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Bucky absolutely hates the fancy galas Stark makes them go to, the charity events aren’t that bad- they are sometimes even fun, but every other event that gets thrown just to be thrown is the worst. They’re so boring and practically torture. Well- torture for him because Steve always dresses up, he for once allows Natasha to pick something out for him and refuses everytime to let Bucky see what he’ll be wearing beforehand which means Bucky follows around Steve like a lost puppy.

Tonight was a particular brand of tourture because in the weeks leading up to the event he’d been a bitch, and he knew it, so Steve knew it. Fuck, Jarvis probably knew Bucky was being a bitch- not that the AI would ever tell anyone that. Still the premise stands.

Tonight Steve was dressed in a suit, one that fit him so unfairly it had to be tailored. There was no way his guy’s ridiculous proportions would be hugged so easily otherwise… The damn suit was black. All black. From what Bucky could tell (because on this horrendous night he apparently wasn’t allowed to touch) Steve’s shirt and tie were silk- the rest was whatever material suits are regularly made of in this century.

Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off of Steve- like it was bad enough he knew he hadn’t looked anyone in the eyes tonight, he’d just stared beyond everyone who’d been kind enough to greet him and eye fucked the shit out of this boyfriend.

The fourth time Steve had caught him he’d given Bucky a soft look that was usually reserved for in the bedroom, one that Bucky typically saw through the hazy clouds of subspace.’s at that point Bucky realizes what’s going on with him. The entirely uncalled for (okay maybe it was the part that Bucky was the most overjoyed with but Steve doesn’t know that) part of the nights torture was the good sized plug Steve had stuffed in him before they left. He’s been rhythmically clenching down on it throughout the night as an unneeded reminder that it is actually there and in the process has dropped himself into subspace.

He’d brushed off the way too close calls of almost using the d-word to refer to Steve in conversation with others and in his head as a placebo effect of the alcohol, not as hovering dangerously close to going sweet. He’s denied the owned feeling of letting Steve tell him what to wear to this event because he “couldn’t be bothered” to do it himself.

He’d been bratty the week before this and hadn’t gotten punished for it. This must be it.

Maybe not a punishment per say but a “correction”, one he entirely put on himself.

When Bucky returns to the real world he’s surprised to see that Steve’s materialized in front of him and that he’s been swaying on his feet a little. He hums, letting himself fall into Da-Steve. He falls into Steve’s chest.

A finger pulls up Bucky’s chin, Steve’s eyes are there. Warm but concerned, the little crease caving in deeper between his brows. Bucky gets onto his tiptoes and giggles his way to kissing Steve’s plush lips.

A soft rumble comes out of Daddy. Steve, the noise comes from Steve- Bucky helplessly reminds himself.

He’s not- they’re not-

“Bucky?” Steve rumbles, looking down at him sweetly. He looks more concerned, Bucky whimpers, he doesn’t want Daddy to worry. “Hey, sweetheart-”

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, itching to prove Daddy’s he’s good. He’s okay. Daddy doesn’t kiss him back, Bucky hears his own sad whine, he doesn’t understand. He tries to telepathically tell Da-Steve this by tilting his head back and pouting at the taller man.

It must work because the next thing Bucky knows Daddy has a strong arm thrown around his waist and is pulling them from the hallway into their apartment in the tower. Bucky purrs, Daddy’s so strong. He looks at what parts of him he can see, Daddy’s so handsome too.

They’re on the bed then. The first thing Bucky notices is that they’re both still fully clothed so he starts to reach for the buttons on Daddy’s shirt, moaning at the decadent sensation of silk on his fingers. He wants to stretch out on the bed and let Daddy smother him into the sheets with it on. One of Daddy’s huge palms come out to encircle his wrist, tugging it softly away from his clothes, Bucky whimpers again going to stare up at him with what he hopes are his best heartbroken puppy dog eyes.

“Buck, what’s going on sweetheart?” Daddy’s voice is deep but smooth, like the silk of his shirt and tie Bucky just wants to be wrapped up in it. The hand around his wrist joins the other in his hair, cradling his head and petting the strands of hair that have come loose from the careful, delicate braid (was it a “french braid”? Bucky couldn’t remember exactly at the moment) Natasha had created when she’d come over before the gala.

Without Bucky’s consent his brain makes him whine out a cry for Daddy into the air between their lips. A soft oh falls out of Steve’s now parted lips, they curl into a handsome smirk.

“Oh Buck, do you feel good? Just from-” He cuts himself off, looking over Bucky with a level of attention that makes him flush and squirm. “Just from being pretty with ‘Tasha doing your hair and me getting you extra gorgeous with these clothes?” His tone is playful but whips straight into a rougher, more dominating tone as he leans in. Holding his baby’s jaw in one huge hand and speaking straight into his lips, “or was it that plug I put in your pretty cunt after ‘Tasha had you all prettied up?”

Without getting an answer from Bucky Steve pulls Bucky into his lap, one hand straying so he can push down on the plug and just so he can show off his strength. Bucky mewls, melting against Daddy’s massive chest.

“Huh?” Daddy challenges, eyes boring holes into him.

Bucky shivers in the bruising, possessive grip Daddy has on him. He nods hard enough to make himself a little dizzy. When he reaches out to steady himself he happens to catch Daddy’s tie in his flesh hand, he lets out a soft moan again.

Daddy pulls his hand away for the second time that night, the denial makes him whine, “Why didn’t you tell me then? Huh, baby?” His look is devious as he continues to drive Bucky up the goddamn wall, “Why didn’t you tell Daddy you felt so sweet? You know, darling, how much I hate letting anybody else see you being so good for Daddy.”

Bucky mewls, letting his head thunk down onto Daddy’s chest. He realizes he’s panting, he can’t stop. He can’t think- let alone speak. He shakes his head, holding in all the pathetic noises he wants to let pour out of his mouth at the feeling of silk and of Daddy’s hulking chest.

The shaking of his head confuses Steve, for a second he fears he’s made the wrong call, maybe Bucky did actually get drunk somehow, maybe this isn’t what he wanted? What if-


Oh, Steve remembers a conversation they had when they’d stumbled upon this part of their dynamic again in the new century. Bucky had mentioned, after they’d done their research, how when he hadn’t had Steve to drop him the littlest things would make him all sweet.

He tries to remember the last time he got Bucky into subspace- fuck- that would have been two weeks ago.

Sure they’d had sex between then and now but not anything really non-vinilla and he usually got Bucky sweet at least once a week if not two or three times. They’d been busy and had no session lengthy enough for Steve to even think to drop Bucky.

Steve sighs and feels Bucky tense, “No, baby” he soothes, knowing how sensitive he got like this. “I’m sorry, I’m not displeased with you darlin’, with myself. I haven’t let you get sweet in too long, you didn’t know did you baby?”

Bucky nods, pressing his face deeper into Daddy’s chest, wiggling when he realizes he’s the one who’s been making all those tiny noises. Daddy’s hands finally start moving again, petting his side and hair for a while before they push at Bucky’s shoulders. Folding to whatever Daddy wants Bucky goes back, nearly falling back off the bed when he has to sit up, he feels his eyes so wide. He giggles when Daddy laughs with his entire chest and hauls him up away from sudden death, trying not to laugh into the caste kiss he’s pulled into.

Daddy starts to undress him, stripping his suit jacket off of him then unbuttoning his (non-silk) shirt after undoing his tie. Bucky watches him fold them, curling his hands around Daddy’s unfairly strong biceps when he leans over to put them on the closest nightstand.

Daddy taps his legs to get him to shakily stand, normally Bucky would whine but he’s getting naked which usually is followed by Daddy getting naked so he can sacrifice this. Once his pants and boxer briefs are stripped away from him and placed on the nightstand Daddy leads him to sit back down in his lap. Once settled Bucky paws at Steve’s beltline, whining in the back of his throat, upset at the injustice.

Daddy chuckles, vibrating where their chests are pressed together, shaking his head but he does start to take his tie off so Bucky doesn’t entirely understand. Once it’s hanging limply around his shoulders and the top couple of buttons of his shirt are undone he stops, directing Bucky to turn in his lap.

Bucky obeys and moans when he feels Daddy cross his wrists over and tie them together with that exquisite strip of fabric. Daddy playfully tugs him back by where he’s bound at the wrists until his lips can freely bite at the exposed side of Bucky’s neck and behind his ear. He keens, rolling his shoulders back to chase the sensation.

Daddy barely pulls back to hotly whisper, “look at you sweetheart, sticking those tits out like you don’t expect me to do something about them. Well baby- you’re entirely at my mercy now aren’t cha?”

Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head and his already erect cock (that at some point has reached the level of arousal that’s painful) twitches. Steve spends a little more time pressing wet, molten hot kisses to the sensitive skin of his neck before turning Bucky back around to face him.

Bucky’s face is straight out of the most incredible porn magazine, one of the “vintage” ones that have full figured dames all dolled up and perfect. Bucky belongs on one of those pages, his doe-eyes wide and watering already, candy-red lips lax and shiny with spilled saliva, smooth skin glowing in the evening light, hair falling out of it’s style wavy and glossy, his body melting to whatever he’s told to do, and his noises- god- they’re the most devastating thing. Loud and hungry and desperate and needy and feminine.

Bucky somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes when Daddy pulls back from a spine melting kiss, he has to shut his eyes against the rapturous expression after a moment or two. Daddy pulls him closer, situating him so his thighs are spread invitingly over Daddy’s lap and more importantly so the plug in his ass rests against his erection. The position pushes Bucky’s tits into Steve’s face, easy access Daddy muses with a quiet laugh.
One of his hands goes up to pull at his boy’s hair, exposing the entirety of his throat and causing a wrecked moan to echo in the otherwise silent bedroom. The other kneads roughly at his ass, encouraging his Bucky to push his hips into his abs and get a better feel for his silk shirt. Once Bucky realizes what Daddy wants him to do he actually sobs.

He’s in no way prepared for what comes after that.

Daddy tells him if he wants his tits and cunt played with he’s gotta beg for it.

Bucky honest to god passes out for a full second, choking on the saliva that’s not coating his lips. He can’t. Christ- Daddy can’t expect him to- to beg for that can he? He keeps sobbing because all he can do in his position, completely at Daddy’s mercy, is grind (more like weakly rock, because at this point in subspace he can barely keep breathing) his dick into the hard plain of Daddy’s abs that are covered by that fucking silk shirt.

Daddy growls it again, he’s gotta beg for help if he wants it. Bucky reflectively clenches around the toy in him and feels tears start to fall.

He opens his mouth to break (is it ‘breaking’ if he’s actively trying to do it?) but he ends up letting it hang open between gulping breaths and obscene noises- the kind that if they ever were played back he might actually die of embarrassment.

Steve gives him a taste of what he’ll get if he can get his head to string together even a couple of words, lapping at his nipple in that way that involuntarily curls his toes until they cramp up. He wails.

“Pl- PLE-EASE, Daddy daddy daAAady.” He whines as loud as he can, feeling his throat go raw at the words and the following wrecked moans.

“You can do better than that, c’mon.” Daddy growls and slaps his ass.

He hiccups and sobs helplessly for what’s probably a little too long before his brain comes somewhat back online, “Da-daddy! I I, hnng, I need. Ple-ASE. I need you to to fuckin’ touch me! Daddy, ple-”

“Where, darlin’, where do you need me to touch you.”

“You gotta grab my- my tits. Please, need, need neeeed you to touch my cc-cunt” Bucky doesn’t even recognize his own voice; he's so desperate.

Daddy rumbles about how good of a Girl he is and Bucky is convinced he’s about to cum before he even follows through with complying to Bucky’s begging.

Somehow he survives the assault of Steve’s unfairly gut wrenching, dominant, grumbly voice of praise because he feels his hands leave his waist and go everywhere else somehow. One runs up his chest and does grab and twist his nipples in an unpredictable pattern that’s got his head reeling; while the other circles his rim with a finger before tugging the plug out enough to stretch his rim on the widest parting, making him start to drool a little amd maybe scream.

He can’t tell at this moment.

Everything is white hot and good, pooling at the bottom of his spine. All he knows is Daddy’s hands and words. The snarling, filthy words pressed into his overheated skin. And the hands pushing and pulling him, playing him like an instrument.

Bucky no longer knows if he’s dead silent or screaming. He doesn’t know if his head is still lolled back or if his forehead is tucked into Daddy’s neck. He can’t tell if his eyes are open or close. He’s got no idea if he’s cum yet or not.

Everything is too good and too much but not enough all at once.

He’s pretty sure he blacks out.


When Bucky returns to his body he’s pressed against something super fucking warm. He tries to snuggle closer to the heat but his body isn’t cooperating, he feels like he’s been melted down like a milkshake on a summer sidewalk. He tries a second time but this time more warm things bring him closer to the bigger warm thing.

He involuntarily giggles at himself once he’s entirely pressed against the warmth from head to toes, Steve. He’s pressed against Steve, not some muscular heated blanket. Though the image of a mannequin wrapped in an electric blanket makes him giggle harder than he did at the original realization.

It’s funny enough to melted goo that currently is his brain that even as Steve hauls him up so they can both sit against the headboard he doesn’t stop giggling. He just starts to cry a little and wince at how much it hurts his face and stomach.

Steve looks at him adoringly and kisses his temple. Then the top of his head. Then Steve is kissing him all over, his cheeks, his chin, his nose, his forehead, everywhere.

He giggles harder, trying to breath and also trying to tell Steve he loves him.