Salmon Pink (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
salmon_pink) wrote2014-05-09 08:53 pm
salmon_pink) wrote2014-05-09 08:53 pm
(MCU) With An Artist's Eye
Title: With An Artist's Eye
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Steve/Bucky
Rating: R
Words: 482
Timeline: Captain America 1
Notes: Exhibitionism/voyeurism. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comicdrabbles, prompt "sketchbook".
“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky laughs, although the sound of it is a little awkward, a little strained. Stretched out across the cot, blankets balled up beneath his head and shoulders like pillows, making the lines of his stomach more defined. Arms up, hands crossed behind his head, looking so casual and cocky.
Steve doesn’t acknowledge the complaint. Just keeps his eyes on the paper, hearing Bucky’s shaky inhale, the edge to his breathing mixing with the scratch of Steve’s pencil.
This was all Bucky’s idea, after all. A way for Steve to relax between missions, because being Captain America is hard to turn off. Bucky had shoved the paper into his hands and simply said, “You never draw anymore.” Offhand tone but significant look in his eyes.
He’d even volunteered to model for Steve, which he’s apparently now regretting.
Steve’s careful to keep his face impassive, to damp down the smile threatening the corners of his mouth.
Instead he concentrates. On the smooth curve from hip to ribs, the hair in Bucky’s armpits, the hollow of his collarbone, the shadows between his legs. Legs that start moving, one heel sliding a little higher up the cot, knee bending, and Steve gives Bucky a sharp look.
Watches the flicker of expressions across Bucky’s face, frustration, exasperation, need, but he settles back with a petulant huff, and Steve nods and turns back to his page, sweat forming beneath his clothes.
Bucky’s been half-hard since he stripped out of his clothes. Only growing harder as Steve’s eyes have swept over him again and again, and Steve’s watched the gradual swell of his cock, the deepening colour, until it’s curved against Bucky’s stomach, full and heavy.
“How much longer?” Bucky asks, too hoarse for the flippancy he’s trying for.
Steve only shrugs one shoulder in response, watching the bob of Bucky’s throat as he swallows. Pencil moving over paper, ignoring the way he’s just as hard, just as desperate. Adding details, adding life to the drawing, and he can tell by the stretch and pull of Bucky’s muscles that he’s digging his fingernails into his wrist behind his head. Breathing steady and slow in this carefully measured way, and Steve feels his own breath catch as he watches moisture bead at the head of Bucky’s cock.
“Steve,” Bucky whines, and he’s still trying so hard to not to move, but there’s tension thrumming through him, a tremble in his arms and legs.
“Five more minutes,” Steve says softly, although he doesn’t need it. He can barely see what he’s doing anymore, everything growing hazy and red around the edges. But Bucky lets out this needy little sound, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching before he can stop himself, and Steve isn’t ready to surrender the moment just yet.
Five more minutes until he gets his hands on all that skin, but for now he just wants to watch.
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Pairing: Steve/Bucky
Rating: R
Words: 482
Timeline: Captain America 1
Notes: Exhibitionism/voyeurism. For
comicdrabbles, prompt "sketchbook".“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky laughs, although the sound of it is a little awkward, a little strained. Stretched out across the cot, blankets balled up beneath his head and shoulders like pillows, making the lines of his stomach more defined. Arms up, hands crossed behind his head, looking so casual and cocky.
Steve doesn’t acknowledge the complaint. Just keeps his eyes on the paper, hearing Bucky’s shaky inhale, the edge to his breathing mixing with the scratch of Steve’s pencil.
This was all Bucky’s idea, after all. A way for Steve to relax between missions, because being Captain America is hard to turn off. Bucky had shoved the paper into his hands and simply said, “You never draw anymore.” Offhand tone but significant look in his eyes.
He’d even volunteered to model for Steve, which he’s apparently now regretting.
Steve’s careful to keep his face impassive, to damp down the smile threatening the corners of his mouth.
Instead he concentrates. On the smooth curve from hip to ribs, the hair in Bucky’s armpits, the hollow of his collarbone, the shadows between his legs. Legs that start moving, one heel sliding a little higher up the cot, knee bending, and Steve gives Bucky a sharp look.
Watches the flicker of expressions across Bucky’s face, frustration, exasperation, need, but he settles back with a petulant huff, and Steve nods and turns back to his page, sweat forming beneath his clothes.
Bucky’s been half-hard since he stripped out of his clothes. Only growing harder as Steve’s eyes have swept over him again and again, and Steve’s watched the gradual swell of his cock, the deepening colour, until it’s curved against Bucky’s stomach, full and heavy.
“How much longer?” Bucky asks, too hoarse for the flippancy he’s trying for.
Steve only shrugs one shoulder in response, watching the bob of Bucky’s throat as he swallows. Pencil moving over paper, ignoring the way he’s just as hard, just as desperate. Adding details, adding life to the drawing, and he can tell by the stretch and pull of Bucky’s muscles that he’s digging his fingernails into his wrist behind his head. Breathing steady and slow in this carefully measured way, and Steve feels his own breath catch as he watches moisture bead at the head of Bucky’s cock.
“Steve,” Bucky whines, and he’s still trying so hard to not to move, but there’s tension thrumming through him, a tremble in his arms and legs.
“Five more minutes,” Steve says softly, although he doesn’t need it. He can barely see what he’s doing anymore, everything growing hazy and red around the edges. But Bucky lets out this needy little sound, eyes fluttering shut, hips twitching before he can stop himself, and Steve isn’t ready to surrender the moment just yet.
Five more minutes until he gets his hands on all that skin, but for now he just wants to watch.