Son of a Witch

"Billy—" he answered naturally, as if this was something they did, something they were. Hands paused midway down Billy's back, Bucky forcibly telling himself to still — especially with a blade so close to Billy's skin. He looked at his companion, finally really looked: flushed skin, teeth in his own lip, the way he shivered. The heat coming off of him, even after being outside. Bucky would bet that his eyes were blown wide as well.

When had this become anything more than Bucky's most secret dream?

"Don't—" he started, tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. "Don't stop. Let me hear you." Let him hear Billy sigh as Bucky glided a knife between skin and fabric. Let him hear as Bucky shifted closer, not wanting to miss a single thing.