Archive of Our Own ^beta

Getting Bucky in the bedroom with him wasn't easy at all. Steve knew Bucky had done shit like that before. God knew how many stories Steve had to listen to about the boys tag teaming one French floozy or another during their nights above a fire that couldn't heat the Black Forest cold. Told again and again, each time embellished with even crazier performances. 

Convincing Bucky that Tony was fine with a threesome was even harder. For some reason, Bucky had looked at all the whorish videos of Tony Stark being the slut extraordinaire and decided Tony wouldn't be happy as a clam sandwiched between two supersoldiers. 

Steve had believed, foolishly apparently, that it would all be worth it when he finally had Tony between them. Fucked out of his mind, choking on Bucky's cock while Steve pistoning in… Tears, those precious tears sliding down. Fear making its ugly head known through the expressive eyes. Just seeing Tony's resolve shake, observing that moment of doubt in such a confident man. Steve was living for those moments.

What he didn't think of, not in a million years, was that Bucky, the womanizer of their generation, decided to play nice. Nice!

Bucky didn't fuck Tony, no. He made love. He did feed his anaconda into Tony’s mouth, per Tony’s suggestions —because Steve trained him so well—- pushing and groaning and pushing more and still… it wasn't a fucking. Not what Steve had expected. Praises fell from Bucky’s mouth like in the old days, admiring Tony's technique, venerating his mouth, waxing poetic on his throat which Steve had worked very hard to make available to any dick. Steve reckoned Bucky talked more tonight than he ever had since he had woken up at a Hydra icebox for the last time.

So Tony didn't cry, didn't look at Steve with that delicious mixture of fear, insecurity, and vulnerability, seeking solace in Steve’s arms from Steve's wrath. 

No. 

Tony looked at Bucky instead. And Steve knew the slut’s praise kink, didn't he? He knew Tony would fold like a two-dollar whore for anyone who could talk sweet to him, and Bucky was the sweetest talker of all. Old Bucky had been, that Steve knew by heart, remembered all the dames falling for him left and right, like moths to a flame. And, apparently, this new ‘guilt is my new skin’ Bucky still remembered how to. Which Steve was happy for him. He was.

And Steve should have guessed that Bucky would find that elusive pleasure spot on Tony's neck, that he wouldn't stop grazing it with his thumb while Tony choked on his cock. That he would make Tony's eyes roll in his head with only his fingers at Tony's nape, as if playing an instrument that didn't need tuning.

In hindsight, it was obvious. Tony's mouth was divine, and Bucky hadn't had any since the War. The adoration was only inevitable. And maybe, maybe a part of Steve wanted to show, to preen. How Steve got the guy after years of watching Bucky take home anyone he had ever wanted, while Steve couldn’t even manage the crumbs of his luck. Maybe that's why tonight’s adventure went to hell in a handbasket. 

Hindsight was a powerful thing.

He moved his jaw right then left, getting up from where he fell after receiving a phenomenal left hook from Bucky. He swallowed a mouthful of blood leaking from the cut in his cheek. Nothing broken though.

“Steve!” Tony sat up, eyes wide open in shock. He dried his saliva —-pushed out by constant fucking by Bucky’s dick—- by the back of his hand, then scooched down from the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Is he okay?” Bucky asked, voice shaking. 

“Please leave,” Tony asked, and didn't let Bucky finish any arguments. He stood tall in his naked glory, eyes still red, ass probably still throbbing, he sent Bucky packing. 

“What the hell, Steve?”  Steve raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like he had done anything. Bucky punched him out of nowhere. “Why did you goad him like that?”

Steve stood up, massaging his jaw. 

“I didn't—”

“Of course, he was gonna respond like that when he thinks you're torturing me.”

“I wasn't —”

“You slapped my balls, Steven.” Which…was true. Steve shrugged. “Even if he wasn't feeling anything for me, just the idea of torture—”

“Bucky doesn't feel anything for you.” What a ridiculous sentiment. Steve sat on the bed. His jaw hurt like a mother. “Does he?”

Tony shrugged. “Harmless crush.”

“Huh.” The things you learn in a night. Hindsight. Seriously. “Had no idea. Why did you accept it if you knew?”

Tony sat down next to Steve, checking his jaw for any damage with soft, careful hands. 

“Hey,” Steve insisted. “Why did you?”

“I thought you knew.” Tony patted Steve's chin, silently declaring it good. “I thought you wanted to throw him a bone.”

“Jesus!” Steve attacked his mouth then, wanting to suck Tony’s everything in through the juices of that exquisite mouth. “Fuck, Tony.” He bit the plump lips then, gently, tightly controlling his urges because Steve could just tear Tony apart in his current passion.

That Tony thought of himself as bone. A bone that Steve could throw to anyone he wished. Truly Steve’s to fuck, to share, to throw.

“I gotta fuck you right now,” he grunted in between kissing and biting.

“Steve, I’m not—”

“Come on, baby.” Steve moved his lips to Tony’s earlobe, biting sharply, hearing him hiss. “You can’t say stuff like that and then leave me hanging.” It wasn’t like Steve didn’t know that perfect spot that Bucky was enjoying so thoroughly not long ago. Tony shivered under his hands, falling back to bed. He was so easy, his Tony.

“Okay, okay. Not too long, though. I’m tired.”

“Fuck, I love you so much, baby.” Steve pushed and slid right through, earning a deep omph from Tony. “Fuck, you’re so fucking soft inside.” 

Throw him a bone. Jesus, fuck! He punched his hips in, slapping Tony’s pelvis, making him groan.

“You’ll come when I’m fucking you, won’t you, babe?” He grabbed Tony’s hair, pulling tightly to see those eyes. Fuck, Steve was losing himself in them. Bit by bit… Leaving his goodness, his righteousness, his essence, everything... But worth it. 

Tony tried nodding, “Yes, Steve, please.”

This was worth hell.