Bucky is more circumspect now that his arm is exposed. He lies on Matt's right side and touches him with his unenhanced arm. His fingertips skip from scar to scar, and Matt lets him touch every one of them. He's not self-conscious about them-- if anything, they're a reminder of what he's survived. And how he could never have survived alone.
Bucky's hand moves down to close around Matt's semi-erect cock, makes Matt breathe out. He presses their lips together. His tongue slides over Matt's as his thumb rubs at the head of Matt's cock, making him gasp. He can feel Bucky's smile against his lips.
"I want to touch you," Bucky whispers. "All of you."
The phrasing makes Matt smile. "Be my guest."
The robotic hand winds in his hair again, pulls gently, and Matt writhes a little as he exhales through his nose. He glides his hands over Bucky's now-naked body, and goddamn if he isn't hard again already. Bucky murmurs something against Matt's mouth that sounds like "nope," and he takes hold of Matt's wrist, to pull it over his head. Matt's breath catches as Bucky gently takes his other wrist and pins them both together. He doesn't need to test the resistance. The cool metal hand holds them unequivocally. Matt's heart races.
Bucky's free hand closes around his cock, gives it a gentle squeezing stroke, and Matt lets loose a volley of swearing that surprises even him. Bucky chuckles into his ear.
"Like that, don't you."
It's a statement, not a question. His voice has an odd rough quality, like it's rusty from disuse. The texture of it in Matt's ear rolls right down his nervous system to his cock. He lifts his hips a little into Bucky's stroking. Bucky stops and presses them down into the bed. The resistance and weight drive him mad, and Matt starts moaning the kind of obscenities that would make him blush, if all the blood weren't in his dick.
He rarely gets this vocal, and something about he feedback loop of his own voice ratchets up the sensation. Bucky spits into his palm, thumbs the head of Matt's cock and gives it a ruthless stroke. Matt surrenders to it. The vise grip of Bucky's metal hand around his wrists, holding them down, the other hand on Matt's cock, warm the air of the room rolling across his skin, the smell of sex and sweat and skin, Bucky's breath hot on his neck, hitching when Matt says something he particularly likes. The loss of control is deliberate and frightening, and that too is a stimulant. He knows he doesn't have to do this, he could hold off for hours, but it just feels so fucking good. He needs this, needs to let go.
He's still moaning words, kinky shit that never would have occurred to him before this moment, asking Bucky to do all those things to him, to suck his cock and make him plead before he lets him come. It's that final pornographic idea that tips the scales. He comes with a strangled cry, hot on his stomach. Bucky's hand slows but goes on stroking him until there's nothing left. Matt sobs, and Bucky lets go of his wrists, his heartbeat picking up with alarm.
Matt reaches out to calm him, his eyes wet, "It's fine, it's fine, oh god fucking jesus christ I..."
He rolls into the protective curve of Bucky's body. For a few precious moments he can't do or say anything except breathe into the warm crease of Bucky's neck. He's aware that Bucky's still hard, and as much as he wants to do something about that, he's too wrung out to move. He isn't even aware that he's nodded off until Bucky eases away from him and wakes him.
Bare footsteps to the bathroom. Matt rolls onto his back and sighs. He's dimly aware of Bucky's return to the bed, easing in next to him and draping an arm over Matt's body. He holds off until he hears Bucky breathing the deep, even breathing of sleep, then lets himself go under.
FILL - Haunted 6/6
Bucky's hand moves down to close around Matt's semi-erect cock, makes Matt breathe out. He presses their lips together. His tongue slides over Matt's as his thumb rubs at the head of Matt's cock, making him gasp. He can feel Bucky's smile against his lips.
"I want to touch you," Bucky whispers. "All of you."
The phrasing makes Matt smile. "Be my guest."
The robotic hand winds in his hair again, pulls gently, and Matt writhes a little as he exhales through his nose. He glides his hands over Bucky's now-naked body, and goddamn if he isn't hard again already. Bucky murmurs something against Matt's mouth that sounds like "nope," and he takes hold of Matt's wrist, to pull it over his head. Matt's breath catches as Bucky gently takes his other wrist and pins them both together. He doesn't need to test the resistance. The cool metal hand holds them unequivocally. Matt's heart races.
Bucky's free hand closes around his cock, gives it a gentle squeezing stroke, and Matt lets loose a volley of swearing that surprises even him. Bucky chuckles into his ear.
"Like that, don't you."
It's a statement, not a question. His voice has an odd rough quality, like it's rusty from disuse. The texture of it in Matt's ear rolls right down his nervous system to his cock. He lifts his hips a little into Bucky's stroking. Bucky stops and presses them down into the bed. The resistance and weight drive him mad, and Matt starts moaning the kind of obscenities that would make him blush, if all the blood weren't in his dick.
He rarely gets this vocal, and something about he feedback loop of his own voice ratchets up the sensation. Bucky spits into his palm, thumbs the head of Matt's cock and gives it a ruthless stroke. Matt surrenders to it. The vise grip of Bucky's metal hand around his wrists, holding them down, the other hand on Matt's cock, warm the air of the room rolling across his skin, the smell of sex and sweat and skin, Bucky's breath hot on his neck, hitching when Matt says something he particularly likes. The loss of control is deliberate and frightening, and that too is a stimulant. He knows he doesn't have to do this, he could hold off for hours, but it just feels so fucking good. He needs this, needs to let go.
He's still moaning words, kinky shit that never would have occurred to him before this moment, asking Bucky to do all those things to him, to suck his cock and make him plead before he lets him come. It's that final pornographic idea that tips the scales. He comes with a strangled cry, hot on his stomach. Bucky's hand slows but goes on stroking him until there's nothing left. Matt sobs, and Bucky lets go of his wrists, his heartbeat picking up with alarm.
Matt reaches out to calm him, his eyes wet, "It's fine, it's fine, oh god fucking jesus christ I..."
He rolls into the protective curve of Bucky's body. For a few precious moments he can't do or say anything except breathe into the warm crease of Bucky's neck. He's aware that Bucky's still hard, and as much as he wants to do something about that, he's too wrung out to move. He isn't even aware that he's nodded off until Bucky eases away from him and wakes him.
Bare footsteps to the bathroom. Matt rolls onto his back and sighs. He's dimly aware of Bucky's return to the bed, easing in next to him and draping an arm over Matt's body. He holds off until he hears Bucky breathing the deep, even breathing of sleep, then lets himself go under.