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Bucky is glassy-eyed, looking up from his knees, with Steve’s come pooled on his tongue and dripping from his mouth.
“You look like sin, baby,” Steve says, dipping his thumb into Bucky’s mouth and tilting his head. “Oughta paint a portrait of you like this. A highlight here, I think,” he says, swiping a come-covered thumb across Bucky’s cheekbone. “And a shadow. Just here.” He dips his thumb into the dimple in Bucky’s chin, smearing in the come that’s dripped from his lips. “Capture you like this, covered in me. My very own demon, come to lure me to hell.”