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“Where the hell have you been?”
Peter jumped and nearly toppled over at the sound of Bucky’s voice, ringing out loud and sharp in the quiet, dark apartment. “Buck?” he slurred, squinting almost comically. “You—You still up?”
“I sure am.” Bucky stepped through the doorframe to stand in front of Peter, and Peter’s mouth went dry at the dimly lit sight. Despite the fact that it was one in the morning, Bucky was still dressed in a black tank top, black cargo pants, and combat boots, and his hair was tied into a tight bun on top of his head. In other words, Peter’s favourite look on him.
Despite the fact that they were roommates, Peter didn’t see him dressed like that often. Bucky wore dark hues, but this—this was different. His favourite.
And why was it his favourite? Because Bucky always wore that outfit whenever he was going to fuck Peter hard enough that he saw stars.
So. This was the game they were playing tonight, then. Peter’s heart skipped a beat with excitement and anticipation.
“You drank, didn’t you?“ Bucky’s sharp words pulled him out of his drooling session. "God, look at'chu, baby. Can’t even hold yourself steady, like a goddamn newborn calf.”
Bucky’s words made him realize that he was unsteady on his feet, swaying uneasily from side to side, like he was going to collapse to his knees any second.
That sounded tempting, too, he wasn’t gonna lie. Dropping to his knees there and then and reaching up to undo the zipper on Bucky’s pants, to nuzzle his cock before eagerly taking it into his mouth, wet and sloppy—
“Peter!”
Peter flinched and he dragged his eyes up to Bucky’s face. “Yessir?”
Bucky eyed him for a few moments, gaze heavy, then chuckled, but it was mean. Peter shivered. “You goin’ cock-stupid on me already, sugar?” he drawled, coming closer and gripping Peter’s chin with two fingers.
Peter shivered at the words, feeling his gut twist and burn with humiliation, and he shook his head. “N—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Bucky said darkly. He turned Peter’s head this way and that, making his cheeks flush a darker shade of red. “It ain’t nice to lie. Not when you’re like this.” He brushed his thumb over a light mark on his neck, a hickey. “What the fuck is this?” The words were laced with concern, anger, and—and a sense of possessiveness.
Peter swallowed hard over the sudden lump in his throat. “Buck—”
“Did he fucking touch you?” Bucky’s eyes bored into his, dark and heavy. “Did he? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill ‘im, you know I will, sugar.”
Peter mutely shook his head. “Didn’t hurt me,” he said slowly. “Asked for it. I did.”
Bucky twitched. “You wanted some dick, you could’a just come right home and asked me for some.”
Peter pulled back. “‘cause you’ll always provide?” he asked wearily. “Thought you were asleep.”
“You know I don’t sleep until you come home.” Bucky let his hand fall down to his side. “Gotta make sure you’re safe. I keep stuff that’s mine safe.”
Peter wet his dry lips, letting his eyes roam over Bucky’s body again, not even attempting to hide it. “‘m yours?”
Bucky gave a slight nod. “Mine.”
Peter hesitated. He paused, and then— “Thought we were just something casual.” He suddenly felt a lot more sober.
Bucky looked uncomfortable for the first time that night. “We were.”
Peter sidled closer, then let a hand press against Bucky’s chest lightly. He felt the light thumping of Bucky’s chest against his palm. “And when did that change?”
Bucky tilted his chin back up, and Peter let him. “Right now.” And he kissed Peter, hard, and Peter let him. Pushed right into it, in fact. Needed it. Wanted to feel Bucky. Wanted to give in.
When Bucky pulled back, he followed, unable to help himself, and heard Bucky chuckle. He let his eyes flutter back open and he looked up at the man.
“Taste so sweet, sugar,” Bucky murmured, gripping him by the hips and manhandling him over to the bed. He pushed Peter onto it, gently but firmly, and Peter fell with a soft ‘oomph.’ He felt a hand crack down on his ass and he yelped, flushing when it faded into a moan. “What, you want more?” He could hear the smirk in Bucky’s words. “All you gotta do is ask for it.”
Peter shivered, and his hips picked up. He wanted to rip his clothes off, wanted to feel Bucky— “Please.”
“Mm, you can do better,” Bucky breathed, but despite his words, Peter heard the telltale sound of rustling that indicated that Bucky was yanking off his pants in favour of slicking up his cock. “Lemme hear you, pretty.”
“Please!” Peter gasped, jerking when Bucky effortlessly lifted his hips up with a hand to yank down his pants and boxers with another. “Please, oh my god, I need—oh, fuck—”
Bucky laughed, and it was mean. “‘Please.’ Baby, you don’t even know what you want,“ he mocked, and cracked his hand down again in the same spot, making heat bloom in Peter’s cheek.
Gasping, Peter pressed his face against the sheets, practically gagging for it already. "Pleasepleaseplease, Bucky, you said I was yours, please, gotta show me, can't—”
“Too silly to know otherwise, like some dumb puppy I picked up off the streets and brought home?” Bucky snorted. “I gotcha, doll. I gotcha. I’ll give you what you need.” He bent down, pressed a kiss to his ass cheek, reached up to brush the pad of his thumb against the mark on his neck again, and murmured, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever even met that asshole.”
There was a reason this was his favourite outfit on Bucky.