you know i have to ask about more buppy
i'm still trying to hash out the circumstances Surrounding another scene but. maybe it doesn't need circumstances. maybe they're just playing. pwp is a respected and storied genre, right? anyway, time for puppies to get bred what who said that:
The leash rattles, a cool line down his back and along his side; Curt's got the loop round his wrist and his arm round Bucky’s waist, the chain sandwiched between their skin, a loose weight on his collar. Curt’s other hand clutches hard at Bucky’s hip. “Again.”
He's not supposed to talk this much but—that's his own rule. Curt’s never said not to. And if Curt wants him to, he wants to be good, do what he's told. It’s easier with the words still close, and “Yours,” spools off his tongue like it's nothing. Keeps spilling, “m’yours, your dog, your—” he chokes on a sharp thrust catching him right, lets the rest tumble out. “Your good dog.”
Hitches up in the middle, because he wants to be, he wants to hear it but maybe he’s not, maybe asking at all makes him bad, a really good dog wouldn't want the words so badly, he'd just be—
“Yeah, my good boy,” Curt pants against his shoulder. Bucky goes slack, whining, the words like liquid fire down his throat.