Sam knows his mate will be delighted as he gives himself a final once over in a gilded mirror. Flowing fabric draped across his broad shoulders, strips of silk crossing over and hugging his chest, leaving the rest of the tunic to fall to mid thigh. Pants made of the same material, a white so delicate and almost sheer that to look upon him leaves you wondering how much you can see beneath the fabric. A cutout here and there to reveal smooth dark skin over beautifully toned muscles. The garments are simple, nowhere near as flashy as the gowns and suits other fae often choose to wear to the galas. But Sam has never been flashy. Prefers to draw the eye for other reasons. At long last his choices have paid off... somewhat, at least.
But most importantly, nobody excepts something so simple, yet deceptively enticing and yet also understated and elegant, to hide a scandalous surprise.
Sam can't wait for Bucky to push the tunic up and discover that Sam's pants come without a proper back, that only two thing layers of cloth trailing down from his tunic like a cape keep Sam modest. Accessible, though. Because they both know how the masquerade will go for them. Sam for his part cannot wait tot see what surprises Bucky will bring him in return. Wants so very badly to run his fingers over his rim, to tease himself and play a little. But he will not. He cannot. He made a promise, unaware as his fool of a human appears of that fact.
Sam remembers though. Remembers holding on for dear life as his human had him again, and again and again, quite unaware of how much virile he's become since they've started this. Remembers steps outside the office door, ajar, a practically non existent barrier between them and discovery. Remembers Bucky's lips against his ear. 'No one else gets to have you. Just me.' Remembers coming untouched at those words, at the casual possessivness of them. And answered, breathless and whimpering: 'Only you. I'm yours.' A promise sealed with their seed, spilled and shared, and capped off with a kiss. Practically a mating ritual without the proper dressings. Sam still lies awake some nights, legs parted and just trying to remember the feeling of his human on him, in him, with him. It's never enough.
So it's a good thing three months have passed. That the masquerade has its grand opening tonight. That if the powers of the world are kind, Bucky will want to play with Sam again, has not tired of him yet,
Sam's face disappears behind a half-mask. Leaving his mouth and jaw uncovered, but hiding the rest of his face with the exception of his dark eyes from view. He refuses to wear full masks as he has done occasionally in the past, now. Needs his mouth free for kisses and for far more, too. Wonders what gifts his human will bring him this time, other than his seed, with which he tends to be so generous that it fuels Sam's magic, stokes that flame to a wildfire. And hours later, when he finally arrives and steps into the grand hall, his eyes immediately start looking. He's impatient, wants his human and wants him now, wants to partake in his body, and be given the gifts he knows Bucky will bring.
Tries to ignore the dread he always feels - at the possibility that this time, Bucky might not have returned. Or worse yet - that Bucky has returned in the company of another, or with the intention to properly court someone again, one of the undeserving fae who keep rejecting him as if he is not the best human Sam has ever played with. He does not desire to officially court Sam, and Sam can live with that. As long as Bucky is generous with his gifts and his body, Sam will greedily take it all and claim it as his regardless.
He starts when someone grabs him from behind, and then immediately relaxes into the way an all too familiar body presses against his backside.
Bucky wants to say something suave as he grinds his hips against Sam's ass. What comes out is this: "I've dreamed of you and only you." Arms around Sam's chest, flicking a nipple piercing with a fingertip.
Immediately pressing his forehead to Sam's shoulder because Gods old and new, Barnes, you have nothing to offer this man beyond your body, as haphazardly arranged as it is, with an arm no longer flesh and blood. He's not even a good liar, something which the fae seem amused and disgusted by in turn. But he knows every curve of Sam's body, and what it sounds like when he begs and pleads and promises and...
Bucky's pretty sure he's in love. Or obsessed. He thinks about Sam all the time. Wants to fuck him from the moment he leaves until the next time he's buried himself ball's deep into the other man, panting, growling, making promises into Sam's ear that he doesn't spend too much time thinking about how unhinged they sound because they both come harder when he does.
And then he keeps them. Which is insane because, again, three months of time in a small household with his widowed mother who pushes him toward every eligible woman and mentions every unmarried man within ten miles while he daydreams about having his face buried in Sam's ass...
He's got a problem.
Bucky looks around but they're in an area more crowded than their tastes run, but he still reaches towards Sam's cock to give it a squeeze as he points at an upper balcony in full view of the floor.
"I'm going to tie you to that beautiful metalwork and you're going to have to be quiet when I push into your perfect ass, because if anyone sees us I'm going to wave." Come on Sam let's go.
Oh, it sounds like an invocation. Music to Sam's ears, who hears so much more than just the words. Good, he thinks. Will become a wicked thing if anyone else ever gets to have this man. Wants to be all that matters in Bucky's small but bright human world. Wants to make him strong and ethereal with magic shared between them. Knows his well will never run dry as long as Bucky keeps filling him with dedications and promises delivered by his lips, by his hands, by his cock.
Sam's gaze wanders up, even as he rolls his hips back. Subtle enough for how many people are around. Insistent enough that Bucky will be able to tell that Sam wants, and wants badly.
"Don't life the tunic. Just reach under it. I wished to make you happy." And while Bucky hopefully busies himself doing that, Sam half turns his head so he can throw a look over his shoulder. "Did you bring the silk rope? If not, I will put up a minor fuss about being tied up before submitting to your whims. I am a man of standards, after all."
The tease is obvious. Sam would, at best, complain a little, and still go along with Bucky's whims and ideas so long as they end in Bucky using him well. Such run their tastes.
"Great and terrible standards," Bucky murmurs as his hands seek out what Sam has implied; there's a sucked-in breath when he realizes what he's being shown and told about, as his fingers meet the rounded perfection that is Sam's ass. "I've met me."
He pinches Sam on the ass. "I did, in fact, bring the silk rope." He is never using a different rope on Sam, despite how much he likes it when Sam complains yet acquiesces to what they both want. "And a few other things as well."
Can they start walking? Otherwise Bucky might just pick Sam up and make his own way to the balconies.
It skirts the edges of the things that bind Sam, as so many things between them do. Sam can't tell Bucky he's fae, can't break the masquerade. But when he says men he means Man - as in human. Knows Bucky won't understand. Wishes he would.
Instead, Sam takes the hand the touched and pinches his ass, and leads Bucky towards the stairs.
"I've been good. I thought of you a lot, and never once touched myself."
Sam throws a heated look over his shoulder. Lets Bucky sit on that - on Sam having gone without for three months, just so that Bucky could claim it all tonight.
"Do you have rules for me to follow or break tonight?"
Bucky groans, a combination of lust and slight regret. That he's Sam's taste? Not exactly. That he is, in fact, a terrible man? Most definitely.
But the look that Sam tosses him over his shoulder, combined with the reality that Bucky also hasn't managed to talk his way into anyone's bed (or flex his muscles alone, that used to be a good one) hits him like the champagne at this party often does. A light touch but a strong kick to the head.
Sam is handsome, and strong, amazingly flexible. He's funny and caring and listens even to the things said offhandedly.
But he saved himself. For three months. For Bucky. On purpose.
Some tiny shred of hope that he's not completely stupidly one-sidedly head over heels for Sam, who wears masks that look like they're crafted from feathers, blooms in his chest, and then he realizes he's been asked a question.
"Ah," give him a second, Sam, there are stairs, and your ass moving up them, and you're holding his hand and maybe this means something to you too? Because you were looking for him. Because you waited, for him.
"I'm going to keep you very full tonight. Enough that you might want to tell me to stop. What is our word for the evening?" In case Sam wishes to actually stop (hasn't happened yet, but Bucky was taught that such things are good manners when you're fucking someone nearly senseless multiple times in an evening).
Which is another thing, actually. Bucky is pretty sure when they started this, nearly a year past, he and Sam had sex once, maybe twice a day. But sometime between now and then they managed to work their way up to several sessions in a night. Which is wild. Granted, they don't tend to talk to anyone else for very often, dancing with other partners and spending time eating before they find another place to indulge themselves. But how did that happen?
Sam turns, at the top of the stairs, and Bucky is momentarily blinded by lust as he sees the piercings on Sam's nipples and remembers other gifts he brought for the man of his dreams.
Sam means that - he knows he could, knows Bucky would be a good man and stop what they're doing. But Bucky doesn't know yet that he fuels Sam with every drop of cum he fills Sam with. That it's a precious gift to Sam. That Sam is insatiable not just in the hypothetical. It can be dangerous for a human to give in to fae whims - there have been those who perished trying to keep pace with a horny fae. If Sam forgot himself, he could put Bucky on a bed and ride him for days without needing a break - but without affording Bucky one either.
Bucky's lucky that Sam actually likes him, not just his cock, not just the pleasure he gives so endearingly, foolishly and freely.
It's why they can do this so much more often these days. Sam's magic reacts instinctively, makes Bucky stronger, more virile. Subtle thickens his cock and fills his balls. Encourages his body to spill more of itself into Sam, bury parts of Bucky so deep they can never be taken back.
"You promise that so lightly. Will you make me drip?"
And he turns at the top of the stairs, sees Bucky's eyes catch on the subtle golden glint beneath the near sheer fabric of the tunic. Smirks. Casts a glance around - nobody up here, and nobody at the bottom of the stairs. Sam doesn't let go of Bucky's hand, but reaches up, makes Bucky cup one pec so he can fondle it. Then tugs his collar down and sideways. With Bucky standing two steps below, Sam's tits are on face level, and Sam is clearly offering himself to Bucky's mouth. Tugs him forwards, wants Bucky to get his pierced nipples stiff and wet and sensitive.
"I will whine the way you like if you please me well."
He's got it bad. Offers gifts to Bucky - the taste and feel of his tits, the sound he makes that Bucky covets so much - and wishes the man could see them for what they are. Wishes Bucky could want Sam in all the ways in which Sam wants Bucky - in passionate lovemaking, in sweetest courtship, in blissful mating.
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no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 06:38 pm (UTC)But most importantly, nobody excepts something so simple, yet deceptively enticing and yet also understated and elegant, to hide a scandalous surprise.
Sam can't wait for Bucky to push the tunic up and discover that Sam's pants come without a proper back, that only two thing layers of cloth trailing down from his tunic like a cape keep Sam modest. Accessible, though. Because they both know how the masquerade will go for them. Sam for his part cannot wait tot see what surprises Bucky will bring him in return. Wants so very badly to run his fingers over his rim, to tease himself and play a little. But he will not. He cannot. He made a promise, unaware as his fool of a human appears of that fact.
Sam remembers though. Remembers holding on for dear life as his human had him again, and again and again, quite unaware of how much virile he's become since they've started this. Remembers steps outside the office door, ajar, a practically non existent barrier between them and discovery. Remembers Bucky's lips against his ear. 'No one else gets to have you. Just me.' Remembers coming untouched at those words, at the casual possessivness of them. And answered, breathless and whimpering: 'Only you. I'm yours.' A promise sealed with their seed, spilled and shared, and capped off with a kiss. Practically a mating ritual without the proper dressings. Sam still lies awake some nights, legs parted and just trying to remember the feeling of his human on him, in him, with him. It's never enough.
So it's a good thing three months have passed. That the masquerade has its grand opening tonight. That if the powers of the world are kind, Bucky will want to play with Sam again, has not tired of him yet,
Sam's face disappears behind a half-mask. Leaving his mouth and jaw uncovered, but hiding the rest of his face with the exception of his dark eyes from view. He refuses to wear full masks as he has done occasionally in the past, now. Needs his mouth free for kisses and for far more, too. Wonders what gifts his human will bring him this time, other than his seed, with which he tends to be so generous that it fuels Sam's magic, stokes that flame to a wildfire. And hours later, when he finally arrives and steps into the grand hall, his eyes immediately start looking. He's impatient, wants his human and wants him now, wants to partake in his body, and be given the gifts he knows Bucky will bring.
Tries to ignore the dread he always feels - at the possibility that this time, Bucky might not have returned. Or worse yet - that Bucky has returned in the company of another, or with the intention to properly court someone again, one of the undeserving fae who keep rejecting him as if he is not the best human Sam has ever played with. He does not desire to officially court Sam, and Sam can live with that. As long as Bucky is generous with his gifts and his body, Sam will greedily take it all and claim it as his regardless.
He starts when someone grabs him from behind, and then immediately relaxes into the way an all too familiar body presses against his backside.
"Impatient, aren't we?"
no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 07:55 pm (UTC)Immediately pressing his forehead to Sam's shoulder because Gods old and new, Barnes, you have nothing to offer this man beyond your body, as haphazardly arranged as it is, with an arm no longer flesh and blood. He's not even a good liar, something which the fae seem amused and disgusted by in turn. But he knows every curve of Sam's body, and what it sounds like when he begs and pleads and promises and...
Bucky's pretty sure he's in love. Or obsessed. He thinks about Sam all the time. Wants to fuck him from the moment he leaves until the next time he's buried himself ball's deep into the other man, panting, growling, making promises into Sam's ear that he doesn't spend too much time thinking about how unhinged they sound because they both come harder when he does.
And then he keeps them. Which is insane because, again, three months of time in a small household with his widowed mother who pushes him toward every eligible woman and mentions every unmarried man within ten miles while he daydreams about having his face buried in Sam's ass...
He's got a problem.
Bucky looks around but they're in an area more crowded than their tastes run, but he still reaches towards Sam's cock to give it a squeeze as he points at an upper balcony in full view of the floor.
"I'm going to tie you to that beautiful metalwork and you're going to have to be quiet when I push into your perfect ass, because if anyone sees us I'm going to wave." Come on Sam let's go.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 08:06 pm (UTC)Sam's gaze wanders up, even as he rolls his hips back. Subtle enough for how many people are around. Insistent enough that Bucky will be able to tell that Sam wants, and wants badly.
"Don't life the tunic. Just reach under it. I wished to make you happy." And while Bucky hopefully busies himself doing that, Sam half turns his head so he can throw a look over his shoulder. "Did you bring the silk rope? If not, I will put up a minor fuss about being tied up before submitting to your whims. I am a man of standards, after all."
The tease is obvious. Sam would, at best, complain a little, and still go along with Bucky's whims and ideas so long as they end in Bucky using him well. Such run their tastes.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-16 05:19 pm (UTC)He pinches Sam on the ass. "I did, in fact, bring the silk rope." He is never using a different rope on Sam, despite how much he likes it when Sam complains yet acquiesces to what they both want. "And a few other things as well."
Can they start walking? Otherwise Bucky might just pick Sam up and make his own way to the balconies.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-17 12:28 am (UTC)It skirts the edges of the things that bind Sam, as so many things between them do. Sam can't tell Bucky he's fae, can't break the masquerade. But when he says men he means Man - as in human. Knows Bucky won't understand. Wishes he would.
Instead, Sam takes the hand the touched and pinches his ass, and leads Bucky towards the stairs.
"I've been good. I thought of you a lot, and never once touched myself."
Sam throws a heated look over his shoulder. Lets Bucky sit on that - on Sam having gone without for three months, just so that Bucky could claim it all tonight.
"Do you have rules for me to follow or break tonight?"
no subject
Date: 2022-12-17 07:13 pm (UTC)But the look that Sam tosses him over his shoulder, combined with the reality that Bucky also hasn't managed to talk his way into anyone's bed (or flex his muscles alone, that used to be a good one) hits him like the champagne at this party often does. A light touch but a strong kick to the head.
Sam is handsome, and strong, amazingly flexible. He's funny and caring and listens even to the things said offhandedly.
But he saved himself. For three months. For Bucky. On purpose.
Some tiny shred of hope that he's not completely stupidly one-sidedly head over heels for Sam, who wears masks that look like they're crafted from feathers, blooms in his chest, and then he realizes he's been asked a question.
"Ah," give him a second, Sam, there are stairs, and your ass moving up them, and you're holding his hand and maybe this means something to you too? Because you were looking for him. Because you waited, for him.
"I'm going to keep you very full tonight. Enough that you might want to tell me to stop. What is our word for the evening?" In case Sam wishes to actually stop (hasn't happened yet, but Bucky was taught that such things are good manners when you're fucking someone nearly senseless multiple times in an evening).
Which is another thing, actually. Bucky is pretty sure when they started this, nearly a year past, he and Sam had sex once, maybe twice a day. But sometime between now and then they managed to work their way up to several sessions in a night. Which is wild. Granted, they don't tend to talk to anyone else for very often, dancing with other partners and spending time eating before they find another place to indulge themselves. But how did that happen?
Sam turns, at the top of the stairs, and Bucky is momentarily blinded by lust as he sees the piercings on Sam's nipples and remembers other gifts he brought for the man of his dreams.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-17 10:24 pm (UTC)Sam means that - he knows he could, knows Bucky would be a good man and stop what they're doing. But Bucky doesn't know yet that he fuels Sam with every drop of cum he fills Sam with. That it's a precious gift to Sam. That Sam is insatiable not just in the hypothetical. It can be dangerous for a human to give in to fae whims - there have been those who perished trying to keep pace with a horny fae. If Sam forgot himself, he could put Bucky on a bed and ride him for days without needing a break - but without affording Bucky one either.
Bucky's lucky that Sam actually likes him, not just his cock, not just the pleasure he gives so endearingly, foolishly and freely.
It's why they can do this so much more often these days. Sam's magic reacts instinctively, makes Bucky stronger, more virile. Subtle thickens his cock and fills his balls. Encourages his body to spill more of itself into Sam, bury parts of Bucky so deep they can never be taken back.
"You promise that so lightly. Will you make me drip?"
And he turns at the top of the stairs, sees Bucky's eyes catch on the subtle golden glint beneath the near sheer fabric of the tunic. Smirks. Casts a glance around - nobody up here, and nobody at the bottom of the stairs. Sam doesn't let go of Bucky's hand, but reaches up, makes Bucky cup one pec so he can fondle it. Then tugs his collar down and sideways. With Bucky standing two steps below, Sam's tits are on face level, and Sam is clearly offering himself to Bucky's mouth. Tugs him forwards, wants Bucky to get his pierced nipples stiff and wet and sensitive.
"I will whine the way you like if you please me well."
He's got it bad. Offers gifts to Bucky - the taste and feel of his tits, the sound he makes that Bucky covets so much - and wishes the man could see them for what they are. Wishes Bucky could want Sam in all the ways in which Sam wants Bucky - in passionate lovemaking, in sweetest courtship, in blissful mating.