[He isn't going to last. He knew that the moment he'd slid in, slid home-- should have known, at least, from the moment those baby blues popped open in bed that night, followed by a knife.

Lupin slams into Bucky over and over again until he can hear the tell-tale slap of their skin together, until he can feel Bucky's asscheeks beneath his hipbones, until he's free. He can free himself in Bucky, he just knows it-- from this fate, from everything. He'll lose himself and maybe he won't care if he gets back.

(that's the scariest thought)]

It's babe now? I'll have to make love to you more often if you're going to be so sweet. I could eat you up all night, really string you out until you're begging me to just put my fingers in...

[but he can't do that to Bucky-- if only because his own control is lax. Bucky's too good, the heat is too good, his cock throbs inside him and his world narrows down to the chase of his orgasm, building in his belly. It doesn't take long at all for his balls to tighten and for him to lose himself, hips stuttering to completion as his vision whites out.

He'll milk himself inside and drape himself over his husband like a sloth in a minute, hand still wrapped around his cock and moving.]