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@alphaoutoftime
Internet Research // Tasha & Steve
Steve had been thinking about it since the night previous. Google was a dangerous thing, it seemed.
[text:] Hey, have you ever heard of kitten play?
He was almost ashamed to say he'd thought of her immediately. Not that he knew what he was doing at all, especially where the subject of equidynamics was concerned -- but the way she looked at him made him want to meet her halfway.
The erection he'd struggled to understand had helped, too.
Here I Am // Bucky & Steve
"Really? Cause I think I’m pretty hilarious. A regular stand-up comedian, if you will." He shrugged, because despite that easy going attitude Steve was trying to project, things were still tense.
He doesn’t move straight away, instead stares him down before letting out a heavy sigh. “Fine, but it’s my place. So my rules, got it?” He asks before stepping out of the way and letting Steve in.
Steve stares right back; he's always been good at this, even back when he was 90 pounds soaking wet. And just like back then, Bucky eventually gives in.
"Fine," he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "Your rules." Which probably meant cold beers and avoiding the issue for a while, if he was lucky. It might mean trading a few pulled punches if he wasn't, but that's okay too.
"...Guess your rules don't mention doing your laundry, do they?" he says, tossing a shirt into the clothes bin as he shuffles into the room.
Here I Am // Bucky & Steve
It’s when he opens the door that he remembers that JARVIS exists and that he could’ve told him that it was Steve at the door. There is an awkward, almost tense, silence between the two as Bucky stands in the doorway staring at Steve. There’s no conceivable reason for him to be here, and the surprise of it all has thrown Bucky off his game.
"And you’re here because?" He asks, and it’s the best that he can come up with. "If it’s to ask if I have any regard for innocent lives, I can tell you I’ve spend decades not caring." Except now it’s all came crashing down, and he’s starting to care too much, and has had many sleepless nights where he’s tried to come up with ways to balance the books.
"You're not funny," he says easily, hands in his pockets. He's known Bucky better than that for a long time now. Or, for a long time then...
A long time, anyway.
"You gonna invite me in or...?" he deliberately plays down his Alpha status, not wanting it to factor into Buck's invitation. But he knows they're not gonna settle this with words -- they're tried that -- and it's too important to let go.
Here I Am // Bucky & Steve
Steve wasn't proud of it, but he'd been avoiding Bucky since the incident with Jess. It had been a clusterfuck of a day, and he'd taken out his frustrations on Sharon more than once.
...Not that she'd complained. Hard to when she was gasping on top of him, he guessed.
But this was different. This was old, and personal, and... hell, Steve just couldn't stay away anymore. So he knocked on Bucky's door a little more sharply than he'd meant to, holding his breath to see if the man would answer.
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
She doesn’t know when her eyes slip closed completely, isn’t even aware that they have. She can feel the shuffling on the bed. She cannot, however, be bothered to bring herself up to the state of awareness it would take to be able to track what’s going on by sound. It’s a bigger display of trust than Steve probably knows: she doesn’t need to know where he is at all times. Regardless of where he is, he won’t hurt her. She doesn’t know where he moves or what he’s doing until something she can’t immediately identify laps at her stretched opening.
“Мария Матерь Божия,” she breathes, startled into a language she hasn’t accidentally slipped into in decades and a prayer she doesn’t ever remember learning. Her breaths are whimpers and she can feel the stretch of how far she arches, pressing, inexplicably, towards the nearly painful stimulation. ”Пожалуйста, не останавливайтесь.”
He's surprised at the blasphemy from her -- and it occurs to him somewhere in the back of his mind that that would have been an offense that warranted having his mouth washed out with soap when he was younger. It's an amusing thought, and he smiles against her, curving hands beneath her thighs to drag her close.
Natasha isn't a shy person, he knows -- but now that she's given him permission, he wants to underscore that she doesn't get to squirm away when it gets to be too much.
The taste of himself is new, and he twitches against the sheets with interest, but this is more about chipping away at the wall between them.
"You've got about two seconds to decide if you can come again," he growls.
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
She’s overstimulated, incredibly sensitive and the touch of Steve’s finger in her makes her moan softly, though not exactly in pain. She can feel the muscles, unfamiliar with the kind of stretch they’ve just endured, closing softly around his finger. She’s not sure what it is about the act that soothes something in her but she makes no effort to pull away. She could answer him but, for some reason, can’t convince herself that there is any pressing need to be verbal. She instead curls easily on her side, careful not to dislodge him, and presses her nose to the bend of his knee. Her eyes slip mostly closed and her hand brushes aimlessly along his leg. She glances up at him, lips bearing a lazy smile, and nods.
His expression at her soft nuzzle is tender, gone from the pitch black of lust to something much softer in the space of a few moments.
"Good," he murmurs, barely a whisper. Her eyes close, and the slow slide of his finger inside her fascinates him, mental wheels turning. Before the moment can pass, he dips down, the bulk of his shoulders filling the space between her thighs, and licks against the muscle tightening around his finger.
It's a heady thing, recognising his own taste on her, and he noses forward with a soft sound of want, slipping his finger free to replace it with his tongue.
Requiem / Steve and Jess (TW: Suicide Ideation)
It didn’t matter if he wasn’t the one in command. He carried their shield, so that meant he aligned with their morals and served their purposes. “There’s just much as much blood on your hands as there is on SHIELD’s, Rogers,” she snapped back, suddenly unable to contain her anger in one exhausted wave of anger that was just too much for her. She was sick, she was hungry, she was cold, and Captain America was pulling the righteous routine with her while she was tied to a bed. She was gonna give him a little mouth in return.
"I don’t want your help,” she pressed on, her jaw flexing and releasing around her words as she choked them out with a venomous glare. “I don’t want medical help. I don’t want a gut tube. I don’t want anything or anyone making an effort to save me because it’s not gonna do any good. I’m a traitor. I killed my own countrymen. I sold secrets to the enemy and shot my own men in the head. If SHIELD doesn’t kill me of its own volition, the WSC will force their hand or I’m finally gonna get sick of my head being split between a bunch of other people’s hands and take it back by force. Save your resources for someone who hasn’t been dead for five fucking yea-“
The force of her words hit her like a freight train and the tightness in her chest kept her from drawing in a full breath, enough to send her into a momentary panic against the restraints that held her wrists above her head. Steve no longer existed: all she could see was the barrels of a SHIELD firing line and she had just enough energy to struggle. She could barely catch her breath and her vision was beginning to dot over with black until the ceiling was no longer visible, but she couldn’t stop.
"Yeah." His laugh was short and sharp, not at all mirthful. "I know." It was a wonder he slept at all anymore.
Trying to turn his frown into a wince, he listened to her ramble on. But part of Steve's training was knowing when he's not effective at all. It doesn't happen a lot, especially not once he uses his Alpha voice, but it does happen. Case in point: right now.
"Jess? Jess. Listen to the sound of my voice." Direct commands worked far better on Omegas, but it was worth a shot to buy him time as he rummaged around in his kit.
"Sorry." He wasn't, not really, biting the lid off a syringe before sinking it into her thigh. It wasn't ideal to sedate her in the wake of a likely concussion, but it was more ideal than her seizing up on him. With a sigh, he grabbed for the walkie, pressing the button a little more violently than was called for.
"Requesting med support on evac, and make that ASAP."
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
His smile triggers hers. It’s infections, a slow bloom that starts just off center and tugs his lips outwards and upwards and she doesn’t realize she is mimicking it until she feels the answering tug of her cheeks. ”Sir yes sir,” she shoots back, and allows her laughter to be stolen away in favor of the harsh breaths of air, flavored with the slightest tinge of high pitches, to escape with every thrust.
Even when his thrusts become irregular and uneven, as he’s spilling himself into her, he doesn’t press further than she can take. He is filling her up, more than full and she can feel the thick, warm roll of his ejaculate squeezing out of her hole to slick the backs of her thighs. She doesn’t know what it is about the slide of her rear against the fabric of the bed that finally does it for her, but she is coming a few thrusts later, coating his hands and both their stomachs.
He would've saluted had he had a free hand -- or been otherwise unoccupied.
As it was, he gasped through his own orgasm only to gasp through hers as well, trying to be still as she tightened around him in a rhythm all her own.
As soon as she was still, he gently withdrew, immediately easing a finger inside to catch the last involuntary twitches of muscle. There was no mistaking the way he coated her inside and out, and her own mess was no less substantial.
Steve liked her best on the battlefield, he thinks, but this is a very close second.
"You doing alright down there?" he rumbled quietly, slowly fingering her, a slick, soothing rhythm, watching for any flickers of pain across her face.
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
He is sculpted perfection, the pinnacle of human engineering, but there is far more to Steve Rogers than that. They created Captain America, but really all they made his exterior match the calm surety of his interior. He has the physical strength to enforce the force of will that she knows he always had.
He can hold her where he wants to without trouble but it isn’t a skill he uses on her now. Instead he makes statements of fact and fully expects that she will make them true. And the thing is, he’s not wrong. When his hands leave hers it is as though they never release: she is just as incapable of moving them now as she was when his large, rough hands had pressed her wrists to the mattress.
She substitutes the movements instead. Her legs curl up to press her heels against the firm cords of the back of his legs. ”Thanks,” she breathes, her hands closing into loose fists. She can’t help that she’s not verbose at times like this; words are her weapons and in these vulnerable moments she things each formless sound she spills carries more meaning than a litany of verbiage could.
Her thanks makes a smile bloom across his lips, unbidden and surprising.
"You're welcome," he says simply, enjoying that single syllable from her lips more than he can explain. "Now stop talking and come for me."
He pushes into her, keeping his rhythm solid and unbroken, giving her the limit of what she'd said she could take. It's willpower of the highest degree not to try and coach her past that limit -- he's not comfortable enough with it himself yet, but he will be at some point.
His hand moves, not perhaps as slick as it could be, but from the way her length pulses with her heartbeat, he can't imagine she hates it.
The last few pushes are for himself. He has no qualms spilling into her, and his hand doesn't stop moving as he groans, arching over her pale form.
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
Though her begging is wordless, Steve understands immediately. And just as quickly as he understands, he denies her. He’s in control, his words say without saying. He decides. He gives her only what she has shown she can handle and nothing more. At the same time he does not hold back from her, filling her to the same precise level each thrust. Though she opens up around him he keeps the depth the same. It is maddening and exhilarating and there is nothing she can do about it.
The shudder that shakes her is from delight.
She doesn’t need to hesitate before answering. It is rare that she comes from penetration alone but the way his hands work her over, expertly molding her into something shapeless with pleasure, tells her that she will have no trouble at all.
"I can," she breathes, and cuts it off for a stuttering cry as Steve’s movement changes his angle just so.
Steve smile is quick and bright, and he lets her hands go. This is one way he likes her best, struggling against her own instincts to do what he wants instead of what she does.
"Don't move them," he tells her, and it's a challenge that's outlined clearly when he licks a stripe up his palm, moving to wrap it around her length.
"I know what I asked -- I didn't say you were going to have to get off that way," he explains, stroking her in time with his gasps. It's torture for him, really; she has it easy here. "So long as your hands stay above your head, my hand keeps moving."
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
Even if she had the presence of mind to argue, she would have been immediately shut down by the raw surety that was Steve. He says things as though believing them will make them true. Natasha has never had much truck with sunny optimists but there is something just so sincere about Steve.
She curls when he moves, rolling with him until he takes her former place above her. She gasps, her voice high and reedy when Steve mimics her movements absolutely perfectly. ”Oh god,” she breathes and bites back a curse. It’s good, so good. The friction is just less than torturous, enough to tell her that she will have a delicious burn for quite some time after. The press is steady, solid and it is only a few moments before she is winding her legs around him, keening for more.
One hand corrals her wrists into a grip, lifting them over her head; the tilt it gives to her cleavage is something more than special, and he leans to take a long lick up her throat. The other hand curves beneath her backside, keeping her tilted to the opposite angle.
"Stop asking," he gasps low. "You're not getting any more... than this." His hips move with his words, painstaking in their precision, and he dips to pull a peaked nipple into his mouth with a rough growl. It's more than he'd ever thought to be gifted with, this toying with her body.
"No fingers... not another inch." His stubble is rough at her shoulder, but he nuzzles close without a second thought to it. "Tell me you can come this way...?"
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
The question should sound derogatory, or at least condescending. Somehow Steve manages to avoid that neatly without even trying. She checks, rocking slowly with her legs firmly anchored on either side of his hips. She is able to press him in only slightly more before the throb of spreading teeters on the edge of something a shade more dangerous. ”Unfortunately,” she murmurs, feeling a surge of uncharacteristic annoyance at herself. ”For now.” She makes a promise to herself right then to indulge in some personal preparation. It’s different if it’s to please someone; it’s allowable.
"You're incredible," he argues roughly, the finality in his tone leaving no room for backtalk. "But I'm gonna make this easier on you. Move with me."
He knows she speaks more easily with her body, and that she'll be able to follow easily as he rolls to the side, his arms taking up the slack of his body as they switch places.
"No more... than this..." he promises, sliding back for the first time and then back in, stopping precisely where she'd said was comfortable. His breath is ragged at how tight she is, and he pauses to lick a hot stripe up her neck. Even through the haze of pleasure, the look on his face is attentive, making sure she's enjoying herself thoroughly.
Requiem / Steve and Jess
"I didn’trelapse.” She snapped back out of nowhere and sat up as far as the restraints would allow, which really wasn’t that far and the movement only really jostled her on the bed. Her wrists were red and angry under the straps but she pulled anyway, a flash of a wince crossing her features as she readjusted the plastic.
At least HYDRA carries proper cuffs.
"SHIELD’s been responsible for every shitty thing that’s been flung at me for the last three years," she shot back, not bothering to hide the obvious disdain in her voice as she sat back on the flat pillows under her head. "They left me for dead. Your people left me for dead in Peru. I want nothing to do with SHIELD. I’m not risking them screwing me over with their ‘help’-” She turned her eyes back to Steve, sharpening them purposely when they met his. “Starting with you and that MRE. If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not debase myself anymore by throwing up all over myself, thanks.”
Steve grit his teeth, argument flashing in his eyes. This wasn't the best time for it and he knew that, but he couldn't let untruths lie.
"For one, they weren't my people if they left you there." His tone did nothing to hide his anger at that; his people were damned good, and they knew he wouldn't stand for a plan that didn't attempt an extraction.
"For two, I don't remember a damn thing about a team deploying to Peru." He wondered if her memories were real, remembering the damage that had been done last time. It didn't matter; as long as she thought they were, she would hold them against him.
His jaw tightened, and he stuffed the MRE back into his pack.
"Fine, but the first place we're going is medical, and I'm going to make sure they put a parenteral feed in if I have to do it myself." His hands moved slowly, telegraphing his movements as he lit up his comm. "Extraction, when you're ready."
I Call Shenanigans - Steve & Sharon
The name, and the connotation behind it, didn’t hit her until she was well propped up in his lap with a healthy portion of her weight rested across the hand on her throat. Maybe it was the mouth and hand still tormenting her overstimulated chest, maybe it was the edge of teeth that plucked at hypersensitive skin, maybe it was the flutter of her pulse when his thumb managed to constrict it for a breath.
Something clicked.
Keeping her tempo wasn’t even a question. Sharon was pretty sure she would die on the spot if anything she was feeling ceased. So she kept it up and then some, a tilt of her chin bowing her back enough to give her hips more room and before she could stop herself she was meeting his skin with audible force.
Her mouth was open but nothing intelligible came out, only a stream of needy whines and the occasional obscenity. Her weight was balanced out now that she had most of it over his chest and meeting his movements was little effort now. She could feel him beginning to swell but made no movements to shorten her range, meeting his eyes with a half-lidded, breathless look of her own as the noises that bubbled from her shifted higher in pitch every time the faint edge of his knot pulled at her.
"Need it," she whimpered out, finally unable to hold her eyes open as she swallowed against his hand and bared more of her throat. "Please."
Steve didn't move to meet her movements, letting her do the work as he kept his hands and mouth occupied. He was going to taste every inch of her if he had his way.
And he would. That was part of the privilege that came with being an Alpha.
So when Sharon dissolved into begging, Steve just shushed her quietly, his thumb running down the contour of her throat. Two fingers gently rubbed her earlobe, his touch soothing.
"Shhh, sweetheart. You're gonna get it." Because more than anything, he wanted to sate the discomfort that heat brought for her. Everything else was secondary -- though there were a lot of everything elses.
"You're gonna get it because you're going to take it." His free hand rested on her hip, helping to guide her down with each thrust. "When I tie you this time you're going to know that it's because you did it, because you needed it so badly you took it all on your own."
His fingers slipped up to loop hair behind her ear before circling her throat again. He didn't expect an answer, but he didn't expect her to disagree, either.
And The Heart Is Hard To Translate // Natasha & Steve
There’s always a quiet moment of reflection at times like these when Natasha has to seriously consider whether the future benefit of moving is worth losing the comfortable satisfaction of her current position. Steve’s lips are fire and metal, a subconscious brand painting clarity against the soft skin of her leg. Though there’s a stinging, almost desperate need in some part of her for her to show submissiveness, another, louder portion purrs approval. It is the ultimate answer to ‘will you respect me in the morning’, him giving her control like this, and far more than she’d ever even thought to ask of another Alpha.
There isn’t hesitation when she presses herself and follows the trail of him until she is seated above him, held up by her knees on his bed and her hands on his shoulders and her smile is more pleased than the situation seems to warrant. Natasha believes in action, and that more than words will cement her position on this. She doesn’t hesitate when she seats herself, taking as much of him inside as she can fit.
As much as he loves it when she moves, loves feeling her against him, what he loves most is that she's willing to let him see her like this. Willing to take without hiding this part of herself away.
He loves her a bit then, the same way he'd loved her a bit when she'd launched from his shield in the Chitauri battle.
"Natasha..." Her name is almost a hiccup, and he is holding onto control with a vice-tight grip at the feel of her. It's unreal, and his head is swimming, and he's fairly sure he can hear his own pulse but he can't find it in him to care.
"Is that all you can take?" He doesn't mind, not at all -- but if this is their logistic maximum, there might be a more comfortable way to do this.
Is this permament?
So far.
