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Keeping the Outfit

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“Hey Stevie, did we really…” Bucky always starts, though by now he’s pretty good at telling the difference between actual memories and Hydra-implanted memories and plain old daydreams. This particular time, though, Bucky’s not sure if he hopes it was real or a daydream.

“Hey Stevie, did we, um, did I…” he trails off, and Steve looks up from where he’s sprawled on the bed, doodling idly on his drawing tablet.

“Did you what?”

“It’s, um, it’s a sex thing.”

“Oh?” Steve asks, laying the tablet on the nightstand and sitting up properly.

At least this isn’t quite as embarrassing as the first time he’d recovered a memory of making love to Steve. It really isn’t, he tells himself firmly. It’s just… odd.

“I, um, I was wearing stockings?” Bucky offers.

Steve smiles his big smile. “Yeah, that’s a real one. That was a fun time, while it lasted.”

Bucky lets out an offended squawk. “You callin’ me a minuteman?”

Steve laughs. “No, just… think it through, remember how it ended?”

Bucky pauses and thinks about it for a second, then bursts out laughing himself as the memory slides into place. “Yeah, that was pretty ridiculous.” He collapses next to Steve, giggling, and pulls him in for a kiss.

Bucky ran his hands over his legs, shivering at the weird new sensation. The calluses across his palms caught at the fabric. That he was familiar with. What was new was the way every inch of skin covered by the stockings felt tingly. He felt hyper aware of the pressure of each movement of his hand. The hair on his legs poked through in a few places, wiry against the smoothness, and radiated the tingly, almost ticklish new sensation out from his hands as he stroked over his calf. Fascinated with the feeling, he almost forgot his embarrassment until it came rushing back when Steve knocked on the door.

“Buck? You ready? I wanna see this surprise,” Steve called through the door.

Shame swirling in his gut, Bucky almost tore the stockings back off. But he wanted this, he did, and he knew Steve wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t shame him for it. Right? He bit his lip, hesitated, and then stood up and crossed the room to the door before he could change his mind. Blush spreading all the way down his bare chest, Bucky took one last deep breath and pulled the door open.

He couldn’t bear to look at Steve, instead staring down at his feet, comically large, with the bad joint of his left big toe outlined in the clingy fabric, but he heard the sudden intake of breath as Steve saw what Bucky was wearing. He was stripped down to his briefs, the coarse white fabric looking out of place above the only other thing he was wearing: a pair of women’s stockings, cheap rayon he’d picked up for 18 cents under the guise of getting stuff for his sister.

“Buck, I, um, you…” Steve sounded out of breath, shocked. Bucky winced. Of course this was a bad idea. Why would Steve want him to look like a lady?

“Sorry, I’ll… just go take ‘em off…” Bucky turned to go, but Steve grabbed his shoulder.

“Buck, hey, no, look at me.” Bucky did, and his mouth fell open at the naked arousal on Steve’s face.

“I’m not upset, just, um, you kinda threw my brain off the rails for a second. I… wow.” Steve pointedly looked Bucky up and down, from his bright red cheeks, down his muscular chest, over the briefs where Bucky’s dick perked up at Steve’s obvious enjoyment, and took considerable time to trace the lines of Bucky’s legs in the stockings.

He finished his inspection and looked back into Bucky’s eyes, a bright smile lighting up his face. “You’re beautiful, Buck,” he whispered, and Bucky surged forward to capture him in a messy kiss.

He pulled Steve into the room, still kissing him, and stopped only long enough to pull Steve’s shirt over his head before collapsing onto the bed and pulling Steve down on top of him.

“You really like it, Stevie?” he asked one last time.

“God, yes,” Steve said against his mouth, running his hands down  Bucky’s side and over his leg until he reached the top of the stocking, stretched taut over his thigh.

Bucky’s breath caught as Steve trailed a finger over his stockinged thigh. The tingly sensation he’d noticed with his own hand mixed with arousal to create something that left him gasping under Steve’s touch.

“You like that, huh?” Steve asked, grinning wickedly as he trailed just the tip of one finger up the inside of Bucky’s leg.

Bucky just groaned in answer.

“Look at you,” Steve said. “I’ve got you all worked up with one little finger. This is a great idea.”

Steve ran his palms from Bucky’s ankles to the top of the stockings, playing along the edge with some fingers on Bucky’s bare skin and some on the fabric.

“God, Stevie,” Bucky whined.

His dick was tenting his briefs, straining at the rough fabric, and he had a sudden image of what that silky tingling sensation would be like against his dick. Good God, how did women wear these on a daily basis?

Bucky spread his legs and pulled his knees up, putting legs and dick alike on display. Steve grinned and reached up to run a finger over Bucky’s dick through the fabric. Bucky threw his head back with a groan and tensed every muscle in his body at Steve’s teasing touch, and with a startling ripping noise, both stockings split up the back, practically exploding off Bucky’s legs.

They both froze, eyes locked, and then burst out laughing. Bucky lay there in his underwear, tatters of rayon around his ankles and his lover sitting between his legs, and laughed till he had tears in his eyes. Steve face-planted into his crotch, gasping with laughter, and Bucky gave up on that particular experiment.

That memory keeps coming back, meandering into Bucky’s thoughts whenever he’s not paying attention. Because the thing is, it had been fun. He catches himself rubbing at his legs, imagining how they would feel covered in silky material, and he daydreams about the look on Steve’s face as he knelt above him. He wonders what that expression would look like on Steve now, and that’s what pushes him to the point of acknowledging the idea that’s been percolating under all this daydreaming. He pulls out his laptop.

Remembering the shredding problem, which would only be worse given the current size of his thighs, he searches for men’s stockings. This delivers a bunch of ads for socks, but also some images that make him blush and point him in the direction of appropriate search terms. He clicks a few links and determines that men’s stockings not only exist but are also only the start of the available merchandise in the future.

Which is, naturally, the moment Steve walks in, sees Bucky blushing furiously at the computer screen, and immediately sits himself down on the couch next to him to take a look. 

“What’s this… oh, wow, um…” and then Steve’s blushing even harder than Bucky, turning pink right down to the collar of his t-shirt. Bucky knows exactly how far down that flush goes, and thinking about it is almost a relief, the familiar, comfortable feeling of being turned on by Steve preferable to the awkward arousal-humiliation he’s been fighting looking at all those faceless male bodies decked out in a wide array of stockings and harnesses and thongs.

Bucky breathes out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, wow. They, um, they make ‘em for men, now, so I was thinking we could maybe try some out?”

Steve swallows audibly. “Yeah, okay, that sounds… that sounds fun, Buck.” He grins and leans over for a kiss that’s brief but heated.

“Good. Great,” Bucky manages once his brain comes back online. He’s still processing the idea that it’s not just him, that this is something other people like and do, and that kiss proved to him that it’s not just him in this relationship either; Steve is very clearly onboard. 

“Right, okay, let’s get some stuff,” Steve says, grinning and leaning his head on Bucky’s shoulder to see the screen.


Once they’ve got everything picked out, Bucky goes to place the order, but Steve stops him with a hand over his.

“Second thoughts, Stevie?” Bucky teases.

“No, not at all, it’s just…” he hesitates.

“Just what?”

“Would you want me to wear some too?” Steve asks hesitantly, blushing even harder.

Bucky blinks as he tries to process that image.

“It’s just, I like the way you look in it, and if you wanted, I’d like to give you that same satisfaction, see, and-” Bucky presses a metal finger to Steve’s lips, having learned from experience that a babbling Steve will talk himself into feeling guilty about just about anything if he lets him.

“That’s sweet, Stevie. Let’s take this one step at a time, though, don’tcha think?”

Steve nods, and Bucky takes his finger away.

“I gotta wear something, though,” Steve points out.

Bucky raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You sure about that?”

“Oh, shut it!” Steve shoves him with his wide shoulders.

“Hey, d’you think Stark saved that chorus girl outfit? I never did get to see the tights in person,” Bucky says just to see Steve blush some more.

“You and that damn uniform,” Steve grumbles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks, but he looks away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“You know, you’re always on about it. Teased me fresh out of that hellhole of a Hydra base I rescued you from, even.”

Bucky remembers that night. They finally got a moment alone, hidden in the woods with the camp still audible in the distance, and Steve had Bucky up against a tree in no time, kissing desperately, hands grasping and stroking, part discovering each other, and boy was there a lot of Steve to discover, and part checking for injuries, because Bucky knew Steve would never admit to pain if he could help it. Bucky remembers the desperation in Steve’s eyes as he felt the welts and cuts and bruises from his torture under his threadbare shirt, remembers cracking jokes to keep him from dragging the moment down. He couldn’t think about that room, not without collapsing, and he couldn’t collapse till Steve was safe. “You really ran into a fortified Nazi base in a chorus girl uniform? And here I thought I took all the stupid. Where the hell did you find some more?” And it worked, Steve choked out a laugh and Bucky kissed him fiercely before they had to go back to camp and deal with the reality of two hundred traumatized soldiers expecting goddamned Captain America to get them home.

The memory feels distant now, separated from Bucky’s reality by years and worse pains and a boatload of therapy, and he shrugs and nods. “Guess I did. Would’a teased you about anything just to hear you laugh again, know you were really you down in that big new body somewhere.”

“Bucky…” Steve says, and kisses him, the way he always does when Bucky brings up those memories, the precious stolen moments from the war, the awkwardness of getting to know each other all over again after so much had changed.

Thinking about the stupid chorus girl outfit leads Bucky to thinking about the actual uniform, same red stripes and stupid, attention-drawing star across the chest - and isn’t bad enough your shield is literally a target, Stevie, have to go putting one on your own chest, too? - but with thick, rough fabric and a network of straps and buckles that rivaled the fucking Winter Soldier outfit for getting into and out of. And then there’s the modern uniform, all sleek and streamlined, and with modern fastenings that mean Steve can get in and out of his uniform in under two minutes.

There’s something to be said for the old style, though, all those straps and buckles. Maybe Bucky’s just got some associations , is all. Not much time to get naked when you’re sneaking around behind enemy lines, so yeah, he’s got some memories of Steve in that outfit. Nice memories, and he holds onto those kind tight. And then there was that one time in the hotel, when he could have gotten Steve all nice and naked… Bucky blushes and pulls away from Steve as he thinks about that night and what, exactly, he was trying so hard not to think about.

Bucky caught Steve up in his arms the second the door was securely locked behind them, kissing him frantically, running his hands over the rough fabric of his uniform to grab his ass and pull him against his chest while Steve fisted a hand in his hair and clutched at him with equal fervor. It had been weeks since they’d had an actual room with four walls, a bed, and a locked door. Weeks since they’d had time for more than stolen kisses and quick blowjobs, one eye open in case of discovery by the other Howlies. But they were back in London for debrief before their next foray into the wilderness, and Steve had been given his own hotel room. They’d come up straight from debrief, still in their uniforms, dirty and tired from weeks of sleeping rough. But they both knew there was no way they were wasting any moment of this precious opportunity.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, fingers fumbling at the buttons on Bucky’s blue jacket while Bucky mouthed at his neck, careful not to suck too hard.

“Hey,” Bucky said, drawing back as Steve fumbled the button again in his eagerness. “Maybe we should go slow, huh? Not often we get a whole night.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Steve said. “I need you now. Need to feel you, Buck. Thought you said we’ve got all night? We can go slow later.”

Bucky grinned and caught Steve’s mouth in a deep kiss, pressing so hard it almost hurt. Then he darted back, unbuttoning his own jacket and shirt and tossing them to the side before Steve could tear any buttons off with his overeager super-strength. Not that it wasn’t hot as hell, Steve using his strength like that, but Bucky’d commissioned that jacket special from Stark, and it’d be a shame to have to sew all those buttons back on. Besides, the look on Steve’s face as Bucky lay down on the bed and ran a hand over his bare chest was perfect. Bucky grinned and made a come hither gesture at Steve, who came thither so quickly he almost blurred in Bucky’s sight.

“Jesus, punk,” he muttered, grabbing a handful of Steve’s hair and pulling him down for a kiss, the rough fabric of the Captain America uniform digging into his chest as Steve climbed onto the bed, boots and all. “You’re gonna wreck the bed.”

“Don’t care,” Steve growled against his mouth.

And then his mouth was on Bucky’s, tongue slipping in to claim him roughly, hands leaving trails of fire as they slid across his skin. Bucky kissed him back just as fiercely, hands roaming over Steve’s back, reaching up to fist in his hair and down to grab his ass through his tightly-fitted pants. Steve held him, covered him, and the world disappeared into a haze of touching and gasping and Steve, Steve, Steve. They were grimy and bruised and exhausted, but they were alive, he was here with Steve, and that was all that mattered. Here they were, Steve still in uniform, Bucky naked with his pants shoved down and tangled around his combat boots - and when had that happened, he wondered hazily - the evidence of the war harsh against Bucky’s skin as Steve rutted against him, that star pressing into Bucky’s chest as Steve pulled Bucky’s head to the side and mouthed at his neck. Bucky reveled in it. They were alive, they were here, making love, messy and dirty and rough and necessary.

Steve trailed his fingers along Bucky’s ass, and Bucky groaned and tried to spread his legs, suddenly brought up short by the tangle of material around his ankles.

“Hang on, pants,” he muttered, pushing against Steve’s massive chest. Steve obligingly shifted to kneel between Bucky’s legs, though not before giving a twist to Bucky’s nipple that left him gasping.

“Should get the oil,” he told Steve, breathless, while he worked at the laces of his boots.

Steve nodded and walked over to Bucky’s pack, reaching into the outside pocket where he kept the German gun oil he preferred. Bucky’s fingers went slack on the laces of his boots as he watched Steve cross the room. Steve looked damn good from behind, though Bucky sometimes missed his little slip of a best guy. He wasn’t used to being the one getting tossed around.

Steve twisted open the tub of oil with a grin, the anise-tinged scent filling the room, and Bucky immediately focused on getting his damn boots off and shoved off the end of the bed.

“You think about me when you’re cleaning your guns?” Steve asked, watching Bucky’s reaction to the smell of the oil. “Reckon that could cause some problems.”

“You know I do, punk,” Bucky retorted. “Like I haven’t seen you watchin’ me across camp?”

Steve shrugged and gave him his most unrepentant smirk. “What can I say, I like watching you stroke the barrel.”

“Well get over here and stroke it yourself, then.” Bucky grabbed Steve by the strap on his shoulder and pulled him onto the bed.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, and Bucky had time to think how that sounded all sorts of wrong coming from his Captain before Steve’s slick hand closed over his prick and he surrendered rational thought.

Steve was everywhere, driving Bucky to a fever pitch with his hand on Bucky’s cock and his fingers inside him and his mouth closed over one nipple. Bucky arched and swore and flailed with his hands, grasping futilely at the buckles and straps and hard, stiff material of Steve’s uniform, desperate to give his lover pleasure in return but too lost in Steve’s determination to overwhelm him to manage anything coherent in his attempts to get the damn outfit off.

“Please, Stevie, please, fuck, I can’t take this any longer, I need you,” Bucky babbled, and Steve withdrew, kneeling and leaving Bucky gasping and empty as he reached up to undo the buckles across his shoulders. His oil-slick fingers slipped on the straps, and Bucky groaned in frustrated desperation and reached for the fly of Steve’s pants, where his cock was straining against the blue material. He undid the button with shaky fingers and slid the zipper down. He wasn’t sure which one of them groaned, maybe both, as he thumbed the button of his underwear open and slid Steve’s cock out of his pants.

Bucky grinned up at Steve and lay back with his legs spread, everything on display.

“Fuck,” Steve groaned, squeezing the base of his cock for control as he slicked up and positioned himself over Bucky.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Steve whispered, staring into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky’s response disappeared into a long groan as Steve slid into him, hot and hard, stretching and filling him as the world once again narrowed down to nothing but Steve. Bucky was hyper aware of everywhere Steve was touching him, rough fabric against his bare skin, callused hands stroking his shoulder, soft mouth against his. Steve fucking him while in uniform wasn’t exactly new, but this time he was naked, soft and open while Steve stayed enclosed, their only points of contact the brush of Steve’s lips and hands and the joining of their bodies. Bucky wrapped his hands around Steve’s face and kissed him sweetly as time stretched around them, the urgency that had accompanied Bucky’s desperation to have Steve inside him fading away into a gentler sort of pleasure. Bucky drifted in Steve’s embrace, focused on the feeling of Steve’s cock inside him, pleasure shivering outward from their joined bodies as they rocked together.


Bucky gasped, his cock, forgotten for a time, suddenly blazing into renewed arousal as Steve hit the spot inside Bucky that made the whole world light up and tremble.

Steve tightened his hold, pressed his lips hard against Bucky’s, and pinned him to the bed with his thrusts, shifting till he was nailing that spot with every thrust. The friction of the fabric against his cock was almost too much, warring with the pleasure of Steve’s cock inside him, the two sending feedback in a never ending loop that left him moaning into Steve’s mouth.

He had just enough presence of mind to reach between them and cup his hand over his overstimulated cock, catching the spill and keeping most of the spunk off Steve’s uniform as he came surrounded by Steve, hard cock and soft, soft lips.

He was vaguely aware of Steve holding him tight, of Steve’s lips against his cheek as he let go, going completely limp as the pleasure trembled outward from his core. Of Steve still filling him, fucking into him with increasingly desperate groans till he trembled and froze, going completely silent as he came.

Steve collapsed at Bucky’s side, breathing hard and equally spent. Steve’s spunk turned cold on his thighs as he lay there, too blissed out to worry about any logistics. That’s a problem for future Bucky, he decided.

“Finally have the chance to get naked and you’re still wearing all your clothes,” he muttered to Steve.

Steve shrugged. “We’ll definitely have to have another try, then, won't we? Besides, you seemed to like it.”

Bucky started to nod, then shook himself. “You say the weirdest things, Stevie,” he said instead. “But yeah, another try, definitely.” He shifted, feeling the stiffness of the evening’s activities compounding his existing stiffness and exhaustion. “Later,” he added. The bed was soft, and he had his lover next to him. “Much later,” he said, already falling asleep.

As he drifted off, he saw Steve undressing, unbuckling all those straps and holsters. He was pretty damn gorgeous in that uniform.

“So… the uniform, huh?” Steve asks. He wrinkles his brow and looks up, thinking. “I can do that. You want a replica of the original? I bet they make them somewhere.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, that’d be a costume. I want the real thing.”

“What, the stealth suit?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods, suddenly unsure. “That… okay?”

Steve gives him a big smile. “Sure it’s okay, Buck. It’s your fantasy.”

“You sure? It’s not just me, it’s for you, too.”

Steve pulls him close. “I’m sure. I remember that night too, y’know. It was powerful, having you all naked just for me. But mostly I liked the way you looked. So desperate. I’ll do just about anything for you, Bucky, you know that. And this? It’s no hardship at all.’

“We really doing this, then?” Bucky asks after a pause.

Steve nods, “We’re doing this.”

“This time, we’ll actually get to enjoy it,” Bucky says as he finalizes the lingerie order.

“No shredding the stockings with your murder thighs,” Steve says with a solemn pout.

“Damn internet,” Bucky grumbles. “I get the murder thighs and you get, what, the shoulders of freedom?”

“I think it’s ‘America’s Ass,’ lately,” Steve offers.

“Oh, come on.”