Son of a Witch

As far as Bucky was concerned, Billy's hands could be in his hair whenever Billy wanted. The casual touches were something he never considered merely because he'd never considered that Billy could even want anything of the sort.

He didn't dwell for long though, focused instead on the pleasure he could see in Billy's face and the soft touches that brushed hair out of his eyes. It felt like a drug almost, the thrill he got from bringing Billy pleasure; the more Billy responded, the more he wanted to give. It's easy with you, he tried to convey with his eyes, because he wasn't ready to stop working his mouth over Billy's cock. Especially with such sweet words falling from his lips, the touch of innocence where moments ago Billy had leaned into the caress of Bucky's knife. He took him to the root again, backed off, took him again, backed off — the entire time his hand worked more and more frantically against the front of his own pants, shoving the button and zip open enough to palm himself roughly.