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sarahowritesostucky · 9 months ago

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📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 6420

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, kidnapping, cannibalism, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, ignoring of sexual boundaries, dub-con ... that morphs into rape play? bordering on non-con, (mostly humorous) gore, (mostly humorous) body horror,

Summary: Steve is so tired of the meat market that modern dating has become. Just when he's deleted all the apps and given up on ever finding Mr. Right, he meets the perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen" ... or something like that

13. Hunger Pangs

Wait! I haven't read a previous chapter. Story Masterlist

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Steve:

The new room is much nicer than the last one, there’s no denying it.

Bucky comes down and eats breakfast with Steve, and he’s obviously excited about something because he shovels his eggs in at an alarming pace. He gives Steve a kiss on the lips before he unchains him and announces that today’s the day: Steve is moving into his new room. “Come on,” Bucky beams, leading him out of the cell and down the hallway.

Erica is sitting in the far back corner of her cell when they pass. She locks eyes with Steve briefly through the slats of the door, but makes no move to do or say anything. The last cell in the spiral is where the construction work was going on, and that’s where Bucky stops outside of a door that is very much not slatted. It’s solid, and it unlocks with the press of Bucky’s key fob on the pad outside. Bucky slides it into the wall and urges Steve in first, then closes the door behind them and stands at the entryway while allowing Steve to look around first. “I hope you like it,” he says, sounding almost shy. “Tried to make it really nice for you.”

Steve can’t help it that his gut reaction is to be excited about the upgrade. The room isn’t creepily perfect and sterile like his last room. There are warm hardwood floors covered by soft rugs, velvet couch cushions, and a chevron patterned bedspread. The walls are painted a mellow green color that Steve instinctively likes. There’s a succulent plant in the corner—fake, Steve thinks, but can’t be sure without touching it. It looks nice, anyways. The room is cozy and stylish and almost feels like it could be a regular micro apartment. Hell, it’s almost three quarters the size of Steve’s place back in Brooklyn anyways (which is pathetic and really says more about the cost of New York rent than anything else.)

He steps further in, looking around. There’s a full-size mattress tucked into a wall nook to the right, drywall separating it from another room that’s got a pocket door halfway open. Steve peeks inside to see a small shower, sink, toilet and storage cabinet. It’s compact but functional. Steve doesn’t fail to note that the mirror above the bathroom sink is made from some sort of safety plastic, rather than glass. Oh well. How accurate of a reflection does he really need of himself when he's living as Bucky's basement wife? He quickly checks in the cabinet, finding towels and different toiletry items. He closes it and backs out of the little bathroom, grateful just to see that he'll be able to shower on his own now.

Bucky’s still watching cautiously from the doorway when Steve comes out of the bathroom. As promised, the room has a solid door this time. But there’s a plastic window in it. Steve is reminded that however nice this may be, it’s still a cell. Unless Steve hides in the bathroom, Bucky will always be able to peek inside and see what he’s doing. Even the bed niche in the wall isn’t completely hidden from sight of the door. And Steve sighs when he spots the metal mount on the wall just to the side of the pillows: There’s no cord attached to it right now, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be. It's all set up to tether him in place, if needed. The exact same way as before.

“Well? What do you think?” Bucky asks anxiously.

The left side of the room has just enough space to accommodate a small couch in front of a tv. The tv is inside of the wall and behind a layer of plexiglass. There’s a tiny little desk and a slim bookshelf next to the tv. Steve walks over and looks at all the different drawing utensils. He runs his fingers over a sheet of unblemished paper on top of a stack. “What’s this?” he says, and Bucky walks up behind him and pulls him back gently, encouraging him to lean against his body.

“I know you’re an artist,” he murmurs, bending to kiss Steve’s neck. “You must miss it.”

Steve swallows thickly, feeling inordinately emotional that Bucky remembered this about him. “Yeah,” he says, conflicted. “Yeah I do.” He eyeballs the cups of pens and pencils and thinks that Bucky isn’t totally on the ball—those could be used for self harm. Not that Steve has any plans of doing that. And he’d honestly prefer not to stab Bucky in the neck with a drawing utensil. That's just ... gruesome.

“I know it’s not a lot of space, but you can create here at least. And you can watch tv and have a real bathroom now.”

Steve nods, turning around in Bucky’s arms. He looks up at him and smiles. “It’s nice,” he says. “Thank you.”

Bucky beams. He seems genuinely proud to have provided Steve with his comfy new prison. “Here,” he says, tugging on Steve’s arm to get him following over to the bed. Bucky plops himself down on it, grinning. “It’s a memory foam mattress, and these cabinets up here,” he points to several overhead cabinets on the wall at the foot of the bed. “You can keep your clothes and your books in there.”

Steve nods, eyes flicking from Bucky reclining on the bed, to the empty mount on the wall over by the pillows. “... Are you going to keep me chained up in here?” he asks delicately.

Bucky stares at him for a long moment, looking sad. “C’mere,” he murmurs, beckoning Steve closer. Hesitantly, Steve crawls over to him on the bed. Bucky pulls him close, maneuvering him to lie on top of him. Steve sits up and straddles him to avoid being that close, and Bucky stares up at him with a tender look. “You know I don’t want to do that,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking under the hem of Steve’s tee shirt and brushing skin. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here.”

Steve averts his eyes. “That’s a tall order, Buck,” he says. “The door still locks. I’m still not upstairs with you.” He takes a moment to pointedly look around the room with an appreciative look. It is a nice room. He can tell that Bucky’s made an effort to furnish it in the same style Steve had, back at his old apartment. Something about that really gets to Steve—more than he should let it. “They’re nice digs, but it’s still not where I want to be.”

Bucky sighs and pulls Steve back down over top of him, close enough to kiss, though he doesn’t right away. “One day,” he promises, eyes flicking all over Steve’s face like he’s trying to suss out how he really feels. “I want you with me too, Sweetheart. It’ll happen. We'll get there."

Steve gulps and says nothing, feeling unsure. This is all supposed to be an act, to get close to Bucky and gain his trust so that he can escape, but the memories from before all get muddled in, and Bucky still looks and acts like the guy Steve knew as James, the guy he was so excited to have as his new boyfriend. As much as he tells himself he's only pretending ... Steve’s feelings never feel as fake as he wants them too. It’s fucked.

His mind flashes to the other night, to how Bucky had undressed him and made love to him. It’d felt so good, such a relief after so long without pleasure. For just a little while, Steve had forgotten to feel worried or scared. Now he feels guilty for genuinely enjoying it the way he had. They’d showered together after the sex, too, bodies close and intimate in a way that Steve really regrets having enjoyed. Bucky had brought him back down to the basement for bed, despite Steve’s pleas to be allowed to stay upstairs. He'd kissed him goodnight, and left.

And then, just after the sounds of the upstairs locks beeping:

“Steeve?! Jesus you’ve been gone all day! What did he do to you?! What did he take?! Are you okay?!”

Never before had Steve wanted Erica to disappear so badly. Again, he thinks that it’s nice to have a solid door and a soundproofed room. He won’t ever have to talk to Erica or any of Bucky’s other "product" ever again. He feels gross as soon as he has the thought. Christ, he laments. What is he becoming?

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky whispers, lips skimming over Steve’s chin on the way up to his mouth. He kisses him in a soft, slow press, hands slipping underneath his shirt and up his back. “Hm?”

“Nothing,” Steve murmurs, kissing back. "Nothing."

Bucky's arms wrap securely around his waist, and he flips them over. Steve gasps at the sudden movement and his legs part on instinct. Bucky growls into his mouth, pleased.

“Wait,” Steve breathes, but Bucky’s already getting handsy, rolling his hips down and kissing at his neck as he gropes along Steve's waist and rucks his shirt up. Steve groans as their hips align just so, sending a jolt of pleasure to his cock. “Buck, oh, w-wait.” He’s ignored. Bucky’s open-mouthed kisses on his skin are like a firebrand, searing hot and just as filthy as the drag of his hips. Steve whimpers and tosses his head as he starts to get hard. "Nnnh, nuh ..."

Bucky notices, of course. “Honey,” he coos, one hand sliding down between them and cupping him through the soft material of his sweatpants. Steve’s not wearing underwear, and Bucky’s fingers easily curl over the shape of his erection. “Oh, there it is. You want me to make you feel good?”

“Fuck,” Steve chokes out, because he doesn’t, but he does, his body going pathetically pliant under Bucky once again as soon as he starts talking to him in that low, private voice; starts touching him over his clothes and covering him with his body, murmuring those intimate things into his skin. “Bucky,” he sighs, losing his train of thought when Bucky licks along the shell of his ear. Fuck, he can’t. He can’t think when Bucky does that thing with his tongue … Precum blurts out of his dick and is making a wet patch against his sweats, and Bucky hums and rubs his thumb right over the spot. Steve groans, hips jerking up in sensitivity. “Oh god ..."

“Mmhm.” Bucky starts to push his shirt up. “Come on, Stevie. Let me see this gorgeous body.”

Steve blinks, stupid as his shirt is suddenly being drawn over his head and then discarded. The word "no" runs through his mind over and over again, but it never makes it past his vocal cords. He gasps when Bucky dips down to suck on his nipples—likely to distract him from how he’s edging a hand down his pants at the same time. “Wait,” he breathes, though it comes out sounding weak and useless even to his own ears. He puts his hands up, intending to push him away, but his fingers wind up curling harshly into Bucky's strong shoulder muscles instead, grasping onto him when he drags his teeth across a nipple and wraps a hand around his cock. "Ohfuck," Steve whimpers.

Bucky’s eyes flash upwards, dark and focused and locked on Steve’s face while he sucks his chest. The hand around Steve’s cock tightens, stroking up and down at an excruciatingly tight, slow pace, not quite enough as he purposefully avoids the head.

Steve's guts clench and his balls throb at Bucky’s heated stare. Later, when he looks back on it, he'll pinpoint this as the exact second when he completely abandons the idea of pushing Bucky away, of trying to stop this from happening. “Buck,” he pleads, rolling his hips into Bucky’s hand and trying to pull him back up his body. At least if he's kissing him, he can't look at him like that. “Come on, come on.”

Bucky’s lips are swollen and pinked when he pulls away from Steve's chest. He licks them with that trademark flick of his tongue that has Steve’s cock giving a mighty pulse at how debauched and beautiful he looks. “You want more?” he asks, grinning. He’s gripping Steve’s dick hard at the base, denying him while he waits for an answer. “Tell me,” he orders, mouth sliding sideways in a smile. “Tell me you want it.”

Steve digs his skull back into the pillow and bares his teeth in frustration. “Fuck! Just ..." He's about to beg, he really is, but he grunts and slams his eyes shut, upset at himself. No! he thinks desperately. No no no, he can’t do this! It’s wrong, it's wrong, it's so wrong! He shouldn’t want this, he shouldn't, he shouldn't ...

"Steve?" Bucky stills, and then softens. “Oh, Steve," he chides sadly, his breath hitting against Steve's lips where he's come back up to his face, close and coaxing. “Hey, open your eyes, Sweetheart, c’mon. Look at me. Please?”

Slowly, Steve does. Bucky’s lost that fierceness, and instead is regarding him tenderly. One of his hands comes up and combs into Steve’s hair, holding his head still so that he can’t move away from where Bucky’s kissing him softly. “Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs. “Please, Baby. I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.” On Steve's cock, he starts stroking gently again, and Steve releases a pathetic little moan despite his efforts not to. Bucky keeps murmuring sweet, reassuring things against his lips as he jerks him off. “Always want you to be happy, Stevie. Love you. Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. You don't ever have to be afraid again. Not ever. You're safe with me. So safe. So safe ...”

Steve’s not sure when the crying starts, but before he knows it, his eyes are wet and he can feel the hot slide of tears escaping. He whimpers in shame when Bucky notices and starts cooing even more at him, kissing the tears from his skin. “Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothes, and god but Steve really, really wishes that it was.

“Bucky!” he eventually gasps, when he feels close to coming but really doesn’t want to face the music yet. “Sstop, please. H-hang on. I-I want—”

On his cock, Bucky’s hand stills. “Yeah?” he asks searchingly, brushing a thumb along Steve’s temple where the tears have slid back into his hairline. “What do you want, Honey? You can tell me.”

He's looking at him so tenderly, and it just hurts. Steve whines and hides his face in Bucky's neck as he grabs at the back of his tee shirt, giving the fabric ineffective little yanks and whining angrily when it doesn't accomplish anything. He wants to feel him, goddammit! He just wants to feel his skin, and his body, and never have to acknowledge it, not ever, because he's weak, God, he's so weak ...

Bucky pets him and chuckles at his little huffs and grunts of frustration, but he doesn't let Steve hide against his neck with his eyes closed for long. He tuts softly and tells him to look at him, a quiet but firm order, and Steve reluctantly does. He's met with the sight of Bucky's handsome, pinched face, smiling sadly down at him. “Tell me,” he insists. “Tell me what you want, and then you can have it.”

Steve whines and shakes his head, starts struggling to get away rather than be forced to ask for it. But Bucky is easily able to trap his wrists against the pillow, and his hips pin Steve’s down. “Shhh sh sh,” he hushes, holding him still. “Don’t do that Stevie, come on.”

Steve struggles and twists against him furiously, but then the fight leaches out of him and he’s just left panting, dick hard and face red as he glares tearfully up at Bucky. “What do you care?! he cries, mad that Bucky’s trying to make this be his choice. He's a prisoner here. It’s not his choice. “We're already here, so just fuck me already!” He sobs, smacking angrily at him. "Come on, come on!”

"Hey, hey, stop. Steve—stop it." Bucky catches his wrists again easily and gives a harsh shake to settle him. “Don’t be that way,” he scolds, releasing his wrists and pulling away from him. He get back on his knees and starts shedding his clothes quickly, never fully climbing off of him the whole time as he strips naked. He curls his fingers over Steve's waistband and pulls his sweatpants off in one swift motion, too.

"Hey!"

He chucks them aside, then completely surprises Steve by grabbing him under the knees and yanking his lower half up high, right up off the mattress. Steve yelps as he’s practically inverted, and Bucky wraps both arms around his hips to hold him in the ludicrous position. Steve stammers and blusters, "What—what are you doing?"

Bucky glares down the length of his contorted body at him, then promptly shoves his face between his asscheeks and seals his mouth right over his hole.

“Fuck!” Steve cries out—both at the aggressive position and the tongue that's suddenly fluttering over his asshole. “Oh, fuck, Bucky!”

Bucky grunts stubbornly against him, burrowing in further and jabbing his tongue in filthy, pointed thrusts, trying to force his way past the muscle. Steve wails and twists in place, but Bucky is strong enough to hold him up in the position, arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him close and refusing to stop.

All the blood is rushing to Steve’s head and he can only gasp when one of Bucky’s hands fumbles to start squeezing and stroking his cock again while he eats him out. Steve looses a humiliating squeal of pleasure at that. "Ahnngh!"

Bucky’s lips leave his hole with a lewd ‘smack’ and he drops Steve back down to the mattress. “You need fucked?” he growls darkly, covering him with his body again. “Hm? That’s what you can’t ask me for?" Steve whines and squirms and shakes his head no, but Bucky peers at him knowingly. "You want it so bad, don't you? But you wish you didn't. So you want ... what? Want me to take it?" He narrows his eyes at Steve's desperate whimper and denial, then grabs his hair and pulls slowly, watching his reactions. "Oh," he says. "I see."

"Bucky ..."

"That's it, isn't it?" He scoffs when Steve says his name again pleadingly. He dips down and drags his lips across Steve's cheek and down to his ear, where he murmurs, "I see you, Baby. It's okay. Is that what you need?"

"Nnngh ..."

"Need me to make you? Need it to not be your choice?"

Steve whimpers and cringes, hating that Bucky can read him so easily. He whines and shakes his head in denial, but Bucky has him all figured out, and it's awful how calm and smug and knowing he is, as he hushes him and purrs in his ear,

"That's okay, Stevie. I can do that for you."

"Lemme go," Steve says miserably, tossing his head against the pillow. But he isn't really fighting. He tries to believe that it's because he knows he can't win, but that's not it. Deep down he knows that the truth is much, much worse.

"Just need to get dicked down into the sheets," Bucky gloats, not waiting for him to respond before reaching into one of the overhead cabinets, from which he retrieves a bottle of lube.

He'd had it stored right there, ready to go, Steve realizes, and he gulps at the implications of that. "Wait," he croaks, pushing ineffectively at Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky snickers at the weak protest, wetting up his hand and his dick. “S'okay, Sweetheart. We can play that game if it makes you feel better. You know how bad I want to put it in you?” He reaches down between Steve's legs to trail slick fingers over his taint and between his cheeks. He presses in with one finger, slow, humming in approval when Steve tips his head back into the pillow and groans.

“Oh god. Unh ... fuck.”

“Thaat’s right,” Bucky rumbles, encouraging him, curling his finger and dragging it out, only to push back in with two. "You might as well relax, ain't that right? This is happening whether you like it or not." There's an element of teasing to his words, as he purposefully plays the role he's figured out that Steve wants him to. His coy tone would be enough to ruin the illusion, except for that he holds Steve down with his full strength whenever he struggles, letting him feel helpless beneath his larger body. "There you go, Sweetheart, yeah. Just relax. Just accept it."

He takes his time, opening Steve up slowly, letting his body adapt. He starts up an easy, gentle pace and makes sure to drag against his walls just so to have liquid hot pleasure spilling up his spine. “Just let me make you feel good, now Honey. It’s gonna feel so nice.”

They kiss—or rather, Bucky kisses him—steadily finger fucking him while he slips him his tongue. Steve clings to him and moans as his prostate is stroked over and over again. He curls his hips to try and get more friction on his cock, humping up against Bucky’s abs shamelessly.

Bucky groans in approval and pushes down into it, giving him pressure to rut against. He keeps fingering him, keeps adding more and more lube until he’s sloppy from it, rim gone soft and yielding to the third finger that he pushes inside, and then the fourth. Steve cries out indignantly at the stretch, but Bucky just hums and keeps doing it. “Should work my whole fucking hand up in there,” he says. Steve tries to turn his face away, but Bucky grips his hair and pulls him back, forcing Steve to look at him. “Should fist all that fight right out of you, shouldn't I? Make you cry and beg. Fucking edge you until you admit how bad you need my cock.”

Steve absolutely sobs, terrified of the threat, of being made to admit anything; heat pooling so heavy and molten in his belly at all of Bucky’s filthy promises that he starts to get close again. “Buck,” he chokes out, desperate. “Unh—"

Bucky growls and surges down to kiss him. It's aggressive and demanding, and Steve can’t do anything but whimper and let it happen. Bucky bites his lower lip when he pulls away, panting into his face. “It makes it hard for you, doesn't it? That what we had was so real. That it's still there."

Steve whines and shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes shut, but that only lasts until Bucky growls and slaps his cheek. Steve's eyes fly back open with a gasp that's half due to the slap, half due to the cruel hook of Bucky's fingers inside of him.

"Admit it: You can't stand that it's still there, that you still feel something for me."

"Nngh." He moans at the rough drag of Bucky's fingers inside, and Bucky's eyes gleam with satisfaction. "No," Steve grits. "I don't." But Bucky's expression tells him that he doesn't believe it, not for a second, and the next pass over his prostate is brutally efficient. "Fuck!"

"You do want this. You want me. Despite everything. You still feel it. Admit it.” His fingers still inside Steve and pulse maddeningly over that exact spot. "Say it!"

"Yes!" Steve cries out, the dam inside finally breaking and leaving him gasping out, "Yes! Okay? I still feel it!"

His ears ring from the weight of such a horrible admission, pushed out by shame and every last bit of breath in his lungs. His eyes well up with tears, the horrible words leaving him like a poison flushed from his system. He feels wrung out once they're said, and he gasps when Bucky’s hand slips free of his body, leaving him totally empty. "Bucky, wha—"

Bucky pushes his cock in, not stopping until he's fully buried and his hips are kissing Steve’s ass. He holds still once he's there, eyes shining down at Steve's face with love. Steve gulps and trembles at that look. Fuck. What has he done?

Bucky moves gently against him, rolling his hips in a languid thrust. “Feel okay?” he checks. “Not sore?”

It takes Steve a full five seconds to realize that Bucky's asking because they'd made love less than twenty-four hours ago. Or at least, Bucky had made love to him. The memory of it hits Steve hard, piling up on top of the wreckage of what he's just admitted out loud. His eyes water and his lip trembles. "Fuck," he says, warbly, throat tightening at the tender concern that he can see in Bucky’s eyes. God, he wishes Bucky would stop. It's not supposed to be this way!

"Sweetheart," Bucky gushes. "It's gonna be okay."

Steve whimpers. No, it's not. Nothing about this is okay. It's fucked. The entire thing: Bucky, Steve, all of it. It's fucked. Steve hiccups, distressed, and Bucky kisses him gently, kindly. Which feels like the worst fucking thing he could be, right now. Steve is still teetering on the edge of tears. He kisses Bucky back almost desperately, moaning and whining needily.

"Baby," Bucky rasps against his mouth. "Stevie, can I move?"

Steve snivels and nods. It's a relief at least, when Bucky sets into fucking him. It’s deep and relentless, Bucky holds him close and rocks into him, their skin slapping quietly, second only to their panting breaths and Steve's helpless moans from how fucking good it feels as Bucky fills him, over and over again.

“Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” Bucky pants against his neck, rolling his hips softer and deeper, making it more like it'd been last night, more like making love. Steve starts to whimper and whine from how sweet it is, hurt little keening sounds leaving him without his permission.

Bucky groans and strokes a tender hand up his side, over his ribcage, kissing and sucking at his neck, at that spot just below his ear that always makes him fall apart. “No, no,” Steve gasps, feeling himself getting closer. He doesn’t want to come like this. Threading one hand up into Bucky’s hair, he yanks—hard enough to get Bucky gasping and pulling back to look at him. Steve grits his teeth and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “Fuck me,” he growls. “Hard.”

It works, in that Bucky's eyes darken with lust instead of love. He gets back on his knees and starts fucking him harder. Relief unspools in Steve’s chest and his eyes slip closed as he takes what Bucky gives him. In what feels like no time at all, he’s crying out, “Buck-ee!” the words jarred apart by harsh thrusts. “I’m c-lose!”

That drives Bucky on, his face contorting and his fingers digging in harder at Steve's waist as he fucks him more desperately, losing some of his rhythm—he's getting close too. “Come on, Honey," he grunts, knocking Steve’s hand away when he reaches down to touch himself. His mouth slides sideways at the outraged little sound Steve makes. “Nuh uh," he pants, grinning. "I want to see it. Wanna see you cum on nothin’ but my cock.”

Steve groans, tilting his hips more and working for that exact angle he needs, crying out sharply when he finds it and straining harder, arousal pooling tighter in his gut, more and more and more, until it’s threatening to spill over and destroy him. "Close!" he gasps, whining from how close he is, how badly he wants it. "Oh god, Bucky, oh god. Please please please ..."

Bucky growls, hooks his forearms under Steve's knees, and uses that to hoist him up into his thrusts at an even harsher angle. And there, right fucking there! Steve wails and starts to come, shooting hard up his stomach, his dick pulsing near painfully at the lack of stimulation where he’s throbbing and coming all over himself. And Fuck, the pleasure is so deep inside him, coming in fucking waves and seemingly never ending. It’s so sharp and good and overwhelming, makes him sob and break into hysterical tears as Bucky fucks him so good through it all.

Bucky blankets him with his hard, heavy body, “Hey ... s’okay, s'okay,” he says, trying to soothe Steve even as he's about to come, himself. "Shh-sh-sh, Stevie. God, oh baby." He threads his arms under Steve’s back and hugs him tightly to his body. He starts grinding deep and dirty, grunting and then moaning like he’s been sucker punched as he finally grinds out his own climax. Steve’s still sobbing when he feels the cum start to leak out, pushed out by Bucky’s slowing thrusts. “Shh sh sh,” Bucky hushes, still panting as he comes down from his orgasm. He kisses the side of Steve’s head and over his temple, his ear, nuzzling him and not pulling out. He keeps moving his hips against Steve’s ass, even as he softens inside. “Shh, Stevie, shh. You’re okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

The crying is embarrassing. It takes a minute, but eventually Bucky’s soft words and his gentle caresses help to calm Steve down. He stops gasping and blubbering, feeling sheepish for such a pitiful reaction. When he tries to bury his face in Bucky’s neck and hide there, this time Bucky lets him.

Bucky’s fingers pet through his sweaty hair. “You okay?”

Steve nods, scrubbing his cheek against Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I did that,” he mumbles, embarrassed. He’s never cried through an orgasm like a freaking girl before. “Sorry.”

Bucky tuts and hushes him, rolling them onto their sides. He slips out of Steve’s body with the motion, but he makes up for it by tangling their legs together. “Don’t apologize,” he says softly. His hands are petting over the skin of Steve’s back now, up and down, soothing him. “Sometimes you just have to let it out.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just lets Steve hide against his body and avoid the conversation about what the fuck it is they’re doing. Steve can’t think about that right now. He just has to give his poor fucking brain a rest. It deserves that much, goddammit. Sniffling, he nuzzles into Bucky’s chest and inhales the scent of sweat and testosterone, taking comfort in the strong man holding him in his arms. The man who loves him, and treats him so nice, and fucks him so good, who wants to keep him and who … also happens to be a cannibal serial killer.

Just for right now, Steve lets himself ignore that last bit.

Bucky:

Bucky wakes with a gasped “Becca!” his eyes shooting open. He’s panting from fear and his heart is racing in a way that feels awful, but he quickly realizes where he is. Steve is in his arms. They’re in Steve’s room.

Bucky exhales hugely and closes his eyes and calms himself down. It’s okay. It was just a dream. He’s here. He's safe.

Steve doesn’t stir when he finagles himself off the bed and gets dressed. Bucky considers waking him to say goodbye, but Steve looks so peaceful lying there, and Bucky isn’t sure he’ll improve his mood by waking him just to announce that he’s leaving him alone in the room. Bucky knows Steve still sees it as a jail cell.

So instead he covers Steve up to the shoulders with the blanket and leaves the room as quietly as he can. He’ll be back down in an hour or two with late lunches for Steve and for Erica. Bucky takes good care of his girls. Pain meds and comfortable rooms aside, he’s always liked cooking them nice food. He’s not a sadist, despite what Steve seems to think. But if he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s definitely been putting more effort into Steve’s meals than he ever has for the girls before. Steve is better, and he deserves better.

Bucky has to pass by all the other rooms on his way out from the spiral and towards the stairs that lead upstairs.

“Hey!”

He stops and backtracks two steps, surprised. Erica is at the door to her cell, somehow hobbled over there and standing upright. She’s holding onto the wooden slats to keep her balance on her remaining leg. Bucky raises an eyebrow at her and steps closer, not missing how she flinches at the proximity. Normally she just trembles and stays completely silent whenever Bucky’s in the basement, so this is novel behavior. He peeks through the door at her. “Yes?”

She blinks at him, looking nervous but steadfast. “What’d you do to him?”

Bucky smirks. “Do?”

“You had him up there all day yesterday. I know you did something.”

Bucky almost laughs at her confrontational attitude. “Aw, did you and Steve make friends?”

She doesn’t say anything, just tightens her lips into a thin line. Bucky eyes up her body. She’s wearing one of the hospital gowns he gives all the girls once they’ve begun their surgeries. He wonders what cut will be next for her. Carlo’s already asked to meet her, but Bucky’s answer to that was and is a firm no. He’s not into psychologically torturing his girls any more than necessary, even though Carlo clearly is. The knowledge that you’re being slowly eaten and are going to die on an operating table is more than enough punishment, even for sins as bad as theirs.

“Lunch'll be ready in about an hour,” Bucky tells her sweetly, when she just scowls at him.

Upstairs, his phone is in the living room, screen lit up with a text message notification from Carlo. Speak of the devil, he thinks, swiping open the screen.

📱Carlo [Today 12:03 pm]: What do tits taste like?

Bucky makes a face at his phone and texts back.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:57 pm]: Lean cuts first, fatty cuts last, remember?

Erica’s definitely still too stressed to start hacking off the fatty parts. Two seconds later, Bucky’s phone buzzes with another text.

📱Carlo [Today 12:57 pm]: Well what’s lean?

Bucky sighs. Sometimes he forgets how damn ignorant people who didn’t go to medical school are. He sends a text with a short list of lean cuts he can provide while still keeping Erica alive. Carlo quickly responds that: fine, he’ll take the other leg.

📱Carlo [Today 12:59 pm]: And can I have a piece of her hair?

“Ugh.” Bucky’s least favorite part of his entire operation is how his customers want the freaky shit, too. Hair and lingerie are the most commonly requested items. Bucky thinks it’s gross, doesn’t like the reminder that he’s technically got something in common with these freaks. It’s about the food for Bucky, the intimacy of the experience, not the sick and twisted fantasies his fucked-up clients have.

📱Chef J. [Today 12:59 pm]: Sure

He flops down onto the couch with a sigh, feeling tired and bored. After spending the whole day with Steve yesterday, being alone in the house suddenly feels incredibly lonely. He turns on the television to try and distract himself, but it’s no use, he just winds up sitting there and ruminating on Steve and how to best win him over to seeing Bucky’s way of things.

He supposes he could talk to him more about it, just open up and be honest. Talk about his past, or dig around in his records and show Steve the variety of human scum that he actually sources for his business. Bucky doesn’t have confidence that any of those methods would improve the situation. They might just make Steve turn further away, and that’s the last thing Bucky wants. Grunting, he flicks the tv off and shoves up to go over and root through the kitchen to figure out what he’s making for lunch.

He needs to go shopping, he thinks. There’s hardly anything in the pantry to play around with. He grabs a box of bucatini noodles and puts them on the counter, then finds the cream and parmesan in the fridge. He idly wonders if the piddly local grocery store might have Chanterelle mushrooms. He’s got plenty of garlic and white cooking wine, is pretty sure there's a bag of peas in the freezer. If he were making it for himself, Bucky might go the carbonara route, but he’s got a strict policy of not serving any of the girls meat. It’s not worth the inevitable suspicion and stress. And Bucky knows that it’ll be hard for Steve to eat bacon with any sort of comfortability this soon, since he witnessed Bucky eating ‘other bacon’ just yesterday morning.

Bucky sighs and leans against the kitchen island, wondering if he’s hoping for too much to expect Steve to ever come around. Even if Steve never wants to try it himself, if he could just accept it as part of Bucky, that would be so wonderful. It’d be so freeing.

As for the ultimate intimacy of having Steve willingly offer some part of himself up for—

Bucky quickly shakes his head and pushes the thought away. That’s never going to happen. He definitely won’t win Steve over if he ever reveals that fantasy. Steve wouldn’t understand. Bucky would lose him. Sighing, he looks around the living room, feeling morose at his expensive house that he has nobody to share with, the gourmet kitchen he cooks in alone, all the architecture and art that nobody but him ever appreciates.

His eyes land on one of the pieces he’s got hanging in the foyer. It’s an unusual style that’s reminiscent of the medieval period. And unusual subject matter too, with a hand dangling a bit of parsley over the heads of two fish. Bucky has an affinity for oddball, slightly dark artwork. And it’s kind of hilarious to him that this one was painted by one of Natasha’s boys—who is now deceased and probably sitting on a shelf in some walk-in fridge right about n—

Bucky’s lips part as a novel idea occurs to him. Oh.

Maybe explaining all of his own opinions and reasons for doing what he does isn’t the way to convince Steve to stay. Maybe he needs to provide Steve with some outside perspective.

Maybe ... he should host a dinner party.