#definitely read it with the sound on because the music just punctuates PERFECTLY the tone is just SO RIGHT because of it

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Makin’ Whoopee

Summary:  The Sugardrops are in need of a pianist, and who better to fill the role than newly-minted 18yr old Bucky Barnes.  The charismatic front lady known as Sugar gives him an opportunity he can’t refuse, in exchange for something precious; his innocence.

Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x OFC

Word Count:  5.5k

Warnings:  18+.  Mentions of the state of racial relations synonymous with the 1940s, injury that’s speculated to be related to hate crime, plenty of flirting and smut at the end.

A/N:  One shot written for @the-omni-princess​‘s 1k follower writing challenge filling the prompt of Band AU.  Congrats on the milestone your majesty, and thank you for letting me take part :)  The character of Sugar is styled after Mae West with the looks of Rita Hayworth, Nick is based on comic book Nick Fury rather than Samuel.L. and the encore song is performed like Michelle Pfeiffer in The Fabulous Baker Boys.  Enjoy!

Cassidy’s Bar.  He’s only ever been in here once, when his cousin Nora had gotten married to that rat-faced asshole, Billy?  Bobby?  Barry? It was something ending in ‘y’, anyway, and that’s exactly what his Ma had said; why?

Turned out the why was babies and the who was Mr Rat-face and the when was, well, so far before the question of marriage that poor Nora was round on her wedding day.

They had the same seats at the bar, Bucky thinks, him and his uncle Tony.  One beer was all he was allowed the first time, but tonight, uncle Tony is on a mission.

“Happy Birthday, kid.” The older man clinks his glass against the one warming in Bucky’s grasp, a man’s amber fire to the boy’s weak beer. “Drink up and I’ll get you another before the band starts.”

Gulping the bitter draught down, Bucky feels it warm his guts, loosening knots inside him he didn’t even know were there.  It’s his third pint, and though he’s had beer at home, he’s never had more than one in a bar where the dim lights and choking smoke are making him feel woozier than the drink.  He’s never felt like one of the men and never thought of himself as one, not even now.

Whoops and whistles. That’s how you know there’s a dame on the stage.  She’s pretty, too, Bucky thinks, watching her slink over to the manager in a dress made of green satin and what looks like liquid suns dripping from her shoulders.  It’s much too classy for a place like this and Bucky wonders if she’s some Hollywood starlet fallen from grace with her auburn waves and lips as red as victory.

Stunning.  He’s changed his mind, there’s nothing pretty about her.  She’s sexy as sin and all the men know it, hell, even she knows it.

Tony is already pushing another drink into his hand as he leads Bucky to a table by the stage, a smaller glass that tinkles as he walks.  One sip and Bucky thinks the beer is better, this stuff burns as it evaporates off his tongue.

“Looks like we got ourselves a problem.”  The starlets voice is smooth and sultry, if a little husky.  “Sammy can’t play.  It’s his hand, see.”

Her dark-skinned companion is nursing a busted hand that looks far worse than just bloodied knuckles from a fight.  If Bucky didn’t know better he’d have said the man met with a car door, a hammer, or a vicious bootheel; integrated bands are something of a controversy, hell, integrated anything is.

“Great, just great!” The bar manager groans.  “So what am I supposed to do about it?  Can’t you do without him, sugar lips?”  The bar manager is a beast of a man; jaw like a tank and shoulders to match, buzz-cut that’s a remnant from military service and an eye-patch that lends nothing but intimidation to his demeanour.

“Gee, I dunno, Nick!” One hand fists against the sassy cock of her hip, she lets rip with the sarcasm.  “Can a piano do without its pianist?”

Nick scoffs wordlessly, chewing the end of his cigar.

“A girl needs a good ivory pounder.”  She says with a wink, her tone suggestive enough to make Nick’s ears turn red. “Sam’s my best guy.”

“He ain’t poundin’ nuthin’ for a while.”

“More’s the pity.” She sidles up to him seductively, there is nothing subtle about her play, even Bucky can see she’s trying to manipulate the man.  “You got any hidden talent around here you been keepin’ from me?”

In the moments between her wink and the soft glide of her hand down the front of his shirt, Nick’s face turns pink, then red, and he’s choking on smoke.

“Help a girl out?”  A tempting pout and the flutter of eyelashes punctuate her request.

“I’ll ask around.”  He says with a tight smile as the starlet turns with a sway of her hip and sashays away.

The gents in the lounge are rowdy now, after catching a glimpse of the much-anticipated leading lady. The call for attention is barely heard but word passes between the tables that they’re asking for a pianist.

“You should get yourself up there.”  Uncle Tony nudges Bucky with his elbow, an almost proud look on his face.

“Play piano in front of all these people?”  Bucky has never been the nervous type, but he is now.  He’s only ever played the piano for the family at home, and the teachers and pupils at the music school.

“Sure, kid!”  Tony claps him on the shoulder.  “You’re as good as any of ‘em.”

“I dunno, uncle Tony.” Bucky sinks down in his seat, almost sensing what’s coming next.

“Hey!”  Tony is on his feet, waving to the hefty bar manager. “I got a pianist!”

There’s laughter all around, because Tony sounds like he just said ‘penis’, and that makes Bucky even more mortified when Nick is suddenly stood in front of them.

“You play?”  Nick is gruff and down to business.

“My nephew.”  Tony hits Bucky on the arm with the back of his hand, a gesture that says ‘sit up straight’.

“How old are you, kid?” Narrowed eyes scrutinise, and Bucky blanches.  He’s old enough to be in here but he feels so out of place he still doubts he belongs.

“Eighteen today, sir.” Bucky steels himself.  He’s not going to be this nervous kid.  He’s Bucky Barnes, confident and charming, and most definitely not intimidated by a piano, a beautiful redhead and a burly bar manager (eye-patch or not).  At least that’s who he wants to be.

“And you play?”

Bucky nods.

“Come with me.”

Tony is stuffing the tumbler into his hand again and pushing him out of his seat towards the stage with a cheer.  There’s a bit of shuffling as Bucky finds his stride.  Chairs scrape out of the way as he passes and it feels like he’s walking the plank; shark infested waters are all around him, the men sneer a little at the sight of him, just a boy, being lead backstage where the starlet and her band are getting ready.

Backstage isn’t as glamourous as Bucky thought it would be.  The reception room is dingy and cramped, merely a glorified store room compared to the plush furnishings and flattering lighting that he imagined. Eight sets of eyes turn to stare at him as he enters behind the mountainous Nick.  He’s intimidated and starting to sweat but that’s the least of his worries when a swathe of red hair and green satin is invading his personal space.

She looks him up and down with a sly smirk.

“I know I like ‘em young, but I’m not one for wet nursing.”  It’s salacious, the tone she uses, almost like she’s purposefully trying to ruffle feathers.

“He’s not for your boudoir, Sugar, he’s for the piano.”

“Oh, why not?”  She winks subtly, pulling her lips into a playful smile.  “A man in the boudoir is worth two on the street.”

“Sugar…”  Another redhead chastises.  She’s older but there’s a resemblance, sisters, maybe cousins.

“Oh, alright, spoil my fun.” Sugar plucks the drink from Bucky’s hand, fingertips brushing lightly against him leaving a trail of goosebumps coursing up his arm.  Her eyes never leave his as she lifts the glass to her painted lips and sips.  “I always get what I want, eventually.”

She’s turning away from him and his glass is back in his hand like it never left, save for the scarlet red print that perfectly resembles the fullness of her lower lip. Bucky swallows.  She’s a dangerous woman and he knows she can chew him up and spit him out in ruins, but hell if he’s not willing to let her do it.

“Sam’s the name.”  The dark-skinned fellow interrupts, introducing himself and offering his uninjured hand to shake.  His injuries are hidden by off-white crepe and gauze now, out of sight out of mind for the rest of the band.

“James.”  Bucky clears his throat.  “James Barnes.  But my friend’s call me Bucky.”

“You read music, James Barnes?”  ‘Sugar’ levels a torturously flirtatious glance over her bejewelled shoulder. Everything about her screams seduction and sexuality; she’s unashamedly feminine but predatory like no woman he’s ever seen.

“Yes, ma’am.  I do.”  Bucky battles his nerves.  “And I can play by heart.”

Sugar turns, a slow blink fanning her long lashes against her rosy cheek before she’s dragging her eyes up his body.  “Show me.”

In the corner of the room is a busted upright piano that is much in need of repair.  It’s older than his grandpa’s but the keys are clean and it looks to work.

“You want me to play here?” He should have known there would be an audition.

“Scared to show us the goods, kid?”  And older gentleman with dark curly hair shifts in his seat, his hands are large and his fingers thick and calloused.  He isn’t stocky but he isn’t a beanpole either, and he’s got a nervous tick, just below his right eye which tells Bucky the man has a temper.

“Bruce is right.” Sugar purred, leaning closer.  “An ounce of performance is worth pounds of promise.”  Moist pinkness pokes playfully at the corner of her perfectly pained mouth, the teasing tip of her tongue then sweeps her upper lip deliciously.

Bucky jumps into action, if only to distance himself from the sight and scent of the woman who seems hell bend on turning him into a mess of jangling nerves and tight trousers.

The stool is hard but the perfect height.  Bucky runs his fingers over the keys, rippling out scales to test the instrument’s tuning.  His music school diploma kicking in as he opens the booklet of sheet music at the first page.

It’s a tense moment as he starts to play, finding that some of the music has been amended in a chicken-scratch scrawl, little finesses added here and there and a different tempo, but Bucky knows the song.  He bangs out Puttin’ on the Ritz, relaxing into the music as a tall mousy-blonde man in his late twenties, sits by the piano and taps out a percussion rhythm on the wood, and the older redhead starts to sing along.  Her voice is quite lovely, Bucky thinks.

Sam nods approvingly but Sugar isn’t completely convinced.

“Play me something you think I’ll like.”  She says. “From the heart.”  The last words are tainted with a sigh.

Bucky thinks he knows the perfect song.  It’s more of a joke than anything, the reason it pops into his head is purely because of her salacious innuendos.  It starts off a little jerky, as he plays some of the string and trumpet parts on the piano but when the tune fully kicks in everyone is laughing, even Sugar is grinning.  The blonde picks up the beat, tapping on his legs and the side of the piano, curly-haired Bruce is humming and boom’ping in time as a bass, and a tiny blonde kid he’d never seen plays a mock trumpet.

When Sugar starts to sing ‘Makin’ Whoopee’, it’s somethin’ else.  The cadence of her voice is just like she is, rich, velvety and incredibly seductive.  She comes to sit on the stool next to Bucky, swaying and snapping her fingers along with the music.  As far as impromptu jams go it wasn’t half bad, and the mood is suddenly lighter when the song is done.

“Well, aren’t you full of surprises, James Barnes.”  Sugar adjusts a piece of his hair that has fallen out of his smoothly combed do.

“It’s just Bucky.”  He sighs bashfully, almost melting at her proximity.  Red lacquered nails and glistening red lips, soft cascading waves of copper leading his eyes down from her face to the sweetheart line of her dress and a scandalously deep cleavage he has no business staring at.

Suddenly he’s being pulled to his feet and introduced to the rest of the band.  Peter is the percussionist, he’s easy-going and a bit of a joker.  The little guy is Steve, he’s the trumpet player but, like Bucky, he can play a few instruments, just not the piano.  Bruce plays the double bass.  The older redhead is Natasha, she’s on backing vocals with another redhead called Wanda and yet another redhead called Gamora.  Bucky notices that Wanda and Gamora aren’t natural redheads but they all fit together so well it’s hard to notice from afar.

The lounge looks completely different from where he’s stood at the edge of the stage behind a dusty red curtain.  He can see uncle Tony drinking a pint and laughing with a guy at the adjacent table, no doubt talking about how proud he is of his nephew, god knows his daughter is a disappointment; poor Nora who got pregnant before she was married.

Bucky necks his drink. The ice has already melted but it does little to quench the burn of the whiskey, still, liquid courage eh?

Soon he’s being ushered out onto the stage with the rest of the band.  There’s a light smattering of applause and a huge cheer from uncle Tony as Bucky takes his seat at the grand piano.  Sam is there with songbooks and a list of tunes they’re going to play tonight.

“Any of these you don’t know?”  Sam hands him the paper and it shakes in Bucky’s fingers.

They’re all covers, of course, a small band can’t put out original songs in a lounge like this and earn a living.  They’re all fairly recent songs, too, keeping up with current trends.  Bucky knows them all well enough to play them by heart, but Sam likes to make notes on the sheet music to tweak the songs a little more to fit their ensemble.

Bucky scans down the list, smiling when he sees songs like Daddy, Blue Champagne, and Strange Fruit. He can imagine Sugar singing them, how wonderfully they will work with her voice.

“I think so.”  Bucky nods, confidence building through the panic because he knows he can do this.

Another glass of whiskey is set atop the piano for him and Sam is leaving with a reassuring pat on the shoulder, leaving him to stare at the crowds in the lounge, leaving him to the adrenaline and the nausea in his guts.

Suddenly there are whistles and whoops, that’s how you know the dames have hit the stage.  The three backing singers stroll on, waving and smiling brightly.  Bucky is surprised to see Wanda carrying a fiddle; she’s like him and little Steve, multi-talented.

And there’s Sugar.  He sees her before she’s clear of the side curtain.  She’s all confident strides, swaying hips and a non-too-subtle wobble at the sweetheart bodice of her dress.  He barely notices the crowd now all he can hear is the frantic thrum of his pulse whooshing in his ears.  His mouth goes dry as she makes eye contact with him and he feels as though she’s going to walk right past the microphone, right up to him, and show him what those smirking red lips can do.  

But she doesn’t, and her attention is no longer on him but on the crowd.

“Well, hello there Cassidy’s!  We are The Sugardrops!”  Christ she’s just as seductive when she addresses the whole room.  “My, my we’ve got some handsome gentlemen out there tonight, wouldn’t you agree ladies?”  She’s playing up to her girls and to the crowd.  “Tonight, for your entertainment pleasure we’re going to perform a few numbers.”

“YOU CAN PERFORM ON MY LAP, IF YOU’D LIKE!”  A drunken jeer erupts from the crowd, already the men are worked up.

Bucky glances from the dishevelled heckler to Sugar who is giving her most amused smile.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ve been in more laps than a napkin.”  She shifts her weight, popping her hip to the side.  “Yours ain’t nothing special.”

Laughter drowns out the spluttering heckler who is suddenly shoved into his seat by burly Nick, with the warning ‘behave yourself or get out’.

She’s incredible. Bucky thinks.  So confident and sassy.  He’s never seen a woman like her in his whole life.  She’s larger than life, and more alluring than a precious stone.

She clears her throat, pinning him with a stare.

Jumping to action for the second time at her request, he poises himself and waits for the trumpet to start the first song; Nice Work if You Can Get it.

Steve is good, he’s got good lungs for a scrawny kid and he blasts out an intro that’s picked up by Bruce on the double bass.  Then Bucky is joining in and Peter with the subtle snare and high-hat setting a swinging rhythm.  Sugar and the girls croon out the lyrics and Bucky finds himself joining in, bouncing on his stool with the music.

Before he knows it the song is done and he’s barely looked at the music sheet.  It all feels so natural to him, like he’s meant to be here with these people, on this stage, playing his heart out.  It’s been a while since he felt any love for music other than something to dance to, with a girl on his arm, maybe one who’ll let him kiss her at the end of the night, maybe one who’ll let him stroke his hand up to the top of her stockings.

Applause rings out and he can hear uncle Tony cheering.  There’s an exchanged grin and a proud nod from the elder man, tears in his eyes like he’s looking at his own son.  Of course, Tony only had daughters, so Bucky was special to him; a fellow man in the family.

Sugar is peppy as she sings, almost prancing around the stage, energised by the folks who are dancing on the dancefloor in front of the stage.

Hey, listen to my story, ‘bout a gal named Daisy Mae Lazy Daisy Mae Her disposition, is rather sweet and charming At times alarming, so they say

Glass empty and another replaces it, sitting in the same condensation ring that marks its predecessor; Bucky has lost count of the drinks as the songs have flown by.  The swell of emotion in his chest as he pounds or tinkles the ivories as desired, it’s almost euphoric.  So much so, he doesn’t notice Sugar sashaying his way as she sings.

She has a man who’s tall-dark-handsome, large and strong To whom she used to sing this song

She drags her fingertips up his arm as she sings, over his shoulder, neck and into his hair.  Then she spins, resting her back on his, dipping to her haunches and arching her back, earning whistles from the crown, a vicious blush from Bucky and a few fumbled notes of the tune.

Hey, Daddy, I want a diamond ring, bracelets, everything Daddy, you oughta get the best for me

Hey, Daddy, gee, don’t I look swell in sables? Clothes with Paris labels? Daddy, you oughta get the best for me

Bucky is already lost in the sway of her hips and the glistening red of her lips.  She’s singing about champagne and caviar but all he hears are the breathy moments in between the verses where she’s almost gasping for breath.

He can’t remember how many whiskey’s he’s had but he knows now it’s too many.  His skin burns and he needs air but all there is, is the rhythm of the music, the feel of the ivory under the pads of his fingers and a tightness in his groin that’s been building since she first levelled her glittering eyes at him.

Now she’s dancing around him, touching him, and teasing him with her sensuality, he’s already gone. He just prays the music comes out fine.

“You got one more song in you, sweetheart?”  Sugar is leaning over him, her lips brush the shell of his ear and her perfume permeates down into his lungs, heady and so perfect.  She’s got bare shoulders now, the bejewelled bolero jacket that was part of her dress now adorns the top of the piano with several empty glasses.

“One more song?”  He blinks up and her and she grins, stroking his face gently.  The crowd are calling for an encore and Sugar is thriving on their attention.

“Just one more.”  She assures him.  “For me?”

She doesn’t need to ask, he’s already caught in her snare, captivated by the desire in her voice and the heat in her gaze.  He doesn’t know if it’s real, but he doesn’t care.  He’s never been wanted like this by any woman, let alone one as gorgeous as her, and he’s never been so desperate to give a woman what she so clearly craves.

The rest of the band have gone back stage and it’s just the two of them out under the lights.  Bucky feels so nervous all of a sudden he could lose his dinner but when Sugar climbs up on top of the piano, legs curled to the side, he’s more concerned with avoiding the view right up her legs.

Bucky is about to ask, but when she turns to him and winks, he knows what song.

Tinkling the keys, he delves into a soft and seductive jazz melody that’s so perfect for her it’s like her soul is pouring out into the air.  Her grin is astonishing it lights her face up, stripping years off her like she’s closer to his age now instead of in her thirties.

Then she’s melting the words so they come out coy and teasing, and she’s flirting with her whole body; just enough leg, just enough cleavage, a perfectly-timed toss of her stunning red hair, and every time she says the words ‘makin’ whoopee’ his johnson twitches in his pants.  But she’s not doing it for him, she’s doing it for them, or she’s doing it for her, it really doesn’t matter who, he thinks.  She’s right there in front of him and it’s his music she’s moving to, his fingers making the notes that set her on fire, it’s him who she looks back towards and winks at subtly.

Later it’s him who she’s taking by the hand and it’s him whose lips are trailing down her neck. It’s him who is unzipping her dress and trailing his hands over her hips as he pushes the fabric to the floor.  He doesn’t know how he got here but he isn’t complaining, not one bit.

She’s a sight to behold. Her lips are swollen and smeared red where he’s messed her lipstick, and she’s panting as she strips him of his shirt. Once he’s down to his shorts, erection tenting the front, she lifts his hands to her breasts where the stiff fabric of a strapless number presses against his palms.  He stalls out, suddenly not sure what to do.  He’s never gone this far with a girl before, let alone a woman like her.

Her smirk is beguiling as she shoves him backward into a worn, ochre-coloured armchair.  His panic is momentary and he settles, sat forward, watching as she lifts her leg and with toes pressed to his chest, she pushes him back against the cushions.

The teasing way she unhooks her sheer stockings has a wet patch forming in the front of his shorts, the weeping tip of his johnson is eager.  When her legs are bare she turns, presenting him with her clothed bottom. Then she bends, oh so slowly. Dragging her knickers down, exposing herself to him.

She mustn’t know he’s untested in the boudoir (as burly Nick put it earlier in the night), or she wouldn’t be teasing him so much.  His brain is spouting words from the good book, somewhere in the depths; he’s never been one to listen but when they sound like his Ma he can’t help it.  Lead us not into temptation.

“Temptation?”  Sugar chuckles. Had he said that aloud?  “Why resist it?  There’ll always be more.”  She tosses her knickers at him and steps forward.

Straddling his lap she places his hands on her hips as she rolls her body, unclothed womanhood dragging against the hardness in his shorts.  Her bra is unhooked at the back and her perfect breasts spill forward in front of his ogling eyes.

“Touch me.”  She moans softly, spurring him into action.

Kissing his way down her neck and into the valley between her gloriously large breasts, he cups her in both hands and squeezes, rubbing his palms over her nipples until they’re hard. She guides him carefully, showing him how to pinch and play with them, not too roughly but just firmly enough to have her gasping.

“I’ve never…”  He swallows hard.  Bucky Barnes has a reputation as a man all the ladies swoon after, but he’s no match for a woman of her experience.

“I know.”  She moves against him, reaching down until her fingers reach her sex, and she’s stroking herself leisurely.  “I’ve known plenty of men who didn’t know how to please a woman.” She moans, sliding her fingers fully inside herself as Bucky watches, astonished.  “I’ve always found the time to teach every single one of them.”

She lifts her fingers to his mouth and he opens instinctively, feeling the salty sweet slide of her over his tongue.  Lips close around her and he’s drinking her taste down with a groan.  He wants to taste her again so he reaches down, strokes his fingers through the wet heat of her core, not brave enough to push them inside as she had, not yet anyway.  He smears her arousal across her nipple and brings it to his mouth, sucking and nibbling. Just like with his fingers, there’s a balance to be found in the playful bite, firm suck and soothing lick of his mouth.

Soon, Sugar is practically singing for him.  All her sassy flirtations are gone and she’s telling him what she wants.  Her nipples and lips are swollen from his attention and the front of his shorts are soaked with both his and her arousal.  The skin of her neck and chest is flushed red as she grinds against the finger he’s got buried in her womanhood.  The beckoning motion she’d shown him is making his hand ache but he’s too wrapped up in the beauty of her to care.  He’s never seen a woman orgasm before, let alone been the cause. He’s strung tight, excited beyond belief and she hasn’t even touched him yet.

Then he feels it; a tightening of the flesh around his middle finger.  She’s quivering with need, working so hard toward the release she’s desperate for.  It seems to go on forever, like she’s hanging on to the pleasure for grim death, but it’s just not enough.

Feeling bold he pulls back and gives her a second finger, pushing deeper inside her until he can feel the soft spot he was rubbing before.  Digging his fingers in harder, he braces his thumb against the hooded nubbin beneath the whispy red of her pubic hair, and squeezes.

Her wail almost stops him in his tracks but the look on her face compels him to act.  Harder this time he pulls his fingers against her, milking that sweet spot inside until he can feel the spasms start.  Her breathing is erratic and she’s gyrating in his lap, shaking and moaning as her body spasms around his hand.  It’s powerful, the way her muscles work and even when they start to die down, Bucky carries on.

“Too much.”  She stills his hand with her own.  She looks so beautiful, all flushed and satisfied. He wants her, wants to be in her, to feel with his prick what he felt with his fingers.

His mouth is on hers as he thrusts his hands under her thighs and stands.  She squeals and clings to him a moment before she realises what’s happening.  He’s about to deposit her on the floor of her dressing room when she halts him.

Bucky has never seen a condom before.  He’s heard about them; standard issue for the army to stop the soldiers from catching venereal disease, and to stop them from fathering children in every city they visit. Sugar winks as she rolls the rubber down his erection.  It feels strange and tight against his skin, and through it her hand feels less pleasurable but he moans nonetheless.

A multi-coloured crochet blanket is put down with a pillow from the armchair, and she lies back with her legs spread for him.  The reddened petals of her flower are on display and Bucky feels the urge to taste her. Of course she’s sweet, and slightly musky but less salty than when he tasted from her fingers.  Her legs twitch each time he licks past the hooded nubbin above her entrance, and he fancies that that’s the way he’s going to make her orgasm again.

And he does just that, with her hands buried in his hair and his fingers deep in her once more, pulling gently this time, he kisses and licks her until she’s shaking and moaning for him.

“I like a man who pays attention.”  She smirks as he stares up at her with a look that’s no doubt revering.  “I like a man who makes me scream even better.”

With her hand on his shoulder, she urges him forward until he’s hovering over her, afraid to lay his weight on her.  It’s with a throaty giggle that she wraps her thighs around his hips and pulls him down, reaching between them to place the tip of his throbbing prick against her heat.

“Don’t keep a girl waiting.” She slaps his bare butt cheek.  “I might go find what I need elsewhere.”

With a determined grunt, Bucky pushes into her, pushes against the resistance of her flesh, pushes into the pleasure that shoots down his prick and tightens something low between his hips.  It feels so much different than touching himself, a less intense pleasure but there’s more of it, singing to the nerves in his abdomen and all the way up into his chest.

Sugar rolls her hips, urging him to move, and with her hands on his hips and her feet hooked under his buttocks she guides his movement, drawing from him smooth deep thrusts that hit all of the right spots for her and have him seeing stars before too long.

“I can’t… keep this… up.” He grunts, slightly ashamed that he can’t last.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” She arches her back and sighs. “I’m close.  Keep going.”

Bucky is panting heavily as the pleasure overwhelms him.  Sugar is writhing and moaning beneath him and he can feel her muscles around him start to quake.

She’s going to climax, he thinks with joy.  She’s going to climax while I’m inside her.

That’s it for him, the pulsing pleasure coursing down his spine, all around his prick and tingling over his scalp – it’s amazing.  He spills into the condom but continues to thrust into her until she’s spent.  Then and only then does he collapse forward with a disbelieving chuckle.

“This is the first time I ever known a woman like you.”  He kisses her lips but she’s already turning away, rolling him off her to get some air.

“If I have my say, it won’t be the last.”  She winks but there’s no gleam in her eye.  She lights a cigarette and falls back onto that god-awful ochre chair.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or worship you.”  Bucky notices that she seems diminished somehow, like her light has gone.

“I wouldn’t say no to both.” She’s looking up, not at him, as she blows smoke up to the ceiling.  “Are you free tomorrow night?”

“For you, yeah.”  He’s coming across eager but he doesn’t care. A lot of the effects of the whiskey are fading and he knows what he’s doing.  He wants to see her again, to feel her again.

“What about the night after that?”

“Yes.”  The condom comes free with a dull twang.

“And the one after that?”

“Sure.”  He’s pulling on his shorts.

“Next week?

“Absolutely.”  Bucky kneels in front of that horrific chair.

“Next month?”  She asks, and he knows better than to think she wants a relationship. Someone like her could never be tied down.

“I’m free whenever you want me.”  He flashes her his most charming and cheeky smile.

Her laugh is stifled behind that coy smirk she favours as she swings the leg that’s cocked over the arm of the chair.  Her naked breasts and her womanhood are unashamedly and fully on display.  Hell, if it didn’t send tingles of desire down into his gut again.

“Oh, I want your fingers alright.”

“Just my fingers?”  He flirts back.

“For the purposes of the contract, yeah sweetheart, just your fingers.”  The smoke from a long drag is blown in his direction.  “The rest can be our little secret.”

“Contract?”  Bucky balks, confusion sending a jolt to his chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” The gleam is back in her eyes, and her sultry smile teases the corners of her plush mouth once more.  “Welcome to The Sugardrops, James Barnes.”

[elcorhamletlive]

fandom: Marvel Ultimates ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark tags: Established Relationship/Fluff/Marriage Proposals

There’s a dramatic, loud, romantic song in Tony’s ears when he wakes up. He blinks his eyes open, a little confused. His face is smushed against a firm, warm surface that he immediately identifies as Steve’s chest. He considers closing his eyes and going back to sleep, but Steve is reaching for the remote a little frantically, so he can’t really settle back on his embrace properly.

“Everything okay, darling?”

“Yeah.” Steve uses the remote to lower the volume, and that’s when Tony finally identifies the source of the sound, coming from the huge plasma TV in the middle of the living room. “Go back to sleep,” Steve grunts, blue eyes turning towards him. It’s no more affectionate than the orders he yells out in the field, but Tony can see the worry in his gaze, feels the way his hand roughly ruffles his hair. Steve’s touches are always a contradiction, a strange mix of firmness and hesitation. Tony never gets tired of them.

Tony glances at the watch on the wall. It’s not very late yet, which explains why they’re on the couch and not in bed. Steve’s arm is around him, holding him closely, and Tony buries his face on his chest again, inhaling that pleasant musky scent of his that’s so addictive. It’s a true travesty that Steve doesn’t usually do hugs, because he just feels so wonderful. Tony melts into the touch, more than a bit pleased by the fact that he’s the only one who gets to have it.

“Is it the season finale?” Tony asks, twisting his neck a bit to get a glimpse at the television without giving up that precious spot over Steve’s chest. On the TV he recognizes the reruns of the latest season of General Hospital that he recorded for Steve to catch up on, when he inevitably kept missing episodes because of work. He watches as a couple hugs and twirls happily on the screen, under that same music. “Did they finally get together?”

“They’ve been together for three seasons,” Steve states, giving Tony a grumpy look.

“Hmm.” Tony mumbles against the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “Of course, now that you mentioned it—“

“Knock it off,” Steve says, but his mouth curls a little, as if he’s suppressing a smile, and Tony nuzzles his face against the curve of his neck. “You hate the show.”

“I’ll admit I might be a little oblivious to its appeals, darling, but I’m sure there are many,” Tony says, even though that’s a blatant lie, because General Hospital only has one appeal to him, and it’s in the shape of the big supersoldier he’s cuddled with right now. “If they’re already together, what’s the song all about?”

“They just got engaged,” Steve explains. His hand ruffles Tony’s hair again, more absent-mindedly, and Tony can’t fight back a sigh, eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he enjoys the touch.

“It still seems like a dramatic soundtrack choice,” he says, because he can’t help poking Steve a bit about the questionable quality of his soap operas.

He’s entirely unprepared by the way Steve’s face closes at the comment.

“Some people want to get married,” Steve grunts, and the sharpness of his tone, more than anything, makes Tony blinks his eyes wide awake.

“What?” he asks, a little flabbergasted by the reaction. Steve rarely closes off at light teasing like this, anymore. Usually he grunts, complains, and lets Tony kiss the grumpiness off his face. Steve’s posture is suddenly rigid, and he avoids Tony’s eyes, staring at the TV screen firmly.

“Just because it’s not your thing, doesn’t mean other people don’t care about it.”

“Not my thing?” Tony lifts his head, propping himself up on his arms to stare at Steve’s face more directly. Steve’s words rarely say much, but his face can spell out a book of different emotions and thoughts, and Tony got pretty good at reading it, the past few years. Or he thought he did. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean, darling.”

Steve shrugs in the least convincing performance of nonchalance humanity has ever seen. “Back in the day, that was how we did things. If you got a girl, and you wanted to do right by her, you married her.”

Like Steve planned to do, Tony knows. He searches Steve’s face carefully, looking for cues. Steve visits Bucky and Gail regularly now, but Tony imagines it must still hurt, the promise of a life he lost.

“Nowadays, it’s… different,” Steve says, making a gesture to encompass the room around them. Tony takes the change to nestle closer, to lay his hand on Steve face, caressing his cheek.

“Definitely,” he agrees, voice light, stroking Steve’s chin with his thumb. “Now, we can all happily live in sin.”

Steve scowls at the TV as if it offends him deeply. “That’s not what I mean,” he says, and his hands are off Tony now, falling to his sides. Tony can’t see it, but he’d bet anything he’s clenching his fists. “Back then, people did… this, too,” he continues, and Tony makes the wise decision to not tease Steve into saying the expression living in sin, at least not now. “’s just… Now, anyone can do it. Get married. It’s, it’s easier, I suppose.”

Tony tries to gather some sense form Steve’s words, but he’s as lost as he can be. “Anyone?”

“Yeah.” Steve finally turns his eyes towards him, and his blue gaze is too tense for the conversation they’re having, Tony thinks. “It’s law now, isn’t it? Anyone can do it. Even…” He gestures between the two of them.

Tony raises his eyebrows. “Even…?”

“You know. Two fellas.” Steve repeats the gesture, and there’s a flush on his cheeks now, as if he’s doing something other than stating societal changes. Tony’s breath hitches. “Like…”

“Like you and me?” Tony says, voice weaker than he means to, because his heart feels at his throat, now. Surely, he’s not getting this right. There’s no way…

“Yeah.” Steve breathes. He swallows. “Yeah,” he repeats, looking at him with a mix of tension and resignation. “Like you and me.”

There’s a loud noise of someone apparently dying on the TV, but Tony barely registers it. He feels unable to even blink while staring at Steve’s face.

“Steve,” he manages to whisper. “Would you…”

The flush on Steve’s face deepens, and he looks away. “You don’t want it,” he says bluntly. “I get it. After—“

“I—What?” Tony stutters. He feels dizzy, and a part of him wonders if maybe he still hasn’t woken up yet. “Steve,” he calls, hand going to Steve’s jaw, gently making him turn towards him. “Steve, are you saying…”

“Damn it, Stark, will you drop it?” Steve says firmly, finally turning towards Tony. But Tony can’t drop it, not now, not with the way those eyes are looking at him.

“Would you… Would you want that?” Tony doesn’t recognize his own voice, too soft and weak. “To—To get married?”

Steve presses his lips together. His eyes dart away from Tony’s, glancing at the TV. “’s the way it used to be. When you were, you know. Going steady with someone.”

“You never mentioned it,” Tony’s hand is clutching his chest now, and it feels like his heart is going to burst out of it. “You never—“

“I’m not complaining.” Steve’s voice is firmer now, his gaze turning back to Tony’s. “You asked me to move in and I did.”

As if Tony needs to be reminded of that. He remembers it perfectly, how Steve went still at the suggestion, then nodded and said Okay with a flush on his cheeks. Just that word had made Tony’s entire month. Getting to have Steve by his side every day, waking up next to him, curling up on the couch with him while he watched his soap operas – that already felt so precious and impossible.

Marriage, though. A promise for a lifetime. Steve never broke his promises. To think he’d want—He’d look into Tony’s eyes and want—

“Darling,” Tony starts. He should probably gather himself together, regain some composure, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “Do you want to get married?”

A part of him expects Steve to look away, to go rigid under him, to regret and retreat in response to the obvious neediness of Tony’s words. But instead he turns to Tony, eyes bright and nervous and stunningly beautiful, and sustains his gaze as he speaks.

“Yeah,” he mutters, and Tony can feel that he shakes a little although he doesn’t look away. So brave, he thinks, more than a little dazed, completely lost in those eyes. Steve’s so goddamn brave. “But you don’t—“

“Steve,” Tony breathes, and for a crazy moment he just wants to say his name, again and again. “I didn’t—Sweetheart, I had no idea. You—You want us to get married? Are you sure?”

Steve peers at him, that unyielding gaze that he gets when nothing in the world could change his mind about something. “I told you,” he says, and Tony’s blinking too fast now, feeling his eyes burning. “I’m serious about this. I don’t take these things lightly.”

“I know,” Tony says. He’s over, completely undone, heart swelling heavily on his chest, head spinning and tears prickling at the corner of his eyes when he leans over to press a kiss onto Steve’s mouth. “You don’t take anything lightly, you wonderful, stubborn man,” he whispers against Steve’s lips, those soft lips that are his to capture again and again. Steve’s arms are around his waist again, and Tony rests his forehead against his. “Oh, darling, marry me?” He punctuates his words with kisses all over Steve’s flushed face, stopping only to watch those amazed, wide eyes. “I would’ve asked ages ago if I thought there was even a chance you’d say yes.”

“You—You would—“ Steve stutters, and Tony is overwhelmed by the spark of hope on his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks, as if he can’t even bring himself to say it, and Tony understands it completely.

“I can get a minister here in an hour if you want to. Half an hour, maybe.” Tony says, voice light although he’s not even in the vicinity of kidding, and Steve huffs out a laugh, leaning forward for a kiss.

“It’s a bit late,” Steve mutters against his mouth. His hands stroke Tony’s back, coming up to his shoulder blades. “We don’t even have rings yet.”

“I’ll take you shopping first thing in the morning,” Tony declares, hands cupping Steve’s face, pressing sloppy kisses over his cheeks. “And then I’m sending flowers to the writers of General Hospital.”

Steve frowns at him, arms tightening at his waist, but Tony can see the way his eyes sparkle, so bright and happy like he’s never seen them before. “You’re not sending them anything,” he says, but there’s a smile threatening to come up at every movement of his lips.

He’s so beautiful. He’s gonna be Tony’s. Tony’s husband.

“Darling,” Tony whispers. “I’m sending them an entire flower shop.”

[recentanimenews]

O Maidens in Your Savage Season – 01 (First Impressions) – Crazy Train

Onodera Kazusa is an almost aggressively normal high school girl. She doesn’t really stand out anywhere, and is part of a literature club whose members include both a budding author, a glasses-wearing prudish type, and a serene senpai who is perfectly comfortable reciting very steamy sex scenes in the book they’re all reading.

Kazusa has a best friend in fellow lit club member Sudou Momoko, and she has a childhood friend in the train-loving Norimoto Izumi. She and Momoko are each other’s main source of verbal and emotional support in these trying adolescent times. She and Izumi were once as close as brother and sister, but have drawn further apart due to his increasing popularity—particularly with other girls.

Kazusa is voiced by relative newcomer Kono Hiyori, who does a splendid job modulating her voice for Kazusa’s vulnerable and frustrated inner monologues. It also helps that she closely resembles Shizuku from Whisper of the Heart, a rare Ghibli film grounded in contemporary life and one of my favorite animes, though due largely in part to nostalgia.

It helps because Shizuku never strayed past the “pure and innocent” phase of her romance with Seiji; the film ended (spoilers!) with her suddenly proposing marriage after they bike up the highest points in West Tokyo and watch the sun rise on the city. It’s beautiful, and it marks a major milestone in their trudge toward adulthood…but it’s incomplete.

O Maidens in Your Savage Season is not incomplete. It reveals all of the insecurities and worries and downright dilemmas far beyond simply developing feelings for someone and being frustrated by one’s comparative lack of accomplishment. By the end, we have a nearly complete picture of who Kazusa is (just a kid), what she is gradually becoming mentally and physically (an adult) and how she feels about that (not so great so far!)

When Kazusa’s mom—whom she says many describe as “child-like” even though she’s most definitely not a virgin due to Kazusa’s existence—asks her to take some food to Izumi’s next door, the comfort of their familiarity is evident, but so is a growing awkwardness punctuated when Izumi asks if he should talk to her around other people.

Kazusa’s wishy-washy reply (depends on who and where) doesn’t help matters. Talking about their issues clearly would be optimal, but again…these are kids. She’s aware enough to know she didn’t handle her interaction with Izumi in a satisfying way, leaving so much up in the air and unclear, but she doesn’t yet possess the tools to do so, hence her frustration and very Shizuku-like private mope on Izumi’s front stoop.

Back in lit club, Sugawara Niina, with her confident stride, ever-calm tone, and shorter skirt, all indicate she’s more mature than the other four members. To put it far more harshly, some boys consider her a diamond atop a pile of dung. But when a story with the premise of “doing something before you die” comes up, she blurts out “have sex,” because as mature as she looks and sounds, she’s still a virgin—still in the bubble with the rest of them. Despite all the classy smut they’ve read, it’s still a totally unknown world.

But her stated desire to have sex before death brings that subject too the forefront, like poking at the bubble until it bursts. Now sex is the first thing on the minds of the four other girls, from Rika (glasses) telling some gals to shut up about sex and being verbally abused by some classmates and then complimented by another; to Kazusa overhearing two of the girls who like Izumi talk very openly about wanting to take his virginity.

The more Kazusa hears about Izumi and sex, the more those two seem like something possible and thus terrifying—a far cry from the little boy with which she used to run around, fall over, and wade in the kiddy pool. The boy who’s crazy about trains. With the bubble of obliviousness popped by Niina, Kazusa finds herself on the deep end, her surroundings growing darker and more morose. But she has to kick and swim and breathe, or she’ll drown.

Things already feel like they’re starting to spiral out of all control for Kazusa, who asserts that she doesn’t like this and isn’t ready for it at all, but she has no idea what’s coming down the track to knock her off the rails of innocence for good, where she was once only teetering and threatening to fall. In an absolutely stunning sequence that plays like, well, a train wreck, Kazusa hears music inside Izumi’s, and so enters through the unlocked front door.

She makes her way up the stairs to Izumi’s room, where the door is cracked but not closed, and lets herself in without knocking. Izumi is inside, his pants down and his feet on the desk, masturbating to porn on the internet. The director lets the two just sit there in the moment of horror, completely silent but for the (likely fake) orgasmic screams of the woman on the laptop. Izumi gives a half-hearted “Hey,” then asks if she’ll keep this a secret. Pretty smooth, considering one of every guy’s worst nightmares just came true.

Kazusa…snaps. She bolts out of the house screaming and just…keeps running and screaming (the action animation is superb) through a market district. Naturally, every food sign is a double entendre, lending credence to her lament that there’s just too much god damn sex in the world.

Worse, her pure, innocent Izumi has changed forever. The boy is dead; a man has taken his place. The last time he saw her penis it was tiny and harmless. Now, not so much. As she stops on a bridge over a train track to catch her breath, she tearfully declares out loud that “that won’t fit in there!” Then, in a moment perhaps almost too on the nose but also pretty damn effective, a train passes beneath her, lining right up between her legs, and enters a very tight tunnel. “It fit,” she says, relieved, but she soon collapses back into a heap of adolescent frustration.

O Maidens is a refreshingly bold, sincere, brutally frank depiction of sexual awakening and its maaaany pitfalls. So far the experience is largely horrifying, terrifying, and overwhelming for Kazusa, and it’s sure to continue to be so. But the show balances the drama and comedy, never letting you forget these are human beings with human being minds and parts, all of which are in a state of open rebellion, but all of which are also very complicated.

The stakes for Kazusa and her friends are far higher than looking fit in a bikini for the summer. This is for all the marbles. All we as viewers can do is ball our fists and hope she hangs on for dear life to this train ride that can’t be stopped, until the ride becomes at least little smoother, if not joyful. I’ll be in the cafe car, quietly cheering on these maidens in their savage season.

By: sesameacrylic

[lithugraph]

I was tagged by gummyboots for another one of those writing things ;)

Fanfic Asks!

Why/how did you get into fanfiction?

Um, this is kind of a two part story -- and the first part is...kinda weird?

So, how did I get into fanfiction?  My mom.  I know.  I know.  She is a complete otaku, in the American sense of the word. She had/has a Livejournal (remember that ol’ thing?) account way before I did and would go on and on about fic writing and ideas and stuff -- and I had no idea what she was talking about.  It made me think fanfiction was a  thing only for manga/anime lovers...until a little movie called “District 9″ happened, which quickly became my favorite movie, hands down (and probably still ranks among top ten).  Okay, I was obsessed.  There was still so much story left to tell.  I was foaming at the mouth for a sequel.  Hell, I woulda written the darn thing -- I had so many stories I wanted to write about it.   I remembered my mom talking about Livejournal, and decided to see if it wasn’t just something for otakus, and found a whole community dedicated to D9!  I was in heaven!  Of course, I didn’t start writing anything, then.  This was before I developed my hard outer skin and I was very much intimidated by the idea something so personal, something I had written, would be so readily available for people to read and critique and (heaven forbid) hate!  But of course that eventually changed ;).   So.  Yeah.  That’s how I got into fanfiction -- my mom and a movie called “District 9.” Why did you get into writing? Pretty much for what I said above: there are just too many stories to tell. How long have you been writing? Fanfiction: 7 years

Everything else: since I was like 8 Do you think you’re a good writer? Compared to who or what?  Any type of artist -- writer, musician, designer, etc. -- has a tendency to look at their work with too critical a lens IMO. Do you think you’ve improved? Yes.  There’s a reason they call writing an exercise -- because it is!  You can’t expect to chop through a block of wood your first karate class or pull off a perfectly balanced Vriksasana yoga pose your first day.  These things take practice.  All form of exercise does -- including writing.  I can definitely tell when I haven’t written or read anything in awhile because my brain can’t words. Name one thing that helps you write Music.  And running.  And sometimes those two combined -- listening to music while running. Have you ever gotten hate related to fics? Surprisingly no.  I’ve been told I’m intimidating in real life (not sure if it’s the height thing, or guys can’t handle chicks who speak their mind or what), so I like to think my intimidation carries through to my fic as well, lol! Fanfiction or books? Depends on my mood.  If I feel like a quick read, then fanfiction.  But if I want to get utterly lost in a world and forget reality exists for five hours, then books. Do you want to professionally write? If not, what would you like to do/what do you do? I used to dream of being a professional writer when I was younger, and even still have a rough draft of the first few chapters of my space opera floating around on one of my thumb drives, as well as a Frankenstein-esque gothic story, and my one where robots become self-aware.

As of right now, however, I have a job title that sounds important and fancy and has absolutely nothing to do with what I really do, so....but I earn enough to be able to pay for my tuition, so there’s that. Have you ever been published professionally? I had a poem published in one of those coffee table book things that only the people who submitted the poems buys, does that count? What is your favorite story/ies you’ve written? ”In the Lion’s Den” and “You and Me and the Bottle Makes Three” will probably always be my favorites. Why is it/are they your favorite(s)? ”You and Me....” because of the atmosphere -- and for being one of my first ever fics, I think it was pretty damn good!

”In the Lion’s Den” because (and I’ve said this a hundred times, but it’s still true) it was an experiment with narration and a very stripped down tone -- no super flowery language, written very it. just. is. -- and I just feel it came together so well. What is your least favorite story/ies you’ve written? Ooooh, gosh...do I have to name them all?  Haha, just kidding.  But seriously...looking back at my earlier fic makes me want to cringe because it was super self-indulgent, but at the time, I think I needed it?  Why is/are they your least favorite(s)? *see above* What is something you expect from a fanfiction? Um, I really don’t expect anything?  But if a fic gives me new perception of a character I hadn’t thought much of, then bonus!  This one’s a good example: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8092521/1/What-Are-Little-Boys-Made-Of How do you feel about troll fics? ...I don’t even know what a troll is, so........ What is your favorite writing style? Several:

-Stream of consciousness (T.S. Eliot, FTW!)

-Second person narrative -- ever since I wrote “In the Lion’s Den” I’ve found it difficult to write anything else.

-that really atmospheric prose that is almost like poetry (I can’t write it and keep it up for a whole story -- I max out at, like, a paragraph -- but I deeply deeply admire it)

Do you write things for the sake of popularity? Hell’s to the no.  What’s the fun in that? Do you think fanfiction is a good way to get into writing? I think it’s good practice. What is something you like about the fanfiction world? Talking about characterization with other writers and finding out what made them write a particular story. What is something you dislike about the fanfiction world? How cliquey it can be. What is a pairing you’re currently shipping? America/Austria (pfft! there’s no shame in my game!) What is something canon you’ll never ship? Harry/Ginny.  Why?  Just...why?  You mean to tell me, after all those years after Hogwarts, he still had a thing for his best friend’s sister?  You mean to tell me he never tested the waters, so to speak?  It’s just one thing that’s always bothered me.  Like, Ginny went through this transformation her fourth year and suddenly becomes the coolest chick in Gryffindor tower and Harry starts to notice her -- Ginny, the cool chick, instead of the shy/awkward version we had in the first four books.  What is something fanon you’ll never ship? GerIta.  It’s cute, it’s adorable, it’s what got me into shipping in the first place, but I just...can’t.  I can’t ship it outright.  To me it’ll always be a one-sided, mixed emotions/signals type of thing.

Also PruCan.  What is this even? In conclusion: Any writing advice? Read all the rules then break ‘em.  The mechanics of writing (grammar, punctuation, etc)  can be helpful...but they can also put a block on your flow (wait...how many sentences do I need for a paragraph again?)  The best kind of writing happens when you’re not thinking about it and are just doing it.

I tag (and you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to): @niniel-kirkland