The musky scent of the Soldier fills the Captain’s nose, the little gasp he lets out feeling almost like a physical shock that travels down his spine and yet ends up somehow between his legs. The Captain is feeling hot and prickly all over, still fully clothed as the Soldier curls naked before him, fatigues around his ankles and bare, heaving chest shining slick with sweat in the harsh light.
He’s feeling pleased with himself, at the Soldier’s reactions — all of them, as he feels the shaft swelling under his lips, feeling the Soldier’s hips arch and thinking that this is how it should be. The Captain may be bound, but he’s still in control. He’s still got what the Soldier wants, and he decides when and how much he can have —
Except the Winter Soldier is having none of it. There’s a sharper tug at the leash, and the Captain’s neck flexes as he tries to resist, but he’s not in the strongest position, particularly when the Soldier threads fingers through his hair. He looks up with that same flash of something in his blue eyes, smugness and defiance intermingled, even as his head is forced down toward the Soldier’s groin. His grip on the other’s thighs tighten and his own back arches but it’s not enough. Somehow, the Soldier overpowers him and pulls him exactly where he wants the Captain, the tip of his glistening cock sliding against his lips and now the Captain tastes that musky, salty scent on his tongue.
He huffs out a warm, wet breath against the head, balking for a moment more, and then without warning he dives in. If the Winter Soldier wants him to stop stalling, then he’ll stop stalling. He’ll show the Soldier who’s in charge — and that it’s the Captain who’s going to take him apart without remorse, lips parting as he inhales sharply, pulling more of the Soldier’s aroused, sweaty scent into his nose as he drops his jaw and tries to force himself to take his cock in all in one go.
The best word for the effort, really, is clumsy. Inexpert. Teeth scrape, albeit gently, along the thick vein along the underside as the Captain tries to suck the half-hard shaft into his mouth. The head bumps the roof of his mouth, nudges up against the back of his throat. There’s a shaky second there where the Captain’s throat tenses, where his shoulders tighten and a normal man would have gagged. Coughed. Pulled off.
The Captain will not show weakness. He will not do those things. He grips the Soldier’s thighs, pulling them — pulling the other asset’s hips with them — toward himself, arching his head down and refusing to give in, pushing past the reflex until it relaxes. He doesn’t know if he’s been trained not to gag or if it simply is a matter of mind over instinct, but his nose nudges ever closer to the thatch of dark hair between the Soldier’s legs. It helps, admittedly, that the Winter Soldier isn’t fully hard yet, even if the Captain means to change that as quickly as he can.
All the same, he’s not doing more than trying to fit the Soldier’s cock in his mouth. Doesn’t think about sucking or running his tongue along it or anything but simply doing as he’s told — and somehow winning the game, while he’s at it.
no subject
He’s feeling pleased with himself, at the Soldier’s reactions — all of them, as he feels the shaft swelling under his lips, feeling the Soldier’s hips arch and thinking that this is how it should be. The Captain may be bound, but he’s still in control. He’s still got what the Soldier wants, and he decides when and how much he can have —
Except the Winter Soldier is having none of it. There’s a sharper tug at the leash, and the Captain’s neck flexes as he tries to resist, but he’s not in the strongest position, particularly when the Soldier threads fingers through his hair. He looks up with that same flash of something in his blue eyes, smugness and defiance intermingled, even as his head is forced down toward the Soldier’s groin. His grip on the other’s thighs tighten and his own back arches but it’s not enough. Somehow, the Soldier overpowers him and pulls him exactly where he wants the Captain, the tip of his glistening cock sliding against his lips and now the Captain tastes that musky, salty scent on his tongue.
He huffs out a warm, wet breath against the head, balking for a moment more, and then without warning he dives in. If the Winter Soldier wants him to stop stalling, then he’ll stop stalling. He’ll show the Soldier who’s in charge — and that it’s the Captain who’s going to take him apart without remorse, lips parting as he inhales sharply, pulling more of the Soldier’s aroused, sweaty scent into his nose as he drops his jaw and tries to force himself to take his cock in all in one go.
The best word for the effort, really, is clumsy. Inexpert. Teeth scrape, albeit gently, along the thick vein along the underside as the Captain tries to suck the half-hard shaft into his mouth. The head bumps the roof of his mouth, nudges up against the back of his throat. There’s a shaky second there where the Captain’s throat tenses, where his shoulders tighten and a normal man would have gagged. Coughed. Pulled off.
The Captain will not show weakness. He will not do those things. He grips the Soldier’s thighs, pulling them — pulling the other asset’s hips with them — toward himself, arching his head down and refusing to give in, pushing past the reflex until it relaxes. He doesn’t know if he’s been trained not to gag or if it simply is a matter of mind over instinct, but his nose nudges ever closer to the thatch of dark hair between the Soldier’s legs. It helps, admittedly, that the Winter Soldier isn’t fully hard yet, even if the Captain means to change that as quickly as he can.
All the same, he’s not doing more than trying to fit the Soldier’s cock in his mouth. Doesn’t think about sucking or running his tongue along it or anything but simply doing as he’s told — and somehow winning the game, while he’s at it.