4275 words
It was their wedding eve (as Bucky insisted on calling it), and Bucky wanted to make it ‘super-duper fucktacular special’, and celebrate having done all the stuff on their list, choosing the right bouquet, booking the right chapel, and getting the marriage licenses with their new fake IDs the last things they did. Bucky was dressed in an honest to god tutu, the short tulle skirt bouncing in the air as he hopped in place, complemented by the pink ballet flats on his feet. There was a small tiara on his head, and he was dressed in a fluffy white jacket that only went down below his pecs – fully zipped up and nothing underneath it – with a pink glove on his metal hand.
“Come on, Stevie,” he wheedled out, “we should have a bachelor party. We’re going to get married tomorrow and isn’t that what people do? They have one last hurrah and sleep with the stripper!”
Steve’s eyes widened as alarm flickered through him at Bucky’s cheery tone. “You are not sleeping with the stripper,” he told him, blushing furiously at the mere idea.
Bucky looked at him over the top of his pink Gucci sunglasses. “I didn’t mean me. Jesus, Steve. I meant both of us. Together. In a threesome.”
Steve went tongue-tied and started choking on air, then.
Bucky started laughing at him, and Steve narrowed his eyes. “Oh, you bastard. You rat bastard. I can't believe I'm marrying you.” To his dismay, his joyous grin completely betrayed him, a Pavlovian response to the words.
“Now come on, Stevie, don’t you know that I'm the jealous type?” Bucky asked as he swatted at Steve’s arm good-naturedly. Steve smiled and rolled his eyes at him.
“Apparently not. But it looks like I have the rest of my life to find out.”
Bucky grinned at him, bumping their shoulders together as they walked back to the Cadillac from the restaurant they had dinner in.
“But I do wanna have a bachelor/bachelorette party for us,” he piped up as they hopped into the car, making dread settle in Steve's stomach. “Go to a strip club or hit a bar or something. Hey, it can even be a straight bar like how straight woman go to gay ones. Give those bitches a taste of their own medicine!” he hooted as he pulled out of the parking space like a maniac, already in the spirit, making Steve brace his hand on the dashboard.
Not for the first time, Steve wished there were seatbelts. What kind of fool spends all that money restoring and retromodding a 1959 Cadillac Series 62 Convertible and doesn’t spring for seatbelts? What kind of maniac buys it? What kind of absolute dumbass picks it out for said maniac?
“Bucky!” he screamed as they turned a corner a bit too sharply, making Bucky scream with laughter.
Thankfully, he slowed down some when they hit the main road, making Steve breathe a sigh of relief.
“I bought my flask, so we can get drunk!” Bucky told Steve unnecessarily, since he always carried it with him, the alcoholic. Steve's nerves racketed up another notch at the reminder, though.
Bucky looked over at him, and his eyes softened. “C’mon, Stevie, it’ll be fun! You’ll get lap dances and watch people pole dance and take all their clothes off in public. I’ve been looking forward to seeing that, myself. How ‘bout it?”
He was excited, his eyes brimming with it, and Steve couldn’t bear to say no.
“Okay.” It felt like digging his own grave.
Bucky beamed then, and floored it, accelerating down the street.
After Steve looked up a couple of strip clubs, they arrived at their chosen one, a bisexual joint that had both male and female strippers and plenty of customers of both persuasions and sexes that enjoyed them.
It was busy inside, and Steve stuck close to Bucky as he made his way towards an armchair.
“I should get an outfit like that,” Bucky murmured to himself as a cocktail waitress approached them, smiling. She was wearing a tiny little skirt that barely covered her crotch and a brassiere that had jewels draping down, creating an illusion of a shirt.
Steve’s brain stalled out at the imagined sight of Bucky in that and he missed half of what she said. “- drinks. Are you celebrating something?” she asked Bucky, glancing at his tiara.
Bucky smiled at her. “As a matter of fact, I am. I'm getting married tomorrow and this is my bachelorette slash bachelor party.” He hooked his thumb towards Steve. “This dumb lunkhead here is my best friend slash fiancé. Give us two of your best, fruitiest cocktails and two of your best lap dancers.”
“Right away. Congratulations, you two!” she said as she left.
Feeling overwhelmed, Steve didn’t reply and he regarded the room with wide eyes.
It was lit up by neon lights, and the glow of them illuminated the skin of the dancers that were up on the small platforms stationed around the room that had poles mounted into place. There was so much skin on display.
Steve could feel himself blushing to high heaven.
With dread, he noticed two dancers making their way through the crowd, and he prayed that they weren’t for them, but his prayers went unanswered when they stopped in front of their seats.
“Hi, I'm Candy,” the one standing before Steve said. Steve gulped around the thick lump in his throat.
“Uh, hi,” he replied nervously, his eyes darting around the room and fighting the urge to look at her very ample bosom.
Bucky's lap dancer was already the recipient of many appreciate looks.
Steve made eye contact with him and Bucky rolled his eyes.
“You’ll have to forgive him, my fiancé is a little nervous,” he said to her, making her look over at him. “You’ll just have to warm him up a little and then he’ll be fine.”
Candy perked up. “Your fiancé? This is your joint bachelor… ette? party? I haven’t seen one of those in a while.” She raised her eyebrow and mounted Steve's chair, to his shock. He turned his head away nervously.
Bucky smiled at her. “Yeah, well, we’re ancient.” Then he looked at Steve. “Relax, doll. Try to enjoy yourself. Like I am.” For emphasis, he slipped another hundred-dollar bill into his own lap dancer’s… string bikini thing, receiving a twist of her hips as a thank you. He’d given Steve a stack of them to use before they had walked into this place, and Steve had forgotten about them. At the reminder, he withdrew them now, glad to be doing something with his hands. Plus, they deserved it, putting up with all the objectification and harassment they had to deal with on a daily basis.
“Wow, someone’s generous,” Candy said as Steve separated one from the stack. He hesitated, only just now realizing that he’d have to actually give it to her. While she gyrated in his face.
In the end, he chickened out and pressed it into her hand. She took it with an amused smile. “A real gentleman, I see,” she said flirtatiously. His cheeks grew hotter and he looked away again.
Their drinks had arrived while he was distracted, resting on the table between his and Bucky’s chairs, and Steve nearly spilled his when he reached for it, relieved to have a distraction.
It was only when he took a sip that he realized that Bucky had spiked it.
Steve looked over at him, feeling oddly betrayed, and Bucky smiled at him. “Drink up, baby. This is your bachelor party. Don’t wanna be a stick in the mud.”
“Not everyone is an alcoholic like you, Buck,” Steve retorted hotly, earning a crooked smile.
“Don’t I know it. I just thought you could loosen up a little, ‘s all. You don't have to,” he mumbled, his smile falling, and great, now Steve felt bad.
He took another sip of his drink, which tasted good, he had to admit. Half of Bucky’s was gone already, and Steve hoped that he had spiked his own drink a little less heavily than he did Steve’s. He probably (correctly) figured that Steve would only drink the one, in comparison to Bucky’s, like, twelve or something.
He hoped Bucky wouldn’t drink twelve.
Bucky smiled at Steve, appeased, before he turned back to his own lap dancer.
“So when are y’all getting married?” Candy asked, drawing Steve’s attention unwillingly back to her.
His voice was a mumble. “Tomorrow.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“Tomorrow,” he repeated, louder this time.
“Wow, you don’t say! That’s a little sooner than most. Most couples have their parties a few days before. Sometimes even months.”
Steve hummed noncommittally, trying not to look at her too much. He kept handing her money all throughout her dance, directly into her hand, or holding it into the air for her to grab if she was bracing herself on the back or arm of his chair. He felt warm, and he wasn’t sure if it was the drink he had finished, or the way Candy was undulating her hips. No, it was definitely the way she was undulating her hips.
“Wow, how do you do that?” Bucky wondered, making Candy slow down, thank goodness.
“Oh, it’s pretty easy, actually.” She gave him a smile. “Once you get the hang of it, that is. I could show you if you like.”
Oh no, oh god, oh fuck.
Steve could only watch in horror as Bucky’s dancer moved out of the way and Candy settled down on top of him, hovering in midair, her knees on either side of his lap.
She did it a few times, talking him through what she was doing, and Steve watched, horrified as Bucky motioned her away. She obliged, and then Bucky stood up, and came over to Steve.
His eyes went wider than saucers as Bucky mounted his lap, far closer than Candy had been to him. then he undulated his hips, ending with a smooth gyration. Steve nearly had a heart attack.
Candy laughed. “You're a natural!”
Bucky smiled at her. “Thanks! I had a good teacher.”
An involuntary whimper escaped Steve’s throat as Bucky circled his hips then undulated them.
He was in a trance, hypnotized by Bucky as he twirled, gyrated, twisted, undulated and did just about every possible movement there was with his hips. Of course, he was a natural, and of course he would use his powers for evil because he was the worst. He even had the absolute gall to smirk down Steve as he gaped dumbly up at Bucky. He was captivated, not able to look away or even blink.
“Take the rest of the cash, there,” Bucky nodded towards his stack on the table, although Steve didn’t tear his eyes away to see them do it. “And please let our waitress know we’ll need more drinks. Thanks for the fun time! Now, Daddy…” Bucky murmured to him once they left, making a thrill of terror/arousal go through him. “Did you enjoy your lap dance?”
Steve worked his mouth before he spoke. “Which one?”
Bucky chuckled breathily into his ear. “Whichever one you remember.”
“Yes, I enjoyed it very much,” Steve told him, moving his hands from Bucky’s thighs to his waist. It swiveled under his touch.
Bucky caught his earlobe between his teeth and tugged. Steve gasped and tightened his grip on Bucky’s waist. He released it after a moment and straightened up. “Should we pay a stripper to strip for us like we planned?”
Steve huffed out a breathy laugh. “You mean like you planned.”
“Yeah, but you went along with it,” Bucky pointed out reasonably.
Steve rolled his eyes and shrugged, giving him a sheepish grin.
“Well, you are my fiancé and I love, adore, and worship you. I guess that means I’d do anything for you.”
Bucky raised his eyebrow in amusement. “Even suffer through a lap dance?”
Steve sighed and hung his head. “Even that.”
Bucky’s laugh was enough to completely justify the dreadful time he had while having a lap dance by Candy, who, while nice, was not the one Steve was in love with and wildly attracted to.
Bucky performed his own version of a lap dance for nearly twenty minutes, until Steve was panting raggedly, fully hard in his pants, which was very inconvenient, given how he had to hide it. When Bucky finally stood up, concluding the dance with a filthy grind, Steve breathed a sigh of both relief and frustration.
“Goddamn you, Bucky Barnes,” he muttered to his fiancé, who, upon hearing the insult, beamed widely at him. Steve tried to glare at him. He really did.
“I love you too, Stevie.”
At that, Steve melted, shooting him a besotted look, helpless. Bucky picked up their drinks and jerked his head, indicating that Steve should follow him.
He led them over to a booth that lined the edges of the room, one of which was near a pole dancing platform.
Steve shot it nervous glances, wondering if Bucky was going to attempt to master that, too. They only sat in silence, sipping on their drinks, with Bucky tucked under his arm, his head on Steve’s shoulder as he watched. They shared a couple of cigarettes between them, which Steve didn’t even mind, given the way they traded kisses while blowing smoke into each other’s mouths, lazy and intimate.
“Y’know, Stevie,” Bucky slurred with an easy grin after he pulled away, “I'm really glad we’re gettin’ married. Dunno if I told ya that yet.”
A slow smile stretched across Steve’s face. “Me too, Buck. Me too. So glad. Very glad.”
Bucky chuckled at Steve’s drunken rambling. “I can see that,” he told him, a charming little grin in place.
“I-I wish there was a way to show you how much I love you,” Steve said, pouting a little.
Bucky snickered at him. “More than saying I do?”
Steve shrugged sheepishly. “Well, I’ve been in love with you since we were in diapers, it feels like. Since I was… since I was a sperm in my father’s ballsack, as you once said. Marrying you doesn’t even come close to – to properly encom-encompassing what I feel for you. I wish I could do somethin’ to show you. Bind our souls together or somethin’ mushy like that.”
Bucky blinked at him, slow and dazed. “Like a tattoo,” he stated simply.
Steve sat up, the idea gaining traction.
“How awful sentimental, Rogers.”
Steve shook his head at him, his mind whirring. A tattoo would be the perfect tribute to their love. He didn’t even know if it would take, what with the serum, but he had to try. For Bucky, he had to. He couldn’t not. He shooed Bucky out of the booth, and got a groan for interrupting the peace even as Bucky complied with the wordless order.
“A tattoo, Buck!” he exclaimed, smiling dopily at Bucky, who grabbed their drinks before following Steve as he bounded toward the exit like an overexcited golden retriever.
“What do you want it to say?” Bucky asked him as they walked to the car. Steve stopped in his tracks, remembering that they were drunk and couldn’t drive, then turned around and pulled Bucky along, hooking their elbows together.
“Your name, obviously,” he responded, scandalized by the very question.
Bucky shook his head with a smile. “I don’t know why I even asked. Ah, fuck it, I should get one too.” He giggled to himself, adorable enough for Steve to pull him into a quick kiss, making both of them stumble.
When they reached the nearest tattoo parlor, Steve greeted the artist cheerfully, making her blink.
She glanced at the drinks in Bucky’s hands and gave him an amused look. “Welcome to Cherry Bomb Tattooing. Would you like our services tonight?”
Steve nodded rapidly, making the room spin a little. “Oh yeah. Me and my best friend are gettin’ married tomorrow. W-we’ve been in love our whole lives. So we wanna get something a little more perm-permanent.”
“Are you thinking of matching tattoos?” she wondered, and Bucky moved past Steve to answer.
“No, our names.”
Steve smiled at her. “Yup.”
She glanced between them for a second before smiling in return. “Okay, we can do that. Just fill out these forms and you're all set.” She handed them two pieces of paper, and Steve took them, since Bucky still held their drinks.
Steve filled out both of theirs, squinting through the slight blurriness on the edge of his vision.
When he was done and handed them back to her, she led them into the parlor, guiding him into a seat.
“Now, how do you want the design to look?”
At the question, Steve faltered. “His name. Um, B-U-C-K-Y.”
“Do you want it printed, cursive? What font do you want to use?”
Steve bit his lip, shooting Bucky a nervous look. “Oh, um… I'm not sure.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Good grief, why don’t I just write my name on you?”
Steve perked up, shooting him a wide smile. “That’s an amazing idea. You're so smart, Buck.”
Bucky’s flush became darker. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta have all the ideas between us, on account of your empty noggin.”
Steve only giggled, unbelievably happy.
The tattoo artist cleared her throat, getting their attention. “Okay, now where do you want it?”
His smiled dropped as he furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “Um, well… maybe over my heart? If that’s okay?” He glanced at Bucky, looking for approval. Bucky gave him a soft smile.
“That sounds nice, Stevie. Real sweet.”
She handed Bucky a marker then, making him set one of the drinks down, and Steve blinked, reaching for his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. He struggled for a minute before he gave up and ripped his shirt halfway open. Bucky’s jaw dropped.
“Holy shit, Steve. See if I'm going to buy you another shirt now. I should sign my name on your face instead. Teach you a lesson, Jesus goddamn Christ. Were you born in a barn and raised by wolves? I should show up tomorrow in a burlap sack to pay you back. Although, you’d probably like that too, never mind my wedding dress.”
His face felt hotter, and he avoided Bucky’s eyes as he pulled up his undershirt. Bucky leaned in and uncapped the marker. He checked the design out in the hand mirror and in the picture that Bucky took of it before the artist started tattooing him.
It stung more than he thought it would, and faded fast, thank god. He was not a fan of pain, despite what some people might believe. Throughout, he held Bucky’s hand, the metal one so he didn’t hurt Bucky from the strength behind his grip.
She finished it after a few minutes, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
“Steve, I…” Bucky said to him as he checked it out in the wall mirror a few feet away from the chair. Steve looked at him, noticing how nervous Bucky seemed just then. He glanced away from Steve, and sipped on his drink again.
He tried to keep his voice relatively quiet. “What is it, Buck?”
Bucky’s brow furrowed, making him look troubled and even scared. “It’s stupid, it’s… it’s the chair. I can't…” he trailed off, giving Steve a sad, tight look of shame.
Steve softened. “No, it’s okay, Buck. You don’t have to. Not if you don’t want to. You don’t need to apologize for that.”
At that, Bucky looked even more miserable, and he dropped his eyes.
“But I do,” he admitted softly. “I do want to. I really want to. I just don’t know if I can…” he trailed off, again, sounding lost.
Steve grabbed him in a sudden embrace.
“I’ll be right here, Bucky. I’ll hold your hand and help you through it. Whatever it takes.”
Bucky looked up at him and shot him a watery smile. “Thanks.”
Steve returned the gesture. “Anytime.” Then he cleared his throat. “How ‘bout I sit on your left and hold your arm for reassurance? And your jacket in place so she doesn’t see it?”
Bucky nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” He gave Steve a still-weak smile, before turning back to the artist, who was turned away, fiddling with her tattoo gun, giving them some privacy.
Carefully, he sat back in the chair, his breathing coming a little quicker, his eyes going a little wild. Steve rolled another stool around to his left side and sat down, grabbing Bucky’s metal hand. He stroked it before bringing it up to his face to kiss. He laid it on his cheek, giving Bucky a tender look. Bucky choked, looking away.
“You’ve got this, Buck. You're the strongest person I know, and I love you.”
Gently, Steve reached for Bucky’s jacket with his other hand, fumbling with the clasp before undoing it, and moved it to the side to expose his chest. He held it in place so it wouldn’t move and expose Bucky’s shoulder, just the edge of his scars. Then he carefully let go of Bucky’s hand and picked up the marker, signing his name neatly on Bucky’s heart.
“Are you ready?” the artist asked softly, and Bucky looked into Steve's eyes and nodded after a second.
The loud buzz of the tattoo gun starting made Bucky flinch violently, but he remained seated, his body taut with tension like a guitar wire ready to snap.
She began tattooing him and Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s wrist, not for fear of Bucky losing control, but wanting to comfort him, to let him know he wasn’t alone.
“That’s it. You're doing so well,” he murmured to Bucky, who looked up into his eyes, wild and slightly panicked. “There those pretty blue eyes are. So big and beautiful. You’re the bravest person I know, baby. So good for me. I'm so proud of you. You're gettin’ my name tattooed on your body, we’re getting married tomorrow, and I could die happy. You’ve made me so happy. You always have, even when you're spittin’ and cussin’ up a storm, angrier than the almighty. God’s got nothin’ on you when somethin’ has really pissed you off. I can't wait til I do somethin’ real stupid after we’re married and you threaten me with divorce, only this time, you’ll actually be able to do it, and then we could have all sorts of make-up sex and I can tell you how pretty you are when you're snarling at me, and then buy you something you’d like because you're my best guy, my best girl and I love you more than there are stars in the sky.”
The gun shut off then, surprising Steve. Bucky sagged in relief.
“All done,” the artist proclaimed before she handed him the mirror. Bucky took it and peered at himself, a wide, silly grin of joy stretching across his face. Steve had to kiss him then.
They paid her, gave her a huge tip, and then left.
When they got back to the spot where they parked the car, they stopped, looking at it.
“I am not leaving my Cadillac outside a strip club all night,” Bucky said imperiously.
Steve bit his lip in worry, absently rubbing the spot on his chest. “But we can't drive while we’re drunk! Suppose we get pulled over? I think cops hang out around bars and joints like this just to pull people over for a DUI.” He lowered his voice, glancing around, paranoid that he’d be overheard. “We - we’d get arrested when they notice our licenses are f-a-k-e-s.”
Bucky’s brows drew together in a frown. “Now you wanna be all goody-goody and not break the law. Just my luck.” Right when Steve was about to defend himself, Bucky continued. “I know, we’ll push it! With our strength, it should be easy. I’ll put it neutral and push it from the driver’s side with the door open. That way no one can say we’re driving it while drunk. Because we won't be driving it.”
Steve beamed at him, so proud of how smart he was.
“Here, finish this, you’ll need the muscle relaxant part of it,” Bucky said as he handed Steve one of the drinks. Steve wasn’t sure if it was his or Bucky’s, but he downed it all the same. He felt woozier, and more unsteady on his feet.
They got to work then, putting it in neutral and pushing it down the street. People honked at them as they drove past, and Steve blushed all the way to his toes.
“How does my big, strong man like showing off for me?” Bucky called to him, and Steve only grunted at him.
They weren’t that far from the RV park, although it felt like miles and miles, and Steve was panting lightly when they pulled in.
“How’s that for honeymoon handshake prep?” Bucky asked loudly, throwing his head back into the air as he collapsed down into the Cadillac.
“What?” Steve questioned, confused.
Bucky straightened up, his head peeking out from behind the seat. “You mean you don’t know what a honeymoon handshake is?” His eyes were wide and bewildered, and Steve blushed, shaking his head.
Bucky got up and stalked around to where Steve was, growling as he tugged on his de-buttoned shirt. “I’ll show you what a damn honeymoon handshake is, you dumb idiot. I’ll show you all over your face. Can't believe I'm marrying such a stupid moron.”
No amount of Steve’s embarrassed spluttering could mask his sudden arousal.