Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Get in and shut the fuck up,” Bucky growls, walking closely behind Steve just to shoulder-check him, pushing him none too gently into their hotel room so he can slam the door behind them. 

It might seem like he’s being mean but… it’s not like Steve doesn’t deserve to be shoved around. Quite the opposite actually. He’s been annoying and pushy all night- unable to stop himself or control it in any way. 

Steve already knows how much Bucky hates red carpets; for being a famous scriptwriter he really hates attention. He hates cameras flashing in his face giving him migraines and he hates the fake oohs and ahhs of people fawning over him when it's obvious they don't know shit about who he is and only know that he's someone dressed up nice and walking the red carpet before them, queueing them into his perceived “higher” status. He hates the limelight. He hates how many people in Hollywood and the glitz and glam are plastic. Stuck up and fake- burned one too many times by so many different people, saying they were good friends only to up and leave with the next production, never talking to him again when Bucky gave them his time, recourses, and energy. His friendship. In fact, he makes new friends always with a grain of salt now, but he doesn’t ever stop. He’d rather have his trust betrayed than become nothing but a statue of ice, never getting to know anyone ever, just cold and empty. 

So, yeah, Bucky definitely hates red carpets. 

Nevertheless, Steve knows that somewhere down in there, at the core of his being, Bucky likes the recognition. Of course, he loves his work therefore he likes the recognition of good work. Still, he’s just… more suited to sitting in a room, brooding over his work. Left alone or with a group of close friends (ones that don’t change like seasons in the weather but also not with the seasons of shows). He hates crowds. And Steve knows it. 

Steve might’ve made it worse tonight. Okay. He did make it worse tonight. 

Normally, they agree that Steve will go and socialize and have his fun, finding the other actors attending the event, and Bucky will find the other quiet people (usually the writers) who feel out of place to make his own fun. Tonight though…

Admittedly, Steve had been feeling needy and bratty. Although, he wasn’t feeling needy enough to melt when he was paid attention to by Bucky- hence the brattiness. And it wasn’t like he had told his dom about his mood, enabling him to prepare for it, because… well, that’s part of it too. He gets like this and he can’t fucking talk about it. He needs- he needs it knocked out of him, wanting the roughest treatment he can get. He wants to be broken down fair and square, he wants a sporting chance. If he’s gonna be tamed it better be by someone who’s won the honor, right? It makes sense. 

Anyway, through the night, Steve never left Bucky’s side. Instead, everyone who usually Steve would go somewhere else to speak to came over to them. Which, for Bucky is… fine. It’s tolerable. Or it would be, if not for Steve’s clinging to Bucky like he wants everyone to see how big Bucky is- like he wants to give everyone an example of how strong Bucky is, strong enough to hold him up and fuck him against any wall he might feel like. Acting as if everyone already knew they were an item and perfectly welcoming of it. Plus, to add insult to injury, Steve couldn’t help but slip his fingers to places he shouldn’t’ve all throughout the night too. Loosening his dom’s tie once, then twice, and three times even though Sir told him to stop it. Steve didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Actually, he also started tugging at his collar to “accidentally” show off the chunk he attempted to take out of Bucky’s neck a few nights before, teeth digging into his neck when Sir was fucking him hard and Steve couldn’t get away, nor could he get a lot of wiggle room with all of the other man’s body weight crushing him. It wasn’t like he wanted to get away, he just wanted to keep fighting so- he bit him. And his little trick made Bucky fuck him impressively harder. So hard that Steve’s pretty sure he blacked out with the first thrust, Sir’s cock slamming hard and deep into him. Just the way he wanted. God. Steve’s knees had gone weak just seeing the mark again and thinking about how it felt. 

Then, later, when they were supposed to sit down after the red carpet portion of the event, Steve couldn’t- wouldn’t help himself out of the hole he was digging. Practically sitting in Bucky’s lap. Glaring at anyone who might be looking wrong at Sir. Which is a lot of people. Sir is incredibly attractive. 

Steve might’ve… he might’ve also tried to stick his hand down the front of Bucky’s slacks once or twice. He just wanted to feel him. They’re both pretty insatiable. When they’re alone at home, Steve’s pretty sure they don’t go more than a few hours without doing something. He just missed the feel of Sir’s cock. But he didn’t get it. Bucky caught him both times. By the wrist. Squeezing for a moment in silent reprimand. Then entangling their fingers under the table so he couldn’t try again, much more innocent to hold hands than for Sir to lean over and whisper, “sit on those wandering hands for me, honey. Otherwise, you don’t get to cum for a week.” A threat he’s made before. Because Steve’s done this before. He might be a little insane, doing the same thing over and over again. At least Bucky knows what he’s getting into though; taking Steve as his plus one for these kinds of events where - originally - he was the only one invited. 

Now, Steve can hear his dom taking a deep breath, facing away from him. The breath is so deep that his chest and shoulders rise. Yet, he spits it back out in an impossibly calm and short sigh. 

Bucky moves to lock the door behind them, busying his hands. 

Ugh, Steve can’t help but think. Aching to challenge the other man until he snaps, losing all of that control. Well trained in the “art” (his word, not Steve’s) of brat-taming. As is though… Steve hasn’t gone far from being shoved boldly by the larger man. It’s too bad he’s built like a gymnast (thanks to the constant need to be in shape for work), any other twink wouldn’t stand a chance against Bucky’s thick bulk. So, as Bucky faces the door, twisting the deadbolt and the sliding lock latch closed, trying to keep this show a private one, Steve smacks his ass. 

Also, he snarks, “remind me to get you in slacks more often, goddamn.” Partly to push his buttons and partly because it really, really is true. His ass is so fat that it’s not fair he doesn’t like bottoming. Steve wants to tear his teeth into that peach. He wants to fuck him, not even really fuck his little hole… if he could just- just slip his dick between those round cheeks and grind a little. Fuck. He could fuck his ass like that, cum over him, and then lick up his mess for Sir. If he asked- if he demanded. Not that he would be able to keep it to just licking though… he’d have to bite too. 

Bucky whips around with a growl bubbling up from low in his chest, smirking with his teeth showing. Steve feels his own eyes widen. More so when he’s grabbed by the throat and hauled forward. Closer to the bigger man. Fingers curl around his neck just tight enough to feel his suddenly racing pulse against their clamp. 

Oh. 

For a second Steve is suspended in nothing. Time stops. His hands grab uselessly at Bucky’s thick wrist, scrambling, and a firecracker lights up in his belly but- no. He swallows down the sound that wants to slip out of him. He’s not going down that easy. He will not waste all the build-up of the night. Instead, Steve claws himself back to the present where Bucky raises a covert eyebrow, flicking his gaze down at his neck and then up to his eyes. Checking in. 

Steve nods, wordless, but giving an eager response either way. Still, his heart hammers in his chest, flooding his body with fever-hot blood. 

“Keep pushing and you’ll get what you deserve,” Bucky spits, their faces so, so close together, “but honey,” he tightens his grip on his throat, and once more Steve struggles to not whimper, “I'm not sure you're gonna wanna keep playing the game you're starting here.”

Starting to get dizzy with the edges of oxygen deprivation, Steve bears his teeth, challenging, “I wanna.”

“You sure?” Sir squeezes a fraction harder, shaking him a bit too. 

Steve nods, excited, a whimper on the edge of his lips. He won’t let it out though. He steels himself (but especially his knees that already want to buckle), “I, I wanna play.” 

“Fine,” Bucky says the word flatly, uninterestedly, but he leans in like he’s gonna kiss him. 

Steve wants it. He wants to feel his lips slick and hot, sliding against his own hungry mouth, but the fire under his skin says otherwise. Hot and itching. It makes him tip his head back because it’s not like he can get away any other way. It’s his only hope to disobey. Collared by the mean grip Bucky has on his throat. Bucky doesn’t hesitate though. He lets him have his way, staring up at the ceiling with eyes that slide shut when Sir’s lips land on his neck and then kiss his neck lushly.  

Steve winces when he accidentally moans, “mmnhh!” He can’t help it. It’s just- so good when the soft, rich press of his lips turns harsh. Sinking his teeth into his neck right above where his hand is, branding his throat in two ways. Owning him. God. 

Bucky holds him like that, possessive, for another minute. 

Bucky lets him go.

And Steve gasps, stumbling back, everything comes rushing back to him. The ringing in his ears. The pounding of his heart in his chest. The aggressive, hot throbbing of his cock in his slacks. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s so hard. 

There’s a part of him that aches to drop to his knees and to beg Sir to be ravished right then and there. However, the smarter (dumber?) part of him knows that he’ll get it and he’ll have it so much better the higher strung he is. Steve - in the worst way - wants teeth, he wants nails, he wants bruises, he wants it to hurt. To ache. He wants it mean and Sir gets the meanest when he’s angry. And Steve loves making him angry. 

While still stumbling, unsure of where Bucky wants him to go and where Steve himself wants to go - to obey or not to obey - Bucky whips his belt from his slacks. The snap of it through the air makes Steve’s knees weaken, eyelids getting heavy already. He loves belt spankings. Sir has so many different belts, some just for playing and never for wearing. Somehow though, the spankings with belts he wears often are the best. Maybe it’s the spur of the moment part of it that’s the best. The fact that Sir can’t fucking wait to discipline him, his brat, so he just goes for whatever he has on hand rather than selecting one calmly for the length, width, and weight of the leather. The thud and sting he knows that it will carry and the thud and sting he knows just how to deliver, depending on the stroke he uses. 

Watching him double his belt, folding it in half right in front of him, has Steve so fucking excited. Even more turned on. Especially turned on at the sight because Sir is worked up, so there’s a flush of anger over his handsome face, the veins in his arms and neck starting to appear, his breathing harsher, and his ice-blue eyes locked on him… it’s exactly what Steve wants. 

It’s the best game they play.

Steve just stands there, continuing to watch as Bucky gets himself situated. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, “you forget your place, sweetheart?” Steve doesn't answer, the saliva in his throat too thick. He swallows slowly, trying to shove down all the submissive words and sounds that will blow his cover instead. “That's cute,” Bucky takes a step closer. Steve stays exactly where he is. “But,” he keeps coming closer, winding Steve tighter and tighter, “I know you’re not entirely dumb. You know what the belt means, honey. Bend over-” he steps in close enough that suddenly they're chest to chest. Hopefully, Bucky can’t feel Steve’s heart beating out of his chest or the way his cock twitches near painfully as Bucky talks right into his mouth “-before I make you.”

Steve hardly holds in his moan. Trapping it behind his clamped shut teeth without entirely muffling it. 

Bucky’s lips barely form a shit-eating grin at the sound before he schools himself again. They’re both pretty good at this game- lots of experience. They know exactly what they want out of this. And, oh, yeah, it’s gonna be good. 

Slipping a hand under his chin to make sure he keeps looking right at him and can’t avoid him, Bucky pinches his chin and talks at the same time, rumbling, “I suggest you stop pushing, brat.”  

Yet. Steve stays standing. Pushing by not moving with the orders. With a challenge burning his eyes, Steve keeps looking right at him too. The fire under his skin hasn’t exhausted itself just yet. He’s still got fight left. 

However, Bucky, likely having expected this, isn’t bothered. He simply clears his throat and drops his belt from where it was resting in his other hand. It hits the plush hotel room carpet with a soft clang. And his now empty hand hovers in the air. He keeps the other hand on his face, clamped over his chin so he can’t get away. Challenge accepted his pale blue eyes say, smokey and indulgent. 

Steve nods when he pauses imperceptively, quickly mouthing, “green” as his cock jumps, so ready for it. Bracing himself in the best way. 

Bucky’s hand comes down hard against his face. 

Sir slaps him once and Steve moans for it. Ears ringing louder now. Nerves buzzing. Synapses fucking fired. Pleasure and pain. Masochistic side happier than anything. 

Smack! 

Then again, he slaps his full across the cheek, softer the second time yet it feels just as hard, his skin already tender from the first love tap. Guh. 

Head spinning, Steve moans again, hoarsely this time as he’s still panting from the last one, fire coursing through his veins like venom- stinging and hot. His heart beats like a drum in his chest, pounding against his ribs.  

With a pinch to his dully pulsing cheek, Sir grins. A full-body tremor wrecks Steve. While he’s at it, Sir also thumbs Steve’s fat lower lip, buying Steve time to work himself through the two strikes. Playing with him. It’s all Steve can do to fight against sucking Sir’s thumb into his mouth for something to do to sate his starved hunger. 

“Over the bed. Chop-chop.” Bucky says, voice gruff yet bored. 

With a loose nod - he’s eager and trying not to show it - Steve waltzes over to the bed. His sense of balance might be off from the slaps over the side of his face but… it’s good. Unsteadying and forcing him to pay that much more attention to what’s going on in the moment. 

Steve lays his stinging face against the bedsheets, specifically pressing his handprinted cheek against the cool cotton. Both to soothe the hurt but also because he assumes Sir will be rough, so rough that he might push him up the bed or drag him down back towards him with hulking strength and he wants to feel it. Just thinking about it, he shivers.  

He may lay right now just like Sir asks but he does it with attitude. You can’t break him that easy. His pride won’t let it happen, nor will his libido. So, Steve makes it look extra pretty as he bends over the side of the bed- he folds his arms, cupping his own pecs in his hands, chest down, but he arches his back so that his hips never meet the mattress. Ass shamelessly up. He can feel the way his slacks slip against the, the-

Bucky’s breath hitches. Obviously affected. But he covers it with a snarl of, “grabbing those tits real good, baby? You squeezin’ ‘em like I do, huh? You miss my hands on ‘em?” 

Steve shudders a little. He can’t help it. The way Bucky grabs and pinches and bites and licks his chest while talking in the most filthy way about his cleavage is, is too much. It always gets him there embarrassingly fast. Dizzyingly fast, his cock going from half hard to fully aching and throbbing. 

“Yeah?” Sir takes the bate of his trembling. The nonanswer is answer enough.  

He won’t though; he won’t bite his end of the bate. Steve stays silent. Although he might arch his back even more. So what if he does? It’s worth it to hear him pick up his belt and prowl forward. Sir pulls the doubled strip of leather tight against itself. Snap. Snap. Snap. As he comes up behind him. 

It’s hard to breathe suddenly. Just because his face is pushed up against the sheets and comforter. No other reason. It’s got nothing to do with the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Closer to what he perversely craves.

“I bet you wish it was Sir’s hands on you instead, yeah?” He keeps talking, prying at the crack in his facade that he’s found, “I know how much you love it when Sir pinches those pretty nipples just right-” he can hear the filthy grin the other man is wearing “-’cause I know how much you like it when it hurts, slut.” The impact of that word that Steve loves so much is emphasized by the heavy landing of Sir’s hand on his presented backside. It’s not a slap, just-

A heavy-handed pat.

And, fuck, Steve can taste how good the spanking is going to be already, it will come if he waits, but… he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t push until it wasn’t good for him. 

“Bite me.” He rips back, not necessarily related to what Sir is running his mouth about but, it’s getting hard to think with his cock so hard, trapped in his slacks but also the surprise he’s got under his slacks. Maybe the origin of tonight’s bratty and needy mood. But that’s only if he admits to it. And he won’t. 

Bucky just laughs, unknowing. He doesn’t dignify his weak clap back with words right away. The leather of his belt brushes his back, tracing a line from his tailbone all the way up the length of his arched spine instead. Goosebumps break out under his suit. Sir pats his ass again, “down boy.” 

Steve knows it’s a play of words off of his bite me and it’s so infuriating how his brain is melting down to a milkshake in his head while Sir sounds so not at all affected. So infuriating that all Steve can weakly think to do is, is fucking growl. Like a stupid fucking dog that won’t listen. He growls at his dom. 

And in just a single moment- 

“Ah!” 

He pays for it. 

Lightning strikes across Steve’s skin. He sees all white, accidentally letting a high, embarrassing moan escape thanks to his jaw-dropping. Bucky stepped back so quickly and brought down his belt so fast across his backside that he didn’t know what was happening until it was. Striking him with his belt across the meat of his ass. Smack. Stinging and seeping hotly into his skin through the two layers he’s wearing, slacks and his pa-

“Down, brat.” 

Steve lets his hips drop, unthinking, he tells himself it’s because his back is hurting from arching for so long without any support. Not because his head is spinning with just a taste of the pain he wants because- because… he doesn’t even know. He just obeyed. 

With his hips on the bed, his cock throbs. He’s so hard. He can’t help but-

Before he can even really get a good angle to grind down against the mattress, not necessarily disobeying orders, just… not only don’t what he’s been told, Sir grabs the belt loops on his slacks and seemingly effortlessly hauls him up. Enough that his cock can’t push into the delightful friction. 

Steve whines but doesn’t want to. He chokes trying to turn the pathetic sound into a growl. 

Behind him, Sir laughs, mean and low. “You gonna heel for me, bitch?” His tone fairly joking although still dark. They tug at some chord inside Steve deliciously, sparking the mental image of being made to wear embarrassing things like a collar, ears, a tail plug… maybe even a cock cage, and be Sir’s pet, and- 

Oh. 

A shiver goes down his spine. Yet Steve stuffs the sudden surge of arousal down into the depths of his tight, hot stomach where all the rest of his needs are piling together. Making it hard to resist when all together. He can’t. He’s not done yet! 

Wordlessly, as if he knows he’s struck Steve dumb (re: dumber) and is taking advantage of the moment of quiet sputtering, Bucky drops him back down onto the bed. Shoving him forward too so he bounces a little. Then, with one of his forearms bracing the small of his back, Sir gets to forcefully stripping him down. Reaching around to undo his belt and slacks. Steve tries to hump into his hand - panting with his nerves on fire - but Bucky’s teeth tear into his neck and it’s all he can do to not whimper with his eyes rolling back into his head. Instead, he’s stunned still. Fighting all those soft, submissive parts of him for now. Fight, fight, fight- make him earn you, his lust whispers. 

Bucky keeps going. He keeps messing with his belt, wrestling between making it impossible for him to move and trying to get his clothes off. Ready for all hell to break loose at what his dom will find under his slacks, Steve holds his breath then. Except- after a moment more of torture, Sir leaves his pants where they are and moves up to unbutton his shirt instead, arranging his arms from where they were to where he wants them as if he’s nothing but a doll. 

Steve chokes on a sudden influx of saliva, trying to swallow quickly to stop himself from drooling. He’s pinned bodily under Sir. He’s being moved. Manhandled. It’s hard to breathe again. It’s hard to breathe independent of all of his dom’s bulk crushing him.  

His dom gets all the buttons undone so they’re not in danger of ripping when he tears the dress shirt off of him. However, Steve does hear a few seams scream with the hasty motion. 

God. He’s so strong, the most primal part of Steve whimpers in his head. Cock throbbing with animal want. 

His undershirt comes off next but not without Sir’s fingernails dragging over his sensitive, hard nipples. His mouth is next to his ear to reach, all of his bulk and muscle still pressing him hard into the bed, “what? You already done fightin’ sweetheart? You don’t even need a time out?” 

Steve wants to spit, “no, ‘m not done, fuck you.” But. But it’s so hard to talk with pleasure sparking through him. Flying hot and sharp from his chest right to his cock and his already melting brain. Words are hard but sounds like the agonized moan that he can’t stifle when he pinches and twists just the way Sir knows he likes… those are easy. He’s easy. So fucking easy. He loves this. He could cum like this, blanketed by his dom, being talked down to, and being touched so, so meanly. It’s toe curling-ly good. 

Although somehow, Steve gets so absorbed in the attention Bucky is paying to his chest, pinching, twisting, and using his nails until Steve is drooling a little into the sheets, blood boiling, that he forgets- 

He forgets that- 

Bucky peels himself off of his body only to press a palm into his tummy, forcing his hips up so he can shuck his slacks off of him. He removes them so forcefully that all of Steve’s body jolts, nearly moving him off the side of the bed. His tight slacks make it halfway down his thighs in one go, exposing the panties he put on before they left earlier this evening. Panties made of sheer pink lace, small and stupidly tight over his body. Tiny enough -  barely something you can call underwear - that they hardly cover his cheeks or his throbbing, aching cock. Steve knows, his face lit up in embarrassed flames, that his cock is practically bursting out of the lace. Lace that has been made wet by just how turned on he is. How much he’s dripping for Daddy being so mean to him. Dripping for Sir fighting back- an eye for an eye. 

Immediately, laying his eyes on them, Sir makes a sound like he’s been kicked in the gut. His hands don’t move from where he had been tightly holding the fabric of his slacks, planning to rip them further down before he was interrupted. 

A beat of charged, crackling silence stretches between them. 

Then…

“Aw, cute,” Bucky purrs, sounding out of breath but Steve is too far down the rabbit hole to appreciate how plainly affected he is now, “you trynna impress someone, Stevie?” 

A whine he can’t help is pulled out of him, head spinning. He- he didn’t think about how humiliating this would feel after all the fighting he’s done. Exposing the part of him that does want to submit- the part that wants to be held down and fucked. Fucked by Daddy. Only for Daddy- for Sir. Overpowered and made to take it. 

He wants. 

Bucky lets the moment stretch out further. Knowing exactly how much Steve is squirming inside, the arousal in him suddenly even hotter, winding up tighter. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“Y’know,” he starts, infuriating back to that low, smooth growl. No longer out of breath or audibly affected, fuck him, “wearing these little panties might make someone think you wanted to be good.” Steve can’t help the tiny, little whine that slips out of him. Dizzy and smoking. “‘Cause these-” he snaps the waistband down against his lower back, making a silent gasp leave Steve’s wet, parted lips “-look like they belong on someone who wants to be treated sweetly and softly but…” Sir leans down again, one hand on his stomach still but the other slipping higher and higher up his thigh now, so close to where he wants it but not quite there. Steve is burning from the inside out. “I know your secret, Stevie… you like it rough, don't you, slut? Soft wouldn’t get you off. It wouldn’t even get you hard.”

Steve can't help but cry out. Choking on his own saliva as he tries, in vain, to rut down into the bed again. In his head - other than the echo of such fantastic and mean words - all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart and the rush of lust through his veins. Everything suddenly turned up to eleven and he’s so unbearably turned on. 

Yet, the second Steve tries to move, Bucky is there. “No. Stop.” His voice isn’t enough to still him, but the crisp smack of his palm on his ass sure is.

Steve gasps and jolts in surprise, the stinging heat melting into his muscles as pleasure, not pain. He stops even as his cock blurts out more wet, sticky pre-cum. So good. He’s overflowing with arousal.

“Good,” Sir says, praising him for not squirming more. Steve can’t help but tremble. “Now-” suddenly Bucky’s voice is much smugger, Steve can’t tell if he hates it or loves it, knowing it’s a direct result of how easily he stopped trying to get himself off at his word, “you’re gonna be begging before this is over. It doesn't matter what you think you've got to stand up to me. You can't take me, honey.”

Oh. 

Steve’s empty head whites out but apparently, his tongue doesn’t get the memo, running away salaciously, “oh but, Sir,” his voice is more breathy and whiny and pathetic than he’ll ever admit, “can’t I take you? You’ve even said I take it well.” Steve looks at him over his shoulder, figuring he might as well go all the way. His heart jumps into his throat, seeing his face, knowing that now he’s in. for. it. “Right, Sir?”

Smack. Smack. Smack. 

Three times in rapid succession, Bucky spanks him with his hand. He doesn’t hold back, using a good chunk of that gym-honed strength to steal the air right out of his lungs. Pain lights up like stick matches to their box. Struck just hard and just fast enough to bloom into flames. 

Oh. Fuck. 

Hits aren’t the only impact Bucky uses though, his words too… “that mouth, honey-” Steve can’t help but shiver, he doesn’t know how but Bucky can make sweet names sound so mean. Honey and sweetheart and baby just as biting as slut or whore or bitch. He doesn’t understand how but he doesn’t need to understand. It’s too hard to think- he’ll just feel. “It’s gonna get you into trouble someday. An’ if you weren’t making me spank this pretty ass raw, then I’d stuff that smart mouth with my cock and see how much back-talking you could do like that. With my fat cock down your throat.”

Steve might be woozy. 

Holy shit. 

He smashes his face back against the bed in embarrassment, not wanting to give Sir the satisfaction of seeing how his eyes widen - darkening too, he’s sure - and his teeth tear into his lower lip. Selfishly trying to hold in his guttural moan at the thought of choking on Sir’s thick cock… relying on him to allow him to breathe, feeling his cock heavy and solid, stretching his lips wide, the briny taste of his cum pumping down his throat when he’s finally done a good enough job to earn Sir’s orgasm. Earn his cum. Fuck. He wants that. He wants it so fucking bad that he can taste it. 

And as if he hasn’t just- just fucking done that. He moves on, ordering “stay,” with steel in his voice. So much so that Steve can’t not obey, waiting with his heart heavy in his throat as his dom finds his belt from where he dropped it in favor of getting his brat in order. 

The jingling of the belt buckle alone makes his heart squeeze. He curls his fingers tighter into the sheets, ready to hold on for dear life. 

The chill of the leather meeting his ass for the first time, softly, barely even a tap, makes Steve jump. Skittish. Bucky chuckles, low and delicious. 

“Ready?” He checks in, voice barely above a whisper.

Steve sticks his ass out with a nod, arching his back and drawing his thighs together to show him just how ready he really is. 

“You asked for this and you’re gonna keep asking for it,” Bucky reminds him. 

As much as Steve wants to reply with “fat chance,” it’s a lot harder to back-talk now that the leather is resting on his ass. Ready and waiting to be used. 

Smack.

The first spank isn’t even as hard as Bucky’s hand was striking him, especially considering that it’s not on his bare ass. The panties, as thin as they are, do leave some level of protection. It’s not so much painful as it just is warm. Sparkling vaguely. Waking his flesh up. He doesn’t react purposefully; knowing how much it winds his dom up. 

Grumbling under his breath to show his annoyance Bucky hits him again. Smack. Smack. Smack. They’re still light hits, he’s too good of a dominant to start without warming him up. 

Steve knows later he will appreciate it, but right now his lips curl up, almost without his brain’s input, “that’s all you got, Sir?”  

Bucky makes a psh sound, then, “forgive” smack “me” smack “for” smack “thinking” smack “about” smack “your” smack “safety.” 

The hits are getting harder now. Steve is pretty sure that the only reason the last one has any sting at all is that it’s less a hit to his ass and more his upper thighs. It makes his breathing do a funny thing anyway. “Don’t care,” he musters up. 

It takes Bucky a moment to answer, still working him up with warm-up hits. But then, “I'm glad. Now that you’re warmed up for me. ‘Cause, it means I can do whatever I want.” 

Smack!

“Unh!” Steve makes a stupid sound and then mouths, “Daddy!” silently into the bed. The sudden break of leather over his ass, stinging and a real, hard-hit startles him. Like having ice water dunked over his head without warning except- 

God. 

This surprise isn’t cold at all. It’s hot. Fire. It’s like fire lighting a path across his ass, over both cheeks. Just beginning to fray his nerves. 

Smack! 

Again. Just as devastatingly hard. 

Smack! 

And again. Steve pants, moving his hips from side to side, not humping the bed but- oh, fuuuck. 

Bucky spanks him again with his belt. Layering this one over the other hits he’s already taken deliciously. Fire is breathing down Steve’s neck, making his body break out in goosebumps as the pain is lost in his mess of a body; translated into pleasure instead of hurt. Backward but so good. 

In his struggle to adjust to the uptick of the number of hits but also the intensity of every hit, harder and harder and harder, Steve accidentally lifts his ass back up into the next strike. 

He gasps, eyes widening as his world explodes into heat. 

Bucky laughs - the fucking sadist - and brings his belt back down, teasing, “doesn’t feel too good, now does it, brat?”  

Steve, if he could catch his breath, would disagree. It does feel good. It shouldn’t and on some level, he knows it doesn’t but still- still. He loves it. He lives for this. The pain sparks up and down his spine, emptying into his skull and into his gut, pooling lava. He lives for feeling like he can’t take it but being made to take it and shown how much better it can be. How much better it is. Hot and made even hotter when he gives up control. When the person who he’s giving up for is taking. Earning his submission by making it happen. 

He loves it. And he wants more of it. 

Bucky peels his panties down to sit at the same level that his slacks are at. It drags his painfully hard cock down too. Steve whines like a puppy, tears briefly coming to his eyes before he blinks them away determinedly. 

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

Unable to help himself, Steve tries to hump the bed again. It’s so much. Too much. His cock and balls are so overheated, achy, and needy, that he’s not sure if his ass hurts more than them. The second he does successfully hump the bed, moaning at the friction and pressure, Bucky tells him not to, pausing the barrage of strikes - pausing the pain and pleasure for Steve - so he can be heard loud and clear-

“Quit it.”

Steve ignores him. Half because- because there’s still a little bit of fight boiling inside him but also because his ears are ringing and his toes and fingers are curled tight and it’s a little hard to actually hear him. Either way, he doesn’t listen. He humps the bed again, and again, and maybe he moans louder this time; just because he’s a fucking glutton for punishment like that and it gets his heart racing, cock throbbing that much harder. The situation at hand speaks to his love of punishment and it speaks very, very loudly. 

It’s punishment, he shouldn't like it so much, yet, he does. Unable to be helped. 

However, either way - hearing and ignoring or innocently not hearing - Bucky pulls his hair until he arches all the way into an uncomfortable angle. Back and neck twinging with the position. It hurts. Steve whines, loving every second of it. Especially when Sir leans over him then, blanketing his body heavily just to whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear, “did I fucking stutter?”

Unable to locate any of his wit, melted down into a puddle of a pleasure-and-pain-seeking brat, Steve simply mocks him breathlessly, “diD I stUtteR?”

“Look at me when you talk back, bitch.” Sir shakes his grip on his hair. Steve loses his breath against it all over again, pain hot and tingly along his scalp, down his neck and spine, and pooling heavily in his gut. His cock twitches needily and his eyes flutter shut. Yessss, he barely restrains himself from moaning. 

“C-can’t exactly look at you like, like, this, now can I?” Steve struggles over the words. It’s an adjustment to speak after only whimpering and moaning for the last… however long it’s been. However long he’s been at Sir’s mercy. He can’t tell, fully immersed in it.

“Do you wanna say that again?” Bucky asks, flipping Steve over lighting fast. The movement doesn’t even register; he’s on his front and then his back and he only blinked! 

With their positions flipped Sir's fingers meet Steve’s jaw. Pinching uncomfortably. Forcing their eyes to meet. Steve feels an explosion of fire all over his body. Especially over his ass, marks from his spanking meeting sheets in a biting flare of raw nerves. He shudders from head to toe while kept tight in Sir’s grip. And he would rather be nowhere else. Even if it takes him a moment to get the words out, panting- “I s-said I, I couldn’t look at you like that, sir,” he spits finally. A little too proud that he’s not just whimpering, looking at his dom like this. Handsome eyes dark and intense, jaw set, and his cheeks flushed from arousal, all with sweat beading at his hairline from the workout he’s getting- disciplining his brat. 

Still, frustratingly, he’s not out of breath at all. Held together too fucking well. “Oh, that’s sweet,” he coos, right to his face, “I love your confidence. But it’s too bad I don’t fucking care. You brought this spanking on yourself, brat, by being bad. So you put yourself in this situation now didn’t you?” 

Steve swallows hard and then bites his tongue. He doesn’t know what he’s stopping, another spit back or an embarrassingly subby whimper. 

“Back over,” Sir orders, when Steve still doesn't say anything- charged air crackling between them. Yet, his hand slides down from his jaw to his throat before he goes. Steve’s eyes may or may not flutter shut. 

God. 

Once he’s laid back over, Steve loses track of how many spankings he receives, manhandled and played by his dom incredibly easily. All he knows is that his whole backside is on fire after no time at all, his ass and upper thighs both included in the lapping flames. He also knows that his slacks and panties, both pulled halfway down his thighs, are practically in a knot from all his squirming. The sheets around him are a mess too, partly because he can’t stop grabbing them but also because he’s been drooling into them, his lips unable to shut and his cock so fucking hard that he’s wet. 

He’s desperate for it. 

Arching his back and sticking his ass out with every smack of leather against his burning flesh. God. He wants more so bad. He wants it to stop so bad. He wants more. He doesn’t. He does. He’s just stuck in a loop of agonizing pleasure. 

Smack. 

Smack. 

Smack. 

“Fuck!” Steve hisses through clenched teeth. The swear may sound tough but right after he gasps wordlessly. 

Smack. Smack. Smack! 

The last hit in the recent barrage lays across the top of his right thigh but is angled enough that it catches his left cheek too, layering diagonally over all the other straight strikes. It forces both a high, girlish moan out of him, kicked out of his body, but also tears. 

Now he’s really wet. Drooling. Dripping. And fucking crying. 

Fuck. 

The next strike makes him sob. It’s so good. 

Sir is so good too. He doesn’t miss a goddamn beat. Laying his belt down on the bed to stroke his hands, slow with just the perfect amount of pressure, down the line of his spine until he gets to the throbbing flesh of his ass and thighs. Steve’s expecting another strike or pinch or something but Sir just sweetly pets his abused backside, soothing some of the hurt as he purrs, “do you wanna be a good pet now?”

It’s the niceness after all of Steve’s bratting that gets to him (that and all the endorphins from pain). Steve sniffles. He cries a little harder, finally, actually, letting go- his arousal has gone up in flames and burned through any part of him that dares to fight back. He nods once, rubbing his face against the bed. Nuzzling. 

“Good,” Bucky breathes, continuing to stroke him. Feathering his fingertips over his ass. It feels like pins and needles dragging against him. Steve can’t help but gasp softly with every touch. 

Although, quickly his gasps turn right back into sobs and moans as Bucky gathers his hands, crossing his wrists over each other to loop and tie his belt around them. Restraining his hands and placing them at the small of his back, right about his pulsing, raw backside. Sir is always the worst kind of tease. The restraints aren’t what continues to fuel his tears though. What gets him back going isn’t more spanks either. 

Really it’s when Daddy sinks to his knees behind him, spreading his legs where they hang off the side of the bed and placing himself right between them, using his massive shoulders to keep him spread wide. 

Embarrassment worms through the heavy arousal choking nearly every other sensation out. The vulnerability is so thick and visceral that it nearly chokes Steve. Because, just like that, Daddy stares at him. At his twitching hole and his balls where they’re smashed up against the mattress. His cock is twitching too, painfully so, but it’s out of his sight. Blocked by his own body. Staring at him with his breath hot on his skin, Sir’s mouth puts work in on his own fingers, wetly- filthily licking his fingers only to walk his now wet digits up his stinging inner thighs. 

“Oh, oh, g-god!” Steve’s voice breaks as Bucky presses those digits against his hole. Sliding his first finger in. A little too dry and a little too fast but- fuck. It’s just the way Steve needs it. 

Desire floods him. He wants it. He wants more. Head spinning. Fire stretching to the very, very edges of his body- finally, entirely engulfing him.  

“Yeah?” Bucky groans, feeling how hungry his body is as his internal muscles work around his first fingertip. Clenching tightly. Silently begging more more more. 

“Yeah!” Steve whines breathily. His face stings like his ass; flushed with embarrassment at how desperate he sounds. Sliding to the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Brat to eager slut like that- a snap of fingers. 

Another groan sounds from behind him pressed into the sensitive and marked skin of his thigh. Steve shivers. Bucky gets lube from somewhere after a second. It doesn’t matter where it comes from. Whether he had it in his pocket all night, if he grabbed it when he went to retrieve his belt after slapping him in the fucking face, or if it was hidden under the hotel bed. All that matters is he can hear the wet squelch of lube being poured over Sir’s fingers immediately after he takes them out. And his fingers are being pressed back into him. God. Yes. Yes. Steve’s vision swims in anticipation. 

First, it’s just his index fingers, saying hello again but much more smooth this time. Even more flames erupt, searing their way up his spine from the depths of his stomach. And then there’s a second finger. Steve sobs, choking just a little. Bucky says something and Steve’s sure it’s filthy and wonderful and enough to get him off if he were allowed but he doesn’t truly hear it. All he can hear is the roar of flames inside him, burning h- no, eating him from the inside out. Not only burning him now. 

Two.

Three. 

Four.  

“S-sir!” Steve sobs. Somehow with four fingers stuffed into his twitching, clenching hole, he’s not pressing on his prostate. He’s got his fingers inside him but now the bastard is avoiding that spot. He’s- he’s not going deep enough, nor is he at the right angle. Which- Steve fucking knows that he could find his sweet spot in his sleep. He knows-! He knows he’s doing it on purpose. He’s trying to not hit it. And he wants to just fucking beg for it but he can’t. Words are so fucking hard when he’s on fucking fire with his brain melted out of his ears, his throat hoarse, and all of his nerves screaming. He’s so hot for this. Moaning and sobbing but, but not fucking talking! He can’t make himself talk, tongue-tied. 

God. 

Steve arches his back the best he can, spreading his legs even wider too, even though it makes the muscles in his thighs pull uncomfortably. If his hands were free he’d pull his abused cheeks apart too, exposing himself to Sir’s hungry eyes. Embarrassing and only if he’d fucking- fucking touch his prostate. 

He wants it! So bad.  

Steve tugs hard at the belt- turned from one torture device to another. Impact play tool to makeshift restrains. He squirms, trying to get more of his fingers. Deeper. Harder. Please. It aches! He needs that pleasure so bad. He’s so close.  

“Ah-ah,” Sir tuts at him, curling his fingers just enough to brush past the spot. Steve jerks so hard it probably looks like he’s just had a convulsion. Sir is too good. Sir is so fucking bad though too because he just laughs. Raspy and deep so Steve knows this is turning him on but… he’s not giving in. He’s so much stronger than Steve. 

“Hnnng-!” Steve moans uselessly, wanting it so so so bad. 

He needs it or he’s gonna explode. 

Reading his mind, Daddy asks, “you need something, pet?” 

Steve just whines. 

“What was that?” He teases, curling his fingers at the opposite angle Steve needs. 

It’s not fair. Steve sobs this time, burying his face in the sheets and trying to find strength in his overworked, trembling muscles to back up onto his fingers to show Sir what he wants since he can’t make his stupid fucking mouth work. Pressing his thighs against the side of the bed to leverage himself back. 

“Hmm?” 

This time Steve just sputters uselessly, not getting anywhere. He can’t even coordinate himself enough to grind down into the bed anymore. His attempt to back up and get his fingers deeper fails too, it’s too hard with his pants and panties still fucking on. He’s stuck. He can feel trails of sweat rolling down his back. 

“You gonna beg for it, Stevie?” Sir’s voice is shot, full of gravel and honey. It, impossibly, gets Steve hotter. “Like I told you to earlier?” 

Fucking shit. Like a spear through his chest, Steve understands what he wants. Understanding what he’s going to have to do before he’s allowed to have anything else. Sir isn’t even curling or moving or thrusting or doing fucking anything with his fingers anymore. He’s simply leaving them to be kept fever hot inside his slick, needy hole. Steve curses the tears on his face. He curses the drool slipping out of his mouth rather than words. 

Sir lunges forward, striking like a snake as he bites his ass. 

It feels like Sir takes a chunk out of him with his teeth. Painful and jarring and- 

Steve wails. 

He’s so shocked he’s soundless again for a moment and then… he cuts loose. “Daddy! Ah! Oh- Daddy!” He sobs pathetically, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, soaked up by ruined sheets.

“Yeah,” the other man encourages him, digging his grave deeper now that he’s already fallen from grace, loving it- loving him, “tell Daddy what’s wrong.” It’s no question. It’s a demand.

“Wanna-” 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna cum. Pl-please?”

“Aw, cute, pet. But isn’t there something Daddy needs to hear first?” 

Steve wracks his destroyed brain, searching for something- anything else to say. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know and he can’t fucking think! What could he possibly w-

Oh. 

A fresh wave of tears come to Steve’s eyes. Sir has started curling his fingers again, juuuust putting pressure on the very edge of his prostate. Enough to shoot stars through his field of vision with enough pleasure to make him extra dopey and fuck-dumb but not enough to make him cum. So. Close. He swallows thickly. 

“I’m s-sorry, Daddy,” Steve mewls, even more tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn’t know he had any left! 

“Ah, there it is,” Bucky growls, pride tangible in his voice and shoving Steve even further into the deep end. Floating and then flying. “There’s my good boy,” he praises. 

Steve weeps with abandon at his words but also at the heavy, hard press Daddy’s fingers give to his prostate. So good that it’s indescribable. Pleasure cuts him in half. White-hot exploding stars take over his vision behind his painfully tight squeezed shut eyes. His mouth drops even farther open. Impossibly. Every part of his body is alive and on the edge of an explosion. 

The sound he makes is inhuman. 

Through the impossibly good haze, Daddy fucks him with four of his fingers. Deep. Hard. Stuffed full. Everything Steve needs. Everything he could want and more. Pushed closer and closer and closer until he unravels. Ruined. Splitting apart at the seams until he sees the glory of heaven and the gluttonous sin of hell all at once. 

Steve’s orgasm hits him like a building falling on top of him, allowing him to cum on his fingers with a biting order, “now.” 

Who knows how long the peak of his orgasm lasts. All Steve knows is that he can’t- he can’t imagine how anything could feel this good or how the human body could be built to feel such intense pleasure. He hardly survives his own orgasm and then he comes back from near-death to really be killed. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Daddy, while he was working through his orgasm and the explosion of his brain, has left him where he was but has started fucking him. He must’ve slicked up his cock and prrrressed in while Steve was too out of it to know- the thought makes Steve want to get hard right now so he can orgasm again. It’s knee-weakening. He’s being fucked beautifully, roughly over the side of the bed. He’s being used- used to get Daddy off. A pretty sex doll for him. Guh. 

Tears keep flowing from his eyes, he doesn’t know if they’re old or new. He doesn’t know if his sobs are just sobs from crying so hard or if the sounds are being fucked out of him by how hard he’s being used because Steve’s ass stings and hurts intensely with every eager, hard smack of Daddy’s hips, their bodies colliding loudly. The sound is so fucking intensely erotic. So is the feeling- holy fuck. Daddy’s cock is sliding in deep enough that Steve can feel it in his throat. Choking. But it’s so good. So, so good. If he could move - his body not entirely destroyed by his orgasm - and if his hands weren’t restrained, he would sneak his hands under his body to see if he’d be able to feel the bulge of Daddy’s cock through his stomach. As is… he just curls his toes and lets his eyes roll back in his head. 

Fuuuck.  

He is worn down to the bone and it’s fantastic. It’s pleasurable and it hurts. He’s running on fumes. Trying to keep a fire burning when it’s starved of wood or anything to feed from. He loves it though. He loves it. 

Time stretches out deliriously. 

And when Daddy asks him to say something, over and over again right before he finishes inside his tight ass, he complies. Easy as anything. Saying whatever he wants him to. Owned and controlled deliciously. Overwhelmed. Gasping and moaning dreamily, “I’m a good boy! I’m a good boy! ‘M, mmm, hnnng, m- ‘m a good boy for Daddy! ‘M s-sorry! ‘M a good boy! It’s just- jus’ hard to be good all the time!” Steve can’t help but choke on a jagged sob, whimpering one last pretty, “‘m sorry!” that triggers Daddy’s orgasm with a roar and clamp of teeth over his shoulder. Holding onto him hard enough to bruise. His cock pumps his load inside him. Wet and hot and entirely filthy. 

Jesus Christ. 

By the time Daddy finishes, his cock giving one last overwhelming twitch, Steve feels wiped out. More than wiped out. Exhausted down to the bone and even beyond. Daddy feels it too, crashing down onto the bed with him - the mattress bounces - to lie on his back next to him. Next to him so his weight doesn’t squash him too much, Steve still needs to catch his breath. 

Daddy takes a moment to breathe too. But with a few good lungfuls of air, he then pulls Steve to his sweaty side like he’s a teddy bear. Plastering him to his side but also cradling half on his chest too. Steve goes. He’s all jello now and barely is keeping himself from crashing hard and fast into the best, deepest sleep of his life. 

Steve holds on long enough to feel Bucky press a kiss on the top of his head and wrap his arms even tighter around him. Then he’s out. Like a light switch. 

In… a couple of hours? A couple of days? 

In however long they spend sleeping, someone stirs first, and then someone else stirs second. Steve doesn’t know who gets up first. Everything is still hazy and fuzzy. All he knows is that eventually, Bucky drags himself out of bed, much to Steve’s clinging limbs upset. He comes back shortly with a damp towel and a wet towel. Both fluffy and extravagant- definitely hotel room towels, not something they themselves would go out of their way to purchase for their own home. Before he cleans him up with the towels, Daddy carefully peels him out of his slacks and panties, and socks.

Oh, and he brings water too. Which Steve finds out when Daddy hauls him up to feed him little sips. Steve doesn’t even open his eyes. He just holds onto Daddy and swallows when he tells him to.  A few drips run over his lips and down his chin. He doesn’t mind, it’s actually pretty nice. It keeps him from falling right back asleep (that cold wetness along with the buzzing of his ass now that he’s sitting on it. Once he’s back to his normal headspace he knows it’ll feel a lot worse, as is though… he can take it). 

“That was good? You’re okay? Nothing hurts too bad? I wasn’t too rough?” Bucky fires off in a soft voice once he blinks his eyes open a few times, shaking off more sleep. The other man knows he brats hard and then floats hard.  

Steve couldn’t love him anymore- he knows him so well and accepts him so easily. It’s incredible.  

“Yeahh,” he breathes, processing the words slowly, hard to put everything back together right away, wiped out from such a good orgasm and scene. Just taking it all in. He swallows thickly and is made to take another sip of water. “Yeah, it waz good. Everythin’ I wanted… you, you were perfect ‘addy. Gimme such good scenes. Loved it. Love you-” Steve snuggles closer, uncaring if he’s flipped completely. Brat to subby mush. Baby talking a little. Oops. Whatever. “‘M good, thank you.” 

“Of course,” Daddy stretches to put the cup of water down on the nightstand. He ruffles his hair. Steve might purr. He might fall asleep again but first-

“What about, about you?” 

“Ditto,” Bucky says, smiling, “I had fun, I love making you cry and beg for it, you know that.” Steve’s face heats up, he buries it in his Daddy’s neck. He can’t keep a straight face when he’s not in a bratty, challenging mood. “And you know I love you like this. So. Good scene and good aftercare. Both’re treats to me.”  

Steve nods, shy, and kisses his neck softly. 

“C’mon now,” Bucky murmurs, pulling him back down onto the bed so they flop backward. Steve grins to himself.