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If you'd told Bucky in 1941 that he'd one day end up here, he'd have said, "Huh?" Because he literally wouldn't have understood what you were talking about.
But here he is. Slightly buzzed off distilled amber. Legs stretched across his bunk, which is located in the rear section of a spaceship. His vibranium metal arm gripping the side of the bed. His tongue down the throat of the Norse god slash alien wizard prince who's sitting in his lap.
Back in 1941, Bucky would have latched on to the 'prince' part. Probably because it would have been the only word he'd have understood in all that mess.
It's a lot, but it's also really fucking good. Bucky hasn't had a ton of good since 1941, so he's not going to complain.
For a guy who's so stiff and prim all the rest of the time, Loki kisses like a wild thing—like the hungry, wanton, passionate being he apparently is underneath all that armour and repression and hair shellack. The contrast between Loki in a kissing mood versus Loki in his normal state of wry, controlled dickishness took Bucky by surprise the first few times, but he's starting to get used to it.
Loki's got Bucky pressed against the wall alongside the bed, rocking his ass into Bucky's lap and rubbing their hard cocks together through multiple layers of clothing. He's doing that thing where he's half massaging Bucky's scalp and half pulling Bucky's head backwards and down by his hair, all the better to suck on Bucky's neck.
Bucky knows he's lucky he gets to see this side of Loki, even though he doesn't quite know why Loki lets him see it. Why Loki's taken up with him at all. In a thousand years as prince of a warrior race, Bucky can't be the only guy who's ever dragged Loki out of harm's way and killed a monster who was going after him. He just can't be. And anyway, that rabid land-whale thing probably wouldn't have been able to hurt Loki. Much.
They'd been friendly enough (friendlier than Loki seemed to be with anyone else, Bucky now sees in hindsight), constantly finding themselves seated next to one another, their eyes meeting at odd moments when seeking out someone with whom to share a private smile. These days, Loki is the only one who gets whatever dumb thing Bucky can't help rolling his eyes about.
But it was the evening after that mission, when everyone was ravenous and still covered in land-whale guts… that's when Bucky started to notice Loki looking at him. Sidelong and silent, which meant he was really looking. And he just kept on staring, all the way back to Earth, all through the post-briefing, all the next week when he kept coming up with excuses for why he needed to stay longer at Avengers Headquarters instead of heading back to New Asgard. He kept on staring, heatedly yet shyly from across rooms. Biting his lips raw with overthinking, simmering with borderline disturbing intensity until Bucky was forced—honestly, he couldn't take it anymore—to pull him into an empty supply room, kiss him senseless, and hope he wasn't reading this wrong.
(He wasn't.)
Bucky doesn't know how or why he gets to have this, nor why he hasn't been stabbed yet, but he's grateful.
It's because he's so grateful that he doesn't want to screw this up. But the more they do this, the more certain Bucky feels that he will. Because it's getting harder and harder to stop. And Bucky needs to stop. He needs to, because if there's one way he'll lose this, it's if he keeps going. But on the other hand, he's not sure how many more times he can pull away from before Loki gets fed up.
It a conundrum.
In the meanwhile, he lets himself enjoy the sensation of Loki padding cool, clever fingers up, up, underneath Bucky's shirt, and playing with his nipple, still grinding into his lap. Bucky's been known to come just from this. Loki definitely knows it, because he's the one who caused said embarrassing ejaculation only a couple of days ago. But he's taking it slow today. Bucky has a feeling it's because Loki wants him to get his pants off this time, with no excuse of 'being done' or any of the other lame excuses Bucky has been using to get away before their necking goes too far.
Loki begins sucking on Bucky's earlobe while sliding his hands into the back of Bucky's jeans, over the meat of his ass.
Bucky can't breathe. He wants it and he's terrified and he…
"Relax," Loki whispers, sweet and almost wheedling. He must be able to feel how hard Bucky's shaking, even though Bucky's freakouts these days are quiet instead of homicidal. "I will give you such pleasure, if only you will let me."
But Bucky can't. He shifts and squirms, not sure if he's trying to get away or just get more comfortable. He's got to stop this soon, he has to, but… He winds up on his back, with Loki's long, lean limbs bracketing him on the bed, and his mouth still in a pouty 'O'. Loki goes back in for a kiss, and now his hands are going for Bucky's fly.
Loki's incredibly strong—stronger than he looks—but he's gentle, at least where Bucky is concerned. Possibly only where Bucky's concerned. He rolls over, easy as pie, when Bucky gives him a light push, whispers, "Wait," and hops out of the bed.
Bucky's bunk is only about eight feet by eight feet, so saying he's run 'across the room' is kind of a stretch, but Bucky does press his back against the wall opposite the bed. He knows he looks like a loon. He's panting, and he's painfully hard. He's also wet and squishy, moist and throbbing between his legs.
And ain't that exactly the problem.
Loki narrows his eyes and stretches himself seductively, taking up all the space on the bed that Bucky has just vacated. He purses his lips into the thin, steely frown that some people (Bruce, mainly) think signals murderous intent. But Bucky knows better. He knows it signals hurt. Rejection and hurt of the most deeply felt kind. He opens his mouth to apologize for running, but doesn't know what to say; he'd be lying if he pretended not to have meant it.
Loki's voice is light and teasing, but also anything but, when he asks, "Is something wrong?"
"I…"
Loki cocks an eyebrow. "Shall I get you a lozenge? You appear to have something stuck in your throat. And unfortunately, it is not my cock."
That gets Bucky to choke. It sounds like a laughing fit, but it stops being funny after the first wheeze. Bucky lets the fit seem to go on longer than it really does, as a way to buy time until he can pull it together. But he can't pull together. Eventually, the hacking sputters back into quiet.
By this point, Loki has gotten up and walked over him. It never fails to amaze how easily Loki manages to loom over Bucky despite being the same height. How gorgeous he looks when he's full of intent. How gorgeous he looks all the time, really.
Bucky wants to kiss him, but that's how he got into this mess in the first place.
This time, Loki is the one who cradles Bucky's face and leans in. He hovers, tantalizingly close, breathing all over Bucky's face without actually putting his lips anywhere.
"Every time, you bolt. Every single time. Why?" The hurt is back in Loki's voice, and he doesn't need to say 'do I disgust you?' for Bucky to hear the question, because of course that's what Loki thinks. That's what he always thinks.
"It's not you. It's me," Bucky says.
"I see." Agony flashes across Loki's face so fast that Bucky almost misses it, even though he's about two inches away. Loki takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair. "Who is it?"
"Wait, what? What are you talking about?"
"I've watched enough Earth films to know what 'it's not you, it's me' means. You have come to prefer someone else. You wish to move on to another lover. Who is it? Valkyrie? Rocket?"
"What?" Bucky asks again, this time confused by the idea of Valkyrie and a raccoon being tied as equal targets of Loki's irrational jealousy. He's so confused that he begins to calm down despite himself. This happens a lot, actually; Loki constantly baffles Bucky right out of his funks. It's not a kind of therapy he's ever heard of before, but it's proven surprisingly effective. "No, there's no one else."
Loki must have been genuinely worried about that, because his shoulders relax half an inch. "Then what is it? You seem to want me. You keep initiating. You are visibly aroused by our time together. And then you run away."
"It's because… It's complicated."
"Yet another of these tired cliches. Whatever it is, it cannot be more complicated than any other aspect of our lives."
"I don't want you to think I'm a freak, a monster," Bucky confesses, but without context or explanation it's hardly a confession at all.
"You are aware that I am not actually Aesir, aren't you? That I don't technically look like this?" Loki says it softly, like he's not quite as comfortable talking about this as his snotty tone would suggest, like he's only forcing himself to bring it up because he wants to get into Bucky's pants that badly.
That in itself is pretty gratifying.
Bucky has heard enough during drunken nights with Valkyrie to have put together a decent picture of Loki's origins and baggage. He's also figured out how devastating finding out was for Loki. The reminder, from Loki's own reluctant lips, really does help to put Bucky's own issues into perspective.
It's probably a bad idea, for a whole host of reasons, but he decides to go for it. (He wants Loki pretty badly, too, and at this point, it's either lose him to frustration or lose him to this secret; he'd hate to lose Loki without having even tried.)
"It doesn't look like what you're probably expecting down there," Bucky says in a rush, glancing pointedly down at his midsection. He feels like an idiot, and knows that he hasn't really explained, but he's finally said it. He's put into words the shame that keeps him up at nights. It's still a victory.
"What, is your cunt lavender-colored or something?"
"My…" Bucky startles. "You know?"
"It is lavender? I have to confess, that was the most arbitrary of guesses. I had no idea I would hit the truth so…"
"No, it's not fucking lavender. You know I have… that I…?"
"That you have a cunt? Yes, of course."
"How?"
"From the way your trousers glide and stick when we rut. But more than that—I can smell it. Rich and salty and musky and sweet. Even now, you are dripping, aren't you? Dripping and slick." Loki closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly getting turned on by whatever he's imagining. He's breathing heavily when he continues, "Why won't you let me taste you? I've been told I'm very good with my mouth."
This is about as close as Loki gets to begging, but Bucky's too shocked to appreciate it. All this time, he's been worrying, hiding, wracked with self-loathing. And all this time, Loki's known, and apparently not given a shit. Thinks it's hot, apparently. And Bucky sure finds Loki's talk hot; the throbbing between his legs grows even more insistent.
"You don't think it's gross? Like I'm a girl?"
"I don't find women 'gross', so, no. But… are you a girl? I never thought so, and it wouldn't matter if you are, but…"
"No. Of course I'm not a girl."
"Then I don't think you are," Loki says, like it's so simple.
Maybe it really is that simple.
"You don't think it's weird?" Bucky asks one more time, because he's having trouble accepting that Loki is so cool with this, especially when Bucky has spent all the years since escaping Hydra feeling decidedly uncool about it.
Loki shrugs. "I find it curious, yes, but much about you is curious. You have an arm made of metal. You are human but possess the strength and longevity of an Aesir. You have a divot in your chin that I find skeletally confusing. You seem unaware of how torturous your singing is. You genuinely enjoy riding the New York City subway. You having a cunt is simply another detail in the list of oddities that make you… you."
"Wait, what's wrong with my singing?"
Loki doesn't answer. He crowds even closer until Bucky's pressed so tightly between Loki and the wall that his chest almost hurts from the pressure. "Now, will you stop this nonsense and fuck me?"
Bucky feels another gush of wetness escape him at the words. He's getting whiplash from all the twists and turns of this conversation. "Wait, you want me to fuck you? If you knew that I have… I figured you would just want to…"
"You think having a cunt means the only thing I want to do with you is stick my cock in it?" Loki must sense that Bucky has no further objections, because he starts leading them back to sit on the edge of the bed. "I intend to sample all of the options you have to offer. Now, take off your clothes."
Bucky, shocked into pliancy, starts to strip. He begins with his shirt; they've gotten this far before, and he knows that the scars around his shoulder don't bother Loki. Next, he takes a deep breath and starts undoing his pants. His hand—his flesh hand—shakes too hard to undo the buttons, but he's trying, really, he is. After three attempts, Loki huffs, and the next thing Bucky knows, they're both naked.
Bucky hasn't been naked with anyone since 1941.
"You were taking too long," Loki explains, but Bucky's still catching up to the idea that Loki could have disrobed him any time he wanted—any of the times that Bucky got awkward and bolted—but he didn't, wouldn't, because Bucky hadn't wanted him to. Even now, Loki isn't touching him anywhere new; he's waiting for a sign to proceed. His fingers keep clenching the air around them, twitching and desperate.
Bucky kisses him for that, for all of it. Kisses him hard and filthy, and so deeply that it almost (but not quite) distracts him from the panic of knowing that if he opens his legs, Loki will see. Loki will see the dark secret that Bucky has worked so hard to keep anyone from discovering.
He takes a deep breath and presses Loki back and down onto the mattress. An even deeper breath, and then Bucky straddles him, thighs parting over Loki's stomach. His balls block any view, and he's still too scared to sit all the way down on Loki, too scared to let Loki feel the wetness along his skin. But he's done it. He's opened his legs for someone.
Loki must understand the enormity of the moment, because his eyes go soft and fond, as full of gratitude as Bucky feels most of the time.
Now that he's been given permission, Loki strokes him all over—down his arms, down his chest, down the tops of his thighs. He calms Bucky's rising freakout right back down, whispering overly-articulate praise about the oddest things, such as the lovely color of Bucky's hair, and the sculptural beauty of his collarbone, and the uniformly square shape of his various abdominal muscles.
Bucky knows he's a decent-looking guy, but these aren't attributes he's ever thought about before.
"Whatever gets you going, pal," Bucky whispers back, fondly, and a little bit more at ease. "You're not so bad yourself."
Back in 1941, Bucky was a smooth guy. He sweet-talked all the girls in Brooklyn, all while imagining how, if he were less scared, he'd sweet-talk some of the boys, too. Now, he's got a real-life god, a fucking looker, too, who's hotter for Bucky than Bucky knows what to do with. A slightly crazy, always entertaining, scarily smart weirdo whom Bucky likes. Really likes, even though no one else understands why. A weirdo who doesn't mind that a metal arm isn't the only body part that Hydra gave their precious Soldat.
Loki minds so little that he's already reaching for him.
"You do touch yourself, I hope," he says. "I am always ready for a challenge, but I would like to know if I am indeed the first to survey this landscape."
Bucky huffs out a laugh. "I've touched myself. Everywhere. It'd be weird if I didn't."
"At this point, I can no longer guess at what you find weird." He wraps his hand around Bucky's cock. "Is this all right?"
Bucky nods and closes his eyes. It's good. Loki's barely doing anything, barely stroking, but it's already so fucking good.
Loki's hand stills. In a small voice, he asks, "Are you thinking of someone else?"
Bucky snaps his eyes back open. "No! God, no. Never think that. Please."
Loki gives a shy but real smile. And that… that's something Bucky vows to keep his eyes open for.
Loki's other hand stretches to meet the one stroking Bucky's cock, but it dips lower, underneath, between Bucky's legs.
Bucky's played with himself, explored this unwanted part of him, but never for long. He's never brought himself off, never wanted to, for fear that he'd like it too much, or be forced to accept the vagina Hydra forced on him as part of himself. He's never wanted this, and never wanted to get used to it. But right now, with Loki rubbing slick circles around his clit and dipping his fingers inside him, all with that little smile on his face… Bucky might have to reconsider.
"Let me hear you," Loki says, and that's how Bucky realizes he's been holding his breath.
He blows it all out, slowly, counting in his head. He forces his shoulders to relax. He even unclenches his thighs so that he sits, knees splayed wide on either side of Loki's hips, right on Loki's belly. Loki's fingers are trapped between them now, but still angled up, up and inside, playful and so, so good. Bucky sucks in a new ration of air, and it's on that exhalation that he lets himself sigh. He focuses on the sensation of Loki's fingers on his clit, rubbing around and around and then over, around and around and then over. Loki's thumb rubbing pre-come along the top of Bucky's cock, around and around and then over the slit. Again and again, so gentle and sweet, until Bucky's shaking and his sighs turn into weak-sounding moans.
"Loki…" he begins, but has no idea what it is he means to say.
"Move closer. Up." Loki extricates his trapped hand and uses it to grab Bucky's ass. Bucky can feel the wet slick rubbing off Loki's fingers and onto his skin. Loki nudges him to move. It's awkward and it's frankly terrifying, but Bucky knees himself up the bed towards Loki's head.
"You sure?" he asks when his cunt hovers above Loki's neck.
Loki can tell Bucky's too nervous to go the rest of the way, so he scooches down the bed, just a few inches. "I have wanted this since first I smelled you."
Bucky's had his dick sucked before, but this… this is something else entirely. Loki's tongue is quick and clever and wicked—equally in this as when formulating creative insults. Bucky's slick is thick, and so slippery that Loki's tongue is more of a moving pressure than a textured muscle. But god, the pressure. Flicking and laving and prodding. It feels like heaven, like nothing Bucky's ever experienced. He used to do this to girls, and happily, but he never really thought about what it felt like for them. He couldn't imagine it felt nearly as good as getting his dick wet.
Now he knows better.
He rests his forehead against the wall and grabs the metal bar at the head of the bed for support. His legs are shaking again. He'll hate himself if he loses control and accidentally suffocates his friend (the word 'lover' still sounds weird in his 20th century American brain, even though it's an easy part of Loki's vocabulary; and anyway, Bucky isn't sure that's what they are.. has no idea what they are).
"It's all right. I can catch you," Loki says, right into Bucky's core. Each word tickles and sends a shiver through Bucky's labia and up into his dick.
To underscore his words, Loki grabs the meat of Bucky's ass with both hands, taking the pressure off Bucky's legs. His hands are firm but light, steadying and reassuring. He pushes Bucky's hips even closer, practically mashing his face into Bucky's cunt, and getting his tongue in deep.
Bucky's panting now, cock leaking so hard that pre-come drips down the length of it, down Bucky's balls. It must be dripping all over Loki's forehead, hopefully not in his eye. The metal of the bed-frame is starting to dent from how hard Bucky is gripping it with his metal hand.
"Touch yourself," Loki orders during a brief spell to catch his breath before diving in again.
It takes Bucky a few seconds (and an impatient slap on the ass from Loki) to collect himself enough to remove his flesh hand from the bed-frame without losing his balance. There's not even any need to lick his hand first, that's how much his cock is dripping. Loki's moaning now, apparently very turned on from this. Bucky wishes he could peel his head off the wall long enough to sneak a peek behind him, to see how hard Loki is (he'd been too busy freaking out to properly appreciate Loki's body before Loki dove in on him).
Bucky feels a little scared as the tingling sensation in his clit grows into a deeper throbbing that pulses all the way through him. Soon, he's gasping for air, barely able to stroke himself—it's more like he's holding his dick and rubbing at the tip with his thumb. He slips a little, and finally does it, the thing he's been worried about: he falls right onto Loki's face.
He gasps broken apologies without ever quite getting a full word out. But Loki uses his strength—that erotic, lanky god strength of his—to keep Bucky there, his nose squashed against his clit, and his tongue even further inside than before. It's when Loki rubs at Bucky's other hole with a finger slicked with Bucky's own juices that the desire that's been welling up finally bursts. Bucky comes with a shout that gets swallowed halfway by a surprised gasp. He's coming all over his fingers, he's coming on the wall, he's gushing into Loki's mouth. He's coming harder than he ever has in his life; never before today has he understood the cliché about 'seeing stars'.
The only thing keeping him grounded is the pain in his forehead from where it's practically boring into the wall. Well, that and Loki's hands holding his hips.
Bucky's still panting, still catching his breath in a way he never has to even after a multi-mile sprint. But a smart (sexy) smack on his ass reminds him that Loki probably can't breathe. He manages to hoist himself up a couple of inches, just enough for Loki to slide out from under him, but that's about it. He's still gasping into the wall when he feels Loki come to kneel behind him. Loki wraps one arm around Bucky's waist and uses his other hand to unpeel Bucky's metal fingers from around the top of the bed frame. His chest is nice and cool against Bucky's overheated back, and his hard cock—which feels just as big as Bucky's imagined—slots neatly between Bucky's thighs, rubbing in the sopping wet mess that Loki's tongue left behind.
Bucky jolts in shock and nervousness at the sensation, even though it feels good.
"Shhhh, don't worry," Loki whispers into his ear. "I won't. Come, lie down."
"You can if you want," Bucky whispers, still not moving, still staring at the wall. "You can fuck me, if you want."
"I don't…"
"That was good. So good. I think… I think I want it," Bucky says, even though he's really not sure. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thinks. And it was good. Better than he's spent years fearing. He's always pushed himself—in school, in the war, during missions, just now when he revealed himself to Loki. Even if he isn't sure he's ready, it might be worth pushing himself even more.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but that is not what I want," Loki says.
Bucky feels his heart collapse in his chest. He should have known. He should have expected this. Loki was so immediately into this, but now that he's really gotten in there, he must be reconsidering, and no longer…
"While I have been wanting to devour you for some time, I regret not being able to see your face at the critical moment," Loki says, to Bucky's incredible relief. "I do not wish to continue in a way that keeps you turned away from me. And I still want you to fuck me."
He pulls Bucky away from the wall and turns him bodily, moving him like the post-orgasmic ragdoll he's become, until Bucky is splayed out with his head at the foot of the bed and his feet pressing into the thin mattress.
From this position, Bucky finally, finally gets a proper eyeful of Loki. He's gorgeous, but that's nothing new. What is new is the sheen of sweat on his brow, the shine of slick and come lighting up his face, the thick cock so hard and so erect that it kisses his taut belly. The determined expression that's strangely more joyful than any smile he's ever seen on Loki's face.
Bucky's just come, but looking at Loki hovering above him is enough to get his cock stirring again. He moans in exhaustion.
"Do you have any oil?" Loki asks.
"What for?" Bucky asks dazedly.
"For fucking, of course," Loki replies, voice dripping with derision. "To ease the way. Don't tell me Midgardians take each other dry."
"Oh, lube? Is that what you mean? Yeah, top shelf."
Loki reaches up and to the side to rummage in Bucky's disorganized shelf of clothes and toiletries. The position gives Bucky a breathtaking view of Loki's clean lines, each and every muscle and rib. Bucky's collected himself enough by this point to breathe. He now realizes that he's failed to touch Loki at all so far.
That needs to be rectified right this second.
Loki, who's still looking in the shelf and swearing under his breath about Bucky's 'slothful tendencies', moans, low and delicious, as soon as Bucky gets a hand on him. He pauses his exploration of the shelf and his head slumps a little as he gives into the pleasure. After a second, however, he starts hurrying up, probably to get back to business faster. He locates the lube with a little, "Ah-ha!" and turns back down to where Bucky's stroking him with both hands now, cool metal and warm palms all at once.
Something about what Loki just said has Bucky thinking. If Loki didn't know about lube, then…
"Am I the first person you've slept with since coming to Earth?"
Loki furrows his brow, but his lips part in ecstasy, which undercuts his intended projection of annoyance. "Obviously."
"It wasn't obvious to me."
"Who else would I deign to be with in this way? Who else on your miserable planet would have a hope of tempting me? Who else's company do I enjoy, instead of merely tolerating? No, you are the only appealing prospect that your planet has likely ever produced. You are a more appealing prospect than most planets have produced. You must see this. Nothing is more obvious."
In a weird, snotty, totally obnoxious way, it's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to him. The fact that it's coming from Loki makes it even more mind-boggling.
"I really like you, too," Bucky replies.
They gaze at one another for a minute, smiling with their eyes if not with their lips. Then Loki bucks his hips in Bucky's absent-mindedly loose grasp. They both gasp, even though Bucky isn't the one being touched.
"I can prepare myself, if you…"
Bucky hurries to sit up and take the lube out of Loki's hands. "No, I want to do it."
Next thing he knows, they're back where they started, with Bucky sitting with his back against the wall and Loki grinding in his lap, kissing each other senseless. The main differences are that they they're naked now, and that Bucky is no longer freaking out. He's happy and he's calm as he presses two lubed fingers against Loki's entrance. They moan into one another's mouths when first one finger and then the next slip inside.
Loki is tight, but he also receives Bucky's fingers with ease.
"I don't need much. I like to feel it," Loki tells him.
"You sure? I'm not exactly tiny."
"Oh, I'm well aware," Loki says breathlessly, eager, and damn, if that isn't enough to get Bucky hard again.
Bucky kisses the tip of Loki's nose at that, which causes Loki to look at him a little curiously. In response, he gives a tentative kiss to the nose back.
Bucky's about to say something—something embarrassingly sentimental that'll probably get him stabbed—but Loki stops him by lifting his hips and positioning his hole right over Bucky's cock. He sinks down onto it, all the way, in one agonizingly slow push. Loki's face is scrunched in what looks like pain, or at least discomfort, and it scrunches even harder once Bucky's bottomed out.
"You okay?" Bucky asks, even though he isn't. He's never done this before, never been with a man like this before, and it's a lot. Tighter and drier than a woman. Heavier, too. It's on the verge of too much, on top of the seismic too-muchness of a few minutes before.
Loki merely grunts in reply, but it sounds like assent. Bucky holds him by the face, peppering soothing kisses along his neck, all over his face, anywhere he can reach. It takes a minute of stillness and kissing before Loki relaxes enough to begin making small rocking motions with his hips.
"You want me to move, or you wanna fuck yourself on me?" Bucky asks.
"Both," Loki pants.
"I'm gonna have to lie down for that."
They both groan with loss when Bucky slips out, and they scramble to reposition as quickly as possible, with Bucky on his back and Loki riding him. Loki throws his head back, dark hair rippling when Bucky lifts his hips and shoves into him again.
Even after having already come so hard, it's been way too long, too many decades, for Bucky to be able to last. Especially with the aggressive way Loki rides him. Bucky's no expert on this, but he can tell it takes talent to move almost the full length of Bucky's long cock in and out on each stroke. It's all he can do to hold on and passively give what Loki takes.
He likes it. He likes it a lot.
Loki seems to like it, too, because his moans get more and more frantic. Also, the look is back. The intense, lip-biting, slightly hysterical stare of the weeks before Bucky broke down and kissed him. It's the stare that sends Bucky over the edge, arching and crying out as he climaxes for a second time. He makes aborted apologies for finishing first, for finishing so soon, but Loki shushes him and caresses his face, looking fonder than Bucky ever thought it possible for him to look.
"Beautiful," Loki whispers. "You are beautiful like this."
"Loki, Loki, fuck," Bucky whimpers, with one last spurt.
Loki, who's still hard—and Bucky feels bad about it, he was too overwhelmed to keep stroking him while they fucked—lifts up to allow Bucky to slip out. But Bucky wants to feel him closer, wants the weight and heat of him, so he pulls Loki down flush with his chest.
They both startle when the head of Loki's cock accidentally rubs Bucky between the legs.
"I won't…"
"It's okay," Bucky says, even though he isn't quite sure it is. "You can."
Loki's been worked up for awhile by this point, so it's no surprise that he takes Bucky at his word without further discussion. He thrusts in hard. There's no finesse here, not like Bucky has a feeling Loki could muster in other circumstances--just pure, breathless fucking. Bucky has touched himself before with his fingers, but he's never shoved anything inside himself, especially nothing as thick as Loki's cock. He didn't know it was possible to feel so full, and the drag of it is... A lot. Loki is big. He's huge and it hurts, it hurts a lot—fuck, he thinks something inside him breaks—but he thinks he likes it, or might come to like it, eventually. There's something pleasurable, every few seconds. He thinks? Maybe. He isn't sure.
Either way, he definitely likes knowing that he's driven Loki so crazy that all efforts at self-possession have disappeared and left him a sweaty, uncoordinated, rutting mess. He likes the gratified little moans of 'uh-uh-uh' Loki makes with each thrust. He likes being this close to Loki, likes having his arms around him, likes the idea (if not quite yet the feeling) of having him inside. And even if he isn't yet sure he likes being fucked like this, he loves the knowledge that Loki wants him so badly.
It doesn't last long, certainly not long enough for it to get unreservedly good. Loki gives one extra-hard thrust that sets Bucky shouting. And then he's still, still and hard inside Bucky, who's too wet to be able to feel Loki's seed filling him up. Loki's nose is mostly mashed into the bed, but by tilting his head, Bucky can see the look of honest bliss that lights up his usually carefully arranged features.
He vows to get a better view of that look again, soon, and as often as possible. In the meanwhile, he rubs at little knots of muscle all along Loki's back. Sometimes he just squeezes him fondly.
"I usually last longer than that," Loki says as soon as he can speak. "I give you my word that—"
"Don't worry about it. Seriously."
"Was that truly all right? I know only a little bit ago you had such qualms."
"It was all right."
Loki's ego is fragile enough that he must know not to probe further for answers he might not like. So, he lets it lie.
He rolls off Bucky so that they're laying side by side. Bucky searches between them for Loki's hand. When he finds it, he holds it tight and hopes that's enough to reassure Loki. He knows it's sure reassuring him. He's barely caught his breath, much less processed what they've done together, but he has a good feeling, for the first time since 1941, that it'll probably be okay.
They share a companionable silence that's broken when Bucky eventually asks, "But, no, really, what's wrong with my singing?"
Loki just laughs at him.