The Devil

— I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead, — Steve repeats, over and over, driving him into the harsh soil of the wasteland. Bucky claws at the hard, dry clumps of earth with the fingers of his good hand and endures, keeping his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the Devil, coiled almost around them, watching their activity with a critical eye. They can feel their beast’s breath on their skin as it is. — And I thought you were smaller, — Bucky tries to joke. Steve lets out a slightly embarrassed grunt (hell, Bucky always could make him laugh, even when he wasn’t saying anything funny), but he gets the hint, eases his punishing rhythm just a little, tries a different angle. — If I were a Hulk, I’d be even bigger, — he mutters under his breath and presses his open mouth to the sweat-slicked skin of Bucky’s back. It should be a mess of scars after his adventures in the Green Lands, but the marks seem to bother Steve no more than the fact that Bucky is missing his left arm, again. — If you were a Hulk, you’d split me in two, — Bucky states objectively, but he can’t take it anymore and pleads: — Add more lube. Steve growls in displeasure, but he is a man of iron. And Bucky seriously believes he is dear enough to Steve for him to listen. Reluctantly, he pulls back, drawing that damn column of hot, pulsing flesh out of Bucky’s guts. Leaving his body open, turned inside out, flung wide like a house without a door. Bucky instinctively tries to clench, but stops himself. What’s the point? Steve missed him. Terribly. And more than that, Steve longed for him, Steve, for a moment, believed he had lost him. Such love demands payment in full. And, dear God, Bucky is glad to pay. Bucky himself had almost stopped believing that the heavens would allow him to be with Steve again. With his Steve. With his fierce soul and endlessly loyal, devoted heart. If the price for that is skinned knees and a wrecked ass, Bucky doesn’t mind. Truth be told, he loves sex. And he loves being on the bottom. And Steve loves being on top. He’s just out of practice—his body is—and Steve is worried and missed him. It will be fine. Bucky shoves his right hand into the Devil’s slightly open maw, almost into its cheek (the beast doesn’t even seem to notice, just gives a soft grunt, allowing them such familiarities), and works his arm up to the elbow in its thick, slippery slobber. He lubes himself up as best he can and, turning, runs his still-slimy hand over Steve’s cock, now dark with blood, almost purple with arousal. Steve himself is breathing like a cornered beast, holding back by sheer, inhuman force of will. Realizing there’s nothing more to be done here, Bucky gives a crooked smile, and Steve correctly reads it as permission. The next moment, Bucky is on his back, Steve’s fingers digging into his buttocks, spreading them, and Steve sheathes himself to the hilt, immediately breaking into a furious, wild rhythm. The Devil’s spit does make it easier; Bucky even feels his own cock twitch with interest. Steve is so beautiful. Steve is the best in the world. Steve came for him. Searched for him even after they were deceived, told that Bucky had died. In his rage, Steve razed to the ground the Red King’s fortress. Then he turned over every single one stone and didn’t stop until he found Bucky deep in the cellars under the rubble. Led him out, carried him, claimed him as his own. His Steve, his comrade, his brother. His soul, his heart. Bucky’s nose itches like hell, but it’s better than bursting into tears. His only hand is covered in dinosaur slobber (and, yes, Bucky just had those fingers up his ass), so he scratches the tip of his nose as best he can with all the furious shaking (Steve’s cock could seriously drive piles into the ground, no joke). — Bucky, — Steve says above him, and repeats: — Bucky. Then he catches Bucky’s hand, pressing his thumb painfully into the center of his palm, pulls it to himself and leans down, pressing his lips with desperate passion to the still inflamed, not-quite-healed sores from the manacles on Bucky’s wrist. And it’s like Bucky is dunked whole in ambrosia. At once, he forgets about his empty stomach, his burning insides, the hard ground under his shoulders, and a million other uncomfortable little things, because Steve is his… And, oh God. Steve has reclaimed him. Steve managed it. They are together again. Against all odds. Against all odds, Bucky comes. — We will never part again, — Steve promises him, and Bucky wraps both legs around him, feeling Steve being overtaken by his own orgasm. The Devil snorts and turns away from them.

* * *

Bucky is genuinely glad that in this world, his leather skirt is considered perfectly acceptable male attire. He simply can’t imagine where or how he would wash trousers in these waterless steppes. Or how he would walk or ride horseback in stiff, wet ones. It would be torture. Simply put, Steve fucks him and comes inside him so often, that Bucky is leaking almost all the time. So, one could say, gladiator fashion works to his advantage here. — I wish we had some farmer’s cheese. Or at least some milk, — he says, lapping up the still-warm blood of the fresh kill together with Steve. The Devil, true to its place in the food chain, stole this kill from a smaller predatory dinosaur. Steve lifts his blood-smeared face from the gutted innards of the unidentifiable lizard and looks at him in surprise. Bucky shuts up. The Devil’s huge maw tears off a sizable chunk of meat right next to their heads. It eats like a giant bird, holding the prey with its foot and throwing its head back high to swallow, letting the food slide down its throat.

* * *

When Bucky manages to avoid anal sex and Steve fucks his mouth, Bucky always drinks every last drop. They need any food they can get. Steve’s semen must be fully absorbed.

* * *

— I wish we had a home. Any kind of home, — Bucky thinks out loud, leaning his hand against the cold, damp wall of the cave. It’s too wet and dirty to fuck on the stones, so Steve takes him standing, supporting him under the stomach with his left hand. — What for? — Steve asks. He smells pleasantly of a strong, healthy body. Of a man. Of Steve. Behind them, further from the fire, closer to the entrance, the Devil growls. It doesn’t like the real storm raging outside the cave. The Devil can’t stand anything it can’t bite, tear to pieces, or at least scare shitless with its appearance.

* * *

— You promised to pay more, — Steve remarks angrily, hefting a bag of dinars, and the guards in the hall nervously grab for their weapons. — And what did you expect, gentlemen? Even in this world, one must fully honor the terms of a deal, — Justin Hammer replies, having managed to set himself up quite nicely on Planet Hulk thanks to his talent for selling high, buying low, betraying with confidence, and stabbing in the back at the right moment. — I paid for the services of two unique fighters with a tyrannosaurus. I don’t deny, the service was rendered, the tyrannosaurus participated, and the fighter with the axe and shield was excellent, but the fighter with the paired swords turned out to have only one arm. You must agree, what use is a fighter with paired swords if he can’t use both at once? That’s outright cheating, gentlemen. Bucky can’t help but smile. He’s always impressed by this talent some have for twisting everything to come out on top. Justin Hammer looks at him almost sympathetically and contorts his lips into an unconvincing grimace of regret: — Seriously, don’t hold a grudge, pal, no offense intended, just a piece of advice: a man with one arm should seriously lower his expectations. After all those demonstrative fights in the arena, Bucky had almost forgotten what it feels like when Steve attacks silently and without warning. The hair all over Bucky’s body stands on end. Less than two minutes later, there isn’t a single living soul left in the hall except for the two of them and a howling Justin, whimpering in pain and terror, because Steve has just hacked off his right arm with his axe. — Seriously, pal, don’t hold a grudge, no offense intended, but a man with one arm should seriously lower his expectations. It isn’t funny at all. But Bucky can’t help himself and laughs, a raw, animal sound.

* * *

That day, they fuck in Justin Hammer’s chamber. There are walls and a ceiling, and all sorts of chairs and tables. And there is a bed. And it is made with bedsheets. And it’s so damn cool that Bucky would be sorry to come on it and stain it, so he strategically positions himself right on the edge, on all fours. That way, Steve fucks him while standing on the floor. Steve, it seems, doesn’t care how he fucks him. Judging by the pace and force, he is still angry at Hammer, even though he let him run away as a clear warning to their future employers. Bucky winces in pain, smells the clean bedsheets, and dreams of how sweetly he will sleep tonight. Finally, in a proper bed, not on sand, stones, bare ground, or at best dry branches, like lately. He just needs to endure a little longer. With a start like this, Steve shouldn’t last too long. Feeling that he’s close, very close, Bucky twists out from under him, slides to the floor, and, without any fastidiousness, takes Steve’s cock into his mouth. Steve roars approvingly and presses Bucky’s head against his groin, coming. Bucky isn’t hungry, but he swallows every drop. No point in wasting calories. Then he climbs into the coveted bed and exhales with relief. Steve kisses him on the lips and puts his rough hand on Bucky’s cock. — Your turn, — he says. — Don’t, — Bucky waves him off and moves away. But, feeling Steve’s gaze, he admits: — Tired. And I don’t want to stain the sheets. For once, we get to sleep on clean linen. Steve exhales discontentedly beside him but doesn’t insist. He removes his hand and moves away. It’s warm, cozy, and soft. And the pain is quite tolerable. In Hammer’s courtyard, the contented Devil gorges itself on the guards' horses.

* * *

That night, Bucky dreams that the Devil fucks him. He can’t really describe what’s happening, but it’s awful. And it probably couldn’t happen physically. Dinosaurs don’t fuck other species. And the sheer size wouldn’t allow it — the Devil is too huge to step on his shoulders and head with one foot and lift his hips with the other. But the damn huge, merciless cock invading his intestines is a hundred times bigger than a man’s. It’s a damn pillar of pulsating meat. It tears Bucky open all the way to his lungs and never even gets fully inside. And everything around smells of the Devil. And smells of Steve. And Bucky can’t even scream.

* * *

He wakes up alone in the bed. They did stain the clean linen after all. He stained it. Just a little. With blood from his ass. Limping, he searches the entire house and the ravaged courtyard of Justin Hammer’s estate. There isn’t a single living soul anywhere. No Steve. No Devil. They don’t return by noon. And they don’t return by evening.

* * *

“We will never part again,” Steve promised him. Bucky eats all the food he can find. Then he forces himself to vomit, afraid an infection might start if he shits. After throwing up, he climbs back into bed, drained. Steve couldn’t have abandoned him. He has to believe Steve. Steve always came back for him. But what if… what if yesterday was the last straw for Steve? Bucky trembles with despair, fear, and guilt. Was it so hard to be an obedient boy yesterday? Was it so hard to make Steve feel good? Steve always thought of him. Steve cared for him. Steve defended his honor and his good name. Steve was his everything. And he managed to fuck it up with Steve. And Steve did abandon him after all. At night, Bucky howls into the luxurious soft bed and scratches his empty shoulder with his fingers. He curses his laziness and his craving for comfort and the sweet life. After all, all he ever needed for a good life was Steve. Only Steve. But he has to pull himself together. He has to get a grip. He has to… somehow live on. Steve and the Devil return in the afternoon of the second day. The Devil just shoves Bucky, who has tumbled into the courtyard to meet them, with its broad nose as a greeting and, it seems to Bucky, casts a displeased look at Steve. Around Steve’s neck are garlands of flowers. On Steve’s head, too, are flowers. He holds a wriggling bundle with something alive inside. He shakes out two shaggy, dirty goats in front of Bucky, which immediately begin racing around the courtyard in panic. Steve looks at them proudly, then walks over to Bucky and drops to one knee before him. — I cannot lose you. I don’t know how to do this perfect or right. But I brought you goats. And this seems like a decent house. And here, — Steve takes one garland from his neck and offers it to Bucky. — I want you to be with me. Always. Do you? Bucky swallows. Then he falls to his knees, literally diving headfirst into the offered garland, desperately hugs Steve with his right arm, buries his face in Steve’s neck. Presses his whole body against him. — I do, I do, — he whispers. — I agree to anything with you.

* * *

Steve is sucking his cock. Bucky lies on his back on Hammer’s bed, among the crumpled flowers from their “wedding garlands,” and Steve is sucking his cock. Blissful and happy, Bucky runs his fingers through Steve’s fair hair and breathes out quietly with pleasure. When he comes, Steve doesn’t pull away and also swallows every drop, then licks his cock clean. — You didn’t have to, — Bucky says to Steve when he finds his voice again (Steve and the Devil brought not only goats but also food, and they’ve already eaten). — Semen is fully absorbed, — Steve replies rationally. And Bucky laughs and kisses him. — Will you fuck me now? — he asks hopefully. — I tore you up last time, — Steve states bluntly. — Is that why you decided to make an honest woman of me before God and everyone? — Bucky teases, stroking Steve’s cock. — Not only, — he replies seriously. — It’s all healed by now, — Bucky suggests presumptuously. — A little fissure, big deal. — No, — Steve says. — Not today. Maybe tomorrow. If you’re sure. And if you want it yourself. — Of course I’ll want it, — Bucky simply replies. — You know I always loved being on the bottom. And I always… I always… — he buries his fingers in the hair at Steve’s temple, seems to blush, and looks away. — I know. Me too. Always, — Steve says and simply lies on him with all his weight. — I will never leave you. Bucky moans, barely audible, and spreads his legs, allowing Steve to rub innocently against his body. And to hell with the bedsheets! Outside, the impudent goats bleat tirelessly, racing around the courtyard and the carnivorous tyrannosaurus lying in the middle of it.