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sarahowritesostucky · 2 months

Note

Ignore it if you're uncomfortable💕

Reader catching Steve eating um... "meat" or put suspicion on foods he cook cuz it's a little different from usual meat😔

Idk choose one or maybe both or maybe none

ANYTHING FOR STEVE KAMP I'M EVAPORATING RN

This will be a story told in infrequent, anachronistic snippets, as I love the story idea but don't really want to commit to another WIP. I hope you enjoy!

📖"Amuse Bouche"

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Steve Kemp x Reader

Tags: cannibalism, held hostage, basement wife, captor/captive, dark Steve

Summary: Amuse-Bouche (/əˌmuːzˈbuːʃ/; French; N.) : to delight the mouth.

You feel your ears buzzing as you sit across the island, frozen in place. The soft sounds of Steve's knife against the cutting board drumming in your ears inordinately loud, warring with the drum of your own thundering pulse. You lick your lips nervously, biting your tongue to keep from saying anything.

"Everything okay, Hon?"

You blink, startled out of your thoughts and surprised to find Steve staring at you from where he's working, his eyes boring into you, rather than the raw meat under his hand, the chef's knife in the other. Your heart pounds hard in your chest, and you're sure he can hear it, can tell exactly what you're thinking.

What are you thinking?

"Y-yeah," you stammer, forcing a smile. Oh god, he can tell. He knows what you're -

"Good." His smile is sweet and honest, unsuspecting, and he goes back to his work on the cutting board. You swallow, your mouth horribly dry. "Just hungry, huh?" Steve smirks down at his bloodied hands. "Really worked up an appetite this afternoon."

You chuckle nervously, shifting in place on the barstool. "Haha, yep. Yeah."

"Mm. Well I know how to fix that," he says. Eyes still on the meat.

You look down nervously to it again, and away again before he can catch you looking and see the thoughts going through your head. You avert your gaze around the kitchen. - the beautiful kitchen.

It'd seemed like such an easy mark. Middle of nowhere, no visible security. Single occupant who went away for hours at a time. It'd been easy to case. You'd thought you'd make out good on this one. Just one more job. A little more money to get you in a good spot. Then you'd go straight.

It hadn't worked out that way.

The links on your cuff make a quiet sound as you shift. You reach for your wine glass and take a big sip. It slides over your tongue in a burst of flavors: fruity and lush, decadent yet light. It's red wine, a Beaujolais, your favorite. Steve always pours it for you before dinner, and you always drink it as you watch him cook.

Lately you've been drinking it faster.

Your eyes are back on the bloody cutting board when Steve's amused voice jars you back to attention,

"Need another pour already?"

Your eyes jerk up to him in fright, and it must show on your face, because he sobers. "Hon? What is it?"

You fake another smile - something you've gotten quite good at, ever since you woke up one day in a carpeted cell. "Nothing," you assure him, batting your eyelashes and drinking the last few sips from your glass. You set it back down on the counter. "I think I would like some more, please."

Steve squints at you briefly, concerned, or maybe suspicious, but your smile seems to do the trick and he sighs good naturedly. "Okay, why not?" He sets the knife down on the cutting board and turns his back to you, going to the sink to rinse his hands. "I'm chilling a white for the main, and I thought we could have that honey wine with dessert."

"Oh." You can't keep your eyes off the cutting board - on the carefully trimmed hunks of meat that don't taste like anything you've ever had before ... and on the knife. "That sounds nice."

Steve chuckles. "My little woman loves her dessert wines."

You could reach it. It's within reach. If you just leant across the counter, you'd be able to -

Steve 's hand appears in your field of vision and you flinch. He's reaching to take your empty glass. He eyes you knowingly as he pours from the bottle of Beaujolais. You expect him to say something, but he just finishes pouring and slides the glass back across the countertop to you. "There you go," he says, staring at you.

You lick your lips and swallow heavily, feeling caught. He knows. "Thank you, Steve," you whisper.

The edge of his mouth twitches up. "You're welcome, Little thief."

Your guts churn at the words he's somehow turned into a term of endearment. Steve's no fool. He knew you'd look. He put the knife within reach to test you, and you've failed the test. Internally you sigh, and you meekly sip your wine. You've got a long time to go before you'll be able to get the better of him.

"What's for dinner?" you ask, resigned, eyes back on the mystery meat.

"Rosemary."

"What?" You look up at him, catching the tail end of something indecipherable in his eyes. "Rosemary?" you ask, heart beating faster.

"Mm." He nods and goes to pull something out of the fridge. He returns with a bundle of green herbs. Your shoulders slump. Oh. rosemary. Right. "I'm cooking it sous vide with herbs," he says, and starts plucking the needles off the stalk. "Rosemary, Thyme, bit of sage."

You nod vacantly, thinking of the Francisco Goya that Steve has hanging in the hallway: Saturn Devouring His Son. You used to appreciate his quirky taste in art, had planned to get rich off it. But now you're starting to suspect there's something else to it.

Still, you know it'll infuriate Steve if you refuse to eat the food he's prepared for you, so you focus on sipping your wine steadily, hoping to maybe get another pour in before the meal.

You don't ask what it is that he's cooking sous vide. But deep down, you think you know.

This has been a fill for: @badthingshappenbingo

Card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square O4: Kidnapping

Masterlist

#bad things happen bingo #steve kemp #steve kemp x ofc #steve kemp x y/n #steve kemp x reader #steve kemp x you #fresh hulu #fresh 2022 #fresh movie #sebastain stan #bingos n bangs #my asks #basement wife #held hostage #held captive #yandere #dark fanfic

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where-is-my-whump · 2 years

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Mission Impossible - Rogue Nation Part 1 Part 2

#mission impossible #tom cruise #whump #unconscious #drugged #smoke inhalation #ethan hunt #rebecca ferguson #ilsa faust #jeremy renner #william brandt #held captive #waking up #passing out #shot #no shirt #muscles #rogue nation

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 1 year

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Whump Prompt #980

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

A and B are held against their will as lab rats, B resents it completely while A has fallen for brainwashing and indoctrination, believing their sacrifice has meaning. B wakes up A one night, planning to escape and take A with them, A resists and gets incredibly upset. B has to choose between A and freedom.

#lab rats #ideas #writing #prompts #whump #held captive #medical testing #brainwashing #indoctrination #OOF that ending #forced to choose #stockholm syndrome

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blurredlandscape · 7 months

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i love when your eyes go black

holding me sternly,

sacredly..

two vessels drawing me towards

you;

wounded

im seated on your lap

legs spread indecently

fear mongering priests decrying

uncessingly

as you lead me into you;

traversing these darkly paved paths

desires held

unseemly,

i approach in earnest

beseechingly

the tall wooden oak of your pulpit

repeatedly..

as your need leaks out

to each side

and above your head in fact

but shhhhhh!!!

no one speaks of it!!

hiding whole mountains

#love poems #spilled ink #poetryslutsreloaded #poetry on tumblr #held captive #love poem

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how-much-for-a-whump · 2 years

Text

Söz 21. Bölüm

#turkish #turkish series #whump #male whump #hospital #shot #gunshot #unconscious #ates x nazli #ates acar #eren vurdem #soldier #held captive #freezing #oxygen mask

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ashintheairlikesnow · 10 months

Note

“One breath after the other” for the five sentence fics! - nell

CW: Noncon, choking, captive whumper, sadistic whumper, drugged whumpee

Death Valley

Rancher's Rest, California, 2003

One breath after the other. It was all Finn Schneider could control, the way his chest rose on the inhale, lowered on the exhale.

Nothing else responded to his commands. His fingers didn't even twitch. His eyes barely blinked, and each time he was surprised by the sudden flash of darkness and the return of light. His legs were thrown bonelessly over the arm of the couch, slightly cocked apart, hips tipped upward like an invitation.

His injured leg throbbed, but the feeling was somewhere far away, kept from him by the strange cloud that also held him so perfectly still.

Under his bare back, the couch fabric was somehow rough and soft at the same time. An ancient brown and red plaid, with a folded dollar store blanket laid across the back.

Inhale. Exhale.

Blink.

Swallow.

Oh, he could control that, too. When he did, his throat bobbed, catching on the rough collar he wore around his neck. The choke-chain leash had warmed to his skin, he barely felt that at all.

His eyes wandered, tracing the ring of nicotine stains near the ceiling.

One arm had fallen off the couch, fingertips just brushing the tacky, sticky carpet. He wasn't tied up, not restrained at all. The door was only a few steps away.

But he couldn't move an inch.

Not even when Robert leaned over him, taking his chin and turning the young man's face so their eyes met.

"I never get rid of any of my friends this way," Robert said, as if sharing some kind of secret between them. He smiled and poked idly at the young man's nose. "So don't you worry. I have a system, I have a routine, and this ain't part of it. When you wake up like this, little Mouse, you got to know that nothing bad is gonna happen this time."

Blink.

Swallow.

Inhale. Exhale.

His lips moved, just a little, and he managed a hoarse whisper. "What... d'you do?"

"Doesn't matter. You take what I give you til I get tired of it, and you go be with the rest of my friends. But it is nice, to see you relax some. You worry too much, little Mouse."

Terror was stuck behind the cloud, too. He knew it was there, the screaming nightmare he was living, but he couldn't seem to remember how to be afraid, at least not as much as he should be.

A tear trickled out of the corner of his eyes, dripping into the plaid beneath his head. "... cage...?"

Robert chuckled, patting him on the head, ruffling into his hair like you would a dog's. "You want back in there?"

Finn swallowed.

No. He wanted to never ever see it again. But... inside the cage, he could sleep. He was mostly untouched. He could be limp and boneless in there...

"Y's," He managed, forcing the word through numb lips. "Pl's."

Robert's smile widened. "Sure, little Mouse, sure. As soon as This American Life comes on. Until then..."

His thumb pushed down on Finn's lower lip, until his mouth was open, saliva pooling and running out the corner. He couldn't quite make his mouth close.

"Keep it open," Robert said, as if Finn had any say at all. "Just like that."

His hands went to unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans. Finn knew the bitter taste too well already, the push of heat past tongue and into throat. His eyes closed - did he close them? Tears ran, into his hair and the shell of his ear. He made noises, whimpers and whines, as he fought for the only thing he still had control over.

Inhale-... Gasp. Dizziness. Hold. Exhale, coughing around it, feeling Robert thrust harder the next time. His stomach flipped. It grazed his teeth, sat heavy on his tongue.

Those heavy, rough hands, calloused from hard work, closed around Finn's throat. He lost the ability even to decide when to breathe. There were dark spots, and white, the pressure down his throat and around it, the sound of Robert groaning as he pushed himself as far in as he could get and Finn's limp body couldn't even tense.

The darkness, at some point, was all he had left.

When his eyes opened again, he was in his cage, curled up, with a blanket over him. His throat burned and ached, his mouth tasted like salt.

But his hands moved, jerky and clumsy, but they moved.

He pulled the blanket over his head, turned his head into the pillow beneath him, and found out that he could control his breathing again.

At least well enough to cry.

The radio in the kitchen played loud while Robert had something to drink. Finn could hear the ice cubes clinking in his drink.

The voice of the narrator was loud enough, at least, that Robert couldn't hear Finn's sobs.

#finn schneider #death valley fic #whump #sadistic whumper #creepy whumper #drugged whumpee #drugging tw #captive whumpee #taken captive #held captive #intimate whumper #noncon tw #noncon whump #choking #choking tw

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sarahowritesostucky · 23 days

Text

📖"The Taste of You"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3606

Tags: Fresh AU, dark rom-com, dark!Bucky, pre-serum Steve, cannibalism, kidnapping, yandere/basement wife, meet cute-ish, gay sex n' stuff, dub-con bordering on non-con, ignoring of sexual boundaries

Summary: Just when he's given up on ever finding Mr. Right, Steve meets the - seemingly - perfect guy at the grocery store.

A dark, cute, funny, fucked up, and very tasty love story.

It's a Fresh AU. "If you can't handle the cannibalism, get out of the kitchen"--or something like that

5. Specially Sourced

In the morning, James rises early. The sun’s not even really up yet, the bedroom still cloaked in lingering dimness.

“Time’sit?” Steve slurs, half sitting up in the bed.

But James kisses his eyes closed and tells him gently to go back to bed. “I’m going for a jog. Stay here. I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

Steve mumbles something half heartedly and promptly falls back to sleep.

When he wakes next, James has already showered and is coming out from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. Steve smirks at the view. “C’mere,” he says, not satisfied until he’s got James in the bed and in his mouth. He sucks him off lazily until James gives this really quiet moan and jerks, spurting against Steve's tongue. He swallows it all down, then crawls back up in the bed and drapes himself along James’ side. “Hey you.”

“Hey.”

“... Hey.”

They smile tenderly at one another, then kiss. James reaches to brush the fringe aside at Steve’s temple. “Who is this in my bed?” he wonders softly. “And what’d I do to deserve him?”

“I’m Morning Steve. And you fucked my brains out last night, Sir.”

James laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well hello, Morning Steve.” He pulls Steve on top of him and pecks another kiss to his mouth, then another. “I think I like 'Morning Steve',” he rumbles, hands squeezing at Steve’s waist. “Think I’ll chain Morning Steve up in my basement, keep him around.”

Steve giggles while James growls and attacks his neck. "No! Please don't!"

The attack peters out, and then James is placing a series of slow kisses against his throat and collarbones. “Now, tell me how you feel.”

“How I feel?”

"Mm. After last night,” he murmurs. “How are you, physically?”

Oh. Steve blushes as James looks right at him, waiting for an answer. Nobody has ever asked Steve how he is, after a night of sex. It has literally never happened. Half the time he'll be lucky if the guy is even there when he wakes up. Steve smiles, feeling warm and special from James' attention. “Hmm," he pretends to think, then says coyly, "Well, I feel really ... happy,” He pecks a kiss to James’ right cheek. “And really … satisfied,” his left cheek, “and … a little sore.” The tip of his nose.

James' eyes shadow in concern. “Yeah?”

“Hey. Not like, bad sore. Just enough to remind me what I was using my ass for last night.” He chuckles, but when James still looks concerned, Steve kisses him again, this time right on the lips to show him it’s okay. “It’s just been a while for me. I really do prefer to receive but,” he shrugs. “Ya know. Just have to get used to it again. I bet I’ll be all better by tonight.”

James tuts in displeasure. “I’m not fucking you when you’re still feeling it, Honey.”

“But–”

“But nothing. Nobody does anal every day. Your body needs a rest.”

“Hm.” Steve pushes James to lie back, then sinks downs, rubbing his cheek against the hard planes of his incredible body as he goes. He lays his head down on James' stomach and idly traces the lines of his abs. “You’re nice, you know. Caring about me.”

James rumbles low in his chest. “That shouldn’t be a novelty.” He cards his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I don’t think enough people have cared about you the way they should have, Little man. And I don’t like that.”

Little man. Steve kind of likes that one. He kisses back up James’ body, folds his arms atop his pecs and then rests his chin there. “You’re sweet," murmurs. "A real good guy. Y'know that?"

"Mmm. You don't know I'm good. I could be a serial killer for all you know."

Steve giggles. "Naw. You're not. You're nice. I can tell."

James smiles and pinches his chin, soft and affectionate. “If you say so.”

“What’s through there?” Steve asks when they’re in the kitchen and James is gathering things to make breakfast

He looks over and follows Steve’s sightline. “Oh,” he says, immediately going back to digging through the pantry. “That just goes to the basement.”

“What’s in the basement?”

"My secret sex dungeon," James drawls, and Steve snickers.

"No, really."

James doesn’t seem very keen on answering. Eventually when Steve repeats himself, he sighs and recites, “Water heater and electrical. Stuff in storage. It’s pretty dank down there to be honest. I have a little workspace set up, but I always try to disconnect when I'm out here, so I only go down to send the occasional email when I gotta make sure they’re not fucking everything up at the practice while I’m away.”

“Oh.” Steve doesn’t think twice about it. He’s not sure that he would put a home office down in a dank basement, but to each his own. “So … you have a private practice in the city? Are there other doctors there?”

“... Um, yeah a couple.”

“Wow. Cool. So do you see mostly—”

“Aha!” James pulls his head out of the pantry and grins triumphantly. “I knew I had pancake mix!”

Steve abandons his line of questioning. James is probably used to being preyed on in the dating market just because he’s a doctor, after all. Steve doesn’t want him to think he’s interested in him just for his money. “Great!” he chirps. “How can I help?”

They cook a big breakfast of pancakes and eggs and toast. Steve kind of mourns the absence of bacon, but he doesn’t say so. He slices up an avocado from the bowl on the kitchen counter and divides the flesh up between the two of them. “Voila. Avocado toast.”

“Knew you were a hipster,” James teases, pointing the spatula accusingly at Steve and then flipping another pancake. “So, what do you wanna do today?”

Steve hums and thinks about it. They’re only away for the weekend, today and tomorrow. Then it’ll have to be back to the real world. “Honestly? I could just be lazy here all day with you and I’d love it. We could cook dinner and watch something. Do you have Netflix or Hulu or … oh!” Suddenly, he remembers his phone, and Clint. “Shit.”

“What?”

He winces. “I forgot I was supposed to text my friend Clint to tell him we got here safely.”

James snickers. “You mean he wants you to text so he knows you’re not serial murdered yet?”

“Well, that too.” Steve realizes that he hasn’t had his phone on him since yesterday. “Oh wow. Huh.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I just realized that I haven’t used my phone since we got here.” He chuckles. “We just talked so much, and then there was the hot tub,”

“—And then the boning,”

“—that I didn’t even think of reaching for it.” He frowns. “Wow. Weird.”

“Super weird. It’s almost like we enjoy each other or something.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah, I just might be getting attached to you.”

James slides the last pancake off the griddle. “That’s good news, since we decided I’m your boyfriend and all.”

Oh. Steve’s heart does a happy little kick in his chest, and he fights not to squirm. Instead he goes into the living room to dig his phone out of his bag. “... Hm, no bars. Shit.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that reception is shit out here.” James comes over with their plates, heaped with breakfast food. “It’s kind of hit or miss, unfortunately.”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “Hm. Maybe if I step outside …”

“Don’t bother. It’s no better out there.”

“Oh.”

James smiles like a loon and pushes Steve’s plate across the coffee table. “Eat up, while they’re still hot!”

“...I thought you didn’t eat meat?” Steve says, peering into the fridge.

“I don’t. Why—Oh.” James has come up behind him and can see what Steve’s looking at. “Um, you know my sister and her family came up a few weeks ago. I guess they must've left that behind.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Gross. Must be rancid by now.”

“Uhm …” James watches him closely as Steve pulls the Tupperware out of the fridge and takes it over to the sink. “What are you doing?”

“You have a garbage disposal, right?”

“... Yeah”

Steve turns the faucet on and opens the tupperware. “What even is this?” he asks. He looks to James for an answer as he’s dumping the meat down the sink, but James’ eyes are fixed solely on the drain. He looks near-pained. “What?” Steve asks. “You said it was old, right?”

James clears his throat and looks away. “Yeah. Old. Worthless.”

There’s something in James’ expression that Steve can’t quite tease out, but he figures it’s just his reaction to seeing raw meat. The man is a vegetarian, after all. “So what are we gonna cook for dinner?” Steve asks.

They decide that they’re going to give The Hunger Games franchise a serious go. (“No I've never seen it either. But how bad can it be if Jennifer Lawrence is in it?”)

First, they cook dinner.

“Put me to work,” Steve insists. “I’m teachable.”

James smirks and points a knife at him. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He gives him a bunch of vegetables and a cutting board, then hands over the knife. “Be careful with that. I keep ‘em super sharp.”

“Right.” Steve chooses a leek to chop first while James starts in on making a ‘bechamel’—whatever the hell that is. “You know, it’s kind of sexy that you can cook,” Steve says.

“Oh yeah?” James shoots him a sly grin. “You should see me workin' a good filet.”

“Filet?”

He shrugs, eyes averted. “I do prepare meat sometimes. I cook for other people from time to time.”

“Oh.” Steve thinks about that. “So … you wouldn’t care if I ate meat around you?”

James snorts and shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Steve does wind up cutting himself on the extremely sharp knife.

“Ow! Fuck. Fucking potatoes …” James is at his side immediately. He takes his hand to inspect it. “It’s fine, really,” Steve insists.

James is frowning at the cut though. “It won’t need stitches,” he decides, but he does lift Steve’s hand and sucks his finger into his mouth.

“What the fuck?” Steve gasps. James’ eyes flick up to meet his, and Steve is mesmerized for a second. Then he remembers himself and pulls his hand back, giving a shaky laugh. “Okay, Dr. Lector.”

James stares at him. “You have to be more careful. You could’ve lost a finger.”

“Yeah, well.”

James’ gaze slides over to the cutting board and the half-cut potato. “Come on,” he says. “First aid kit’s in the bathroom.”

When the first Hunger Games movie is over, they return to the kitchen to scoop themselves some ice cream. “You know I actually liked it. The themes were a little heavy handed, but the acting was decent.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, pulling open the freezer drawer. “I googled the general premise of the next one. Um, okay. Looks like you’ve got vanilla, Moose Tracks and …” He notices another piece of meat in a plastic bag, sitting right next to the carton of Rocky Road. “... Rocky Road,” he finishes quietly.

“Oh, Vanilla all the way,” James says, coming over with bowls and spoons. “I’m a purist.”

“There’s steak in here, too,” Steve says.

“Really? Oh.” James is peering down into the freezer drawer. “Right. That’s actually a rump roast.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t eat meat?” He grabs the containers of vanilla and Moose Tracks, sliding the freezer drawer closed.

“Well … that’s the thing,” James hedges as he starts scooping each of them a bowl. “I kinda do eat meat, only I’m really picky about it.”

“Oh?” Steve takes his bowl with a quiet ‘thank you’, and they go back to sit on the couch. “Picky how? Like organic and no antibiotics and stuff?”

“Yeah, kind of,” James evades. “I guess you could say that I source it from a specialty supplier.”

That makes sense. Steve hadn’t thought the packaging looked like typical grocery store packaging. “Well,” he suggests brightly. “If it’s a roast, why don’t we have it for dinner tomorrow night?”

James looks pained as he shoves a big spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. “I’m not sure it’d be to your taste,” he hedges, eyeing Steve up and down. “It’s kind of my own special thing. And it’s really expensive, so …”

Steve frowns, not understanding James’ reluctance. “Oh,” he says. “Well … okay. I guess.”

“Sorry,” James says quickly. “I’m just not sure you’re ready for it yet.”

“What?”

“Here.” He leans over and grabs the remote to bring up the next Hunger Games movie, then pushes play and shoves more ice cream into his mouth. “I’m actually kind of looking forward to it now, aren’t you?”

“... Yeah,” Steve says, still confused about James feeling the need to lie about something so stupid as being an expensive-meat-atarian. “Yeah. It should be good.”

James is distant for the rest of the night, not engaging in the same easy banter as Steve has gotten used to. They make it through Catching Fire and Mockingjay Part 1, before Steve can’t stop yawning and they both admit defeat. They agree to turn in for the night.

In bed, James snuggles him close but doesn’t make a move to initiate anything, so Steve takes a deep breath and reaches down to fondle him through his pajama pants. “Why aren’t you naked?” he purrs, brushing his lips against the corner of James’ mouth in a light kiss. “You got quiet at the end of the movie.”

“Mm. Sorry. Was just in my thoughts, I guess.” James is lying on his back with Steve draped along his side. He sighs as Steve continues to palm him softly. “That feels nice.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, stroking a little more purposefully over the fabric. “I want to play with it,” he confesses, “Can I?”

James’ mouth curves up in a lazy smile. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Steve bites his lip and looks down. “Let’s get these off of you.” He curls his fingers over James’ waistband and pulls. He chucks the pajama pants away and straddles his legs. Slyly, he collects one, and then both of James’ hands and brings them up to rest on the pillow by his head. “Keep ‘em there,” he bosses, giving his wrists a playful squeeze before sitting back again.

“Sir, yessir,” James murmurs, watching him with heated, amused eyes. His cock has filled out more, and it lies, fattened up and half hard, against the taught skin of his lower belly. Steve sighs at how beautiful it all is. “You could do porn,” he tells him dreamily, trailing a finger along the underside of his cock and watching how it makes him twitch. “With a body like this.”

“I only share my body with one person at a time,” James says softly, and when Steve looks up, his eyes are boring into Steve seriously. “And right now? That’s all you, Baby.”

Steve flushes. “Mm. I like that.” James makes a sound of agreement, but it cuts off into a light gasp as Steve suddenly wraps his fingers around his cock and squeezes.

“Steve,”

Steve hums. He gives a few strokes, fist loose around the not-quite-fully-hard length of him. He watches raptly as it gets bigger and the glans starts to peek past the foreskin, pink and shiny with precum. It looks so … delicate, Steve thinks. So sensitive. He spares a glance down at his own dick, which is showing interest by now—and which is also very circumcised. “So … do you use lube when you jerk off?” he wonders aloud, which makes James laugh. Steve huffs and smacks him on his inner thigh. “What? Shuddup! It’s a valid question.”

“Yeah, I know, I know," James snickers. "You’re just cute, is all. And no: I don’t need lube. That’s what this is for.” He takes his dick in hand and strokes at the tip, his foreskin gliding smoothly over the head. “Built-in fleshlight, Honey.”

It really does look like it must feel good. Steve bites his lip as he watches, arousal pooling heavier in his belly at seeing James touch himself. “Hmm.”

“No offense, but nobody shoulda touched yours without asking permission first,” James says, surprising Steve. “There’s no part of our bodies that’s just meant to be chopped off.”

Steve hums, not liking the topic. “Hmm. Maybe don’t say ‘chopped off’ when we’ve got our dicks out, huh?” He knees up higher on James’ body, putting them side by side and comparing. James is bigger by a little, but Steve is nothing to scoff at either, especially compared to his small stature. He taps his dick against James' with a falsely reproachful look. “You saying you don’t like my dick, James?”

“I love every part of you, Honey. You gotta know that by now.”

Steve's heart flutters. There he goes again, he thinks, turning something lighthearted into something meaningful. He's so intense. Steve's gonna be totally gone for him in no time, if he isn't careful. "Every part?"

James’ hands slide over the tops of his thighs, thumbs notching in at his hip bones. “Yes. The things I want to do to this little body.” He exhales slowly and licks his lips. “Baby, you don’t even know.”

Steve squirms, keenly aware of himself. “... Y-you moved your hands,” he says, though it comes out sounding anything but scolding.

“Oh I’m sorry, was that a rule?” James smirks and tucks his arms up above his head again, obedient. “Lube’s in the drawer,” he tells him quietly. “Why don’t you get your hands real wet and stroke us off together, huh? I'd like to see that.”

Steve exhales shakily, more blood rushing south. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, me too.”

Once he’s got the lube all over his hand he can barely hold them both at the same time. He winds up using two hands for awhile, stroking tight and slow, smearing the lube around until they’re both shiny and messy with it.

“Fuck ...” James breathes, watching their cockheads come through the tight grasp of Steve's hands again and again. “Look'it that.”

Steve lets James’ cock fall heavy onto his stomach, and spends a few minutes alternating between them, never giving more than a few strokes before switching again. It’s deliciously frustrating, but James watches with heavy lidded eyes and lets Steve do what he wants for a long while.

“Both hands,” he eventually whispers, and, shakily, Steve obeys. “Jesus wept.”

It’s better this way. He can go harder, faster, can push the heads of their cocks together with more pressure. “F-uck,” he whines, when James’ dick blurts out a bunch of precum and it gets all over both of them. God, it's beautiful. “Fuck, ffuck ...”

“Stevie, c’mere.” James pulls him down into a kiss, doesn’t stop pulling until he’s got Steve lying out flat atop him, their cocks trapped between their bellies. Steve moans into his mouth and ruts down against him, slippery and wet. James groans and grabs at his ass and pulls, rolls his tongue into Steve’s mouth while Steve ruts against him. “Baby,” he breathes. “Fuck, Steve.”

Next thing Steve knows, it’s James’ hand down there, gripping the both of them together. “Shit,” he whimpers, breathing right against James’ mouth.

James is panting up at him, eyes locked on Steve's face. “Sorry I moved my hands.”

Steve laughs shakily. “It’s okay. F-fuck.”

“Go on,” James says, and his fist tightens in place. “Move.”

Steve groans and nods, moving his hips to get his cock pulling through the tight clutch of James’ hand. He squeezes his eyes closed and presses his forehead down against James’ shoulder. “You feel so good,” he breathes, his pleasure ratcheting up higher and higher.

James is moving too, rocking his hips in tandem to Steve. He’s got his other arm wrapped around Steve’s back, holding him close. The feeling of their dicks rubbing together is amazing, squeezed so tight in James’ big hand. It’s fucking erotic as hell, has Steve’s balls pulling up close to his body, wanting to spill. “James,” he gasps. “Oh ... I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna—”

“Me too,” James grunts, working his hand faster, tighter, right at the heads of their dicks. “Ugn, shit.”

Steve comes first. ... He thinks.

It’s kinda hard to tell when it’s all said and done, the both of them left panting against each other, sweaty, their combined release smeared between their bellies. James growls and wraps both arms around him, holding him close as they recover. “Fuck,” he huffs, petting Steve’s back. “Oh. I love you.”

Steve very firmly decides not to worry about it. People say all kinds of shit when their brains are half-melted from orgasm, after all. He only has to worry about it if James starts saying it regularly.

Because Steve is … He’s not ‘in-love’ with James. He loves a lot of things about him, loves spending time with him, loves fucking him, but he's almost 100% positive that he is not in love with him.

It's too soon. He’s only known the guy for a little over two weeks, and Steve has high hopes for where this relationship could go. He’s not about to ruin that by falling in love with the guy on week three. Jeez.

James wakes early in the morning once again, kissing Steve on the shoulder and pressing him back down into the sheets when he stirs, just like before. “Going for my run,” he whispers. “I’ll wake you up when I get back.”

“Mmh, with a blowjob,” Steve agrees, smiling against the pillow.

James chuckles and leaves the room. Steve hears the front door open and close faintly in the distance. “Mm.” He smacks his lips and rolls over, blinking sleepily up at the bedroom ceiling. A glance to the bedside clock tells him that it’s 5:15. “Fuck, no.” He scowls at his boyfriend’s unnatural habits. "He's crazy."

He tries to fall back asleep, but it quickly becomes apparent that that’s not going to happen. He feels wide awake. “Fuck,” he mutters again, then gets up to shuck some boxers and a tee shirt on so he can go putz around in the kitchen, hopefully make coffee.

The early morning makes itself known more readily out in the main living area, a dreary amount of twilight coming in through the kitchen windows and skylights. Steve does indeed find the coffee machine, but it’s far too convoluted for him to figure out. He grumps at it and tells it to fuck off, which is stupid. It’s not the machine’s fault that Steve’s IQ is a legit 15 points lower in the mornings. He finds a kettle instead and puts water on to boil.

It’s as he’s waiting for the water to heat that he notices it: The door just down the hall is open by a crack. Steve squints at it, remembering how Bucky had told him that it went down to the basement. “Huh.” He walks over, intending to close it, but when he wraps his hand around the knob he winds up pulling it open just a bit to take a peek, first.

“... The fuck?” He says softly. There’s this, like, zen, modern staircase that curves down. Stylish, fancy. Definitely not 'dank' like James had described. Big, carved rocks and aesthetic lowlighting line the walls as the staircase descends in an ominous spiral, out of sight.

Frowning, Steve pushes the door all the way open ... and steps through.