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In this cramped, office of the 100th Bomb Group, nestled amidst the sprawling airbase, Red sat hunched over his paperwork, the scratching of his pen the only sound disturbing the quiet.
His eyes, bloodshot from hours of poring over flight logs and maintenance reports, darted between the pages, occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall.
It ticked away, a metronome to the rhythm of his thoughts: how much longer until he could crawl into his bed and escape into sleep?
The door slams open, shaking the flimsy wooden frame, and in stormed Bucky, his face a thundercloud of rage.
"Red, you son of a bitch," he roars, the sound echoing off the walls.
His flight suit was caked with dust and sweat, a testament to the rage simmering just beneath the surface. Red's heart skipped a beat, and he felt his cheeks flush.
He knew that tone all too well; a mission had gone wrong, and someone was about to take the brunt of it. And that someone is mostly definitely him.
"What the hell were you thinking, sending us out on that suicide mission?" Bucky's voice was a snarl, the veins in his neck bulging as he slammed a fist onto the desk.
The paperwork fluttered in the aftermath, and the room seemed to shrink around them, the tension thick and palpable.
Red's stomach twisted with a mix of fear and something else, something darker, something that sent a thrill down his spine and made his pulse race in his ears.
He swallows hard, trying to find his voice. "John, I...I don't know what happened. It's not like I wanted..." His words trailed off as Bucky took a step closer, towering over him, the smell of engine grease and fear mingling in the air.
"You don't know? You don't know?" Bucky's eyes blazed with fury.
"I almost lost my entire goddamn crew out there because of you! I almost lost Buck! I lost Curt and Dickie out there! And for what? So you could sit here nice and cozy playing with your numbers?"
He leans in, his face a mask of contempt, and Red could feel the heat of his friend's breath against his cheek. It sent a shiver through him, one that had nothing to do with fear.
Red's hand tightened around his pen, his knuckles whitening. He knew Bucky was right; the mission had gone to hell.
The guilt is a heavy weight in his gut, but the way Bucky's anger washed over him is intoxicating, a thrill he couldn't ignore.
He felt a twitch in his pants and knew that he was getting hard. He had to look away, unable to meet Bucky's gaze, and focused instead on the nameplate on his desk: 'Marvin Bowman.'
It was a pathetic attempt to ground himself, to remind himself of who he's supposed to be in that moment.
But Bucky wasn't having it. He grabbed Red by the collar of his uniform and yanked him to his feet.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you incompetent piece of shit!"
The words stung, but the physical contact sent a bolt of pure arousal through Red's body. He gasped, his eyes darting to Bucky's, searching for any hint of understanding, any indication that he wasn't alone in this bizarre maelstrom of emotions.
Bucky's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing. "You're getting off on this, aren't you?" he spat, his voice dropping to a low growl.
"You're enjoying this."
The accusation hung in the air, thick and heavy. Red's mind raced, trying to come up with a lie, a way to diffuse the situation, but all he could manage is a weak nod.
The truth is laid bare between them, and Bucky's expression shifted from anger to something... else.
With a snarl, Bucky releases Red's uniform, pushing him back down into his chair. The chair creaked under the force, and Red's breath hitched.
He watches, wide-eyed, as Bucky began to pace around the room, his movements sharp and jerky.
"You're sick," Bucky says, but there was no heat in his voice now, only a cold, calculating fury.
"You're fucking sick, and you know it."
Red's own anger began to boil to the surface. He's tired of being the punching bag, the scapegoat for everyone's frustrations.
"Maybe I am," he spat back, his voice surprisingly steady.
"But what does that make you? Coming in here, getting all up in my face, and calling me names?"
His voice grew louder with each word until he's practically shouting, matching Bucky's intensity. Bucky stopped his pacing, his eyes locking onto Red's.
For a moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing. Then, with a vicious smirk, Bucky leaned over the desk, so close that Red could feel the heat of his body.
"It makes me the one who's going to give you exactly what you want," he whispered, his breath hot against Red's ear.
Red's cock strains against his uniform pants, the fabric painfully tight. He tries to push the thought away, but it was like trying to fight a tornado with a wet towel, aka not doing anything helpful.
The anger, the power dynamic, the sheer audacity of it all, is a heady mix that had his heart racing and his palms slick with sweat.
He clutched the edge of the desk, his knuckles white, his eyes never leaving Bucky's.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Red growls, his voice thick with denial and desire.
But even as he spoke, he could feel his body betraying him, the evidence of his arousal growing more apparent by the second.
Bucky leans even closer, his hands planted firmly on the desk, trapping Red in his chair. "Oh, I think I do," he says, his voice a low purr that sent a shiver down Red's spine.
"I think you like the danger, the adrenaline, the... humiliation." His eyes raked over Red's flushed face, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
"Isn't that right?"
Red's jaw clenched, but he couldn't find the words to refute the claim. The truth is, he did crave the rush that came with the edge of chaos, the thrill of being out of control.
And as much as he hates to admit it, Bucky's rage is turning him on more than he'd ever let himself admit.
He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple, and his grip on the desk tightened until his fingers ached. Bucky's smirk grew, and he leaned in closer still, his face just inches from Red's.
"Just admit it," he demands, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through Red's very bones.
"You want this."
Red's breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between Bucky's and the floor.
He felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, a cocktail of emotions that was as confusing as it was exhilarating.
"W-what are you gonna do?" he stutters, his voice shaking.
Bucky's smirk grew more sinister.
"I'm going to show you just how much of a 'piece of shit' you are," he whispers, his eyes darkening. He reached over and grabbed a handful of Red's hair, pulling his head back so that their gazes were locked.
"You want this?" He ground the words out, his voice a harsh rasp.
Red could only nod, his breathing ragged. He felt a thrill of fear and anticipation as Bucky's hand slams down onto his desk, the vibration sending a shock through his body. The pilot leaned in, his mouth just a breath away from Red's.
"Then take it," he growls.
"Take what you deserve."
Red's resolve shattered, and he nodded again, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his orgasm.
Bucky's grip on his hair tightens, pulling his head back even further, exposing his neck. Red's eyes rolled back in his head as he felt Bucky's teeth graze his skin, a sharp bite that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock.
He couldn't stop himself from whimpering, a soft, needy sound that seemed to fuel Bucky's fury.
"You're pathetic," Bucky spat, his breath hot against Red's cheek. His hand slams down on the desk again, making the lamp wobble precariously.
Red's body jerked with each hit, the sound echoing through the small room like a gunshot. "Look at you, getting off on the idea of me hating you."
Red's mind reeled, trying to make sense of the situation. The anger and frustration he'd felt earlier were now a distant memory, replaced by a white-hot need that consumed him. He felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body begging for release.
"I don't... I don't hate you," he manages to croak out, his voice a broken whisper.
Bucky's eyes bore into his, the anger in them unrelenting.
"Don't lie to me," he snarls.
"You want this. You want to be punished." His grip on Red's hair tightens, and he yanks his head to the side, exposing his throat even more.
He felt the warmth of Bucky's breath against his neck, and his body responded with a violent jolt. He couldn't hold back any longer; with a strangled cry, he cums hard, the hot spurt of semen soaking through his pants.
The pleasure was intense, a stark contrast to the fear and humiliation that washed over him. His face burned with shame, his eyes squeezed shut.
For a moment, there's only the sound of their heavy breathing, and then Bucky let go of his hair, releasing him. Red's head fell forward, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that is almost... comforting?
"Look at what you've done," says, his voice softer now, almost taunting.
"You can't even control yourself." Red's face burns with humiliation as he looked down at the wet stain spreading across his lap. He couldn't believe he'd just cum in front of his friend, especially not like this.
The room felt hot, suffocating, and he was acutely aware of every inch of his body, every drop of sweat that clung to his skin.
Bucky steps back, his eyes never leaving Red's face. He was still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale.
"You're a mess," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. He reached down and grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the desk, tossing them at Red without looking away.
"Clean yourself up." Red took the tissues with trembling hands, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
He couldn't believe he'd just cum from the sheer force of Bucky's rage. It was humiliating, and yet, a part of him reveled in it. He quickly started try to clean himself up a bit, trying to erase the evidence of his body's betrayal.
The tissue stuck to his skin, and he winced as he peeled it away, feeling the sticky wetness of his release.
Bucky watchs him with a mix of disgust and something else, something that Red couldn't quite place. He leaned against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You're a sad, pathetic excuse for a man," he says, his voice laced with contempt.
"But if that's what gets you off, I can't say I'm not a little... curious."
Red's head snapped up, his eyes meeting Bucky's.
"What the fuck are you on about?" he snaps, trying to cover his confusion with anger.
Bucky's smirk grew, his eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement.
"Oh, come on, don't play coy with me," he says, taking a step closer.
"I know you liked that. I saw it in your eyes."
Red's heart is racing, his mind reeling from the intensity of the encounter. He didn't know how to respond, so he just glared up at his friend.
"Get out," he manages to choke out, his voice still thick with the aftermath of his orgasm.
Bucky's smirk grew, his eyes glinting with something that looked a lot like victory.
"You want me to go?" he asks, his voice a low purr.
"After you've had so much fun?"
Red's hand clenched around the crumpled tissues, his anger rising again.
"Get out," he repeats, his voice shaking. He didn't know what Bucky wants from him, but he knew he didn't want this. Not like this.
Bucky took another step closer, the heat between them almost tangible.
"Why are you fighting it?" he whispers, his eyes searching Red's face.
"You liked it. I could see it. You liked me calling you names, treating you like you're nothing but a worthless piece of shit."
Red's jaw clenches, and he stares at Bucky, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and confusion.
"You don't know what you're talking about,"
he says, his voice low and tight. But the tremor in his voice gave him away.
Bucky leaned in, his lips a mere inch from Red's ear.
"Oh, but I do,"'he murmurs, his breath hot and ragged.
"I can see it in the way you're holding onto that desk, the way your cock's still twitching. You like it. You like the way I talk to you, the way I make you feel."
Red's entire body was a live wire of tension. He wanted to push Bucky away, to scream at him, to tell him to get out and never come back. But the words caught in his throat, his body still trembling from the intense orgasm that had torn through him.
He couldn't deny the dark thrill that had gripped him, the way his body had responded to the anger and the power play.
Bucky leaned closer, his eyes dark with something that was definitely not just anger anymore.
"What's the matter, Red?" he says, his voice a low murmur.
"Afraid of what you want?"
Red's breath hitches, and he clenches his fists, trying to ignore the way his body was responding to Bucky's words.
"What I want?" he spat out.
"What the hell do you know about what I want?"
Bucky leans in even closer, his breath warm against Red's cheek.
"I know you want to be dominated," he whispers.
"To be put in your place. To have someone take control of you, make you feel... alive."
Red's heart was racing, his mind reeling with the raw, undeniable truth in Bucky's words. He had always craved the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of the unknown, but he'd never allowed himself to explore the darker side of his desires.
Now, it was as if a floodgate had been opened, and he was drowning in the depths of his own depravity. He swallows hard, his eyes flicking to the closed door, the urge to flee warring with the need to stay put, to see where this dangerous dance would lead them.
Bucky's hand moved from the desk to Red's shoulder, his grip firm but not painful.
"You're not the only one who's been holding back," he says, his voice dropping to a murmur that seemed to resonate in the very core of Red's being.
"We've all got our demons, and maybe it's time we face them."
Red's eyes search Bucky's, looking for any hint of a bluff, but all he found was a burning intensity that made his stomach flip-flop. He knew his friend wasn't the type to play games with something like this.
The room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken desire and the stench of fear. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, his body betraying him again as his cock began to swell.
"You're wrong," he says, his voice barely a whisper.
"I don't... I can't..."
Bucky's grip tightens, his thumb stroking the tense muscle in Red's neck.
"Don't lie to yourself," he murmurs.
"You know it's true. You've been craving this for a long time."
Red's eyes squeezed shut, his mind racing with the implications of Bucky's words. The truth was, he did crave it, had for longer than he cared to admit.
The rush of fear and excitement that came with the edge of control was like nothing else he'd ever experienced, and now, here it was, laid bare between them.
Bucky's hand trailed down from his shoulder to his chest, his thumb brushing against the fabric of his uniform, dangerously close to the erection straining against Red's fly.
"Look at me," he demands, his voice a gentle command that Red couldn't resist. He opened his eyes, staring into the stormy depths of Bucky's gaze.
"Say it," Bucky whispers, his breath a warm caress on Red's flushed cheek.
"Tell me you want this."
Red's eyes searched Bucky's, the conflict within him a silent war. His body was a traitor, responding to the other man's touch despite the humiliation still stinging his pride.
"I..." He swallows hard, the word sticking in his throat like a hot ember.
Bucky's hand pauses, waiting for him to continue, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on Red's chest. The air was charged with a tension that was no longer just about anger and accusations.
It was something deeper, something that had been simmering beneath the surface for a long time, unacknowledged and denied.
"I..." Red's voice is barely audible, his body trembling under Bucky's touch.
"I don't know what I want," he admits, his eyes searching for any sign of pity or disgust.
Bucky's expression softened slightly, his thumb still making lazy circles on Red's chest.
"It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of Red's bones.
"You don't have to know right now. But you can't keep lying to yourself, Marvin."
Red's eyes search Bucky's, looking for any hint of disgust or pity. All he found was a fierce determination that sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't know what to say, his mind a jumble of confusion and arousal.
He'd never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Bucky's hand moved away from Red's chest, and he took a step back, giving Red some much-needed space.
"Think about it," he says, his voice still a low murmur.
"But don't think too long. I'm not going to wait forever for you to figure out what you want."
And with that, he turns and strode out of the office, the door slamming shut behind him. The silence was deafening, and Red sat there, his heart racing and his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
He felt dirty, ashamed, but also... excited? The feeling was foreign to him, and he didn't know what to make of it.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to get his bearings. The room was a blur, the smell of his own release hanging heavy in the air. He reached down to adjust himself, the fabric of his pants sticky and uncomfortable. "What the hell had just happened?",