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letmewanderinyourgarden2022 · 2 years

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NEW CHAPTER! A LITTLE EARLY. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I dozed peacefully on a mossy riverbank lulled by the murmur of the lapping water. Lying perpendicular to my companion, my head was lovingly cradled in the midriff of the other, a long finger gently circling across my forehead. My eyes lazily followed the pillowy clouds floating above, in between fleeting winks of sleep.

Contented. . .only to be startled awake by a loud, shrill, staccato tone. Blindsided by the sound, my eyes sprang open. I was confused and disturbed by a crimson world pulsating around me. The companion – gone. As if pulled by an unseen tether, I arose. My fingers plugged my ears to lessen the painful blare. I stumbled forward into the stand of trees lining the bank, drawn to a red light flashing in sympathy with the intense sound. When I reached a clearing, all turned to black.

I violently shook my head trying to banish the insistent beep ringing in my ears.

Shit! The alarm.

Yawning, my hand searched the bed covers for the phone to end the obnoxious sound. I groaned finding I was still dressed from the prior evening. My fists twisted against closed eyelids to dispel the muzziness in my head.

Ugh. . .jet lag. . .Fuck, fuck, FUCK! What time is it?

I sprang from the bed and beelined to the kitchen focusing on the cell screen.

Okay. . .Seven. . .I can do this. . .

I hastily slapped a filter into the basket, dumped in the coffee and turned on the machine. Leaning low to the counter stretching my back, forehead on folded arms, I waited for the machine to stop gurgling, trying to wake up. A competing sound – insistent and close by - drew my attention. Turning my face to peer at the living room’s glass doors, a deluge curtaining the patio made itself known, raindrops bouncing high off the bricked deck. A grimace in resignation at the unexpected glitch spread across my face.

Of course. . .

Standing by the patio doors sipping the much-needed coffee, I rethought my attire for the meeting in light of the uncooperative weather. The reflection of my unruly tresses ghosted in the rain-greyed glass. I mulled over options for taming them into something more professional looking than the spawn of Medusa.

My hair and rain just do not mix. . .

I sighed and wandered back to the bedroom closet, coffee in hand, sliding each hanger along the polished wooden rod selecting pieces to fit my mood.

Almost everything I brought is black. . . how appropriate. . .Black it is, then. Professional. . .yes. . .but perhaps just a bit off center.

Selecting straight-legged pants and a soft, silky tunic from the hangers, I threw them on the bed. Still not satisfied, I spied one of my more durable vintage pieces – a velvet cape-like jacket with a burgundy and gold paisley running through it – and gently placed it with my other choices. The 40’s spectator pumps completed the outfit. I rummaged through my accessories to locate the final pieces – two large, carved rosewood hair combs and dangling garnet earrings.

This will do nicely. All black with a splash of red and a bit of gold.

After finishing my ablutions, I quickly slipped on the outfit, before tackling the hair situation. I gathered the long spirals into a thick ponytail and fashioned a twist, secured with the two combs; two strands liberated at each temple.

Too poufy. . .but it will have to do. Ha, ha! Gibson Girl to go with the jacket. . .If I had more time. . .fuck!

I thought that glamming up a bit might distract from failed hairstyle. Make-up was not something that I ever cared about, even though I did own some basics. I chose to follow my usual path of foregoing any addition, other than a swipe of lip gloss. A bit of scent was called for, though, and I dabbed drops of musky patchouli oil on my wrists and behind my ears.

I think that’s the best I can do, considering. . .

Slipping on the jacket, I checked my phone. It was 8:15. I topped off the coffee and sat nervously on the edge of the couch – waiting. Promptly at 8:30, three metallic taps clacked on the front door. Through the peephole, I observed a pleasant looking middle-aged man slightly rocking back and forth under a large golf umbrella.

I unfastened the chain and opened the door.

“Good morning, Ms. Mott,” he nodded through the streams of water dripping from the tips of the canopy. “I’m Mr. Page’s driver, James. Do you need a few minutes?”

“Hi. . .Yes, just a minute or two.”

He stepped back slightly from the door.

“No – please come in, come in.” I waved him inside. “This weather - ugh. I’ll be quick.”

He moved to just inside the door, leaving the open umbrella resting on its handle on the doorstep. “Typical for this time of year, I’m afraid. Don’t rush, we have time.”

I started to collect my laptop, papers and keys but stopped to turn back to him, puzzled.

“Wait – how does that work? You’re James, right? And he’s James. Ever become a tad confusing?”

“Not anymore,” he said with a toothy smile. “I’m James; he’s Jim or Jimmy, mostly. I’ve been with him for a very long time so it's worked out just fine, but we do have a few laughs about it now and then.”

“Huh. Okay. Ready.” I followed James out the door, under the shield of the huge umbrella, hastening up the stairs to the waiting car. Sheltering me from the downpour, he opened the door and I slid across the back seat. He quickly threw in the umbrella and dove into the driver’s seat to avoid being drenched.

“Not the best welcome for your first full day in London,” he commiserated, glancing at me in the rear-view mirror. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Just tap on the glass if you need anything.” The partition closed between us.

James took a route that passed some of the iconic sights of the city. I leaned my head against the window, taking in the London scenery through the raindrops. Hyde Park’s greenery loomed to my left and as we skirted between the boroughs of Mayfair and Soho, Marylebone and Fitzrovia, I wondered what the day would bring. The grandeur of Regency Park and its wrought-iron gates appeared through the rainy mist.

I dug out my Blackberry to confirm that it all was, indeed, real. There it was – the photo – Jimmy hovering at Perry’s shoulder with a sweet, goofy grin and mischievous eyes, silver-white hair loose and flowing. The date and time stamp revealed it was snapped just hours after I ended my January call with “Mr. Hudson.” Its greeting flashed from my phone when I awoke the next morning.

Mmmm. . .that was. . .indescribable. . . And here we are. . .

James cracked open the partition. “We should be arriving shortly, Ms. Mott.”

“Great, thanks, James.” I took a deep breath and nervously bit my lip catching his eye in the rearview. Resting my head against the chilly leather seat, I was lost in the possibilities to come as the car halted at 12 Oval Road, Jimmy’s manager’s office. Thankfully, it seemed the rain had passed.

I started to open the door, but James was quicker. “Ms. Mott, allow me, please. I’ll be waiting here when you’re done, okay?”

“Oh, thank you, James.” I scanned the façade, sighing deeply, “Okaaay. . .here we go!”

“You’ll be fine. See you shortly.”

Perry was waiting just inside the doors. “Jane. How are you this morning?”

“Nervous, Perry, for some reason,” I creaked.

“No need, no need. We’re just on the next floor.”

I followed him up the carved, mahogany stairs admiring the 19th-century features blended into a very contemporary design. “Interesting mix of periods here. . . wow!”

“Yeah, it’s a converted warehouse. They tried very hard to keep what they could.” He swung open a door to reveal a large conference room. A dark-haired woman sat at a long table, flipping through a few papers.

She rose and walked the length of the table to greet me. “Jane. So happy to meet you. I’m Angela. . .Angie, Bill’s staff attorney,” holding out her hand.

“Angie, hi, likewise,” using my most professional handshake. “You’re American.”

“Is it that obvious?” she laughed.

“Well, yeeaah, it is. New York?” I teased. She nodded. Following the normal greeting when attorneys meet for the first time, I continued, “So, where did you go to school, Angie?”

“Uh. . .Columbia, then here for a bit.”

Hmmm. . . I know that tone. Ha!

“Please have a seat, Jane. How about you?”

“Georgetown. . .” I slid into my seat at the center of the table opposite her.

God, I hate that ass-sniffing ritual. . .very tiresome. She seems to hold it in the same regard, though. Ha. Good.

“If you have time, I’d love to talk to you about your school experience in Britain while I’m here. Very interested.”

“I’d love to fill you in. I’ll give you my card. . .Umm, Perry. . .you have everything?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” He scrambled to take his seat at the table.

“Okay, why don’t we start with the non-disclosure?” She queried me over her reading glasses.

“Sure.”

“Alright. No changes from the final draft?”

I shook my head.

“Great. Here are two copies.” She placed each side by side in front of me. “Please sign each one. I’ll do the same as Mr. Page’s representative. Perry will witness. We each will have an original execution.”

“Perfect. . .but, uh, can you give me a few minutes?” I unzipped the case and grabbed my laptop. “I just wanna. . .you know. . .not that I don’t trust you or anything, but – “

“Right, understood, of course. . .Perry?” She nodded to the far corner of the room and stood up from the table.

“Oh. . .okay.” He joined her.

“So, what is the plan for. . .” Their conversation quieted as they moved to the end of the table. My focus centered on the screen, comparing it to the documents before me.

What the hell are you doing? This is not at all necessary. . .I know. . .I know. . .it's just a formality. . .but I don’t want any surprises. . .

Once satisfied there were none, I called out to the corner. “Okay, all good.”

The couple retook their seats. “The pens are right there.” Angie indicated a small, ornate box in the center of the table.

I opened it to find crimson fountain pens nestled inside. Unscrewing the cap, I circled the gold nib across a spare bit of paper.

“This is a lovely touch.”

A deep, rich, aquamarine-colored liquid flowed smoothly as I scribbled.

“Very, very nice pen! Definitely no problem recognizing the originals,” I chuckled, “. . .interesting shade of ink.”

I signed and dated each of the agreements and slid them to Perry for his witness. After Angie scrawled her signature, she waived around one of the documents to dry the ink. She folded the papers and slipped them into an envelope, pushing it across the table. I reached to return the pen to the box.

“No, no! Please keep it – a memento. Perry will discuss the remaining details with you. I’m staying on just in case there are any questions.” She turned her focus to Perry.

“Right. . .Jim. . .uh - Mr. Page. . .is currently at Sonning-on-Thames. It’s about an hour’s drive west. He thought it would be an agreeable place to meet. . .it's a little village.”

“It sounds great!” I bubbled like a thirteen-year-old, much to my embarrassment. “Sorry. . .go on, please.”

“We arranged lodging for you at The Bull Inn – lots of history there and Mr. Page would very much like to absorb- “

“Uh. . .Nope, Perry. I believe we discussed this, did we not? This is on my dime. . .or. . .pound or whatever, right? Now, we don’t need to sign something, do we?” I fluttered my eyelids, smiling sweetly.

“Yes, we did and no, we don’t,” he laughed. “I had to try. Soooo, in that event, the innkeepers have offered a very nominal rate for your stay. James will ferry you to Sonning and then back to London in a few days. That will give you a chance to enjoy the village."

I glared at him with somewhat feigned displeasure. “Perry. . . now how is that any different?? Offered and nominal? Isn’t that still – what did you call it – absorbing?��

He remained silent, expectantly, brows raised.

I resisted a bit longer, really not wanting my adventure to be subsidized by Jimmy in any way. But. . .I gave in. “Okay, okay. . .deal.”

“Alright, good. You haven’t made any firm plans as of yet, right?” I nodded. “Mr. Page was hoping that you would arrive later this afternoon, get settled in, and meet with him tomorrow. We’re unsure of the exact time as he has some business calls scheduled. I’ll figure that out and ring you with the time. Is that to your liking?"

“Yes, that is absolutely to my liking. What happens now?"

“James will pick you up around mid-afternoon and get you checked in at The Bull.” He stood, followed by Angie.

Apparently, we’re done. Very painless.

“God, Perry, I am beyond excited!” I hastily stuffed the envelope, the laptop and the pen back into the case, zipping it closed. “Thank you both for everything. Angie, I look forward to our chat and thanks for the. . .uh. . .memento.”

As Angie walked me to the door, her hand grazed my arm as she slipped her business card into my hand. “Jane, that is a great wrap! Is it original?"

"Oh, thanks. Uhh. . .I have a thing for antiques."

"Mmm. . .Beautiful. There are some great shops to check out then while you're here. I'll give a list to Perry for you. I have no doubt you going to have an interesting experience. Have fun. Please do call me when you get back.”

“I will. See ya, Perry.”

James was waiting, as promised, as I flew out of the building’s entrance and down the marble stairs.

“All good?” He asked with a knowing look.

“Way more than good.”

I couldn’t suppress the thoughts of the "interesting experience," as Angie put it, looming over the next few days. Gazing out the window, I saw no landmarks only the possible scenarios I was conjuring. When we arrived at the flat, James and I set the time for the trip to Sonning.

“Thanks, James. See you soon. I can get this - really – don’t get out.”

I sprang out of the car, rushed down the stairs and through the door, hooking up the laptop in record time. Draping the jacket over the back of the chair, I started a quick internet search, googling The Bull Inn, Sonning-on-Thames.

Historic is right, 16th century! Regardless of how it goes with Jimmy, this is gonna be extremely cool. Ha! Like everything so far.

I excitedly investigated the village and environs, finding that Deanery Garden, Jimmy’s home, was right up the road from the Inn. I grinned.

Okaaay then.

After the laptop was back in its case, I twirled to the couch and flopped enjoying a delicious prickly excitement.

I have a few hours to kill. . .may just a tiny shot. . .What the fuck, Jane? . . .It’s only 11 o’clock- in the morning!. . .Yeah, well, it's afternoon US time. . .I definitely need to mellow out or I’m going to go insane. . .I'd kill for a joint. . .Ha!

Reasoning that food would take away the guilt of alcohol mid-morning, I searched the fridge for something appealing. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a blue and white something on the counter. A basket had appeared in my absence, covered with a checkered cloth with a note on top:

Jane – sorry to barge in while you’re out. I dropped off linens and a little treat. Please enjoy! I forgot to mention that Rob and I will be away for a bit. We have friends visiting while we’re gone, so don’t be alarmed if you hear knocking about upstairs. Just in case it’s needed, there is a spare key to your flat in the urn by our front door – a little key box mixed in with the greens. We’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Dinner when we return? Emily

I folded back the corners of the cloth to find fresh scones, clotted cream, and homemade strawberry jam.

Wow. . .so nice of her! And just what I needed. . .ooooh. . .they’re still warm.

I put on the teapot after deciding it was too decadent to pair the scones with whiskey at mid-morning. The late breakfast was divine. As time was becoming short, I hastily poured a shot topping it with a splash of water and sauntered to the closet. I carefully placed my most treasured pieces into the waiting suitcase and bag, along with the deep red velvet tarot bag slipped in among the folds.

Precisely at three, the familiar rapping sounded and I threw open the door.

“James, come in. I’m ready.”

“Ms. Mott.”

“James. . .It’s Jane, please.”

“Right. Let’s get you to the car, Jane,” he said as we grabbed my bags.

Once on our way, he called back through the open partition. “There's lovely countryside along the way. Let me know if you have any questions or want to stop, we’re not on a set arrival time.”

“Thanks. I think I need to do some reading to. . .uhm. . .stay calm, you know.”

“Jane, you’re not going to an execution! Just tap the glass if you need me, okay?” he said as the partition slowly slid shut. I saw the amusement in the eyes looking back at me in the mirror.

I forced myself to focus on the new client prospectuses crammed, last minute, into my laptop bag. Plugging in the flash drive plucked from the first folder, rhythms and melodies raced from the computer through my ear pods. I gazed out the window as we sped by patchwork fields and hedgerows, listening to a sample from the short sets of three new bands seeking representation. They were all good – raucous and driving, but I kept returning to the tight grooves of the yet unnamed southern rock band. “. . .heavy. . .somewhat complex. . .definite blues undertone. . .singer - a plus,” I wrote in the band’s workup. I rewound their set to hear it in its entirety. The opening number’s distorted low-down licks chimed with the cowbell intro of Honky Tonk Women, rough and gritty, followed by the unmistakable opening riffs of Custard Pie.

"You-are-fucking-kidding me," I snorted with laughter, apparently loudly. I looked up to see a chuckling James glancing back at me in the mirror. Grinning, I shook my head, shrugged my shoulders, and resumed noting my impressions of the bands. In no time, the car slowed to a crawl. The Bull Inn, a sprawling dark timber-framed country inn with white-washed walls and gabled, latticed windows came into view. We entered to find a warm and inviting atmosphere - a small reception desk to the right with a cozy bar visible thru an arched entrance in front of me. Peeking into the room's entryway, I found a lovely brick and marble bar lit with stained glass lanterns near a massive brick fireplace with yellow-white flames dancing in its center. The sweet scent of birch wood tinged the air. The only other illumination in the room was the sunlight beaming through the row of tall, paned windows set into the exterior stone wall. Sparkling motes of dust danced in the space between the windows and the tables in the shadows. I was transfixed.

“Jane?” James called from reception.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said as I slowly backed out of the bar, not quite ready to leave, and returned to the desk.

“This is Moira. She and her husband Kirk are the innkeepers. She’ll handle the registration, then I’ll get your bags upstairs.”

“So glad you’re joining us, Jane. Just sign here, after you read thru, and then I’ll take you to your room.”

As we navigated the very steep and very narrow staircase to the next floor, Moira chatted about the things to do and see in Sonning. I turned back to see James attempting to maneuver my large suitcase and bag up the stairs. “God, I’m so sorry, James. . .I didn’t take into account 16th-century stairways when I packed! Can I take that bag??”

“Ha! Not a problem, Jane.”

With bags deposited and the low-down on Sonning received, I closed the door and explored my second temporary residence in as many days. A couch and coffee table were tucked away in an alcove. The bathroom contained a walk-in shower and a very roomy clawfoot tub. As I lifted my suitcase onto the bed, I noticed an ecru-colored square propped against the dark blue pillows. “Jane” was very neatly printed on the front in a now familiar color of ink. I plopped on the bed, grabbed what I realized was an envelope, and turned it over. There I found a dark red imprint. My fingers traced the small dragon raised in the wax. Utterly amazed, I lifted the seal, as sparks of anticipation swirled down my spine. Tucked inside was an ecru note card matching the envelope. As I pulled it out and flipped it over, I found a Gorey pen-and-ink overlaid on the front.

Wow! How could he possibly know that?

Gorey was a favorite of mine. Many of his books were tucked into my bookshelves at home. On the face of the card was drawn a woman, adorned with a wild hat of large snaking black lilies, dancing through a maze of tall drapes with a man garbed in white. When I opened the card, flowing penmanship in the same rich aquamarine was revealed.

Hello, Jane~Let’s meet tomorrow at half noon, shall we? The Inn’s Hidden Garden is quite a lovely place to chat. Moira or Kirk will show you the way. We will have the garden to ourselves for your “brain-picking” session. I look forward to meeting you.

Till then ~ J.

Collapsing into the pillows, I giggled until I was breathless unable to contain my joy! I was certain it could be felt by everyone in the vicinity.

Oh my god. . .he is too much!! He took the time to write me himself. . .and the ink! Ha! I must ask about that! And Gorey - what the fuck? But how very sweet and so very. . .personal. Not typewritten on JP letterhead! And the seal. . .my, I think it's. . .definitely going to be an adventure.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, in the bar directly below, the writer was secreted in a far dark corner. He had decided to observe my arrival from afar and now pondered the possible effect of his note in the room above. Sipping his tea, he glanced up at the beams. As a slight shiver twitched across his shoulders, he half-smiled into his cup; my mirth apparently had sought him out, found him, and made its presence emphatically known.

[BTW - I don't profess to be an artist - so my apologies to those of you who are 😊 And yes, Jane does have hands and facial features 😁]

CHAPTER LIST https://www.tumblr.com/letmewanderinyourgarden2022/701210499738714112/chapter-list-let-me-wander-in-your-garden?source=share

@firethatgrewsolow @foreverandadaydarling @laluxea @lzep @sassybouquetrunaway-universe @jimmysdragonsuit13 @jenyj89

#jimmy page fan fiction 2022 #jimmy page #zoso #jimmy page fanfiction #silver fox jimmy #old man jimmy #led zeppelin fanfic #let me wander in your garden-chapter five #lmwing 22 #let me wander in your garden 2022

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adaraprince · 2 years

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The Club

Chapter 1 here! Chapter 2 here! Chapter 3: Steve Rogers - Reader - Bucky Barnes Chapter 4 here! Chapter 5 here! Chapter 6 here!

-> The Club's masterlist

Warnings: This is a +18 story, dealing with topics such as sex, kinks and prostitution. Therefore, minors should not interact.

Synopsis: Steve decides that his best friend needs to meet the lovely young woman who has given him and others so much pleasure.

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Bouncing his leg against the car's carpet, Bucky had never felt more nervous.

He kept his eyes glued to the streets of Manhattan, trying to map out the places he remembered, as Steve drove them to their final destination. He swallowed a thick layer of tension; he knew where they were going. Steve had wanted to keep it a surprise, but after much prompting, and a bit of roughness, he had spilled the truth. Bucky wasn't sure if the truth terrified him more or less.

"Hey," Steve's hand landed on his friend's knee, steadying it. "She's going to be fine, Buck. She's real understanding, this lady; if you don't want to do it, she's not going to give you shit about it."

He sketched a smile that was more of a grimace and nodded with a stiff neck. "I'm more worried about what will happen if I want to … try something."

Steve smiled in response, the now familiar building came into view. "Then get ready for the ride of your life, buddy."

""----- ⍟ ★ ✪-----""

The captain had just checked in and he couldn't deny he was excited. Maybe even giddy.

His requests were a little different this time; vintage lingerie in a sweet shade of pink, flouncy, stockings and a sheer tunic, your hair scalloped and wavy like Rita Hayworth. The only remnant of your last visit was the colour of your lips; you loved that red.

You lay back on lush pillows, stretching your legs up from the silk-covered mattress. This had been a specific note in his order; to be in your chosen room before he and his guest entered. You imagined they were at the bar, the Golden Son soothing whoever he had brought with him; no doubt anxious for his first visit.

Red lip caught between your teeth, a warm shiver ran down your spine; you wondered who the Captain had brought to request the room you were in. This bed was in the middle of the room, round and almost stage-like. Leather restraints, blinders, gags, all adorned the carved table against the wall; but your client had requested white light over the usual red bulbs in the room. It was an odd choice, but it made you even more curious; and anxious.

The digital lock on the door chimed, the knob was pushed and you struck a luxurious pose; it was time to begin.

America's Golden Son walked through the door so calmly; as if it were his own home. In contrast, your friend acted as if he was forcing his way in. His large figure did not compromise his quiet, apprehensive steps, and his cold, timid eyes roamed the room, surveying his surroundings; but as soon as they landed on you, his gaze was glued to the floor.

"Doll," the Captain stopped his assessment of his partner, approaching the bed with a penetrating stare. You pushed yourself up to your knees in the same manner, smiling as sweetly as you could. "God, it's good to see you. I swear you get prettier every time I come here."

You smiled and squirmed at the praise, wrapping your arms around his neck as he held your waist. "And I'm glad to see you, Captain," he purred, letting his manicured nails scrape your skin. "I've missed you; I've been terribly … unsatisfied without you, baby."

It was something of a lie, but with his chest puffed out and a proud smile on his lips, he decided to believe it. Leaning in, his nose ghosted against her jawline, drinking in the scent of her skin. "Apologies, doll; I hope my friend and I can make up for that." Your friend, that poor terrified-looking fellow who looked like he was going to collapse, was still standing by the door as if glued to it.

You looked past the Captain's shoulder, seeing the stranger; he was almost as tall, with a body just as broad and strong. His hair covered his features, but the piercing blue of his eyes still shone through. He looked familiar … but she couldn't quite place him.

Pressing a kiss to the Captain's pulse point, you rose from the bed and his grip. You tried to match the new guest's soft footsteps, your nylon-covered toes silent on the tiled floor; his keen eye never left you as you stopped at his feet.

Up close, he was almost trembling. "Hello," you murmured, careful not to knock until he did. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir…. what can I call you?"

Steve had explained this part to him, without names. The stranger blinked a couple of times before the words returned to his throat, and held out his hand towards yours. "H-hey…" his voice was hoarse, almost unpracticed. "And… you can call me Sergeant." A light bulb went off in your head, that's what it was! A commando.

You bit your lip and put your hand on his; almost surprised when he brought it to his lips for a polite kiss. He didn't look the type.

"Sergeant and Captain; I love it," you declared, tugging on his hand to finally make his legs work. "And your … superior officer told you what we could do here?"

His grip tightened on your fingers, his eyes moving quickly to his best friend; still standing by the bed with a confident, creepy grin. "Uh… Gave me a couple of ideas."

"He did?", You slurred the words, having returned to the platform bed, crawling back onto his knees and the sergeant stood by his friend's shoulder. He did not let go of his hand, but took the Captain's with his free hand. "Did he tell you how nervous and dazed he was the first time he came here?"

The Captain teased, squeezing her hand. "Aww doll, are you really going to rat me out like that?" Unclenching his fingers, he reached out and smacked your ass. "Bad girl."

Ou…he was getting bolder.

He winked at you and let his touch travel up the sergeant's arm until it cupped your unshaven cheek. "It's a little sensitive," he teased, stroking his skin with his thumb, trying to ease his fears. "But it's okay to be nervous, sergeant … for everyone there's a first time." "It's not my first time," he spat, eyes fixed on your body; there was an apprehensive hunger in those blues. "I've … I've been with women before, just…" he looked down at his left arm, wrapped in a sleeve and glove. "Just not since … I don't want to hurt you."

His eyes quickly fell on the Captain's: the restraints he asked for began to make sense. "You won't hurt me," you assured him, reaching for his right hand. You let it rest on your hip, encouraging him to play. "I'm made of sterner stuff, beautiful."

He didn't respond; instead, you let his bare fingers roam against your skin, hesitant touches through the silk and stretch of your garments. I wanted him… but a wall of fear stood in his way.

"It's okay," loyal to the last, America's golden son took his friend's hand and placed it fearlessly on your chest. He squeezed deliberately, enough to force the Sergeant's own fingers to massage. "I trust her … we can trust her. She just…" his gaze met yours, fuzzy and warm. "She can take care of you."

Your heart hummed as your spine arched; There was clearly a lot of love between them. You wondered how much. The sergeant, spurred on by his friend, squeezed your chest more easily and found an upturned nipple beneath the silk. As you moved, he seemed to get more comfortable. "…There, doll? Do you like it when I do that?"

You nodded your head, watching his His hand grow bolder as he slipped the dressing gown off your shoulders. "Y-yes sir, sergeant…. mmm…"

The Captain wasn't losing it; he grabbed your second tit, fondling and cupping with practiced ease. Both men pinched your nipples, different techniques, equally fascinating. Your knees wobbled, gripping a shoulder each to steady themselves.

"You should see them," the Captain said, roughly lowering the cup of your bra; your breast spilled, caught and bounced in his hand. "So fucking pretty, isn't she?"

His friend followed suit, tugging at the fabric until your other breast was free, nipples puffed out and chest heaving. You watched as his lip moistened, ogling your breast. "Damn…"

You leaned slightly towards the sergeant; the Captain happy to massage the tent in his trousers and watch. "Please touch them, Sergeant," in a bid, he took your left hand and placed it on the corresponding chest. "Please… I love the way you play with them." Seemingly transfixed, the Sergeant squeezed and fondled you with both hands, eager thumbs circling your nipples until you cried out.

He didn't seem afraid of the sound, if anything it incited him. Bravery caught up with him, and his head pounced on your chest, mouth closing eagerly around one nipple, licking and sucking like a madman.

"Ohh-oh!" he whimpered, cradling his suckling head; his hands never lifted, still ruthless on your other breast until they exchanged places with his mouth. "Oh, fuck, sergeant, yes!"

When he finished, his nipples ached, they were soaked; as were your panties.

"I love these," he gasped, nuzzling his face into your cleavage, panting. "I … I remember loving these."

"Fuck, man," in your haze, you hadn't noticed the Golden Son; his cock jerked out of his fly, jiggling in his hand. "You… that was so hot, watching you turn her on like that…"

The Commando didn't seem bothered by his friend's open masturbation; it seemed almost normal to him. A plan formed in your head.

"Captain," he hummed, reaching around his back to unfasten the now purposeless bra. "Maybe you could help the sergeant undress … if that mouth is any indication, I really need him to fuck me." Both men turned red, but didn't seem deterred. Randomly pushing his erection aside, the Captain grabbed his friend's jacket and slipped it off his shoulders. The sergeant anxiously ripped the shirt over his head; almost forgetting what had made him so nervous in the first place.

That silver arm.

He froze, suddenly aware of his exposure; he hadn't been caught in this kind of situation in decades. He felt fear, shame and worry rushing in to replace the lust and desire that filled his body, he wanted to run …

She had to throw herself into his arms, kiss him like a lover to release him.

Without reluctance, you wrapped your metal arm around his waist; unafraid to let him touch you. Your tongue fiddled with his lips until his tongue met yours, kissing you with a passion he had forgotten he had. He clung to you like a lifeline, suddenly young again, eager to show a good lady a good time: you.

The heat on his back and the jingling of his belt finally made him stop. He pulled away, panting, glancing down at the unbuckled buckle, then looked back up at his friend, almost glued to his back. Golden Son, the US model, had an expression of pure hunger on his face, mixed with pride and relief.

He was clearly seeing something you couldn't quite understand. "Told you she was good," the blond joked, grinning at his friend. He stepped back a little, just enough to completely undo his own dress form; even if he just ended up watching, he wanted to be ready. "Wait till you get inside her pussy…it's like heaven."

The sergeant swallowed saliva and nodded his head. He pulled down his trousers and underwear; equally well endowed as his friend, if a little thicker. "I…no, I want to do this right," he looked at the cuffs on the table, then at you. "That way you'll be safe." Your hands weaved through his hair. "Don't worry, I will be."

""----- ⍟ ★ ✪-----""

Good.

It was turning out to be a bust.

Arms and legs bound in leather cuffs, eagle spread eagle on the bed, the Sergeant was on the verge of tears; No matter what you tried, your mouth, your hands, grinding, he just wasn't …. up to the task.

He stroked his flaccid penis gently, gently, looking down at his clearly pained face. He had been ready - throbbing, hard - but somewhere along the way, the anxiety had become terrible.

Even the Captain, sitting on his friend's right calf, looked worried. Climbing up his body, you broke the silence. "Sarg…" "Please," his voice cracked and his eyes closed tightly. "Don't… don't say anything… I…" you grit your teeth under your lips, your body trembling and straining against the leather. "I'm sorry, I knew it…I knew I couldn't do it…"

"Buck, no," the Captain abandoned the name rule, scurrying around the bed to kneel beside his best friend, squeezing his meaty biceps. "Okay, maybe today wasn't the day…"

"No, this… I can't do it," tears welled up from his closed eyelids, crumbling in despair. "I can't do it, now I wasted this poor girl's time. I'm broken, Stev."

"No!" He gripped his friend's cheek in his hand, forcing him to look at him. "You're not broken, Buck; there's nothing wrong with you. You're…" the Golden Son searched for the words he wasn't ready to say. "You're not broken."

When the whimpering sergeant looked at his friend, you felt a twitch between your legs. Your eyes fell on the restraints, then on the man they held, then on the Captain's well-muscled arms. That could work.

"Sergeant… may I call you Bucky?" You reassured him, stroking his chest. He nodded, blinking back tears. "I have one more idea … If you don't want to try it, you don't have to, but … I think it might work." He took a deep breath, even with her collapse, you were beautiful and he still wanted to try. "Okay… we can try."

You smiled and looked down at Steve, kneeling on Bucky's lap. "Captain … would you mind undoing your restraints?" Restlessness appeared on the Commando's face, but you cooed and kissed his cheeks as your friend released his arms and legs. You could feel his heart calming in his chest, and his breathing didn't seem so labored; well so far.

"Good boys," he praised, reaching between his legs to grab Bucky's cock, which already seemed more animated. "Now, I know you're worried about hurting me, Bucky, so if the good Captain is up for it," you met his bright blue eyes. "He'll hold you down." Both men blinked, a little puzzled, it seemed the most obvious answer.

"Can he do that, Captain?" you asked him, stroking his friend's rapidly hardening length. "Because our Bucky seems pretty excited … and I'd love to know how he feels inside me."

A rumble sounded in the Golden Son's chest; he dropped to his knees and braced his arms against the Commando's, wrapping his wrists firmly around his own. Sure enough; Bucky remained hard. Perhaps it even got harder.

You leaned in, pressing kisses along the brunet's neck and cheeks. "Feeling better, Bucky?" you murmured, watching him relax, moaning, his hips bouncing. "Can I fuck you now, please?" He nodded, eager to have you and worried about losing his temper. "Yes, fuck yes… yes, please do, I want to feel you…" "Since you've been so good, then…"

He burned that first stretch as his cock filled you, splitting your walls with delicious pain, but the grunt he let out soothed any sting that might have lasted. Like his Captain, he hit spots inside you that few could reach; and his added girth made your hair stand on end and your toes curl.

It was worth the effort.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, doll," you almost sobbed, clenching your fists as his pelvis shifted and thrust against yours. "Oh my God… you feel fucking amazing."

The Captain murmured kind words to his friend, his own eyes fascinated with where your pussy met his cock; you wondered which would be more palatable.

You smiled through a haze, slowly rocking your hips and enjoying the sounds of Bucky's panting and moaning. "You too, baby," your hands spread over his chest, pinching his own nipples until he moaned. "You're so big… mmm I'll have to thank our Captain for bringing me such a delicious cock to fuck me…"

He nodded hurriedly, his eyes glazed and confused by the sex, watching you bob, grind and fuck him. "Y-yes…" You cupped his cheek, knowing you had to do it gently. "You want to thank him too, Buck?"

The Commando nodded again, his eyes meeting his friend's, who hovered over him in lustful awe. "Th-thank you, Stevie … thank you for doing this, thank you…"

The Captain, Stevie, bowed his head in response. "Why don't you give him a kiss, Buck?"

His big blue eyes grew wide with fear; but his cock throbbed and swelled even more inside you. "W-what?"

"I thank you with kisses," you whimpered, slowly gaining speed, keeping your touches gentle and coaxing anyway. Your orgasm wasn't necessarily the end goal. "Don't you think Stevie would like a kiss… just for being such a good friend…?"

Both sets of blues looked at you before meeting the other's, nerves and longing meeting in an electric stare. As if reading his friend's mind, the Captain leaned in, lower, lower, until his lips hovered over Bucky's, waiting.

"I … think I'd like that, Buck," he whispered, the heat of his breath and the moment set his skin on fire. Bucky's body tensed, nearing his own climax, and he focused on his friend's mouth. "Can I…can I kiss you?"

Bucky's response was to grab the back of Steve's neck and kiss him as if his life depended on it.

He hadn't even realised that his arm had been released. The mix of tongues dancing together, the taboo of it all, the all-encompassing heat of your sex all around him; it was the perfect storm for a sergeant. Nails dug into his friend's neck, he moaned loudly into your kiss as he cummed, a thick, long suppressed seed flooding your walls, giving you your own reason to flutter your eyes, gasp and shudder.

It wasn't a climax, but it wasn't a bad experience either. When your body slowed and your eyes opened again, you found both men staring at you; Bucky in a strange, stunned reverie, the Captain with grateful greed. You had given them more than they expected when they walked into that room, and you would give them more before the night was over.

Steve licked his lips, savouring his friend before rising and rounding the mattress, kneeling beside you and wrapping an arm around you. "You're always full of surprises, aren't you doll?" Your pussy tight under his dark eyes, Bucky moaning beneath you. "Gotta keep things interesting, Captain."

"Do it every time," he graced your neck with a kiss before his arm descended further, reaching your mound. "But I don't think this punk made you cum…" his fingers fiddled with your clit, eliciting a moan. "So how about round two then?"

""----- ⍟ ★ ✪-----""

It was hours before the soldiers stopped; and when they did, you could barely stand.

Full of hickeys and smeared with cum of all kinds, you couldn't remember such an overwhelming visit; You let your jelly body rest on the sheets, Bucky stroking your hair as the Captain hid your payment discreetly under a blindfold.

"You were amazing, Doll," cooed the Sergeant, still in awe of the whole evening. "Just… wow. I never thought I could… be with a girl again, but you…"

You offered him a beaming smile in response, squeezing his knee to reassure him. "You're not broken, Buck," he said hoarsely, his throat raw from use. "I just had to learn a few tricks."

"Mm," the Captain joined the two of you, hands on hips. You'd both gotten dressed again; reality had yet to return to reality at some point. "This girl may have more powers than any of us." You laughed, if only they knew. "Mm…I hope I get to show them off again…. Next time?"

It was a question, but it didn't have to have been one. "Absolutely." Bucky spoke, sounding more confident than he had all night.

"And maybe next time," the Captain added. "We can be the ones to tie you down."

""----- ⍟ ★ ✪-----""

#steve rogers #reader insert #one shot #masterlist #smut #marvel #sexy #fanfic #english #bucky barnes

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