabbed him and brought him to the nest and curled up against him, just holding him until he’d quieted. Tony had slept undisturbed for a solid six hours, far more than he usually got these days.

After that, it had become rather commonplace for the two men to sleep in the nest that Bucky had built. The soldier had even started adding a few items from the other Avengers into the nest. The first time Tony had found one of Bruce’s slightly large button-ups buried under a pile of soft blankets, he’d laughed. And then proceeded to kiss Bucky senseless.

There had been some painful conversations made in the nest, too, the two men curled up so that they faced away from each other, as Bucky admitted to having killed his parents, as Tony admitted to having known about it for years prior. Tony had spoken haltingly of Howard and Obie and the Ten Rings, and Barnes had spoken of the war and Hydra and cryo.

Today, though, there would be no talking about the hard, painful things that each of them had been through, no confessing of sins or absolution of them. Just love and patience, and skin against skin.

Tony was squirming impatiently before his lover had even set him down. “Just…here….lemme,” he growled, helping Bucky shove both their shirts over their heads. He lifted his hips obligingly so Bucky could tug his sweatpants down and off, then sprawled out on the blankets, watching with avid delight as Bucky efficiently removed his own jeans – by virtue of tearing them with his metal hand, the zipper breaking and a button dropping down into the nest. Tony palmed it, then burrowed his hand under a bunch of pillows and blankets before releasing it, leaving the button as just another part of the nest, like the various wires and knife sheaths and leather straps that were already there. He preferred the blankets and pillows and clothing, himself, but this was Bucky’s Nest, and if he wanted to have knife sheaths and straps from Steve’s uniform – before Tony had improved it yet again, of course – then that was fine, too.

Propped up on a mound of pillows, Tony enjoyed the teasing, tickling sensation of the faux fur against his spine and sides as Bucky dropped to his knees, pinning Tony with one leg on either side of Tony’s thighs, looking down at him with dark, predatory eyes. Tony looked back just as intensely. “You know, I could get you real fur pillows,” he pointed out reasonably.

Bucky grinned. “Naw, I like the fake stuff,” he said, leaning down to drop a kiss on Tony’s upturned lips. “Nothing got killed for it.” And there was something darker in that statement, something that they’d probably talk about eventually. But not today.

Tony reached for his lover. “Fine, then,” he mock-groused. “Keep it. But I get to choose the next addition.” And hadn’t that been something of a surprise, discovering that he also enjoyed nesting? He’d always thought that the terms related only to mothers-to-be, bustling about the home preparing it for a newborn. But to his knowledge, his mother had never bothered, content to let the servants handle everything. And this was different, anyhow. This was creating a safe space and surrounding themselves with family and friends, even when those members weren’t actually present.

“Sure,” Bucky agreed. “As long as it isn’t somethin’ stupid.”

Tony just laughed, already picturing his fluffiest robe, crimson with a gold trim. It had been something of a joke-gift from Rhodey, but Tony loved the stupid thing and had worn it often when he’d been alone in the Penthouse, after his breakup with Pepper. There had been something comforting about the soft warmth of it. Kind of like Bucky’s nest, he supposed.

“I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” he teased.

Bucky huffed in mock-annoyance, but shifted so that his body rested firmly on top of Tony’s, skin to skin. His metal fingers were tracing idle patterns on Tony’s right shoulder, sending tickling shivers down his arm. “Enough talkin’,” Bucky told him, then suited words to action and kissed him, hard and possessive.

Tony moaned happily into the kiss, squirming under Bucky’s bulk, relishing in the pressure and heat radiating off the other man. Barnes was like a furnace, making the nest warm and comfortable. He let his legs slip a bit further open, drawing Barnes further down on him. “Lube?” he murmured as Bucky trailed a line of kisses and sharp nips across his chin and down his throat. Bucky latched onto the cord of his throat and started pulling blood to the surface. His right hand fumbled around the raised, padded edge of the nest before coming up and showing Tony the small bottle of lube.

Tony hummed approvingly, his hand tangled in Bucky’s hair, resting on his head while the other man gave him a hickey to rival all hickeys. “Possessive son of a bitch, aren’t you?” he said happily.

Barnes answered him by flipping open the cap and somehow managing to get the lube on his fingers without dumping it. “Hm…dexterity,” Tony murmured.

Bucky muffled his chuckle against Tony’s throat. “Motivation,” he countered, fingers already teasing at Tony’s hole, calluses catching on the rim and making Tony gasp at the slightly rough sensation. “Not gonna mess up the nest before I get a chance to mess you up in it,” he leered.

Tony arched, pressing back and down into Bucky’s touch, hoping to entice him to go faster. Instead, Bucky pulled away entirely, and Tony let out a low growl, his eyes narrowing at the other man. Bucky just twisted away, leaning over the edge of the nest – and giving Tony a very nice view of his ass and the muscles in his back and shoulders and thighs – and grabbing something.

“Turn over?” he suggested coyly, turning his head to meet Tony’s gaze and smirking when he realized that Tony wasn’t watching his face at all.

Tony sighed, aggrieved, but did as he’d been asked, twisting over onto his front and lifting himself up on hands and knees. He generally preferred to be able to see his partners, to make sure they were enjoying themselves, but this way could be fun, too. Bucky draped himself over Tony’s back, his weight pressing down on him and forcing Tony to use both arms to hold himself up. Bucky’s cock pressed enticingly against Tony’s ass, and the genius shoved back, trying to get the other man to do something.

Bucky settled something below Tony, who glanced down and laughed at the ugly, yellowish-brown towels. He was sure there was a proper name for the color, but the fact remained that it was ugly, and therefore could be incinerated. And it would keep them from messing up the nest. Probably.

Bucky shifted again, lube-slicked fingers circling Tony’s hole again, occasionally dipping inside. Tony huffed. “I don’t have all day,” he pointed out. “I’ve got a board meeting in the morning, so if you want to get any sleep tonight, you should probably pick up the pace,” he suggested.

He got a sharp nip at the dip of his spine for his trouble, but Bucky moved them along, sliding the first finger inside and crooking it before dragging it back out slowly, letting it catch on Tony’s skin on the way out. Tony sighed in pleasure, his head dropping. He was tempted to reach down and stroke himself, but Bucky’s metal hand resting between his shoulder blades stopped that; the bastard would probably knock him off-balance if he tried it.

Bucky’s tongue was tracing random designs on Tony’s skin, teeth nipping occasionally, and Tony squirmed impatiently. “Always so impatient,” Bucky chided, but his tone was amused, and Tony just turned his head to smirk at him.

“Or maybe you’re just not that good, soldier,” he challenged. Bucky’s eyes darkened, and the next thrust of his fingers – they were up to three now, when had that happened? – pressed ruthlessly against Tony’s prostate, making him shudder and jerk forward with a grunt, sparks shooting through him as he trembled, his arms nearly collapsing under him.

“You sure about that?” Bucky teased him, pressing a gentle kiss to the dip in his spine. His other hand pressed down on Tony’s back, encouraging him to drop to the bedding as Bucky straightened up, pulling his fingers free and slicking himself up before pressing in, as careful as ever. Tony whined, but didn’t try to push back. Bucky had explained, very seriously, that he’d hurt so many people over the years as the Winter Soldier that he never wanted to hurt anyone ever again, in any way. And he was a lot to take in all at once without at least a little bit of pain, so Tony let him set the pace. To reward him, Bucky fitted his metal hand against Tony’s left hip to support himself, the fingers cool and slick against Tony’s sweat-soaked skin.

Once he was fully seated, Tony panting below him with the urge to just move, Bucky reached around and gripped him firmly, and then started moving, his thrusts pushing Tony forward into his grip and then back again, chasing after the pleasure. The pillows below him had been scattered, and Tony’s cheek was pressed to a soft fleece blanket that smelled of gunpowder and Old Spice – not the modern-day stuff, but the original. The kind that Tony imagined his grandfather might have worn, if he’d ever known the man. There was also the fresh scent that accompanied fresh laundry, but it was muted, subtle. The blanket smelled of Bucky, and Tony turned to press his nose against it, breathing in the scent of the man that was all around him, in and over and holding him secure.

Bucky was murmuring words of praise and devotion into his skin, and the words swept through Tony, making him shudder with him. He might have been begging, his words muffled by the blankets, but Bucky knew what he needed. He always knew. His grip tightened, and he slid his metal hand down, stroking the cool metal lightly up Tony’s chest and across his nipples before coming to rest lightly on the side of his throat. There was no threat there, no inherent danger, but Tony could hear the soft shifting of the metal as the tiny plates shifted, calibrating to keep from pinching, and he cried out as he came, feeling Bucky stiffen behind him, giving a few more hard thrusts before coming as well, a cry wrung from his throat even as his orgasm tore through his body.

Bucky’s weight settled heavily against Tony, who turned his head enough that he could breathe, but otherwise didn’t move, enjoying the weight and the warmth. “Mmm,” he mumbled in appreciation. Bucky answered with a grunt, and Tony smiled.

After several long moments, and before Tony got too terribly uncomfortable, Bucky pushed himself up with a grunt and staggered in the direction of the bathroom. He came back with a wash cloth and cleaned Tony up, then tossed both the wash cloth and towel across the room, in the general direction of the hamper, before settling back down on his side. Tony rolled into him, content to let his lover hold him, his face buried in the other man’s throat.

Bucky rummaged around for a moment before tugging up yet another blanket and draping it over the two sated men. “Mmm…like cuddling,” he admitted quietly.

Tony grinned, burrowing further down in the nest so that he was completely surrounded by comforting scents .

“Yeah,” he agreed, already halfway to dozing. “Me, too.”

#celtic7irish #mcukinkbingo2017 #celtic's fics #established relationship #tony stark x bucky barnes #winteriron #way more fluff than kink #nesting

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celtic7irish · 8 years ago

Text

It’s All Up-Hill From Here

Maria Hill stared blankly down at the folders in front of her, each one neatly labeled – and several inches thick. Narrowing her eyes, she looked up at the man standing across the table from her. “Why me?” she asked him.

Nick Fury leaned forward, his hands on the table, and gave her a shark’s grin. “Because Phil is still in the process of dying, and the Avengers are like toddlers. They need a new babysitter.” He straightened up, moving his hands behind his back and standing at parade rest. “That’s you.”

“I’m overqualified,” Maria countered archly.

Fury tipped his head to the side. “I’ll give you a taser,” he offered. “And permission to use it on Stark anytime you please.”

Maria paused, seriously considering the offer for a moment before shaking her head. “Sorry, sir. You’re going to have to do better than that.” As much as she’d probably enjoy tasing Stark when he got unruly – which would take him all of five seconds, she was sure – that alone wasn’t enough incentive for her to put up with watching over a bunch of superheroes. Thor alone was enough to give her a headache, and Hawkeye and Black Widow were both clever and insubordinate, which made for a really, really bad combination. Banner turned into a giant raging green monster when he got angry, and Stark was, well, Stark. The only one of them who might be worth trying to wrangle was Captain America. And if half the intel SHIELD had on him was true, he’d probably smile and nod and agree with her orders, then turn around and do the exact opposite.

Fury was eyeing her in consternation, though she was pretty sure she detected a hint of amusement underneath his scowl. “You’re ambitious, Maria,” he said somberly. “That’s why I like you.” He steepled his hands in front of his mouth. “Which is why I will make you a deal. You take on the Avengers until Phil is back on his feet, and he will owe you a favor of his choosing.”

“Done,” Maria said quickly, before the Director could rethink the offer. Nick Fury might be the head of SHIELD, but Phil Coulson was the one who got shit done. And he really, really hated owing people favors. Maria would enjoy taking her time deciding what she wanted from him, knowing how uncomfortable he’d be in the meantime. It would serve him right for going off and getting himself nearly killed and dumping his pet team into her lap without so much as a by your leave.

Fury leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “Thank you, Maria,” he said. “You’re dismissed.”

“Sir.” Maria nodded and turned sharply on her heels, trusting Fury to make sure her personal belongings were sent in short order. She headed for the deck of the Helicarrier, ignoring the construction happening over the entire structure. Between the damage done by Barton and his compatriots from the outside, and the Hulk on the inside, it was a miracle that the Helicarrier had stayed in the air long enough to make a passable landing on open water.

Stepping out onto the deck, Maria glanced around, then grabbed the nearest pilot who had enough stripes to not be a complete newbie. “Stark Tower,” she ordered firmly. “Now.” The pilot blinked, but didn’t question her orders, and she smiled grimly.

Moments later, she was settled in the backseat of a helicopter, heading straight for New York. Unclipping the phone from her belt, she took a deep breath before dialing. The phone rang several times before there was a click and an annoyingly familiar voice spoke up. “You have reached Stark Tower, residence of Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Leave your message – or don’t – and I might get back to you later. And if this is a super-secret government agency, then I definitely won’t. Bye now!”

Maria closed her eyes, already feeling a headache forming. Squaring her shoulders, she dialed another number. This time, she was greeted by a professional-sounding woman. “Miss Virginia Potts, please,” she requested. “Tell her Maria Hill is calling. I’ll wait.”

Within five minutes, Maria had Pepper Potts’ promise that the Avengers – all of them – would be waiting for her at Stark Tower when she arrived. She also promised that they’d be dressed and on their best behavior. Maria thanked her and ended the call, satisfied. Stark might not be worth the effort, but Phil had chosen his friends well; Pepper Potts was a force to be reckoned with, and as long as SHIELD stayed on her good side, they’d have a formidable ally on their side when it came to Avenger wrangling.

Sure enough, when she stepped off of the Deck of Stark Tower and into the building, the entire team was there, lounging or standing in a semi-circle. There were a few additional people there, as well – Maria recognized Colonel James Rhodes and Pepper Potts, of course, but Jane Foster and her assistant were also there. She hadn’t realized the astrophysicist was in New York. Even Thor was there, recently returned from his trip back home to Asgard with his wayward brother.

Barton was there, glaring at her with dark circles under his eyes and a tight jaw. Behind him sat Black Widow, who appeared far more composed, but Maria didn’t think for a moment that Romanov wasn’t watching her every move, ready to defend Barton if . Fortunately for them, Maria wasn’t here to arrest anyone.

“Until Agent Phil Coulson makes a full recovery, I will be your handler,” she stated without preamble, her hands clasped loosely behind her back as she stood at parade rest, waiting for the fallout.

It took about ten seconds, but Stark was the first to speak. “Ah ha! I knew it! You all were using way too much power for a part of the Helicarrier that’s supposed to be still under construction,” he smirked.

Maria glared at him. “Stark. You will get your computer out of our systems. Immediately.”

Clint had gone paler than a ghost, and he swallowed hard, glancing from Maria’s passive face to Romanov’s emotionless one. Maria tipped her head at them. “I would apologize for dropping the news on you like this, but we actually expected to lose him. He only stabilized enough yesterday afternoon for the doctors to believe he’ll eventually wake up.”

“Eventually?” That was Steve, his tone caught somewhere between angry and hopeful. “What kind of estimate is that?”

Maria glanced at him. “We’re not dealing with a normal weapon, Captain Rogers,” she pointed out, very carefully ignoring the way Thor’s face fell at yet another reminder of the damage his brother had wrought. “Every time we thought he was stabilizing, something else would go wrong. We lost him a total of seven times before we found someone who could actually help. So yes, eventually.”

Tony’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously. “Help? Help from who? And if you say Reed, that’s it, I’m done.”

Maria met his suspicion with a bland lack of emotion. Stephen Strange was still an unknown factor, and until his status as either an ally or a potential problem could be determined, his existence was on a need-to-know basis. Besides, the Sorcerer Supreme dealt in magic. The Avengers were more the type of team that went in guns blazing. No subtlety at all.

Tony grinned sharply, all teeth. “You know I’ll find out,” he told her. “Eventually.”

Maria felt a stir of amusement at that. Always so confident, the Stark heir. “Perhaps,” was all she said, watching Stark’s eyes light up at the challenge. Excellent. One down. Barton and Romanov would fall into line once they’d had it out with Fury about Coulson still being alive. Rogers was already starting to consider them his team, so as long as he was convinced that SHIELD had their best interests in mind, he’d follow orders as well. Banner was an unknown, and Maria hated that she’d have to rely on Stark’s desire to have the other scientist here to keep the man from running again. Thor was Thor; SHIELD had no control over him, given that he didn’t even live on Earth, but he seemed to genuinely like the other Avengers, and having the Asgardian on their side would probably come in handy in the future.

“Regardless, until Agent Coulson has made a full recovery, I will be your handler. Missions will go through me. If you have problems, you will come to me and I will see it taken care of. If you need SHEID resources, I am authorized to give you access at my discretion. I have also been authorized to take any measures I feel necessary to keep the Avengers functioning as a group. Have I made myself clear?”

Pepper tipped her head. “Tony is still the owner of Stark Industries,” she said, her tone brisk. “I expect that his duties as an Avenger will not interfere with SI business.”

Maria smiled at her, her expression softening. “While I cannot promise that the Avengers will not be needed during a board meeting, I can assure you that I will do everything possible to allow Mr. Stark to attend to Stark Industries business.” Pepper nodded approvingly while Stark made a face behind her back.

Maria looked around the room, her eyes finally coming to rest on Baron and Romanov. “I left the pilot outside. You will have to find your own way back,” she informed them crisply. Before she was even finished, the two agents were up and heading for the deck. Maria glanced over at Stark. “I don’t suppose Jarvis is in Fury’s office,” she said almost wistfully.

Stark chuckled. “Nope, but I’m pretty sure those two aren’t heading for Fury anyhow,” he said cheerfully, but Maria could see the approval in his eyes at her decision to let the agents see Coulson for themselves and confirm her story. Coulson was going to owe her another favor.

She turned to the last person in the room. “Colonel Rhodes, I’m aware that you serve as the liaison between Stark Industries and the United States military. I trust that I can rely on your discretion?” she asked.

Rhodes grinned. “If by discretion, you mean not telling the top brass that Iron Man is working for SHIELD, then not a problem. My job mostly consists of maintaining friendly relations with Stark Industries for the purpose of military defense and technology contracts.”

“Aw, honeybunch,” Tony murmured sarcastically. Rhodes grabbed him in a headlock, chuckling at his indignant squawk.

“Hey, pretty badass lady,” the dark-haired girl piped up. Darcy Lewis, Jane’s assistant. “What about us?”

Maria shifted, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “Doctor Foster is free to continue her work here in New York,” she said, making a note to inform SHIELD of their current location. Undoubtedly, Thor had returned to Earth and whisked away his lady love and her assistant. The agents assigned to watch them were probably still scrambling to locate them. “You may remain here with her. SHIELD has your credentials on file; if you are interested in working for the agency, I will make a recommendation to any of several departments.”

Lewis gave a low whistle. “Wow, a pretty boss lady and a job offer. I am so glad Jane hit you with her truck,” she told Thor. The Asgardian Prince just nodded solemnly, breaking into a wide grin when Darcy tried to tackle him with an enthusiastic hug.

“I appreciate that you would take care of my Lady Jane and Lady Darcy,” he rumbled. “I will do what I can to aid you and my shield brethren to protect their world.” There was something almost sad in his expression, and Jane leaned against his side, a gesture of comfort. Thor smiled at her, dropping a kiss on her forehead that made her nose wrinkle.

Maria turned to face the final member, the one that would decide whether or not the rest of the team accepted her as their handler.

Steve met her gaze seriously, then nodded decisively. “Welcome to the Avengers, Deputy Hill,” he said formally. “I trust that we can rely on you and Director Fury until Agent Coulson is back among his.” It wasn’t a question.

Maria nodded, and Tony clapped, moving towards their ragtag little group.

“Welcome to the Avengers. Here’s hoping you live long enough to regret it.”

#celtic7irish #celtic's fics #fandom loves puerto rico #for heruadys #avengers #maria hill-centric gen fic #auction fic

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