bucky likes to be wanted. he likes to be useful. he likes to fit easily into t'challa's hands, rest upon the span of his lap, not too fragile, not too strong. his nose is tucked against the underside of his jaw, mouthing kisses around his jugular that fluctuated between needy and intense, to soft and lazy. very base expressions of affection. few others brought this kind of sedation out of him. he felt at ease here, safe in the arms of one so unmatched, worthy of love and to be touched with a delicate hand.
(aggression was always mutual play, these days. bucky was long over his stirring frustrations, but, god, if he didn't enjoy being tamed--)
t'challa's hand slides over the band tracing bucky's venus dimples, finds the lace. he gives him a look that bucky reads as muted surprise, and he can't even find it in him to be embarrassed. why would he be? honestly--he'd had trouble finding a pair that fit over his thighs. he grins, bites his lip.