The Fifth Kennel (Chapter 10)
Pairing: DogHybrid! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Tags: Hybrids AU. Fluff. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Slow Burn. Smut
Warnings: 18+ only. Dehumanization. Description of non-human genitalia. Masturbation. Oral (m and f). Knotting. Excessive amount of cum. Prolonged ejaculation. Post-orgasm continued leaking. Cum play. Cum eating (m). Size difference. Stretch. Post coital mess. Mild mess kink. Soreness.
Summary: She brings home a cynical hybrid no one wanted: a missing limb, a brutal past, and zero interest in making things easy. He didn't ask to be rescued, doesn't want her pity or her stubborn refusal to back down. What begins as an act of conscience becomes a tense dance of boundaries, old instincts, and... unexpected connection.
Word Count: 7.9k.
note: I have no regrets.
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
He brushed his lips against the hollow of her throat -tentative, testing- and she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. Then came his tongue, a slow drag upward along the same path his nose had taken, and the sensation pulled a soft gasp from her lips. She clenched her fingers against the back of his neck, needing something to steady herself to.
A low sound rumbled in his chest -something between a growl and a groan- as he flexed his hand against her waist and pulled her impossibly closer. Every sense was on fire: her scent surrounding him, the taste of her skin still on his tongue, the heat of her body pressed against his, and those small sounds she was making that went straight down to his groin.
He kissed his way up the side of her neck, letting his teeth graze lightly just below her jaw. She shivered in response, and when he finally reached her mouth again, she met him halfway, already seeking what came next.
The kiss was deeper this time. Slower. Less frantic but somehow more intense, like now that they'd admitted what this was, they had all the time in the world to explore it.
He slid his hand up her back and pressed her closer, and she melted into him, her body fitting against his like it had always been meant to.
When they finally broke apart again - both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together - neither of them moved to stand.
She didn’t want space. She wanted more.
Her hands wandered from the nape of his neck, down over the tense muscles of his shoulders, then lower, palms sliding across his chest. She could feel the heat of his body through the cotton the t-shirt, the thud of his heart hammering just as hard as hers.
He answered by tightening the arm around her waist, fingers splaying wide, claiming. Then his hand drifted lower, slow enough to make her shiver, until he gripped her ass and dragged her flush against him.
There was no hiding it now.
She felt him -hot, thick, unmistakably hard- pressed right up against her through the frustrating barrier of their jeans. A helpless little moan slipped out of her at the contact, and she didn’t even try to swallow it. Instead, she rolled her hips forward, chasing the pressure, seeking more.
The growl that rumbled out of his chest was raw, almost feral. His fingers dug into her cheek, and when she rocked against him again -deliberately this time- he bucked up to meet her, the hard line of his cock dragging against her clit through two layers of denim and making her gasp into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he breathed against her mouth.
she just ground down harder, chasing the thick ridge of him, needy little circles that had them both shaking.
He groaned, dropping his forehead to her neck for a single heartbeat, teeth scraping skin, breath ragged. Then he pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes almost black with want. He shifted beneath her and moved his hand from her ass to the side of her thigh, then guided her up. Not roughly, but with clear intent.
She understood immediately.
She stood on unsteady legs while he rose with her, never letting his mouth leave hers, and then he placed his hand at the small of her back and walked her backward until her hips hit the edge of the worktable.
One smooth, possessive motion and he hoisted her onto it. The second her ass hit the wood he stepped between her thighs, forced them wider, and slotted himself exactly where she ached for him. His cock pressed flush against her pussy, only the soaked denim of her jeans and the straining zipper of his keeping them apart.
She moaned, loud and shameless, and rolled her hips again. He answered with a slow, filthy grind that dragged the seam of her jeans over her swollen clit and made her see stars.
He slid his hand up her side, slow and deliberate. She arched into the touch, greedy for more skin, more pressure, more of him.
The cardigan suddenly felt like a straitjacket. He growled against her mouth -low, frustrated- and hooked his fingers under the edge, trying to drag it down her shoulders. The sleeve snagged on her elbow. He tugged harder, teeth bared, and when it still refused to cooperate, he broke the kiss just long enough to seize the fabric between his teeth and rip it free.
She couldn't help it.
She laughed.
Breathless and a little disbelieving, but a laugh nonetheless.
He pulled back just enough to glare at her, his ears flat, his expression somewhere between aroused and annoyed.
“Hold on,” she gasped, still smiling, and shrugged the cardigan off the rest of the way. It flew somewhere behind her and hit the floor. “Better?”
He didn’t answer. He just crushed his mouth to hers again, harder, deeper, like he could swallow the laughter and turn it into something else entirely.
His hand slipped under her shirt without hesitation this time, palm rough and warm as it glided up her side. She pushed into him, needy, and when his thumb finally brushed the underside of her breast through the lace, she gasped against his tongue.
He stilled for a heartbeat, then cupped her fully, squeezing once, firm and possessive. The lace scraped over her nipple as he dragged his thumb back and forth, slow circles that tightened with every pass until the peak throbbed under his touch. She whimpered, hips jerking on the tabletop, and he answered by slipping beneath the cup to claim bare skin.
Skin on skin now. He molded his palm to her, kneading slowly, reverently, then caught her nipple between the pads of his thumb and finger and rolled it with exactly the right pressure. She cried out into his mouth, back bowing, every nerve lit up, and begging.
Only when she was shaking, when her thighs clenched around his hips in silent demand, did he ease off, making that sound again. The low, rumbling one from deep in his chest.
And then he moved his hand lower and reached the button of her jeans.
He fumbled with it one-handed, his fingers clumsy with urgency, and she reached down to help, popping the button, lowering the zipper.
"Off," he muttered against her mouth.
She lifted her hips, and together they shoved jeans and underwear past her knees; he ripped them the rest of the way off and let them fall.
Bucky dropped to his knees in one fluid motion. Dark hair fell into his eyes, ears pinned flat. His pupils were blown so wide only a sliver of blue remained, and his chest rose and fell in sharp, hungry pulls.
“Bucky-” Her voice came out as a shaky whisper, cut off when he gripped her thigh firmly, claws dimpling skin without breaking it. He pushed her legs wider, spreading her open on the edge of the worktable, and buried his face between her thighs. He inhaled deeply, shamelessly, and growled low in his chest as her scent flooded his senses.
"This," he rasped, lips brushing her as he spoke, "This is what's been driving me crazy." He pressed his nose closer and nuzzled against her skin; she felt her face hot despite the intimacy of the moment.
No hesitation. No teasing.
He dragged his hot tongue up her slit in one long, filthy stroke, gathering her wetness. The broken, pornographic groan that tore out his throat vibrated straight through her clit and made her thighs jerk around his shoulders.
He didn’t stop. Couldn’t. He pushed his tongue inside her -thick, wet, relentless-and fucked her with it in slow, deep thrusts that curled against her walls and dragged more slick out of her with every plunge.
The room filled with the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth on her, her arousal coating his lips, his chin, dripping down his jaw. He pressed his nose flush against her clit as he buried himself deeper; the slight stubble on his jaw scraped deliciously against her inner thighs.
"Oh- fuck- Bucky!"
She threaded her fingers through his hair, catching one of his soft ears, and it flicked against her palm. She tugged gently; he growled again, the sound muffled but desperate, vibrating against her pussy.
He slid his hand up her thigh and found her clit with unerring precision. The rough pad of his thumb circled her once, twice, slick with her own wetness, then settled into tight, merciless strokes that matched the rhythm of his tongue inside her.
The dual assault shattered her. Tongue fucking deep, thumb grinding her clit, her vision whited out at the edges, breath coming in broken sobs.
He pulled back just enough to drag his tongue flat against her clit, slow and filthy, before he sucked it into his mouth and started to nurse. Her hips bucked, a broken cry tearing from her throat, and her thighs closed around his head.
His hand shot to her inner thigh and gripped hard, claws pricking just enough to warn.
“Stay,” he rasped, voice raw and commanding, barely recognizable.
Then he forced her open again, spread her folds wider with thumb and fingers, and dove back in, tongue lapping, mouth sucking, nose buried, drinking her down until she was nothing but shaking, dripping need in his hands.
The coil in her belly wound tighter, thighs trembling uncontrollably, breath coming in short, frantic bursts. She felt herself dripping, slick sliding down her skin, pooling beneath her on the table, and the knowledge that he could smell it, taste it, lose himself in it dragged her right to the edge.
“Bucky, I’m-”
He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard.
The world shattered.
She came with a sharp, broken cry, back bowing off the table, fingers twisting hard in his hair as wave after wave crashed through her. He kept licking, gentler now, drawing it out until her legs shook and every nerve screamed oversensitive. Only when she shoved weakly at his shoulder did he finally ease off.
He rose slowly, eyes blown black, mouth glossy and swollen, the faintest trace of fang showing when he licked his lips. A low, satisfied rumble rolled in his chest as he looked up at her, ears flicked forward, tail giving one slow, triumphant wag.
“Fuck,” she whispered, still gasping.
He didn’t answer with words. He simply stepped in again, sliding his hand up her thigh, over her hip, along her waist, grounding her while the aftershocks still rippled through her body. When he kissed her, slow and deep, she tasted herself on his tongue and moaned into his mouth.
Her hands found his belt.
She tugged the leather free faster than he ever could have alone, popped the button, and dragged the zipper down tooth by tooth. He made a rough sound -half groan, half growl- and pushed his hips forward, chasing her touch.
Her fingers brushed against him-
And she stopped.
She pulled back slightly, looked down, and her breath caught.
"Oh," she said quietly. "Right."
She’d forgotten.
Or maybe she’d just… not let herself think about it too hard. She’d thought about it plenty in her room, late at night, when she couldn’t sleep. But in the heat of the moment, it hadn’t registered.
The shape was… different.
Tapered at the tip, thicker toward the base, and undeniably hybrid in a way that made her stomach flip with something between nerves and anticipation.
And the size-
God, the size.
Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t breathe right. His jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jump, ears pinned flat, tail frozen mid-air. He was waiting, braced for the flinch, the polite excuse, the slow retreat. For her to decide this was too much.
Some had.
She could see it in his expression. The tension. The braced-for-rejection look that he tried very hard to hide.
But she didn’t pull away.
Instead, she wrapped her hand around him… or tried to. Her fingers didn’t quite meet.
He made a choked sound and jerked his hips forward into her touch.
She stroked once, slow, reverent, feeling his velvet heat, the way he twitched and leaked over her knuckles. Another stroke and more slick slid down the flushed length.
"Fuck," he breathed and suddenly closed his hand around her wrist. "Wait-" he gritted out. "I’m not- if you keep doing that, I’m gonna-"
He couldn’t finish. Didn’t need to.
She stilled instantly, loosening her hold, cheeks burning. “Sorry,” she whispered, breathless. “I just… got carried away.” Her gaze dropped again, helpless. “I’ve never seen…”
She didn’t have to say the rest.
He understood perfectly.
He slid his hand from her wrist to her jaw and tilted her face up so she would look at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, something achingly raw flickering behind the hunger.
"Want to know how it feels inside you?" he asked, voice scraped low, barely above a growl, then he leaned in and brushed his nose against the side of her neck, inhaling deeply.
"Turn around," he murmured against her skin while he slid his hand down to her hip and guided her. "Let me show you."
She slid off the table -her legs still unsteady- and turned to face it. She placed her palms flat on the cool wood and tilted her ass up for him without even thinking about it.
Bucky stepped in close; the heat of his chest burned against her back. Then she felt his cock, thick and slick with her juices and his own precum, slide between her thighs. He dragged the tapered head through her soaked folds once, twice, coating himself, spreading her open just enough to make her whine and push back.
He leaned over her, his mouth near her ear, his breathing ragged.
"Are you sure?" he asked, voice low and wrecked.
She didn’t answer with words.
She just arched her back and pressed herself against him, angling her hips against him until the head of his cock caught at her entrance.
That was all the answer he needed.
He pushed forward.
The taper let him breach her easily at first -one smooth, slick glide that made them both groan- but the deeper he went, the thicker he got. He wasn’t even halfway in, and she could already feel the burn, the way her body struggled to accommodate him.
He paused, his breathing harsh, his hand flexing against her hip.
"Relax," he murmured, voice tight. "Just… breathe."
She did. In through her nose, out through parted lips, focusing on the heat of his palm, the tremor running through his arm, the way he held himself brutally still even though she could feel him throbbing inside her, desperate to move.
Another slow push. Another inch. Then another.
The stretch intensified, bordering on too much, and she made a small sound, half discomfort, half something else.
He stilled immediately.
"You okay?" His voice sounded strained.
“Yeah,” she gasped, nodding against the table. “Keep going. Please.”
He did.
Slow, relentless, giving her one breath, one heartbeat for every fraction he claimed, until his hips finally met her ass and he was seated to the root.
They both made sounds. Hers came high and breathless. His came low and guttural, almost a growl.
For a long moment, he didn’t move. Just stayed pressed inside her, forehead between her shoulder blades, hand clamped hard on her hip.
Then he pulled back slightly and thrust again.
And again.
He found a rhythm, slow at first, deliberate, letting her body adjust to the size of him, the shape of him.
It didn't take long before the discomfort faded, replaced by something better. Something that had her bracing her hands harder against the wood, pushing back against him, meeting his real thrusts now, long and deep, dragging that thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, and the angle -god, the angle- had him hitting something inside her that made her vision blur.
She could feel herself dripping around him, pussy fluttering, trying to pull him deeper.
He leaned over her and pressed his chest against her back, his breath hot against her ear.
"You have no idea," he gritted out between thrusts, "how long I’ve wanted this."
The pace turned savage; each slam drove her into the table’s edge, drove her higher. She couldn’t stop the high, desperate cries spilling from her throat, couldn’t stop clenching around him, milking him, begging without words.
And then she felt it.
With every brutal thrust, something at the base of his cock swelled thicker, hotter, catching at her rim before it forced its way back in. A delicious, filthy tug that grew stronger each time, stretching her wider, locking them tighter.
“Bucky-” Her voice cracked. “It’s… fuck… it’s getting bigger…”
He froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt, and breathed like he’d run ten miles.
“Yeah,” he panted and dropped his forehead between her shoulder blades. “That’s… that’s the knot.”
“The what-” She tried to look back at him, but the angle and the sheer fullness inside her made it impossible.
He swallowed hard, hips giving a tiny, involuntary jerk that made them both groan.
“It… it swells when I’m close. Locks us together. Keeps… keeps everything inside.” His voice came out pure gravel, half mortified, half feral.
Another pulse. The knot grew thicker and stretched her impossibly wide; it caught and held every time he tried to pull back.
“Oh god, Bucky, it’s… it’s b-big.”
“I know, I know, just breathe.” He shook now, sweat dripped down his temple, and he pinned his ears flat. “Tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop, I swear I’ll-”
“No-” The word tore out of her as a desperate moan. She shoved her hips back and forced another inch of that swollen knot past her entrance. The stretch burned so good her eyes rolled back. “Don’t you dare stop.”
That snapped him.
He slammed forward once, twice, and the knot popped fully inside, sealing them together with a wet, filthy sound.
The stretch overwhelmed her. Her pussy clamped down around the swollen knot, and she felt so stuffed she could make out every ridge of his shaft, every heavy, hot spurt he spilled inside her. But she hovered right there, trembling on the edge, not quite over it.
Bucky’s breath came ragged against the back of her neck. He tried to pull back, just an inch, and couldn’t. The knot held him locked, thick and unyielding. A low, broken sound tore from his throat when the tiny movement dragged another helpless trail of cum out of him.
“There’s… so much,” she whimpered. “Bucky, fuck, there’s-”
“Yes,” he groaned against her neck, the word ripping out of him. “Not… not done… still coming-”
He slid his hand around her hip and found her clit instantly, slick and swollen. He rubbed messy, desperate circles with shaking fingers.
He couldn’t thrust anymore, only rocked his hips in tiny, shallow jerks that made the knot tug at her rim and sent sparks up her spine. Every small movement forced another slow pulse out of him; she felt it, thick and endless, filling her deeper.
She whimpered again, scraped her nails across the wood, thighs trembling so hard she thought they’d give out.
“Shh,” he rasped against her nape, voice wrecked. “Let me-”
He changed the tempo with his fingers and rubbed instead of circled. The pressure drove her mad; his cock pulsing inside her, the knot stretching her wide. She felt another slow, endless gush of cum deep in her belly, and it snapped something inside her.
Her orgasm hit hard, sudden; her pussy spasmed around him in long, milking waves. She cried out, arched her back, and locked her whole body as pleasure tore through her body.
The clench destroyed him. His hips stuttered against her ass while thick ropes kept pouring into her, longer and stronger than the first wave. She felt every brutal pulse, every helpless jerk of his cock, the way his cum had nowhere to go but deeper.
When it finally slowed to lazy, occasional spurts, he pressed his forehead against her shoulder and panted. He hugged her waist tighter, holding her still while he grazed the skin of her neck with his teeth, then placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along her nape, her shoulder, like an apology and worship at once.
She tried to shift, to ease the pressure, and immediately felt the sharp tug of resistance.
“Don’t,” he murmured, voice hoarse, gentle but firm. “Just… stay. Please. It’ll go down soon.”
She melted against him, boneless. Minutes blurred -five, maybe ten- both of them trembling, sharing the same ragged air, the same heartbeat.
At last, the knot began to soften, and he pulled out slowly, carefully; the drag tore a hiss from both of them. When he slipped free, a thick rush of cum followed, warm and heavy, sliding down her thighs in long, lazy streaks.
She straightened on shaky legs the best she could and turned.
He looked wrecked. His hair was a mess, eyes dark, jaw clenched with something that looked a lot like guilt.
“So,” she said, voice still breathless, “that was… new.”
He stepped closer and placed his hand on her waist; his expression shifted into something serious. Concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. “I should’ve… I should’ve warned you. About the-”
She didn’t let him finish. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressed her face to his chest, and breathed him in.
“Yes, you should’ve,” she murmured into the damp cotton of his shirt. “It’s part of proper etiquette, sure. But when exactly were you supposed to tell me? Over breakfast? While we were painting pottery?”
He huffed a quiet laugh and hugged her tighter. “Could’ve warned you during,” he said, tone caught somewhere between joking and serious. “You know. Do some dirty talk.”
She pulled back just enough to look up at him and raised one eyebrow.
"Oh really? Like what, for example?"
His ears flicked back. He looked away, jaw working, the flush crawling up his neck toward his face.
She felt a grin tug at her mouth.
Finally.
Finally, she had him uncomfortable.
"Come on," she pressed and poked his chest lightly. "You brought it up. What could you have said?"
"I'm not doing this," he muttered, still refusing to look at her.
"Why not? You were doing plenty a minute ago."
His face went scarlet.
"That was different."
"How?"
"It just was."
She tilted her head and fought back a smile. "You started this. You said you could've used dirty talk. So enlighten me. What exactly would you have said?"
He finally met her eyes; his expression hovered between annoyed and embarrassed.
"I'm not going to talk dirty to you now. Standing here. After-" He gestured vaguely between them.
"After you just knotted me?" she supplied helpfully.
He groaned and closed his eyes. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
He opened one eye and looked down at her. Despite the embarrassment stamped all over his face, something softer lived there too.
"No," he admitted quietly. "I don't."
She smiled and reached up to touch his face. "Good. Now let's go upstairs. I'm starting to get cold."
And she was. The workshop wasn't heated, and now that the adrenaline and heat of the moment had faded, she felt the cool air against her bare skin.
"Yeah," he said, sliding his hand to squeeze her hip gently. "Let's go."
But neither of them moved right away.
Just stood there, wrapped around each other, neither quite ready to let go yet.
----
They made it upstairs eventually.
By the time they fell into her bed, they were both exhausted and buzzing with residual adrenaline.
They collapsed onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs. She curled into his side immediately, rested her head on his chest, and threw one leg over his thigh. He wrapped his arm around her waist, heavy and warm, and held her close like he feared she’d vanish.
For a while, only their breathing and the low thud of his heart under her ear filled the room.
Then she started shifting. Tiny movements at first: she rolled her hips, drew her knees up, let them fall again. Restless.
Bucky noticed instantly. He stroked his thumb along her waist.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled, too fast.
He tilted his head to look at her and narrowed his eyes. “…You’re moving like you’re hurting.”
She sighed and hid her face against his shirt. “It’s nothing. Just… a little sore. Down there. I feel… swollen.”
A beat of silence.
“Let me see.”
Her head snapped up. “What? No.”
“Why not?”
“Because-” She gestured vaguely. “It’s embarrassing.”
He raised an eyebrow. “We just had sex. You took my knot. And now you’re embarrassed?”
She groaned and covered her face with both hands. “I’m fine. It’s just a little uncomfortable. It’ll go away.”
“Let me see,” he repeated, gentler this time. “I need to know I didn’t hurt you.”
She peeked at him through her fingers.
“Fine,” she muttered, dropped her hands, and flopped back against the pillows.
“But I’m covering my face.” To make her point, she grabbed the pillow next to her and pressed it over her head.
Then, reluctantly, cheeks burning under the cotton, she let her thighs fall open.
She felt the mattress shift as he moved, positioning himself between her legs, and she fought the urge to close them again.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then she heard him exhale slowly.
She was puffy and glistening, lips parted and swollen from the stretch. The knot had left her entrance soft and slightly open, tender-looking, and a slow, steady trickle of his cum was still leaking out of her, thick white against her skin. Every few seconds, her inner muscles fluttered, and some more slipped free.
Bucky’s breath caught, roughly.
Guilt hit him first -sharp, familiar, ugly-. He’d done that. He’d lost control and-
Then the second wave hit him: raw, possessive heat. Seeing her like this -his mark on her, his cum still dripping out because her body couldn’t hold it all- made his spent cock twitch against his thigh and his chest rumble low in his throat.
He didn’t say anything. Just lowered himself between her legs, cupping the back of her knee with his hand to keep her open.
“Bucky-” Her voice was muffled by the pillow, uncertain.
“Shh. Let me take care of you.”
The first touch of his tongue was feather-light, just tracing the tender rim where she was most tender. She jerked, a small, shocked sound escaping her lips.
He paused, waiting. When she didn’t close her legs, he did it again, slower, lapping gently at the mess he’d left. The taste of them together rolled over his tongue, and he groaned quietly against her skin.
He kept it soft.
No sucking, no pressure on her clit yet. Just warm, wet laps that soothed the ache, cleaned her gently, and worshipped the damage he’d done.
Every time another dribble of cum slipped out, he caught it, curling his tongue to push it back inside or swallow it down like he couldn’t stand to waste it.
Her thighs started trembling. The pillow slipped off her face; her hands fisted in the sheets.
“Bucky… I’m still sensitive-”
“I know,” he murmured, lips brushing her swollen folds. “Just cleaning you up. Relax for me.”
He drifted higher, tongue tracing feather-light circles around her clit, never quite touching it. When he finally flicked over the hood -barely there- she arched with a broken gasp. He did it again, softer, then sealed his mouth over her and sucked once -gentle, reverent, coaxing-
A helpless sound slipped from her throat. She rocked her hips in tiny, involuntary circles, chasing and retreating at once. The soreness was still there, a dull throb beneath the skin, but his tongue turned it into something warm and liquid that pooled low in her belly.
He slid one arm beneath her, lifting her just enough to angle her better, and licked deeper, deliberate strokes that lapped at the tender places his knot had stretched. Each pass sent a fresh shiver through her body, softer than the last, until the pleasure crested again, quiet and inevitable.
She came with barely any sound at all: just a long, shuddering exhale that trembled out of her as her thighs clamped weakly around his head.
He stayed with her through every aftershock, easing her down until she went completely boneless, fingers loosely tangled in his hair, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven waves.
Only then did he crawl back up. He pressed a final gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh before he settled beside her again, pulled the sheet over them, and tucked her against his chest.
“Better?” he asked, voice low, still rough with lingering want and guilt.
She managed a small, exhausted hum -something between a yes and a sigh-and burrowed deeper into him, nose pressed to the hollow of his throat.
He tightened his arm around her. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you,” he whispered into her hair.
She shook her head against his chest. “Stop. I’m good. Really good.”
He exhaled, shaky, and pressed his lips to her temple.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, so quietly he almost missed it: “You know we’re going to have to talk about this, right? About… us.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”
“But not right now,” she finished for him, already half-asleep.
“Not right now,” he echoed,
She nodded against his chest; her eyes already drifted closed.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Later.”
“Later,” he agreed.
And for now, that was enough.
----
She didn’t open the shop that day. She didn’t even think about it.
They spent the entire day in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, tangled together in a way that should’ve been uncomfortable but somehow wasn’t.
Bucky, she discovered, was clingy.
Not in an overbearing way, but in small, constant gestures: he sought her hand with his, pressed his nose against her neck, draped his tail across her hip even when he was half-asleep.
Like he needed the reassurance that she was still there. That this was real.
And honestly, who could blame him?
With his past, everything he’d been through, it made perfect sense that he wanted to hold on to something good for as long as he could.
Nothing else happened again.
She couldn’t.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting to touch her.
“Take this off,” he murmured at some point in the afternoon and tugged lightly at the hem of her shirt.
She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Want to see you.”
Her face heated slightly, but she didn’t argue. She pulled the shirt over her head, tossed it aside, then unclasped her bra. The cool air of the room brushed against her bare skin and she felt exposed under his gaze.
Bucky’s eyes darkened as he drank her in. He lifted his hand slowly, almost reverently, and traced a path with his fingers from her collarbone downward. He cupped one breast gently and brushed his thumb over the sensitive peak, watching intently as it hardened under his touch.
He leaned in closer and followed his hand with his mouth. He closed his lips around the nipple in a soft, warm suck, flicked his tongue lightly, then circled it, drawing out the sensation with deliberate slowness. The pull shot sparks straight through her; she arched her back just a fraction as heat began to build again low in her belly.
He switched to the other side, kneading gently with his hand while his mouth worked, the rhythm unhurried but insistent. His tail flicked lazily against the sheets, a low rumble vibrating in his chest as he lost himself in the moment. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him there, her breathing growing uneven. It felt Good -too good- and she could feel that familiar warmth pooling, her body betraying her resolve.
But then the soreness between her thighs throbbed in reminder, sharp enough to cut through the haze. She couldn't. Not yet.
"Bucky," she whispered, her voice breathless but firm, gently tugging his hair to pull him back. "We have to stop. I... I can't right now.”
He lifted his head immediately, eyes searching hers with a mix of concern and reluctance. His hand lingered for a second longer before dropping away, though he didn't move far, still pressed close. "Sorry," he murmured, voice rough. "Didn't mean to push."
She shook her head, offering a small smile to soften it.
He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder instead, his clinginess undimmed as he settled back against her.
"Your turn," she said, reaching for his shirt.
He hesitated.
Just for a second.
She'd seen him shirtless before. More than once. But that had been different. Practical. Functional.
This was... not that.
This was her looking at him the way he was looking at her.
And that made him aware of things he usually tried not to think about. The missing arm. The scar tissue where it had been severed. The other scars scattered across his torso, some from fights, some from things he didn't want to remember.
But she was already removing his shirt and pulling the t-shirt up, and he didn't stop her. She eased it over his head carefully, mindful of his arm, and tossed it aside with hers.
Then she just... looked.
Her hands came up slowly, fingers tracing the line of his collarbone, then lower, over his chest.
He stayed still, watching her face, waiting for- he wasn't sure what. Pity, maybe. Disgust.
But she didn't look disgusted.
She looked... soft. Focused.
Her fingers found a scar along his ribs -a long, jagged thing from a knife that had gotten too close- and she leaned in and kissed it.
He sucked in a breath.
She kissed another one. And another. Moving across his chest, his stomach, mapping him with her mouth like she was memorizing him.
When she reached the scarring where his arm ended, she paused.
Then pressed her lips there too.
Gentle. Reverent.
His throat tightened.
"You don't have to-" he started, his voice rough.
“I know,” she said quietly and pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “I want to.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then he drew her up and kissed her, slow and deep, because words weren’t enough for what roared inside him.
She melted into it, winding her arms around his neck and tangling her legs with his. The kiss started soft, grateful, almost reverent; then it turned hungry, like he tried to pour everything he couldn’t say straight into her mouth.
When they finally broke apart, foreheads still pressed together, she felt it: the unmistakable press against her thigh, thick and fully hard again.
No rush this time. No frantic clothes, no workshop table, no desperate need to be inside her right that second. Just golden afternoon light spilling across the sheets and his cock resting heavy against her skin: flushed dark, already slick at the tip, the knot at the base already a little swollen even though he wasn’t close yet.
She had felt it before -God, had she felt it-, but she had never really seen it.
Now she could.
Curiosity and a quiet thrill bloomed in her chest. She wanted to know every inch of him, every ridge and detail. And she wanted to make him feel as cared-for as he had made her.
“Let me…” she whispered, voice soft but certain.
He followed her gaze and sucked in a sharp breath when he realized what she was studying. His ears flicked back, a faint flush climbed his neck, but he didn’t protest. He just nodded and rested his hand lightly on her hip.
She shifted lower on the bed and settled between his legs, tracing her palms up his thighs first -warm, solid muscle flexing under her touch-.
He tensed for a heartbeat, then relaxed while his tail swept slow and lazy across the sheets.
Finally, she wrapped her fingers around him and paused just to feel: the heat pouring off his skin, the velvet smoothness stretched over steel-hard firmness. It was unlike anything she’d ever known -The tip narrowing to a sleek point that made her cheeks burn when she remembered how easily it had slipped inside her earlier, how deep it went-.
As she slid her hand lower, he thickened, swelling toward the base where the knot had formed. Now soft but still obvious, a subtle ridge that promised everything.
She stroked him slowly, testing, and watched his cock twitch in her grip. A dribble of precum ran down the tip. He let out a low, rough sound -half groan, half growl- and shifted his hips a fraction before he forced himself still.
“You like this?” she asked and glanced up at him through her lashes.
His eyes had gone almost black, pupils blown wide, fixed on her face. “Yeah,” he rasped, voice shredded. “Just like that.”
Emboldened, she leaned closer and let her breath ghost over him. She traced the tapered head with her thumb, spread the slickness down his length, then followed with her tongue: one slow, tentative lick along the underside, tasting him.
He shuddered and fisted his hand in the sheets beside him; claws pricking the fabric.
She took her time exploring, pressing soft kisses along the shaft, swirling her tongue around the tip, and coaxing out more of that wetness. When she finally took him into her mouth and sucked gently on the narrow head, his growl deepened and vibrated straight through her.
“Fuck,” he breathed. He fisted his hand on her hair -gentle, despite the tremor running through his body-. “You don’t have to-”
“I want to,” she murmured against him, sinking lower, taking more of him, and working the thick base with her hand in perfect time with her mouth.
He refused to thrust too hard, but he rocked his hips in tiny, subtle waves, chasing the heat of her mouth.
She felt him pulse against her tongue and grow even harder as she sucked, hollowing her cheeks on every upstroke. The knot at the base swelled under her fingers -not fully, but enough- yet enough to make her hum in appreciation around him.
Bucky dropped his head back against the pillow, baring his throat, and let a low, continuous growl roll out of him. His abs flexed; his thigh muscles jumped beneath her arm.
His breathing shredded, ears pinned flat, tail thumped once against the mattress.
“Close,” he warned, voice wrecked, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Just took him deeper instead, and squeezed the base with her hand, sucking harder, flicking her tongue without mercy.
He came with a groan and jerked his hips as thick pulses flooded her mouth. She swallowed the first heavy rush, but there was too much, too fast. The rest spilled hot over her fingers, her wrist, his stomach. The knot flared fully beneath her palm and throbbed with every wave in helpless, rhythmic throbs.
And it didn’t stop.
Long after the first shuddering peak, his body kept giving. Slow, heavy pulses rolled through him, one after another, each coaxing another lazy spurt from the flushed tip.
The knot stayed swollen and tight, glistening, every throb sending a fresh ribbon of cum sliding down his shaft to pool warm against his skin. The sight was filthy and beautiful: his cock jerked softly with every heartbeat, completely out of his control, marking the sheets, her hand, his own abs in slow, endless surrender.
When he regained some control, his eyes flew open, pupils blown wide with raw panic.
“Fuck- fuck, -” His voice cracked, mortified. His ears flattened against his dark hair, and crimson flooded his cheeks.
He scrambled with his arm, claws scraped the sheets, snatched her nightgown from under the pillow, and slapped it over himself in a frantic rush, trying to hide the still-dripping length and the swollen knot that refused to go down.
The soft cotton soaked through instantly, and clung transparently to every ridge and vein, and only made the mess more obscene.
“Bucky!” she breathed, half-laugh, half-gasp, the sound catching in her throat because he looked heartbreakingly gorgeous even while he fell apart.
He refused to meet her eyes. He curved his shoulders inward, tucking his tail tight between his thighs, and pressed the ruined shirt harder against himself.
His breath burst out in short, humiliated pants. The knot pulsed again beneath the fabric; another thick drop seeped through and darkened the cloth right over the tip.
She crawled up the bed slowly, deliberately, letting him feel every inch of her advance, then peeled the soaked shirt away with gentle fingers. It left his skin with a soft, wet sound; thin strands of cum stretched and snapped between cotton and flesh.
She tossed it aside without looking and stared at him.
“Hey,” she whispered, cupping his burning face in both hands and stroking the flushed heat of his cheeks with her thumbs. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
He tried. His gaze flickered to hers, darted away, then dragged back, blue eyes glassy with shame, ears still pinned flat, jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped.
“Bucky. It’s… sexy.”
His eyes snapped to hers, disbelieving, almost angry.
“It’s fucking embarrassing,” he growled, voice low and shredded. “It’s not the same as being inside-”
She rolled her eyes so hard he felt the breeze, and then shut him up the only way that ever worked: she leaned in and kissed him, slow and filthy and certain. When she finally eased back an inch, his pupils had swallowed the blue again, lips wet and parted.
“Stop arguing with me about what turns me on,” she murmured and brushed the corner of his mouth with her thumb.
He stared at her for a long beat, chest heaving, ears still half-flat, the flush on his cheeks now a different, deeper red. Without a word, he tightened his arm around her waist and dragged her until she sprawled fully on top of him, sticky skin against sticky skin, heartbeat crashing against heartbeat.
And this time, he didn’t hide a single slow, traitorous pulse that slipped out of him.
----
Later, much later, when the light outside had softened into late afternoon, she asked the question that had been hanging between them all day.
“What does this mean?”
He lay on his back; she rested her head on his chest while he traced idle patterns on her shoulder with his hand.
“What do you want it to mean?” he asked, voice low.
She lifted her head and met his eyes. “I asked you first.”
He twitched the corner of his mouth. “That’s not an answer.”
She sighed and propped herself up on her elbow to see his face clearly. “I want to try this,” she said and gestured between them. “Us. If you do.”
He went quiet and stilled his hand on her shoulder; she caught something flicker in his expression. Uncertainty, maybe, or fear.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said finally, voice low and cautious.
“Do what?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely. “The… relationship thing. I’ve never-” He stopped, and his jaw clenched. “It was never an option before. You take what you can get, when you can get it. And then it’s over.”
She froze. Went completely still, and he felt it instantly, the shift in her body, the way her breathing sharpened.
Fuck.
“I didn’t-” He closed his eyes and flexed his hand against her shoulder. “That came out wrong.”
“Did it?” Her voice stayed carefully neutral.
“Yes.” He forced himself to meet her eyes, even though every instinct screamed to look away. “That’s not… that’s not what I want this to be.”
She watched him now, carefully guarded.
“What do you want it to be then?” she asked quietly.
He turned his gaze to the ceiling.
“I want to try,” he said, the words scraping out rougher than he meant.
He felt her shift beside him, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“I know it’ll be complicated,” he continued, voice tight. “People will have opinions. He paused and worked his jaw. “And I get it if you don’t want to shout it from the rooftops, but I’m not going to be your dirty little secret either.”
The words landed harsher than he wanted, but they were out now.
She stayed quiet for a long beat.
“Look at me.”
He didn’t want to.
But she cupped his jaw, gentle but firm, and turned his face to hers.
“I’m not ashamed of you. And I’m not going to hide you. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it for real. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
He searched her face, looking for any hint of hesitation.
There wasn't any.
“People are going to judge you.” he said quietly. "You know that, right? Talk about you. Some of your customers might-"
"Let them," she interrupted. "I didn't bring you home to care what strangers think. And if someone has a problem with us being together, they can take their business elsewhere."
His jaw clenched.
"You say that now-"
“Bucky.” She held his gaze, unflinching. “I’m not stupid. I know exactly what it means. And I’m choosing it anyway. I’m choosing you.”
Then she snorted softly, some of the tension easing from her voice. "And it's not like we're committing some unforgivable sin. Richard's been with a bull hybrid for years. They don’t parade shouting it out -some social circles are particular about that kind of thing- but they don't hide it either. They just... live their lives. People think he's eccentric and move on."
Bucky's brow furrowed slightly. "I didn't know that."
“My point is, it's not unheard of. And honestly? The kind of people who still come to the shop, who might come because of the podcast, they're already pro-hybrid. That's the whole point of the interview: showing that hybrids can integrate, can work, can contribute. The people who have a problem with that weren't going to shop here anyway."
He was quiet for a moment, processing.
"So you're saying anyone who'd care is already gone?"
"Pretty much." She traced a finger along his collarbone absently. "Obviously, there'll always be idiots like that guy who came at us on the street. It's not going to be all sunshine and rainbows. But..." She paused, meeting his eyes. "Life isn't easy in general. This is just... one more thing to add to the cocktail."
He was quiet for a moment, processing.
Then he shifted.
He rolled onto his side, using his momentum to lever himself over her, settling his weight carefully between her thighs. His hand came up to cup her face, brushing his thumb along her cheek as he looked down at her.
His eyes were dark, intense, full of things he didn't have words for.
Things he'd probably never have words for.
But he could show her.
He leaned down and kissed her -slow, deep, deliberate- conveying everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips against hers.
Next Chapter
This was pure filth and I ate this UP!
Val, you’ve done it again. I was out here blushing, wiggling my toes, and needed a damn water break halfway though. I thought I was ready, and dear gods above- I was not.
“"Want to know how it feels inside you?" he asked, voice scraped low, barely above a growl, then he leaned in and brushed his nose against the side of her neck, inhaling deeply.”
I had to take a deep breath because holy fuck.
“"I'm not doing this," he muttered, still refusing to look at her.
"Why not? You were doing plenty a minute ago."”
I’m fucking dead!
Mother I praise thee. Thank you for this fest!
