Steve has just about enough time to breathe, "Bucky, what--" before he is being slammed back against the wall, arms full of a writhing mass of muscle and desire that refuses to let him breathe, let alone go.
"What is happening to us?" Bucky groans right into Steve's neck, sending shudders all over his body. Steve's hands, having acquired a life of their own, tuck themselves under Bucky's open armour, tracking the delicious curve at the small of his back.
"Must have been that gas," he manages around the lump of lust in his throat, trying desperately not to hump Bucky's thigh where it presses insistently between his.
"The others seemed fine," Bucky argues, that sinfully beautiful mouth of his brushing against the skin of Steve's throat. Steve can't think, can't reason, can do nothing but grab two fistfulls of Bucky's taut, rounded ass and yank him closer, doesn't get anywhere near managing to stifle the hiss of pleasure as Bucky's rock-hard erection mashes into his. Bucky seems even less inclined to practice any kind of restraint at all, one leg lifting to hook around Steve's hip while his metal arm bites into Steve's shoulder, holding him in place for Bucky to climb like a ridiculously sexy primate.
"Supersoldier metabolism," he gasps as Bucky's hips twist against his. "We should maybe not do this in the kitchen--"
It's as far as he gets before Bucky's tongue is in his mouth, laying waste to every single one of Steve's defences. All of a sudden, Steve is back into his skinny, weak body, kissing Bucky for the first time after years of denial, accepting that Bucky wants him as much as he wants Bucky (even if he'll never quite believe that's possible, because he wants Bucky more than he wants his next breath, for always, for as long as he lives). That same spark sizzles in his blood now, surprise and helpless want, as if the decades have rolled back and he has never been touched like this before, by someone who knows exactly what he's doing and means to mess him up good. He always feels Bucky's want of him, in Bucky's fingertips and his lips, Bucky's body wrapping around his like a blanket, like a claim. Used to be, Bucky could nearly enfold him, surround him so thoroughly Steve never wanted to escape. Steve still feels like this, like Bucky is everywhere, like Bucky can take him and keep him, any way he likes.
With Bucky, Steve has forgotten the meaning of the world 'no', because there can never be a thing Bucky asks of him that Steve will not give, and gladly.
He moans, a high, thready sound he can't keep back when Bucky drops down onto his feet, and then to his knees in a smooth, mind-melting slide that rubs the front of his body all the way along Steve's. The buckles of his suit catch on Steve's belt for a moment before Bucky reaches between them and flicks it open, nimble fingers twisting and tugging until he can slide a hand inside and draw out Steve's cock, rigid and leaking in the cool air. Bucky licks his lips, and Steve nearly chokes on his own spit, swallows painfully when Bucky's mouth opens and he leans in, and there's hot breath and a wet slide over his skin. The back of his head hits the wall when Steve forgets himself, hundreds of thousands of nerve endings screaming in overwhelming pleasure. It's too much; it's everything Steve has ever wanted, everything he still has trouble believing is his, every morning and night and every minute in between.
Hell, this was never going to last long.
"Buck," he rasps in warning when Bucky leans in, takes him into his throat, flesh shoulder bunching as his other hand moves out of sight, and the knowledge of what that hand is doing is enough to make Steve lose what little coherence he has left, spilling down Bucky's throat with a shout of surrender.
"Shit," Bucky grunts, licking his lips as he leans back on his heels, hand moving fast and brutal over his cock jutting through the plates of his suit pants. The flushed, slick head peeks through the circle of thumb and index finger with punishing pace, and Steve can't look away, he can't, he can barely stand straight but he can feel his cock twitching again, starting to fill.
"Oh my God," he manages, breathless, and Bucky's eyes that had fallen closed snap open again, level with the absurdity that is Steve's groin right now.
"Jesus," Bucky huffs out on a laugh, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against Steve's length. "Even for you, that's fast."
He's clearly trying for calm and matter-of-fact, but the hitch in his voice is a dead give-away, telling Steve just how far gone he really is. Steve curls a hand around the back of Bucky's neck, pulling him in as he drops to his knees, kissing into that reddened, puffy mouth and moaning as he tastes himself inside. His other hand, he curls around Bucky's fist, threading their fingers together and squeezing tight. Bucky grunts and sways into him, opens his mouth to draw Steve deeper inside, lets himself be kissed until his breath starts coming out in short, helpless pants and he stiffens and arches, spilling between them. Come drips from Steve's knuckles; his suit is probably in for a thorough cleaning, but it's nothing worse than what happens to it on a regular basis, so Steve doesn't waste too much time worrying about it. Not like he can, anyway, when he's got Bucky panting and leaning his weight against his chest, tucking himself into the curve of Steve's body like he was made to fit there.
They should really get out of the kitchen, Steve wasn't kidding about that. Anyone could walk in on them right now, and if he's right and everyone is sooner or later going to be affected by this sex pollen thing or whatever it is, they should leave before everything gets horribly embarrassing and Steve spends the next decade blushing every time someone says 'kitchen counter'. But, well, Bucky is kissing wetly down the side of his throat, nibbling on his skin, teeth and stubble doubtlessly leaving the kind of mark that is impossible to mistake.
He wishes he cared more.
"Mmmm," Bucky hums, metal fingers drawing aimless figures on the back of Steve's neck that make his balls tighten and ache with the need to be touched. Christ, they are going to be a mess by morning. "I've always thought that Tony's kitchen table is juuuust the right height for someone to get bent over it. Wanna help me test my theory?"
Which is how Steve finds himself crouching at one end of the table, hands clenching and releasing on the cheeks of Bucky's ass as he pushes his tongue inside Bucky's hole, making damn sure Bucky's dripping wet with saliva while he listens to him fall apart.
He'd wonder who's the bad influence on whom, if he could think at all, if anything mattered other than how hot Bucky feels to his touch, how perfectly his back flexes when he arches to let Steve in deeper.
"God, I want to slide inside you just like this," he says, wondering at the darkness in his own voice, something Bucky calls 'sex-drenched' when he gets vocal. For the first time, Steve thinks he knows what that term means.
Bucky moans loudly, jerking in his hold. "Do it," he demands, "do it right now, Rogers, Jesus fucking Christ, yes."
"Shall I do it bare?" Steve says, just for the hell of it. He loves how incoherent it makes Bucky when he talks dirty; it's worth all the embarrassment of being so candid and crude. For Bucky, he can stretch a few boundaries (some of them, hard enough to break).
"Steve," Bucky whines, table creaking where his metal hand bites into the wood. "Fucking get in me already."
Steve climbs to his feet as fast as he can, biting his lip tightly to keep from rushing too fast and hurting Bucky, because his patience feels stretched thin as a string of chewing gum. He holds onto Bucky's hips, thumbs dipping between his ass cheeks to hold him open and to guide Steve's dick inside him. The coil of pleasure in his gut flares as his dick catches on the rim of Bucky's ass, nudging the edges apart. Steve flexes his hips, driving himself inside Bucky's heat. He's leaking so hard again, he's almost his own lube bottle; it's a little rough, but Bucky is loose enough around him that nothing feels in danger of tearing. His vision whites out while he slides in and in, spurred on by Bucky's wanton, unrestrained moans and the sight of him stretched out on the table beneath Steve's covetous gaze, back flexing smoothly so that every muscle is lovingly outlined. Steve bends from the waist and licks along Bucky's spine, grazes the bumps of bone with his teeth, worries on the meat of Bucky's shoulder while Bucky curses and shoves back against Steve's dick.
"God, you're so fucking gorgeous," Steve murmurs into Bucky's skin, hands on either side of Bucky's neck so he can yank him back onto his twitching cock. "I could fuck you like this forever."
Bucky groans, widening his stance so that he has to go on tiptoe to still touch the floor.
"Do it," he pants, "do me harder, fucking rip me up from the inside out, come on, Steve, come on, don't hold back on me now."
Steve does his best to pound Bucky through the table, like Bucky obviously wants him to. Sweat drips from his forehead; he can feel it sliding down his spine and gather in the small of his back. His dick is buried in tight, flexing muscle, and his hands are full of Bucky's body, palms gliding over sweaty skin and fingers digging in to grab a hold. He doesn't think anything can make this moment better--
A small, choked-off sound comes from the door on their left, just as something moves in Steve's peripheral vision. His head snaps around, though there's no way he can stay the push of his hips further inside Bucky. His eyes catch on Tony's, brown being taken over by black so fast that Steve can track the change. Tony's cheeks are flushed, and his hands clench and unclench on nothing but air as he bites his lip hard enough to break the skin.
"Jesus," he rasps, voice deep and rough like wet silk. Shivers chase each other down Steve's spine to see Tony shudder and clamp one hand on the bulge in his pants, eyes wide and feverish. "I should go. I should so go, oh my god, Barnes, stop looking at me like that."
Steve feels his mouth curl in a smile that is definitely not very nice at all. He has a pretty good idea of what Bucky's face looks like right now, the way he must be licking his flushed, pouting lips, eyes half-lidded and focused on Tony's face – or possibly lower. He is long past trying to hide how he feels about Tony, how much he admires him, how hot he finds him – not when Steve has admitted he is very much in the same boat. By all rights, this shouldn't be happening. He and Bucky love each other, damn near worship the ground the other walks on. They are happy together, content with what they have and grateful beyond all reason.
But Tony... Well. There's something about Tony, isn't there? The way his arrogance is shot through with self-doubt when no one's looking. The unwavering kindness and generosity he shows his friends, without expecting a single thing in return. The way his shoulders look when he's working on the Iron Man armour, settled and happy in his workshop, hair everywhere and clever hands flying over metal and wires while he snarks at Steve, or Bucky (or both) when they get curious enough and comfortable enough to poke at him in his lair.
The way he looks sometimes, sad and wistful as he watches the city through the vast windows of the penthouse. The way he falls asleep on sofas and armchairs and floor pillows, heartbreakingly vulnerable and trusting the rest of them to have his back. The way he doesn't tiptoe around him and Bucky like some of the others, the only one of their group apart from Natasha to take them at face value and not try to pick them apart to find out how they tick.
The way Steve has caught him watching them hungrily, always quick to avert his gaze when there's danger of getting caught (but not quick enough to fool two supersoldiers with inhumanly-fast reflexes).
"Why not?" Bucky says, slow and insolent, making Steve's blood light on fire with want. "I happen to like what I see."
"But—" Tony splutters, gazing helplessly between Bucky and Steve. "But—you've got Rogers fucking the breath out of you, why would you want--"
"Oh, Stark. Come here," Bucky tells him, not unkindly, when Tony pauses. He lets go of the table with his metal hand and crooks a finger. As if on strings, Tony jerks closer, tongue licking nervously across his lips in a way that makes Steve want to mash their mouths together and take over.
But then he stops, with what looks like a supreme effort of will, and swallows dryly, eyes lifting from Bucky's face to fasten on Steve's.
"And what about you, Capsicle?" he says, voice so rough and filthy-hot, Steve can barely stand it. "You like what you see, too?"
Steve lets his own mouth curve, all the more when Tony inhales sharply at what he must see in his eyes.
"Come here," he repeats, taking one hand from Bucky's hip and reaching for Tony's. He can't help rocking inside Bucky a little harder when Tony staggers forward and takes it, his other hand squeezing hard on the obvious tent in his slacks. Steve draws him closer and closer, and then leans in and takes that mouth he's been dreaming about for longer than he ought to have been. Tony's thin, mobile lips part for Steve's tongue; his body shudders all over, pressing itself to Steve's, jerking to rub his hardness against Steve's flexing hips. It's ridiculously hot.
Then Tony moans loud and startled, and his right hand leaves Steve's shoulder, whence it had clenched to keep him in place. Steve cracks open an eyelid and pulls back just a little, grunting and—well--bucking into Bucky when he sees Bucky's mouth on Tony's clothed dick, rubbing and sucking a little at the wet spot where the head strains against the fabric.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Tony struggles to get out, breath coming in short, stuttering pants. "Barnes, you keep doing that, I'm not gonna be able to control myself."
Bucky's mouth curves into a truly blood-boiling smirk. Steve can only see a fragment of it, but he knows that grin, he's seen it often enough (with pretty much the same result – his cock goes from rigid to painfully aroused, and he can feel the first tingles of orgasm lodging in his balls already.)
"And what if I don't want to stop?" Bucky asks in that dark, heavy tone that pushes Steve even closer to the edge. "What if I wanted to suck your dick into my mouth, swallow it down until it filled my throat, too?"
Yeah, that's about all it takes for Steve to embarrass himself again. His hips stutter as his mind plays on the visual, watching it roll behind his closed eyelids. He comes with a helpless, high-pitched grunt, panting and whimpering as Bucky clenches around him and milks him dry.
"My god," Tony whispers, sounding captivated; when Steve gathers enough willpower to open his eyes again, they find Tony staring at him in something close to wonder, mouth red and spit-slick from where he's apparently been biting his lip watching them.
"Damn it, Rogers," Bucky grumbles, "I thought we talked about this. What happened to making me come with you inside me?"
Steve staggers a little, trying to catch his breath and find his feet again. There's a wet, filthy sound as he slips out, along with some of his come. Steve would blush, except for how Bucky fucked the embarrassment out of him a long time ago.
Bucky's forehead thumps to the table, and his ass clenches fitfully on the emptiness he must be feeling right now. The rim is red and sore-looking, but nothing worse than usual – Steve is not exactly a small guy, and Bucky sure enjoys having his turn being fucked. Steve's contemplating sinking to his knees again, eating Bucky out until he comes, but--
Yeah. Bucky's always had the better ideas.
"So how about it, Stark? How'd you feel about sloppy seconds?" Bucky drawls. Tony actually sways on his feet enough that Steve has to brace him, tuck him into his body with an arm around his waist.
"He's really very good," he says quietly in Tony's ear, enjoying the way it makes Tony shudder and curse.
"I can't believe you want me to do that," Tony whispers, mouth close to Steve's chest, as if he wants to hide the words into his skin.
Steve holds him tighter, nudging his head up for another kiss.
"We want a lot more besides, but if you don't want this, Tony, now's the time to say so. There will be no unwilling partners in this... well, I was gonna say bed, but my point stands."
Tony buries his face in Steve's neck, body shaking with laughter. "Not want this? Have you—okay, I don't even know how you could think—I want this. I want it a lot. I just—I guess I have to wonder why you'd want me, too, when you've already got each other."
Bucky sighs from his sprawl on the table, thumping his head on the surface again.
"Can we please have this discussion later? My dick's about to fall off. I want to come, and if you're not gonna help, then I'll just jerk myself off, how about that?"
Tony makes a small, strangled 'eep' sound, hips twitching.
Oh, yeah. He wants this. Steve grins, knows he's not playing fair, but they can talk about how he's not really a nice guy later, too.
"Is that a yes?" he murmurs in Tony's ear, just to be an asshole. Tony seems too far gone to care though, just nods frantically.
"Yes," he moans, hands falling to tear at his belt.
Steve slaps them away. Before Tony can protest, Steve has turned him and positioned him between Bucky's spread thighs, and his fingers are tugging on the fine, smooth leather – something they might want to make use of in the future. He unbuckles Tony's belt, flicks the top button of his slacks open, and then carefully lowers the zip over the not insignificant bulge behind it. He pushes the fabric down just enough to pull Tony out of his briefs and give his dick a nice, tight pull, relishing the weight of it in his palm. Tony isn't huge, smaller than Steve, but he's a beautiful shape, curving at the tip, heavy and solid and thick enough to give Bucky one hell of a good time. Steve can't wait to have his turn.
He nudges at Tony's back, walks him another step and a half closer, lining him up.
"Open him for you," he murmurs, thumbing at Tony's head, at the slit where precome collects and beads out of him.
Tony moans deep in his throat, hands lowering to pull Bucky's cheeks apart.
"What about a condom?" he chokes out.
"You want one? Because we're both clean, and we can't catch anything. But if that's a deal breaker, I'll--"
Bucky makes an incoherent growling sound under them. His metal hand leaves the table's edge, where it has in fact made a small dent in the wood, and reaches into one of the small front pockets of his suit.
"Here," he says, passing back a square of foil.
A lightbulb goes off in Steve's head.
"You planned this," he says, breathless with admiration.
Bucky turns his head just enough to catch his eye, smirking like the proverbial cat with the cream.
"We're too old for this pining shit," he supplies calmly. "Had to know if he was interested, but if he was... Waiting you out was frustrating enough, pal. Can't say I got the patience for round two."
Steve feels lightheaded with love and lust and – yes, arousal again. Christ. He wonders if he's gonna start feeling sore sometime soon.
But that's a hypothetical discussion for some point in the nebulous future. Now, Tony's making a small, choked sound of surprise, and his mouth is hanging open, and Steve can't have him distracted like that. He tears open the packet and rolls the condom onto Tony's dick, smooth from years of practice on Bucky before they both fell. Now, Tony's making strangled sounds for another reason entirely, and that's something Steve is very happy with indeed. He holds Tony's dick in place as he nudges his ass forward with the tops of his thighs, watches Tony's head slip inside Bucky's opening, watches the rim stretch pink and tight again. Bucky moans like the slut he is, widening his thighs until his toes are off the floor and he hangs precariously, balancing on the table and on the leverage of Tony fucking in, gravity doing a fine job of assisting the slide. One smooth, controlled thrust later, Tony is in to the root; he pauses, hands clenching on Bucky's hips as he bows his head, breathing laboured. Steve takes shameless advantage of the offering, leaning in to press a kiss to the vulnerable, exposed nape of his neck. His skin is damp with sweat, and Steve licks at it greedily even as he directs Tony into a fast-paced rhythm, in and out, pushing forward with enough force to rock Bucky's whole body.
Tony seems to finally get with the program a minute or two later, because his hands tighten on Bucky's skin and he swivels his hips, making Bucky jerk and moan, "Yeah, oh god, yeah, right there, Tony." The noises he's making are starting to get the familiar edge of wildness to them, and Steve, listening to both his best guys start to lose control, can hardly be expected to hang onto his own. His cock is rock-hard again, leaving slick trails over the small of Tony's back. He thrusts harder, experimentally, and Tony's hips stutter, pressing back into him before shoving into Bucky again.
"Hot damn," Steve says breathlessly, lost to the coil of lust in his gut. "Buck, you should see him right now, trying to choose whether he wants to fuck himself on me or into you more."
"Not an easy choice, that," Bucky manages in the midst of all the noise he keeps making. "God, Steve, I'm so close."
Steve takes his right hand off of Tony's fluttering abs, reaching forward to stroke at the sweat-slick skin of Bucky's back.
"I know, sweetheart. You can let go, now. Doesn't it feel good, Tony fucking my come into you? What does he feel like, Buck? Hard and hot inside you, fucking you open even wider, taking you like he means to keep you?"
Bucky and Tony moan at the same time, sounding just as tightly wound.
"Jesus, Rogers, I never knew you had such a filthy mouth," Tony breathes, pushing back against where Steve's cock is trying to fuck into his skin.
"Oh, it's that and more," Bucky whines. His flesh hand comes off the table now, reaching underneath. His shoulder muscles flex again and he just about screams, and so does Tony when Bucky's ass clenches on him. It only takes another twenty seconds for Bucky to lose it and come hard enough to scrape the table over the floor tiles, head and shoulders curling in with the force of it. Steve decides this is exactly the right moment to suck on a finger and reach into the back of Tony's pants, rubbing it over his hole as the tips of the fingers of his other hand close on a nipple under Tony's shirt and twist it sharply.
Tony doesn't scream when he comes. It's nearly silent, might have been disturbingly calm, if it weren't for the way his entire body strains, pushing him balls-deep inside Bucky as his ass spasms against Steve's finger. He slumps, too, pressing Bucky harder into the table. Unable to wait a second longer, Steve leans back a little and closes his fist on his own cock. A dozen strokes have him spraying come all over the back of Tony's slacks and shirt; he watches it soak into the fabric, and thinks hazily that he ought to feel more guilty about ruining Tony's clothes. He can't, though. Not when the spots are like marks left on Tony to warn off anyone who might even think of taking him away.
"I think I died," Tony slurs, nearly incomprehensible because his mouth is pressed into Bucky's shoulder still covered by the body armour. "I think you killed me. I can't move."
"I can carry you to bed, if you like," Steve offers helpfully, just to watch Tony shudder again.
"Wow, this Neanderthal routine, who knew it could be so hot?" Tony mutters, then winces, peeling his cheek away from the unforgiving layers of Kevlar and leather. "Less clothes, though, maybe, next time."
Then Steve actually sees Tony freeze. He rolls his eyes.
"Yes, there is going to be a next time. No, we're not doing this just because of whatever gas it was they dosed us with. No, it has no effect on consent or higher brain functions, just lowers inhibitions. Yes, we want an actual relationship with you, both of us. No, we're not just doing it because we can. ...Well, maybe a little of the latter. Point is, we like you, Tony. We like you a lot. We'd really like it if you wanted to make a go of this with us. And no, I actually am not as stupid as I look," he finishes on a smirk when Tony can't seem to do anything but open his mouth and close it again.
"What he said," Bucky mutters, body still loose and pliant and not looking like it plans to move any time soon. "Listen to him, Stark. He gets some good ideas, too, now and again."
"Thanks," Steve replies dryly. "Just for that, you can make your own way to bed."
"You're such a liar, you know you're going to carry me like your own personal bounty, just like every other time."
"Lazy pain in my ass is what you are."
"You say the sweetest things, could turn a fella's head."
"Yes," Tony blurts, interrupting the familiar, well-worn routine. "Yes. Um. I want to. Very much."
Steve nods, pleased. "Good. That's good, Tony. Now, did you want me to carry you to bed? We can always leave this mook to fend for himself."
"Ugh, Steve, you came three times, ain't you the least bit tired?" Bucky grouses, sounding put-out.
Steve thinks about this. There is a delicious languor in his bones; his muscles feel loose and warm, and his head is for once free of ghosts and bad dreams, but, "Ya know, I could stand to go again. Maybe more than once."
Tony pushes himself upright at that. His cock is still hanging out of his pants, soft and somehow sweet against the cotton. Clearly, he's a grower. Must help with the line of his suits; Steve can never quite get his jeans to fit right. To his disappointment, Tony tucks himself away and zips up his pants, though he doesn't do up his belt. He's looking at Steve speculatively, head tilted to one side. Steve grows hot under that gaze, and wishes he'd put himself away, too, because now he knows Tony can see him filling again. Tony is strong and competent and clever, definitely smarter than Steve, though Steve really is no slouch in the brains department, never mind that no one ever seemed to be interested in that part of him. Point is, Steve knows his thing for Tony isn't just his cock talking.
"I like that look on your face, Stark," Bucky says happily, having peeled himself off the table, too. He sits at the edge of it, the lower half of his body unapologetically naked and on display. Then he winces a little and shifts to the side, and Steve knows it's his turn to take one for the team for the next couple of days, until Bucky can sit down properly again. The thought thrills him to his bones.
Tony hums, eyes still on Steve, taking him in from the top of his head to his toes still in the Cap boots.
"I may have one or two ideas," he says.
Steve shivers in anticipation, doesn't bother trying to hide it. His plans for the future are looking even better than he'd hoped.