Chapter Text
Anon requested: “I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m not done with you yet.”
“I don’t care if they are watching. I’m not done with you yet,” Steve whispers the words sweetly against Bucky’s throat. He can’t escape. Not from the circle of Steve’s arms hemming him up against the trunk of an old, solid oak. He doesn’t even want to, but….
But they are on the edge of a clearing of trees. Across from them, clustered around a crackling fire, the rest of the Howling Commandos pass flasks back and forth, voices merry and buoyed by the victories of the day. Bucky knows, really, that they can’t see much of what is happening only a few feet away. Fire blindness narrows the world beyond crackling flames to shadows and darkness. They might be able to just see the bulk of Steve’s shoulders and the width of the tree. They might even be able to guess what those muscles are hiding.
They probably can’t see Steve’s hand down the front of Bucky’s pants. Oh God, he hopes they can’t….
“Steve, no…” Bucky is mortified but not enough to put a stop to things. The darkness hides the embarrassment on his cheeks. Steve’s body hides the way his own squirms and writhes.
Steve’s hand, huge and strong and calloused, stills around straining flesh. “You want me to stop?” He asks because he always will; he is smirking because he knows the answer. “Do you think they’d take pity on you if I sent you back to them all hard and desperate? Maybe they’d lend you a hand? Or do you think they’d just watch while you get yourself off?”
“Bastard,” Bucky pushes against the weight pinning him. It’s futile and he likes that. Steve’s always been a filthy, deviant bastard and behind that angelic face brew the most wicked of thoughts.
“Or maybe I’ll let them hold you down while I fuck you?” He teases the head of Bucky’s straining cock, slow and ruthlessly sweet. He takes his time because he can. Because Bucky will let him. And because if the others do see, they’ll be more in line with Steve’s way of thinking than the Army’s. For a second, Bucky imagines it. Imagines them. Watching him. Watching Steve.
His whimpers sound shotgun loud at the edge of the clearing.
“I think,” Steve says, holding Bucky firm with his other hand. Refusing to let him thrust into the tormenting grip, “I’d let them have you when I’m done. One after the other. Or maybe all at once. Yeah… I think I’d like to see that. See you stuffed so full of cock you don’t know which way is up.” His eyes glaze over at the thought and Bucky can just imagine what he is picturing. How messy and used and fucked open he would be.
Bucky grabs wildly at Steve’s wrist. He wants more. Needs everything that Steve is teasingly withholding. He keeps his bottom lip clamped firmly between his teeth, forcing back the pleading, mewling sounds that will give them both away.
Steve pulls his hand away from his hip. Grabs his wrist. Pins it above his head, pushing him up on his tiptoes. Nudges his thighs wider with his own. And still doesn’t pick up the speed with which he jerks Bucky off. “I mean… I know how desperate you are. You know how desperate you are. Pretty sure they know it, too.”
“Steve… Steve please….” Bucky begs. Squirms. Tries to rut against Steve’s leg. Tears cling to the edges of his lashes, pleasure and frustration and the promise of more forcing him to let down the walls he keeps so high and trust Steve to keep him safe until he rebuilds them.
Steve sees the first of them fall and kisses away trails of tears. “Shush… maybe another time, huh? Tonight you’re mine. Just mine, okay? They can watch if they want, but that’s all they get. This,” he squeezes his hands, first around Bucky’s wrist and then around his cock, “belongs to me.”
“Yes,” Bucky whines. “Yours.”
The grip on his wrist releases and Steve picks up his pace. Moves from slow and playful fast and rough and just the right side of too much.
A body moves from one side of the campfire to the other. All they have to do is look up and they will see. Someone will. It’s inevitable. “Better be quick,” Steve purrs. “Longer it takes, the more likely they will see you like this.”
“I’m… god, I’m trying, I’m…” he is. Desperately. It’s not enough, not enough…
Steve slips a hand under the loose edges of his shirt. Reaches up. Takes hold of one small, firm nipple, and twists.
Bucky swallows a scream and comes, his whole body shuddering, held upright by the press of Steve and the solid oak. Steve works him through it, teasing sore, sensitive flesh with a pleasure that borders on sadistic. “I think they heard you,” he says gleefully. Over by the fire, the conversation has fallen silent.
Bucky trembles and tries to find some reserve of strength to tap into. He just has to convince his legs to hold him upright….
“Oh no,” Steve shakes his head, hands on Bucky’s shoulders, pushing him down to his knees until he is eye level with an impressive bulge in Steve’s pants. “I told you. I don’t care if they’re watching. I’m still not done with you.”