Work Text:
Creating a profile on a men’s only sugar daddy/sugar baby matching website is definitely not something Bucky decided to do on his own. In fact, the first couple of times Clint mentioned it at the gym, Bucky straight-up laughed him off. The term “sugar baby” makes Bucky think of some ditzy blonde girl from a privileged family with more spray tan than common sense. But the term “Daddy,” well… that’s something else entirely.
And, to be fair, it’s not like Bucky has done that well finding a Daddy-dom type on his own in the wilds of New York. He’s had plenty of hookups, a couple of boyfriends, but usually close to his own age, either about as twinky as he is, or leaning in the skinny nerd direction rather than salt, pepper, and muscles. Fact is, Bucky isn’t actually that picky. He likes sex. He likes interesting people. But there is something appealing about a certain type , as his porn collection (and frankly, even the list of his favorite Hollywood films) would suggest. The idea of accepting money for a relationship is a little embarrassing, but the thought of someone just… taking care of him?
Well.
The first few times he browses the site, Bucky doesn’t notice much that catches his eye. Some of the men’s profiles are downright creepy, others just boring. A lot of men of fairly average attractiveness, plenty with a beer gut or a receding hairline. Of course, if you’re mostly interested in the size of his wallet, none of that matters, and for Bucky, it wouldn’t necessarily if the profile caught his eye, but these potential Daddies are also not the most accomplished writers, taken as a group. The profiles tend to be either sparse, focused very specifically on the financial arrangement available (and the sexual availability expected in exchange), or just crude. There are dick pics aplenty, but dick on its own is pretty easy to come by.
It’s not until his fourth visit that Bucky encounters a profile that really makes him click the “heart” icon with enthusiasm.
Looking for Our Missing Piece
Us: Married couple, 36 and 48, Manhattan. Hopeless romantics. We’re not here strictly for an arrangement, but we are looking for very specific sort of third, and the regular dating sites just weren’t cutting it. More than happy to negotiate support needs for the right person, but let’s start with getting to know you.
You: Eager and open in bed, passionate in life. Whatever your interests, we’d love to hear more about them, but bonus points for art or science of any kind. You love trying new things, both in and out of the bedroom. Your life is full enough to keep you busy around our sometimes-erratic schedules, and you’re looking for a committed romantic partner(s) and open to exclusivity. On the kinky side? Definite plus. Discretion is an absolute must (we’re out as gay, but not as open). No drugs, 420 okay.
Intrigued? Send a message and tell us a little about yourself. We’ll arrange a meeting if it feels right.
Ps - Yes, we know that not having face pics is losing us a lot of potentials. We don’t actually care. We want a boy to dote on together, but we’re very happy as a couple, and we have time. The right person is worth waiting for.
Alongside the profile there are a handful of photos, indeed with no face shots, but they look professionally done. The first shot is of two pairs of legs stretched out side by side on an ottoman, both wearing pleated trousers but no shoes. They’re holding hands, clasped between their laps, and a gold wedding band is visible on one whose left hand is in the image. It’s not the only hand shot—another shows the hand of the man with the shorter legs from the first photo, holding a mug that has some sort of joke written on it in computer code. It doesn’t mean anything to Bucky, but the hand itself is intriguing, the nails manicured but the fingers smudged with some kind of oil or maybe ink. He’s always had a bit of a thing for hands, and it doesn’t take a leap to imagine those two pairs of hands on him. The photos have captions, as well—”Six years and counting,” declares the one with the wedding band, “nerd alert” on the one with the mug. The third is captioned “all right, let me spoil you a little” and it’s that same hand from photo two holding a black card with the information obscured by thumb placement and a bit of blurred focus. There’s a watch around the wrist, expensive looking, though Bucky doesn’t really know watches. It’s the most explicit reference to money found on the profile, in stark contrast to some of the others. He’s not even sure the card is anything special, though it seems to be implied, but frankly he doesn’t care. Another photo shows someone bent over, presumably rustling under a table that’s piled high with art supplies, all the visible space similarly cluttered. The ass on display in faded jeans is, well… as the cheeky caption suggests, “a work of art.” Finally, there’s a picture of a pair of feet buried in sand, a wave coming in washing away half of what looks like an elaborate abstract stick drawing in the sand.
Bucky’s immediately charmed, and when the website cheerfully declares a match, he doesn’t hesitate to click the message icon, forcing himself not to overthink it. They probably won’t respond anyway, but his curiosity is certainly piqued.
Subject: Okay nerds, you’ve got my attention.
Hiya. I’m James, technically, but call me Bucky, everyone does. I’m a 23-year-old salon assistant living in Brooklyn / working in Manhattan, gay, no drugs (occasional 420). My friend who told me about this site would describe me as a “hopelessly subby twink,” but let’s not ask him ;-)
I’m not looking for any particular “arrangement,” but your profile caught my eye. I tend to go for nerdy types, I believe that romance isn’t dead, and I have a thing for men’s hands. Is that last one weird? Anyway, you gave me some nice eye candy, and I’m curious about the “mug shot.” Is that oil? Paint? Ink? You said art and science, so I suppose it could go either way… maybe some sort of highly toxic chemical, but I hope not.
Anyway… I think I meet a lot of what you’re looking for. My interests: style (hair is my work, but I like fashion more broadly), photography, weird cocktails, being aggressively gay, finding and scratching behind the ears of every good doggo this side of Prospect Park. I go to the gym, but I’m not swol or anything (well, you can see that from my profile, believe it or not it took years to get this level of definition on my chicken arms). I guiltily enjoy hipster coffee shops. My best friend reads tarot cards and she’s better than therapy. I really dislike capitalism, but they’re going to take away my socialist card for creating a profile on this website. Discretion isn’t a problem, as long as you don’t care that I’m a super out gay man. When I’ve dated, it’s been monogamous, but I’m open to dating a couple, if it’s right. I’d want to know more about what not being out means for you (like, I’m not sure I want to be someone’s super secret bit on the side?) but it’s not a conversation I need to have right away, and I can keep a secret. The salon I work at is pretty ritzy, actually, so we sometimes have certain clients who come in after hours and we’re expected to be cool and not name drop or anything. If that helps.
I hope that gives you some idea about me. Um, write back if you have time?
Bucky hits send, does a little reflexive squeeze of his crossed fingers, and then goes back to Instagram. If he’s honest, he doesn’t even think much about the website for the rest of the day, but when he wakes up an hour before he has to head to the salon to prep for opening, there’s a message waiting.
Subject: And you’ve got ours.
Hello, Bucky. Consider us intrigued!
This is S—I hope you don’t mind if we go by initials until we meet. It’s a little obnoxious, but we have to be somewhat careful. Happy to talk more about why in person, and assuage any concerns you might have.
We both read your message, and your profile, and agree that it could be a good fit. To answer your question, that’s engine oil on T’s hand in the “mug shot,” and also, that was a terrible pun. I groaned. T laughed. So you’re 1 for 2. T doesn’t work with highly toxic chemicals much, but sometimes he does make things explode. That’s only allowed in the workshop, under supervised conditions. Admittedly, by supervised, I mean robots, but the robots are pretty competent. I trust them with my husband’s physical safety, so that’s saying something.
Having a thing for hands isn’t weird. Hands can do a lot of interesting things to a boy’s body, among other uses...
When you say you’re not looking for an “arrangement,” I’m curious why you’re on this site in particular. As you could guess, maybe, it’s pretty rare that we get a message here without questions about allowances and travel per diem and such. Not that we’re offended—it is kind of the point of the site—but I wonder what brought you here. Is being a sugar baby something you’re curious about? Just ran out of interesting matches on OKCupid? ;-)
I promise I’ll be on your side for the coming socialist revolution, by the way, but T may need some convincing.
Hope to hear back from you soon.
As Bucky reads S’s message, he can’t help the smile that comes to his lips. The guy sounds cute, if a bit awkwardly nerdy. The level of secrecy is slightly surprising, but not off-putting, exactly. He really needs to hop into the shower before work, but dashes off a quick message, reacting instinctively to S’s sign-off.
Subject: You may be the Daddies, but I’ve got the dad jokes
Hey,
Quick message before work. “S and T,” very mysterious. I can work with that. Feel like you have me at a disadvantage, though. (Maybe I kind of like that.)
I’m going to take it as a personal challenge to slay you both with my next pun. Watch out. You’ll never know what hit you. Engines, explosions, and robots… sounds exciting. My life’s pretty calm by comparison, a lot of massaging shampoo into people’s scalps, sweeping up hair, and occasionally ass-shaking. (The friend with the tarot cards, she’s also constantly dragging me out dancing, but I don’t really mind.)
What brought me to the site: Well, like I said in my profile, I rarely say no to a Daddy ;-) The “sugar” part of it hasn’t really come up, but a gym buddy of mine pointed out that the guys I’m lusting after don’t really match the guys I actually hook up with, and when I told him I just don’t come across Daddy-Dom types much in real life, or not available ones, anyway, he told me about this service. This is going to sound really fake, since I’m here, but to be honest, the idea of accepting money just to be in a relationship with someone is a little embarrassing. But I didn’t want to rule it out, I guess? If that’s where the guys I’m looking for are, far be it from me to turn down a free meal or whatever.
Gotta go massage and sweep,
Bucky
Subject: Everyone loves a scalp massage
Bucky,
No really, you should probably market that skill upfront in your profile. Just a pointer ;-)
My life’s calm, ish. I mostly spend time making art, or wandering around the city for inspiration. I read a lot. The most exciting thing I do is go to protests from time to time. I got arrested once, it was pretty cool. (That sounds privileged as shit, though.) I bet T would like to take you out dancing. I have two left feet, but I like to watch.
I’m running out of witty things to say, so I’m linking you to an NDA that I’d like to ask you to sign before we meet. I know this is a little intense, but it’s kind of necessary. If you don’t want to sign, then we respect that, and wish you the best of luck finding someone. If you do, the submit button at the bottom will auto-send the form to our lawyers, and we’d love to invite you to dinner at our place to get to know each other a little better. We’ll even share our names ;-)
(Though… maybe I like having you at a disadvantage, too. We’ll have to think of other ways to achieve that.)
Hopefully,
S
Bucky doesn’t really expect a message when he gets home, exhausted from a full day’s work. They’d stayed open an extra hour for one of those exclusive clients he’d mentioned to S, and then it’s an hour home by subway, except tonight it’s more like 90 minutes because fuck the fucking L train. He’s slurping broth from a takeaway bowl of pho when he reads S’s message, and then his eyebrows go way up at the NDA link.
Who the hell are these guys? he wonders, but he can’t say it puts him off, really. The terms are what he’d expect from an NDA—an agreement not to disclose the particulars of their meeting to pretty much anyone without permission from the two men in question (whose names still aren’t actually spelled out), including any information about relationship status, the website, or any arrangement they might come to, social or financial. None of it’s onerous or harmful to him, so Bucky signs, and as soon as he does, is surprised to come to a new page that’s not at all generic, but rather a message above a calendar widget that allows him to select from a range of evenings over the next month.
“Hey, Bucky. We’re really glad you signed. Pick a night below, and enter your address, and we’ll send a car to pick you up for dinner at our place. Also—if meeting in private makes you nervous for safety reasons, please feel free to set up a safecall with a friend. You’re welcome to share the address for that reason once you arrive, and we’ll consider it in keeping with the NDA. Can’t wait.”
Well… hell.
~*~
Bucky spends far, far too much time on his outfit. He’d chosen a Monday night for the dinner meeting with The Daddies Mysterious, as he’s been calling them in his head, because it’s his day off. But of course, that gives him the entire day to primp, stare at clothes, and generally freak out. He takes a shower, gives himself an enema, and then feels like a total slut, but better prepared than sorry, he figures, and along similar lines makes sure his nails are neatly trimmed and his breath fresh. He ends up dressing in dark jeans that make his ass look good, Chelsea boots, a soft blue tee, and a black vest. It’s not his most fashion forward, but the clothes show off his assets without being overly slutty, and he looks like he has at least a modicum of class. He chooses product for his hair that makes the waves look soft and pettable, and is flexible enough that they actually are. He’s got a fresh soft fade in the back, something to run his hand over when he’s nervous, and his skin’s well-moisturized. Natasha’s on call for him, just in case, so there’s nothing left to do but grab his phone, wallet, and keys and head downstairs.
He’s prepared for a towncar, ready to play it cool with these guys who are in all likelihood pretty rich, but he’s not prepared for the sleek silver Audi waiting in front of his building with the top down. The driver is a large, cheerful man who holds the door for him as he expected, but then keeps up a chatty conversation the whole way to midtown Manhattan, which he does not. The topics range from the Mets season to Fashion Week, and Bucky is a little off guard even before he realizes they’re pulling into a private garage of Stark Tower.
“Uh,” Bucky asks, once the man—Happy, he’d introduced himself as—comes to a lull in the conversation, pulling into a spot near an elevator bank. “I just need to give my friend an address,” he explains, ready to defend himself in case the NDA comes up, but Happy is cheerful in offering it as he climbs out of the car, getting Bucky’s door for him again.
“Oh, sure. 200 Park Avenue. Penthouse.”
Bucky’s eyes go wide, and there’s just a hint of sass in the driver’s affable expression that he might’ve missed if he weren’t such an excellent sass detector.
“Penthouse.”
“Yes, sir. Elevator just there,” Happy points, helpfully, and Bucky just shakes his head and takes a deep breath as he texts Natasha.
I’ve got the safecall address. 200 Park Avenue. PENTHOUSE. And I told you there was an NDA, but… you do the math. Fuck.
And then he powers down his phone, steps into the elevator, and waits for it to carry him up to meet the most famous gay power couple in New York.
~*~
“Bucky! I’m so sorry about all the trouble,” Steve Stark greets him, stepping towards the elevator with a wide, open smile. “You set up your safecall? Everything’s okay?”
“Um, yeah. I didn’t say anything to her, but… your address on its own is pretty obvious,” Bucky points out, and Steve just laughs and pulls him in for a quick kiss on the cheek, brushing it off.
“It’s fine. I’m not worried about your friend knowing that you were at this address… honestly, I’m not worried about any of it, but you do not want to cross Pepper when it comes to potential PR disasters,” he explains apologetically. Pepper Potts , Bucky’s mind substitutes, CEO of Stark Industries. Technically, Tony Stark’s boss, Tony Stark being famous contemporary painter Steve Stark’s husband , and oh Christ Bucky needs to sit down.
“Right. That… makes sense,” he mumbles a little weakly, glancing around the big open area with its tasteful furnishings dividing the space by function and across to the panoramic view of the city, floor-to-ceiling windows displaying a sunset blocked by not a single other skyscraper this high up. “Wow,” he whispers, and Steve’s laugh is kind, the other man turning to stand next to him and face the same direction.
“I know. The first time I came up here, I almost told Tony to cancel our plans just so that I could sit in the window and paint,” Steve admits. “Ended up actually doing it the morning after,” he adds, and when Bucky turns to face him, his smile is the slightest bit naughty.
“What, you didn’t want to paint him ?” Bucky blurts out, and that gets him an even bigger laugh, Steve’s eyes lighting up with mirth.
“Sure, but the sky came first. Speak of the devil, I get to apologize for him, as usual… he’s just changing clothes, since I told him he’s not allowed to show up for a first date smudged in engine grease.”
“I wouldn’t have minded,” Bucky admits, a little too honest as usual. Steve smiles at him, though, and gestures towards the dining area, where there are already several warming dishes waiting.
“You did notice his hands,” Steve quips. “In the photo.”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees softly, allowing Steve to offer him a glass of red wine. “I kind of like when you can tell that a man works with his hands,” he shrugs. “It’s sexy.”
“Oh, you won’t catch me disagreeing,” Steve teases, pouring himself a glass. Before he can say more, though, an even more famous face appears from around a floating wall, and Bucky gives himself five immediate mental points for not just outright staring.
“Damnit, am I late? Seriously, I did try this time,” Tony Stark grumbles, and Steve gives him a sort of long-suffering look, shaking his head.
“You’re fine. Happy made good time on the BQE. This is Bucky… sorry, I don’t actually know your last name.”
“Barnes,” Bucky offers. “It was, uh, on the paperwork.”
“Sure, but we don’t read the paperwork, legal does,” Tony counters, stepping forward and taking Bucky’s hand, giving it a firm shake as he simultaneously gives Bucky’s body a quite obvious look up and down. “No catfishing, good first sign.”
That startles a laugh out of Bucky, and he shakes his head. “If I were catfishing you, wouldn’t I have better profile pictures?”
“No.” Tony’s gaze is all heat, and Bucky feels the blood rush to his cheeks immediately, taking a sip of wine to try and save at least a little of his dignity.
“Tony, go easy on him, please,” Steve mutters, drawing Tony’s attention away at least for a moment so Bucky can compose himself.
“Why? You’re the one who said we should be extra selective on that website to find the right person. The right person would definitely be able to get used to my flirting,” Tony argues with a little grin that has Steve rolling his eyes, but then kissing his husband fondly.
“I, uh… you don’t have to go easy on me,” Bucky offers, and this time both Tony and Steve turn to look at him with rather predatory expressions. “I am kind of hungry, though,” he admits, and that breaks the moment, at least for now, Steve pulling a chair out for him and Tony pouring himself a glass of wine before he starts pulling metal domes off of plates.
“If you don’t like Italian, then I’m sorry,” Tony says. “Though I guess we could order something else…”
“Italian’s fine,” Bucky smiles, reaching for a piece of garlic bread. “It smells amazing.”
“I was going to order from Daniel, and they don’t even technically do delivery, but Steve didn’t think you were the type to be impressed by that kind of thing, so blame him if you’re unimpressed.”
“I’m impressed by good food. Is this good food?” Bucky teases, letting Steve serve him some alfredo.
“Best Italian in New York.”
“Well then. Thank you.”
Tony seems satisfied by that, and there’s a quiet moment while they all fill up their plates, and Bucky assuages his empty stomach with a bite of warm crusty bread. “God,” he mutters once he’s swallowed. “There’s like, literally nothing better than warm garlic bread. I’m really glad you’re not no-garlic-on-a-date people.”
Tony laughs and waves off that idea with a little flick of his hand. “That’s bullshit. Also, I’m half-Italian. If we’re all eating garlic, then it cancels out.”
“Careful, he might’ve believed you were classy there for a second,” Steve teases, and Bucky hides a grin behind his wine glass.
“I don’t have to be classy, I’m rich. It’s in the handbook somewhere.”
“Along with… what, exactly? ‘Never pay attention to the price of milk?’”
Steve snorts and shakes his head. “Four-fifty a gallon, give or take. My ma would roll over in her grave if I couldn’t tell you that.”
“Yes, yes, you’re very in touch with your working-class roots, Steve,” Tony teases. “What about you, Bucky? I already know everything there is to know about this tall drink of water, it’s your turn.”
“Well… uh, should I assume you’ve read my messages to Steve, or…?”
“Definitely. I’m not allowed to send the messages, apparently I scare people off. But I read all of them,” Tony smirks. “For example, I know you’re a fan of being at a disadvantage, and give a delightful scalp massage.”
“That’s my Twitter bio, right there.” Bucky snickers, twirling pasta on his fork. “Though you don’t know if my scalp massages are any good , technically, I didn’t say that.”
“You work at a high-end salon, one assumes you’d have been fired by now if they weren’t,” Tony points out. “How long have you worked there?”
“Eight months. Used to cut hair on my own, just… wherever. Under the table. Officially, I was tending bar. But I got an in at this place, and I kind of jumped on it. Might be bumped up to stylist eventually if there’s an opening.”
“Sounds frustrating, though,” Steve remarks. “If you were actually doing the job, and then back down the ladder…”
“Steve’s got a tramp stamp that says ‘Fairness and Equality,’” Tony jokes, and Bucky laughs a little, enjoying their easy rapport with one another. It certainly makes him more comfortable than he’d be on a normal first date, even with Tony’s over-the-top energy.
“It’s not so bad. I get to learn a lot from the senior stylists, and it’s helping me to pay back my loans for cosmetology school. Plus, technically what I was doing before wasn’t legal, so if I’d gotten caught I would’ve been fucked,” Bucky shrugs.
“Seems silly,” Steve argues. “Half the time we never went to a barber, growing up. Couple of moms in the neighborhood cut our hair, and nothing ever went wrong.”
“Well,” Bucky laughs. “That’s maybe a tiny bit different…”
~*~
Dinner continues smoothly, with Bucky sharing details about his life and Tony flirting outrageously whenever he finds an opening. Steve’s flirtatious too, but a little more subtle about it, and occasionally Bucky catches Steve watching him with a warm, engaged gaze that makes his stomach feel a little funny.
“So… the elephant in the room,” Tony announces, coming back from the refrigerator with three saucers of tiramisu, one balanced impressively on his forearm. “You said you’re not exactly looking for a sugar daddy. How much of that was to get your foot in the door, and how much was genuine?”
“Tony!” Steve exclaims, before Bucky can actually say anything in response. “Don’t be an asshole.”
“No, it’s fine,” Bucky assures him. “It’s… a fair question, really. I mean, I’m on the site.” He shrugs. “If you want, I could give you my friend Clint’s number, let you confirm my story, though I guess there’s no way to know that I didn’t prepare him in advance, either…” Bucky frowns, trying to think of a way he actually could confirm his intentions, but Steve stops him in his tracks, reaching out to rest a hand on Bucky’s forearm.
“Hey. Stop. You don’t need to prove anything. We’re on the site too, aren’t we?”
“Exactly,” Tony agrees. “We’re looking for a sugar baby. I mean, we’re looking for someone we mesh well with to take care of, and I like spoiling people, but what’s the difference in the end? I’m honestly asking. You don’t have to prove anything. If you do want something financial out of this, I’d rather you say so than lie about it.”
“Oh. Well… I was being honest,” Bucky says, pushing the little spoon into his tiramisu and taking a bite as he thinks how to explain. It’s delicious, cold and creamy and generously spiked with both liquor and espresso, and he makes a low little pleased sound that he can’t quite help. Steve’s eyes snap to him, and Bucky blushes under the attention, his own gaze dropping to the table. “I guess… I like a certain je ne sais quoi. Daddy types, silver foxes, whatever.” Bucky shrugs. “It’s not about age specifically, but…”
“What is it about? What do you like about it?” Tony asks, and when Bucky looks his gaze is just as intense as Steve’s, though his posture is relaxed, leaning back in the chair like he owns the place. (Technically, Bucky realizes, he does.)
“I guess…” Bucky feels the blush coming on and can’t avoid it. “This is stupid.”
“No,” Steve soothes. “Tell us.”
“I like… feeling taken care of?” Bucky shrugs. “Not financially, specifically, but it seemed like an overlap. I could see, like… presents or something, someone being indulgent with me because he’s older and better off. I guess that’s why the site didn’t seem like a bad idea. It’s not really who I’ve dated in the past, but like, dream guy, I’ve always imagined someone who’s really comfortable being in control. And making me feel… safe.” Bucky’s certain he’s going to melt right onto the floor, right here and now, but then Steve’s hand is over his again, thumb soothingly rubbing at his wrist.
“That’s good, baby,” he encourages, his voice pitched low and warm. Bucky shivers. “What else do you like?”
“Well, uh… your profile says you’re kinky. I liked that. I mean… me, too.” Bucky bites his lip, considering what to give. “I’m not a heavy masochist, but I like bondage. Some other stuff. My, uh… my last boyfriend liked to choke me a little, when I was about to come. That was hot.”
“Now we’re talking,” Tony practically purrs from across the table, and Bucky dares to meet his gaze.
“We like a lot of things in bed,” Steve volunteers. “We don’t have to share them all, but… we’d like it if you’d explore with us.”
“I’m pretty open,” Bucky agrees. “Uh, I’ve got a list of hard and soft limits, actually, I could show you, otherwise I’ll try anything once.”
“Where? Can you access it on your phone?” Tony’s tone is sharp, and Buck feels another warm flush of desire throughout his body.
“You know, he might not want to play with us tonight ...”
“Yes. I can access it on my phone,” Bucky blurts out, and Tony’s grin is slow and shark-like.
“Excellent.”
~*~
Tony Stark’s hyperfocus, it turns out, is intense . The two of them play off of each other effortlessly in bed, Tony always pushing, Steve sweet and nurturing except when he’s suddenly strict and mean. Bucky loves it, loves all of it. They put him in a sling—because of course Tony and Steve Stark own a sex sling—and take turns fucking him, feeding him their fingers, petting his hair and telling him he’s a good boy, a good slutty boy for them. It turns out Steve kinks on controlling his orgasm, cruel in his denial until he finally lets Bucky come after they’ve had him in a cock ring for hours , and he’s gasping “thank you, Daddy,” and not even entirely sure which of them he means. In other words, Bucky’s on cloud nine, and it’s only the next day, mixing colors in the back room for one of the stylists, when he realizes that he hasn’t played that intense in years , maybe ever. And then suddenly, he’s hit with a wave of emotion, of uncertainty. He wants more of it, he wants all of it, and he has no idea whether they even… fuck .
It’s only the intense, non-stop activity of a normal day at the salon that keeps him from having a goddamned breakdown, but eventually his break comes, and instead of heading to the sandwich shop next door right away, he leans against the back of the building, pulling out his phone and sending a text to Steve.
Hey. I hope it’s okay to text. This is Bucky.
Of course it’s ok. Wouldn’t have given you the number, otherwise.
Been thinking of you all afternoon ;-)
Oh. :-) That’s… really good.
No, *you’re* really good, baby boy. Are you at work now?
On my break.
Can I call you?
Relieved, even the minute or two between texts making his anxiety perk up, Bucky hits the call button himself, and Steve picks up on the first ring, his voice warm. “Hey. I wanted to hear your voice,” he admits, and Bucky exhales sharply, feeling relief prickle along his spine like a flush of adrenaline.
“Oh. That’s… um, yeah, that’s really good.”
“You okay? You sound a little shaky.”
“I… uh… well, better. Sorry, fuck.”
“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing… nothing’s wrong , I just… I guess I got a bit… uh, you know what subdrop is?”
“ Oh ,” Steve exclaims. “I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t have just sent you off to work. Can I do anything? Are you going to be okay?”
Bucky laughs, and even Steve’s mother-henning is enough to help even him out. “Yeah, I’m fine. I had to work, I wouldn’t have let you keep me,” he points out, though his mind chimes in helpfully, I want you to keep me , and he shuts it down ruthlessly.
“Still… I don’t like the idea of you dropping alone. Can you come see us tonight? After your shift? We can have Happy run down to Brooklyn, grab anything you need from your building.”
“Um… yeah,” Bucky agrees, pushing down his brain telling him to be an adult, to reject the offer. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says before he can take it back.
“Good. That’s perfect. Anything particular that set it off? Do you know?”
“Just… I guess I kind of panicked. I wasn’t sure… well… fuck. I’m gonna sound like an idiot.”
“No,” Steve insists. “No, tell me. You’re safe with me,” he promises, and the funny thing is, Bucky believes him.
“I just… last night was… it was amazing . You’re amazing,” Bucky explains in a rush. “And I had this thought, like, what if that was all it was? What if I never see you again, never get to feel like that again? And I couldn’t stand it.”
“Oh, sweetheart, no . Absolutely not,” Steve insists. “We want to see you as much as our schedules will allow, Bucky, we… I think we’re both already kind of infatuated with you,” he admits, sounding breathless, and Bucky’s heart leaps at the confession, the unexpected reward for his vulnerability.
“You… really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
“Fuck, I… me, too,” Bucky blurts out. “I have to go back to work soon, but… thank you, Steve. This was… really worth missing lunch,” he laughs. “I’ll see you tonight?”
“Tonight,” Steve agrees, sounding a little distracted, but Bucky doesn’t have time to ask, so he hangs up and heads back into the salon. He maybe shouldn’t be that surprised when, an hour later, Happy shows up at the desk where he’s working reception with a panini. He sheepishly trades for his apartment key, quickly texting one of his housemates to give them a short list of things they can toss in an overnight bag for him, and then scarfs down his sandwich before the next client comes in. Two hours after that , a courier shows up with a little brown bag for him, and he reads the note ( Open in private. -TS ) with more than a little curiosity. The end of his workday at seven can’t come soon enough, and finally he opens the bag in the bathroom, blushing to the tips of his ears at the tissue-wrapped pair of lavender silk panties inside. Wear tonight , another note instructs, and Bucky can’t help but think of Tony in his workshop, distractedly making sex plans in between whatever projects to revolutionize technology he’s focused on right now. He swaps the gift out for his black boxer briefs without giving it another thought, and the silk feels terribly decadent against his skin when he’s all zipped up and ready to go.
The 6 train headed uptown from the East Village is packed, and Bucky’s acutely aware of the luxurious fabric rubbing up against his junk as he crams in like a sardine among the tail end of the rush hour crowd. Once he’s past the bustle of Grand Central, and into the lobby of Stark Tower, he realizes he has no idea how to actually get to the penthouse from here. He sends Steve a quick text, feeling awkward.
Hey, I’m downstairs. Where do I go?
Oh, sorry. Give your name to security, they’ll give you a keycard. Right-hand elevator bank, door at the end of the corridor.
That’s simple enough, and he has no trouble at the desk, finding the door Steve described and keying through to a hall that leads around to the left and into a smaller, fancier-looking little nook with three elevators. He recognizes the inside of the first one that opens for him from the garage last night, and keys in “P.” There’s a little swoop in his stomach at the express ride up, but soon enough he’s back in the Starks’ apartment, and once again Steve is there waiting for him. This time, though, Bucky’s immediately bundled into his arms, and into a kiss that makes him melt all the way down to his toes.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve murmurs against his lips. “About the drop. What can I do for you?”
“Oh,” Bucky murmurs. “This… this is good.” He winds his arms around Steve’s waist, the little brown bag with his own underwear in it dangling from one hand, and presses up against Steve’s broad chest for more kisses. “Where’s Tony?” he asks after they’ve been kissing for five minutes and Steve’s not showing any inclination to stop.
“Being a perv,” the man himself replies, and Bucky laughs as he turns to find Tony watching them from one side, thumbs in his pockets, looking casually at ease. Last night, he’d worn an effortless and probably very expensive ensemble, complete with waistcoat and tie and pricey watch, but tonight he’s dressed in jeans and a faded Pink Floyd shirt, along with a worn-looking pair of boots. As much as Bucky loves fashion, he thinks he likes this look even better, and he licks his lips as he takes it in.
“You can perv on me if you like,” Bucky offers, unable to hold back a little giggle. “I followed your instructions.”
“Mmm.” Tony stalks forward, his gaze going hot, and stops just in front of Bucky, firmly gripping him by the jaw even as Steve holds him still in his arms. “I followed your instructions, Daddy , is what I think you meant to say.”
“Oh, fuck,” Bucky groans, tipping forward into a dirty kiss, sandwiched in between them as Tony reaches down and gives his ass a grope, then slips into the back of his jeans where there’s almost zero room to feel the silk.
“What the hell did you do, Tony?” Steve asks, sounding bewildered. Bucky gasps when they separate for air, and lolls his head back to look at Steve with a slightly dazed grin.
“Sent me panties at work.”
“Of course he did,” Steve mutters, but he claims another kiss from Bucky, and it’s deep and dirty.
“How hungry are you?” Tony asks, stroking one hand up Bucky’s spine.
“What, for food ?” Bucky counters flippantly, and Steve laughs, getting a hold of his thighs and hauling him right up off his feet, his legs wrapping around Steve’s waist.
“Yeah, I think you’re the appetizer,” Steve decides, walking towards the bedroom with Tony leading the way. Bucky lets the bag in his hand drop to the floor, and groans as Steve goes back to kissing him.
“Should… shower first,” Bucky mumbles between kisses. “Depending on what you wanna do.”
“Oh, you just gave me an idea,” Tony declares. “Steve, bathroom.”
“Uh oh,” Steve teases as he detours to their enormous ensuite. “Tony has an idea.”
“Should I be afraid?”
“Yes, yes, very afraid,” Tony agrees, distracted. “Take off your clothes. Happy left your bag in the bedroom, you can get dressed again at some… much later date.”
Bucky shivers at the thought of being naked for them, maybe even just around the apartment, when they’re not actively playing, and Steve gives him a look like his reaction is very much noted as he lowers Bucky to his feet. Together, they quickly strip him down to his panties, as Tony asks JARVIS to turn on the jets in the shower. Steve gives Tony a questioning look in the mirror, and he nods.
“Yeah, those too. They’re going back, but first…” Tony grins, rummaging in a drawer and coming up with a shaving kit, brandishing an old-fashioned straight razor. “I think someone ought to be a little more silky smooth. You know… to match,” he suggests innocently, but Bucky just groans in abject lust, watching the way the blade catches the light as he lets the silky fabric drop to pool around his feet.
“Do you like that?” Tony asks, stepping up into Bucky’s space again and skimming his free hand down Bucky’s body proprietarily. He grabs Bucky’s half-hard cock, and Bucky can’t help but moan, dropping his head so that their foreheads press together.
“Yes.”
“Say more. Tell me why,” Tony demands.
“Because.... because I want you,” Bucky stutters, hesitating to be completely honest but then unable to be anything but in the face of the way Tony casually dominates him. “...I want you to make me pretty for you, Daddy. I want you to fix me up however you want me,” he whispers in a rush.
“Jesus,” Steve mutters, but Tony just grips him by the jaw again, eyes boring into Bucky’s.
“Yes,” he hisses, then puts the blade down on the counter, quickly stripping out of his clothes and tugging Bucky toward the shower. Steve strips and grabs the razor while Tony crowds Bucky under the jets, shoving him up against a heated tile wall.
“You’re gonna be good for me,” Tony declares, not a hint of question in his voice. “And then I’m gonna be good to you.” He drags the back of his hand down the side of Bucky’s face, knuckles skimming over his jaw, and before he can answer slips two fingers into Bucky’s mouth, hooking them behind Bucky’s teeth. There’s no real reason for it—he just uses his fingers to tug Bucky a little closer, controlling his face, forcing eye contact. His gaze is intense, and Bucky marvels a bit at how quickly he feels so used , open for them. Tony’s knuckles press down in the center of his tongue, his fingers curling in so that Bucky has to open his mouth wide, blunt nails scraping the roof of his mouth. Tony smirks, knowing.
“Suck,” he orders, and Bucky pulls him in deeper to manage it, to form a seal. His lips close down at the junction with Tony’s palm, and he’s able to rub just a little with his tongue, eyes wide on Tony as the man strokes Bucky’s cheek with his thumb.
“God,” Steve mutters, coming alongside and leaning in to kiss Bucky’s neck. “How are you both so hot?”
“Genetics,” Tony mutters absently, obviously very focused on the wrecked look in Bucky’s eyes and his forced-open jaw. “How many ways do you think I could make him beg, do you think?” He twists Bucky’s nipple hard with his spare hand, and Bucky whimpers about as loud as he can with his mouth full.
“You’re one of the smartest people in the world, Tony. I’m fairly certain it’s infinite,” Steve quips, his tone fond before he bites down on Bucky’s shoulder. “I want to mark you up, baby boy,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot.
“Make people wonder who’s taking such good care of him?” Tony suggests with a wicked grin and a light slap to Bucky’s cheek. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, and Tony does it again. He tries to rub his dick against Tony’s thigh, and the man just laughs, putting a few inches between them. “Ah-ah. Careful. You don’t get to come until you’re nice and clean and wrapped up in the panties I bought you,” Tony warns. Bucky groans, and Tony pulls his fingers free. “Shall I shave you first, or do you want Steve to clean out your asshole?” Bucky swallows hard.
“I… you decide,” he mumbles, brain already coming over hazy. Tony doesn’t force the issue, though, just smiling as he gestures to the deep bench seat along one wall of the humongous shower stall.
“Have a seat, then.”
Bucky does as he’s told, sitting down in the center of the bench, where the jets aren’t currently aimed. He shivers a little once he’s out of the direct spray of the water, but the bench itself is heated tile like the walls. Tony grabs the razor where Steve had left it in a little soap cubby and sits down next to him, tugging one of Bucky’s legs over his lap.
“I think I might want to keep you smooth,” Tony muses, spraying a stripe of shaving cream over Bucky’s leg and then using his hands to distribute it. “You ever had your balls clean shaven, baby boy?”
“No,” Bucky murmurs, staring a little as Tony takes the razor and makes the first careful swipe up his shin. “You… with that ?”
Tony just chuckles, doing another strip. “I’m very good with my hands.”
“He really is,” Steve agrees, watching them fondly as he scrubs himself down and rinses under the rainfall head. “Think about the kinds of things he handles, Buck. Tiny electronic components, robotics… he’s defused bombs, even. You can trust him with your balls.”
“Okay,” Bucky murmurs, considering it, and Tony grins, working his way around to Bucky’s calf in long, sweeping strokes.
“So sweet. So trusting.” He leers a bit, rinsing the blade and then going carefully over Bucky’s kneecap, up his thigh. “I could do a lot with that.”
“I want you to,” Bucky says with certainty, licking his lips. With his leg draped sideways over Tony’s lap like this, thighs spread wide, he feels terribly exposed to Steve. He doesn’t hate it.
“Hear that?” Tony grins, giving the blade another rinse and then lifting Bucky’s leg in his hand, moving it back down and helping him to cross the other so he’s twisted sideways a bit, offering it to Tony. The position makes his dick rub against his thigh, and he bites his lip hard. “I found a willing victim, babe.”
“I see that.” Steve’s rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, and when he’s done he comes over to join them, sitting to Bucky’s other side and tracing his fingertips down Bucky’s spine. “You’re going to be incorrigible, aren’t you?”
“No more than usual,” Tony promises, methodically shaving Bucky below the knee and then working his way up. “It’s not as if you’re one to talk. You should hear all the dark fantasies he’s got saved up, just waiting for the right sub to come along, baby boy. You have no idea.”
“Oh?” Bucky asks, though it’s kind of a squeak, as Steve’s teeth have found the back of his neck.
“Oh yeah. Six years of marriage, I’ve been listening to him wax poetic about what he’d do to our boy once we found him. And how convenient… here you are.”
“Oh… I…” Bucky shudders as Steve’s teeth clench down, and Tony pulls the blade away from the front of his thigh as his voice breaks off into a loud pained moan.
“I know, he looks like the nice one,” Tony cheerfully continues. “But it’s always the nice ones.”
“I don’t… need nice,” Bucky gasps, Steve finally having mercy on him and licking at the impression of his teeth in Bucky’s skin.
“No. I didn’t think so,” Tony agrees, his eyes going dark. “You wouldn’t be perfect for us, otherwise.”
“Am I?” Bucky mumbles, knowing he sounds needy, but too down in his subspace to hold it back.
“Yes,” Steve growls, reaching around and giving his cock a hard, possessive squeeze. Bucky moans, his head falling back against Steve’s shoulder.
“We play for keeps,” Tony admits. “I’ve been called intense, a time or two. And Steve just wants a good little boy to wrap up tight and do naughty things to. Not asking you to make any commitments when you’re down like this,” he muses, brushing a finger along Bucky’s newly smooth leg. “But we’ve never got this far with anyone we met before. And I’m sure you’ve heard the U-Haul jokes about us.” Bucky’s mind may be hazy right now, but he knows what Tony’s talking about. Pretty much every gay man in New York, probably the country, knows of the epic Stark love affair, the way they’d met and moved in together a week later, married before the year was out. Of course, no one believed it would last, and plenty of tabloids speculated that Steve was in it for the money (never mind the fact that his paintings were already selling for millions at the time), but here they are.
“I just… I’m not… I mean… you’re you ,” Bucky mumbles, helplessly.
“What?” Tony laughs. “Rich and famous?”
“No… I mean…” He waves a hand lazily in the air, trying to encompass everything that’s Tony , everything that’s Steve . He knows he’s failing. “You’re like… the ultimate Daddy fantasy. And there’s two of you.”
“Yeah,” Tony agrees, pushing Bucky gently to lie back over Steve’s lap. “Can you handle it, babe?” Bucky groans, letting Tony lift his leg up in the air, spread shaving cream along the back of his thigh.
“I hope so,” he mumbles, and Steve just laughs, petting his hair.
“I’m gonna put my fingers in your ass in a minute,” Steve promises. “Clean you out. And you’re gonna give Tony one of your famous scalp massages while I do it. To tell Daddy thank you for shaving you all nice and smooth. How does that sound?”
“Please,” Bucky mumbles, staring up at Steve as Tony finishes his leg, then hikes the other up over his shoulder.
“Mm. That’s what I like to hear from my sweet boy,” Steve encourages, pushing a couple of fingers into his mouth. Bucky sucks, narrowing his focus, feeling the sharp strokes of the blade against his skin, and then Tony’s lowering his leg, helping him to sit up.
“All done. Up you go.”
“Oh. You’re not gonna…” Bucky glances down at his crotch, and Tony laughs.
“Not this time. Give you something to look forward to,” he winks. “C’mon, lets rinse you off. And then you can wash my hair with Steve’s fingers in your ass, which hopefully won’t feel too much like your job.”
“I wish it was ,” Bucky groans, and Steve laughs, smacking his ass as he stands.
“Well you do take dick like it’s your job,” he teases.
“But it’s not, is it?” Tony riffs. “Not for you,” he purrs, giving Bucky a naughty kiss as they move under the spray together. “It’s a pleasure.”
Bucky hums in agreement, letting Tony kiss him back into a fairly senseless state, and just groaning a little when he feels Steve’s soapy fingers rubbing at his asshole. “Uh, which… which shampoo is yours?” he mumbles when Tony lets him up for air. Tony just laughs and reaches for a bottle from a wall cubby, grabbing Bucky by the wrist and squirting a dollop into his hand.
“Sometime I’m going to get you to give me the full salon experience,” Tony suggests. “Good practice. Also, no other stylist would be willing to give me a haircut with my dick in Steve’s mouth.”
“You’re a pig and a hedonist,” Steve declares cheerfully, probing a fingertip into Bucky’s asshole and rubbing the soapy digit in circles.
“And you married me, so who’s the sucker?” Tony retorts. Bucky just focuses on keeping his balance, knees slightly bent, as he works the shampoo into Tony’s hair, fingertips stimulating his scalp. The technique’s the same, sure, but this is nothing like his work environment. Probably less comfortable for Tony, for one, than sitting in a reclining chair with a specially shaped sink to support his neck. But then again Tony’s got his hand on his cock, lazily stroking, and that wouldn’t exactly be smiled upon in the salon.
“Literally every person in this shower sucks cock happily, so your argument is invalid,” Steve says as he twists his finger deeper, then slides it back out again. “Brace yourself, Buck. Gotta make sure I rinse you out thoroughly.” Steve Stark is a little shit, Bucky decides, as he digs his fingers in a little too hard against the back of Tony’s head and neck, just trying not to topple over at the sudden concentrated jet of the hand-held attachment directly against his asshole. He gasps and makes himself keep going, rubbing at Tony’s neck, vaguely registering the shit-eating grin on the man’s face. Then, mercifully, the jet is gone, and Bucky’s shakily directing Tony under the rainfall to rinse.
“Such a good boy,” Steve coos, pulling Bucky back into his arms. His hands are soapy again, and he gives Bucky a cursory rubdown, washing his chest and arms and stomach. Of course, he gives Bucky’s dick extra attention, where it’s standing out dark red and proud from his body, and Tony watches with voracious eyes as he does his own quick scrub-down. Soon enough, they’re out of the shower, though, both men paying far more attention to scrubbing Bucky down roughly with the fluffy heated towels than to drying their own bodies.
“Whady’a think, Steve? Let him stain those pretty panties now?”
“No,” Steve growls definitively. “I want him naked on his knees for us at the table, eating out of my hand. He can come after I feed him.”
Bucky groans, listing into Steve’s arms, and Tony just laughs, scrubbing a towel at Bucky’s hair.
“ Told you he was the mean one.”