Chapter 4
“They’re going to meet at the docks in the next few days,” Steve says, and he nods to you. “Luckily you swiped that card, otherwise we wouldn’t have had any other leads.”
You smirk, looking across at Bucky who’s currently avoiding your eyes and scowling. “Oh, it was nothing. Just doing my job.”
"Wow, thank you for your service," Bucky says sarcastically.
Steve looks awkwardly between the two of you before he clears his throat and continues speaking. “Um, well thankfully Tony has a place that’s close to there. He’s agreed to let you both stay—”
“Wait, what?” Bucky exclaims, leaning forward on the table. “We? I thought we were done with—”
“This is your mission so you two have to be the ones who stakeout what happens,” Steve shrugs, folding his arms as he reprimands the two of you. “It shouldn’t be too long or difficult. You both just have to see if the Harknesses end up at the docks and if they pick up a shipment. Surely even the two of you can handle that simple task.”
“So why do both of us need to go?” you whine, folding your arms over your chest. “It seems—”
“It’s better that two of you go in case anything goes wrong,” Steve clarifies. He then sighs and squares his shoulders, putting on his Captain voice. “I know that you both don’t get along with each other but try—"
"I want to pull myself from the mission then," you state stubbornly. "Bucky refuses to work with me and consider me an equal partner."
"Maybe I would if you didn't put yourself at stake all the time and need me to rescue you," Bucky snaps.
"All the time?" you scoff, throwing your hands up. "You went on one mission with me and I said that I had it handled!"
"Handled? You call having a fucking gun pointed at your head "handled?"
"I was dealing with it!"
"My fat ass you were dealing with it. If I hadn't saved—"
"Well, I didn't need you to do that."
"Do you ever get tired of being a fucking brat?"
"No. Do you get tired of being the world's biggest dick—"
"STOP IT," Steve shouts at the two of you. "What are you both? Five years old? Pull it together and act like adults. This is your mission, I expect you to complete it with at least some level of decorum."
You sigh. “Fine.”
Bucky says nothing.
You think about how there’s still enough time to shoot yourself in the head.
—
The entire drive up to Tony’s place by the coast is done in silence. Neither of you are particularly in a chatty mood and you certainly aren’t going to be the one to break the silence first. You’re tempted to roll down the window and breathe in some of the salty air, but you figure that Bucky wouldn’t be too keen about letting the cold into the car. You really don't want to give him another excuse to shout at you.
Bucky drives wordlessly beside you, his fingers flexing and readjusting their grip on the steering wheel every now and then. You sigh and reach over, hoping that there’s a CD in the player that will ease the uncomfortable quiet that’s settled over you both. The player whirrs a bit in protest but it eventually clicks and the sound of sultry saxophone fills up the car.
Bucky tenses beside you almost instantly before he coughs and tries to shake it off.
“What was that?” you laugh, staring at him in confusion. He glances at you for a second and shifts in his seat under your scrutinising gaze.
“It’s an old song,” he says gruffly.
“What’s wrong with that?” you ask. “This is Steve’s car… there’s going to be old songs. I didn’t know you had a thing against jazz—”
“This is a song from the 40s,” he coughs, eyes adamantly fixed on the road ahead of him. “Steve and I used to listen to it when we were in the service. It’s just a little weird to hear it now.”
You don’t know what to say to that. What do you say to someone who’s completely out of their time, who’s lost years (and themselves) to brainwashing and manipulation?
“I can turn it off,” you manage, reaching forward.
Bucky’s fingers dart out and clasps around yours in an instant, stopping your movements. You bite back the squeak that has threatened to form out of your reaction.
“No, leave it,” he instructs, his grip on your hand loosening as he returns his hand back to the gear.
Your hand retreats back to your lap, almost as if its burning from where you can still feel the ghosting of his fingers. You discreetly flex your hand, trying to shake the feeling of his.
—
Tony’s house on the coast is beautiful — but it surprises you how small it is. It's not very in character for him to have bought such a small place, but you suppose he's more intrigued with its location than the grandeur of the house. It's perched right at the edge of of its own private beach and its secluded enough for privacy. You already know you're going to spend hours on the back porch watching the ocean waves in the evening.
Although you train hard — fought your fair share of bad guys — you still struggle when you have to swing a massive duffel bag over your shoulders and lug it up the long driveway to the front door. The bags are filled with weapons and supplies and it weighs a ton, the muscles in your arms strain as you struggle to support the weight.
You are trying not to show how much you are struggling with the bags — especially since Bucky seems to be hardly burdened with his own. He’s moving with such speed in front of you and it makes you grind your teeth at the fact that he’s carrying a much heavier bag than you are.
God, you hate super-soldiers.
Bucky — who is already at the end of the driveway — turns around to stare at you. You see him sigh as he starts to begrudgingly trudge back toward you.
“Give it to me,” he says, holding out his hand.
You frown, stubbornness bleeding into your veins and you tighten your hold on the bag for good measure. "No, thanks. I'm fine."
Bucky rolls his eyes at you in annoyance. "You're clearly not and I would prefer to get to the house before next week."
You try to open your mouth to argue some more but Bucky just walks right up to you and snatches the duffel out of your grip. You swallow. From this close you can see the small beads of sweat that has formed on his skin, can smell the faint tinge of his aftershave.
It doesn't last long; as soon as he transfers the bag to his other shoulder (now he's carrying a bag on each one) he takes off again. His pace is relatively unchanged from before, even with the added weight. You would rather die than say anything but you are grateful that he has taken it from you. Now that you're free to walk, you catch up to him and walk in step.
Bucky unlocks the door to Tony's place, standing to the side so that you can walk in first. You're annoyed with his chivalry; you're angry with him still.
The inside is quaint, has a small fire place that you notice almost immediately. You notice that there's a bit of dust coating everything; Tony must not have been here in a while.
"Oh, you're fucking kidding me," you hear Bucky swear from upstairs somewhere.
"What?" you call up to him, rushing up the stairs to where he is. "Oh shit."
There's only one bedroom. Oh for fucks sake. There's only one bedroom.
"Well, sucks to be you, Barnes," you laugh.
"Why do you automatically assume you get the bed?" he scoffs.
You smirk, "isn't it part of that 40s charm to let the lady have the bed while you sleep on the couch?"
"We're not in the 40s anymore are we?" he retorts. "And isn't the 21st century all about equality of the sexes?"
You snort. "Fine, we can alternate our days then. Because I do believe in the equality of the sexes."
"Alternate? I'm not sleeping on that couch downstairs, it's hardly going to fit me."
You furrow your eyebrows at him. "So you want me to sleep on that couch for the whole time that we're here?"
He sighs, dropping both duffel bags to the floor. "Or we could both sleep on the bed."
You blink at him in surprise. You have no problem innocently sharing a bed with friends; you'd done so before in the past with Peter. But you're far from friends with Bucky and honestly you're still a little confused on what your feelings for him are anyways. You're actually shocked he would even suggest such a thing; he was shouting at you only yesterday.
His eyebrows raise in amusement from your reaction. "We don't have to, if you're uncomfortable. I guess I could sleep on the floor-"
No. You won't let him win.
"It's fine," you grit. "But... but no... don't... don't like—"
"Use your words, doll," he smirks.
Oh, you're going to fucking kill him.
"I just don't want—"
"Don't want me to fuck you?" he finishes and you swallow nervously at his mocking tone. "You don't have to worry about that happening again."
He doesn't have to be such an asshole about it though. You want to ignore the great weight of disappointment that settles in your core at his words. No, stop it. You don't want him, he's such a dick!
"Wow," is all you manage out at first.
"What? Isn't that what you want?"
You're not going to let him goad you like this. He doesn't get to feel so high and mighty.
"I distinctly remember you telling me that you want me," you snap back at him, walking right up to him and pointing your index finger at him. "And saying how I'm yours and that you don't share and all that bullshit. Or did you forget? So don't stand there and pretend that you weren't—"
He catches your wrist in his hand, stopping you from digging your finger into him. He towers over you and you swear he straightens his back to make himself taller. His voice is soft but firm as he hums, "I remember you begging for me. Being so desperate that you couldn't even stop yourself from cumming."
He releases his grip on you. "So fine, you're right. But don't you pretend either that having that pretty ass of yours spanked didn't have that cunt soaking for me."
Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and you can't stop how badly you're blushing at his words. He smirks cheekily at that, under the wrong impression that you're going to back down.
He should know better by now. You never do.
"How did your mission go with Sam, by the way?" you respond, fake concern lining your voice. "Can't imagine it was easy with your dick so hard it could poke out someone's eye."
He loses his smirk, a scowl taking over his features instead.
"That's what I thought," you interject before he can say anything else. "You should find that spare blanket. The floor gets cold at night."
—
You both don't speak for the rest of the evening. You eat dinner in separate sections of the house and don't even look at each other when you cross paths on the way to the kitchen.
It's fine with you. Anger has been brimming under the surface of your skin from your previous interaction with him. Unfortunately, you haven't really been able to shake how warm your skin became from his words.
You'd be lying if you didn't admit that that night the two of you had spent together hadn't played in your head on a constant loop. You had woken up the next morning, ass still bright red and so bruised that you couldn't even manage to sit down without wincing. The lower half of your body had been completely marked by him; his hands, his mouth, him. You couldn't have shaken him if you wanted to.
It confuses you. So much fury coupled with such crippling want. You seem to want to be around him constantly; even if the two of you are just bickering like normal. Anything... as long as you're near him.
It's pathetic. You hate yourself for even thinking like that.
You go to bed late that night; not wanting to run into him accidentally. He's already on the floor, apparently asleep and you can't stop yourself from feeling bad about it. There's no way he's comfortable there; the floor must be hard and cold and the spare blanket is way too thin and clearly only used during Summer.
You nudge him with the side of your foot, pulling your cardigan tighter around yourself as you start to shake slightly. The cold ocean air seems to be seeping into the house — you guys must've left a window open somewhere.
"Bucky," you say softly. He groans in response and swats at you.
You gnaw at your lip, wanting to reconsider your previous train of thought. You don't want to be nice to him — but you also do? Fuck, why is everything so complicated all the time. Why can't you just meet a nice guy who isn't a complete pain in your ass? But who could ever hold a candle to Bucky? You've never wanted to punch someone so bad and at the same time drop to your knees for them.
"Buck," you say firmer when you notice how cold your fingers have gotten. "The duvet is thicker. It's too cold for you to sleep here."
"Where will you sleep?" comes his response. "I'm not going to let you sleep on the floor."
"Um... I will also be there."
He opens his eyes to look at you and you realise now that he was only pretending to sleep. "And you're going to be okay with me there too?"
You look away anxiously. "Yeah, well... I don't want you to die of hypothermia or something. Steve would be devastated."
"Yeah... Steve would be."
You don't respond to that, just start to climb into the bed and pull the duvet over yourself as you shiver. "I can't believe Tony's place doesn't have fucking heating."
Bucky gets in beside you and you have to force yourself not to lean into his frame. "I guess he never needed it, he doesn't come here during Winter." He pauses for a few seconds before he says, "how the fuck am I meant to sleep if you're seriously going to shiver the whole night?"
"Now you want me to stop shivering? That's not something I can control, not all of us got pumped full of enhancements."
"Didn't you bring warmer pajamas?"
"No... I didn't think it would be this cold at night."
"Oh for fucks sake."
Bucky gets out of the bed and walks over to one of the bags, pulling a red, woollen sweater out of it. "Here, you can wear this. Arms up."
You don't move. "I don't want to wear that."
"And I don't want to sleep next to your shaking body. I said, arms up. Don't make me ask again."
Oh, but you can't help yourself — can you?
"Or what?"
He grabs you by the arm and pins you to the mattress, his face so close to yours that you can feel his angry pants. "Stop testing me like this. It's almost like you want me to—"
"To what?" you tease, smile spreading through your cheeks. "Because I thought you said that it was never going to happen again."
Got him.
He scowls at you. "Just put on the fucking sweater and go to sleep."
He rolls over then, his back facing you as he pulls the duvet over himself.
You're still smirking when you eventually fall asleep.
—
You wake in the middle of the night, not peacefully: something has startled you. It takes you a few seconds to figure out your surroundings, your eyes adjusting in the dark.
You realise with horror that your arm is draped over Bucky’s stomach, your head nuzzled into the crook of his neck. You try to move away discreetly so as not to rouse him and embarrass yourself further but you can’t move an inch. His arm has curled around you, keeping you locked in place. The only way to move now would be to lift his arm and you’re worried that’s definitely going to wake him.
Bucky’s whispering. No… that’s not right. You can’t understand a word he’s saying — is that even English or are you just that tired? After he says a bit more it clocks. It’s Russian. He’s sleep-talking.
That must’ve been what woke you.
You wish you could understand what he’s saying because he seems to be getting more and more distressed as he speaks, his brows furrowing as he seems to argue with someone in his sleep.
His metal hand clenches the sheets, his other hand holding your body a bit tighter to his own.
You decide to wake him up when his voice gets a bit louder and hope that that choice is wise and not one you end up regretting.
”Bucky,” you say gently, shifting so that you can lightly press on his chest. “Just a dream, Buck.”
You sit up on your elbow, cupping his face with your palm and tap his cheek with your fingers.
“Bucky,” you try again. “It’s okay— AH!”
You scream in shock when his metal hand flies to snatch your wrist, his piercing blue eyes snapping open to stare at you.
He blinks in surprise, as if he’s trying to place you but softens when he reads the fear outlining your features. He drops your hand instantly and moves to hold your face, his other arm pressing you into his body in apology.
”I’m so sorry, doll,” he tells you softly. “Didn’t hurt you did I?”
You shake your head — try to at least, the movement is a bit hindered with his hand holding it. But you can’t conceal how fast your heartbeat is racing, know that he’s reading your panicked body language.
He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead and now you’re surprised with how gentle he’s being, how attentive with you.
“M’sorry,” he says again, accent rolling out thickly as sleep still coats his voice. “Just dreaming… remembering something.”
He guides you to lay your head back on his shoulder, his cheek burying into your hair. You don’t resist, figure he needs the comfort you can provide him right now. You let him hold you, try to tell yourself that those fingers at your waist, that that heartbeat under your ear isn’t something that you’re enjoying.
It’s a lie, obviously. You never want him to let go of you.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you prompt, your hand stroking a line up and down his chest. You wish he wasn’t wearing a sleep shirt.
“Don’t think you want to hear it, doll,” he responds softly. “It’s not nice. Did a lot of bad things.”
”That wasn’t you,” you snap a bit harsher than you intend to as sudden annoyance floods into your bloodstream. “All the things that happened weren’t your fault!”
You can feel him smile into the top of your head and it’s strange; you’re sitting with so much anger and he’s… smiling.
“Why do you get so defensive about it?” he asks. “You’re worse than Steve. Even with John, he held it together better than you. Only shouted and raved in my room after John left. But you… you were so livid that you shattered a fucking glass because you held it too tightly.”
You don’t know how to answer.
“I just… when I first got assigned I met you on the same day,” you speak. “I doubt you remember—“
”’Course I do. Pretty little thing with such a fucking mouth.” He taps your spine with his fingers. “You told me to go fuck myself.”
You blush. Can’t believe you said that.
“You were being an ass!” you defend. “Like always. Nothing has changed with you—“
”Just continue with your story.”
You huff in annoyance and he laughs at that.
”Anyway… I don’t know. You used to beat yourself up a lot about it, I think. Didn’t want to be friends with anyone except Steve and Nat… barely tolerated Sam.”
You pause as you try to word it properly. “I think it’s just that I’ve seen how far you’ve come. Almost like I’ve watched you relearn who you are and I don’t think you should be blamed — or keep blaming yourself. I know that you do.”
Silence falls on the room after you say this. You worry that maybe you’ve said the wrong things and made everything worse.
“Maybe we should change the topic,” he suggests. “But… I appreciate how triggered you get.”
”I’m not triggered.”
”That little scar on your palm says otherwise, doll.”
“Ugh, I hate you Barnes. Let go of me.”
You try to wiggle out of his grip but he only tightens his hold on you, keeps you in place.
“I’m sorry for what I said to you, okay?”
You’re quiet now; all fire immediately doused from those words. This is new territory now.
“Did you mean it?” you hear yourself asking.
”Which part?”
You say nothing, the words refusing to form in your mouth. You can’t bring yourself to speak, half expecting him to mock you for it.
”Doll.”
“I don’t want to say it,” you mutter quietly, turning your face so you can hide it in his shirt.
“I didn’t mean any of it.”
It’s enough to get you to turn to look at him. “What?”
”Well, I meant some parts. You definitely were a slut for me.”
”Bucky!” you squeak in protest.
He’s laughing, eyes lighting up as he looks at you. “But I did not mean that it wouldn’t happen again. I don’t know why I keep coming back to you… but I can’t help it. Haven’t stopped thinking about you since that stupid gala.”
“Good things?” you tease.
He lets a beat pass between you both, fingers running through your hair before he says, “oh darling, no. Not at all.”
You frown at that, the real meaning behind his words not clicking with you at first.
”Only wanted to jeopardise that entire mission by pulling over the car and having you in the backseat.”
”Oh.” You swallow, a lump suddenly forming in your throat.
”I told you that that dress was ridiculous. Drove me wild to see you in it. Insane when I saw what you did in it later.”
“Oh my God don’t remind me, that was humiliating.”
”Nah, doll. Wish I could go back and punch myself for talking and ruining it. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Heat’s licking up your spine again, your legs clenching a little as your body reacts to his words. You can’t deny how much you want him, how much you’re loving his arms around you right now.
”Buck,” you mumble out, a half-warning to get him to stop talking before you melt right here.
”What do you want, doll?” he purrs instead. “Always give my girl what she wants.”
And that’s it. The possession in his voice when he speaks about you is all that it takes for you to be putty in his hands.
He knows that you’re struggling to voice what you’re thinking; that you just need a bit of help to ease you out of your shyness.
”Tell me, baby. It’s just me.”
You swallow past the lump in your throat, taking a leap as you say, “sick of trying to make myself cum. Know you’ll do it so much better.”
He sighs deeply, fingers tightening in your hair and creating a slight burn in your scalp as he tries to stay composed.
“What do you mean, ‘trying’?”
”It’s not enough,” you tell him. “Not good enough. Just want you.”
He’s nodding, bringing your face closer to his own as he confirms, “me too.”
He kisses you gently at first, lips soft on your own before he encourages the kiss to deepen. You’ve forgotten how drunk you could get off of him, how needy you start to feel when his tongue slips its way into your mouth.
You sit up more on your elbow so you can lean over him, smiling to yourself when he moans into your mouth as your breasts settle over on his chest.
He disentangles his hand from your hair and you feel it slip under the hem of your shirt, his fingers splaying over the bare skin on your back now.
But you’re so impatient, can’t stand to wait another minute so you break the kiss, sit up even more and pull the shirt over your head.
He audibly groans at the sight of your breasts, immediately moving so that he can cup both of them in his hands and roll your nipples between his thumb and forefinger.
You bite your lip at that, your nipples peaking from the attention and the heat going directly down into your core. Your legs clench a little tighter as he trails sloppy kisses down your neck, down your chest and then finally sucks your nipple into his mouth.
He pulls off you with a pop before his arm is circling around your waist and he’s flipping you both so that he’s on top.
“Fucking gorgeous, doll,” he praises.
You can’t say anything to that, warming up so much under his intense gaze that your only thoughts go to shedding him from his own clothes. You want to lick your way up his set of abs when you see them, spend hours tracing each one with your tongue.
Except all thoughts go out the window when he pinches the inside of your thigh and redirects your attention to where you want him the most.
”Please don’t tease,” you whine out. “Can’t take any more of that.”
”Little bit of teasing is healthy, doll,” he grins.
“Bucky.”
”Whatever you want.”
You bite your lip again when he helps slip off your pajama pants, wastes no time in throwing your panties away too, leaves you bare in front of him.
“Always so wet for me,” he groans as he strokes through your folds, collecting your wetness and using it to circle your clit. You dig your nails into his bicep, other hand going to clap against your mouth to stop you from downright shouting.
“Nobody’s here,” he tells you. “Want to hear how good you feel.”
You peel your palm away from your mouth at his request, panting as his finger starts to tease at your entrance.
“Oh fuck yes,” you moan out when he sinks it in, curls it inside of you. He’s learnt how to touch you now, knows all the spots that make your knees weak, make you cry out. You whine when he adds a second, stretches you out over them and you know he’s preparing you for something larger and your body is humming with want.
“So tight,” he groans.
You hear yourself say more, squeeze your eyes shut when he stretches you out over three fingers — already feeling like it’s too much, way more than you’ve ever been able to give yourself. Find yourself wondering how much of him the super-soldier serum enhanced…
Feel your toes curl as your body prepares to start crashing; he’s bringing you to the peak and you’re a mess in his hands.
”Bucky, gonna…” Can’t get the words out, can’t breathe with how good your body is feeling. Not as clumsy as when you do it yourself, it’s so much bliss that you’re consumed by it almost.
”Cum for me then, gorgeous,” he instructs you. “Make a mess of my fingers like the little slut you are.”
But you’re shaking your head, hand darting out to wrap around his wrist and stop his movements before you really lose yourself.
He’s confused for a second, unsure what he’s done wrong until you recover enough to say—
“Want you now. Want it to be like that.”
His face contorts as you speak, so turned on himself by you that he’s straining at his pants. He moves aside so that he can step out of them, cock springing up as soon as it’s freed and he strokes himself a few times to find some relief.
You try not to gape at the fact that’s he’s massive, try not to think about the fact that he’s going to split you in half.
He leans back over you, kisses you with more passion as those eyes pierce into you.
“All mine,” he says and you sigh into his touch as he thumbs over your clit. You can’t stop the gasp that emits from you when you feel him start to enter you, stretching you out so much more than his fingers did.
But the burn is so good and you’re only turned on more by the way he’s moaning at the feel of you around him. He lets you adjust to his size before he moves, going slowly at first and opening you up more with each thrust. The pain subsides, fades into pleasure that has you boneless in his grasp.
“Oh God,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting out a stream of sounds.
”I actually prefer to be called Sergeant,” he smirks in response.
But you know it’ll turn you — and him — on if you do exactly that. So, you don’t hold back.
Yes, Sergeant. Just like that. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop. Ah, fuck. Please, more. Want you all, want you so bad. Yes, Sergeant, yes yes yes yes.
You can see how dark his eyes get as you speak, the way his hands tighten their grip on your body. He kisses you then, prevents you from speaking any more. Tells you that if he lets that mouth of yours continue like this, that he’s not going to be able to last long. Says you’re making him come undone, unravelling him when he’s supposed to be the one doing that to you.
Worships you, kneels at your altar and worships.
Watches the way your breasts bounce with each of his thrusts and you moan at the expression on his face, clamber to kiss him again and attempt to quell the ache inside of you that only he seems to conjure up.
You know you’re close; know that he knows too — can feel how much tighter you’re getting around him.
“S’good,” you slur out, your hands pulling at his hair, nails scratching at his back.
“I know, doll,” he says softly to you. “You have no idea how good you feel.”
You’re briefly worried that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow; the pace of his thrusts has become so punishing that you have to stick your hand out to stop your skull from slamming into the headboard. Even so, you still hear yourself telling him to go harder, deeper, faster — more more more. You figure a part of yourself wants him to break you in half and put you back together again afterwards. He complies with all that you ask of him, letting go and seeking his own pleasure with you.
"Such a good girl," he praises and you practically keen at his words. "Taking me so well. Look at you, you're fucking stunning like this."
You're blushing at his words, your whole body heating with the way he's speaking to you. You just nod your head, trying to get him to talk more to you — know that that accent, that those words will send you crashing over that edge.
"If only you knew how to shut that fucking mouth," he continues, but he's laughing slightly. "Then we could've done this so much earlier — could've had you in a thousand different ways by now."
"If only you knew how to shut your mouth," you tell him, fighting through the moans that want to rise out of your throat. "Then I could've been cumming on your fingers instead of on my own at night."
"Shit baby," he tells you, lifting your legs so he can go deeper into you. You gasp his name as he bottoms out, panting hard now. "It's fine. I'm going to make up for lost time."
It’s his fingers stroking at your clit that have your legs shaking, your eyes rolling back in your head as you cum so hard around his cock that tears form at the corners of your eyes.
You know that you’re shouting, back arching as your body lights up like a bulb. He’s gentler as he thrusts into you now, riding you through your shattering orgasm. It’s taking everything in him not to cum in you right now, every ounce of his strength being sapped away as your cunt flutters around him.
“Fuck doll, I—I can’t,” he manages out, eyes scrunching with the effort of it.
You sit up slightly, legs curling around his waist to encourage him deeper and harder into your body with each of his thrusts.
“All yours, Sergeant,” you moan into his ear and he cums with a shout, head burying into the crook of your neck as he clutches you to him.
He doesn’t let you go, holds you tightly in his grasp as you both pant and bask in the haze of your orgasms together.
You’ve never felt so satisfied, tired and warm before. You definitely understand how quickly you could get addicted to this, to him.
You feel him grin against your cheek.
”What?” you ask.
He presses a kiss to your collarbone.
“Guess Steve will be glad to hear that we’re getting along just fine.”