Chapter 3: The Proposal
Two months of dating had blurred the lines between the man and the ghost, and Bucky had stopped pretending he could keep them separate. He was just James now, or sometimes Bucky when Nico was feeling playful, and the fact that she knew his real name during the day and his fake one at night had become a strange, comforting symmetry. They'd fallen into a rhythm: Thai takeout on Tuesdays, her bed on Fridays, and the quiet intimacy of Sunday mornings where she made terrible pancakes and he pretended not to notice the flour on her nose.
Tonight, Thursday, was unusual. She'd texted him at seven with a single question mark and a photo of a bottle of red wine, and he'd been through her door in under ten minutes. Now they were tangled on her couch, her legs draped across his lap, the laptop balanced on her stomach. The neon-blue glow of her screen cast everything in soft, underwater shadows.
"So this guy," she said, scrolling with her thumb, her voice bright with amusement. "DaddyDollar. He wants to know if my mystery boyfriend has a workout routine, because quote, 'that gun show in the hallway was not legal.'" She snorted, tilting the screen toward him.
Bucky squinted at the comment, then let out a low, genuine laugh that rumbled through his chest. "Gun show. That's a new one."
"I think he's into you, not gonna lie. Should I give him your number?"
"Absolutely not."
Nico cackled, tapping his knee with her foot. "Relax, big guy. I'll keep you all to myself." She scrolled further, her face shifting as she read through more comments. "Oh, here's a good one. ShowMeYourOFace: 'Nico, you and the boyfriend should do a couples stream. I bet he's got a cock that needs showing off.'"
Bucky's jaw tightened, but he forced a casual shrug. "Not happening."
"Yeah, I figured. You're too shy for that." She kept scrolling, her expression easy, playful. A beat later, she paused. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip as she read something.
"Well," she said slowly, drawing the word out. "That's a new one."
"What is it?"
She hesitated, then twisted the laptop so he could see the screen. The comment was from a username he didn't recognize, but the text was clear enough. "Any chance you two would ever do a pegging stream? Asking for a friend."
Bucky's whole body went rigid. The word hit him like a slap of cold water, and his stomach did a sharp, uncomfortable flip. His jaw clenched so hard he could feel the muscle jump in his cheek. "Fuck no."
The words came out harsher than he'd intended, almost a snap. His hand, resting on her calf, had gone still.
Nico's smile flickered, but only for a second. She closed the laptop abruptly, the screen snapping shut with a soft click, and set it aside. She shifted, turning to face him fully, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, gentle, unhurried.
"Hey. Okay. No big deal." Her voice was soft, warm. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple, her lips lingering for a moment. "It's just a random guy on the internet. Doesn't mean anything."
Bucky forced himself to breathe. The tension in his shoulders eased, fraction by fraction, as her thumb kept stroking his skin. He turned his head, catching her mouth with his own, a slow kiss that tasted like red wine and something sweeter. She hummed against his lips, her fingers sliding into his hair.
"Want more wine?" she asked, pulling back with that easy smile, the subject already dropped and buried.
"Yeah. Sure."
She climbed off the couch, padding barefoot to the kitchen, and Bucky watched her go, the curve of her hips in those soft grey shorts, the way her shirt rode up just slightly on her lower back. His cock stirred, a familiar, pleasant response to the sight of her. But underneath that, something else gnawed at him. A splinter of an idea, sharp and unwanted and refusing to be ignored.
The image wouldn't leave him. Not that night, when she rode him slowly on her bed, her face tilted back, her lips parted, her nails digging crescents into his chest. Not the next morning, when he made coffee in her kitchen and she danced past him in an oversized t-shirt, humming off-key. Not at his desk on Saturday, when he tried to read and the same two words kept swimming up from the page like sediment.
Her fingers inside him. The thought came unbidden, unwanted, and it made his dick twitch even as his face flushed. The weight of a strap-on. The give of his body under hers. The way she'd look at him, that dangerous, loving smile, if she knew what he was thinking.
"Fuck," he muttered to the empty apartment.
He thought about it in the shower, water hot against his back, his hand wrapped around his cock, his eyes screwed shut. He imagined her voice, low and teasing. You want me to fuck you, baby? He'd come so hard his knees had buckled, and afterward he'd stood there, dripping, disgusted and turned on in equal measure.
By Wednesday, it was a constant, throbbing presence in the back of his mind. He'd catch himself staring at her hands when she cooked, picturing them inside him. He'd hear her laugh and imagine it turning thick and possessive on the other side of a harness. He was going insane.
She was in his living room that night, curled at the opposite end of his couch, reading something on her phone. Her feet were tucked under her, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy knot. The soft lamp light caught the silver in her nose piercing.
"Nico."
She looked up, her eyes questioning. "Yeah?"
His mouth was dry. He'd rehearsed this a hundred times, and every version had sounded either pathetic or pathetic and horny. He settled for raw honesty, because he didn't know how to be anything else with her.
"I've been thinking about it."
Her brow furrowed. "About what?"
His jaw worked. The words felt like they were being dragged out of him with hooks. "What that guy said. On your stream. The pegging thing."
Nico's whole body went still. The phone lowered slowly to her lap, her green eyes fixing on him with a sharp, sudden intensity. "You have?"
"Yeah." The word was rough, scraped bare. "I keep thinking about it. About your hands, your fingers." He swallowed, his throat clicking. "About you fucking me."
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips. The kind of smile that made his stomach drop and his cock thicken simultaneously. She set her phone aside and rose from the couch, crossing the small space between them in three unhurried steps. She sank onto his lap, straddling his thighs, her hands settling on his shoulders.
"Yeah?" she murmured, her voice a low, velvet purr. "Tell me more, big guy."
She kissed his neck, soft and sweet, her lips trailing along the tendon there while her fingers played with the collar of his shirt. The contrast between her gentle touch and the filthy words hanging in the air between them made his head spin.
"Come on," she murmured against his skin, her breath warm. "Tell me what you've been thinking about, big guy. I want to hear it."
Bucky's throat worked. His hands had come up to rest on her hips almost on their own, gripping the soft fabric of her shirt. His face was burning, the heat creeping up his neck and across his cheeks. He couldn't look at her, so he stared at the wall over her shoulder, his voice coming out rough and quiet.
"Your fingers," he muttered. "I keep thinking about your fingers. Inside me."
She made a soft, encouraging sound, her lips moving to the spot just below his ear. Her tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of it, and he shivered.
"How?" she prompted gently. "Slow? Fast? Tell me what you pictured."
He swallowed hard. The confession felt like pulling teeth, each word a surrender. "Slow. You'd take your time with me. Work me open, make sure I was ready before you, before anything else went in." His voice dropped even lower, barely audible. "I thought about how it would feel. Your hands on me while I'm spread out for you."
Nico pulled back just enough to look at his face. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, that Cheshire cat smile curving her lips. She looked like she'd just been handed the best present of her life.
"Jesus, Bucky," she breathed. "You've been thinking about that?"
"Every day since you brought it up." The admission came out almost pained. "It's been driving me crazy."
She laughed, low and pleased, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I love that. I love that so much." Her hand came up to cup his jaw again, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. "Okay. So here's what we're gonna do. I'll order a strap tomorrow. I'll even let you pick your favorite color if you're good for me."
His breath caught. "Nico, I, I don't think I can do it on stream. Not the first time."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
He forced himself to meet her eyes. The vulnerability was excruciating, but she was looking at him like he was precious, like every broken piece of him was something she wanted to hold. "If we do this for the first time, I want it to be just us. No cameras, no audience. I want it to be you and me, you know?" He paused, his jaw working. "But maybe after. Once I know what it feels like, once it's not so, new. Maybe then I could do it for them. For you."
Nico's smile softened into something tender. She traced the line of his brow with her thumb, then pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering there.
"That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," she murmured. "And also the horniest." She pulled back, that grin returning full force. "So you're telling me you want me to fuck you so good our first time that you're confident enough to let the whole internet watch round two?"
His face went impossibly redder. "I didn't say it like that."
"You kind of did."
"Shut up."
She laughed, bright and delighted, and kissed him hard. Her tongue slid against his, and he tasted the red wine on her breath, felt her smile against his mouth.
Her laughter died against his mouth as she began to move. Not roughly, not hurriedly. She shifted on his lap with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that dragged a low sound from deep in his chest. Her hands slid down his shoulders, finding the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward.
"Off," she murmured against his lips. "I want skin."
He lifted his arms and let her pull the shirt over his head. She tossed it somewhere behind them without looking, her eyes fixed on him. Her palm flattened against his chest, pressing over his heartbeat. For a moment she just looked at him, sprawled beneath her, bare and open and completely hers.
"God, you're beautiful," she said, almost reverent. Then the grin returned, the dangerous one. "And you're gonna be so good for me."
His cock throbbed against the inside of his jeans, already painfully hard. She could feel it, the way she ground down on his lap, the way she rocked against it through the layers of denim and her thin shorts. "Nico," he breathed, a warning and a plea.
She ignored it, unhurried. She reached down, working the button of his jeans open with practiced ease, the zipper hissing down. Her hand slipped inside, wrapping around him, and he jerked like she'd touched a live wire. She stroked him slow, her thumb sweeping over the head, smearing the slick bead of precum that had already gathered there.
"So ready for me," she crooned. "You've been thinking about this all week, haven't you? Getting yourself off in the shower, picturing me fucking you."
His jaw was so tight it ached. "Yes."
"What do you think about, when you do?" She pumped his length, still maddeningly slow. "My fingers inside you? My cock?"
"Both," he grated out. "Everything."
"Good boy."
He whimpered. He actually whimpered, and she smiled like she'd won something precious. She pulled her hand free and shucked off her own shorts, not bothering with anything else, leaving her shirt on. She straddled him again, skin to skin now, the heat of her cunt pressing wet and ready against his shaft.
"Lift up," she said, and he obeyed without thinking. She worked his jeans down his thighs until they bunched around his knees. Then she was reaching between them, guiding him to her entrance, and he felt the familiar, devastating drag of slick heat as she sank down.
They both groaned. He bottomed out inside her and her head fell back, her hair brushing his knees. For a moment neither of them moved, just breathing together, joined completely. Then she looked at him, and there was that smile again, soft and cruel and full of promise.
"Okay," she murmured, beginning to roll her hips. "Let me tell you what's gonna happen, big guy."
He gripped her hips. "Nico."
"Shh." She leaned forward, her chest pressing against his, her lips brushing his ear. She rode him with slow, grinding circles, and he could feel every inch of her, so tight, so wet. "When I get that strap in the mail next week, I'm gonna take my time with you. I'm gonna lay you down on my bed, naked, and I'm gonna kiss you everywhere until you're trembling."
The words were silver-tipped needles, each one sinking into him. His cock twitched inside her and she made a soft, knowing sound.
"Then I'm gonna get my fingers nice and slick," she whispered, her hips working lazily. "I'm gonna work them into you one at a time, so slow you'll beg me for more. I'm gonna curl them just right and find that spot that makes you see stars."
"Christ," he gasped.
"And once I've got you stretched, once you're dripping and desperate and telling me I'm ready, I'm gonna put that strap on." She ground down on him, drawing a broken moan from his throat. "I'm gonna go so nice and slow for you, baby. The way you do for me when I'm too sensitive to take it rough."
He was losing his mind. The sensations and the words tangled together in his head, her slick heat gripping him, her voice like smoke in his ear.
"I'm gonna wrap your legs around my waist and fuck you slow, so slow, until you're squeezing around that cock and telling me I'm doing so good." She kissed the shell of his ear, her tongue tracing the curve of it. "And you're gonna be so good for me, Bucky. I know it."
He let out a sound that was almost a sob, his hips bucking up to meet hers. He drove into her hard, and she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
"There he is," she breathed, delight curling through her voice. She rose up and slammed back down, matching his new urgency, a sharp slap of skin that echoed in the quiet apartment. "That's it. You gonna be my good boy, Bucky? Huh? You gonna let me fuck you open and take you slow and make you come apart?"
"Fuck, Nico, yes, I'll be good, I'll be so good for you—"
"I know you will." She sped up, her hips snapping, her chest heaving against his. "I know you'll be good for me. You're always so good for me. Lifting your legs when I ask. Taking your time. Letting me have you."
"Please," he begged, not knowing what he was asking for.
"Please what, baby?"
"Please, I'm gonna come, I'm so close—"
"Then come for me," she said, her voice. "Come inside me, my good boy. You've earned it."
That was it. The words hit him like a detonation. He came harder than he had in his life, his back arching off the couch, his hands crushing her hips as he drove up into her, painting her walls with thick, pulsing spurts. A raw, torn sound tore from his throat, something that was half her name and half a sob.
She rode him through it, her own cunt clenching around him, milking him, dragging out every last drop until he collapsed beneath her, trembling, utterly wrecked.
She was breathing hard above him, her forehead pressed to his. When she lifted her head, her eyes were soft, her smile tender. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the center of his forehead.
"God I love you," she whispered.
He couldn't speak. He could only hold her tighter and hope the pulsing in his chest never stopped.