A Lack of Remorse

by LilithsLullaby

Summary:

Married life should have been easy. You are with the love of your life, your best friend. But when your other best friend sees something he shouldn’t, you no longer know what it is you want.

Notes:

I know, I know. I have “A Rightheous Disguise” I need to finish. And trust me, I’m almost there. But this little number popped into my head and I had to put pen to paper. Hope you like it!

Chapter 1: Catalyst

You stand at the bar, alone, twirling a plastic straw around the remnants of your drink. The ice clinks against the glass with each stir around the rim. The bartender lifts his gaze to you, waiting for permission to serve another round. But your gaze remains firmly held to the bar-top as you tap your heel nervously below view. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should be anywhere other than this bar. Somewhere far away. Lost and gone. But here you stand, drinking to forget. Sudden recall pulls a rosy hue up over your already rouged cheeks. A reflection of the deep stain of your sin held tight across your heart. But it isn’t the act itself that makes you a horrible friend, or an even worse wife. It is your sheer lack of regret. The utter absence of remorse. 

You cannot bring yourself to admit it, but you had loved every horrible second of that sweet sin.

“A shot of tequila for the lady,” a husky voice suddenly orders from behind you, snapping you back to reality. His thick body blocks the light streaming in from the hotel lobby as he slides in beside you. “And a whiskey for me, thanks.” 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t show up,” you mutter as you turn to leave. But he is too quick, in the way only a super solider could be - reflexes meant for war and combat, but used more often to best your basic wit. 

“Where is he?” He asks in a low growl as he grips tight to your arm, halting your exit. You refuse to meet his gaze, staring down at the floor instead. At the tips of your bright red heels. The same ones you wore that fateful night. You should have worn black. A color more appropriate for mourning the loss of your sanity. 

“In the men’s,” you mutter. “Just tell him he can meet me back upstairs.” You shake off his hold but make the fatal mistake of lifting your gaze. You become lost momentarily in the deep blue of his eyes. You remember how those same sapphires stared back at you through a tiny crack in your bedroom doorway. You remember the look held beneath his blown black pupils. The way he licked his lips in encouragement. The way his hand slide down over his pressing plunge as he watched you. As you watched him. As you drank him in like candied poison. 

“Take the damn shot, doll, and stop acting like a child,” he says with the roll of his eyes. He shoves the tiny glass of cool, clear elixir into your hand. 

“Stop treating me like one and I might,” you snap. But you take his offering all the same, throwing it back with a long gulp. You slam the glass against the countertop to mark your completion. You hate how angry you sound, how bitter and curt. But you aren’t angry at him. Not really. You are the one at fault, the one to take the blame.

“Is that really how you feel? That I treat you like a child?” he asks, his tone almost sorrowful.

“At least it’s better than treating me like all the other women you try to bed.” You bite your tongue the minute the words leave your lips. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t a fair thing to say to him at all.

His eyes widen slightly and he says your name in a whisper, as if he meant to say more. As if he meant to argue with you. As if he meant to explain himself in a way that might amend things. But you hush him by calling to the bartender. You order another shot, which you promptly suck down as quickly as the first.  

“Cheers,” Bucky remarks with the lift of his glass and a small forced smirk held to the corner of his lips. “Didn’t know you were such a drinker. Thought you saved that exclusively for our nights in Tijuana.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Even less now.” 

He doesn’t look at you for a moment. But your silent response is enough to make him smile over the edge of his glass before he takes a sip, sighing. “We should talk about what happened.”

“I’d rather not talk with you at all. It was a mistake.” Was it? Why don’t I feel remorseful? Why don’t I truly feel ashamed? I just feel...

“Oh?” He suddenly leans closer. The side of his body holds you in against the wooden bar. “I’ve never known you to lie to me before, doll.”

“What?” you spatter. “I’m not lying.”

“You could have looked away,” he begins again. “You could have screamed for me to leave. You could have sent your husband to beat some sense back into me. After all, I was being such a disgusting voyeur.” The tips of his fingers find your chin, lifting your face slightly to meet his eye. “But you didn’t, did you?”

You stiffen, shoulders square and tight as the heat of his body wraps around you. You cross your legs in desperation, your core beginning to throb. As he leans into you, one hand on the bar, his fingers curl around your hand, still held to the tiny empty shot glass. His mouth delicately traces the curve of your ear, sending a shiver up your spine and a pulling a sigh from your parted lips. “You wanted me to watch him fuck you,” he adds matter of factly. “Why?”

“James, I don’t... please, I didn’t...” you begin in a whimper as your heart starts to race. Your breath quickens. But not from fear, you realize. But from a lingering lust. 

“James?” He backs away slightly, his eyes wide upon you. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

You catch his eye once more, letting his hand remain interlocked with your own. “What happened to us?” you ask, more to yourself than to him. “We were friends once, weren’t we?”

“Best friends, I thought,” he replies sadly. “I had hoped we still were... that we still could be even after you both decided to get hitched.”

“Can we be after last night?”

“This isn’t just about last night.”

His eyes glisten under the dim lighting of the bar. He presses closer again, his hand on the small of your back. 

“I’ve wished I was him for so long,” he whispers gently. His warm breath pools down your neck. “That I wasn’t the one forced to watch.” 

Your mouth opens but the next words come from behind you both instead.

“You made it.”

The two of you turn in unison. Bucky’s hand immediately releases from your back as he shifts to the side, leaving a more suitable distance between you. Your husband stands at the center, his smile soft but forced, as if he can read the tension that slices thick through the air in front of him. He’d be smart to ignore it completely. You try to look unfazed, as if you weren't just caught in a compromising position. It could be worse, you tell yourself. 

“Couldn’t say no to a free drink,” Bucky replies, taking another sip for emphasis. He shakes his friend's hand in greeting, smiling brightly. All for show. All lies. He pulls away and leans back heavy against the bar. “But I shouldn’t stay long. Early morning and all.” 

“Sure,” Steve replies with a nod. His eyes drift over to the two empty shot glasses in front of you. But he refrains from commenting. Instead, he motions for the bartender, ordering himself a Sam Adams. “How long will you be gone?”

“A month or so,” Bucky answers. “Depending on how long this mission takes to wrap up.”

Steve nods in response. “Doesn’t seem fair. We barely got to see you this time around.” 

“You know how these things work, Steve. Maybe soon I’ll be able to retire like you.”

Steve shrugs. “You should have retired with me.” He leans over the bar to tip the bartender and raises the beer in a toast. “To your impending retirement, old man,” he jokes before the two men clink their drinks in unison. 

You stand awkwardly at Steve’s side, unmoving, until he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer. “Don’t you want to bid ol’ Buck a fond farewell?” he asks with a gentle smile. His fingers creep up under your shirt, softly caressing the bare skin at your waist. You swallow hard, blinking up at the man in front of you. The darkness of your heart personified. 

“Have a safe trip, Bucky,” you say obediently with a rehearsed smile. “Come back to us in one piece, alright?” He nods in response but says nothing as he downs the rest of his whiskey. 

You retreat into yourself, listening as the two men talk. You force yourself to respond every so often as not to seem so dull and lifeless. They laugh and joke, as old friends would, as if there were no rift forming between them. An invisible valley forged in the sand, craved by your sharp, deceitful talons.

It’s been months since last they’ve seen each other. Months since the wedding. You smile at them both, playing your role as best you can. As if you could easily forget the sin you’d so freely committed. But no matter how hard you fight it, you cannot forget. Leaning against the bar between your oldest friends, your lover and your first love, only encourages your mind to wander hopelessly to that previous night. 

You both were a bit light headed as you stumbled back into your hotel room. Too buzzed to close the door completely. You had been sipping beers down in this same hotel bar, waiting for the arrival of a guest who would never come. You had gotten nice and tipsy, enough to ignite the flame of desire within you both, already set ablaze. Your clothing came off sporadically in chunks, forming a trail behind you on the carpeted floor. Your lips never left each other. From the elevator to your hotel room, your tongues slid haphazardly in and out of each other’s mouths as you laughed and stumbled toward the bed. 

Steve fell down first, a giddy smile showing off his perfect pearly whites. You hopped on top of him, not bothering to take your heels off. You straddled him, now completely nude, and rubbed your wetness up and down over his hardened length. His head rolled back to rest against the pillow behind him as his hands gripped tight to your hips. He pulled you forward and pushed back, encouraging your mutual destruction.

“God I love you,” he moaned. 

You smiled down at him, drunk off his adoration and your own reflected back toward the First Avenger. In silent answer, you leaned over the bed, snatching a condom off the nightstand. You ripped the packet with your teeth, giggling. Reaching between your legs, you slid the protection over his length. Cock in hand, you guided him inside, sheathing his erection within the warmth of your cunt. Moaning softly, you slowly began to rock your hips, bouncing atop him to ride his offered sex. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, closing your eyes and biting your lip. “Your cock feels so good.”

His hands moved back around to the globes of your ass, kneading. 

“Yes...just like that,” he growled. However, his grasp quickly hardened upon you. He winched. “Slow down, babygirl, or I won’t be able to last much longer.”

You lifted your hands to play with your hair as you smirked down at him, grinding atop his cock in a painfully slow rhythm. You watched as he closed his eyes, lost in the pleasure of it. You moaned his name repeatedly, saying everything you knew he loved to hear in loud encouragement. How good his cock felt. How big he was, snug inside your tight pussy. How badly you needed him. Only him. 

Perhaps you’d been a bit too loud. 

As you rode your husband’s cock, your eyes drifted to the parted doorway, where streams of light poured in from the illuminated hallway. Shit, you thought in a brief panic. We forgot to close the door. But as Steve’s hands lifted to fondle your breasts, you chased the thought away and resorted to muffled silence instead. But as you starred toward that doorway, you noticed a figure coming into view. His eyes were wide upon you, barely visible through the small sliver. But undeniably recognizable. Your heart quickened as you caught his eye, afraid to look away. You slowed, momentarily. 

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, his presence a test to your will power. His eyes were hooded, his body stiff. He took a step back as if he meant to leave the scene before him. As if he meant to cower away with an apology hanging on his tongue, one you were sure you’d never hear the end of later. But as you studied him there, clad in his leather jacket, you knew you didn’t want him to leave. In an instant, all of your suppressed affections of your husband’s friend came flooding back to the forefront. How often you’d dreamt of him. How his smile still haunted every waking thought. How the feeling of your hand held protectively in his own, metallic grasp, was enough to fuel sinful desires. 

But most importantly, you realize just how much you’d missed him. 

In a moment of complete surrender, you began again, holding his gaze steady as you rolled your hips over Steve. Steve, so blissfully unaware, kept his head tilted back, eyes closed as he moaned his pleasure. Bucky’s mouth opened slightly as he stalled his retreat and instead, slowly came forward. You licked your lips, giving him silent permission to stay. To watch. His eyes darkened as you stared, pupils blown wide with an animalistic lust. As if it had always been bubbling below the surface, suppressed. But given free reign, it had finally consumed him. You followed the path of his hand down to the front of his jeans. He palmed himself impatiently. His bulge was impressive. He licked his lips, an echo of your own movement. A seal to this contract of sin; a wordless command to continue. To continue your delicate dance on the edge of chaos.

So you danced. You put on a show for him, moaning louder, pulling at your taut nipples, rubbing your clit. You slid up and down over Steve's hard length violently until you knew he was about to come undone. Until you knew they both were.  

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Steve moaned below you in confirmation. And even while it snapped you back, momentarily, to reality, your eyes still held firmly to Bucky. 

“I want you so bad,” you let yourself admit. And while the words became Steve’s reckoning, causing him to find his release with a solid thrust, they were meant for the man in the doorway. Bucky’s hips thrusted forward, into nothing, into the void air before him. His eyes shut tight and he grabbed a hold of the doorframe firmly with his prosthetic arm; a grip that should have ripped the wood right from the drywall. You plummeted toward your own release as you watched the wet patch grow down the front of his tight jeans. Your body quivered, vibrations of the aftermath rocking through your entire being. It was the most powerful orgasm you’ve ever had. 

But who had truly been to blame? 

Steve pulled you down suddenly. Your line of sight became obscured by a wall as you fell to rest atop his chest. His arms wrapped tight around your back as he nuzzled you close to him. Your heart was still racing, your eyes wide and frozen. Steve peppered kisses on your forehead and cheeks. His hands trailed up and down over your bare back as he said over and over again, “I love you.”

But at the moment, you knew you didn’t deserve it.

“It’s getting late,” Bucky says. “I should hit the hay.”

You blink, coming back to the present. To where your actions would surely have consequences. Where fear and anguish have taken root. Your palms are sweaty. Your throat is dry. 

“If you can, call us,” Steve replies. His hand is on Bucky’s shoulder. He keeps it there for a moment, before the two men pull each other into a solid embrace. The sound of their bodies clashing together makes you twitch slightly. After a moment, they pull away, smiling. Though their expressions seem twisted somehow. 

Bucky turns to you. You both know Steve would be expecting you two to say goodbye at least. As two longtime friends should. Friends.

He awkwardly pulls you into his arms. You shift to hold him to you, your hands at his back. You breathe him in, the cruel musk of his skin, the temptation of his cologne bitter on your tongue. 

“Take care, kid,” he whispers, a soft kiss pressed against your cheek. His touch lingers. It would have seemed a friendly gesture to any passerby. But to you both, it is promise of so much more. 

“Be safe,” you reply, pulling away. You stiffen slightly, as you hear the slight crunch of paper coming from the depths of your back pocket; a note placed inside.

Bucky heads for the door with a wave of his hand and a small smile on his lips. Goodbye. You and Steve stand silently side by side as you watch him go. As you watch him disappear amongst the mass of guests loitering in the lobby. After a moment, you turn to your husband, reaching for his hand. But he shifts away from your touch as if you’d burnt him. 

“We need to talk,” he says in a harsh growl as he heads out of the bar. A few seconds later, you blink out of your shock and follow hesitantly behind him. Back up to your hotel room. 

Chapter 2: Steve

“Steve, wait!”  

You are forced to break into a sprint as he charges down the hall ahead of you. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t slow down. He didn’t say a word to you during your slow ascent in the elevator. Nor when you caught up to him in the lobby moments earlier. No matter how much you pestered him, he wouldn’t budge. His mouth was a hard line, his muscles taut with tension. As if he wore his growing anger like a shield. 

You’ve never seen him like this before. Nor are you entirely sure what has set him on this path of simmering rage. Steve had the gentle sort of disposition you relied on for stability. The calm shore in a turbulent sea. And while war and previous missions had tried to harden him, he reserved his true heart and soul for you. For his wife. Never once did you even catch a glimmer of the man that serum had hoped to create. A man Bucky instead had unwillingly became under torture and near death. But that was a long time ago. Neither men were the same now. 

The door to your hotel room flings open by his hand as he storms inside ahead of you. You swing around the corner, breathless. 

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, the threat of tears stinging your eyes. “Will you just say something?”

“We shouldn’t have done this,” he mutters. His shoves his hand through his blonde tuff of hair. Your eyes widen as you stare after him. 

“Done what?” Your mind spirals with potential answers. Self-deprecation takes hold. Shouldn’t have...Shouldn’t have gotten married? you think suddenly in utter horror. 

“We shouldn’t have come here,” he answers, turning away from you to face the window. “It was a mistake.” The blinds are open slightly to reveal the expansive night beyond your room. He pulls against the plastic, peering out.

“No, no it wasn’t,” you stutter. You linger in the doorway, your feet glued to the floor. “You’ve been begging for us to have a reunion here for years. For the three of us to come back here. To where we first had a mission together... How is this a mistake?”

“It wasn’t the reunion I imagined,” he grunts. “Maybe if he could have stayed here longer...maybe...” His words trail away, as if carried off by his swirling thoughts. 

You notice his hands forming into solid fists at his sides, how the muscles at his back seem to ripple with each movement. You step back. Just as you do, he spins around and charges toward you. He slams the door shut just beside your ear with the flat edge of his palm. The sound alone makes you yelp in surprise. He locks you in, your spine flesh against the wood. His eyes rack over you, as if looking for an answer, a clue. 

“What did he say to you?” His voice is harsh, almost cruel. But his eyes are clearly broken, revealing the truth of the man you love. They reflect the pain he harbored inside his heart, growing with each passing moment. 

“Steve.” His name is a gentle whisper against your tongue. Reaching up to cup his face, you hope the sincerity of your touch will melt away the growing anger you sense within him. But it wouldn't be that simple. It couldn’t be. He jerks away, pinning your hand at your side. 

“What did he say?” He repeats through gritted teeth. His gaze penetrates right through the fabric of your soul, leaving you stone cold and bare of all defenses. “You think I didn’t see him?” He practically hisses. “You think I didn’t see how he was whispering in your ear... touching my wife?"

“It was nothing,” you stutter. Your wavering voice is enough to reveal the blatant lie. “What has gotten into you? This isn’t...”

With a grunt of annoyance, Steve starts to unfasten your jeans. He pulls them down off your legs forcefully as you wiggle slightly in resistance, still pinned to the door by one of his firm hands. Your eyes lock onto the now discarded pants. On the back pocket where the small, pale note just barely pokes out from the fabric. 

“It wasn’t nothing.”

He forces the bulk of his hand down the front of your cotton panties. You gasp, staring back up at him with wide bug eyes. You could plead with him to stop, but your body’s reactions would disobey your better judgment. As he soon discovers, your sex is wet and eager for his deliverance.  

His lips wrap around your ear as he sucks and tugs on your lobe. You whimper and thrash against him, torn between the pleasure of his touch and your hurt and confusion over his sudden aggression. His fingers play with your already swollen clit before he plunges a digit deep inside of you. Your moan is sharp, alarmed, but your arousal is undeniable. He knows every hidden part of your body, every button needed to press to make you his. With your earlobe between his teeth, he whispers, “Tell me what he said to you, babygirl. Tell me before I lose my patience.” His grabs a firm hold of your sex for emphasis.

You bite your lip to stifle a deep moan, a result of his display of dominance. The sex you had, while wonderful, had always been vanilla. Pure innocence. Romantic. Love making. But this... this is something else. This is power, something you knew must have lingered beneath his cool facade all these years. Something he denied himself the pleasure of accepting fully. It is the kind of seduction you secretly crave. Your knees go weak beneath his grasp on your mound. 

“Bucky...he was... he was just...” Your words trail off into another moan as he begins to thrust a second finger in and out of your pussy, alongside the first. His rhythm is quick, unrelenting. The lewd sloshing sounds of your arousal drown out all other reason, all hope of resisting further.

“Tell. Me,” he orders, a third finger threatening to join its siblings, with a firm press against your already stretched entrance.

“He said he wants me!” You scream as you squirm out of his grasp and grip tight to his broad shoulders with your newly freed hands for stability. He takes your words as fuel, thrusting harder, faster. “He wants to fuck me!”

You cum over his fingers instantly, eyes shut tight. Your nails dig into his shirt, your knees buckle. He holds you steady, leaving his fingers inside of you as you ride those final waves of release. You throb against his hand. The pounding rhythm echoes the drumming of your heart. You pant and slowly open your eyes as you gradually come down from your climatic high. As you come back down to earth to face the consequences of your words. 

“And do you?” He breathes. His voice is barely any louder than the whistle of the wind outside your window. 

You stare up at him, blinking, your mouth slightly ajar. 

“Do you want him to fuck you?” He clarifies. He stares at his own fingers, coated in your creamy sleek. 

Your hands tremble upon his shoulders. “No, Steve, no... of course not.” Liar. The words almost burn your tongue. Like venomous spat. 

Steve shakes his head, with a slight frown. “I never knew... all these years we’ve been together and I never knew. Never realized.”

“Steve...” He wasn’t making sense. But neither were you. 

“I just want to hear you say it,” he says. “I want you to admit it.”

You shake your head slowly, frozen. “It’s not that simple...”

“Isn’t it though?” His hand as at your throat, holding you tight. You choke. “You’d love it, wouldn’t you?”

His grip tightens and in your desperation for air, you nod slightly. Your first of many confessions. And while you are sure his anger will amass tenfold from even just that small, subtle action, he simply smirks. 

“I didn’t know I married such a little slut.”

Click. Like a lock finding its key. Like the hand of God stirring fate in a new and strange direction. It takes your sanity along with it, your sense of reason. His words are foreign, distant. As if they’d been spoken by a third party, a voyeur. But as you blink slowly, you watch his gaze lift from his hand around your throat to stare at you with a malicious glare. No. Those words had been his own. His smile widens. As if some part of him thrived in the revelation your lie had unearthed. His hand slides off your neck and what follows is just as unexpected. 

Panicked lust. It’s the only way to describe the tightness in your chest as Steve launches for you. Your eyes go impossible wide as he pulls you forcefully toward the bed by a fistful of your hair.

“On your knees,” he orders sternly as he tosses you haphazardly onto the mattress like a rag doll. You fumble to regain your sense of direction, of what is up or down, and position yourself on the weight of your palms. You bend over at the edge of the bed. Turning slowly, you stare at the wolf behind you, the man you once knew as your husband who had instantly become a stranger. You watch as he slides off his belt with one solid pull. 

“Take your panties off.” 

You hesitate. But with trembling hands, you comply, sliding the dainty cotton underthings over your hips. They dangle around your ankles for a moment before he snatches them and tucks then away amongst your scattered luggage. 

For the first time in your relationship with Steve, you feel completely and utterly exposed. 

“Do you think about him while I fuck you?” He asks. 

You shake your head. You hadn’t. Not until last night. But the sudden sting of leather against your bare ass makes you question yourself. You buckle forward against the impact of the belt with a loud gasp.

“Do you?” His voice is louder. A demand, not a request.

“No!” You insist.

“No what?”

Another bite, the sharp pain of that thin band snapping against your rear once again.

“No, I don’t think about him fucking me!” Your words come out as a scream, that pain fading into pleasure. You reach between your legs, your arousal dripping onto your extended fingertips. You pull further back until you can feel the small, growing welts forming on each cheek from his punishment. Two lines that would signify your ownership until they faded into nothing more than a whisper of tonight’s activities. 

You hear his pants unzip only moments before he shoves himself inside of you. No time for condoms, you realize. His bare skin against you, his warmth, is enough to weaken you further. His hands are on your hips as he takes his prize with force. You fall forward onto your chest, your ass held high as he fucks you ruthlessly. While his movements are rough, there is a passion beneath each thrust. A need and a longing. 

“You want him to fuck you like this, don’t you?” He growls. When you don’t answer, he slaps your ass with the palm of his hand. You whimper and moan, pushing back against his cock. 

“I’m sure you’d even let him fuck your little asshole too, wouldn’t you?”

He probes at your taut hole for effect. You moan loudly, gripping tight to the sheets as you grind against his hand, wanting nothing but this sinful horizon. Lust consumes you, devours you. Whoever you were before this moment is in a deep slumber somewhere far away. The woman you are now is ruled purely by primal desires. Those inner instincts buried so far beneath the surface they are almost unrecognizable. But they are more telling of your true self than any other distinguishable feature. And as the next words leave your lips, you decide you don’t care what punishment will follow. You’d rather live life honestly than continue down this path of lies. 

“Yes! Yes I would! I’d let him fuck me however he wanted!”

Steve’s nails dig into your hips as he gives you one more solid thrust, his other hand pressing down against the side of your face. Your moans become muffled into the bunch of sheets around your mouth. He groans as he cums inside of you, filling your warm cunt to the brim with the force of his release. You tremble beneath him and savor the sensation of feeling so utterly full. Of feeling the heat of his desire deep within you. And for a moment, it’s as if you were wholly his. But even that is a lie.

He slides out of you and stands at the edge of the bed as he catches his breath. You turn onto your back, shifting to sit up carefully. A small trickle runs down your thigh but you dare not look. Your eyes hold to Steve, who stares back at you with a narrowed gaze you cannot read. You stare at each other for a long while before finally, Steve sulks off toward the window once more. He refastens his jeans. 

“Steve...” You stand slowly, wobbling on uneasy legs to walk toward him. But his sharp response makes you halt halfway. 

“Tell Buck he can have my sloppy seconds,” he says toward the glass, his back to you. 

It’s as if a solid dagger pierces through your heart, driven by those uttered words. Shattering through those vows you spoke at the altar. Through the metal around your finger that suddenly feels much heavier than before. You say his name again, but this time in a whimper. Your voice breaks. Along with your heart. 

“Leave!” He shouts, fist slamming into the wall. 

You stumble backward, hitting the edge of the mattress as you do. With wide, tear-filled eyes, vision blurry and skewed, you reach for a dress tossed beside the bed. You don’t have time to bother with anything else. Dressed, you linger long enough to grab your phone and the note from your jean pocket before charging out the door with a stifled cry. 

As you stumble down the hall, bare-footed and broken, you unfold the note. 

Written in handwriting you knew too well, is a phone number. Without thinking, you dial. After a few painfully long rings, a man on the other end answers. His voice alone is an unlikely comfort.

“Bucky,” you choke. You wipe away a traitorous tear as it streams down your cheek. “Where are... I... can you come get me?”

Without hesitation or question, he replies quickly and calmly. “I’m on my way, Doll.”

Notes:

Oh this is getting juicy! (No pun intended)

Chapter 3: Bucky

You try desperately to avoid the gawking of the lobby loiterers as you wait for your rescue. You sit with your back to them, facing the automatic doors that block out the darkness of the city. Despite your position, you can still hear them whispering and laughing at your misery behind you. But the opinions of midnight meanders holds no merit worth fretting over. Only those of your husband did. They meant everything. 

Who was that man? Who had he become in that moment with you? Had you created that monster? That thing of anger and jealousy? It was as if Steve had become the Soldier, and Bucky the Captain. 

You stare down at the small metallic band looped around your ring finger. It is subtle. You had insisted you didn’t need anything elaborate. No diamonds. Not even silver or white gold. You chose platinum instead. It was durable, lasting. Like you hoped your love would be. 

You fight back more tears as you lock your knees together, hands shaking on top of them. You grip your kneecaps to salvage any sort of stability. But thankfully, you do not have to wait alone for long. Within minutes, Bucky comes storming through the lobby, almost too fast for the sliding doors to keep up with his momentum. His chest is rising and falling heavily beneath his leather jacket as if he ran there from wherever he’d been stalking out in the night. He does a quick scan of his surroundings. His gaze locks onto you immediately, causing him to charge forward. He takes one lasting look at you, at your smeared mascara running down your cheeks, your hair come undone, the strap of your dress hanging off your shoulder, your perked nipples pressed against the flimsy material. He falls to his knees on the carpet in front of you. His eyes are wide and set upon your own, glazed over as if unseeing. 

“Shit... doll, what happened?” He cautiously reaches for one of your hands, your left hand. His action is timid, waiting for permission. You bridge the gap, wrapping your fingers around his. The movement is shaky and uncertain. Your gaze is still held to that little band, now hidden beneath the mass of his hand. 

“I just want to get out of this hotel,” you whisper. 

“Where’s Steve?”

You don’t speak but the trembling of your bottom lip is enough of an answer. He slides his jacket off and places it over your shoulders. His hands linger around the collar, around your neck. His touch is gentle, reassuring.  

“My rental car is parked outside,” he tells you, still kneeling. “Anywhere you want to go. You just say the word.”

His hands are calloused, worn. Steve’s were the same. You turn them over on your lap, tracing circles around the mounds of his palms lazily. Your mind is somewhere else. Not here. Not in this world where you’ve turned everything to ash. 

“Hey, look at me.” His fingers scoop underneath your chin to hold your gaze to his. His blue eyes are almost the same as Steve’s. Almost... but not quite as clear. Darkened by the pain and loss those eyes had seen. “Was it... did Steve...” He shakes his head as if dismissing his own words. “Come on.”

He shifts to stand, pulling you up along with him. You walk beside him on bare feet, with his hand in yours, refusing to let go. You both emerge out into the stillness of the night. He opens the door to his car for you and you slide inside. Your body feels heavier somehow as you slump into the seat. Perhaps the burden of your actions, your words, have taken physical shape. It restricts the air in your throat like Steve’s hand once had. You reach up to gingerly touch that spot where he’d held you to the wall. Lost in a daze, you don’t even notice as Bucky starts the car and peels out into the night, into the illuminated city spread out before you. It is brimming with new opportunity and life.

For some time, there is only silence between you, only the low sound of music flowing through the radio. Classical. Calming. He doesn’t ask you anything more about what happened, what had left you in such a distraught state. There is something in the way he stares forward, his hands a pulsing grip, tight on the steering wheel. It’s as if he already knows. You lean your head against the window glass, gaze held to views of the city: the blur of traffic lights, the stray pedestrian passing by, the gray buildings that bleed together. You aren’t entirely sure where Bucky has decided to drive, but the metropolitan towers quickly fade into the farm lands that surround the city.  Expansive fields of rolling green. Crisp and clear against the midnight blue above. 

Your view shifts and you jerk up as the window slides down automatically by Bucky’s hand. A rush of cool wind floods the cabin, drying your cheeks, still wet with tears.

“Thought you could use the fresh air,” Bucky explains. 

You shift your body to look at him, just as his dark hair is jostled by the breeze. “What is it you like about me, Bucky?” You ask. 

He turns slightly. He looks slightly taken aback by the off-cue question but quickly, he adjusts and returns his focus toward the road. 

“I... uh... what kind of question is that?” He stammers with a nervous laugh. 

“Humor me,” you beg.

“Well,” he starts. You watch his throat bob as he swallows. “You’re beautiful. And not just in the shallow sense... you are the kindest person I know. When... when things were rough for me, it was you and Steve who got me out of that head space. I probably would have died a long time ago if not for you two.” There’s that nervous laugh again. “Why ask me something like that?”

“I’m not sure I like myself very much lately,” You tell him in reply. The cool night air coming from outside kisses your skin, as if reassuring you with the caress of its invisible hand. “For the first time in my life, I’m finally being honest with myself. Finally admitting to things I never dared to until now. I’m meeting the woman behind the mask for the first time. But I’m not sure I like who that person is. They’re... I’m wrong.”

“There’s nothing about you that is wrong,” Bucky says defensively. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Everything you are is beautiful. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”  

You breathe in deeply. The cold stings your throat. “Bucky, I told him.” 

His eyes widen slightly, though he holds his gaze steady to the road. “About last night?” He asks in a low whisper. As if the wolves outside might hear and carry his words back to your husband miles back at the hotel. 

“I might as well have.” A fresh tear rolls down your cheek at the same moment Bucky veers off the road into the service lane. The car comes to a sudden, abrupt stop. You jerk forward with a blunt gasp.

“Bucky! What are you...”

“Is that why you look like this?”

He pulls the emergency brake before he turns to face you. His eyes are narrowed, pouring over with a subtle anger that clouds his bright eyes in darkness. And as the sweet sound of violins continues to pour through the speakers, he reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb passes under your makeup stained cheek. His touch falls lower, landing on your parted lips. You stare forward. You are mesmerized by a once forgotten memory, recalling how those lips once felt against your own when you’d kissed, rather briefly, on the drunken coattails of a successful mission. You had pulled Bucky toward you and laid a near-scandalous peck on his lips, mouth full and wanting. His tongue had just begun to edge into your mouth, licking at your bottom lip, when you chose to pull away. Before that moment, all affection had been limited to chaste embraces and kisses on the cheek that lingered far longer than was appropriate. You loved him then. You always loved him. But you had also loved another solider simultaneously. You suppose that seeing you and Bucky had spurred something in Steve. It was his subsequent kiss that night that had ultimately propelled you down your current path. Had led to you being courted by the First Avenger and ultimately marrying him. 

You’d kissed both men that night. One after the other. Just the turn of your body from Bucky to Steve, caught between them. Night and day.

But what if you’d let Bucky pursue you more? What if Steve never took a chance with you? What if, instead, the three of you...

Suddenly, the vibration of a phone ringing breaks your concentration. Bucky shifts away, pressing his lips together. As he pulls the phone out of his pocket, it’s hard to ignore the caller ID. Steve. 

“I should answer this,” he mutters as he steps out of the car. He walks a few paces away from the vehicle. However, he is still close enough that you hear him through the window, still left slightly ajar.  

“Hey man,” he starts. His body posture is off, nervous. “No, she’s fine. She’s here with me.”

You swallow hard, afraid of the judgment from the man on the other end. His anger. The pain you’ve caused through your own selfish nature. 

“Do you want me to take her back?” 

The words leave you frozen, glued to your seat. Even Bucky stiffens. As if the offer had come out before he’d truly intended to speak. As if he would gladly whisk you away if the opportunity presented itself again. But he was loyal, loyal to a fault.  

“Did you tell her?” He asks, his voice lowered. “It’s just the way she looks, I thought...Oh? Oh, okay. Yea. No, I understand.”

Without Steve’s side of the conversation, you feel lost. But Bucky doesn’t sound as if he were defusing a bomb. He sounds more as if they were discussing a new mission, serious but not life-ending. Not yet. 

“We will figure this out, man.” His voice is calm but his actions say otherwise. He is rubbing the back of his neck as he paces side to side. “We will...” He stops. His eyes catch yours starring back at him from the car, listening. “Let me talk to her,” he says, loud enough for you to hear him. He doesn’t break eye contact. “We’ve taken this too far to turn back now. But if you don’t want this, if you don’t...”

He suddenly nods, as if to you. As if Steve were there with you. 

He ends the call without saying goodbye. Without so much as another word. 

He comes back into the car and for a moment, simply stares forward at the stretch of road ahead of you. Not a car for miles. Still emptiness. Solitude. Finally, with a deep breath, he turns to face you once more.  

“I want you to tell me what happened,” he says. “Everything. I won’t have there being anymore secrets between us... between any of us.” He pauses, studying you, the way your eyes hold onto him for clarity. “Do you understand me?”

The way he is looking at you, his eyes glistening against the moonlight, makes you realize there would be no other option. It would have to be the truth or nothing at all. The end of a broken friendship. So, you nod and with a deep breath, start from the beginning. From the point at which all of this began to unravel. When you met these two men, your soldiers, and knew you would be doomed to never love any other man again. 

First, it had been Bucky, whom you loved despite his darkness. You loved him for that darkness. It didn’t take long after that for you to open your heart to his best friend, as well. Steve was Bucky’s opposite and yet, his equal. Two sides to the same coin. Working together, you’d begun to live as a unit. Three parts of a singular whole. There was a beautiful balance in your relationship, one you relayed on more than you realized. They were your best friends, your world. But it was at the height of that utopian life that things turned to chaos. They each began to fight for dominance over your attention. At first, their actions were subtle. But eventually, it became overwhelming, driving an almost physical rift between all of you. And you, too, felt yourself swayed, but not in one direction or the other as one might have expected. You were drawn equally to them both. But that was wrong, wasn’t it? It was selfish to want them both the way they wanted you exclusively. Before things got out of hand and you lost them both entirely, you decided you had to make a choice. It was the hardest decisions you’ve ever had to make. It had been made in a sort of silent defeat. 

You thought that in marrying Steve, you’d found an easy solution. Being with Steve felt right, seamless. He complimented you in so many ways. He challenged and cherished you. But there had always been a part missing from the equation. A puzzle piece lost, needed to make you whole. 

And that part was Bucky. 

Your eyes never leave his as you speak, as you go on to explain why you had let him watch that night. How you had wanted him to come into the room, to become a part of something so deliciously sinful. Your cheeks flush violently as the words leave your lips. You hadn’t spoken your desires aloud, hadn’t even thought them through fully. And when you think you couldn’t possibly say anything more, you tell him all the cruel things Steve said to you. And the even crueler things you admitted to. 

When you are done, you sit in silence, waiting for his response, good or bad. You wait for what you are sure will be the end. You watch him absorbing what you’ve said. The wheels turning inside his mind. And finally, when he swallows hard and opens his mouth to speak, your heart stalls. 

“Did he cum inside you?”

Your lips part in shock. Words become lost in your throat. His eyes have darkened, hooded by a sudden, consuming lust. You shift nervously in your seat as you clutch onto the end of your dress, rested just above your knees. 

“Yes,” you stammer in reply.  

“Show me,” he orders. 

Your eyes widen so much you fear they may pop out of your skull. But he leaves no room for hesitation. Not in the way he shifts his body, leaning back against the door. Nor in the way his eyes burrow into you like a set of spears, piercing deep into your heart. You squirm underneath his gaze. The plummeting surge of arousal propels you forward. You had let opportunities with Bucky slip out of your fingers in the past. And now, now that you were finally admitting the truth of your heart, you wouldn’t deny yourself the pleasure of exploring this new horizon. Guilt be damned. You want him.

You position your legs out toward him, one foot on the console, the other on the center storage.  Your body feels impossibly warm as you take fistfuls of your dress in hand and slowly shift it higher. When the material has gathered around your waist, you let your knees fall heavy to each side. His eyes immediately lock onto that intimate spot between your legs.

“No panties?” He growls, his lips curling into a smirk. “Dirty girl...Spread yourself out for me, doll.” He licks his lips.

With trembling hands, you reach down and spread your lips wide for him between two fingers. You can feel the warmth of Steve’s release seeping out from you in a slow trickle. Bucky’s gaze upon you is a thing of insatiable hunger. It is a ravenous need suppressed for years under the guise of friendship. And staring down at your dripping cunt, it’s as if the sight of another man’s cum doesn’t disgust him. Rather, it seems to ignite him. He leans forward, one hand against the glass behind you, the other on your parted thigh. His breath cascades over you. He inches his hand higher until his fingertips just barely brush up against you. 

“He filled you up real good, didn’t he?” He whispers. “But I’m sure I could do better.”

You moan his name as you slowly watch him lift his gaze back up to meet your own. He gathers up a trickle of the aftermath on the tip of his finger before pushing it back inside of you. You gasp.

“Do you want me?” He asks with his finger still buried deep. His voice is surprisingly gentle. He is asking for permission, consent to take this further. He starts to move his finger in and out of you tentatively. You stifle another trembling moan but before you can respond, he shakes his head and adds, “Do you love me the way you love him?”

You hadn’t let yourself think that way. You hadn’t let it become a possibility. Life would not allow for you to want them both as lovers, rather than as friends. It went against everything you’ve ever known, every scripture, every recited line and sermon. But regardless, your own truth, your clarity, rings clearly through your mind in reply. Yes. You love him. You love Bucky just as much as you love your husband. It had began that way and it would end that way. You couldn’t picture a life worth living without them both by your side.  

So finally, you admit it. You reach up to cup his cheek. Your fingers brush against the course stubble there. “I may be a horrible person, damned to hell,” you tell him. “Everything I’ve ever been told would have me believe that the way I feel, that the way I am is wrong. But God help me...because it doesn’t feel wrong to love you.” 

His response is quick. He lunges forward, bridging the gap between you with his lips placed fully against your own. He sighs into your mouth as you immediately return the affection. There would be no more second guessing. No more lies. You want him and he wants you. Your hands thread through his long dark hair, pulling slightly on the ends. To your delight, you are rewarded by a deep moan into your mouth.

You move in unison, tongues exploring and reaching parts unknown. Your movements are so perfectly synced. It is like a dance you were always meant to perform. Years of pent up denial are held within that one single, passionate kiss. It is enough to make you lightheaded. But you savor every minute of it. Every beautiful, sinful second. When you do pull away, it is only to catch your breath. Your lips feel full and puffy. You touch your fingertips to them as you stare at Bucky. His face is red. His pupils are blown black, a reflection of your own. His hands go to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You struggle at first to find a proper balance in the cramped space of the car but eventually you settle into each other’s bodies. Your legs wrap around his waist. Your arms go around his neck. You feel him fumbling beneath you to pull down his jeans enough to be manageable. His knuckles rub up against your sex as he does. 

He lines up the tip of his cock to your entrance before he asks, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

You lean into his neck, kissing him softly in a trail from his collarbone to the curve of his ear. With your lips against his earlobe, you whisper in answer, “I want you, Bucky. Please, fuck me.”

“Hold onto me, doll,” he whispers in reply. You settle into his lap and grip tight to his shoulders. He gently slides inside of you, using Steve’s cum as a lubricant. You moan his name loudly and his hands go to your hips. He gives you time to adjust to his girth, stretching you out wide. Where Steve is long, penetratingly deep, Bucky is thick and veined. Eager to feel more of him, you start to rock up and down over his length. You take it slow at first, savoring every inch. All the while, Bucky places soft kisses on your exposed collarbone and throat.

“You feel so good,” he growls. “Better than I ever dreamed.”

“You’ve... dreamed of me?” You slow down.  Too much, apparently. Bucky’s grip tightens on your waist as he thrusts harder into you. He hits your core as your pussy tightens around him. His groin rubs against your clit, bringing you closer to release with each thrust. 

“Every fucking night since I met you,” he replies before he kisses you deeply. He bites and tugs on your bottom lip as he pulls away.  His mouth lingers against yours as he continues. “I’ve had to find women who look like you just to fuck. Your wedding day was the worst of it. The poor girl couldn’t stand the next day once I was through with her.”

You’d known he’d taken countless lovers. You often caught his eyes as he led them nightly into his quarters. His eyes always lingers upon you as if daring you to challenge him. But you never did. You always watched him go, feeling that heaviness in your heart grow.  

“And I had to watch you marry my best friend,” he adds as he kneads into the round globes of your ass. “I had to hand you over to him like it was nothing. Like it didn’t kill me to watch you walk away. To watch you chose him over me." 

“I didn’t want to,” you whimper. “Please, believe me. I didn’t want to chose.”

He pounds into you harder, faster, until you are writhing on top of him, at the edge of release. When he feels you begin to throb, he wraps his arms tight around you so that you are pressed together, chest to chest. “I want to cum together,” he whispers and kisses your forehead. “Cum with me, doll. Let me feel you. Make me believe you.”

As you chase that illusive end, you kiss him over and over, needing to be close to him, needing to savor every moment. You mount the top of that hill and plummet down into the depths of climatic release with a scream. You throw your head back just as Bucky grunts and explodes within you. The warmth of his cum floods your insides, making your orgasm that much stronger. Every part of your body quakes as he softens but stays locked inside of your core. He strokes your hair affectionately, kissing your jaw and neck in turn. You stay like that for sometime. Your heart refuses to settle. It pounds against your chest as if demanding an audience. And as you settle your head against his shoulder, your thoughts turn to Steve. You’ve broken your own heart in breaking Steve’s. Even while you don’t regret being here with Bucky and at long last solidifying your feelings for one another, your chest feels empty. You can’t bare to look at yourself in the reflection of the window glass. You can’t bare to see the guilt you assume must be brimming within your eyes.

Though, in reality, guilt is a distant memory.

Just beyond your view, the sky begins to fade into a soft amber glow just at the horizon line. The dawn of a new day pulls over the crest of the earth. Bucky places one last kiss to your forehead before he adjusts your dress and himself, settling you back into your own seat.  

“Lets get you home,” he says with a soft smile. 

“Home?” You question, blinking at him. You can’t be sure of what he is referring to. Home had always been a foreign concept. Could he have meant the Avengers compound? That would be a long drive from here.

“Home is wherever you decide it should be,” he explains as he starts the car. 

Home. It is a feeling more than it is a place. And home for you, would always be with the one you love. No. With the ones to love. Those two soldiers. Day and night. Your end and your beginning. 

You place your hand over his on the steering wheel, squeezing tight. 

“Take us back to the hotel.”

Chapter 4: Together

When you arrive back at the hotel, you find Steve hunched over at the bar, a half-empty beer bottle in hand. Bucky’s leather jacket is still wrapped securely around your shoulders. But despite its warmth, you shiver. A permeating chill seeps into your bones, perhaps originating from within. You look up at Bucky for reassurance. He gives your hand a squeeze and nods. A silent encouragement. He hasn’t let go of you since he parked the car moments earlier. You wouldn’t let him. 

Before he moved the car, as he let it sit idling on the side of road, you both watched the sun rise over the horizon. You savored every second alone with him as if it might be your last. He ran his hand up and down your leg, stroking your inner thigh. He took in every inch of your flesh once deemed inappropriate to touch. He kissed you so tenderly, as if he were making up for lost time. You let him explore your body, getting familiar yourself with the feel of his hands, his fingers.  You stroked his face, his beard held beneath your fingertips. You’d neglected this side of your heart for far too long. How had you been so blind to this feeling? To this need to have him so intimately? To be his as much as you were Steve’s? 

You are a selfish, cruel woman, you tell yourself. 

When he finally started the car, you could have sworn your heart stopped beating for half a second. As if sensing your impending panic, Bucky reached out for your hand.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said over and over again as he drove back toward certain doom. “Trust me.”

“How can you say that?” You closed your eyes. “How could I do this to Steve? How could we...”

“You still love him,” Bucky says matter of factly.  

“Of course I do. That’s not up for debate just because I slept with you.” It came out much colder than you had intended it to.  

“And you love me, don’t you?” he continued regardless, as if your words meant nothing. Just vapor carried out the open window and left behind on the side of the desolate road. 

Your cheeks suddenly felt flushed as you sank deeper into your seat. “Yes, Bucky, I love you.” You turned to look at him and found him smiling. He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

“Then everything is going to be fine,” he reassured. That smile never once left his lips as he drove you back to the hotel.

You are baffled by how calm he is. By how he can be so certain this revelation won’t trigger another civil war; a battlement that could easily tear your world in two. Your own anxieties alone threaten to suffocate you the minute you step into the bar. Your eyes settle onto your husband, standing there against the bar, day-drinking. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in months, though it’s only been a few hours. It is as if he had paced the length of the hotel worrying over where you’d been and what you’d been doing with Bucky. His fears are horribly justified. And just as you are about to spin on your heals and run back into the raising dawn, Bucky speaks.  

“Hey Steve,” he says softly, just loud enough to turn his friend’s attention away from his beer. When he shifts around, it isn’t Bucky who catches his eye. Rather, he looks at you. He stares forward, his crystalline eyes brimming with an intense emotion you can’t quite read, but one that does not innately seem like anger. Eventually, his eyes drift down to where your hand is connected to Bucky’s. And then between your thighs. You shift slightly, unable to stand under the force of his judgment. You attempt to pull away once more but Bucky holds you steady, refusing to let go. Steve’s gaze stays locked below your waist for some time before he lifts his eyes back up to look at you directly. 

“Did you have fun?” He asks. His gaze remains steady.

You back up a step, your feet threatening to give way beneath you.

“Oh, we did,” Bucky answers for you with the firm squeeze of your hand. You could swear you see Steve’s chest ease with a sigh, his shoulders relaxing. An odd reaction to such a cruel response. 

But before he can say anything more, you let the words, bubbling up from within your broken soul, pour out from your lips like a cold vomit. You need to at least explain your side before you are silenced forever by the guilt you are sure will come. Eventually. Even while the lack of it still uneases you.  

Steve needs to know that the idea of losing him is as close to a death sentence as you’d ever know. 

“Steve, please let me explain,” you stutter. Your voice breaks. As determined as you thought you were, you are weak, weak in the face of heartache. Your eyes sting as tears threaten to break through the tittering remnants of your former bravery. “Something... things happened and I... I want to...”

Steve turns his attention to Bucky instead. “Let’s not do this here,” he interrupts in a whisper, gesturing to the surprisingly busy bar behind him. You feel paralyzed by fear. Does he not want to cause a scene in public? Would he hate you no matter how you spun your tale? Had he already cast his judgment? 

To your surprise, he reaches out and takes your hand in his. He lets your fingers intertwine, the way he always does. A way to showcase he’d always protect you, stand by you. But even now? Would you stand by me after knowing the truth of what I’ve done? 

He leans into you and with his lips hovering dangerously close to your neck, he adds, “Let’s take this to the bedroom, shall we?”

You swallow hard. Your palms go sleek with sweat as your heart races. But as he moves in front of you, you see the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing firmly against his jeans. You stare off after him with wide, uncertain eyes. Uncertain of what you’ve seen or heard. Was everything a lie? An illusion cast from your deceitful heart as further torment? Steve pulls on your arm, dragging you forward into the blinding light of the lobby. Bucky shows little sign of protest, falling in beside you. His hand is still held to yours.  

Again, you find yourself in the hotel elevator, but this time, there are two men flanking either side of you. Bucky is to your right, Steve to your left. Both men have one of your hands held firmly in their own. You become the tether between them. A trembling tether. You stare down to find Steve playing with your wedding ring. For a moment, you think he might be trying to take it off. You try to swallow but there is a lump lodged in your throat as hard as the pit of a plum. Heavy. Restricting. 

“You know when I gave you this, it meant forever,” he says softly. His eyes are impossible to read, hazy. 

You stare up at him with fearful eyes, trying to meet his gaze. “Steve, I...” 

“It still means forever,” Bucky cuts in firmly. The two men exchange a knowing look over your head. You open your mouth to speak but the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Without another word spoken between you, both men lead you forward. Your feet feel like lead as you walk down the hall. Steve opens the door to your hotel room. He helps you out of Bucky’s jacket, tossing it aside before reaching out for you once more. You shake off the potential of his embrace and fall down heavy against the bed. The room seems impossibly too small. Tight. It suffocates you with the forced proximity of the two men. You stare out the window, debating your chances of surviving the fall if you were to flee. 

“Doll, you look like a frightened mouse,” Bucky teases. But his smile is soft, not at all as cruel as his words would have you believe. “Relax.” 

But you ignore him, staring down at yourself. 

“I just need to say this... while I can still manage to speak before being sick.” The bile burns your throat. You grip onto your knees with trembling hands as you turn your gaze onto your husband. “Something happened between Bucky and I... and I know you’ll hate me for it. But you have to understand, I...”

“You didn’t tell her?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow as he calmly locks the door.   

“I figured it would be best if you did,” Bucky replies with the shrug of his shoulders. He leans against the wall facing the bed, his arms crossed in front of him. There is barely a foot between you. “This was your idea, after all.”

“And you agreed,” Steve replies with a glare.

You shift your gaze between the two of them as Steve slowly struts back into the room. You blink at them both in turn, dumbfounded.  

“Of course I did,” Bucky replies as he catches your eye. His lips curl into a small smile. “I loved her first.” A heat rolls up over your cheeks. You lock your knees together as your core begins to throb with the residuals of arousal.

“Well she’s still my wife,” Steve grumbles.

“Exactly my point.” Bucky smirks. “You should have told her.”

“Could either of you tell me what the fuck is going on?” You snap. Your head is spinning, trying to piece it all together. As if you were given a map without the proper key. Shapes and markings mean nothing. Just void indicators of something beyond comprehension. 

“Doll...” Bucky whispers as he pushes off the wall but Steve is faster. He falls to his knees in front of you. At first, you jerk away from the threat of his touch. In that brief moment, you relive his earlier, violent outburst toward you. So sudden. So uncharacteristic of the man you fell in love with. And yet, you felt the punishment had been justified, now that you’d betrayed his trust in the worst way possible. His belt against your skin had left your skin raw, marred with the ribbons of its impact. Branding you as the harlot that you are. 

As if he can see into your mind, Steve gives out a heavy sigh and runs his hand down the plane of his face. A way to release the burden on his own heart, perhaps. After a moment to steady his racing thoughts, he takes your face in his strong hands. Despite your initial reaction, you let him. He looks up at you with the sort of affectionate gaze you don’t deserve. The monster you held witness to once before is now just a distant dream. Returned is your dear, sweet husband. The man you long for. The man you love. The other man has been put to rest. 

“I cannot begin to explain how sorry I am for the way I treated you,” he says, stroking his thumb across your cheek. “I was convinced I had made a mistake. That I had put you in a situation you didn’t want. That I misjudged your actions. And worse, that I misjudged my own desires. I was angry with myself. Not with you.” 

“Situation?” You ask, caught in the depths of his glistening blue eyes. “What situation?”

He swallows, hard. His hand falls down to your shoulder, sliding further to your hand. He lifts it so that the metal of your band catches the dim light of the room.  

“If you could turn back time...” He hushes himself with a kiss upon your ring. His lips linger and he whispers into your flesh. “If you could have, would you have married us both?”

Both. Your gaze drifts from Steve, up to Bucky behind him. He hasn’t moved much further from the wall, as if he were trying to give you both some needed distance. A sense of privacy in this moment of exposure. Their faces stack up perfectly in your line of sight. One man’s face fading into the other. Your heart races as you dissect Steve’s question. 

Would you have married us both?

Your mind soars with sudden clarity. For so long, you thought the only way was one or the other. This or that. But your heart always held a different song. A multipart melody. And now, it is singing louder than ever, belting a confession you never realized always lingered within your soul. But for Steve to ask you this... did he know? Had he seen it in you before you ever knew it yourself? And the way the two of them spoke before, it was as if... 

“Did you two plan all of this?” You ask, completely flabbergasted. 

Steve looks like he is at a loss for words, frozen before you. He turns to Bucky instead, who appropriately responds with, “Don’t look at me, punk.”

“You did, didn’t you?” You snap, hands shaking. “Was this some sick way to test my fidelity, Steve?”

You watch his throat bob as he swallows. You take it as all the confirmation you need.

“Are you happy now?” You scream, pulling your hands away from his with a solid yank. “Because I failed your little test!” A tear skirts down your flushed cheek. You try to stand but Steve presses down hard against your thighs. “Let me go!” You protest in a weak outcry. You thrash against him with as much strength as you can muster. But he is stronger. They both are.  

“No,” he responds coolly. He holds you down as gently as he can manage. His muscles visibly strain above you. “You have this all wrong.”

“But I cheated on you, Steve.” Your words are a whimper. Your hot, wet tears coat your lips like a crude lipstick marked ‘Despair’. “I failed you.”

“No, sweetheart, that’s just it. You didn’t.” He leans into you, his lips brushing against yours. You don’t pull away this time. “The whole point was to see if you felt the same way we did and it would seem...” His hand inches higher, to where you’d been taken by both men that night. Where they’d both spilled their seed deep inside of you. His fingertips brush against the lingering evidence. “It would seem that you do.”

You try to speak but the sweet surrender of Steve’s lips upon your throat hushes all possible thought. You are near deafened by the beating of your own heart, rising in speed as he kisses you tenderly.

“We need to hear you say it, doll.” Bucky’s voice pierces through the din. “We won’t do anything more unless we are certain you want this.”

“I... want what?” You feel drunk, dazed as your husband’s lips trail up toward your jaw.  

“That you want us both. Together,” Steve answers as he pulls away. 

You blink up at him in a shallow sort of disbelief. Slowly, it would seem, your heart is becoming accustomed to shock and awe. Together. They want you like this. A unit. A team. Not a pair as you and Steve had been, but as so much more. You shift so that you are leaning up against the flat edge of your palms, your chest pushed out. After a moment of listening to the stillness of the room, penetrated only by sound of heavy breathing, you exhale slowly and speak.

“Do you remember this place?” You ask both men softly. “That mission that nearly cost us everything?”

You see Bucky nod, encouraging you to continue on. Steve barely moves, his eyes intent upon you, listening. 

“It was our first mission together. All three of us. We shared a room just like this. Do you remember?” You barely pause, not bothering to wait for their acknowledgment. You knew they remembered as vividly as you did. It was the beginning of the end. It had been the point in which your paths divided. “We checked in at the dead of night. All of us were near exhaustion but you two stubborn soldiers took the worst of it. You both did so much just to keep me safe... you nearly died because of me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Bucky laughs. “It wasn’t that serious.”

“To me it was,” you reply. “The two of you looked like death... And yet you both insisted on sleeping on the floor.” You smile at the thought, shaking your head. “Would things have been different now if we had all simply shared the bed that night? Instead of being such damned fools...”

“Would you have wanted that?” Steve asks with wide eyes. “Even then?” 

You barely nod before Steve lunges into you with the full force of his mouth. His kiss is all tongue and teeth, all need. You’ve never seen such a fervent passion in him before. Not even on your wedding night, when he had gotten so drunk he’d insisted on taking you on every surface in the honeymoon suite. You were sober enough not to object, and would not be doing so tonight. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close when the realization hits you: Bucky is standing behind him, watching for the second time. You break the kiss, gasping for air as you stare at the dark haired man. 

“Bucky.” His name escapes your lips as a wanton moan. Bucky stares at you with wide eyes, as if he can’t quite believe the turn of events himself. As if this were a beautiful dream from which you’d all soon awaken. 

But Steve smiles against your lips as Bucky finally laughs softly behind him. “See that, Steve? She wants me to join in.” 

“Do you, babygirl?” Steve whispers as his hand hikes your dress up even further, leaving your decency just barely covered by the remnants of the flimsy fabric. “Do you want us both?”  

“I...Steve, are you really okay with this? I mean, I never thought... I never even dreamed you would...”

You are hushed by your own moan escaping your lips as Steve’s thumb brushes up against your now exposed clit. You throw your head back, knocking your knees together in an attempt to stop him. But Steve gently guides your legs back open with a sinful grin.  

“At first, the thought of sharing you was enough to make me kill any man who dared even look your way,” Steve whispers. His thumb presses circles into your swollen bud. You whimper beneath his touch and bite the curve of your finger in the pure desperation for control. “But now...” His finger swirls around your creamy residue. The aftermath of earlier sessions of lovemaking. “Well... things are different now, aren’t they?” You can practically hear the brilliant smile in his voice. 

“What changed?” 

Both men look at you. Steve stops momentarily, his mental gears turning. 

“I told him how I felt,” Bucky says bluntly. He takes a step closer to the side of bed, his knees knocking against the wooden frame. “How I felt about you both.”

You extend your hand out to him, your way of acceptance, your confirmation that you want this. Your hand pulses open and closed, like a needy child begging for attention, groping aimlessly in the darkness of the room. You want to pry more into the truth of his heart. Into the truth of your own. But just as your hand caresses the firmness of his bicep, Steve turns to his friend and asks, “How exactly did you fuck her?”

His words are a wave over you, threatening to drown you in their delivered desire. You want to hide, want to bury your face into the pillow at your back, to shield the rich maroon that spreads thick over your chest and neck. But you turn your head toward Bucky instead as he slides in beside you and props himself up on his elbow. He grabs hold of your leg, keeping you spread out even wider as Steve caresses your supple folds in slow, lazy strokes. He licks his lips, watching intently. You bite down to keep from moaning any louder, from losing all remnants of dignity. But you can’t help yourself as your hips arch upward, automatically against the movement of your husband’s hand, craving the surrender of their mutual sin. 

More than pleased to humor him, Bucky responds with a wide grin. “She rode my cock in the front seat of my car.”  His eyes hold to you. “She has such a tight cunt. Fit me like a glove.”

“That she does,” Steve hums in approval as the tip of his finger slides inside of you for emphasis. “So tight. The real thing is always better, huh Buck? Much better than having to watch.” Steve thrusts two fingers inside, all the way to his knuckle, causing you to yelp in surprise.

You squirm with each subsequent thrust and manage to ask through gasps of pleasure, “You told him?” Bucky’s eyes are heavy, darkened by a growing lust as he watches Steve pleasure you. He reaches out, pinching your already perked nipple beneath the fabric of your dress. You whine and turn into the side of Steve’s body, your cheeks unbearably hot. Bucky laughs, fondling your round breasts as Steve continues his assault on your sex. His rhythm steadily increases. 

“What do you think gave ole Stevie here the push to go through with something like this?” Bucky responds. His warm breath cascades over your chest. “I knew he wanted this. We talked about it before. Totally hypothetical...when we were both drunk enough to be honest with ourselves. Back then we were just trying to convince each other it wasn’t serious. A joke amongst friends... but what kind of friend confesses to wanting to fuck another man’s wife?” Bucky gently kisses your neck, his hand joining Steve’s between your legs. His fingers glide over Steve’s hand, encouraging him to go deeper, faster. Steve compiles, taking his guidance and running with it. “I knew if we wanted to do this the right way that Steve would need a little push. And thankfully, our experiment with voyeurism proved to be just what he needed.” 

Suddenly, he forcefully yanks down on the front of your dress. Your breasts bounce free from their confides with an uttered gasp. He drags his tongue over your nipple with a smile. “You should have seen his face when I told him. I’ve never seen him so turned on.”

Finally, you reach your breaking point. The threshold of your sanity. Overwhelmed, you cover your face with your hands, unable to look at either of them for another second longer. Especially as Steve quickens his pace, bringing you toward the edge of release. You wither beneath him, crying out in pleasure. His name leaves your lips. Then Bucky’s. You clutch your hand over your mouth to try to stifle yourself but Bucky is quick to pry your hand away. He pins you down against the bed. His hand wraps tight around your wrist, held over your head. 

“Let it out, doll,” he growls. “Let us hear everything. All your cute little moans.” His other hand pushes higher between your legs, until he finds the spot now neglected by Steve. With a smirk, he gives you what you need, rubbing your clit hard until you cry out, the way he wants. Loud. Your orgasm hits you hard, leaving you lightheaded and drunk on it’s delivered endorphins. You cling to the front of Steve’s shirt, nuzzling into his chest as Bucky strokes your back in long, lazy paths. 

“Such a good girl,” he praises. “And every part of you is... ours.” He smiles at that as he plays with your dress, lifting it up off your bottom. He mutters a curse before he delicately traces his fingertips in circles over your ass. “Shit, Steve. What the fuck did you do to our girl?” 

Their girl. It is finally hitting home. Theirs. Not in the possessive, singular sense; mine not yours. But ours. Together. And never again would you feel the cruel sting of their jealousy or the hesitation that hung around your heart. You would embrace this beautiful new reality for all its charm and quirks. For its plurality. 

Bucky’s rubs your ass tenderly where the markings of Steve’s former punishment still linger. Steve joins in with sad, remorseful eyes. His hand follows the path Bucky’s leave behind. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Steve says in a low, sorrowful voice, and you know he doesn’t just mean in the physical sense. 

“I’m not.”  

You turn onto your stomach, your head positioned perfectly in Steve’s awaiting lap. “I kinda liked it,” you admit with a shy smile, pushing your back up against their hands. Bucky gives your ass a firm squeeze before delivering a quick, playful slap, laughing as he does. “You have no idea what you are in for with us, darlin’,” Bucky purrs. “No fucking idea.”

“I can’t wait to find out,” you say, your eyes held up toward your husband. Innocent yet eager. He smiles back at you, watching as your hand slides down his core. Your fingertips reach their destination; his pulsating sex hidden beneath the confides of his pants. You fumble with his jeans; their three hidden buttons have always been your Kryptonite. You mutter a curse of annoyance when finally, the material slips beneath your grasp as Steve mercifully slides his jeans down over his hips. His cock bobs in front of your mouth, left open and gapping in awe of him. You stick your tongue out to meet him when Bucky pulls impatiently against your hips from behind. He urges you up onto your knees, leaving your ass high, presented for him like a sexual mantel. 

“I wonder if I just lie here... if your sweet pussy juices will just drip onto my tongue.” Bucky’s voice is a sweet vibration across your mound. “I want to drown in you.”

He lies on his back beneath you, his hands firmly gripped to your ass as he plunges his tongue into your cunt. You arch your back with a moan of surprise as he sucks and licks your pussy. With your lip caught between his teeth, he pulls and releases. “Don’t keep your husband waiting, doll,” he purrs before continuing. His tongue swaps up over your swollen, sensitive clit. 

Steve’s hand rests against the top of your head, his fingers interwoven through your hair. He is a patient man. Always has been. But the way he pushes down upon your skull is confirmation enough of his growing need. You smile before taking his cock into your warm, awaiting mouth. His grip tightens, your hair pulls against his hold. He curses and throws his head back as his hips thrust slightly forward to meet you. He tastes slightly salty, sweaty; unwashed from your previous rendezvous. The musk of his sex assaults your senses, mingled with the remnants of your own arousal left lingering on his skin. But you do not care. You happily suck and lick up the length of his shaft, paying special attention to his head, red and ready. You glide the tip of your tongue against its slit, gathering a delivered pearl of arousal before shoving him back all the way into your throat. You fight the urge to gag as you take him in. 

Lost in the feeling of his thick cock, filling all of your hot throat, you don’t even notice the loss of Bucky’s touch. The complete absence of him behind you, below you. You move your mouth up and down over Steve, humming your appreciation of him, of this new found bliss. Of having both men together without fear of judgment or guilt. Together. This makes sense. This is right. You close your eyes to savor the taste of Steve when Bucky’s touch returns. The utter fullness of him is suddenly shoved deep into your sex. You pull off of Steve to moan your pleasure. You grip onto his exposed thighs, the warmth of your mouth enough to keep him hard. You turn around to find Bucky on his knees behind you. He stalls all movement, letting you adjust. His thumbs brush over your bare skin, such a gently contrast to the roughness you are sure is soon to come. And just on cue, when he is sure you are ready, he doesn’t hold back. Like an caged animal finally released from its shackles, embracing the pure desperation of its hunger. He drives into you with the force of years of pent up longing. And being here, with the three of you connected as a solid line, he will give you everything once hidden in that eclipse of fear. 

The sound of his balls slapping against you is enough to light a fire within Steve. His grip returns to your skull as he pulls you back down onto his cock. You try desperately to keep steady as Bucky drills into you from behind. Your face twists with unbridled pleasure. 

“Babygirl, you look incredible,” Steve moans. His fingers delicately scoop underneath your chin, stroking your skin affectionately. “How did I get so lucky?” 

“How did we get so lucky?” Bucky slaps your ass for emphasis, sending you reeling into the oblivion of near completion. 

“Boys, boys... I am clearly the lucky one here,” you moan happily, nuzzling Steve’s cock. “I have two super soldiers in love with me and no need to play favorites.” 

“I still think I’m your favorite.” Steve pulls you up, kissing your lips sweetly, slowly. 

“We shall see after tonight,” Bucky growls. He slams into you hard. You gasp and pull away from Steve abruptly. You reach back to grip tight to Bucky’s arm. The metal is cool and sleek beneath your touch.  

“Is that a challenge, Buck?” Steve laughs.

“Maybe.”

Steve shifts, pulling you away from his friend. You yelp, laughing as you fumble into his lap. He arranges your legs around his waist, smirking back devilishly at Bucky who stands, blatantly annoyed by the robbery. Steve lines his cock up to you, letting you take the initiative to sit down upon him. Your movement is slow, painfully slow, as you sheath him inside of your ready cunt. He guides your hips up and down over him, kissing your neck, your breasts, your collarbone in turn. Each caress is muddled by his own deep moans as you ride him. Steve peers over your shoulder at Bucky, who is left standing, stroking his own cock. Steve reaches around you and with both hands, spreads your ass out wide. You grip tight to his shoulders, knowing what is about to be offered. 

“Don’t just stand there,” he says. “She’s got another hole here that needs to be filled.”

“Fuck... seriously?” Buck mutters. You feel the bed shift as he moves toward you both. “Vanilla Steve Rogers has done anal?” 

“Once... does that really surprise you?” Steve laughs. “After I asked you to join us in bed?” 

“I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Would the two stop talking and just fuck me already?” 

Despite how eager you sound, you are red with embarrassment, hot with trepidation. 

When Steve had first suggested anal, it had taken months for you to build up the courage to actually agree to it, to overcome the shock of his insistence. You’d both spent a week online doing the research, stocking up on lube and toys to work you up to it. It was the most adventurous thing Steve had ever wanted to try, after years of missionary. You had to say yes if only in the hopes of opening the flood gates to your sex life. When finally, he readied himself to fuck you, you knew you were ruined. 

You came instantly the minute he slid inside of you.

Your hands tremble against Steve as you bury your head into his shoulder. He kisses your jaw, whispering encouragement. “Don’t you remember how good it felt, babygirl?” His lips trace along the curve of your ear. “Don’t you want to know how Bucky’s cock feels? I’m curious who’s better...”

“Does it have to be a competition?” You whisper. Your nails bury deep into his skin in preparation. 

He laughs softly. “No, it doesn’t. This is about you, sweetheart.” You hear Bucky stroking his cock behind you, coating it liberally with the lube you are thankful to have brought on this trip. He leans over your back once he is good and ready. The tip of his cock probes your ass. “This is about making you happy,” Steve adds in a whisper, stroking the side of your face. “Are you... are you happy?” 

You smile up at him before staring back at Bucky. “So happy.” He braces himself on your shoulder, rubbing his cock against you. Up and down. It’s enough of a tease to make you tighten around Steve’s cock. “Do you want me to fuck your ass?” Bucky asks with a smirk. He couldn’t be more perfect. The way he needs permission. The way he waits, patiently for you your loud and vibrant...

“Yes!”

In answer, he slides slowly into you. Not fully but enough to bring you plummeting into the dark embrace of pleasure. And just like the first time, the orgasm that washes over you renders you weak and motionless in the offered arms of your two men. The scream that leaves your lips echoes around you, joined by the sound of both men fighting their own release. Your vision goes black as you succumb to the sensation of being so completely full. So wonderfully balanced in the arms of your lovers, in their cruel, beautiful sin. 

The two men stall. Bucky strokes your back while Steve continues to kiss you sweetly. They wait for you to return to the present. To return to them.

When you finally come down to earth, blinking slowly, you sit up straight and lean back, silently begging Bucky for a kiss. He is more than happy to comply. “Are you ready for more, doll?” He whispers against your lips. As soon as you nod, Steve grips tight to your hips and the two men move in unison. Total synchronicity inside of you. As Steve pulls out, Bucky pushes in, and vice versa. The tidal pull of endless pleasure. Your mind leaves you, floating above, letting the power of these two men flow around you, enveloping you in the warmth of their love. There is a rhythm to this madness. One you never want to end, no matter the consequences.

You know they are both close by the way their hands upon you tighten, the way their faces twist with pleasure. Your heart skips a beat when you notice Bucky’s hand, the way it’s interwoven with Steve’s upon your hip. His knuckles are white. He says your name. Then Steve’s. You smile, turning enough to kiss him again.  

You know what it is he needs. What they both need.

You slide off of Steve, carefully. You lie on the bed, presenting yourself to them. Your cunt on a silver platter. Theirs for the taking. You spread your lips out wide between two fingers. 

“Come on boys,” you say with a smirk. “It’s not nice to keep a girl waiting.”

The two men exchange a glance, both their cocks held in hand. They kneel in front of you, side by side, lined up perfectly to meet you. With the stroke of their hand and timed grunts, they come together, painting you with the evidence of their love. Thick, hot strikes pool between your legs, gathering around your silken folds. You trace your fingers through it, spreading it around. Bucky is the first to fall forward. He collapses against your side, muttering a curse. His hand is still gripped around his cock, slowly softening. Steve lingers between your legs, staring down at their masterpiece. He hesitantly touches a fingertip to your swollen mound, drenched in cum.  

He smiles. His eyes glisten.

You reach down and pull him into you, to kiss him softly, to let him rest against you. You cradle both men close, each finding comfort against the rounds of your breasts. Bucky breathes heavily against your skin as he plays lazily with your nipple. Steve strokes your stomach, listening to your heart held just beneath his ear. 

“So...” Bucky lifts his head from your breast after the three of you have managed to remember how to speak. “Who won?” He smirks up at you. 

“Clearly I did,” you reply, stroking his face. 

“Obviously,” Bucky answers, kissing you one more time.

Your eyes flutter closed. You smile, listening to the music around you. The sound of three hearts beating together, three souls come into one. And as two sets of hands explore your body, as two lips linger across your skin, you welcome overdue sleep and the dreams that will never come close to matching reality. 

When you awaken the next morning, having slept the day away, you blink against the blinding stream of light pouring through the open balcony. Your body is sore, but in a way that makes you smile, giddy and reckless. You pull back the blankets wraps around you to peer down at your body. It looks the same. Every inch of you exactly how you left it the night before. But you know you’ve been altered. A part of you no longer belongs to yourself. But to them.  

You shift when a hand inches up your bare back. Turning, you find your husband awake beside you, grinning like a fool. His eyes seem wet, sparkling against the morning light. 

“Sweet dreams?” He asks. A tendril of your hair is caught between his fingers. He lifts it to his lips, breathing you in. 

For a moment, the absence of Bucky at your side makes you wonder if in fact, it had all simply been just that. A dream. You reach out for Steve, cupping his face in the palm of your hand. 

“I had the most wonderful dream,” you tell him. “I didn’t want to wake up.”

“You don’t have to.” He leans forward, kissing your forehead before he pulls away. He stands up, out of bed, and struts toward the balcony. The view makes you blush, the sheer sight of him standing there, all of him bare to you. The muscular rounds of his ass must have been sculpted by the Gods themselves. He leans against the open doorway. 

“She’s awake,” he calls out. 

You bolt up, sitting stiff straight. You reach to cover yourself with the bedsheets but as you do, you let the fabric fall loose from your grasp. There is no need for modesty. Not as Bucky comes through the doorway, from where he’d been lounging on the balcony in all his glory. Only the morning newspaper held at his waist as a cover. You make a mental note to scold him later for being so scandalous. But all coherent thought leaves you as the two men stare back at you with smiles meant to kill. The sun shimmers behind them like a beckon, calling you home.

“Good morning, doll.”

Notes:

By the way, if you like this kind of sinfully delicious smut, check out my other Stucky/Reader oneshot “The Promise of Beer”

Chapter 5: Bonus

Notes:

That’s a wrap folks! Hope you enjoyed the read. Here is the last chapter, a bonus of sorts, that’s a play on the beginning of this little trio.

More yummy Stucky ahead ;)

Sweat glistens off your brow, threatening to trace a line down the side of your face, around the curve of your gapping mouth. The summer has been far too hot; the sun far too unforgiving. Even in the cool sanctuary of the house, the heat of the season hangs heavy upon your shoulders. The fan swirls rapidly over head but provides little comfort. You pant, eyes narrowed downward, in concentration and determination. And when finally, you let your eyes flutter closed, a single droplet of sweat rolls off your nose. It splashes cruelly in Bucky’s face. He grunts. Your eyes jolt back open with a look of pure horror. You make to apologize, but Bucky’s laughter silences any and all excuses.

“I’ve had worse things land on me,” he assures with a wink. He pulls your hips forward. “Don’t stop now, doll. I’m so close.” 

You grind into him, hands leaning forward against the headboard. You are even more determined to be his undoing, to watch him unravel beneath you. But not until you make him suffer just a little while longer. You remind yourself, however, that an hour has passed since Steve left for his run. Surely he will be back any minute now. But your thoughts aren’t with him. They are with Bucky, the feeling of him, the way he looks up at your with absolute abandon. The two of you connected in a way that was so uniquely yours. 

Only an hour ago, you had woken up alone, with Steve’s usual note stuck to the bathroom mirror and the lingering memory of his kiss goodbye. You had stepped out of bed and crawled toward the kitchen in a daze. You hated that empty bed more than you hated it’s forced solitude. The scattered sheets and sinful aroma were reminders of what it lacked. What you lacked. 

You found a makeshift cover at the edge of the bed. Steve’s white shirt just barely hit below your waist. If it were to shift in just the right way... well, it would be useless then, now wouldn’t it? As you rounded the corner into the kitchen, you saw Bucky leaning over the counter in front of the coffee machine. He wore only a pair of pajama pants that hung low on his hips. His hair was ruffled, his eyelids heavy. He looked positively adorable that way. Not that you’d ever tell him. He didn’t want to be adorable. 

As if he could sense you petal-stepping down the stairs to meet him, he turned, two coffee mugs in hand. 

“You’re up early,” you said with a yawn and the stretch of your arms over your head. The sheer shirt shifted with you. His eyes lingered at your hips as he smirked over the rim of his mug. Steam rolled up from within to caress the curve of his lips. 

“So are you,” he replied. He walked around the island, only to subsequently lean back against it. He offered you the second mug as way of greeting. “The fact that Steve still gets up this early for a run on the weekend makes him a masochistic bastard.” 

“He does like to torture himself.” You took a sip of your coffee. Just the way you like it. “Maybe he needs a break from us every now and then.”

“You don’t say,” Bucky laughed as he brought the mug back up to his lips. “Maybe he just needed a break after last night.”  

“I need a break after last night.” A deep, unforgiving blush rolled up over your cheeks. “The things you two did should be illegal.” 

“In some states they are illegal.” There was that laugh again, and that smirk that made your knees weak. He set the coffee mug down and pulled you forward by your hips. His calloused hands pushed the shirt up and out of the way. You weren’t wearing panties. “I could show you a few more things if you are awake enough for them.”

“But Steve won’t be back for at least another hour.” Your voice was low as if the walls could hear you. As if your hesitation held any merit.  

“So?” Bucky leaned into you, to kiss a line up your neck. Your weakness. You tilted back to give him further access, clinging to his shoulders. “I never agreed to share you every second of the day. Clearly he hasn’t been playing fair.”

But what did any of you know about playing fair?

It has been three months. Three months under the same roof, like a proper polyamorous Threes Company. Steve insisted Bucky move in after the hotel incident. Bucky, to his credit, initially hesitated. He argued that you all needed to let this “settle in”, to make sure this was really what you wanted, not just a one night fling. However, it didn’t take much convincing to change his mind. You and Steve surprised him with a night in your hot tube and a bottle of tequila. After an hour, the only word out of his mouth was a loud and enthusiastic “Yes!”. 

Three months provided plenty of time to explore the two men’s limits and desires, as well as your own, some of which have yet to be discovered. When you and Bucky weren’t working (neither of you quite ready to retire like Steve) you spent your days in bed. All three of you would become a tangled mess of sheets and flesh. The team suspected, of course, but none of you had made anything official. You would when you were ready. When you all were. But despite your bliss, there were still boundaries you dare not cross; lines you treaded lightly.  

And this was one of them.

In all that time together, you haven’t been with Bucky, alone. Not since your first time together in his rental car in the middle of Farmland USA. Sure, you’d been with Steve plenty of times, especially when Bucky was called out on solo missions and only God knew when he’d return. And Steve was still your husband after-all. Old habits were hard to correct. You still slept in the same bed, the master bed, while Bucky had his own separate room just down the hall. He often joked it was like being your live-in sex slave. But the implications bothered you. This arrangement bothered you.

Why should you hesistate to be alone with Bucky? 

Bucky pulled away, sensing the way your whole body stiffened against him. But he still held tight to your hips. “If it really worries you, we don’t have to,” he began, tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze. That deeply penetrating stare. “Or you know...” He leaned in, smiling against your lips and at a tormentingly slow pace, began to move against you. “He could always just join in once he gets home.” 

He spun you around and propped up on the kitchen counter as you yelped, giggling with surprise. You have always been weak to him, to his charm and his banter. To his sinful smile and the endless promise of his love. That’s what brought you here. What kept you from second guessing yourself. 

“You’re shameless,” you teased, playfully smacking his arm. All the while, you wrapped your legs around him. His hands still rested on your hips, tenderly caressing you there.  

“Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll stop.” His voice was a growl, a rumble that reverberated within your own chest as he pressed into you. “Tell me I’m not making you wet right now. That the thought of fucking me while little Stevie is away doesn’t turn you on.” 

You sighed against his lips as he moved to kiss you. “Bucky...” you moaned, but it hardly soundly like protest. It sounded more like an invitation. He smirked before his hands inched under the borrowed shirt. He leaned into you, his head buried in the crock of your neck. He breathed you in. 

“You smell like him, you know,” he groaned as he nuzzled against your skin. His hands moved against you. There was a haste to his movements, an urgency. It only took you a moment to realize what he was doing before his pants slid down onto the floor.  “That only makes me harder, doll.”

That was when you felt it: the evidence of his arousal pressed firmly between your legs as he lined up against you. You were more than ready for him, too. He pulled you into him with hands gripped to your bare ass. And with one thrust, he was inside of you. You both moaned in unison. He muffled you both by capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss. Your hands were at his back, leaving a trail across his skin in the path your nails left behind.

You spent the next thirty minutes exploring every surface the kitchen had to offer. As if it were a way for Bucky to mark his territory, stake his claim over a house whose previous purpose had been marital bliss. After a few minutes, he lifted you up off the counter, keeping you wrapped securely around his waist. You kissed him sweetly, smiling as he walked you both over to the table; the same table where the three of you ate dinner the night before, stuffing your faces with Chinese take out. 

“I’d love to watch Steve eat you out on this table,” he whispered as he laid you down upon it, as if he meant to do so himself. “You’d taste better than any wine. Like a honeyed liquor made just for us.”

He lifted your legs up onto his shoulders and pounded into you. It made the table creak and groin beneath you. You prayed it wouldn’t break.

Both your orgasms came faster than perhaps he would have liked. He laid down against you on the table, slumped over upon your chest. You stroked his hair and listened to the lullaby of his gentle breathing. It only took a few minutes for him to recharge and be ready for another round. You would never understand your super soldiers and the way they never seemed to be depleted sexually, never fully satisfied from a single session of love making.

Bucky pulled you into his arms, bridal style, and carried you toward the bedroom. He wore a smug look of victory upon his face. As if he’d finally won the contest him and Steve had started all those months ago. But when he set you down upon the bed, you were determined to flip the script. You pulled him by his hair and forced him down beneath you. Your thighs locked him in place. He stared up at you with wide, hopeful eyes, the same expression he holds toward you now, thirty minutes later. The look of pure adoration.

“I don’t think I'll ever truly deserve you,” he whispers through groans that rumble up his throat with each roll of your hips. You had pulled Steve shirt off moments ago, when the heat finally became unbearable. He reaches up to fondle your bare breasts. His grip is tight, a signal of the end. 

“You deserve every part of me, Bucky,” you reassure as you stroke his cheek lovingly. “I love you.”

His eyes roll back at the sound of those words leaving your lips. As if they alone could bring him spiraling into release. You hear the door creak behind you, pushing open further. Your eyes drift toward the sound. You stall, but only for a moment, as you slowly register the sight laid out before you. Steve is standing there, one hand pressed into the door frame, the other below his waist. He is covered in a sheen of sweat. His shirt clings to his chest, accentuating his rippling abs. And as his blue eyes lock onto you, you are seized by a sudden numbing panic. That is until you truly see him. 

There is no anger within his gaze. Nor resentment or jealousy. Did you ever think there would be? Had it simply been an old lingering habit that made you so fearful? The moment he realizes you’ve seen him, he smiles. His grin is telling, daring you to see the humor in this role reversal. The irony is not lost on you. Nor is the beauty of his approval. You smile back, a warmth spreading through your core, bubbling up within your chest. 

He wants this, you reassure yourself. That’s what this has always been about. All of us together. And that meant any and all combinations, including the rare chance that the boys might give in fully to their desires for each other (as long as you have a front row seat). There would not be jealousy. There never could be. 

Steve’s running shorts are already hanging down below his waist, his cock held in his fist. As if he has been standing there for sometime, silently watching. He nods for you to keep going as his hand resumes its rhythm up and down over his long shaft. You buck your hips forward, more for Steve’s enjoyment than Bucky’s. Still, Bucky moans his gratitude as his hands fall to your hips. 

“Fuck, doll, I’m gonna cum,” he growls as he sits up to hold you tight against him. His arms wrap protectively around your back as he presses his forehead against yours. But you turn, eyes locked to Steve.

“Come inside her, Buck.”

Bucky turns toward the origin of the command; his best friend standing in the doorway with his hand around his cock. Bucky’s muscles tense around you but you don’t stop. You grind into him the way you know he likes.  His fingers dare to make groves in your back as he bites down hard on your shoulder. You moan loudly as he cums hard, the warm of it pushing up into your womb. You hold him steady, savoring every second, taking every drop. Steve grunts in the doorway and you watch as he cums into the palm of his hand. His eyes are glassy, his cheeks flushed. But he hasn’t stopped smiling.  

“You’re a stealthy bastard, you know that?” Bucky snarls over your shoulder. Over the mark he has surely left upon you. He sounds exasperated. But you quickly realize he is biting down laughter, clawing at a faux annoyance you know won’t last for long.  

“You two have been going at it for almost an hour,” Steve laughs. “And I’m the bastard?”

“How did you know?” You ask with wide eyes. You seem to stick to Bucky, your sweat mingling. 

“I had Tony install surveillance in the house.” He holds up his cellphone as evidence, where security footage shows off your tabletop adventures in black and white. Like some strange Porn Noir.

“Aw, come on, do you blame us?” Bucky shifts out of you slowly, watching as a trail of cum floods out in the wake of his release.  “Look at her Steve. How could I say no?”

“You put me up to this!” You smack his arm. But you can’t help but smile as you turn back to your husband. “I’m sorry, Steve. Should we have waited?”

Steve comes into the room and lounges back against the bed beside you. “You’ll both just need to make it up to me.” His eyes linger on Bucky’s cock, coated in a sinful mix of your joined arousal. He licks his lips. 

You reach out and pull him toward you, kissing him slowly, taking your time. You can sense Bucky hovering nearby, watching with a permeable envy that causes you to pull away from Steve to end his suffering. The taste of Steve is still heavy on your tongue when you capture Bucky’s lips. The kiss is wide, eager, edged with his longing to taste you both. You pull away again to return to Steve. Again and again you deny them both, kissing them each in turn until they are panting, mouths open, tongues salivating. In the haze of your exchange, you guide the two of them together. In the confusion, their lips collide. They barely hesitate before your tongues are swirling together, before they are moaning into each other’s mouth. You watch, biting your swollen lip. When finally, they come up for air, they gaze at one another in at first, disbelief. But then finally, acceptance. They turn in unison to look at you with wide eyes. 

You pull them both toward you, falling back against the bed. Your joined laughter fills the room, echoing the promise that their love, and your own, would no longer have boundaries. It would be as open and wild as those rolling farmlands.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.