alteregos | if i ever leave this world alive ( closed to bucky )

if i ever leave this world alive ( closed to bucky )

[It's obscenely late, but it's easy to still find people roaming the streets. The majority of them stupid drunk, or just one of the two, stumbling back home or finding their way to one more bar so they can end the night in a pathetic haze of alcohol and neon lights. Petre remains perfectly sober when he brings his cigarette down from his lips, leaning back against the brick building where he's met his so-called friend many times before now. He knows the way here by heart, no matter where he's coming from. It's a visit he enjoys paying, and he's quite certain that this night will be no different.

Assuming Bucky can actually make it here alive.]

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[Well that's a surprise.]

I thought I was paying you back for wasting your time.

I'm feeling generous.

[He doesn't even try to pretend he's not lying.]

[His eyebrows raise and a slow grin spreads across his face, and Bucky laughs.]

My lucky night.

[He taps the ash off his cigarette again and tilts his head a moment, humming as he considers.]

My place then. I like home territory.

[Petre shrugs, pursing his lips in what's supposed to look like a moment of thought.

Then he lifts his hand and gestures at Bucky to lead the way.]

Your place, then.

[He does. The nice thing about their meeting place is it isn't too far from home. Ten minute walk, tops.]

You planning on being generous all night long, or just for this? Because I gotta be honest, I wasn't thinking about doing anything in particular.

I'll do whatever you want, Buck. You know how I roll.

[Buck. Only one person really gets to call him that, isn't that right. Petre doesn't particularly care. He isn't here right now.]

I'm easy. And you're human.

[His shoulders tense a little at the name, but he lets out a breath and bites his lip from saying anything. It's not a big deal. It shouldn't be. But he doesn't like being reminded when he's doing something like this.]

Yeah?

[He turns to face Petre, walking backwards easily.]

Why's that make a difference?

It doesn't. [He cocks his head, smirk open and wide.] That's the point.

[But he sees that twinge of irritation; it's what he was looking for and now Bucky's doing his very best to keep it at bay. It's just a prelude for what he hopes he'll bring out for the rest of the night. They'll see how he's feeling then.]

[It's a strange kind of remark, but Bucky shrugs and accepts it. They're at his apartment anyway, and he trots up the steps to open the front door.]

If you say so.

I do say so.

[Petre loves to have the last word. And he loves the sound of his own voice. It's something you get used to ignoring, eventually, if you're smart enough.]

Just like coming home.

[Don't mind if he makes his way to the couch and sits down, arms thrown across the back.]

[Bucky watches him sprawl on the couch, raising his eyebrows as he hooks his jacket on the hanger before walking over to stand by the couch, his arms crossed in front of him.]

You want anything to drink?

Sure.

[Nice of him to ask, he supposes.]

You look nervous.

Do I?

[He goes over to his liquor cabinet and pours out a couple glasses of whiskey. Nothing particularly fancy. He brings one over to Petre.]

Honestly I'm trying to figure out what the hell I want.

[There's no thank you, save for the slow smile when he takes the glass.]

Instinct usually works just fine.

[Bucky hums softly at that, thinking, considering Petre as he takes a drink.

He sets the glass down on the table next to the couch and proceeds to climb onto the couch, straddling Petre and leaning down to press his lips to his ear and murmur gently.]

Also I can't help but wonder if this generosity is actually a trap.

[One hand still holds his glass when Bucky draws near. The other rests comfortably on his thigh, leaning back just enough to keep his eyes on the other man's features, lazy and warm, shut briefly to hear him speak.

His thumb brushes on him lightly. Idly. His voice soft and low.]

When did I ever lie to you, James?

[Bucky laughs softly in Petre's ear, nips it gently.]

Plenty of times, you rat bastard.

[And he proceeds to kiss along his jawline until he gets to Petre's mouth, speaking softly against his lips.]

Wouldn't put anything past you.

[Just a subtle little gasp at the nip, breath hitching before lips stretch back to that same smile. He remains apparently motionless, lolling his head just enough to allow Bucky to continue his work, make his way to his mouth.

Wouldn't put anything past you. And he's quite right to feel that way, though he gets no chance to continue before Petre closes the distance between them. It's a kiss that's anything but chaste, moving that free hand up to grip the back of his neck, anchor him in place until his lips part and he sucks on his, dipping his tongue out to prod at his.]

Good thing you're smart.

[He turns away, takes a generous swig at his drink.]

Be a darling and put this on the table for me, will you.

[The kiss is only a little surprising, and it's only a moment before Bucky's pushing back into it fervently, opening his mouth and letting Petre in willingly. He moans softly and swallows when Petre pulls back, licking his lips.

Bucky takes the glass from Petre with a grin.]

Sir, yes, sir.

[He shifts and leans to set the glass on the table. It's the gentlest kind of order, but Bucky likes it, likes the casual bossiness as well as the more serious, intense commands. Submissiveness is not something he generally displays, and most people would never guess it of him, but it's something he likes to indulge in when he gets a chance.

Even if he's a sassy little prick about it.]

Anything else I can do for you, sir?

[There's an absentminded quality to the way he watches Bucky move, still undeniably present in the moment, slight surge of electricity running down his body, making his nerves feel just a little more alive. With both hands free to roam Bucky's body, palms and finger pads run up beneath his shirt, warmth against his skin, mapping out every inch of his muscles.]

You can start by taking this shirt off.

[A slow, lazy grin spreads across his face as Petre's hands slide up his skin, and Bucky bites his lip and reaches back to pull his shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside with no care as to where it lands. It's his apartment, he'll figure it out later.

Once that's done he leans in again, hoping for another kiss.]

[He's happy to deliver. Appreciatively run his hand up from his waist to his shoulders, circling around to find his throat and hold him there without pressing his fingers too tight. Wouldn't want to hurt the soldier. Not yet, anyhow.]

And what can I do for you.

[He wouldn't mind the pain. It reminds him he's alive.

Bucky presses his lips to the demon's neck, scraping his teeth along the skin, ending in a quick bite.]

Fuck me. I don't care how.

[Upon Bucky's last word, Petre rolls his hips lazily into his, the prelude to what might just come next if they both behave, lips stretching in a grin with his eyes shut. Fingers dig into his hair indulgently, then he maneuvers Bucky to slide around him - his turn to sit down on the couch - and stands up to shrug off his jacket, unbutton his shirt and let both clutter the floor. He gets on his knees shortly after, parts Bucky's legs and moves his fingers to start undoing his pants.]

Tell me again how generous you want me to be.

[Bucky's breath hitches and lets himself be pulled around to sit on the couch, watching silently as Petre stands and strips, and feels how his heart pounds as pale fingers work at his pants.

His pulse racing in his ears, Bucky says what he knows is probably the stupidest answer he could possibly respond with, but he doesn't care.]

I never asked you to be generous, you offered that on your own.

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