Bookmarked
Roommate!Bucky X Reader
Summary: Take two roommates who drive each other up the wall, add one smutty book with a compelling premise, and watch them nearly kill each other. Or kiss. Or both, and then some.
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MDNI) p in v, fingering, praise kink, use of a vibrator, softdom!bucky, a touch of perv!bucky because you know I can’t resist that man
A/N: Y’all, this was a bitch and a half to write, but the idea simply would not leave me alone. It took so many days that I wanted to be spending on other projects, but I rather like how this turned out. Proofread by only me and my human eyes.
Your book is just starting to get good when Bucky walks into the apartment.
You let out a long-suffering sigh and lean forward, laying the book in your lap and doing your best to focus on the page. Not on the six-foot super soldier you share a wall with, who is currently wrapped like a present in one of those infuriatingly tight compression shirts, his hair still sweaty from his workout.
“Morning, doll,” he greets you as he tosses his gym bag in the middle of the floor (where it certainly doesn’t belong) and moseys over to the kitchen.
“Morning. You lift those heavy things real good?” you ask, feigning disinterest as you turn a page. “Lift heavier things than the other guy?”
“Something like that,” he replies with a smirk before opening the fridge. “What’re you reading?”
You should have known he would ask. His favorite activity seemed to be bothering you with a million questions while you attempted to read in peace. But you’re sorely unprepared to field questions about this particular book. You already know he’ll give you endless shit if he gets wind of the… scandalous subject matter.
It certainly doesn’t help that you’ve been trying to picture anyone but your annoyingly hot roommate as you read it.
So you evade. “A critically acclaimed novel titled None of Your Business.”
Bucky snorts. “Let me guess. The protagonist is a real smartass.” His attention drifts back to the fridge, and he sighs in frustration. “Who forgot to buy more milk, again.”
You scold yourself internally and shoot him a remorseful look over the edge of the couch. “Oops?”
He rolls his eyes, sauntering into the living room to lean on the back of the couch. “Maybe if you didn’t have your head buried in a book all the time, you’d occasionally observe the things that need doing around our real-world apartment,” he chides.
Childishly, you roll your eyes right back. It keeps them from lingering on the way the veins stand out from his forearm, or how his biceps (flesh and metal) strain against the sleeves of his shirt, or how he’s looking down at you like you’re his favorite problem in the world.
And then he leans closer, peering over your shoulder to get a look at what you’re reading.
Nope. You snap the book shut, tuck it under your arm, and head in the direction of your room. “I’ll leave the observing to the bionic staring machine, thank you very much.”
“Where you going?” he asks.
“To read in peace,” you say over your shoulder. “You talk too much.”
“Try not to miss me,” he calls after you as you shut the door. You can hear the smirk in it even if you don’t see it. Annoyance, followed by a heat that you don’t dare to examine, crawls under your skin, itchy and uncomfortable.
So much for peace, you think as you flop onto the bed and crack open your book again.
Bucky can tell when you’re hiding something from him. It’s really not hard - you’re a terrible liar, worse at keeping secrets. It's actually sort of adorable - almost as adorable as how mad you get when he finds you out.
And it would be a waste of his training in intelligence work if he didn’t try to figure out what you’re keeping from him.
The first step is to get your defenses down, so Bucky makes a stop on the way home from his briefing with Sam.
When he unlocks the door and steps through the threshold, he finds you reclined on the couch, book in hand, the cover surreptitiously hidden behind your propped up knees. Bucky feigns innocence and places the bag from Din Soup on the counter with a flourish. “I got takeout.”
You groan in relief, pry yourself out of the you-shaped dent in the couch, and tuck your book under your arm. “Thank god, I'm starving.”
Bucky unpacks the order, and you both begin to fill your plates from the various containers. Unable to resist, he pokes you with a pair of chopsticks and asks, “Still reading your secret book?”
“It's not secret,” you reply, your tone suspiciously even. You have a terrible poker face.
“Oh yeah? What’s it about?” he prods, dropping a stray lo mein noodle into his mouth.
You shoot him a withering look. “It’s about the world’s most annoying roommate.”
“Sounds dumb,” he retorts with his mouth full. “Who’d write a book about you?”
“Hilarious. Pass the soup dumplings, idiot,” you demand, shoving his shoulder with all the strength of a malnourished chihuahua.
How can he not smile at that, when you call him ‘idiot’ like it’s a term of endearment? Still, he doesn’t allow it to distract him. “You didn’t answer my question,” he presses after handing you the requested container.
“Didn’t i?” Your eyes are on the takeout again, avoiding his.
“You don’t want me to know what you’re reading.” He says it less like an accusation and more like a statement of fact.
You let out that frustrated little huff he adores, the one you save for the special brand of exasperation only he can bring out in you. “God, you are just allergic to minding your own business, aren’t you?”
“Is it a romance?” he teases, looking for a reaction.
You roll your eyes. “Jesus.”
It’s not a denial, and you still won’t look at him, so Bucky suspects that he’s on the trail. “It is, isn’t it? That’s why you don’t wanna tell me.”
He leans on the counter and gives you a devilish grin. “Let me guess, it’s some Pride and Prejudice-style romance with lots of yearning and accidental hand touching and quivering.”
You cock an eyebrow in response. “Quivering?”
“Lots.”
Again, you roll your eyes so hard, Bucky's surprised they don’t pop right out of your skull. “You know what? You got me. I'm a huge fan of the quiver genre.”
You turn to carry your plate to the couch, and Bucky sees an opening. A metal hand flashes out and plucks the book from underneath your arm before you have time to react.
There’s a loud clatter as you drop your plate on the counter and whirl around to face him. “Hey!” you protest, reaching out to snatch it back, but it’s already too late. He jerks it away from you and examines the cover with curiosity.
And it’s not what he expected at all.
It’s better.
Emblazoned on the cover is an artist’s rendering of an attractive man with piercing blue eyes, his shirt unbuttoned scandalously low to reveal a muscular chest. The title is equally as interesting.
“Praise?” he reads off the cover, grinning like the cat who got the cream.
Your cheeks flush scarlet as you try again to grab the book out of his hands. “Bucky, give that back or I swear-“
Fortunately, Bucky is much faster and much taller than you, and he keeps the book out of your reach easily. “Oh my god, you’ve been reading smut. Right in the middle of our apartment.”
The mere idea makes his cock twitch with interest - he’s only a man after all. And to think of all those times you sat in the same room as him while you read literary porn, trying to keep a straight face, maybe trying to keep from pressing your thighs together-
As compelling as that mental image is, the reality of you in front of him is even more entertaining. “Please stop,” you beg, covering your burning face with your hands.
But Bucky is having far too much fun to stop.
“Is it any good?” he asks playfully, making a show of leafing through the pages.
“I- I haven’t formed an opinion yet,” you stammer, your blush turning impossibly deeper. You jump in an attempt to steal back the book. “Now give it back!”
Still he holds it out of your reach, then plants a palm on your head like a child to keep you away, laughing as you struggle uselessly against him. He squints to read the blurb on the back. The first line is so incriminating that he just has to read it aloud.
“‘She's a good girl, but she’s falling for the wrong man’?”
Vibrating with rage, you break free from his grip. “I will fucking kill you, I swear to god!” You lunge for the book, essentially climbing him like a furious monkey to get to it.
“Jesus, will you relax? I’m trying to read.” He plays nonchalant even as he tries to shake you off, enjoying himself immensely.
“James Buchanan Barnes, I will stab you with a pair of chopsticks!” You grab a pair off the counter, and you look so enraged that for a moment, Bucky believes you might actually try to use them.
“Okay, okay!” He holds up his hands in mock surrender. You make a move for the book, and he once again jerks it away. “Put down the utensils, take a breath, and I'll give it back.”
After a moment of consideration, you drop the chopsticks on the counter with a scowl. Bucky takes an exaggerated breath in, gesturing for you to follow. Even though the anger radiating off you is palpable, you take a deep breath anyway.
Bucky holds out the book in front of you, flashes his most disarming smile, and says, “Good girl.”
Your eyes widen, your face flushing all over again. You snatch the book, grab your plate from the counter, and hiss, “You are insufferable.” Then you turn on your heel and stomp off to your room, slamming the door like a teenager.
Bucky snickers under his breath.
You know that won’t be the end of it, before you even slam your door.
Bucky loves to torment you, and the bigger a reaction he gets, the more likely he is to continue. You shouldn’t have let yourself be so angry, so obviously embarrassed, but no one could get under your skin like him. In the months you’d been living together, he’d successfully located almost every single button you had and pressed them at will. Now that he’d found a new button, there was no way he’d leave it untouched.
By some stroke of luck, you manage to avoid him the following morning until you leave for work. Nothing to distract you like an absolutely punishing eight hour shift of work. When quitting time comes around, you feel dead on your feet, and probably look worse.
Your reward for a hard day’s work? Bucky, splayed out on the couch like an Epicurean figure in an Italian painting, eyes sparkling with mischief as soon as you walk in the door.
“The prodigal roommate returns.”
“I’m not in the mood,” you deadpan as you drop your keys in the dish.
“In the mood for what?” he asks innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”
You suppress a sigh and open the fridge. “It’s only a matter of time.”
Bucky sits up, eyeing the grocery store bag in your hand. “You bought milk?”
“Yes, Bucky.” Unable to keep the snipe out of your voice, you all but toss the jug into the fridge and push the door shut. “I do remember to do the things you ask me to every once in a while.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good girl.”
You’d been preparing for it mentally, but when the words fall from his lips, it’s like the first time he said it all over again. Your face superheats in record time, shame mixing with something else in your stomach. Something like arousal.
Because, despite your annoyance and embarrassment, you’d liked it.
“I - you -” Sputtering and angry and annoyingly turned on, you make an incoherent noise of frustration and stalk off to your room again.
You don’t slam the door this time. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. But the image of his smirk as you close the door burns into your eyelids.
————————————
Bucky hasn’t had this much fun in a while.
This little discovery he’d made is the gift that keeps on giving. It’s just too easy. All it takes is a compliment, deliberately worded, and you whip around with a flush in your cheeks and a storm in your eyes. He gets the best reaction with those two little words that have become his favorite in the whole dictionary. Two little syllables that light you up like a match every single time.
The only drawback is that he can’t stop thinking about what you’d look like if he said those words to you in more… compromising positions. These brief, fleeting fantasies were becoming distracting, borderline problematic. He's had to stop wearing sweatpants around the apartment. Even still, he has no intention of letting this go.
Bucky's reverie is broken by the opening of your door. Whatever teasing jibe he’d been thinking up in the last five minutes while washing the dishes dissolves in his brain like soap in hot water. You’re wearing that little skirt he likes, the one with the slight flare that swishes when you walk and the hem that rides the line between appropriate and decidedly inappropriate.
“I’ll be back late,” you inform him casually as you attempt to keep your balance while slipping on your heels. “Don’t wait up.”
The motion causes the hem of your skirt to ride up. Bucky doesn’t even pretend not to stare. “Where you headed?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I have a date.” You pull out your phone to check your appearance, fiddling with an earring and adjusting your lipstick.
Bucky raises an eyebrow as he dries a plate. “A date, huh?”
“Easy with the tone of surprise, Barnes," you return playfully, though your expression betrays a hint of nerves as you try to get your hair to fall just so.
Though he’d never admit it, the idea of you going out on a date with some guy is doing complicated things to Bucky's head and heart. Both of you had gone on your fair share of failed dates since you moved in together. But that was before… well, before.
The way you frown at your reflection in the phone makes something twist in Bucky's chest. He dries his hands and faces you. “Stop fussing, doll. You look beautiful.”
That gets you to look up from your phone, surprised, then wary. “Are - are you making fun of me again?”
“No, I mean it,” he replies earnestly. “You always look beautiful.”
The words seem to break past your defenses. Your eyes widen, and you swallow nervously, but you put your phone into your purse and you stop touching your hair so much.
As you hunt for your wallet and keys, Bucky asks, because he has to. “So, who’s the guy?”
“Liam. From the corner store.”
And Bucky's good mood is officially ruined.
Liam. The corner store manager who flirts shamelessly with you every chance he gets, who has been sniffing after you for months now. The one who had made you blush last week when he complimented your smile, and had Bucky seeing red all the way from the drinks aisle.
“Yeah, I know who Liam is,” he mumbles, wadding up the dishtowel and tossing it on the counter childishly.
“Why are you making that face?” you ask, hooking your purse over your shoulder. "He's nice.”
Bucky starts putting away the dishes with a little more force than necessary. "He's nice to you, because he’s been trying to get in your pants since you moved in. He's a sleaze.”
You plant your hands on your hips stubbornly. “He is not. He’s single, he’s cute, he’s employed-”
“You have got to get higher standards than that,” he snipes. He hates how jealous he sounds, how pathetic.
“Okay, what’s got your panties in a twist?” you demand, voice sharpening.
That’s when Bucky snaps. Determined to get the upper hand, he steps in towards you and says in a deceptively calm voice, “I don't wear panties, but I'll bet five dollars that you’re wearing your date night panties right now.”
He knows he’s probably gone too far, but it works, because your jaw drops, and your cheeks turn an alarming shade of red. “Excuse me?”
Bucky smirks. “Y’know, the lacy blue ones you wear when you’re trying to get laid.” The little gasp that escapes your mouth tells him he’s right on the money, which only makes him grin wider.
“You are such a pervert!” You grab the wadded up dishtowel off the counter and throw it at him. “You’ve been scoping out my underwear?”
“Can’t exactly help it when you parade around in those short little skirts while you’re getting ready,” he retorts.
Indignant, you tug down the hem of your skirt self-consciously and snarl, “You’re an asshole.” The sound of your heels pounding the hardwood echoes off the walls as you angrily stride to the front door.
Bucky can’t resist one more dig. “Don't worry, I'm sure Liam will love them. Maybe he’ll give you some of that praise you want so bad.”
You grab your coat and shoot one last fiery glance back at him. “Fuck. You.”
“You should let him borrow your book,” he calls after you, just to get the last word. “Have him take notes!”
But the door has already slammed, and he’s shouting at the coatrack. Bucky sighs and drags a frustrated hand over his face.
Pathetic.
You’re so angry you could spit.
Getting asked on a date was the one non-humiliating thing that happened to you all week, and Bucky managed to sour your mood before it even started. And now you are sitting across from a perfectly nice guy who is buying you dinner, and all you can think about is your goddamn roommate.
It's so completely unfair, because Liam is great. He's good-looking, and charming, and even occasionally funny. This might have been a really nice date, if you weren’t so hot under the collar and humiliatingly damp between your legs thinking about the argument you’d had with Bucky.
By the time you both finish your meals, it’s clear to the both of you that your mind is elsewhere and your heart isn’t in it. You apologize, twisting your napkin in your lap. Liam offers you a wan smile and pays the bill, and says something about next time.
You already know there won’t be a next time.
Fueled by two glasses of wine and the fury of a woman mocked too many times, you stomp down the hallway and throw open the apartment door, violently wrestling off your coat.
Predictably, Bucky is reclined on the couch, looking at his phone until your entrance startles him back to the present. “Thought you said you’d be back late.”
You huff angrily, freeing yourself from your coat and tossing it in the direction of the coatrack, and then turn on Bucky. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Come again?” he asks, sitting up.
You kick off your heels and plant yourself firmly by the arm of the couch. “You know, what I read in the privacy of my own home is nobody’s business, especially not yours. It's perfectly healthy and it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He opens his mouth to throw some asinine comment back at you, but you steamroll him. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to constantly humiliate me in my own fucking apartment!”
Silence hangs in the air a moment as he absorbs your words and you catch your breath.
“Finished?” Bucky asks patiently, like he’s got all the time in the world.
You toss your hair out of your eyes and try to regain some composure. “For the moment.”
He sits forward, deeply amused. “Good for you, standing up for yourself. Wasn’t sure you had it in you. I'm proud of you, sweetheart.”
That turns you nuclear. You rip your purse off your shoulder and huck it towards him. “Stop fucking praising me!”
He flinches back from the flying projectile. “Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” Bucky gets to his feet and walks towards you, that maddening smirk reappearing on his face. “I guess nothing, since you came home before ten p.m. just to scream at me. Is that the problem? Are we a little… frustrated?”
You refuse to take the bait. “Why are you fucking with me like this?” you demand.
His smirk turns wicked. “Because you’re cute when you’re so wound up.”
You will your cheeks not to flush. “I'm being serious, Bucky.”
“So am I,” he insists, walking even closer. You step back to try and put some space between you, but Bucky pursues you. “You scrunch up your nose and your eyes get all fiery. And you get this little crease between your eyebrows.”
He reaches up a hand and gently strokes it across the space between your brows. “Right here. Drives me crazy.”
Your brain fully bluescreens for a moment. It occurs to you that you’ve been holding your breath, that your back is suddenly pressed to the wall. When had he backed you into the wall?
You swallow nervously. “You… what are you doing?”
His eyes pin you to the spot. Everywhere you look, Bucky is there. He's so close he fills your vision, so close you can breathe in his cologne. What is happening right now? your brain practically screams.
His thumb moves, tracing along the edge of your jaw. “And the best part is watching you pretend you don’t like it,” he murmurs. “That it doesn’t turn you on when I tell you how good you’re being for me.”
That sends a wave of heat through your whole body, resolving in a demanding throb between your thighs. Half of you is sure that he’s still making fun of you, and the other half needs to hear him say it again.
“Tell me why you came home early from your date.” It's not a request, and the low rasp of his voice makes you want to do anything he tells you to.
“I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” you admit, because it’s impossible to think of a lie when he’s standing so close, when he’s touching you like this.
He hums to himself, pleased, his thumb stroking thoughtfully across your lower lip now. “You think about me when you’re reading that filthy little book of yours?”
You try to look anywhere but his face. “I-”
Bucky takes hold of your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, angling you up to look at him. “Tell the truth, doll.”
“…Yes.”
“Good girl.”
You’re embarrassingly wet now, thighs shifting against each other to try and ease the building need. And he knows - you can see in his eyes that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and it’s not a game to him anymore.
Bucky’s hand wanders lower, down your arm, down the slope of your waist. It lingers there, tracing lazy circles through the material of your shirt. He leans dangerously close, his face inches from yours. “You picture me when you turn on that vibrator, thinkin’ I can't hear all those little noises you make?”
Your eyes go wide. white-hot humiliation and even hotter arousal races through your veins. “You- you can hear that?”
“Super soldier hearing, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear. “I heard it every time. Surprised you couldn’t hear me fisting my cock on the other side of the wall just to the sound of you.” You can feel his lips against the shell of your ear, his breath against your neck as he purrs, “You sound so sweet when you come.”
Your knees might have given out if he didn’t have you pinned to the wall. “Oh my god,” you breathe, your head falling back against the wall.
You feel the ghost of his smile at your ear, even if you can’t see it. “It's not enough, is it? You need something real, don’t you?”
The slight shock of cold metal jolts you as his left hand brushes at the skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your skirt. Bucky pulls back just far enough to look you in the eye.
“Tell me what you want.”
You’re too far gone for denial or shame anymore. “Fuck, I- I want you,” you practically whimper. “Please.”
“Good girl,” he replies, and then his lips crash into yours.
It’s a claim, a promise, and a preview all rolled into one. His mouth is hot and commanding against yours, and his tongue easily parts your lips and slips between them like it was always meant to be there. Your hands fly to the back of his neck, to his hair, tugging at the nape without meaning to, just needing something to keep you upright. He doesn’t seem to mind - in fact, he groans into the kiss like he wants you to do it again.
His thigh slots between yours, easing your legs apart for him. You can feel him, rock hard and pressed against your hip. A gasp rips through your lungs, and you grind down onto his thigh on instinct. You cunt pulses gratefully, glad to finally have some semblance of contact. You rock against him again and again, the needy sounds you’re making swallowed by his mouth against yours.
Suddenly, Bucky breaks the kiss and his vibranium hand pins your hips to the wall. You whine, aching for more. You aren’t wanting for long, because his other hand slips beneath the hem of your skirt. When he strokes you through your damp underwear, he curses under his breath. You shudder and bite back a moan.
“Jesus, doll,” he mutters, forehead pressed against yours. “You've been like this since you walked in, haven’t you?”
“Since we fought,” you reply, breathless, trembling as he strokes you again.
Bucky lets out an almost pained groan and leans in, bypassing your lips to nip at your jaw. “You were on a date with another guy, soaked and thinking about me the whole time?” His fingers trace the edge of your panties.
“Yes,” you pant, your hips squirming uselessly against his grip. “Yes, please, Bucky, please just touch me.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, then plants a kiss in the hollow just below it. “I’ll take care of you.”
He nudges the dampened fabric to the side and you feel a warm, calloused finger drag through your folds. Your hips try and fail to chase his hand, still pinned in place by metal and gentle force.
The hand between your legs keeps moving, teasing, and Bucky pulls back to look at you again. “You gonna be good for me?”
“Yes, god, please, I’ll be good,” you whine desperately.
He smiles, cruel and beautiful and devastating. “I know you will.”
Then he pushes a finger inside of you, and your brain shuts down completely. Mercifully, the heel of his hand offers some friction against your clit as he pumps his finger in and out. You cling to his shoulders for stability, forehead falling forward against his collarbone.
“That’s it, baby,” he encourages you. “Hold onto me. Christ, you’re tight. Can you take another one?”
“Please,” you whisper.
Another finger slides in along the first, and you gasp against his chest, the stretch delicious and consuming. Bucky keeps the same unhurried pace, but there’s a ragged quality to his breathing that tells you he’s not completely unaffected.
“You feel like heaven,” he mumbles. “Can’t wait to be inside you, feel you squeeze my cock just like this.”
You hadn’t even thought that far ahead, and the prospect sends a thrill racing through you. He makes a come hither motion with his fingers that makes you cry out sharply.
“Close already?” he teases, and he does it again, humming his approval as your whole body tenses around it. “My sweet girl. So sensitive. So needy.”
His words draw a pathetic whimper from your throat. Bucky increases his pace, releases your hip in favor of placing his left hand at your throat. The cool metal only presses hard enough to ease you back against the wall, giving him room to look at you properly.
“Wanna see you fall apart on my fingers,” he rasps. “Wanna see if you look as pretty as you sound through the wall.”
Your hips buck into his hand, rolling with each stroke of his fingers inside you. He moves his thumb directly over your clit, circling it in time, and your orgasm burns through you, sudden and scorching.
Bucky’s hand keeps moving between you as you ride it out, the intensity of his gaze on your face warm like a heat lamp. Your incoherent cries of his name taper off to whimpers, and he carefully withdraws his fingers from you.
His lips find your temple. “Perfect. That was perfect, sweetheart.” He steadies you, since you can barely stand on your own, and kisses you tenderly, a stark contrast to everything that came before.
As infuriating as he can be sometimes, this is also a part of who Bucky is. He's the guy who cooks you dinner, who always lets you pick what movie to watch, who calls you beautiful and perfect like he really means it.
You melt against him, arms draping lazily around his neck as he kisses you. You'd be perfectly content to kiss him just like this for hours, but you can still feel his neglected erection between you, straining against the fabric of his jeans, and it sparks interest and want all over again.
Trailing a hand down his chest and abdomen, you grasp the waistband of his jeans, your fingers curling inside and brushing against his skin. Bucky responds enthusiastically, nipping at your bottom lip before locking eyes with you. “Your bed or mine?” he asks breathlessly.
“Don’t care,” you reply, leaning forward to drag your lips across his throat.
“Yours is closer.” He scoops you up, hitching your legs around his waist. Unable to resist, he takes advantage of the position to press you into the wall again, rutting himself against your ruined panties.
“Bucky, bed,” you remind him, even as the friction threatens to pull another moan out of you.
His throat works as he fights for composure. “Right. Bed.”
Bucky carries you to your room, nudges the door open with his foot, and makes his way to the bed. With the way he’s kissing you, you expect to be laid down like something fragile. Instead, he drops you unceremoniously onto the bed.
“Bucky!” you yelp, getting a few inches of air as you bounce on the mattress.
He grins boyishly and settles over you. Clothes are peeled away - first his shirt, followed by yours. He finds the zipper on the side of your skirt and lowers it slowly like he’s unwrapping a gift, then tugs the skirt down your legs and tosses it onto the floor. Bucky runs a finger along the inside of the waistband of your panties, the lacy blue ones, and playfully snaps the elastic. “I knew it.”
You huff in exasperation and reach for the button on his jeans. “Shut up and fuck me, Barnes.”
Bucky laughs out loud. “There she is.” He unzips his fly and shoves his jeans down and off. “First it’s ‘please touch me, Bucky, I’ll be good,’ and now it’s ‘shut up and fuck me’?”
He does shut up, finally, when you palm him through his boxers, a guttural groan falling from his lips.
“You talk too much,” you murmur, pulling him down to you.
Bucky makes short work of removing your bra, then runs his eyes over your chest in greedy appreciation. He palms both of your breasts, marveling at the way you arch up into his touch, the mewling sound that breaks out of your throat when he rolls a nipple between his fingers.
“Bucky, please hurry up,” you groan.
“So we’re back to ‘please’, then.”
“I hate you.”
He presses his lips to the swell of your breast and begins to pull down your underwear. “No, you don’t.”
When your panties and his boxers are both removed, you finally get an eyeful of him. Truthfully (and irritatingly), it’s the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen. Fairly long, thick, with a well-groomed dusting of hair at the base. It’s flushed beautifully and beading with arousal. He catches you staring with your lower lip caught between your teeth and smirks. “See something you like?”
“Definitely.” You open your legs invitingly for him. “What about you?”
He stares, swallows, settles between your legs again and asks, “Condom?”
“Bedside table drawer,” you reply automatically, only realizing your error when he’s already pulling it open. “Wait-”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky gasps as he pulls out the little pink vibrator that’s nestled between the box of condoms and your body lotion. He examines it with unbridled interest. “So this is what makes that buzzing sound, huh?”
You cover your face with your hands. “Please stop.”
“Absolutely not. This little guy and I are gonna get acquainted. Now, how do you -” He finds the button, and the machine hums to life in his hands. His eyes flash with mischief. “Huh.”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun. Put it back.” You reach for it, and he yanks it away.
“Doll, I've barely even started.” Bucky takes the vibrator and pushes it right against your clit.
It’s too much pleasure, too fast. You gasp like you’ve been electrocuted, your hand flying to his wrist. “Holy shit!” you cry, torn between pushing his hand away and keeping it there.
“Interesting,” he mutters as he watches your face with rapt attention. Your breath starts to come heavier, your hips start to shift and move under the little object in his hand. You see a lightbulb go off behind his eyes, and he takes your hand off his wrist and moves it to the vibrator. “Be a good girl and hold that there for me, huh?”
Your jaw practically drops, but god help you, you obey. Bucky takes his time reaching into the drawer for a condom, rolling it onto his cock, giving himself a few lazy strokes as he watches you squirm.
“Bucky,” you pant, “please.”
He moves close, replaces your hand with his own, but doesn’t remove the vibrator. You can feel the tip of him pressing at your entrance. “You ready for me, baby?”
“Yes, please, yes.”
Bucky begins to push in.
Once again, he takes his time, and some distant part of your brain wonders where all the seemingly endless patience and self-control comes from. But most of your brain whites out, consumed with the feeling of Bucky’s cock stretching you, compounded with the steady hum of the vibrator against your clit.
When he’s halfway inside and your nails start digging into his back, you feel his breath at your ear. “Easy, sweetheart. Almost there. You’re doing so good for me.”
You moan in reply, and like he’s spoken some kind of secret password, your body opens up for him, relaxes around him, and allows him to slide home.
Bucky groans into your neck as you helplessly clench around him. “God, you’re fucking unreal.”
When he starts to move, you are absolutely done for. He snaps his hips against yours like he has something to prove, and maybe he does. He doesn’t let up with the vibrator, either - he starts moving it in little circles against you.
You get close embarrassingly fast, yet again. Your hips rock up to meet his on every thrust, your body bowing against his.
“You have no idea how much I've thought about this,” he whispers. “How many times I imagined you coming apart on my cock just like this.” You feel cold vibranium grasping behind your thigh, lifting your leg to open you even further for him. Your eyes roll back when the angle changes and his cock drags against that spot that had you unraveling against the wall earlier.
“Oh my god, Bucky,” you keen, your nails scratching lines up his shoulder blades.
“Come on, good girl, let me feel it,” he growls against your neck.
The buzz, the feeling of him slamming into you, those two little words in your ear - all of it breaks you. A loud moan claws its way out of you, and you lose control of your muscles, thighs shaking, walls clamping around him as pleasure surges through you.
Above you, Bucky loses his grip on the vibrator and it falls somewhere in the rumpled sheets, still buzzing faintly. His hips stutter, then surge forward as he tries to get as deep as he can. “Oh, fuck, fuck-”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, a groan bordering on a whimper in the shape of your name forcing itself from his lungs. He thrusts shallowly once, twice, and collapses against you, spent.
The two of you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, your bodies sweat-slick, Bucky softening inside you.
“Goddamn,” he mutters between breaths. “I didn't think I was gonna come that quick. I was planning to give you at least two more.”
You smile, giving him a condescending pat on the back. “Don't worry about it, champ. Happens to the best of us.”
“Says the girl who soaked my hand in the living room,” he retorts, scowling.
“Well, maybe next time, we’ll see if you can last longer, minuteman.”
Bucky picks his head up, eyes sparkling. “There’s gonna be a next time?”
Of course that’s the only part he heard. “Only if you’re very, very good.” You tap his nose affectionately, and he chuckles.
The denouement sets in as Bucky carefully pulls out of you and disposes of the condom, and you wobble to the bathroom to pee and throw on an oversized t-shirt. When you return, Bucky is sitting on the edge of your bed, looking a little pleased with himself, but mostly pleased with you.
“I think that’s my shirt,” he softly accuses you, his fingers toying with the hem.
“Super soldiers who don’t do their own laundry get their shirt rights revoked.” You stand between his knees and weave your fingers into his hair. “I'm sorry I threw my purse at you.”
“I’m sorry for teasing you,” he replies, hands brushing at the backs of your thighs.
“No, you’re not.”
Bucky grins. “No, I'm not. It got me into your bed, after all.”
You roll your eyes. “Speaking of my bed…” You flop down onto the mattress and stretch, a sleepy expression on your face. “I’m beat.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that my cue to go?”
“Doesn’t have to be.” You nudge his thigh with your foot. “Wanna have a sleepover?”
His grin widens, and he turns off the lamp before flopping down next to you. “Scoot over, doll, you’re hogging the whole mattress.”
It surprises you how easy, how playful things are between the two of you now. As he wraps his arms around you and draws you close, it occurs to you that you could have fucked him ages ago and saved the two of you a whole lot of arguing and frustration. The thought slips away from you as you drift off, bone-tired and satisfied and, for the first time all week, at peace.
Bucky feels the warmth of you next to him before he even opens his eyes, and he’s already smiling. Wrapped in sheets that smell of laundry soap and sex and you, he rolls over with a quiet groan and sees you in the morning light.
You’re reading your smutty little book, openly, without a care for the fact that he’s right beside you. You don’t look up at him yet, but the smallest of smiles tugs at the corner of your mouth, like you’ve been waiting for him to find you like this.
He shifts closer, snaking an arm around your waist and kissing your jaw. “Morning, good girl,” he rumbles.
You turn the page, pretending that it has no effect on you, but he watches your cheekbones tinge pink. “You gonna stop beating that dead horse any time soon?”
“Only when it stops being funny,” he replies with a smirk. “Or when you stop liking it so much.”
“Stop talking. I'm reading.”
He sighs and lays his stubbled cheek against your shoulder, his eyes curiously scanning the page along with you. You decide to let him - there’s not exactly any harm in it now.
After about thirty seconds, he cringes. “Doll, this is awful.”
“I know. but it’s also really hot.” you elbow him playfully. “Kinda like you.”
Bucky hums thoughtfully, losing interest in the book and becoming much more interested in you. He begins to cover your neck in lazy, open-mouthed kisses, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin.
“Bucky,” you warn, “I said I'm reading.” The warning has no real conviction, and it’s even less believable when his hands begin to wander and your legs part on instinct.
He pulls back the covers and settles between your thighs. “So keep reading.” Bucky nudges up the hem of your t-shirt and kisses your navel, before trailing lower.
You chuckle breathlessly, but you don’t put the book down. Not yet.
