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You wouldn’t call what you and Bob did “dating” exactly, but you would certainly be hard-pressed not to consider him yours. Feelings for Bob were more complicated than that, of course, but that didn’t mean you were confused about where you stood on the matter. Bob Reynolds was yours, and you were going to play with him.
The arrangement had started shortly after you’d all moved into the old Avengers Tower in New York. Called the Watchtower now, 200 Park Avenue had been your shared home for about 6 weeks the first time you and Bob had fooled around, both of you looking for something to take the edge off that wasn’t drugs or another mission. He’d gotten on his knees for you easy enough that day, but it was your turn to give him head, even if you were a little meaner about it.
“Come on, Bobby,” you cooed teasingly, his length popping out of your mouth with an obscene, wet sound. “I was just getting into it.”
“Yeah,” Bob’s voice broke around the word as he tossed his head back, his brown hair falling out of his eyes at the motion, “y-yeah, uh, so was I.”
You giggled before you licked a strip up his dick, enjoying the way his eyes bulged out of his head at the sudden heat. Bob was supposed to be reading to you. It was something he’d done for you a few times already - without his cock in your mouth, granted - and you loved the sound of his voice as he told you a story. You were working through the Hobbit together now, at Bucky’s request on Bucky’s recommendation and while you loved Tolkien as much as the next person, you couldn’t help the game you wanted to play with your boy. Sliding onto your knees in front of him had been enough to get him hard, the tricky part was keeping him on task with your lips wrapped around him.
“The chance never arrived-” Bob finally managed to get out, and you took the opportunity to slide your mouth back around him properly, sinking down incrementally with each word he spoke- “until Bilbo Baggins was grown up, being about fifty years old or so, and living in the beautiful hobbit-hole built by his father, which… goddamn… I have just described for you, until he had in fact… dear god, baby, fuck… apparently settled down immovably.”
You swallowed around the tip of Bob’s cock and relished in the way he whined for you, his hands shaking as he struggled not to drop the book on your head. You were grateful. You hummed happily around his cock and felt a sick sense of pride swell within you at the obscene moan he let out. Bob was always so responsive. You loved it, if you were being honest. You adored how much Bob felt, no matter how many times you’d had him like this.
“Come on,” Bob finally got out, a whine audible in his trembling voice, “come on, baby, just let me cum. I wanna cum so bad.”
You pulled off of Bob again, forcing another pitiful sound from the edged-out man. You brought one hand up to squeeze the base of his cock while the other came up to play with his tip, slowly massaging it with your fingertips. Bob’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and he shuddered. “I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to ask me for things, is it, pretty boy?”
With his cock in your hands, you could feel the effect your words had on him. You knew if you hadn’t been squeezing the base, he’d’ve cum without permission, and the more sadistic side of you almost wished he had. That was one of your unspoken rules in this newly budding dynamic - if Bob came without permission, you didn’t let him stop. So far, he’d only ever done it twice. There was a part of you already desperate to overstimulate him again.
“Please,” Bob begged easily, “please, please, please, oh my god, baby, please, I-”
Bob sucked in a harsh gulp of air, the sound painful and jarring in the otherwise quiet room. He got like this, sometimes, even without being overstimulated. All gaspy and breathless and amped up. You secretly loved it, practically falling over yourself for the opportunity to bring Bob that much pleasure and peace, but you knew it was the kind of headspace you had to approach delicately, lest you scare him off. Bob was less skittish now that you’d been doing this for awhile, but you still knew that the possibility was always there, the underlying threat of abandonment practically tattoo’d across his face whenever he looked at you too long.
“Give me another paragraph,” you said instead of giving him permission, and the frustrated grunt he let out sent a wave of heat between your legs.
“By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous, and Bilbo Baggins was standing at his door after breakfast smoking an enormous long wooden pipe that reached nearly down to his woolly toes and oh my fucking god, I cant! I can’t, baby, please-” Bob’s words had started so fast they’d practically slurred, as if racing themselves to get out of his mouth. Now, they were more deliberate, but no less forceful as he stared down at you, a gold shimmer fading into his otherwise dark brown eyes.
Heat coiled in your gut.
You kept your mouth around him this time, humming around his tip again as you pressed the flat of your tongue against the underside of his cock. He was so thick, forcing your mouth to stretch wide in order to accommodate him, but you found yourself practically addicted to the burn. The ache. The way Bob’s cock sat heavy against your tongue, a pressure in your jaw the closest he’d ever come to leaving his mark on you properly. All of it made you throb as you reached up to play with his balls, liquid fire racing through your veins at the truly obscene sounds falling out of Bob’s mouth in response.
“So fucking good,” fell out between the sounds, “so fucking pretty. So fucking hot. Fuck me, oh my god, look at you, I can’t- baby, I- I’m-”
You swallowed around him again. Once, twice, three more times and Bob was spilling down your throat with a feral whine, the sound long and high-pitched, as if it’d been dragged out of him by a conductor. He looked so perfect like that, head thrown back and golden eyes closing in pleasure, his own jaw finally going slack as yours worked overtime to keep him cumming hard. He shook against you for a moment before another gasp tore from his throat and he began pushing you away weakly, hands still shaking from the aftershocks.
“Feel good, pretty boy?” you asked him despite already knowing the answer, and you couldn’t help but grin as he relaxed against the couch. You kept rubbing at his thighs while he came down from his high.
“I feel amazing,” he said softly, and he shot you the easy sort of grin that made your heart melt. “Thank you.”
“Oh no,” you giggled happily, “don’t thank me yet, pretty boy. We still have another 20 pages to go in this chapter at least.”
You never did wind up finishing The Hobbit, in the long run, but you doubted either of you would ever bring yourselves to care.