5674 words
After Bucky spent the rest of the time at the skating rink showing off for Steve again, they went back to the RV, earning even more looks as they drove up in Bucky’s pink Cadillac and parked in the space beside their RV.
They watched the Wizard of Oz on Bucky’s laptop and Steve couldn’t stop smiling throughout the entire movie, his cheeks hurting for it. He loved it even more now, here in the future where Bucky was dressed up like Dorothy and was going to marry Steve because they could do that now. He was overjoyed, over the moon with happiness, and simply pulled Bucky into a kiss when he started poking fun at Steve for crying at the end, his own tears in his eyes. They made out lazily, and when Steve was going to escalate it into something more, Bucky pulled away apologetically.
“We gotta get ready for dinner. I made reservations for eight thirty.”
Steve groaned as he flopped back beside him, earning a growl from Punk, who wasn’t pleased by the sudden movement.
“Here’s the thing I got for you,” he told Steve as he got up and reached for the bag from the store he had mysteriously stopped in earlier. Steve perked up and took it.
His breath caught when he saw what it was.
Inside was a three-piece suit in silver silk that shone even in the dim lights of the RV. Under it were matching shoes. There was a small bag inside the big one, and Steve peered into that one, too. Its contents were a silver watch, a pair of silver cuff links, a silver tie pin, a silver tie, and a silver handkerchief.
Steve felt unbearably touched, a lump forming in his throat. “Bucky, this is… amazing. Thank you.”
Bucky blushed darkly and looked away, mumbling his reply.
He cleared his throat and watched as Steve started changing, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. “I, um… I’m gonna change, too. No peeking. Oh, and here are my sunglasses for you to wear,” he said as he threw a pair to him. Steve caught them; they were the mirror ones that Bucky had worn to hide his eyes from Steve when he’d been frustrated at him. They would go perfectly with his outfit because they were silver, and Steve smiled goofily as he slipped them on before he turned around, moving over to stand behind the driver’s cabin where there was more room to change. He resisted the urge to peek, knowing that the payoff would be worth it in the end.
And man alive, was he correct.
Bucky looked stunning.
He still had the same Dorothy vibe as earlier, but he had changed his short, light blue gingham dress into a long, silky, satiny light blue asymmetrical spaghetti strap dress that flowed delicately around him, showing off his entire leg all the way up to his hip and one of his ruby slippers. There was even a small peek of the red lace underwear he was wearing, and it made Steve feel like he had been hit over the head with, well, a house, and he was dead and gone to heaven.
“Well, bust my buttons, don’t you look like a dream that I’ve dreamed of once in a lullaby,” Bucky exclaimed with a wicked grin, quoting first the guard to the emerald palace and then the song. Steve smiled, pleased, even as he flushed with embarrassment.
“I could say the same for you, Dorothy. And your little dog too,” he cracked, grinning.
Bucky snickered at him, and then grabbed his Hermes basket purse, checking his gun. Steve raised his eyebrow. “Expecting to run into the wicked witch of the west?”
All he received was an amused eyeroll before Bucky herded him out the door, snagging his car keys.
“Be good, Toto, We’re off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz!” Steve called out humorously to Punk before Bucky slammed the door, probably because of said humor.
“Let’s go, Tinman,” he grumbled out good naturedly, a smile playing on his bright red lips and hopped lightly into the car, forgoing opening the door.
Steve beamed and got in too, opening the passenger door, because he’d probably accidentally bend the metal if he tried to brace himself with his hands like Bucky did.
Steve felt so glamorous in his three-piece silver silk suit and its assorted jewelry, riding in style in a goddamn pink Cadillac just like Elvis or, more accurately, Clint Eastwood, given Bucky had bought the same model of Cadillac in the film Pink Cadillac. It was busy on the street and they were stuck in traffic, cruising along at a crawl, but they didn’t mind, since it was more time for sightseeing. Beside him, Bucky was captivated by the sight of all the lights and signs, his face lit up in wonder, his mouth wide and eyes sparkling. Steve was captivated by him.
“You're going to love the place I'm taking you,” Bucky said smugly as he looked over at Steve.
Steve grinned. “Is that so? Is big and green? Sparkly, maybe?”
Bucky laughed out loud. “Oh, fuck you, Rogers, it is not the emerald city!” he exclaimed as he gave Steve a little shove then leaned in to plant an open-mouthed kiss onto his lips that, yes, Steve melted into. With Bucky, how could he not?
After a leisurely drive, they arrived at the Bellagio, where Bucky used the valet parking, very reluctantly. He passed the keys to a wide-eyed man, who was glancing between the car and them, like he was trying to decide which was more important to gawk at. “Don’t damage it,” Bucky growled out, low and dangerous, not letting the man take the keys just yet. “I’ll fucking know if you take it for a joyride. If you do, I’ll take one as well, with you in the back of my trunk. You won't be experiencing any joy then.” He gave him a wide rictus that was too scary to be called a smile, and the valet paled, swallowing audibly. He dipped his head in submission as Bucky passed him, finally letting go of his keys.
Steve followed without saying anything to the now terrified valet.
“Wicked witch of the west, much?” Steve wondered with a smirk as they walked through the doors.
Bucky sniffed primly. “Hush, or I’ll let you rust.”
Steve sucked in a breath. “Ooh, harsh.” Whatever else he had been going to say died on his lips when he saw the lobby. His eyes were immediately drawn to the multicolored glass fixture on the ceiling that seemed to be made of glass discs that were folded over, crinkled at the edges. Like lilypads. It was breathtaking. Steve walked towards it in a daze, his mouth hanging open.
“Wow,” he breathed out, nearly silent.
“It’s Fiori di Como by Dale Chihuly,” Bucky said from beside him, drawing his attention a little.
“It’s amazing.” He couldn’t take his eyes off it. He must have stood there staring at it for ten damn minutes, and when he felt the gentle touch of Bucky’s hand on his elbow, he finally tore his eyes away.
“Come on, we’ll be late,” Bucky said with a cute little smile. He looked pleased with himself for choosing this place, and Steve’s heart swelled with love for him.
Bucky led him to the restaurant, and Steve must have missed the sign, because he was floored when he entered the restaurant, which was filled with art, something that always drew his eye. Paintings hung from the walls, spread out and showcasing each one, and Steve realized with a jolt that he was looking at Picassos.
His chest seized, as his eyes blew wide and he pressed a hand to his heart to feel it beating like mad.
Bucky giggled from beside him. Steve turned wild, crazy eyes on him, and when he spoke, it was a choked gurgle. “Hrglk?”
Bucky burst out laughing then, before he cut himself off. “Need an oil can, Tinman? I can oil you up real good,” he spoke lowly into Steve’s ear, more laughter in his voice.
Before Steve could even begin to recover, Bucky broke away and went over to the hostess’s desk, and Steve trailed helplessly behind him, glancing furtively at the paintings.
“Is there a reason you're dining with us tonight?” the hostess inquired after they confirmed their reservation. She looked over them curiously, obviously wondering if their attire had something to do with it.
“We’re celebrating our engagement,” Bucky said as he stuck his hand out and showed her the huge diamond on his finger.
Her eyes widened at it, and she blinked, recovering quickly. “Oh wow, that’s a beautiful ring. Congratulations!” she chirped happily before she led them to their table.
Steve couldn’t stop staring at all the paintings, overwhelmed by them. How was he expected to eat among millions of dollars of works of art?
“God almighty,” he managed to say about ten minutes later, after the second time Bucky had turned away the waiter who had come to take their drink orders, giving Steve time to pick his jaw up off the floor.
“Yeah, I thought I should return the favor and take you to dinner to a place that you’d really enjoy, like how I really enjoyed the Sinatra restaurant last night. You have art and I have music. Oh, and also to celebrate our impending nuptials, of course. Can't forget that.”
Steve nodded mutely, still a bit bewildered.
The waiter returned after that, and Steve, after reassurances from Bucky, ordered the single malt whiskey, something he’d had before the war a lot when Bucky got him drunk. Following in his own footsteps, Bucky poured out a few drops of the Asgardian mead he still had a vial of into Steve’s drink when it arrived.
Steve sipped it slowly, savoring the taste.
They ordered the entire actual menu, at Bucky’s insistence, both the tasting menu and the regular dishes for both of them, since those teeny tiny bite sized morsels wouldn’t even stave off the edge of hunger.
“So, you know how today is the second day of Gay Pride Month?” Bucky wondered aloud, unnecessarily reminding him.
Steve gave him an amused look. “I do actually possess some brains, y’know.”
Bucky grinned before sobering. “Um…” he began softly, nervous. Steve immediately gave him the entire focus of his attention. “I was thinking that we could get married on the seventh. Because it’s in between both of our birthdays, the fourth and the tenth, a good compromise. And it’s Gay Pride Month. And we’re gay.” He scowled at himself, and he must be nervous, because he was stuttering and he hadn’t done that in a while.
Steve smiled at him softly, trying to comfort him. “That sounds great, Buck. I can't wait to be married to you.”
Bucky’s nerves didn’t dissipate any, making him slightly worried. He looked down at his pink Cosmo, avoiding Steve’s eyes.
“I, um… I want to come out.” His voice was small.
Steve blinked. “Okay. Is that it?” he tentatively wondered, because it didn’t seem like Bucky was done.
Bucky shook his head, opening and closing his mouth for a second. “I want to come out as married. To you. But not my identity.”
Oh. So that was why he was so nervous.
Steve softened. “That sounds great. Really. I'm delighted. And you deserve your privacy. You’ve been doing it so far. If you don’t want anyone to know that James Barnes still exists, you don’t have to.” He smiled a bit sadly then. “Even if I was looking forward to letting the world know how much I love you. And yeah, we’ll still be able to travel in disguise – not that your wardrobe is simply just a disguise - and get away with being hidden from the public eye in real life. All that will really change is the public knowing that Captain America is married to,” he lowered his voice even more, “someone known on twitter as Juicy Bottom Bitch. They don’t need to know more than that. Don’t worry about them.”
Bucky smiled slightly at him then. “Steve, I know that they don’t matter. I don’t care about other people. Like it says in my twitter bio: Juicy Bottom Bitch does not give a fuck. What I was worried about was your reaction. You just admitted that you were looking forward to letting the world know how much you love me.”
He reached up to play with his gold necklace unconsciously, punctuating his statement.
If possible, Steve softened even more, and he reached out to lay his hand on Bucky’s metal hand. Bucky’s eyes fell to it. “I wish I could take it off sometimes,” he admitted to Steve suddenly, making him blink in shock. “Then that way you don’t have to touch it. I hate that you have to touch it. I mean, it’s just there, I'm used to it, but you… you must hate it.”
Steve floundered for an appropriate response, but he felt distinctly unmoored, off kilter by the sudden turn of the conversation. One second, they were talking about planning their wedding and coming out, and in the next, they were talking about how Steve must hate any part of Bucky.
His eyebrows pulled together, troubled by the thought that Bucky actually believed anything like it.
“No,” he rushed to reassure, almost choking with emotion, keeping his voice low. “No. I could never hate any part of you. I mean, sure, I'm not the biggest fan of how they put it on you and the circumstances surrounding its creation, but, Bucky, I could never hate it for simply being attached to you. It’s your arm. It’s your arm now, regardless of how it came to be. I love you and I love it by association of being attached to you.”
Steve saw tears underneath his ruby red rhinestone sunglasses, and his heart throbbed for it.
“I love you too,” Bucky murmured thickly. He cleared his throat and sniffed delicately. “Anyway, what I meant was that I don’t want to take that away from you, you telling the world how much you love me… James Barnes. I know how much you were looking forward to that. I don’t want to rob you of the experience.”
Steve’s heart started beating hard, thinking of a way he could reassure Bucky that he hadn’t, that he wouldn’t, that it wasn’t important in the long run, compared to being able to marry him.
The answer was right inside his pocket, and he pulled his phone out.
“What are you doing?” Bucky asked him, and Steve wished he actually knew, beyond the vague idea that this was how he could let people know.
“Don’t worry, I'm not going to tweet anything incriminating,” he said, hoping he could keep that promise.
In the post, he typed out painstakingly: I want everyone in the entire world to know that I loved James Buchanan Barnes. I still do. Bucky was my soulmate and I know that if he were here today, we would get married during Gay Pride Month, which he would have loved to know about.
There were no emojis.
It hit a thousand retweets almost immediately, anyway. Steve scrambled to put his phone to sleep so he didn’t have to see any unsavory reactions. Bucky had his own phone out by now, and was looking down at it with wide eyes.
“Holy goddamn shitting fuck, you really did it.”
Steve gave him a smile that was almost a wince. “Yeah. I did. Kinda feel like I might throw up,” he joked, then rushed to reassure Bucky that he didn’t regret it. “In a good way, of course. I don’t regret it.”
Bucky hummed, a considering look in his eyes. Steve tried not to seem nervous because of it. His nerves grew as a slow smile stretched across Bucky’s face, and he gulped.
“What?”
Bucky didn’t reply; instead, he began typing something and Steve wondered what horror unto the internet he was about to unleash.
After a few seconds, he sat his phone down, a smug, satisfied look on his face. Steve hesitated before he woke his phone back up and navigated to Bucky’s account.
His most recent post was a photo of his hand on the steering wheel of the Cadillac, showing off his engagement ring, which sparkled blindingly in the sunlight, his ruby slippers in the background sparkling, too. The picture was captioned with, “Looks like we’re off to see the wizard (officiant)” and there were seven emojis; a wizard, a ring, a diamond, a monkey covering its eyes, a pink heart with sparkles, two men under a heart, and a rainbow.
Steve smiled goofily at how cute the post was.
He hit retweet and after a few seconds, he typed, “Looks like your scarecrow has a lot of brains, actually. Tender, gentle, and awful sentimental, just like the tinman. Not so cowardly after all, your lion. Congratulations!!!!!!!!” After a second’s deliberation, he also added a widely smiling face emoji and a confetti one. It was the first time he’d ever used any emojis, and he smiled at himself. The things he did for love.
The tweet was an instant hit.
Bucky giggled, his eyes scrunching adorably at the corners, and Steve’s heart felt like it was going to pop.
Their exchange continued when Bucky retweeted him:
Shut up Steve or ill drop a fucken house on you *upside down smiley face, tornado, house, face with hearts, smiling devil*
Steve looked up at him, smiling a little, a question in his eyes. Bucky rolled his own. “Go on, retweet me if you dare, cowardly lion,” he goaded, smirking.
With a thrill, Steve rose to the challenge, eager to prove he wasn’t a coward when it came to their relationship. Plus, it was sort of fun.
“I take it you're a bad witch then.” He also put an emoji on the end that looked sort of disappointed.
Bucky’s eyes lit up in glee. He was having so much fun, Steve could tell, and he loved to see it.
His next tweet read:
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Glenda. *smirking emoji* good witch or bad witch, it doesn’t matter cuz I'm still a bad BITCH. *knife emoji* and you can take that all the way to the emerald city in your big pink bubble. *nails being painted emoji, heart shot with arrow, winky face with its tongue out*”
By that point, several thousand people were retweeting them.
Laughing and blushing, Steve said, “I'm tapping out. You're too risqué.”
It didn’t seem like Bucky minded all that much, given the way he pulled Steve into a kiss.
Their waiter interrupted them with the arrival of their appetizers, and they pulled away, moving their phones so he could set the plates down in front of them.
Their food was absolutely divine, and they ate their dishes from the ‘welcome back’ menu during the wait for each course of the tasting menu. Steve became progressively drunker over the course of their meal, his movements clumsier than usual as he handled his silverware. He was sure if he stood up, he would stumble and fall over. Bucky was abstaining for once, entirely sober.
When Bucky suggested adding the wine pairings for the tasting menu to him, Steve was drunk enough to think it was a good idea, and went along with it, watching as Bucky added a drop or two to the smaller sized wine glass the waiter brought out. The wine was good, too.
Steve smiled as he gazed at Bucky, all dolled up in makeup and lipstick that Steve wanted to kiss off him, his hair in pigtails that he wanted to pull, those blue doe eyes that he could get lost in. He was so in love with him.
“Bucky,” he wheedled out, swaying toward him, “we should get married.”
Bucky was visibly trying to suppress his laughter. “We are, big guy. Remember? You proposed to me last night.”
Steve shook his head. “No, no, no. I mean ri-right now. Tonight. We should… we should go to one of those cute little chapels and do it. You look so beautiful. You're so beautiful. And ador-adorable. And prrrrrecious.” He reached out to pinch Bucky’s cheek, only succeeding in banging his hand on the edge of the table and noisily jostling the silverware. “Ow,” he pouted, rubbing the spot. He tried again, more concentrated this time. Bucky warily watched his hand come closer to his face, clearly amused.
“I love you,” Steve cooed out to him as he shook his cheek.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but smiled, flattered. “I don’t think we should do it while you're drunk. Wouldn’t you like to remember getting married to me? And I’d have to doll myself up in a white dress. Can't get married as Dorothy,” he tried, making Steve frown sadly.
“But I love Dorothy,” he pointed out, quite reasonably in his drunk mind. “You, as Dorothy. In your Dorothy outfit. So precious. And you drive me. Crazy.”
Bucky gave him a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Stevie. But we agreed on getting married on the seventh, remember? Between our birthdays? For sentimental reasons.”
Steve frowned again, even sadder this time. “Oh. Right.”
Bucky snorted. “Come on, you’ll thank me later for not letting you do it now. Can't have you drunk while we get hitched.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Y-you’re right. I’ve… I’ve just been waitin’ so long already, Buck. It was a dumb idea.” He looked down at his empty plate, avoiding Bucky’s eyes. What had he been thinking?
After a long moment when there was only silence, Steve glanced back up to Bucky, who was looking at him strangely, like he was reconsidering. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then the waiter arrived with the worst timing ever carrying another tray of their food, and the moment passed.
They finished their next plate of food in silence, and Steve finished his glass of whiskey in one swig, not at all bitter.
His foul mood quickly evaporated as he looked around at the paintings again, marveling at them. It was incredible, being here among such masterpieces that stole his breath.
“Who’s your favorite artist?” Bucky asked him, interrupting Steve’s reverie.
He tried to think through the drunken haze clouding his brain, past the Picassos that surrounded him, drowning everything thing else out. “Um… I dunno. Pr-probably Kandinsky or Klimt or Picasso. I like the ass-… abstract shit. The stuff that you hafta decipher. The stuff that makes ya real hurt on the inside. Emotional.” He hoped Bucky understood.
Form the look of it, he did.
“Oh, Steve,” he sighed sadly.
Steve only shrugged, not able to say anything more.
Dessert came next and Steve took his time really savoring it like Bucky did, in love with sweet things as he always was. After Bucky paid their waiter, having to use a to-go bag to hide the large amount of money, initially confusing him when Bucky had asked for one, since they’d eaten all of their food, they stood up.
Steve staggered as he stepped away from the table, as predicted. “Whoa there, Tinman, looks like I might have to oil your joints.” Bucky was wearing a grin that stretched from ear to ear as he swung Steve’s arm around his shoulders, interlacing their fingers, and he could feel Bucky’s ring.
Steve giggled at Bucky. “Might could do with some oilin’, yeah.”
To his surprise, Bucky led him over to the wall, not the door. Steve gaped at the Picasso on the wall. He could spend hours, days staring at it, but didn’t protest as Bucky stepped away, tugging Steve along for the ride. They stood for about ten minutes at each painting, and after they had gone around the room, Steve informed Bucky that he needed to go to the bathroom before they left.
Something caught his attention by the wall there, in the hallway, and he stopped to look at it, yanking off his sunglass, exposing his eyes for the first time that night. It was a drawing of a nude man and a nude, pregnant woman in an embrace hiding their faces in each other’s shoulders, their necks bent. It was the only drawing in the entire place and it immediately made tears form in Steve’s eyes, the love and despair so evident despite the simplicity of the piece. The plaque beside it said 1903, L'Étreinte, pastel.
It brought forth all the emotions he had experienced after losing Bucky, like it was happening all over again and he let out a sudden sob. He was blindsided by it and his own reaction to it, cracked open and hollowed out.
He tried desperately not to cry, squeezing his eyes shut, but that only made it worst, and it was like a dam burst inside his chest. He dissolved into tears, shaking and trembling apart in Bucky’s arms as he held Steve, just like the woman in the drawing.
Eventually, his sobs died down and the gaping wound in his chest healed a little as he heard Bucky’s warm voice in his ear, soft and soothing like nothing else could and would ever be to him. Bucky cleaned his face with the silk handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket, and the gentle touch almost made Steve break apart all over again.
“I love it,” he said thickly as he regarded it with wide, stunned eyes after standing up, having collapsed down right there in the hallway. Luckily, they had been out of sight of the restaurant.
Steve stood there staring at it for only a few more seconds before he had to tear himself away, briefly closing his eyes, trying to get the sight of it out of his head. It felt like had been seared onto the insides of his eyelids, branded onto his brain. He slipped the shades back on, grateful for the reflective quality that meant Bucky couldn’t see his expression anymore. He didn’t want to seem like he wasn’t having a good time here at the restaurant that Bucky had so lovingly taken him to, and he gave Bucky a smile that was probably still too sad to be reassuring.
He stumbled into the bathroom, mumbling that he’d do it alone, needing some privacy, and Bucky obliged, staying outside.
He wasn’t there when Steve came out, and his eyebrows drew together in confusion. He stumbled down the hallway, sparing the drawing a pain-filled glance as he went back into the dining area. Bucky wasn’t in the restaurant, nor was he outside waiting for Steve. Not knowing what else to do, Steve went back in and sat at their table, waiting for Bucky to return. He finished off the glass of whiskey that he had forgotten about, which was probably a bad idea in retrospect. He stared again at the paintings positioned around the room for a while, and they swam in his vision slightly.
A commotion drew his attention to the direction of the bathroom, and he tried to focus on it, a bit too drunk to do so. There was a man in a chef’s baroque, a man in a suit, a woman in a suit, and a body guard type man that was standing at the entrance to the hallway, and Steve caught sight of blue through their legs and he perked up.
Bucky.
He stood up on unsteady legs and tilted over dangerously, having to catch himself on the back of someone’s chair. “Sorry, I'm so sorry. I like your earrings,” he told her in a mumble, feeling overly warm.
When Steve finally made his way over to Bucky, he called out, feeling awkward at the way the bodyguard was looking at him. “Bucky? What are you doing?” his voice was almost incomprehensible, due to the way he was slurring so badly.
“It’s fine, let him by,” Bucky called out to the bodyguard. “He’s my fiancé.”
Steve staggered over to him, a wide, sloppy grin in place. “Hi, Buck, whatcha doing?” he looked curiously at the drawing that Bucky was holding. Bucky smiled at him.
“I’m buying you an engagement, I-love-you-to-the-end-of-the-line present. And to celebrate Gay Pride Month.”
Steve smiled. “Yeah? What is it?”
At the question, Bucky gave him his flattest, most unimpressed look. “You are the dumbest motherfucker alive, I swear to god. Straw for brains. I should have dressed you up as the scarecrow instead. Jesus goddamn Christ.”
Steve blinked in bewilderment, not knowing what he’d done now to deserve it. Bucky rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Oh my god, here’s your present,” he growled as he thrust the drawing at Steve. Steve grabbed the frame of it, blinking down at it, uncomprehending.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“I –” Bucky broke off, looking frustrated. Then he visibly calmed himself and bit out, “Steve, darling, honey, sweetheart, love of my life, I explained to the chef and the owner of the casino and the manager of the casino that you were really taken by the drawing. That you broke down sobbing.” Steve flushed, mortified that he told them that. “I explained that I wanted you to have it, that I would pay whatever amount was necessary to get them to part with it so that I could give it to you. I bought the drawing for you.”
It sank in slowly, then all at once, and his eyes practically popped out of their sockets. His grip went tight around the frame and he forced himself to relax so he didn’t break it.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” he babbled hysterically, feeling like he had just come unhinged. Bucky slowly led him away, thanking the group as he left them behind. The body guard moved out of their way, and distantly, very, very distantly, Steve realized that he was following them, moving in front of them as they exited the restaurant that had grown in noise substantially, probably because of them walking out with a Picasso, and just the thought made him want to pass out and maybe pass away. Steve’s attention was captured by the blurry drawing in his hands that he stared down at, his stinging eyes wider than the moon as they walked through the casino. He was crying, he realized, still so very distantly.
He didn’t let go of it at all, and it wasn’t until Bucky gently tried to tug it from him to set it down on the kitchenette counter in the RV that Steve even lookedaway from it.
Bucky was looking at him, soft and fond, unbearable. “C’mon, Stevie. Let go. We can hang it up wherever you want.”
Bewildered and suddenly at his breaking point, Steve set the drawing down with the utmost care, before he turned on Bucky and took him in his arms, kissing him sloppily but no less passionate for it.
“Been wantin’ to do this all day,” Steve slurred as he undid his belt, pulling his cock out of his underwear and pants. He manhandled Bucky around so that he was leaning over the table, parting the leg slit to the back, exposing his firm, round asscheeks that were covered by lacy, red fabric that he tugged halfway down Bucky’s thighs.
He positioned his hard cock at the tight furl of Bucky’s ass, and then pushed in, gritting his teeth at the tightness and dryness. Bucky let out a cry, bucking under him, overwhelmed. Steve placed a hand at the back of his neck to hold him still. He fucked his way into Bucky’s body to the hilt in sharp, short thrusts, forcing Bucky to open up around him.
“You bought me a Picasso,” he gasped as he gained speed, slamming their hips together.
Bucky only moaned in reply.
Steve went wild then, pounding into him. Bucky had been teasing him all day with that damn outfit. “I think this is my favorite outfit yet,” he growled, grabbing Bucky’s dress in his hand, wrinkling the silky fabric.
He was too drunk to really make it last, and when Bucky shuddered and tensed up under him, Steve followed, painting Bucky’s soft insides with his cum, groaning loud and long and unrestrained as he did so.
When he pulled out after a moment, a bead of pearly cum trickled out.
“Marry me,” Steve breathed, overcome by it.
A low, croaking laugh made its way out of Bucky's chest. He straightened, holding his dress back. “In due time, Rogers. Five days. Think you can wait that long?”
“No,” Steve answered, being completely honest.
Bucky laughed louder then, and Steve smiled, hearing it.
Bucky stepped out of his underwear, having let it fall to his ankles, and bent down to pick it up. Steve watched as he undressed, unzipping his dress and pulling it up off his shoulders, doing the same thing to the shirt under it after he unpinned the glove from his sleeve.
He was so beautiful, so graceful and fluid in his movements. He was a work of art, more breathtaking than the best masterpiece in the world, better than all those paintings and the drawing in the restaurant put together, and he was all Steve’s.
Goddammit, he was going to cry again, he thought as he swallowed around a lump in his throat.
Once he’d put all his clothes, shoes, and jewelry away, Bucky helped Steve clumsily undress, leading him to the bed and guiding him back to the pillows.
“I’m glad that you liked tonight so much, and that you had a good time today,” Bucky murmured. Steve smiled at him, too wide and sloppy. Bucky looked at him, besotted. “You really are a dumb punk, but I love you anyway.”
“And you're a mean jerk, but same,” Steve slurred out, his eyes growing heavy.
He fell asleep with Bucky’s hand stroking through his hair, and dreamed lovely things.
There really was no place like home.