Son of a Witch

"Just bein' honest," he murmured, nipping at Billy's earlobe to punctuate the sentence. "I mean, look at you." Bucky held the knife flat against the strip of skin he'd bared, dark metal against pale skin. "Just fuck, you know what I can do with this and you're lettin' me close anyway. How can I not want you?"

Of course, it wasn't just about the knife. Or the night. Bucky's want for Billy wasn't new at all, for all that he'd never acted on it before now. But holding Billy during their escape from the fortress, then later in their flight through the woods, and helping him out of his clothes now, wore Bucky's resistance down to the point of nonexistence. Billy's little sighs, the way he leaned into Bucky, the trust; he couldn't hold back. "Want so much with you."