The Winter Soldier starts but doesn’t pull away when the Captain’s hand touches his chest. That, combined with the soft little sound he makes and the pure heat of his skin under the Captain’s questing fingertips ignites something low and hot and pleased inside him. He wants more of that hot skin to touch. He wants more of that sound coming out of the Soldier’s mouth, and he wants it to be because of him.
He feels the Soldier tense, in the split second before their mouths crash together. It’s the Captain who makes a soft, barely-there sound that’s swallowed by the clashing of their lips as they come together and the way his muscles had tensed in anticipation of weathering the inevitable attack starts to ease. Whatever the Soldier is doing, it is not exactly attacking. Or rather, it is, but it’s attacking in the best way. The Captain wants this attack, the way it’s hard and demanding and perfect, and he growls against the other’s mouth, biting into the kiss and fingers curling against the Soldier’s jaw and reaching for the waistband of the pants that the Soldier is already working at with clumsy fingers, not knowing why but knowing he wants to help —
And all that pleased, self-satisfied pleasure at getting exactly what he wants vanishes in an eyeblink, as the Soldier fits something soft but unyielding around his neck. As it clicks shut and the Soldier yanks hard — harder than he should be able to, has he been upgraded since the last time they fought? — and the Captain has no option but to follow, betrayal flaring icy cold in his gut and flashing unmistakable in his eyes.
This time, the growl isn’t pleasure but anger, resistance, as he rears back out of instinct, knowing he’s been trapped and he can’t allow it, even as his eyes are brought level with the Winter Soldier’s exposed, ruddy cock, and the sudden sight of it, of the thickening flesh and the smell of sweat and musk that the Captain has never inhaled before, makes his own cock give a sudden twitch and throb between his legs, spread on the floor as he kneels. He stares at the cock in front of him, then he stares up at the Soldier — at his flushed face, his heaving chest. His blue eyes, pupils clearly blown. His hand, tight on the short leash that gives another yank at the look, practically pulling the Captain’s face flush against his groin, cock brushing the prickly stubble left on his cheeks from his recent shave. He gets a noseful of nothing but that thick musk, even as his throat strains against the collar, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
His mouth opens and he lets out another low growl. His hands dig into the skin of the other asset’s thighs, but they don’t push back, overbalancing the pair of them to give the Captain the upper hand. That scent is doing something to him, the vision of the Soldier’s cock practically filling his field of view, swelling slowly against the backdrop of his taut stomach, the sparse dark hair that starts beneath his navel. The Captain is furious, but he’s also entranced; he’s like a cobra captured in the thrall of a charmer, and almost without thinking, his lips part, warm breath puffing over sensitive skin. He doesn’t do exactly as he’s told — he doesn’t immediately take the hot flesh into his mouth, doesn’t dive in and start suckling. He still balks at the order, at the same time he wants to shrink underneath it. But the Soldier isn’t his handler. The Soldier is is… equal? But the Soldier also has the upper hand. And the Soldier has given him an order that he both does and doesn’t want to follow.
His whole body tenses, again in that strange, liminal space of indecision, and while he hangs there, the Soldier shifts his weight, widens his stance, and his cock rubs again against the Captain’s cheek and his lips open wider practically of their own volition. He’s made a decision. His fingers tighten against muscled thighs, certainly to the point of pain, but he mouths wetly, inexpertly along the side of the cock in his face, wanting to see if it will get thicker. Bigger. More insistent.
If he can take control by making it do what he wants.
no subject
He feels the Soldier tense, in the split second before their mouths crash together. It’s the Captain who makes a soft, barely-there sound that’s swallowed by the clashing of their lips as they come together and the way his muscles had tensed in anticipation of weathering the inevitable attack starts to ease. Whatever the Soldier is doing, it is not exactly attacking. Or rather, it is, but it’s attacking in the best way. The Captain wants this attack, the way it’s hard and demanding and perfect, and he growls against the other’s mouth, biting into the kiss and fingers curling against the Soldier’s jaw and reaching for the waistband of the pants that the Soldier is already working at with clumsy fingers, not knowing why but knowing he wants to help —
And all that pleased, self-satisfied pleasure at getting exactly what he wants vanishes in an eyeblink, as the Soldier fits something soft but unyielding around his neck. As it clicks shut and the Soldier yanks hard — harder than he should be able to, has he been upgraded since the last time they fought? — and the Captain has no option but to follow, betrayal flaring icy cold in his gut and flashing unmistakable in his eyes.
This time, the growl isn’t pleasure but anger, resistance, as he rears back out of instinct, knowing he’s been trapped and he can’t allow it, even as his eyes are brought level with the Winter Soldier’s exposed, ruddy cock, and the sudden sight of it, of the thickening flesh and the smell of sweat and musk that the Captain has never inhaled before, makes his own cock give a sudden twitch and throb between his legs, spread on the floor as he kneels. He stares at the cock in front of him, then he stares up at the Soldier — at his flushed face, his heaving chest. His blue eyes, pupils clearly blown. His hand, tight on the short leash that gives another yank at the look, practically pulling the Captain’s face flush against his groin, cock brushing the prickly stubble left on his cheeks from his recent shave. He gets a noseful of nothing but that thick musk, even as his throat strains against the collar, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
His mouth opens and he lets out another low growl. His hands dig into the skin of the other asset’s thighs, but they don’t push back, overbalancing the pair of them to give the Captain the upper hand. That scent is doing something to him, the vision of the Soldier’s cock practically filling his field of view, swelling slowly against the backdrop of his taut stomach, the sparse dark hair that starts beneath his navel. The Captain is furious, but he’s also entranced; he’s like a cobra captured in the thrall of a charmer, and almost without thinking, his lips part, warm breath puffing over sensitive skin. He doesn’t do exactly as he’s told — he doesn’t immediately take the hot flesh into his mouth, doesn’t dive in and start suckling. He still balks at the order, at the same time he wants to shrink underneath it. But the Soldier isn’t his handler. The Soldier is is… equal? But the Soldier also has the upper hand. And the Soldier has given him an order that he both does and doesn’t want to follow.
His whole body tenses, again in that strange, liminal space of indecision, and while he hangs there, the Soldier shifts his weight, widens his stance, and his cock rubs again against the Captain’s cheek and his lips open wider practically of their own volition. He’s made a decision. His fingers tighten against muscled thighs, certainly to the point of pain, but he mouths wetly, inexpertly along the side of the cock in his face, wanting to see if it will get thicker. Bigger. More insistent.
If he can take control by making it do what he wants.