Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~1,400
Characters: Bucky/Wanda
Prompt: "Bucky/Wanda-holiday party shenanigans (smut if you can)"

For: claras-wintersoldier

A/N: I tried to write a little bit of the actual party, but, the smut kind of took over.

the most wonderful time of the year - day ten

"Did this to me on purpose, didn't you?" he mumbles against her lips as he fumbles with the lock of the door, and she giggles, stretches on her toes and presses herself against him a little more as she licks at the seam of his lips. He groans, grasps her hips with his hands and presses her back against the wall. "Did it just to tease me."

He slides his hand down and underneath the hem of her skirt and fingers the top of her socks – over-the-knee, because they're cute and comfy, and also because James has always had a thing about her legs. She knows that when she wears these, he thinks about this, about slipping his hands under her dress and slowly peeling her socks down her thighs, kissing every inch of skin as he goes. He loves doing it as much as she loves how it feels, and she feels the warmth coil at the base of her spine as he slides his hands up and down her thighs as he kisses her harder, presses his tongue against hers. He kneads at her skin, squeezing gently, teasingly, and she makes this little noise, grips onto his arms and pulls him closer.

Sam and Sharon are going to kill them when they find out what's about to happen in their guest bedroom.

Wanda can't find it in herself to care right now. Not with James pressing against her, surrounding her, hot and heavy and hard. She whimpers, slides her hands down his chest as her nails scrape against the material of his dress shirt, desperate to get it off.

"James," she whimpers. "James."

He hooks an arm around her and spins them around, guides her forward until the backs of her legs hit the bed, and then he lowers her onto the mattress and pulls his lips from hers. She sort of has to suck in a breath, lungs burning from their kiss, and he groans when she licks her lips. She can still taste a little bit of cinnamon off of his lips from the hot chocolate that Sharon served earlier. "You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself," he says, voice low and gravelly, the way it gets when he's incredibly turned on. He gives a little tug at the hem of her skirt, which she'll admit is probably a little short considering it's snowing outside, but, well. It looks cute. "Do you even know how sexy you look tonight?"

She giggles. Her sweater has a penguin on it. She knows that's not what he's talking about, but still.

He smirks as if hearing her thoughts, and then gently grasps her by her hips and slides her a little higher up the bed, dips his head and presses a kiss to the flat of her stomach through her sweater. She sucks in a soft gasp, tips her head back.

He slides her ballet flats off of her feet and then presses her thighs apart, lowers herself between her legs and looks up at her from under his eyelashes.

"This for me?" She watches as his hand slides up her thigh, disappears under her skirt – and then his thumb is swiping over the soaked front of her panties and her fingers grip onto the comforter, hips rolling. "Baby?" he asks, and she whimpers and nods, spreads her legs a little more, which makes him chuckle. "Think they'll be able to hear us out there?"

She blushes, which is a little ridiculous, considering. She's not embarrassed enough by the idea to want to stop, though.

He knows it, too, because he just smirks a little more and flips her skirt up, then kisses the inside of her thigh, just above the top of her sock. She gnaws on her lower lip, and then he hooks his finger under the band and starts sliding down, slowly, his lips leaving wet kisses along the path. She fists the blanket between her fingers and tugs, trying not to squirm even as her body tingles and the warmth in her stomach coils tighter and tighter. It seems like forever before he kisses the top of her calf and slides her sock all the way down to her ankle and off, and then he lifts his head and kisses the inside of her other thigh, starting it over, even slower this time, nipping every so often at her skin. She can feel how wet she already is.

He drops her other sock onto the floor, runs his hands up her thighs again and hooks his fingers under the waistband of her panties. She lifts her hips to help him slide her panties down her legs, and he drops them to the floor, too. Then he settles between her thighs and meets her gaze, and she combs one hand through his hair, tugging him forward.

He laughs, his breath hot against her slick heat, making her whimper. It's ridiculous how wound up she already is. Even more so considering there's a holiday party going on just outside the door, and it's very, very possible for their friends to be able to hear them.

But then he slides his tongue through her folds, licking a stripe up her center, and she doesn't care about the sound she lets out.

He groans against her, making her tingle, making her arch, and gently sucks her bundle of nerves between her lips. She's shaking, tugging at his hair and at the comforter, and then he's curling his tongue into her once, twice, and she whimpers and tosses her head to the side. He hooks one of her knees over his shoulder, flattens his tongue against her before sliding it through her folds again, over and over, with just enough pressure for it to drive her crazy. It feels so, so good, and it's also not enough, and she presses her heel against his back to bring him closer. He chuckles against her, lightly circles her clit with his thumb as he curls his tongue into her again, and she cries out. He knows her and her body and when she's close, so when she's trembling, walls fluttering, he pulls his hand from her and almost completely pulls his mouth off, slowing easing his tongue into a gentle, barely there lick.

"You alright?" he teases, because he's a punk like that, and she just lets out a breath and shakes her head because she can't even bring herself to speak right now.

He tugs her hand from his hair and stands, and she whimpers, moving to reach for him, but then he's undoing the buckle of his belt and her heart skips in her chest as she watches him slide his pants and boxers down his hips.

She licks her lips as he moves on top of her, and then squeals in surprise when he hooks an arm around her and rolls them over. She has to brace her hands against his chest for balance because she's still teetering on the edge and her legs are still shaking, and when he moves her to straddle him, his hard length presses right against her folds and they both moan at the contact as she tosses her head back and rolls her hips. "Ready, doll?" he asks, voice gruff, and she whimpers and nods. Then he lifts her and sinks her over him, slowly, until he's pressing against her deliciously and so, so deep, and she lifts her hips and then sinks down on him again, faster, harder, over and over again, making him groan her name.

"Fuck, fuck," he mutters as she whimpers. Her walls flutter as he brushes against that sweet spot, and then he brings his metal hand between them, rubs gently at her bundle of nerves and making her gasp. She's close, so close, and a few more circles of his thumb sends her tumbling over that edge.

She whimpers his name, falling forward onto his chest, and he grunts, grasps onto her hips and thrusts her down on him as he rolls his hips up, making her cry out.

"Again," he says, because he knows she can handle it, that she wants it, and as soon as she nods, he thrusts up into her again and again, and her moans echo through the air as she feels him pushing her toward another orgasm.

Their friends are never going to let them live this down. She couldn't care less.