Bucky harrumphs through his snout. The problem isn't that Sam is getting fucked it's the bruising. The where, and the what it indicates. Being used and not in the fun way.

There's another huff in response to Sam's comment. He'd have warned him if he knew Sam would feel that good, and... well. Maybe he would've warned him.

He's not sorry.

Large claws run down Sam's chest, towards his thighs, keeping them spread, keeping Sam pressed against him. His long tongue licks the hand nearest his muzzle as he gives Sam an experimental bounce on his lap, lifting his hips upward. Not too sharp a thrust, but definitely an inquiry. Can we get to fucking, then?