Saturday, December 31, 2016

A Bucky Barnes Lemon -- Out With The Old

Character: Bucky Barnes

Fandom: The Avengers

OC: Camille Hughes, brunette, brown eyes, mischievous

Inspiration: Happy New Year's Eve guys!  Wanted to get this one up tonight for the occasion lol.  Hope you all enjoy it and that everyone has had a great 2016!  
Also, I switched back to the other format cause I got some comments that said they like the other one better/are impartial to the change, so I figured if it's not broke, don't fix it right? 
Anyway, hope you guys have a good night and I'll see you in 2017  ;)



Tony’s New Year parties are legend, for multiple reasons, but this year is even more so than usual.  Besides the copious amount of alcohol that, more often than not, leads to a complete contrast of morals, Tony goes out of his way to ensure that there are all kinds of crazy forms of entertainment available.  When one is drunk enough, even the bouncy house smashed into the corner looks fun.
Camille is used to these parties.  She’s been with the Avengers for several years now and Tony’s over the top celebrations hardly even faze her at this point.  The same cannot be said about the latest member of their group though.
Bucky Barnes looks utterly lost.
He’s been downing shots like a broken record for the past hour, though he’s as sober as he’d been when he buttoned up that impeccable suit and fumbled to make the tie look presentable.  His super soldier qualities apparently don’t make it easy for him to get drunk, because any normal person who be stone cold by now (and probably getting their stomach pumped at the hospital).
“Hi, soldier,” she greets, sidling up to him with a smile.  He gives her a forlorn, ‘what-am-I-doing-here?’ look and she laughs.  When she peers at the shot he’s currently cradling between three fingers, though, she starts coughing.
“Is that Petron?  Jesus, how do you not have alcohol poisoning by now?” she mutters to herself, and quickly intercepts the shot before he can down it.  It the bottle beside him is any indication, he’s already gone through nearly half of it.
Bucky frowns at her but doesn’t argue.  Too much.
“I’m trying to get so drunk that I won’t want to punch Tony in the face,” he tells her.  If anyone else had said those words, Camille would’ve thought they were joking.  But Bucky’s eyes are sincere, brimming with an honesty that makes her sigh.
“I think at this point, Tony is too wasted to care if you punch him.  He probably wouldn’t remember it anyway,” she mumbles to herself, and then reaches out to snatch up Bucky’s arm as he turns his body to face the crowd.  Shit – she doesn’t want to give him any ideas.  Regardless as to whether Tony deserves to be punched (she personally has her own list of reasons, compiled over the years), doing so at his own, public party would spell disaster.
With a stern glance at her aggravated soldier, Camille hooks her arm around his and pulls him from the bar stool. 
(Though technically she doesn’t pull him – he doesn’t get anywhere he doesn’t want to – the thought of replacing the alcohol with her sends funny little flutters through his body.  No, he lets her pull him.  Lets her clutch at him.  Her warmth at his side makes his heart clench and his skin hot.  And besides, the look she’s sending him isn’t exactly ‘come-hither-quality’, but he’ll take what he can get.)
“I know a place that’ll make the rest of your night much better,” she tells him.  In the low hanging lights of the bar, Bucky almost revokes his previous thought – there is something passionate that colors the edges of her eyes.  Something that certainly puts his complaints to rest.  (As if he’d even had any to begin with.)
He follows her.  What else is there to do?  He’d probably follow her anywhere.  Even when she brings him to the uppermost suite in the tower, he follows, though he’s a little bit confused as to where, exactly, she’s taking him.
He may have imagined that she’d bring him back to their own room.  Maybe exchange the gown for a robe, help him out of his constricting tie.  But instead he is brought into a room that looks about as luxurious as it does unfamiliar, and he idles by the door with an expression of confused contemplation written across his face.
“What’s going on?” he wonders, glancing at the luxurious furnishings with a distrusting eye.
Camille only laughs and pulls him across the room without even a second glance at the mahogany floors or the gold edged paintings or the 19th century bookshelves.  Instead she just leads him right to the balcony doors and throws them open.
A burst of freezing cold air hits him square in the chest, and even though his body runs extra warm, it still sends shivers running callously down his form.  Of course, the shivers could also be from the sight of the huge Jacuzzi waiting for them near the balcony railing.  He doesn’t need to be overly intelligent to realize why Camille dragged him all the way up here.
With a smirk, he steps onto the balcony.  The Jacuzzi is already hot, steam billowing up into the cold air.  It’s freezing out here, but Bucky hardly feels it.  Camille however…
She’s already laughing as she reaches behind her to unzip the sinfully tight dress she’d put on only hours before, shivering so much that Bucky is almost afraid she’ll turn into an icicle before she has the chance to even get into the hot tub.  He gruffly steps behind her to dutifully assist in the removal of her clothing.  He’s certainly not about to disagree with her plans at this point, especially considering how much planning has clearly gone into this.  The bottle of champagne and the two flute glasses waiting on the side of the Jacuzzi tells him that she has been waiting to surprise him with this for a while.
“More alcohol?” he wonders with a raised eyebrow, and she snorts.
“I didn’t think you’d drown yourself in vodka all night,” she mumbles, and pushes out a curse when her dress hits the ground and the frigid air thoroughly weaves through her.
And then it’s Bucky’s turn to curse, because Camille’s planning obviously has a little more to it than merely bringing up some champagne and turning the hot tub on.  She’s wearing absolutely nothing beneath her dress, and glances over at him with a smirk edged over with wicked amusement.
She laughs at the surprised hunger that quickly overtakes his expression, but doesn’t pause to admire it.  Instead she hurries over to the edge of the Jacuzzi and lowers herself into the steaming water with a pleased hiss.  Bucky watches every movement, drinking her in with a clenched jaw as arousal spins through him and catches him off guard.
It shouldn’t.  The moment he saw the hot tub he knew what it entailed.  Unless there are bathing suits hiding in one of those vintage dressers inside, there is only one way they are getting in this Jacuzzi.  He’s not sure if he’d ever gone skinny dipping before but doubts it.  Even with his limited memory regarding his old life, there aren’t many places to go skinny dipping in New York.  The waterways aren’t exactly clean, and there are no private pools in any of the neighborhoods he used to frequent.
“Are you coming or not?” Camille suddenly asks, looking over her shoulder to where he stands.  She’s dipped down to her chin, and every exhalation breathes a puff of white condensation into the air.  Unfortunately, he can’t see much of her from where he is, and that is something he really needs to fix.
“I’m coming,” he grumbles, though it’s only for show.  His grin only grows as he shucks off his suit jacket and tie.  His shirt and pants follows soon after, and he takes just a few seconds to gather up all their clothes and toss them back inside the suite, closing the door behind him. 
The little spark of forethought is due only to the concern that their clothes might freeze over by the time they get out, and they’d have to perform their own walk of shame in borrowed clothing.  (Stark would probably never let them live that down.)
Bucky goes to join her in the hot tub, slowly sinking down into the hot water with a sigh of relief.  It’s so hot that it stings for a moment before his body gets used to it.  After that, it’s pure heaven.
He shrugs his flesh arm around Camille and drags her into his side, peering down at her with a smirk.  From this position, he can see so much more and already feels a bolt of arousal spike through him. 
“Should we pop the champagne a little early?” Camille asks, tilting her chin up so she can look into his eyes.  He’s watching her with a dark look in his eyes and she knows exactly what it means.  With a giggle, she edges closer so that her breasts skim against him, and maneuvers a leg around his beneath the water.
Bucky swallows and growls out an impatient, “We’ve got an hour before midnight.  I can think of something else I’d rather do.” 
His hand dips against her skin, up her collar, around her neck – he moves his thumb over her chin and tilts her head back, pausing only a moment before he leans down the rest of the way to kiss her.
Camille sinks into him resolutely, fingers shifting up to curl into his hair and grasp at it.  A few weeks ago, he had cut it back to a normal length with the help of Steve, who’d been more than happy to shear off his ‘long, mangy hair’ for him.  Camille had mourned the change for about a day or so, but her thoughts took a sharp upward turn the moment she had seen Bucky all dressed up for Christmas Eve mass, which Steve invited them to attend with him.  The moment she had seen how utterly perfect he looked in a suit and tie and freshly shaven face, all her complaints died on the spot.
(She likes seeing his eyes, too.  They’re so much more expressive then they were before – more willing to crinkle at the edges with the bright efflorescent trace of a smile.)
Her drifting thoughts shatter the moment Bucky drags his hands around her waist and heaves her on top of him, rocking his hips up into hers and moving his mouth faster, fiercer, with all the desperation of a man getting very impatient.  At least if the sudden rock hard erection jutting against her stomach is anything to go by.
She moans and presses against him, rocking in gentle thrusts into his hard shaft as her mouth spins over his.  Bucky growls and heaves her closer, grasping her ass with tight desperate fingers and swearing deliciously against her lips.  One hand reaches up to cup her breast in a firm grip, lifting her into his hand and squeezing just softly enough for her to edge closer, wantonly needing more – always more.
“Bucky,” she murmurs, voice scraped together into the barest hint of a moan.  She captures his bottom lip between her teeth and drags it into her mouth, sucking at the skin as his mouth tumbles open into a moaning growl of his own.
Not for the first time, she thinks he’s too sexy for his own good, and he usually doesn’t even realize it.
He realizes it now, or at least he knows what he’s doing to her in this moment.  If he’s good at just one thing (out of many, truthfully), it is reading her when she’s in the throes of arousal and playing her passion out like a musician might pluck the strings of his instrument.  She certainly won’t complain if tonight, she plays that particular part.
“God,” she moans, whimpers almost, as she shucks her cunt against him.  The moment seems heavenly in a strange way that is probably connected to the subtle shift of romance brought in by the hot tub and the moon that hangs low in the sky.  She’s so glad she planned this out.  She’s positive that he is too.
She knows how crowded places make him uncomfortable, especially when they come in the form of wild, crazy parties with long guest lists.  Luckily, Tony has toned down his party lifestyle in recent years, so Bucky has only had to deal with such instances a few times.  Still, she knows he hates them.  There are too many places to hide in plain sight; too many allowances for enemies to get in.
But here on this balcony in the roiling steam, here between their naked bodies as they have their own New Year celebration, there is absolutely no discomfort burning through his gaze or turning his body to stone with stiff wariness.  No – his body has become hard with a different kind of emotion, tense with desire and not tempered fear.
She reaches a hand down below the water and curls her fingers around his cock, enjoying the way he inhales sharply and looks down to watch the way she begins to pump him.  The water turns each touch into some strange, efflorescent fantasy come to life – ghostly touches that feel like they come straight out of a dream full of bared skin and breathy sighs.  And yet, the grounded way she grasps him, tight enough for him to feel but loose enough to entertain such a gentle notion of almost-innocence makes Bucky moan and tip his head back.
He is frankly too distracted to keep kissing her.  Instead he merely rests his hands at her hips and focuses on the way she pulls and pushes desire straight into his bones.
Camille watches him with low tempered eyes that scream out desire.  Does he even know how beautiful he is?  The moonlight streams over his skin and lights it up in an almost reverent way.  His eyes flutter closed, jaw clenched hard as the muscles of his throat enunciate against his skin.  His body is perfect, and though he would argue against such a claim, she thinks she’s never had a thought more true.  His uniqueness is perfection – every flaw, every shortcoming – and in a moment of tenderness, Camille leans down to kiss his neck, then his collar, then finally his shoulder, near the skin that shares a border with his metal arm.
Bucky’s eyes fly open at the kiss.  He’s always been highly aware of his metal arm, and with that awareness comes a heavy helping of conscientious offense to the fabricated part of him made entirely by his enemies.  He will never understand how easily Camille accepts every part of him, even the parts he loathes the most. 
With a long exhale, Bucky reaches up to touch her head, spinning his fingers over her hair silently.  Her hand pauses as it grasps him below the water and she raises her head up to look at him.  The expressive softness in his gaze takes her breath away.
He leans down to kiss her, but this time there is no teeth or bites, no furious desire, no desperate passion.  This time there is a certain gentleness to his lips as they caress hers, and she knows him well enough by now to know what he is trying to communicate to her.
She kisses him back, dragging her palm more slowly over his cock as she does.  He shudders beneath her, sighing out against her mouth.  But he doesn’t rush her, doesn’t try to spur her on.  Her pace is her own.  He’ll give her that freedom, for now.
She uses it well, bringing him nearly to the point of orgasm with her slow kisses and pliable touches.  He’s rocking up into her hand before he’s even aware of it, and is murmuring, “Doll, if you keep doing that…”
A shot of warm pleasure burns through her at the pet name and she chuckles.  He only calls her that when he’s feeling particularly provoked, regardless of whether that provocation stems from.  In this case, she’s got a pretty solid idea as to the emotion behind the word.
“Am I making you crazy?” she asks, whispers really, her voice a breathy sigh that gets muffled against his mouth as he slowly devours hers. 
He hums against her in agreement and grumbles, “Crazy enough to return the favor, I think.”
He doesn’t just think: he knows.  Knows that he’d like very much to see her come apart for him, preferably several times.  With a smirk that curves his mouth into something downright wicked, Bucky tugs her head back and reaches down to grasp the hand still wrapped around his cock.
He drags that hand over him - once, twice – moaning into her neck louder than before.  Loud enough to make Camille shiver wildly against him and whine when she feels his other hand suddenly weave down her ass to pull pleasure over her folds.
She gasps and stops moving, caught off guard by the suddenness of his touch and the sheer bliss that accompanies it.  She’s horny as anything from the last few minutes alone, and his fingers are quickly stirring up her desire and making it burn out of her in droves. 
He keeps pumping her hand around his cock as he moves his fingers against her folds, controlling both of their pleasure easily.  How he can even focus on doing so baffles her, especially when he curls his finger inside her and starts sliding it in and out of her cunt.
“Bucky,” she moans, burying her face into his shoulder.  She rocks her hips in time with him, barely even realizing that he is still moving her hand against his shaft.  When she does realize, a moment later, Camille quickens the pace of her hand to match his and Bucky lets go with a groan, tipping his head back and pumping another finger inside her.
“Mmm…d’you think Tony would be mad if we fucked in the hot tub?” Camille suddenly wonders, sounding both sinful and innocent in a way Bucky can’t explain, only he knows it makes him crazy to hear her.  Perhaps it’s just the question itself, the hopeful quality of it, the desire to stay right where they are and not move a muscle.  The need that pulls through her voice – the urgency to have him inside her – makes him clench his jaw in barely contained control.
“He’ll be pissed,” he tells her, but he doesn’t stop and neither does she.  She doesn’t miss the way he’d said ‘He’ll be pissed’, as if Bucky is already planning on fucking her right then and there. 
“Mmm,” she agrees breathily, but it certainly doesn’t stop her from inching closer to him and pulling him against the apex of her thighs.
It doesn’t stop him from removing his fingers and replacing them with his erection, either.
She sinks down on him with a moan and grasps his shoulders tightly.  There’s something about the steaming water that makes her feel more than just warm – with Bucky there, inside her, around her, she feels completely enchanted, as if she’s been put under some beautiful spell.  It’s everything together, she suspects.  The cold air that nips at her upper body; the warmth of Bucky’s skin as she presses herself against his chest; the fact that he is now gripping her ass with tight, desperate fingers and controlling her thrusts with aching precision.
“Fuck,” she wails, voice muffled against his neck as she collapses against him.  The only part of her that moves is her hips, which shake down into his with sudden, violent need.  He is all too happy to spur her on as he drags her down and pushes himself deep inside her with the momentum.
She claws at his chest, fingers grasping whatever she can as she curls around him.  Bucky buries his face against her shoulder and their bodies wrap themselves together into all the intricacies that come with making love.  It’s glorious, beautiful – makes her feel magnificent that someone like Bucky could want her like this, love her like this.  It’s the kind of feeling that makes you feel lightheaded and dazzling, like you might flutter away in any moment and possibly never come back down.
She thinks she’s okay with that.
He feels so good inside her and he doesn’t want to stop for anything in the world, but the lapping water is starting to crash out over the edge of the hot tub and the water slows their movements down almost to a point of frustration.  He doesn’t explain anything to her when he clamps his forearms down around her waist, halting her thrusts and heaving her tight to his body.  Even when she gasps – a rebellious little sound she means to reign in – Bucky doesn’t falter in his resolve. He proves that when he slides forward on the seat, plants his weight solidly on the floor, and rises up out of the Jacuzzi with his cock still hilted inside her.
Camille scrabbles against him, locking her legs around his waist and circling her arms around his neck as she tumbles hard into him.  The world spins for a brief moment as Bucky somehow manages to step out of the hot tub without dropping her.  Subdued pleasure rings through her with every step he takes as the momentum shifts through their still connected bodies.  (Another feat she’s too far gone to comprehend.)
“Bucky – “ she starts to say, confusion warping through her soft hearted complaint, but he cuts her off with a low chuckle that makes shivers roil over her skin.
“Shh,” he murmurs, breath pooling against her neck.  His lips brush over her ear when he says, “There’s a big bed in that room, doll.  What’d you say we go make better use of it?”
If she were able to form words around the sharp spiral of desire currently hurtling within her, she’d say hell yes.  Unfortunately, all she can bring herself to do is mumble out something that sounds vaguely agreeable – something that shifts quickly into a breathy moan when Bucky’s metal hand grasps her ass and drags her closer, readjusting himself inside her.
She breathes out sharply when he does, and he grins as he maneuvers them back inside the room and toward the bed.
He’s tossing her down before she can fully understand where they even are, and Camille is gasping as she feels the sudden lack of his masculine power holding her up against him.  The bed catches her, but she barely lays there for even half a second before Bucky is propping one knee between her legs, hooking his fingers around her ankles, and dragging her down the mattress to where he awaits.
“Bucky!” she cries, the moment he’s hovering over her and swiftly entering her once more.  This time, there is no water prohibiting their movements and Bucky takes full advantage of that.  He thrusts down hard, firmly grinding himself inside her before pulling out and doing it all over again.  Each thrust is faster, more powerful, as if he’s doing more than just making love to her.  It’s as if he’s asserting his dominance as well.
The whole thought leaves her feeling ragged and unkempt and completely aroused.  She can assert her own dominance, she thinks.
She arches up, pushing her hips down to meet his, her breasts coming up into the air.  She tips her head back with a drawn out moan.  She doesn’t even have to try to paint her face into seduction – Bucky has already utterly seduced her anyhow – but she makes a pretty attempt and it makes him swear as he watches her closely.
He’s leaning down and devouring her breast before she can even tell him how much she likes when he fucks her like this.
“Mmm!” she moans, fingers tangling into his hair to keep him at her breast.  Her nipples are taut and hard from the cold air, in desperate need of the attention that Bucky is generously giving them.  His tongue is scorching hot against her cold skin and when he sucks firmly at them, Camille sobs out a breathless whimper that makes him twitch inside her.
He’s controlling the spiral of passion with a finesse that almost shocks her – would have, had she not already known what to expect from him.  With a grunt, Bucky nips at her breast and rams his hips into hers simultaneously, making her vision blur at the edges.  Everything is incoherent.  Everything expect the impending orgasm that is quickly ricocheting through her.
“Bucky – oh God!  I’m gonna – James!” she wails, a babbling mess of unkempt desire that knows no boundaries.  He groans against her, abandoning her breast in favor of burying his face into the crook of her neck.  His body hovers over hers, skin rubbing against skin, hips frantically shifting as he steals away every last ounce of her self control.
And it’s the way she says his name, his real name, that makes his own control shatter like glass upon a tiled floor – the shards splintering into a brilliant display of imperfect chaos.  The breathless mewling way she contorts the syllables of his name into quilted burnished hunger has him growling out a strained, “Come for me, doll.  Come all over me – “
“Yes!” she cries, nearly screams, and bucks her hips furiously up into his as he pushes down and bruises her skin with the force of his thrust.
She comes around him, inner walls fluctuating in a sinfully erotic way, clenching down around his cock so spectacularly that he grunts out a muffled curse and barely manages to pull out of her before he spills himself all over her stomach and breasts.
She watches as he pumps himself, blurry eyes blinking up at him from a mess of damp tangled curls, then she sits up and scrambles forward to take his shaft into her mouth and suck him dry.
He moans at the sight, the fluttering of his orgasm still gripping at him.  Fingers grasp at her hair, shift it out of her eyes, and he watches closely as she helps finish him off.  The image of her is imprinted behind his eyes, hopefully will be for a long while to come – or at least until they do this all over again.  The thought is already making him feel hot once more.
But they have time to peruse each other later, to stir that heat up into another blazing inferno, to test the boundaries between them and set fire to those, too.
“Let’s clean you up, doll,” Bucky murmurs, his voice a ragged pull of tired pleasure.  He helps Camille up onto her knees and doesn’t hesitate to bring her close against him, despite the mess he’d made of her skin.  She chuckles lowly as he lifts her up into his arms and walks her over to a nearby door, which he’s hoping is a bathroom.  Luckily, he’s correct.
He sets her on the counter of the sink and riffles around in the cabinets for a washcloth.  Camille leans back and watches him, half-lidded eyes soaking up the glorious sight of his naked form. 
When he returns to her with a damp cloth, Bucky smirks and catches her eye.
“See something you like?” he asks, sounding more relaxed than he has all night.  She giggles when he drags the washcloth over her stomach to wipe away the remnants of him.
“Always,” she responds, and wraps her legs around his waist, locking her ankles together and pulling him against her.
He grunts out what sounds like a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares down at her.  Then he leans in, caging her in as he rests his hands beside her hips.  His mouth hovers close to hers.
“I believe there’s a whole bottle of champagne waiting outside by the hot tub,” he breathes, all low and husky like he’s thinking of things other than champagne.  She raises an eyebrow just to be flirtatious, but inside, her eagerness is limitless.
“Shall we, then?” she asks, and proceeds to throw her arms around his neck and scuffle forward.  He doesn’t complain – just pulls her in and lifts her up again, as if he doesn’t mind in the least that he seems to have become her personal chauffeur for the evening.
By the time they return to the hot tub, pop open the champagne, and snuggle close together, its five minutes to midnight and the new year is around the corner – and neither of them can even imagine spending the last few minutes of the old year in a different way.
“Happy New Year, James,” Camille whispers to him when the New York sky suddenly lights up with fireworks from Central Park, tearing through the black veil of night with a vengeance that looks lovely.
Not quite as lovely as him, though, because at that moment, Bucky turns to her and smiles, and the sincerity behind it makes her heart almost hurt from the happiness that pushes through her.
“Happy New Year,” he says softly, and clinks their glasses together with a laugh.
The moment they take a sip, Camille smirks and says, “Now that we celebrated the old year coming to a close, what d’you say to properly bringing in the new one?”  The smile she sends him is almost as wicked as the way she’s suddenly trailing her hand down his chest.
He puts his glass down before he spills it into the water.
“I thought you’d never ask,” is all he says, before is mouth is crashing down against hers and his previous wish to start all over again is coming true – right beneath the blaze of fireworks that pop like exploding stars into the night sky.
(Tony is most likely going to kill them come morning, but to be honest, neither of them really care.)

~~~

3 comments:

  1. what other way to end this year than to read beautifully written smut c;

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  2. I love your writing, I love your acceptance of new words and how you weave them into a tapestry of breathless desire and pure elegance. If you ever write your own romance novel I would read it religiously, what an excetional way to begin the new year.

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  3. Love your writing as usual!!! I was wondering if you knew of any other sites like yours? With OCs?

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