Wartime Sweethearts Series | Steve/Bucky/Peggy | NC-17
Title: Wartime Sweethearts
Author: kototyph
Pairing/Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Tags: Threesome - F/M/M, World War II, Wartime Romance, Ficlet
Notes: porny ficlets no one asked for, inspired by this lovely little bit of Steve/Bucky/Peggy by faun-songs
Part I
“Hey. Any of you Barnes?”
The private asking looks a decade too young to be caked with mud on the front in Ardennes, but what the hell does Bucky know? They all look too young to him. “Yeah? Something the matter?” he asks, still braced over the hood of their homely little Model GPW.
“Sorry, Sarge,” the private says, sketching a belated half-salute. “Message from Miss- from Agent Carter. Captain Rogers wants a word.”
“Why didn’t he come down and tell me himself?” Bucky says, irritated. “We just got the damn maps laid out, he can have a word here.”
The private gives an expansive shrug. “Dunno, Sarge. She just said to get you.”
“Cap moving the meeting upstairs?” Gabe asks, pointing up the street at the grand hôtel that’s hosting operations and officers’ quarters. It’s only missing half its roof; prime real estate in a battered town like this.
“Only Sergeant Barnes. She was real specific.”
Dum-Dum’s eyebrows are pulling into a thick hedge across his forehead, Morita squinting like the watery sun’s in his eyes. Bucky looks down at the maps, sighs, and straightens up with a groan for the ache in his back. “Fine,” he says. “Lead the way.”
The private ambles off through camp, Bucky stalking along behind him. The two-star who’s commanding this front nods as they walk past his tent and up the marble stairs to the hôtel’s open doors. Crystal chandeliers drip light and sparkle into the dreary foyer, where radio equipment and extra ammunition are stacked in muddy squares. The fussy carpets are beige with ground-in muck.
“SSR find something new for us?” Bucky thinks to ask.
“No idea, Sarge,” the private says. “Miss- I mean, Agent Carter, she just left for Reims with the colonel.”
That makes Bucky pause at the landing, frowning at him. They were supposed to have the whole weekend with Peggy, something they’d been working to get for a solid two months. “What? She say why?”
The private shrugs again. “I dunno.”
Bucky’s had about enough of this kid. “Hey, I know how to get to quarters from here. Why don’t you head back to your unit?”
The private throws him another sloppy salute and leaves Bucky to tackle the last three flights alone, until he reaches the once-sumptuous eighth-floor hallway the officers have claimed. Steve wouldn’t have taken the royalty suite if they threw in all the dames in Paris, so the general had forced him into the one reserved for newlyweds with a hearty backslap and off-color references to “strategic” science. Steve’d turned the color of a surprised strawberry, and when they told her later Peggy had laughed, laughed and laughed and kissed Steve on one of his burning ears.
“Fucking Reims,” Bucky mutters under his breath, striding down the hallway. “What the hell.”
He gets to Steve’s door and raps impatient knuckles against the painted wood. “Hey, Steve? You rang?”
Nothing for a second, then, “That you, Buck?”
Bucky scowls at the closed door. Steve’s voice is low and a little raspy, like he’s just woken up. “You called me up here, pal. You got a good reason for lying around while we do all the work?”
“You alone?”
Bucky rolls his eyes and turns the knob. “No, I got a whole brass ba- Jesus Christ.”
“Close the door!” Steve squeaks, and Bucky steps in, slams and locks it behind him. There’s no way he’s missing out on this.
Someone- and Bucky has pretty good idea who- has wrapped Steve’s wrists in his own belt and tied them to the headboard, leaving him stretched out on his stomach in the middle of the massive bed. He’s bare to the waist, though the sheet pulled over his ass is almost too sheer to count as cover. Little marks and scratches from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back say as clear as anything a certain brown-eyed Kilroy was here.
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says again, slower and more appreciatively. “It’s not even my birthday.”
“Bucky,” Steve groans, squirming against the bed. “C’mon, please, I’m about ready to-”
“Whoa, no, let me look at you,” Bucky says, pulling off his gloves, his jacket, leaving his muddy boots and socks in a trail across the room. He kneels up on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight, and Steve blows sweat-damp hair out of his eyes and gives him a baleful glare.
“Buck-”
“Shhh,” Bucky says with a growing grin. “Just look at you. Agent Carter strikes again.”
“She said she felt bad about getting called away so suddenly,” Steve grumbles, hiding his face in his arm. “Said she wanted to make it up to us.”
“Yeah?” Bucky’s tracing the gleaming line of Steve’s spine, lingering at each bruise. Steve arches into the touch, a smooth ripple of muscle that makes the sheets slip scandalously low. “No complaints so far. What’d she do to you?”
“She didn’t even take her clothes off,” Steve says plaintively. Bucky lays a hand on the back of his thigh and his hips come off the bed. He has to swallow before he can get out, “She was her uniform with her hair all done up and she just-”
“Oh God,” Bucky breathes, because a curious tug makes the sheets fall away completely and Peggy’s made a fucking mess of Steve, his skin flushed and wet from taint to tailbone and his angry red cock bobbing with every needy twitch of his hips, smearing precome on the linens. His pinked-up hole clenches hungrily at nothing, just begging for Bucky’s fingers, for anything.
And planted on the firm curve of his left asscheek, like the proverbial fucking cherry on top, is a single, perfect print of pursed lips in Besame Red Velvet.
“Oh, Mags,” Bucky says worshipfully, both hands on Steve now, urging his legs wider. “Steve, you better marry this girl or I’ll do it for you.”
“Please,” Steve says, hands making fists above his head as he spreads his knees. The wooden headboard groans at the pressure. “Bucky, c’mon, please.”
Bucky throws a leg over Steve’s calves and moves down the bed until he can kiss the ridiculously vivid patch of lipstick, laughing when Steve immediately bucks into his mouth. He imagines Peggy, olive lapels ruler-straight and curls neat as a pin, tying Steve to his own damn bed and marking him up with her mouth, with her clever little tongue until he’s incoherent and aching for it. Then sitting back, pulling out her lipstick cool as you please, and leaving him here like this. For Bucky.
“Need you,” Steve says pleadingly.
“Getting there,” Bucky says, running a thumb just shy of that slick furl, following the line between thigh and groin and back. Steve cants his ass up like a pin-up girl. “Fuck, you’re perfect. What else did she say?”
Steve mumbles something into the pillows, then yelps when Bucky bites him on the other cheek, perfect mirror to Peggy’s lipstick. “She s-said she should be back. Before night. She’s bringing us wine?”
“Fancy,” Bucky comments with a smirk. He tongues a brief kiss right between the marks and listens with satisfaction as Steve’s breath hiccups. Under Bucky’s hands, his hips start to flex in rhythm.
“She said- she made me promise I wouldn’t come, wouldn’t, ah, until you were here,” he gasps. “God! Bucky!”
Bucky makes a little, “Mmm,” sound, the most he can do while licking broad and dirty up the seam of Steve’s balls, faint taste of lipstick in his mouth and smeared over his lips as he rubs his face between Steve’s thighs and makes his moan crack in two. “Anything else?”
“No, no, just-” Steve shudders and swears, low and helpless as Bucky teases him with soft pressure, lips and teeth running idly over sensitive flesh. “Fuck, no, I’m ready, I want…”
Bucky makes an inquiring noise, lapping harder while his fingers dig into the meat of Steve’s legs, holding him open. Steve’s body clutches weakly at his tongue, looser than he should be, and Bucky pulls back enough to ask, “You want… what? Want me to finish what Peggy started?”
“Yes.” Steve nods furiously against the pillows and makes Bucky laugh again.
“Dunno, Stevie,” he says in between lewd, open-mouthed kisses, the kind that send quakes up Steve’s back and make his breath shake out of him in shocky little grunts. “Maybe I should wait for her. I’d hate to step on her toes.”
“No, she- she said she wanted t-to make sure we, God Bucky-“ Steve humps back without any finesse onto Bucky’s tongue, loosing a sharp sound of protest when Bucky eases back. “Make sure we didn’t miss her. While she’s gone.”
Bucky has to smile at that, if ruefully. “Like that’d work.”
Steve sighs. “Told her so.”
“Miss her already,” Bucky says, not even half joking as he lets his words warm spit-slick skin, thumb rubbing up and down over Steve’s grasping rim. “If Peggy was here, someone could give you a hand with that.”
That being Steve’s dick, so hard it’s curved up to point at his navel, pearly white leaking in sticky drops from the head. When he catches Bucky’s meaning Steve cranes his head back to stare imploringly at him. “You’ve got two hands,” he says breathlessly. “You can’t spare one?”
“Nope. Fully occupied,” Bucky says, squeezing pointedly. “Guess you’ll have to make due.”
“Buck, I can’t-“
“I bet you can,” Bucky says, ducking his head and laving one tightly drawn ball into his mouth. Steve gives a whine that shoots up three octaves when Bucky sucks, slow and hard, and releases it. “Bet you can come just from this.”
“At least- fingers,” Steve pants, rocking back desperately. “Please?”
“Depends,” Bucky drawls, pushing his thumb in just the tiniest bit into wet warmth and listening to Steve try to catch his breath. “How many did Peggy use?”
Steve snaps the headboard in half when he comes around three of Bucky’s fingers, back bowing, body twisting as he pushes himself onto Bucky’s hand with a hoarse yell and rides it out in frantic, jerky motions. Bucky bites into the tender join of his neck and shoulder, stroking quick and deep until Steve’s sobbing out high, wordless whimpers.
“Oops,” Bucky says a bit later, sitting up to survey the damage while Steve slowly melts into the dirty sheets, belt loose and frayed around his wrists. “We’ll have to clean that up before Peggy sees.”
“Mmhm,” Steve hums, eyes closed.
“Hey, no sleeping.” Bucky smacks his ass, already rosy and no doubt sore from earlier slaps. Steve jumps. “We’ve got people to see, maps to cuss at.”
Steve opens one sleepy eye, and frowns. “Y’didn’t come?”
Bucky looks down at his crotch with exaggerated surprise. He’s still wearing his uniform pants, though the rough cotton is sticking unpleasantly to the sweaty creases of his body. “How about that. Lucky for me our girl is coming home tonight, huh?”
Steve gets his arms under his chest and heaves himself up, looking blearily determined. Bucky lets him lean in but swats his fingers away from his fly, reaching up instead to ruffle the hair haloed gold around his red face. Steve scowls.
“Leave it,” Bucky whispers, kissing him brief and sweet. “I’ve got plans.”
“Yeah?” Steve says, swaying forward when Bucky pulls back.
“Hell, yes. I’m going to lay you out for her tonight, Stevie,” he murmurs, pulling Steve's solid weight closer until he's mostly in his lap. "I’ll fuck you for hours. As long as it takes her get here. By the time she climbs all those stairs with her fancy French wine you’ll be so desperate she won’t have to do more than kiss you.” He kisses Steve again, harder, and smiles when it prompts a blissful sound in his throat. “Just like that. You won’t remember your goddamn name when we’re done with you, Cap.”
Nestled semi-soft against Bucky’s arm, Steve’s dick twitches interestedly. Bucky raises an eyebrow.
“It’s the serum,” Steve protests.
“Oh, sure it is,” Bucky answers. “Get your pants on, Captain America. The Howlies’ll think we left for the Rhine without 'em.”
Part II
The wine is champagne, a Vallée de la Vesle that’s almost ten years old. It has a charred label and a thrilling story she thinks the boys will appreciate, something involving a vicious Heerespfarrer and a hundred stone of high explosives. The neck of the bottle is cool in her grip as the door drags open against thick carpet, the room beyond draped in warm darkness and flickering candlelight.
The hotel’s air of opulence is tattered but still intact here, glints of gold and the rich red hue of the bedlinens, ceilings arching away into paintings of starry nights and Greek myth. Peggy doubts she’d ever set foot in such a place had it not been for the war, but now, she sets the bottle on an antique armoire, kicks off her shoes, and wiggles her sore toes into the deep pile without shame.
“Well,” she murmurs as she starts on the buttons of her jacket, eyes on the mirror above the armoire, “aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes.”
The ornate frame of the mirror curls lush and lovely around the picture they make, a decadent, inviting sprawl of limbs. “Peggy,” Steve says on a sigh, head falling back against James’ shoulder. His eyes drift open, unfocused but warm. “Waited for you.”
James grins at her, a lazy, playful gleam in his eyes. “Glad you made it,” he says. “I got your message, by the way.”
“I can see that,” she says, unable to keep a smile from her face. “Tell me you haven’t been in here all day. For shame.”
“Not all day,” James says, pulling Steve back a little closer to his chest. The man looks near-insensate, thighs spread wide around James’ knees, eyes closed and body relaxed as James nudges into him in tiny hitches of his hips. James has a hand splayed over his heart. “Not even most of it.”
“Feels like it,” Steve murmurs, and bites his lower lip as James’ hand slides south. "Bucky made me wait.”
“Such a good boy,” she tells him with a soft laugh, draping her blouse over the back of a chair and shimmying out of her regulation skirt. “I’m so sorry to have kept you.”
“Would’ve waited longer,” James says, turning his face into Steve’s neck.
“Would’ve waited forever,” Steve says dreamily. When she turns, down to her slip and underthings, she sees he’s actually trembling, a fine tremor in the arch of his back and through his arms where they clutch at James’.
“Really fucking glad we don’t have to,” James adds, eyes on her as he lays a soft, lingering kiss on Steve’s jaw. “C’mere already, can’t you tell Steve’s dying for it?”
“Oh, is he,” she says, amused, and lets her brasserie fall to the floor. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
“No ma’am,” James says, gaze dark.
The room is cold, and her nipples peak and ache as she pads towards the bed, James watching her every step, the roll of her hips, the sway of her body as she moves. Steve’s eyes open as she comes closer, and he smiles, so obviously thrilled to see her she feels her knees go a little weak. How fortunate the bed is there, that her knees sink into feather comforters and quilts as she takes his chin in her hand, sneaking a little rub between her legs as she pulls his head up and kisses him in sweet hello.
Steve’s breath catches and he shudders, shudders, shudders, mouth lax and open under hers as he sighs out an incredulous, “Oh.” Peggy opens her eyes in time to see James’ squeeze shut as his thrusts go abruptly choppy, then slowly ease back to a low, constant roll while Steve sags between them.
“Darling, did you just…?” she asks Steve, who makes a small noise of denial and drops his head to hide his face in her breasts. He’s warm, so warm, and there’s wet in the sheets between them, just touching her knees.
“That’s nothing,” James says, still moving, voice rougher even though he’s still wearing that easy grin. His cheeks are red, as red as Steve’s, and his eyes are going glassy as he tries to keep his rhythm. “Should have been here for the first few.”
Steve’s nuzzling into her skin, hands on the bed on either side of her, and Peggy threads her fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his neck to hold him there. “I’m impressed, Sergeant,” she says. “Though I do hope you left enough to go around.”
James chuckles, low and a little mean. “Oh, that ain’t a problem. Right, Stevie?”
Steve shakes his head, but looses a defeated little groan as James starts to pick up the pace, rocking Steve into her, one of his hands slipping between them to give Steve a soft pull. Steve makes a noise of protest and squirms, but spreads his knees easily in the sheets, bow of his spine deepening. “Give him a minute, good as new,” James laughs, and when Peggy crooks her finger he obligingly tilts his face up so she can taste him, too.
James is a little more guarded than Steve, giving her the barest hint of his teeth, sharp where Steve has never been. Peggy molds herself to his edges until he softens under her, and kisses him until his lips are parted and his mouth is warm and giving. Steve turns his head, tries to nose into the kiss like a hungry puppy and James laughs again, softer. He leaves Peggy with a last suckle to the bottom lip and settles his mouth on the wing of Steve's shoulder blade instead. Peggy is content to trade molasses-slow kisses back and forth with Steve until he’s melting against her like wax from the candles on the desk.
Deeper, longer kisses, and though his eyes are glazed and his movements clumsy, Steve seems to have an idea of where he wants her. His nudges push her onto her heels, then her back, with her legs on either side of his trim waist. Steve gives her another heavy-lidded smile as he rubs his cheek against the mound of her belly, hands sliding down her sides with intent. Behind him, James adjusts to the new position, his own hands gripping Steve’s hips and hitching them higher.
“And you?” Peggy asks him, scratching lightly at Steve’s scalp. She draws one leg up to settle him more firmly between her thighs, enjoying the heat of his skin on more tender parts, and cups her own breast to pluck and roll at a nipple. “Surely you’re ready to burst.”
“I’m fine,” James says, watching her hands, “just fucking dandy,” and his next exhale is long and uneven. He’s starting to move erratically, hair falling into his eyes, sweat at his temples and the hollow of his throat.
“You can come now,” she says, as Steve’s open mouth skims down her belly and he breathes into her curls.
“Oh, can I?” James says. It comes out a little strangled, eyes moving from Steve's head to hers, flicking between them.
“Oh, good boy,” she whispers to Steve, dragging her nails up the back of his neck as he starts to lick, so hot and slick against the edges of her, the shallow stroke so good and not quite enough. She tugs at the hair at the base of Steve’s skull and feels more than hears his moan. She keeps her gaze on James, though her eyelids flutter at the first touch of Steve’s tongue past her labia. ”You can come now, dearest, or wait a bit and let us take care of you. Judging by the state of Steve, I think you worked very hard today.”
“Yeah?” he asks. “What are thinking?” He’s not laughing now, just watching her, lips parted and breath coming faster.
Peggy pretends to think, tapping a finger to her chin while Steve gently suckles at her, fingers dimpling the flesh of her thighs. “Would you like my mouth, James? I could freshen my lipstick, leave a perfect ring of it around the base of your cock.”
He would, she can tell, his eyes fixed on her lips as she runs her tongue in a luxurious circle over them. Oh, Steve is going to be the death of her, quick little laps against the seam of her vulva and just the occasional lave to her clit, not enough, not nearly enough. Peggy shifts restlessly, bringing both hands down to Steve’s head to urge him on.
“Steve will help me, won’t you, darling?” she says. Steve makes a low noise of assent that has her clutching at his shoulders and her back arching. “Ah, he has such a lovely, yes, such a lovely mouth. Oh, Steve, that’s perfect, you’re perfect, there, there, oh-”
Peggy succumbs with Steve’s tongue piercing her, so deeply buried in her that when she pulls him away his face is wet, lips and chin gleaming in the low light. He’s still licking the taste of her off his lips when James makes a tortured sound and pulls away, tugging frantically at the base of the army-issue condom and tying it off with fumbling fingers.
Her legs are jelly, small aftershocks still rippling through her as Steve’s fingers stray and slip into her. “Ooo, no you don’t,” she says on an breathless laugh, wriggling away from him and sitting up on the bed. “James, we’ll take care of it later. Come here.”
“I was promised lipstick,” he says, or tries to say, as Peggy kneels up and crawls to him, smoothes her hands up from his ankles to strong calves, muscled thighs, the thin hair rough against her palms.
“I could stop and fetch it,” she offers, speaking with her lips close enough to his reddened, swollen cockhead that he must feel her breath. It makes him twitch, visibly.
“That’s okay, that’s- oh, Christ Almighty,” he swears, as Steve slides in beside her. She shifts to one side, so they’re both braced over a leg, and James seems to realize he’s trapped at the same time she turns and catches Steve’s eye, leaning in a split second after he does. “Oh sweet Jesus, Peggy, Steve.”
She has a mouth full of cock and Steve’s tongue, twined with hers over the width of James’ throbbing shaft, or she might have been tempted to tease him about the blasphemy. As it is, they’re rather too much for him, and James suffers all of a minute caught between them before he’s crying out and spilling. Steve milks it from him with his lips stretched lewdly around James’ sack, cheeks hollowing with rhythmic pressure and his fingers quite busy behind, while Peggy is happy to fit her mouth just as far down his cock as she’d threatened and swallow around him, silky flesh rubbing against her palate and the very back of her throat. If she had been wearing lipstick, it would be smudged wildly over the skin at the apex of his pelvis.
“Shit,” he whines, trying to buck under them. “That’s enough, that’s- ah, fuck, too much, Peggy please, I can’t- Steve-”
When his cock has given up its last weak pulse and James is clawing at the linens, head thrown back and his voice hoarse and shaking, Peggy lets him slip from her sore throat and sits back, pushing her hair back from her face where it’s fallen from its pins. Steve pulls one last gasp from James before he sits up as well, and catches her mouth with his own.
“Steve,” she whispers when they break apart, a little hoarse herself. “The champagne?”
"Good idea," he murmurs, pressing one last, chaste little peck to the corner of her mouth. His lips are the color of bruised cherries.
They drink it all from the bottle, little drips and drabs of it spilled onto skin and licked up where it falls while Peggy tells them about Reims, about the art they’ve salvaged and the news from the eastern lines where the Soviets press steadily inwards. James manages a sip or two before all but passing out between them, curled on his side and unresponsive when they prod him. That makes sleeping arrangements easy, Steve fitting himself to James’ chest while Peggy sets the bottle on the floor and appropriates his back as a heater. It is quite chilly, now that she’s not otherwise occupied.
“Here, let me get the-” Steve starts, and the next moment the thick down coverlet settles over them.
Peggy tucks it in around her with a pleased sigh, then pokes him in the foot with her toe. “You'll have reveille duty, captain.”
There’s shifting under the coverlet, and Steve pokes her back. “I thought it was Bucky’s turn?”
“Do you really think this man,” she says, slipping an arm around James’ waist, “is going to be up at sunrise tomorrow? You’ve practically ruined him.”
“Sh’up,” James grumbles, fingers finding hers and squeezing. “’m ready to do the jitterbug, say the word.”
“You helped some,” Steve accuses, and then sighs, “Fine. But next time it's definitely Bucky's.”
“You’ll have to try not to tire him out so much, then,” Peggy muses, eyes closing.
Steve makes a very noncommittal sound. Under her forehead, James’ back briefly quakes with a silent laugh.
Author: kototyph
Pairing/Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Tags: Threesome - F/M/M, World War II, Wartime Romance, Ficlet
Notes: porny ficlets no one asked for, inspired by this lovely little bit of Steve/Bucky/Peggy by faun-songs
Part I
“Hey. Any of you Barnes?”
The private asking looks a decade too young to be caked with mud on the front in Ardennes, but what the hell does Bucky know? They all look too young to him. “Yeah? Something the matter?” he asks, still braced over the hood of their homely little Model GPW.
“Sorry, Sarge,” the private says, sketching a belated half-salute. “Message from Miss- from Agent Carter. Captain Rogers wants a word.”
“Why didn’t he come down and tell me himself?” Bucky says, irritated. “We just got the damn maps laid out, he can have a word here.”
The private gives an expansive shrug. “Dunno, Sarge. She just said to get you.”
“Cap moving the meeting upstairs?” Gabe asks, pointing up the street at the grand hôtel that’s hosting operations and officers’ quarters. It’s only missing half its roof; prime real estate in a battered town like this.
“Only Sergeant Barnes. She was real specific.”
Dum-Dum’s eyebrows are pulling into a thick hedge across his forehead, Morita squinting like the watery sun’s in his eyes. Bucky looks down at the maps, sighs, and straightens up with a groan for the ache in his back. “Fine,” he says. “Lead the way.”
The private ambles off through camp, Bucky stalking along behind him. The two-star who’s commanding this front nods as they walk past his tent and up the marble stairs to the hôtel’s open doors. Crystal chandeliers drip light and sparkle into the dreary foyer, where radio equipment and extra ammunition are stacked in muddy squares. The fussy carpets are beige with ground-in muck.
“SSR find something new for us?” Bucky thinks to ask.
“No idea, Sarge,” the private says. “Miss- I mean, Agent Carter, she just left for Reims with the colonel.”
That makes Bucky pause at the landing, frowning at him. They were supposed to have the whole weekend with Peggy, something they’d been working to get for a solid two months. “What? She say why?”
The private shrugs again. “I dunno.”
Bucky’s had about enough of this kid. “Hey, I know how to get to quarters from here. Why don’t you head back to your unit?”
The private throws him another sloppy salute and leaves Bucky to tackle the last three flights alone, until he reaches the once-sumptuous eighth-floor hallway the officers have claimed. Steve wouldn’t have taken the royalty suite if they threw in all the dames in Paris, so the general had forced him into the one reserved for newlyweds with a hearty backslap and off-color references to “strategic” science. Steve’d turned the color of a surprised strawberry, and when they told her later Peggy had laughed, laughed and laughed and kissed Steve on one of his burning ears.
“Fucking Reims,” Bucky mutters under his breath, striding down the hallway. “What the hell.”
He gets to Steve’s door and raps impatient knuckles against the painted wood. “Hey, Steve? You rang?”
Nothing for a second, then, “That you, Buck?”
Bucky scowls at the closed door. Steve’s voice is low and a little raspy, like he’s just woken up. “You called me up here, pal. You got a good reason for lying around while we do all the work?”
“You alone?”
Bucky rolls his eyes and turns the knob. “No, I got a whole brass ba- Jesus Christ.”
“Close the door!” Steve squeaks, and Bucky steps in, slams and locks it behind him. There’s no way he’s missing out on this.
Someone- and Bucky has pretty good idea who- has wrapped Steve’s wrists in his own belt and tied them to the headboard, leaving him stretched out on his stomach in the middle of the massive bed. He’s bare to the waist, though the sheet pulled over his ass is almost too sheer to count as cover. Little marks and scratches from the nape of his neck down to the small of his back say as clear as anything a certain brown-eyed Kilroy was here.
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says again, slower and more appreciatively. “It’s not even my birthday.”
“Bucky,” Steve groans, squirming against the bed. “C’mon, please, I’m about ready to-”
“Whoa, no, let me look at you,” Bucky says, pulling off his gloves, his jacket, leaving his muddy boots and socks in a trail across the room. He kneels up on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight, and Steve blows sweat-damp hair out of his eyes and gives him a baleful glare.
“Buck-”
“Shhh,” Bucky says with a growing grin. “Just look at you. Agent Carter strikes again.”
“She said she felt bad about getting called away so suddenly,” Steve grumbles, hiding his face in his arm. “Said she wanted to make it up to us.”
“Yeah?” Bucky’s tracing the gleaming line of Steve’s spine, lingering at each bruise. Steve arches into the touch, a smooth ripple of muscle that makes the sheets slip scandalously low. “No complaints so far. What’d she do to you?”
“She didn’t even take her clothes off,” Steve says plaintively. Bucky lays a hand on the back of his thigh and his hips come off the bed. He has to swallow before he can get out, “She was her uniform with her hair all done up and she just-”
“Oh God,” Bucky breathes, because a curious tug makes the sheets fall away completely and Peggy’s made a fucking mess of Steve, his skin flushed and wet from taint to tailbone and his angry red cock bobbing with every needy twitch of his hips, smearing precome on the linens. His pinked-up hole clenches hungrily at nothing, just begging for Bucky’s fingers, for anything.
And planted on the firm curve of his left asscheek, like the proverbial fucking cherry on top, is a single, perfect print of pursed lips in Besame Red Velvet.
“Oh, Mags,” Bucky says worshipfully, both hands on Steve now, urging his legs wider. “Steve, you better marry this girl or I’ll do it for you.”
“Please,” Steve says, hands making fists above his head as he spreads his knees. The wooden headboard groans at the pressure. “Bucky, c’mon, please.”
Bucky throws a leg over Steve’s calves and moves down the bed until he can kiss the ridiculously vivid patch of lipstick, laughing when Steve immediately bucks into his mouth. He imagines Peggy, olive lapels ruler-straight and curls neat as a pin, tying Steve to his own damn bed and marking him up with her mouth, with her clever little tongue until he’s incoherent and aching for it. Then sitting back, pulling out her lipstick cool as you please, and leaving him here like this. For Bucky.
“Need you,” Steve says pleadingly.
“Getting there,” Bucky says, running a thumb just shy of that slick furl, following the line between thigh and groin and back. Steve cants his ass up like a pin-up girl. “Fuck, you’re perfect. What else did she say?”
Steve mumbles something into the pillows, then yelps when Bucky bites him on the other cheek, perfect mirror to Peggy’s lipstick. “She s-said she should be back. Before night. She’s bringing us wine?”
“Fancy,” Bucky comments with a smirk. He tongues a brief kiss right between the marks and listens with satisfaction as Steve’s breath hiccups. Under Bucky’s hands, his hips start to flex in rhythm.
“She said- she made me promise I wouldn’t come, wouldn’t, ah, until you were here,” he gasps. “God! Bucky!”
Bucky makes a little, “Mmm,” sound, the most he can do while licking broad and dirty up the seam of Steve’s balls, faint taste of lipstick in his mouth and smeared over his lips as he rubs his face between Steve’s thighs and makes his moan crack in two. “Anything else?”
“No, no, just-” Steve shudders and swears, low and helpless as Bucky teases him with soft pressure, lips and teeth running idly over sensitive flesh. “Fuck, no, I’m ready, I want…”
Bucky makes an inquiring noise, lapping harder while his fingers dig into the meat of Steve’s legs, holding him open. Steve’s body clutches weakly at his tongue, looser than he should be, and Bucky pulls back enough to ask, “You want… what? Want me to finish what Peggy started?”
“Yes.” Steve nods furiously against the pillows and makes Bucky laugh again.
“Dunno, Stevie,” he says in between lewd, open-mouthed kisses, the kind that send quakes up Steve’s back and make his breath shake out of him in shocky little grunts. “Maybe I should wait for her. I’d hate to step on her toes.”
“No, she- she said she wanted t-to make sure we, God Bucky-“ Steve humps back without any finesse onto Bucky’s tongue, loosing a sharp sound of protest when Bucky eases back. “Make sure we didn’t miss her. While she’s gone.”
Bucky has to smile at that, if ruefully. “Like that’d work.”
Steve sighs. “Told her so.”
“Miss her already,” Bucky says, not even half joking as he lets his words warm spit-slick skin, thumb rubbing up and down over Steve’s grasping rim. “If Peggy was here, someone could give you a hand with that.”
That being Steve’s dick, so hard it’s curved up to point at his navel, pearly white leaking in sticky drops from the head. When he catches Bucky’s meaning Steve cranes his head back to stare imploringly at him. “You’ve got two hands,” he says breathlessly. “You can’t spare one?”
“Nope. Fully occupied,” Bucky says, squeezing pointedly. “Guess you’ll have to make due.”
“Buck, I can’t-“
“I bet you can,” Bucky says, ducking his head and laving one tightly drawn ball into his mouth. Steve gives a whine that shoots up three octaves when Bucky sucks, slow and hard, and releases it. “Bet you can come just from this.”
“At least- fingers,” Steve pants, rocking back desperately. “Please?”
“Depends,” Bucky drawls, pushing his thumb in just the tiniest bit into wet warmth and listening to Steve try to catch his breath. “How many did Peggy use?”
Steve snaps the headboard in half when he comes around three of Bucky’s fingers, back bowing, body twisting as he pushes himself onto Bucky’s hand with a hoarse yell and rides it out in frantic, jerky motions. Bucky bites into the tender join of his neck and shoulder, stroking quick and deep until Steve’s sobbing out high, wordless whimpers.
“Oops,” Bucky says a bit later, sitting up to survey the damage while Steve slowly melts into the dirty sheets, belt loose and frayed around his wrists. “We’ll have to clean that up before Peggy sees.”
“Mmhm,” Steve hums, eyes closed.
“Hey, no sleeping.” Bucky smacks his ass, already rosy and no doubt sore from earlier slaps. Steve jumps. “We’ve got people to see, maps to cuss at.”
Steve opens one sleepy eye, and frowns. “Y’didn’t come?”
Bucky looks down at his crotch with exaggerated surprise. He’s still wearing his uniform pants, though the rough cotton is sticking unpleasantly to the sweaty creases of his body. “How about that. Lucky for me our girl is coming home tonight, huh?”
Steve gets his arms under his chest and heaves himself up, looking blearily determined. Bucky lets him lean in but swats his fingers away from his fly, reaching up instead to ruffle the hair haloed gold around his red face. Steve scowls.
“Leave it,” Bucky whispers, kissing him brief and sweet. “I’ve got plans.”
“Yeah?” Steve says, swaying forward when Bucky pulls back.
“Hell, yes. I’m going to lay you out for her tonight, Stevie,” he murmurs, pulling Steve's solid weight closer until he's mostly in his lap. "I’ll fuck you for hours. As long as it takes her get here. By the time she climbs all those stairs with her fancy French wine you’ll be so desperate she won’t have to do more than kiss you.” He kisses Steve again, harder, and smiles when it prompts a blissful sound in his throat. “Just like that. You won’t remember your goddamn name when we’re done with you, Cap.”
Nestled semi-soft against Bucky’s arm, Steve’s dick twitches interestedly. Bucky raises an eyebrow.
“It’s the serum,” Steve protests.
“Oh, sure it is,” Bucky answers. “Get your pants on, Captain America. The Howlies’ll think we left for the Rhine without 'em.”
Part II
The wine is champagne, a Vallée de la Vesle that’s almost ten years old. It has a charred label and a thrilling story she thinks the boys will appreciate, something involving a vicious Heerespfarrer and a hundred stone of high explosives. The neck of the bottle is cool in her grip as the door drags open against thick carpet, the room beyond draped in warm darkness and flickering candlelight.
The hotel’s air of opulence is tattered but still intact here, glints of gold and the rich red hue of the bedlinens, ceilings arching away into paintings of starry nights and Greek myth. Peggy doubts she’d ever set foot in such a place had it not been for the war, but now, she sets the bottle on an antique armoire, kicks off her shoes, and wiggles her sore toes into the deep pile without shame.
“Well,” she murmurs as she starts on the buttons of her jacket, eyes on the mirror above the armoire, “aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes.”
The ornate frame of the mirror curls lush and lovely around the picture they make, a decadent, inviting sprawl of limbs. “Peggy,” Steve says on a sigh, head falling back against James’ shoulder. His eyes drift open, unfocused but warm. “Waited for you.”
James grins at her, a lazy, playful gleam in his eyes. “Glad you made it,” he says. “I got your message, by the way.”
“I can see that,” she says, unable to keep a smile from her face. “Tell me you haven’t been in here all day. For shame.”
“Not all day,” James says, pulling Steve back a little closer to his chest. The man looks near-insensate, thighs spread wide around James’ knees, eyes closed and body relaxed as James nudges into him in tiny hitches of his hips. James has a hand splayed over his heart. “Not even most of it.”
“Feels like it,” Steve murmurs, and bites his lower lip as James’ hand slides south. "Bucky made me wait.”
“Such a good boy,” she tells him with a soft laugh, draping her blouse over the back of a chair and shimmying out of her regulation skirt. “I’m so sorry to have kept you.”
“Would’ve waited longer,” James says, turning his face into Steve’s neck.
“Would’ve waited forever,” Steve says dreamily. When she turns, down to her slip and underthings, she sees he’s actually trembling, a fine tremor in the arch of his back and through his arms where they clutch at James’.
“Really fucking glad we don’t have to,” James adds, eyes on her as he lays a soft, lingering kiss on Steve’s jaw. “C’mere already, can’t you tell Steve’s dying for it?”
“Oh, is he,” she says, amused, and lets her brasserie fall to the floor. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”
“No ma’am,” James says, gaze dark.
The room is cold, and her nipples peak and ache as she pads towards the bed, James watching her every step, the roll of her hips, the sway of her body as she moves. Steve’s eyes open as she comes closer, and he smiles, so obviously thrilled to see her she feels her knees go a little weak. How fortunate the bed is there, that her knees sink into feather comforters and quilts as she takes his chin in her hand, sneaking a little rub between her legs as she pulls his head up and kisses him in sweet hello.
Steve’s breath catches and he shudders, shudders, shudders, mouth lax and open under hers as he sighs out an incredulous, “Oh.” Peggy opens her eyes in time to see James’ squeeze shut as his thrusts go abruptly choppy, then slowly ease back to a low, constant roll while Steve sags between them.
“Darling, did you just…?” she asks Steve, who makes a small noise of denial and drops his head to hide his face in her breasts. He’s warm, so warm, and there’s wet in the sheets between them, just touching her knees.
“That’s nothing,” James says, still moving, voice rougher even though he’s still wearing that easy grin. His cheeks are red, as red as Steve’s, and his eyes are going glassy as he tries to keep his rhythm. “Should have been here for the first few.”
Steve’s nuzzling into her skin, hands on the bed on either side of her, and Peggy threads her fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his neck to hold him there. “I’m impressed, Sergeant,” she says. “Though I do hope you left enough to go around.”
James chuckles, low and a little mean. “Oh, that ain’t a problem. Right, Stevie?”
Steve shakes his head, but looses a defeated little groan as James starts to pick up the pace, rocking Steve into her, one of his hands slipping between them to give Steve a soft pull. Steve makes a noise of protest and squirms, but spreads his knees easily in the sheets, bow of his spine deepening. “Give him a minute, good as new,” James laughs, and when Peggy crooks her finger he obligingly tilts his face up so she can taste him, too.
James is a little more guarded than Steve, giving her the barest hint of his teeth, sharp where Steve has never been. Peggy molds herself to his edges until he softens under her, and kisses him until his lips are parted and his mouth is warm and giving. Steve turns his head, tries to nose into the kiss like a hungry puppy and James laughs again, softer. He leaves Peggy with a last suckle to the bottom lip and settles his mouth on the wing of Steve's shoulder blade instead. Peggy is content to trade molasses-slow kisses back and forth with Steve until he’s melting against her like wax from the candles on the desk.
Deeper, longer kisses, and though his eyes are glazed and his movements clumsy, Steve seems to have an idea of where he wants her. His nudges push her onto her heels, then her back, with her legs on either side of his trim waist. Steve gives her another heavy-lidded smile as he rubs his cheek against the mound of her belly, hands sliding down her sides with intent. Behind him, James adjusts to the new position, his own hands gripping Steve’s hips and hitching them higher.
“And you?” Peggy asks him, scratching lightly at Steve’s scalp. She draws one leg up to settle him more firmly between her thighs, enjoying the heat of his skin on more tender parts, and cups her own breast to pluck and roll at a nipple. “Surely you’re ready to burst.”
“I’m fine,” James says, watching her hands, “just fucking dandy,” and his next exhale is long and uneven. He’s starting to move erratically, hair falling into his eyes, sweat at his temples and the hollow of his throat.
“You can come now,” she says, as Steve’s open mouth skims down her belly and he breathes into her curls.
“Oh, can I?” James says. It comes out a little strangled, eyes moving from Steve's head to hers, flicking between them.
“Oh, good boy,” she whispers to Steve, dragging her nails up the back of his neck as he starts to lick, so hot and slick against the edges of her, the shallow stroke so good and not quite enough. She tugs at the hair at the base of Steve’s skull and feels more than hears his moan. She keeps her gaze on James, though her eyelids flutter at the first touch of Steve’s tongue past her labia. ”You can come now, dearest, or wait a bit and let us take care of you. Judging by the state of Steve, I think you worked very hard today.”
“Yeah?” he asks. “What are thinking?” He’s not laughing now, just watching her, lips parted and breath coming faster.
Peggy pretends to think, tapping a finger to her chin while Steve gently suckles at her, fingers dimpling the flesh of her thighs. “Would you like my mouth, James? I could freshen my lipstick, leave a perfect ring of it around the base of your cock.”
He would, she can tell, his eyes fixed on her lips as she runs her tongue in a luxurious circle over them. Oh, Steve is going to be the death of her, quick little laps against the seam of her vulva and just the occasional lave to her clit, not enough, not nearly enough. Peggy shifts restlessly, bringing both hands down to Steve’s head to urge him on.
“Steve will help me, won’t you, darling?” she says. Steve makes a low noise of assent that has her clutching at his shoulders and her back arching. “Ah, he has such a lovely, yes, such a lovely mouth. Oh, Steve, that’s perfect, you’re perfect, there, there, oh-”
Peggy succumbs with Steve’s tongue piercing her, so deeply buried in her that when she pulls him away his face is wet, lips and chin gleaming in the low light. He’s still licking the taste of her off his lips when James makes a tortured sound and pulls away, tugging frantically at the base of the army-issue condom and tying it off with fumbling fingers.
Her legs are jelly, small aftershocks still rippling through her as Steve’s fingers stray and slip into her. “Ooo, no you don’t,” she says on an breathless laugh, wriggling away from him and sitting up on the bed. “James, we’ll take care of it later. Come here.”
“I was promised lipstick,” he says, or tries to say, as Peggy kneels up and crawls to him, smoothes her hands up from his ankles to strong calves, muscled thighs, the thin hair rough against her palms.
“I could stop and fetch it,” she offers, speaking with her lips close enough to his reddened, swollen cockhead that he must feel her breath. It makes him twitch, visibly.
“That’s okay, that’s- oh, Christ Almighty,” he swears, as Steve slides in beside her. She shifts to one side, so they’re both braced over a leg, and James seems to realize he’s trapped at the same time she turns and catches Steve’s eye, leaning in a split second after he does. “Oh sweet Jesus, Peggy, Steve.”
She has a mouth full of cock and Steve’s tongue, twined with hers over the width of James’ throbbing shaft, or she might have been tempted to tease him about the blasphemy. As it is, they’re rather too much for him, and James suffers all of a minute caught between them before he’s crying out and spilling. Steve milks it from him with his lips stretched lewdly around James’ sack, cheeks hollowing with rhythmic pressure and his fingers quite busy behind, while Peggy is happy to fit her mouth just as far down his cock as she’d threatened and swallow around him, silky flesh rubbing against her palate and the very back of her throat. If she had been wearing lipstick, it would be smudged wildly over the skin at the apex of his pelvis.
“Shit,” he whines, trying to buck under them. “That’s enough, that’s- ah, fuck, too much, Peggy please, I can’t- Steve-”
When his cock has given up its last weak pulse and James is clawing at the linens, head thrown back and his voice hoarse and shaking, Peggy lets him slip from her sore throat and sits back, pushing her hair back from her face where it’s fallen from its pins. Steve pulls one last gasp from James before he sits up as well, and catches her mouth with his own.
“Steve,” she whispers when they break apart, a little hoarse herself. “The champagne?”
"Good idea," he murmurs, pressing one last, chaste little peck to the corner of her mouth. His lips are the color of bruised cherries.
They drink it all from the bottle, little drips and drabs of it spilled onto skin and licked up where it falls while Peggy tells them about Reims, about the art they’ve salvaged and the news from the eastern lines where the Soviets press steadily inwards. James manages a sip or two before all but passing out between them, curled on his side and unresponsive when they prod him. That makes sleeping arrangements easy, Steve fitting himself to James’ chest while Peggy sets the bottle on the floor and appropriates his back as a heater. It is quite chilly, now that she’s not otherwise occupied.
“Here, let me get the-” Steve starts, and the next moment the thick down coverlet settles over them.
Peggy tucks it in around her with a pleased sigh, then pokes him in the foot with her toe. “You'll have reveille duty, captain.”
There’s shifting under the coverlet, and Steve pokes her back. “I thought it was Bucky’s turn?”
“Do you really think this man,” she says, slipping an arm around James’ waist, “is going to be up at sunrise tomorrow? You’ve practically ruined him.”
“Sh’up,” James grumbles, fingers finding hers and squeezing. “’m ready to do the jitterbug, say the word.”
“You helped some,” Steve accuses, and then sighs, “Fine. But next time it's definitely Bucky's.”
“You’ll have to try not to tire him out so much, then,” Peggy muses, eyes closing.
Steve makes a very noncommittal sound. Under her forehead, James’ back briefly quakes with a silent laugh.