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He wasn’t snooping. He wasn’t. He respects Steve’s privacy and would never do something as intrusive as rifle through his mail or take a covert peek at his texts. It was innocent. There was a lost sock, a dark recess under the bed, some sleepy, post-coital fumbling while Steve showered and Bucky tried to pull himself together enough to get to class on time. Bucky wasn’t looking for Steve’s porn stash, but there it was in all it’s soiled, wrinkle-paged glory, and who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth (or away from a naked dude’s crotch)?
Point is, Bucky’s intentions were entirely honorable when he knelt down, ass in the air, goods dangling, to search for the scattered pieces of his wardrobe, and that is what counts. That he proceeded down a somewhat murkier path—shady even—perusing what was clearly tucked away and definitely not his to peruse, is entirely due the shock of discovering Steve’s somewhat unconventional tastes. Not his fault, Bucky would say with (nearly) unflappable conviction. Once he registered the gift he’d been given, the delightful frivolity of Steve’s secret kink, a battalion of naked sandy-haired lawyers couldn’t have prompted Bucky to drop those filthy magazines and forget he’d ever seen them.
So he looked. He paged through image after image, heart beating faster with each turn, cock twitching with surprising interest, ears attuned to the hush of Steve’s shower coming to an end. What he saw, what opened his eyes to a world of unknown possibility, was simply this:
Men in panties.
Skinny twinks, plump Joes, beefy brick houses—all sorts of men, every color and size, in scraps of lace and satin and silk. Muscular thighs adorned in delicate black garters, happy little cocks wrapped in pink polka dots, firm round asses hugged by fabric so sheer and dainty you might rip it just by looking.
And though he was only newly aware of his attraction to men, and that attraction had thus far only extended to Steve, there was something so enticingly taboo about the images that they overflowed the narrow vessel of Bucky’s sensibilities labeled “wrong” and spilled into a glorious pool of “right”. Like everything Steve had taught him the past few months, this too was a unexpected revelation.
Did Steve like looking at boys this way? Or did Steve want to be one of those boys? Considering it was porn mags Bucky had found and not actual frilly undergarments, Bucky suspected it was the former. He imagined it for himself, wondered how it might feel to be dressed like that, covered in a tiny slip of silk, strutting around in something delicate and pretty … praised as someone delicate and pretty. Breath ragged, sweaty palms crushing pages, he discovered he liked it. He really, really liked it.
He made his decision then, forming a strategy and considering who he might enlist for help. (Because he was definitely going to need help.) Peter was out, for reasons of “Dude, I don’t care what you do with my brother in bed, but I don’t want to fucking know about it.” Nat would be the most knowledgeable, but she’d also laugh her ass off, and Bucky had a strict policy about not providing her with anymore blackmail material than she’d already gathered. Sam would mock him for sure, but his natural empathy would kick in and eventually lead to his assistance. So Sam it was. Bucky jotted off a text and arranged to meet downtown after his classes were through.
Once a plan was in place, Bucky knew he couldn’t let Steve see him; his face would give it away, a red beacon of desire (and yes, maybe a bit of delicious shame). So he shoved the secret gift he’d stumbled on back into it’s hiding place and booked it out of Steve’s apartment as fast as he could.
“Running late!” he shouted through the door to the bathroom as he pulled on a hoodie and slid into his shoes. “Gonna head out. See you tonight!”
How Steve might have interpreted his sudden exit was a mystery as Bucky strode into the brisk air of a new world.
…
Apparently Sam was an expert in women’s underwear. He was also an asshole and hadn’t stopped mocking him with that gap-toothed grin since the moment Bucky approached him with the request—hushed words stuttered out over coffee—but the man knew the difference between bikinis, briefs, and boy shorts, and that was enough for Bucky. Sam took the lead, heading through the afternoon bustle toward garland-draped storefronts.
“We’re not doing Victoria’s Secret,” he said, shutting down Bucky’s initial suggestion. “They make cheap, overpriced shit, and they show no love for the larger ladies.”
Bucky agreed to do whatever Sam thought was best, even as a twinge of self-doubt rolled through him. “You think I’m too big to fit?” he said, examining his hips critically. “I thought I was average.”
“You’re a skinny white boy with a tight little ass—you’d fit into anything in that place just fine." Sam huffed. "It’s the principle of the thing. I’m taking you to a boutique I know. A place that respects all women, where you can find something that won’t fall apart in two minutes.”
“I’m not a woman, Sam.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t want to be a woman. I just want to find something … you know …”
“Pretty. Yes. I know. We will find you something pretty, and we’ll go someplace where we won’t have to sacrifice my values to do it.”
“You have underwear values?” He kept his voice low as they worked their way through the holiday shoppers, aware of the abundance of ears and eyes around them.
“I have everything values.”
Bucky followed along with a chuckle. “You’ve thought about this a lot. Like, the politics of underwear shopping wasn’t even on my radar.”
The smile dropped from Sam’s face for the first time all day, replaced by a kind of tired resolve. Bucky felt himself shrink as Sam paused mid-stride and looked him over. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of not thinking about shit, Barnes.”
There were moments that brought him up short, like this one, moments that made Bucky reconsider his assumptions with a prickling discomfort. They’d been happening a lot more since he’d started dating Steve, which wasn’t a bad thing. Just … not always easy.
Bucky nodded, stowing any comments he might have, and that seemed to appease Sam enough to bring some sunshine back into his face.
“Come on, man,” he said, nudging Bucky’s shoulder. “Let’s go get you some panties.”
The shop was almost too much to take. Between the smell of baby powder infused with the very walls, the eye-popping displays ripe with color and texture, and the feeling of being too big and too rough amidst a sea of dainty goods, Bucky was overwhelmed, frozen in place. Sam on the other hand, marched right up to a sales associate with tissue-soft wrinkles and shrewd eyes and told her they were in need of some assistance.
“For my girlfriend,” Bucky injected before Sam could implicate him. “I’m looking for a present for my girlfriend.”
A heavy sigh from his side caught his attention, and he looked over to see Sam shaking his head. “Nah, man. Own this. This nice lady doesn’t care. I promise she’s seen it all.”
The woman nodded, wizened face full of amusement. Her hair was piled in a loose bun on top of her head, strawberry blonde shot through with white. She wore a prim lavender blouse and gave an impression of quiet, professional distance.
Bucky took a breath and dove in. “I’m looking for—fuck.” He grimaced, feeling his face flush, words scratched out through a whisper. “Do you have something that would look good on me?”
The sales associate, Yuliya her name tag read, didn’t even blink at the request. She studied his frame, lips pursed as she made silent calculations, and nodded.
“Da. You want top and bottom?” she asked in a thick Russian accent.
“No. Just bottoms. No garters or anything.” Bucky was certain he wasn’t ready for that step. “You know, panties.” He grimaced, suddenly hot all over.
“Is gift?” she said, turning toward a table piled with delicates all the colors of the rainbow. “Or just for you?”
“Yeah, it’s a gift.” Bucky jutted his chin in defiance. He might as well go all in. “For my boyfriend.”
Yuliya snuffed in a breath through her nose, unfazed. “Christmastime. You want to look like present?”
Bucky thought about Steve unwrapping him, stripping coarse layers to find something soft and silky underneath, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be good.”
“Okay.” She took him through his options, a frightening slip of nothing Bucky was sure would sink right into his ass crack to larger pieces that looked like a fancy version of something his grandma might wear.
“Something, like, in the middle? A little coverage would be nice.” He waved a hand awkwardly in front of his groin. “Maybe lace?” he added, remembering a particularly gorgeous picture from Steve’s secret stash.
Yuliya sifted through the piles, pulling out a few options. “Do you shave?”
“What?” Bucky choked to the tune of Sam’s muffled laughter.
“Shave or wax. Your kibble and bits. Do you have hair?”
“Uh …” He had no idea how that was any of her business.
“If you have hair,” she said with a put-upon sigh. “Lace will catch. Will be itchy. No good.”
“Oh. Right. Um, no. No lace, I guess.”
She nodded, cool blue eyes all business, and gave him three pairs to examine. “Okay, hipster cut for you, I think. Will highlight important parts and leave a little to the imagination. And if you want to be festive, I suggest red or white. Both colors good for your skin.”
In the end, Bucky took all of her recommendations, selecting a sheer crimson pair adorned with a bow, a satiny white pair soft as a sigh, and a pair with ruffles on the butt in a deep blue that reminded him of Steve’s eyes. Bucky cringed at the final tally—this was the sort of frivolous expense Steve usually liked to treat him to—but he knew it would be worth the hole in his bank account to see Steve’s reaction.
“Good luck with present,” she said after she’d rung him up, smiling for the first time. “Boyfriend will love.”
“Thanks.” Bucky bit his lip, face aflame. “You were a huge help.”
“Is my job.” She shrugged then turned to address Sam. “Give Natasha hug for me. Tell her has been too long since last visit.”
“Will do, Mrs. R,” Sam said while Bucky gaped.
Sam made his way out of the store before Bucky’s voice returned. He tugged on Sam’s sleeve as the door jingled behind them. “You know her? She knows Natasha? What the hell, Sam?”
“Of course she knows Nat. That’s her grandma. How do you think I knew where to take you?”
Sam’s laughter carried down the pavement as sinking realization landed hard in Bucky’s gut. Nat was gonna have plenty more dirt on him soon.
…
Bucky’s relationship with Steve hadn’t just lead him into new territory, it’d introduced him to a veritable continent of fresh experiences. That he liked sex with men was a terrifying (and ultimately fantastic) discovery. That Steve demonstrated such competence and confidence in the sack was an unbelievable turn on. That he felt more safe and secure under Steve’s gentle guidance than he was anywhere else in his life was a sheer revelation. They’d developed a certain dynamic over time, Steve taking on a position of authority, Bucky happily acquiescing responsibility for a few hours each week. There were words for it, acronyms that stuck in his throat, but Steve had been firm that everything they did be consensual and safe. They’d had open discussions about boundaries, and there were safe words in place, but Bucky didn’t like to think of it in a clinical way. He was just happy when Steve was in charge. He loved hearing how good he was, to be petted and praised. It was a relief to hand over that control, to let Steve take on the weight of the world for a little while, and Bucky was infinitely grateful he’d found a partner he could trust with his body and his heart.
He wanted to share his gift with Steve, but he wanted it to fit into the space they’d created. He needed a slow reveal, a chance for Steve discover what he’d done and to decide if he liked it. There were signals Bucky gave during times he needed something specific from Steve. He’d silently position himself at Steve’s feet, perhaps, or be waiting in Steve’s apartment with a glass of scotch when he got home. They’d do domestic things, reading or watching TV with Steve fully clothed and Bucky down to his boxers. It wasn’t always about sex—though there was plenty of that too—and Bucky relished kneeling at Steve’s feet almost as much as he liked their raw moments of passion.
This was a special night, with special intentions in mind, so Bucky decided on cooking a nice dinner for his guy. He stayed in his undershirt and jeans while he worked at the stove, feet bare, his secret a silky hug against his skin. He’d looked at himself in the mirror as he got ready, freshly showered and buzzing with excitement. He felt the slide of sheer fabric, admired the way it sat against his hips and cradled his cock. With long, lean limbs and coarse trails of hair, everything about him was masculine, everything except that unexpected burst of red. He looked good, he thought with a blush. He hoped Steve would think so, too. He ran his hands over the material, shivering in anticipation, then quickly stepped back into his jeans before he was tempted to take things further.
…
He was lost in fantasy by the time Steve got home, wooden spoon hovering over the pan, nerves jangling.
“Hey there,” Steve said, closing the door behind him, and everything went clear and still. Bucky tilted his head in deference and watched Steve from under his lashes. He saw the moment of understanding as it arose with a soft, “Oh.”
He tamped down a smile as Steve set his briefcase down and leisurely loosened his tie. “You made dinner. Smells wonderful, Buck.” He stepped into Bucky’s space and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Special occasion, or am I just a lucky guy?”
It was a direct question, so Bucky answered, struggling against the urge to spill it all at once. It would be so much better to drag it out a bit, live with the secret a little longer. “Wanna give you my Christmas present tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
Bucky clamped his bottom lip between his teeth, gaze set on the hollow of Steve’s throat. He breathed in the evidence of a long day in the salty hint of Steve’s sweat. Steve always smelled so good—fresh from the shower or work-rumpled and sharp.
“You want to give it to me now, or save it for after we eat?”
“After,” he said and waited for instructions.
Steve stole another kiss and squeezed Bucky’s sides. If his fingers dipped under Bucky’s shirt, explored just a few centimeters lower, he’d feel the soft fabric Bucky was hiding. He held his breath in anticipation while Steve glowed with amusement. His touch didn’t linger. Instead, he stepped away and said, “Why don’t you get a plate ready for us while I settle in?”
Times like this, Steve liked to feed Bucky from his plate, filling some primal need to see Bucky well-nourished. He padded into the bedroom while Bucky did as asked, plating up two helpings of butternut squash and gnocchi with brown butter sage and setting it on the table. He stood waiting as Steve emerged in a henley and loose sweatpants.
“Have a seat.” Steve poured two glasses of wine and sat at the place set for him. “This is beautiful, Buck. Thank you.”
On regular days, they would talk about their day, share stories about Steve’s time in court or Bucky’s classes. Bucky was grateful for the silence now, relieved to keep the events of his day private for just a while longer. Steve fed them, alternating bites from his fork and watching Bucky with an easy grin between sips of wine. He seemed to enjoy the silence, too, lost in the comfort of being together.
The gnocchi was delicious, but he was too nervous to stomach much of anything. Still, Steve urged a few bites more after Bucky indicated he was full. The wine he had no trouble with, draining the glass with a solid gulp. Steve finished off the food and leaned back with a satisfied groan as Bucky moved to clear their dishes from the table. Steve was more fastidious by nature, and though his own space often looked like an explosion of textbooks and dirty clothes, it gave Bucky a sense of pride to respect Steve’s tidier sensibilities.
“Why don’t you go sit by the couch? You can make yourself more comfortable.” It was Steve’s gentle way of saying he should strip down and kneel.
Bucky moved to the living room but didn’t take his clothes off or get down on his knees. He focused on the dips and swirls in the Persian rug to keep from shifting against the soft caress of his panties.
“Bucky?”
Steve’s worried cadence drew his eyes up. He was usually quick to comply with any of Steve’s requests, and his inaction was a departure from their established dynamic. He hoped his expression could telegraph what he wanted.
“You all right? What’s your color?”
“Green,” Bucky replied automatically.
“Good. Okay, what do you need?”
He tugged at the hem of his shirt as a tremor rocked through him. This was it. Steve would know what he’d done. He took a breath and steeled himself. “Will you do it? It’s for your present.”
Concern lifted from Steve’s brows with an amused flash. “You want my help?” He was already making his way over as Bucky nodded, hands fisted at his sides. “I can do that,” he said, licking his lips. Then Bucky’s shirt was lifted up and off, and Steve was beaming. “You’re so gorgeous. How’d I get so lucky?”
Bucky chalked that up to a rhetorical question and simply smiled in return.
“You know what I was thinking about on the train ride home?” Shirt abandoned on the floor, he took a moment to stroke Bucky’s bare skin, thumbing his nipples until they were rosy pink and hard. “I was imagining taking you apart with my tongue, tasting every inch of my sweet boy until you were sobbing and begging to come. I think I blushed all over, picturing it.” Bucky went very still as Steve undid the top button of his jeans. “Would you like that?”
Bucky choked out a sound that could only be interpreted as yes while Steve freed the last of the closures and tugged the denim down. When the material was halfway over his thighs, Steve gasped and went still.
“Oh my God.”
Bucky’s uncertainty melted under Steve’s hungry gaze, and he preened while Steve took his fill.
“Bucky—oh my God.”
Gracelessly, Steve dropped to his knees and clawed Bucky’s jeans off, devouring the picture he made: half-hard cock wrapped in sheer red fabric, little bow topping everything off with a festive wink. It was a long moment before Steve could drag his eyes away, looking up at Bucky with helpless want.
“You did this for me?”
Bucky shrugged, too overcome to speak. Steve didn’t seem to mind. He clasped his hands around Bucky’s hips and nosed along the hard ridge of Bucky’s cock. “Oh,” he sighed, a brush of warm breath that sent shivers along Bucky’s spine.
“You’re so beautiful. Look at you, sweet boy. You’re absolutely perfect.” He traced the edges of the fabric with his fingertips, wonder writ across his face. “How did you think of this? How did you know?” His head snapped up as understanding dawned. A slow smirk twisted across his mouth. “You looked, didn’t you? You found my stash?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Bucky said, before thinking better of it. “I’m sorry.” Bare and vulnerable, it occurred to Bucky that snooping through Steve’s magazines was a much larger breach of trust than he’d previously considered.
Steve got to his feet, back straight, expression unreadable. He watched silently while adrenaline shot through Bucky with a queazy tremble.
“I would have been happy to share it with you, if you’d asked. Though, the results are so pretty, I think I can forgive you.” He moved to the couch, settling himself in the middle of the sleek, black expanse. “Still, you should be taught a lesson about looking through someone’s private things.”
Bucky’s heart pounded against his ribcage as Steve patted his thighs. “Come here. Lie across me, bottom up.”
He scurried to comply, cock straining against flimsy fabric. A soft groan fell out as he presented himself to Steve and rocked against his lap.
Steve palmed his ass and squeezed a rough handful. “I’m going to turn you as red as these panties, and then I’m going to take you apart just like I wanted. Ten should do it. I want you to count.”
Punishment was not a usual part if their repertoire. Bucky didn’t crave it, and Steve took no joy in recklessly imposing his will. Still, in this moment, the idea of Steve spanking him turned Bucky boneless with want.
“What’s your color?”
If Steve was overly-cautious, Bucky couldn’t fault him. It was a huge responsibility to be handed this trust, and he knew Steve would never forgive himself if he took things too far.
“So green.”
“Good,” he said, slapping his hand down before Bucky could ready himself.
Bucky shouted as pain flashed hot and bright, his cock dribbling through the mesh. “O-one,” he warbled.
As promised, Steve planted a rosy landscape across his ass. He laid down one firm slap after another to the tune of Bucky’s broken counting. Bucky rutted against Steve while each smack burst sparks behind his eyelids. It was a feast of sensation—bruising pain in glorious contrast to the soft slide of fabric against his cock.
“Just look at you,” Steve murmured after Bucky counted out the sixth slap. “So good for me. So pretty.”
He writhed, moaning, and pressed his face into the cool leather of the couch. Tears coated his lashes, and his breath was a ragged wheeze, but he didn’t want to stop. Couldn’t imagine stopping now.
The next series of smacks came in quick succession, fanning out across his ass and thighs, pressure firm but not vicious. When Bucky sobbed out the ninth count, Steve leaned down to whisper soothing encouragement. The words whirled around him, barely registered. Bucky was so hard he couldn’t think, panties a soaking mess.
“Ten!” he shouted at the final strike and collapsed in relief. He was crying in earnest now—loose-limbed and free of coiled tension. He felt both his erection and the throb of pain as distant concerns, too lost in floating bliss to care.
“Oh, baby,” Steve cooed, rubbing soft circles over his burning skin. “You did so good. So good. One last time: color?”
He fought through the haze of elation to come up with the appropriate response. “G-green.”
Steve sighed and continued petting away his handprints. It was quiet for a long time as Bucky focused on the rhythm of his breath and let the last of his tears flow. Minutes later—longer?—Steve said his name, a whispered reverence that cracked Bucky right open.
“God, this is just—I couldn’t have asked for a better present.”
Bucky didn’t know if Steve meant the spanking or the panties, but either way, he puffed up with pride. He let himself be pulled up into Steve’s arms, gingerly settling himself in his lap. His face was a mess of snot and tears, and Steve tore his shirt off to wipe it all away. “Are you okay? Really? No more colors, tell me how you feel.”
Words were hard. He couldn’t translate the blissful bubble of light and joy surrounding him into sounds that made sense. “Good,” he managed to get out before nuzzling into Steve’s bare chest. “Floaty.”
“Okay.” Steve chuckled. “Let me take you to bed.”
Before he could object, Steve was lifting him from the couch—he had a habit of doing that—and depositing him on the bed.
“Stay here while I get you something to drink.”
He grasped for Steve, clutching at his arm. “Stay.”
“Water first,” Steve said in a way that brooked no argument. He was back in a few moments, lifting Bucky’s head to help him drink. “That’s it. Take it slow.”
Thirst sated, Steve set the glass down and curled around him. He plucked his fingers under the thin elastic on Bucky’s hip, stroking. “It was a wonderful present,” he murmured. “Thank you.”
“More where that came from.” Bucky was finally coming back to himself, reality easing in too bright and rough.
“More?”
“Got a white one, too.” He snuggled in to hide his face. “And blue. Like your eyes.”
“Very patriotic,” Steve laughed. He skimmed his fingers restlessly over the sparse smattering of Bucky’s chest hair and slung his leg over Bucky’s thighs, like being squeezed by a warm, nervous octopus.
“Is it … do you like it? Wearing those? Or was it just for me?”
Bucky’s cock twitched a reminder of its unsatisfied state as he admitted the panties were for him as much as Steve. “I like it. Like, really like it. I didn’t know until I saw those pictures.”
“You look amazing, Buck. Better than any of those guys.”
His blood thrummed with the praise, and he rocked against the inner length of Steve’s thigh. “Want you. Please, Steve.”
“Nngh.” That wrecked moan was the first sign of Steve losing control all night. He scooted down Bucky’s body and planted his face against the sheer fabric. “God,” he huffed, nuzzling. “You don’t know what you do to me.”
“Show me,” Bucky said, rolling his hips against the sweet press of Steve’s mouth. He gasped as Steve sucked him through the thin divide, lapping at the underside of his cock. His hands flew to Steve’s hair, gripping and relaxing in encouragement.
“Fuck! Yes.”
Steve worked him over, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses over his length, curling his mouth around the tip as it peeked out from the elastic, lapping at his balls—all while Bucky writhed and moaned. He was just getting close when Steve paused and reached for the end table.
“Turn over,” he said, slicking up his hand. “Keep them on.”
Bucky scrambled onto his belly, heart a beating drum. Then Steve pulled him up by the hips, balancing him between forearms and knees. He slid the fabric down over the swell of Bucky’s ass—strained elastic digging into his skin—spread him wide, and took a long, lingering taste. Bucky keened, face aflame. This wasn’t new, but Jesus Christ it still made him blush. Warm wet heat and delicious shame made for a heady combination. Steve carried on for ages, opening him with tongue and fingers until Bucky sobbed. “Please, Steve,” he cried, palming himself roughly to keep himself in check. “Please.”
“Okay, okay,” Steve said, slipping his fingers free and hurriedly rucking his sweats down. “Bucky. Oh my God.” His palm slid over the fabric on Bucky’s hip while his cock nudged against Bucky’s hole. “Ready?”
“A year ago! Come on, stop teasing—uhnf—” he cut off with a gasp, hand fisted in the bedspread.
Steve was fully seated, knocking Bucky’s breath away with a single, hard thrust. Fuck. Bucky grunted against the burn, relaxing into it, eased along by the feel of Steve’s possessive, stroking hands. His cock twitched against his belly, pushing up and out of the hem like an escaping soldier. Between Steve’s rough pawing and Bucky’s errant cock, the panties were clearly on the losing side of the battle. Steve rocked back and forth, setting a torturously slow pace that reminded Bucky exactly who was in charge.
“Steve,” he whined, anchoring himself to the only thing that seemed to matter in this moment. “Steve … more.”
“I've got you. You’re doing so good for me.” He rocked in time with the flow of praise. “So pretty. All mine.”
“Yes.” Bucky pressed back into the thrusts, driving himself onto Steve’s cock. “Yes. Yours. Yours.”
Steve kept up a steady stream of babble as he fucked into Bucky, sweet words flowing with ease. “Is this what you wanted? All dolled up for me. So sweet and gorgeous.” It drove Bucky toward the trembling edge, quivering bliss tripping along every inch of his skin. “Wanted to look good for me … make me so happy.”
Bucky squeezed out a cry as his orgasm punched through him. “Aaah!” Ribbons of come shot across his chest while everything went clear and still in his mind.
“That’s it, that’s my boy. So good. So—” Steve kept up the litany as his strokes stuttered and lost their rhythm. “Perfect. Everything I ever wanted—” He pounded hard then went still, words choked off as he shot into Bucky with a heavy pulse. “Oh, God. Bucky,” he sobbed, wrecked.
They collapsed into a pile, filthy and exhausted. Bucky’s head was spinning, his body tingling. Steve was heavy on his back, covering him like a blanket. Warm and safe, he breathed into the little aches making themselves known and cracked a dopy smile.
“Holy,” Steve murmured against his nape, and Bucky huffed a laugh. “Fuck.”
When his breath was steady once more, Steve shifted up and gingerly pulled out. He padded to the bathroom, tripping drunkenly on the way, and came back with a warm washcloth. “I hate to say it, but I think these need to go.” He plucked at the mess of Bucky’s panties and carefully pulled them down and off, arranging Bucky’s limp body like a rag doll. He was gentle as he cleaned them up, scooping Bucky under the covers when he was through.
“You’re amazing,” he said as he settled against the curve of Bucky’s spine. “A wonder.”
Embarrassed, Bucky mumbled, “I just put on some panties, Steve. Not like I saved the world or anything.”
“Certainly rocked my world.”
Bucky groaned into the pillow. “Oh my God, that was awful, old man.”
“You like this old man, don’t lie.” Bucky could hear the smile in Steve’s voice. And okay, yeah, he would admit he even liked the dopy old man habits of his guy.
“I’m glad you liked it,” Bucky said, quietly earnest. “I really hoped you would.”
Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s chest, settling in with a kiss to his nape. Bucky was just starting to drift when Steve roused him.
“I just have one question.”
“Hmm?” he intoned, too tired to form actual words. Every part of him was happy and sated.
Steve's breath teased over Bucky’s neck, arms warm and strong around him. “Think any of those panties you bought will fit me?”
....