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They both know how this will end, but Jason stubbornly refuses to give up.
“Is that really the best you can do?” Bucky challenges.
Jason goes dead still, aside from the minute trembling in his muscles where they’ve been sparring for so long his body is starting to give out. “Fuck you.”
“Maybe I’d let you, if you could pin me,” Bucky lies. “But you gotta earn it.”
Jason growls, and attacks, too tired and too angry to be anything but clumsy. He goes down like a ton of bricks, hitting the mats hard under Bucky’s comparatively light body. For a moment he keeps fighting, keeps struggling. Bucky grabs both his wrists and pins them to the mat on either side of his head, and he lets out a strangled sound of frustration, scowling up at him.
“Guess the question is, what do I earn when I pin you?” Bucky whispers. “Oughta make it part of the forfeit. You lose, I get to take you however I want.”
Jason’s lips part around a tiny gasp. He strains weakly against his grip, red-faced and panting, and Bucky swallows hard.
“You like when I pin you, though,” Bucky says, low and mean. “Don’t you, Jay?”
Jason’s eyes slide to the side for just a moment before he bites out, “No.”
“Bullshit,” Bucky says softly. “You’d lose on purpose, wouldn’t you? So goddamn easy.”
Jason lets out a wordless grunt of protest that Bucky doesn’t believe for a second.
Bucky moves Jason’s arms over his head so Bucky can hold both wrists in his left hand, and then he shifts back, hitching Jason’s leg up around his waist, lining their hips up and grinding down. Jason’s getting hard just as fast as he is, if not faster; he moans, all punched-out and filthy, thrusting helplessly up against Bucky.
“Yeah, I thought you’d like that. You’d spread your legs and beg. You’re already gagging for it, don’t try to lie to me.”
“M’ not,” Jason says, voice hitching, eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t.”
Bucky hesitates at that, heat twisting sharp and sudden through his gut.
It's a lie. It's a blatant lie.
...unless it's one of those times that Jason wants to pretend.
“Jason. Look at me.”
Jason looks, but his expression is all screwed-up and desperate, tears in his lashes. There’s something raw and hungry in his eyes that Bucky’s starting to recognize — because they’ve done this whole song and dance before. This is what Jason does; he’ll never come out and ask for what he wants, not in so many words.
“D’you remember your safeword?” Bucky asks, barely more than a whisper.
Jason nods, just once, eyes wide, teeth digging into his own lower lip so hard the skin around his teeth is going a bloodless white.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, any more than Bucky does, and this is — god, they should talk about this. They should have a goddamn discussion about this. They should —
“Could do it right now if I wanted,” Bucky says. “I could flip you onto your stomach and make you take it... whether you want it or not.”
For a split-second after the words leave his mouth, he wonders what the fuck he was thinking — because yeah, he’s been paying attention; yeah, he’s starting to understand the way Jason works; yeah, he suspects Jason’s thought about it just as much as Bucky has. They’ve been dancing around this for a while now. But it’s still a hell of a thing to just say.
And then Jason whimpers, a high strung-out noise, and gasps, “Fuck.”
He’s trembling, Bucky realizes, and not from overworked muscles this time. For the same reason Bucky is, then: because he wants it too much. Bucky didn’t even realize how much he wanted that until he said it out loud.
Bucky sits back on his heels, squeezing himself through his athletic shorts. Jason’s gaze flicks down automatically, following Bucky’s hand, tracing the shape of him through the fabric, and when Bucky shoves the shorts down, stroking himself roughly, Jason bites back a soft little whine.
“Can’t decide if I should fuck your mouth first, get it nice and wet,” Bucky says, and hesitates, wondering how far they're going to push this. How much Jason wants to pretend. “Or if I should fuck you raw. It’d hurt, but you could take it.”
Jason moans, and then he shuts his mouth so abruptly his teeth make an audible click. He shakes his head back and forth so hard his entire body thrashes with it, but he doesn’t say his safeword.
Tears leak down his temples, and Bucky has to close his own eyes for a moment.
“Guess it’s not really up to you, is it?” he asks quietly, and then, with a curious sort of detachment, he asks, “You got any fight left in you?”
Jason’s trembling, already far past the end of his endurance, every breath sounding more like a sob, but he manages to grit out, “Always.”
“Prove it,” Bucky challenges.
They stare at each other for one long, frozen moment, and then Jason flips onto his stomach, tries to belly-crawl away.
Bucky’s already pinning him again, getting a hand in his hair and holding him in place. He uses the other hand to yank Jason’s sweatpants down, exposing his ass, giving it a smack. Bucky grabs his wrists, pins both behind his back, and grinds against him, letting the head of his dick nudge up against where Jason’s still slick and stretched from earlier. Not as slick as he could be, but... it's enough.
“Don’t,” Jason chokes out.
“Fuck,” Bucky hisses, dick throbbing, and starts to push in.
“Don’t,” Jason sobs. He gasps in a few deep ragged breaths and squirms, thrashing, trying to throw Bucky off. “Don’t!”
Then he wails, full-throated and agonized, so intense that for a moment Bucky panics — until he realizes that Jason’s coming, with his spine bowed and his muscles spasming, shaking so hard it’s all Bucky can do to keep him pinned for the handful of thrusts it takes for him to follow.
For what feels like a very long time, there’s nothing but buzzing white noise in Bucky’s head.
“So that happened,” he slurs, numb and shell-shocked, and tries to pull out.
Jason whimpers. Then he’s gasping for breath, fast and shallow, suddenly panicking.
Bucky cradles him close again, scooping him up and sitting back on his heels so Jason’s in his lap. “Breathe,” he orders, and smooths Jason’s sweaty hair back from his forehead. “Breathe. That’s a fucking order.”
Jason melts in his arms, collapsing against Bucky’s chest. He sucks in a few more choppy, convulsive gasps before he makes a clear effort to stabilize his breathing, to sync his inhales and exhales to Bucky’s.
“Okay,” Bucky says softly. “I’m going to pick you up now, alright? And move you to the bed. And we’re gonna drink some water, and calm down, and then we should probably talk about it, but. One thing at a time.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason whispers. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I’m like this, you didn’t have to— if you didn’t want to — I’m sorry, I’m so fucked up, I don’t — I shouldn’t have —”
“Jay,” Bucky says quietly. “Stop. Did that feel good?”
“God, yes, but —”
“Jason,” Bucky says, sharp now. “Stop. That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“I — really?”
“Well, y’know, the hottest thing I remember,” Bucky allows.
Jason lets out a hysterical laugh that turns into a jagged, wracking sob.
Bucky’s not sure he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as Jason right now, wrecked and crying, a mess of tears and sweat and drool and even, when he sniffles, a little snot-bubble.
He thinks maybe, before Hydra, he would be feeling panicky too — might be crying. Might feel soul-crushingly guilty for how much he enjoyed that. Instead, he just feels satisfied, down to his bones, wrung-out and content. Like he has everything he needs, right here in his arms. Like he’s never, ever going to let go.
But. He’s not sure he’s ready to think about what that means.
One thing at a time.