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She threw us straight into the river

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"So that's that, then," Peggy says as she closes the front door of her flat, dropping the keys in the metal tray she keeps on the table by the mirror and shrugging out of her thin, soft leather jacket.

"Yep." Bucky sighs, kicking off his shoes by the door and padding barefoot inside the living room. She follows suit and steps out of her heels with a quiet moan of relief, nudging them next to Bucky's shoes. The wooden flooring is blissfully cool under her tired feet; she twists her head this way and that until her neck cracks, before tossing her purse on one end of the sofa. Bucky has taken off his suit jacket and draped it over the back; the sight of their things, so casually mixed together, makes something warm curl up in her chest and purr.

Bucky drops into the soft, worn armchair by the open door of the balcony, stretches his long legs before him, lets his head hang back and sighs again. Peggy doubts he even knows he's doing it; it sounds weary, vaguely unhappy. She nudges his arm and turns around; a moment later his fingers trail over her back, followed by the zip of her figure-hugging red dress parting and releasing her from its confines. She lets it pool on the floor at her feet, steps out of it and walks away towards the bedroom, smiling at the tingle between her shoulderblades that tells her Bucky's eyes are on her. She leaves him to brood as she goes about her nightly routine -- loo, make-up, hair, until the mask of the day has slipped away and her clean face stares at her from the mirror, bright red lips still painted on, capturing the eye. She isn't going to take the lipstick off. Instead, she walks back to the bedroom, roots for a tube of a similar shade on her dressing table, retouches it until it's fresh once again.

She stands there, looking at herself in the mirror; the lights are dim but bright enough to make her pale skin shine, in sharp contrast to the black of her bra and knickers. She catches her own eyes, considers what she's about to do, checks it against her deductions one more time. If she's wrong, it could end in disaster -- the two of them haven't been together that long, never mind that they've known each other for close to a decade.

If she's right, though... well. Heat blooms in her belly at the mere thought, migrates down until she can feel herself getting wet already, a burn between her thighs.

Oh, if she's right.

She rounds the bed and bends over, opens the drawer of the nightstand on her side of it. Condom wrappers reflect the light, a bottle of lube, a vibrator, a dildo. She eyes them consideringly before reaching inside and taking out the dildo, the lube, setting them on top. Then she straightens and walks out again, goes to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water, drinks it, takes a deep breath.

Bucky is still where she left him, staring up at the ceiling with eyes slightly narrowed, lips pressed together. She crosses her arms and leans against the cool of the doorframe, watching him, waiting.

After a moment, he turns his head, sees her, and his eyes soften, his lips relaxing into a small smile, nothing like the grins he has for the world -- this one is real.

"All done?" he asks her easily, and she smiles back. "Yes, all done." He pushes himself to his feet, snags her dress off the floor and straightens it, draping it on top of his suit jacket when he passes the sofa, covers the two steps that bring him to stand in front of her. Peggy doesn't move, just tilts her head a touch, letting her smile become suggestive. He crowds her against the doorframe, leans in slowly, lets her feel the anticipation of the touch. He's always been a class-A seducer, has Bucky. The fact that she'd let him seduce her this time, hadn't sent him packing like she did five years ago, is something she knows he appreciates more than he'll ever say.

They're almost of a height, and all he has to do is lean in to kiss her, but he doesn't. He stops a mere inch before their mouths meet, teasing, suggestive, and she closes the distance, lets their lips touch, grazes the plush curve of his lower lip with hers, takes it between her teeth. He shudders and leans in, presses her into the wood at her back, opens her mouth with his and licks inside, wet and dirty. He slides one hand over her waist, her hip, trailing it down to cup the curve of her arse where it meets her thigh, long fingers crooking to nudge under the line of her knickers. She whines a little in her throat when she feels that, and God, she almost scraps the whole plan. She almost tells him to lift her and fuck her right here in the doorway.

But then the soft cotton of his shirt rubs against her bare stomach, and the rougher fabric of his trousers teases the insides of her thighs when his leg finds its way between them, and she remembers the look in his eyes when he'd seen Steve haul Tony in and kiss him, right in the middle of the ballroom, perfectly uncaring who saw them. She'd seen the way his eyes had flashed and his nostrils had flared, the way he'd crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, only for his eyes to dart back against his will. She's known Bucky for long enough; she’s been sleeping with him for long enough to know when he's aroused and trying not to show it.

So she pushes against his chest until he moves back a fraction and breaks the kiss, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"What have you got in mind?" he says, the fingers inside her knickers shifting to stroke the fold between them, where she's wet already, close to dripping.

"In the bedroom," she directs, watches him smile at her and step back without question. His fingers reach for the buttons of his shirt and start flicking them open one by one, exposing the base of his throat, the dip of collarbone, the toned planes of his chest. God, if she lives to be a hundred, she could never get tired of watching this. Barnes knows just how to move, just how to entice, just how to make you imagine and want and yearn. She has never asked how he came by that knowledge; there are some things she just doesn't need to know. That's in the past, though. Now, she's the one he looks at when his hands drop to his belt buckle and tug it open, sliding the zip down. He pushes, and his trousers drop to the floor; his shirt is swift to follow. Peggy swallows dryly. God, she's wanted him for years, and now that she's finally allowed herself to have him, it's almost more than she can bear not to touch him all the time, not to climb over him, hold him down and slide his cock inside her as far as it'll go.

Bucky steps back until his legs touch the mattress, waits for her instruction. That's good. He knows she's the one running the show tonight.

"On your knees and face the headboard," she tells him, and he shudders, hard. They've never done this before; she knows that he hasn't with anyone else, either. But a few days ago, while she'd had his cock filling her mouth, she'd reached for his balls, nudged a knuckle behind them, touched firmly it to his rim, and he'd come off the bed, spilling down her throat with a helpless, high-pitched groan. So she's fairly sure he's thought about it, at least, even if he hasn't done anything with the idea.

Watching him watch Steve and Tony dance around each other, all coiled energy and charged looks, she thinks she knows what might have prompted the curiosity.

"It arouses you, thinking about them, doesn't it?" she murmurs, watching him head-on, keeping her face completely open, letting him see every thought written over it. Bucky starts at the question, stares at her like a deer caught in the headlights, opens his mouth, closes it, licks his lips. His cock can't lie to her, though; it twitches, still in his pants, rises to half-mast from those words alone.

"Doesn't it?" she says again, careful to keep her voice low and undemanding. His eyes drop to her mouth and she licks her bottom lip slowly, teasingly. He nods once, jerky; then again, more decisive.

"Yeah," he breathes; his throat bobs as he swallows reflexively.

"You know what they're doing this very minute, don't you?" She lets her voice gain a little more inflection when it's clear that he won't run from this, that he'll let himself see where it goes. "Right now, they're probably kissing, deep, eating each other's mouths, pressing each other against the nearest flat surface. Who do you think is on top?"

Bucky exhales sharply, like his breath's been punched out of him. He swallows again, shudders. "I think it's Steve," he says quietly, and Peggy forces herself to keep her breath even, not to sigh in relief. He's doing this. He's letting her do this. Oh, God. Her cunt is absolutely on fire, achingly empty; she is merciless, though. It won't get filled; not the first time. No, the first time she'll be the one doing the filling.

She lets herself sink into the image she's creating for both of them, the delicious thrill of knowing that what they're doing is not quite proper. It’s not something they should be using to get each other off. She can't help but suspect that Stark wouldn't even bat an eyelid if he knew.

"So it's Steve who tumbles Tony onto the bed, pins him down and crawls over him to settle between his spread legs."

Bucky's breathing has sped up; his exhales are short and thready, and he's shaking just a little. Peggy rather thinks that it's time to take this to the bed.

"Lie down, on your back," she tells him, changing her mind about the order of events. If they're doing this, they're doing it properly.

Bucky complies, sitting on the bed, crawling backwards to the middle of it and stretching out. From this angle she can see the thick curve of his cock inside his pants, following the top of his thigh, hard and obvious, distorting the fabric. She crawls in after him, hooks her fingers inside the elastic and tugs his pants down and over the hard line of it until it bobs free, head flushed and wet.

"Is this what Steve's doing right now, do you think?" she asks, drawing Bucky’s pants down and off. "Is he staring down at Tony, spread for him just like this, like you are for me? I wonder if his breath catches when he sees Tony's cock for the first time? Does his mouth water for it?"

Bucky groans quietly, throwing his head back, baring his throat. His body is one long line of muscle, taut with need. Peggy scoots forward, curves her fingers over his cock. He grunts, hips twitching to drive him into her grip.

"I bet he takes it in his hand," she continues, voice dropping even more. "I bet Tony moans at the feel of it; I bet he licks his lips and begs Steve to suck it."

Bucky's still panting at the thought of it when she lowers her head and slides her lips over him, taking him down as far as she can on the first go. Bucky makes a raw sound in his throat; out of the corner of her eye, she sees him fisting his hands in the sheets, clinging to them desperately, hips hitching underneath her. She braces one arm over them, pins him to the bed, and he bucks into it, moaning. She sucks him long and slow, pulls off, trails her lips over his length.

"He's long, and thick, isn't he, Barnes? He'll fill Steve's mouth, nudge at the back of his throat, and Steve will want to swallow him whole, because God, the feel of it, of Tony pulsing on his tongue, it will be incredible."

She knows that Bucky has never had a cock in his mouth, but the way he groans at that and tries to drive himself back into her mouth, she wonders if they can't make do with something else he can suck on. Something to think about, for next time. She takes him back in, wet and sloppy, and lets spit run from the corner of her mouth, to coat his balls. She wets her finger, trails it over them, over the sensitive spot behind and touches it to the rim of his arse. He makes a stifled sound; when Peggy looks, she sees him biting at his bottom lip viciously, trying to hold the noises in. Well, she's having none of that.

"Do you think Tony will stay quiet while Steve sucks his cock? Do you think he even could, all alone in the penthouse, bedroom door still wide open, in plain view of the living room? Or will Tony moan like a slut for him, tell him how much he needs Steve’s big cock inside?"

At that, she sucks him down again and, at last, Bucky breaks and lets out a thready moan. "Jesus, Carter," he rasps, and Peggy really goes for it now, flicking her tongue under the head, scraping just a hint of teeth over the glans. "Oh, God," Bucky groans; he's satisfyingly loud. "God, yes, I want you. I want you inside me."

Bloody fucking hell. Peggy forgets how to breathe for a moment, can't hold back a moan, and Bucky jerks under her, arches his back and tries to drive himself higher into her mouth. She lets him, just for a moment, opens her throat for him and swallows around the head, and the sound he makes lights a furnace inside her. She can't help the way she widens her thighs, the way her own hips flex against the sheets, seeking friction.

"Peggy," Bucky says desperately, a warning, and she pulls off him altogether, looks down. His cock is smeared in lipstick, long trails of colour mixing with spit, and fuck if it isn't the most gorgeous thing she's ever seen. She wants to fuck him. She wants to fuck him and take him and make him understand that she wants him, any way she can get him, all of him, every last hidden thought, every last dark urge.

She crawls to the edge of the bed and snags the lube and the dildo. She pulls them towards her, letting him see. He moans when his eyes fasten on them, feverish-bright, pupils completely blown.

"Steve starts small. He wants to do a thorough job of stretching him, don't you think?" she asks, flicking the cap open with her dark red thumbnail. The click is loud in the silence, and Bucky shudders again, nods, whispers, "Yeah, he stretches him out, two fingers, three."

Well, all right, then. She squirts some liquid in her hand, coats her fingers and reaches between his legs slowly, deliberately. Bucky is holding his breath, she can see; his cock jumps when her hand disappears from sight, and his hips snap up when the wet tips rub firmly over his arsehole, just enough for him to feel them. She wants to ask if he's sure, but he's panting again, the edge of sound on every exhale, and she lets her thumb slide inside, shorter than her other fingers, just to test him. He clenches hard around her, and then loosens, legs falling open even wider. Her chest feels tight; she can barely breathe either; she is light-headed with the way Bucky's chest is flushed all the way down, with the way his lips are open, spit-slick, bitten raw, and with the way his eyelashes flutter and his lungs heave when she crooks her finger, tugging him open just a touch.

He's tight. Of course he is. No one has been where she is now, taken inside a part of him no other person has ever touched. Tight, and hot, and letting her in. "Oh, Bucky," she whispers breathlessly, overwhelmed. She wants to slow down and kill him with tenderness; she wants to rush in and take him, fast and hard. She wants to claim him. She wants to ask him to take something bigger, just to watch him do it for her, and she wants to feel his heartbeat against her chest when she slides inside him, makes him hers. He moans when she nudges in further, tugs her thumb out and replaces it with two of her fingers, eases them in to the second knuckle, then to base. She forces herself to go slow, schooling her breath until she can be calm; until she can be patient. Bucky takes her fingers beautifully. He keens when she spreads them just a touch, to stretch him.

"Imagine what Tony feels like, with Steve's thick fingers inside him, prepping him for Steve's cock, curling just so until Steve's fingering his prostate, making him scream."

She follows through on her promise and crooks her fingers, knowing from the secret, blush-inducing calculations she did some time back, before she'd ever dreamed that she'd get the chance to test her theory, that they are exactly long enough. She finds the soft, spongy tissue, and presses gently.

Bucky's spine comes off the bed; his eyes shoot open, too wide; fresh sweat beads around his face as he pants, a wracking moan climbing out of his throat.

"Oh," he whispers, "oh, what is that, oh God, Peggy, again."

She obliges him and does it again, twisting her fingers this time, firm against the knot, and Bucky sobs, clenching so hard around her she'd be worried if she couldn't feel his channel pulsing with need. "Fuck me," Bucky groans, a plea if Peggy ever heard one, lifting his hips and bearing down on her hand like he wants more inside him, bigger, longer, now. It's all Peggy can do not to come herself; her knickers are sodden through, she feels them sticking against the lips of her cunt, heavy with her juices. She wants something inside her more than she wants air right now -- but not more than watching Bucky fall apart for her, watching him trust her to do this for him, to let her inside a space that she'd wager doesn't feel entirely safe, tinged with shame for thinking of his friends like that, no doubt. Still, he's going with it, for her, and she, God, she is so in love with him in that moment she can barely draw breath around the words.

"More," Bucky demands, shifting down again, and she draws her fingers out, spills lube over his spasming hole, comes back with three. Her eyes snag on the shiny surface of the dildo she'd prepared, and God, yes, all right, three fingers should be enough. It's nowhere as big as she thinks either Steve or Tony is, but it'll do for a start, for Bucky's first time. If this goes according to plan, she'll take him shopping, to that place in Soho under the bookshop, introduce him to the world of strap-ons. Something shorts in her mind at the thought of her fucking Bucky, full-out, no holds barred; and she will. Oh, she will, and he'll beg her for it, fuck himself on her cock, astride her hips on the bed, beyond restraint; but first, there's this; first, there's the tang of sweat in the air, and the drops of liquid trailing down the length of Bucky's cock every time she nudges his prostate and the way his thighs are long lines of tense muscle, aching for more.

And there's the way he whines when she pulls out of him, walls giving easily, and takes the dildo in her slick hand. She raises it and lets him see the smooth black shaft. She wraps her palm around it just to see him shudder.

"Is this what you want?" she asks him, voice low, a little hoarse from the need inside her, the frantic desire. "Do you want this inside you, Bucky? Do you want me to push it in? Will I hold it in my hand and line up the head with your arse, the way Steve is lining up to push inside Tony's desperate body on the other side of town? Because he is. You know he is. He's shaking with the need to fuck him, to slide his cock in Tony's arse, to watch Tony's hole open for him, taking him in, the flared head, the red shaft. He's pushing inside, and Tony opens for it, arse stretched and pink and lacking all resistance."

Bucky licks his lips, chest heaving, nostrils flaring to drag oxygen into his lungs. His eyes are all pupil now, the smallest ring of pale blue around them, half-lidded and fixated on the dildo. He looks fucked out already, decadent, gorgeous, irresistible, and he's hers. Hers to love, hers to kiss, hers to fuck.

"Do you want this?" she asks again, more forceful, stroking up and down the dildo until it shines with lube.

"Yes, fuck, I want it, I want you," Bucky babbles, hips jerking, hands fisted in the rails of the bedframe now, stretched out for her, veins standing out like ropes as he flexes his hold. "Fuck me."

He sounds desperate, like she imagines Tony sounds -- or Steve, because while she's playing this scenario for Bucky's benefit, she rather thinks it might be Steve on his back, knees bent and legs pushed up over Tony's shoulders, begging to be fucked. Either way, she knows Bucky's ready for this, wound up tight; knows that if she misses this moment, it's unlikely she'll get another. So she spills lube in her hand, coats the dildo until it's close to dripping, until she has to wipe her hand on the sheets to grasp the flared base and line it up, push it in, slowly, gently.

Bucky's spine bows and he clenches, then relaxes around the intrusion, hips bearing down onto it until there's more inside him, until all Peggy can do is watch as the dildo disappears inside his hole, inch by inch, swallowed by Bucky's body.

"Peggy," Bucky breathes, biting at his lip, forcing himself further down onto the black plastic. "Peggy, yes. Take me."

Peggy bites at her own lower lip viciously, hard enough that she's sure she's broken the skin. She doesn't think she can go much longer without shoving her hand between her legs and rubbing herself off; she's burning with it, cunt and arse twitching, wanting so badly to be touched. She tries to push it back as she pulls the dildo halfway out and feeds it inside Bucky again, listens to his gasps, the sounds in the back of his throat she'd bet he doesn't know he's making.

"Yes," Bucky says, over and over again, "yes," and "please," and "God," and "oh my fuck, how does this feel so good?" and Peggy hoards every moan and every whimper.

"Imagine what they look like," she murmurs over the noises. "Steve's cock deep inside Tony's arse, massaging his prostate over and over; he's grabbing his hips and lifting him until he gets the right angle, and then he'll fuck Tony until Tony screams and comes all over himself. Steve’ll wrap a hand around Tony's cock and milk him dry."

She follows through on the words, nudging Bucky's knees up higher and pushing them open until he's on display for her, flushed and panting and sweaty and so gorgeous that she doesn't have the words to describe him.

"Touch yourself," she tells him, and he unclenches his right hand from the bedframe, goes for it without restraint, stripping himself so fast the movements blur. He's squeezing around his head, like she knows he does when he's close, and she pushes the dildo in hard, twists it until she's stretching him inside with every move, and she watches him clench around it and scream, and come, and come, sobbing for air. She wants to tell him how good he's doing, wants to wrap some more words around his mind, wants to make this good for him, better, the best she can, but her throat is dry, and her words are gone, and she can only stare at the sight of the man she plans to spend the rest of her life with shuddering to a stop underneath her, limbs flopping back down from their fitful strain. He melts into the bed with a last keen, utterly spent.

She tugs the dildo out gently, but Bucky still winces, then sprawls to take up most of the mattress and tries to catch his breath. She licks her lips, apprehensive all over again, bracing herself for a fallout that she's pretty sure won't come to pass, but she can't help worrying. There's too much at stake here; this is the moment that will dictate the rest of their relationship, and its duration. She knows it in her bones.

Bucky opens his eyes languidly, fixes her with a distressingly alert gaze that trails over her face, down to her hand still clutching the dildo, fingers almost white with tension. Peggy makes herself drop it, twists her fingers together; then tells herself she's being ridiculous. Whatever's coming will happen whether she prepares for it or not, so--

The next second, she's flat on her back, and Bucky's plastered half-over her, strong arms blocking her in as he plies her mouth open with his, kisses her like he'd die without it. The flames, that had doused a little with the spike of anxiety, flare back to life, even hotter than before. Bucky pushes himself up on one arm, trails the other down her body, between her legs. He growls into her mouth when he feels how wet she is, dripping with it; she splays her free leg to the side, opens herself up to him, groans desperately as he pushes two fingers inside her, nowhere near filling the yawning pit of need, but God, it's something, and she'd rather wait until he's ready to fuck her to get what she needs.

It doesn't stop her from wrapping her arms around his huge shoulders, shoving her hands in his hair and tugging, muffling her moans in his mouth as he delves in, shoves the fabric of her knickers to the side, finds her clit with his thumb. Bucky has always been exceedingly deft with his hands, and now's no exception; he plays her like the guitar that travels with him to all their meets, presses another finger inside her. She's too close to the surface to last; shameless, she fucks herself on his hand, rubs herself off against his fingers, takes what he offers and screams when she comes, clenching hard against him and riding out the aftershocks while he kisses her silent.

"Fuck," Bucky says sometime later, when they lie side by side, both filthy with all sorts of fluids, both nowhere near done for the night. He doesn't sound angry, or upset, or disgusted, so Peggy lets herself breathe a little easier. "Fuck, I never--you know I never--"

"I know," she interrupts gently, finding his hand with hers and lifting it to her lips, drawing his forefinger in her mouth. "You'll have noticed I get turned on by it, too," she adds when she has sucked it clean over the hitch of his breath. "I'm pretty sure the evidence speaks for itself." She turns to look at him a little, and he's watching her with heat in his eyes, that look of intent that never fails to get her wet.

"I want to fuck you," he tells her, dark, demanding. "And then I want you to tell me all about those things you've been keeping secret. I think I'm gonna like them."

Peggy can't hold back her gleeful grin, the way her eyes crinkle and her cheeks flush.

God, the things she is going to do to this man of hers. She's got the rest of their lives to indulge them both; but first, she’s got the rest of tonight.