Work Header

Third Degree Harlotry

Chapter Text



  It took five months for Bucky to notice the bruises. 

  Everything had been going smoothly. They’d flirted around for a while,  went on a date, and before long they had taken it to the next level. Steve’s lease was up and he’s been looking for a roommate when Bucky asked if he wanted to move in. 

  Steve had never dated anyone like Bucky before. At first, he’d expected it to be a simple fling— he was physically attracted to Bucky, but he doubted they’d have enough in common to actually make anything serious work out. He couldn’t have been more wrong. It turned out they had a ridiculous amount in common, from favorite tv shows to both being night owls. Steve was used to sexually charged relationships, as he was a very sexual person naturally, but his relationship with Bucky wasn’t like that. It was as if they’d skipped the confusion, misunderstanding, and insecurity of starting a new relationship, and jumped straight into civil partnership. They liked fucking, sure; but they also liked getting lunch together, and going to concerts, and going for walks. They liked laying on the couch together, and texting each other memes because it was easier than getting up. They liked going to trivia nights at their local Buffalo Wild Wings, and fighting each other over the right answers. It had only been five months, but all of their friends already teased them about being an old married couple. They just worked. 

  Of course, there were some things that reminded Steve of how new their relationship actually was. They still met each other’s eyes from across the room sometimes, and Steve would instinctively blush and look away. They still didn’t know much about each other’s pasts, because why bother, when you’re in your twenties and living in the moment? And of course, Bucky still didn’t know about Steve’s job. 

  Steve had considered telling him, he really had. After they started dating for real, Steve had mauled over it for weeks, trying to decide if it was worth it. The thing was, he wasn’t trapped. He had gotten into the world of porn knowing what he was doing, and he was in a situation where he always had complete control over his scenes, from the kinks present, to the people doing it. He always got accurate medical records regarding STIs before doing a scene with someone, or he didn’t do the scene. The truth was, if Bucky didn’t find out about the porn, it wouldn’t have any negative effects on him, health or otherwise. So really, it was none of his business. 

  And maybe Steve knew that was an excuse. Maybe he recognized that he wasn’t exactly being honest with Bucky. Maybe he even realized that the reason he didn’t want to tell Bucky was so he wouldn’t have to see his reaction. Steve wasn’t dirty, and he wasn’t going to stop. Therefore, Bucky didn’t have to know. 

  This plan, magically enough, actually worked. For five whole months, Steve played his little game of make-believe, telling Bucky that he got all of his money from his writing job. It was a good excuse, seeing as Steve actually was a writer, with a published book and an editor and everything. He didn’t make much at all from it yet, but as long as he kept doing porn a couple of times a week (during which he told Bucky he was ‘meeting with his editor’), he could spend the days working on his book. 

  For five months, everything was perfect, and Steve happily lived his double life. And then, one Saturday evening when they were cuddling on the couch, Bucky hummed a little in confusion. “Stevie? How’d you get that bruise there?” 

  Steve, to his credit, did a wonderful job of not freaking out. He frowned, asked “What bruise?” and opened up Snapchat to use as a mirror. Sure enough, he had not just a bruise, but a hickey on the side of his jaw, right under his ear. Bucky’d given him hickies before, but not often: this quite obviously was not his handiwork. 

  Steve hummed, rubbing his thumb over it. “Huh. I dunno, I probably hit it on a cabinet or something.”

  “Or something,” Bucky agreed, sounding only lightly concerned. “Don’t worry, I’ll kiss it better.”

  Bucky didn’t push the subject, which Steve appreciated. Bucky didn’t seem to feel even the slightest bit insecure, and why would he? He trusted Steve. 

   Steve may have been an awful person.

  The next day was a shoot day, so Steve headed out around lunch and made sure to get there early. He did almost all of his shoots at the House, which was a family-style home a little bit out of the way for privacy purposes. 

  Steve arrived just when he’d wanted to, and said hi to everyone before singling Rumlow out from the lunch crowd, and dragging him out into the hallway. Rumlow gave him a confused, but still cocky smile, and let himself be led. 

  “How’re you doing, baby boy?” Rumlow greeted once they were in relative privacy. 

  Steve smiled, a little hurriedly. “I’m good, except for one thing. Bucky saw a hickey, and I’m pretty sure you’re the one who left it.”

  Immediately, Rumlow’s cocky demeanor fell, shifting to be replaced by a professional one. “Shit, really?” He asked, turning Steve’s head to see the one he was pointing at. “Aw, sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  Steve stepped back, mollified. “It’s alright. Just be more careful.”

  “Ste-e-eve!” A new voice said, and Steve turned just in time to see Sam rushing over, going fast, but slow enough not to spill his Orange Fanta. “Look who it is, my favorite twink!”

  Steve scoffed, but accepted his hug. “Don’t act surprised, you knew I was coming over.”

  “Aw man, just shut up and hug me. There we go.” Sam pulled back, all light and easy like he had absolutely nothing on his back. He pivoted, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Rumlow’s mouth. “Baby, when’s the next shoot?”

  “1:30,” Rumlow answered, wrapping an arm around his waist. Steve’s heart clenched at their easy affection. “It’s mine and Stevie’s scene, I think Dugan’s on camera?”

  “Shit, I told Dugan to go home early. It’s fine, I’ll take camera. And Steve, since I’ve got you here, I wanted to ask about another scene?”

   Steve raised his eyebrows, intrigued. Sam only asked him about scenes in person when they were unusual, usually because of specific fetishes Steve hadn’t greenlighted yet. “Yeah?”

  “The network is wanting more scenes with piss play,” Sam explained. “It’d probably have strong dom/sub, and obviously, humiliation. It sounded right up your alley.”

  Steve considered it. He wasn’t turned on by Omorashi, but he also wasn’t repulsed by it. “I’ll do it on three conditions. One, the piss stays away from my mouth; two, it has to be someone I’ve done scenes with before; and three, they’ve gotta drink a lot of water that day. I don’t want it to stink.”

  Sam nodded, making a few notes on his phone. “Cool. I’ll text you when I figure out more of the details. Thanks, Steve.”

  Steve grinned. “Hey, what’re friends for, if not to be pissed on?”

  He only had fifteen more minutes before the scene, so he went to the kitchen and drank some water, then ducked into the bathroom to prepare. He peed, then used his special enema bulb under the sink to make sure he was fully clean, and finished off with some baby wipes. He washed his hands, checked his reflection in the mirror, then pulled his pants up and went outside. 

  That day’s shoot was set to be in the second living room. It was smaller than the main one and more secluded. When Steve got there, Sam was already setting up the cameras, and Rumlow was laid splayed across the small couch. There were a few other small pieces of furniture in the room, plus the exposed rafters to attach ropes to, but in this shoot they’d be mainly using the couch. 

  The scene would last for maybe an hour, and would probably be edited down to ten or twenty minutes. It would be an addition to a series Steve and Rumlow had been working on, called Daddy’s Little Brat. In it, Steve and Rumlow pretended to be in a committed relationship, with Rumlow as the almost-stone top. These shoots were fun because Steve really got to play with being a different character, acting like a sweet but naughty sub who needed to be taught a lesson. Today, Rumlow was cleared to do forced oral/anal, do arm bondage on Steve with leather restraints, spank him, and, like in all of the other episodes in the series, call him as many derogatory names as he could come up with. Steve looked forward to it. 

  As Sam finished setting up the second camera, Steve peeled himself out of all of his clothes but his boxers, palming himself lightly. All of the lights in the room were on, which slightly ruined the mood, but it was made up for with privacy. At most commercial porn companies, the sets were relatively open, allowing for a half dozen cameramen, directors, and interns to stand with their clipboards and watch the scene take place. Steve had never experienced it, but Sam said it was a total boner killer, which is why he ran his shoots differently. He had three camera angles: one from the front, one from the side, and one adjustable one. The first two were stationary, and would record simultaneously to be edited down later. The last one could be moved as needed, getting close ups and the oh-so-famous between the legs shots. 

  “Alright, you guys good to go?” Sam asked, peaking up over one camera to look at them. 

  Rumlow grunted and stretched out on the couch, like a cat in a sunbeam. “I’m ready, though I should probably take a shower after this shoot. It’s been… shit, almost a week now?”

  “Considerate as always,” Steve teased, stepping into frame. He knew Rumlow was joking— Sam would actually kill him if he didn’t shower every morning, and after every scene. “I’m good to go.”

  Rumlow quickly jumped up and went over to the camera Sam was poised at, hauling him in for a kiss. They held the kiss for a moment, both smiling a little, before pulling back and looking at each other fondly. “I love you,” Rumlow promised. 

  Sam shook his head, still smiling. “Yeah yeah, you sweet talker. Now go and fuck him good.” 

  Rumlow pulled his shirt off, tossing it behind where the cameras could see. “Will do.”

  With that, Sam started all of the cameras recording, and they went into the scene. 

  Overall, it was a good scene. It started with Steve climbing onto Rumlow’s lap and teasing him, putting on his innocent-sub act as he ground against Rumlow and talked about all the naughty things he’d done. Rumlow let this happen for a little while, groping Steve clinically, before he decided he was tired of it and took control. Steve’s arms were bound behind him and Rumlow dragged Steve’s boxers off, making him bend over the arm of the couch for a spanking. The slaps stung sharply, but were done more for maximum butt-jiggling and noise than actual pain; Steve knew they wouldn’t bruise. After that, Rumlow pulled him onto his knees to suck his cock. 

  The scene ended nearly an hour later, after Rumlow physically picked Steve up off the ground to fuck him standing. The arm restraints had been lost nearly thirty minutes earlier, so Steve was able to cling on for dear life and Rumlow pushed roughly into him. Steve came on his chest, with Rumlow coming in his ass, groaning “That’s right, take it just like the little bitch you are” and Steve crying out “Daddy!” Another five minutes later, the scene was done, and the cameras were turned off, the lights brought down to a normal level.

  Steve toweled himself off, trying to get the cum off of him before it became gross, then crawled back onto the couch with Rumlow. “Great job guys,” Sam praised, coming over with their water bottles, and a blanket to drape over them. “Great scene. Brock, come find me after your shower.”

  Rumlow grunted in agreement, then tugged Steve closer, spooning him. Steve moaned a little— a natural reaction, after all of his exaggerated moaning from the scene— and let his muscles go lax, allowing Rumlow to move him how he wanted. Rumlow tugged the blanket up, almost covering Steve’s face, and rubbed his arm. 

  “You want talk, or quiet?” He asked, soft voice contrasting the harsh, militaristic tone he’d used in the scene. Rumlow was tall and muscular, with sharp, toned features, a resting battlefield expression, and a dick like a fucking rhinoceros, but in truth, he was actually pretty soft. 

  “I’m good with whatever,” Steve murmured, rolling over to look at him over his shoulder. “I’m actually already pretty content. Just tired. Think I need to cuddle for five minutes, then I’m good.”

  Rumlow patted his rear affectionately, muttering his agreement. 

  In the end, Steve only laid with him for a good minute before getting up to get his phone. Once it had been retrieved, he returned to continue cuddling, though he opened up his phone while doing it. There was a new message. 


From: Bucky 

On a scale of 1 to 10 how much does this woman’s hair look like a poodle? Be honest. 

Ugh I’m so boooooorrred

From now on, I’m done driving. Nothing is worth sitting in the DMV for this long. 

What are you up to?

  Steve smiled at the texts, leaning over to let Rumlow read them. Rumlow made an unsure noise. “The lady doesn’t actually look like a poodle. More like… one of those purse dogs.”

  Steve laughed, and texted Bucky that. He responded to the DMV thing with sympathy, then responded to Bucky’s question. 

From: Steve

Aw, sorry bb

We’ll just walk everywhere from now on. Better for the environment

Just finished up a meeting with my publisher :D! She says so far my manuscript is looking good, there’s just a few things content-wise I need to change.

  The stuff about the manuscript wasn’t even a lie, since when Steve had emailed him that morning, his publisher had said pretty much that. It just so happened that meeting face to face wasn’t actually required for most of his publishing/editing work, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. 

  “I’m judging you,” Rumlow said behind Steve. “There’s something not right about texting your boyfriend while another man’s come is literally still leaking from your ass.”

  “You hate me ‘cause you ain’t me,” Steve responded with, climbing up to standing, and feeling his ass. Rumlow was right about the leaking; ew.

  “Telling him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,” Rumlow promised. “Better than him thinking you’re cheating.”

  “He doesn’t think I’m cheating,” Steve promised, then pulled on his robe to go shower. “He’s not even suspicious.”


  “I’m worried about you,” Bucky admitted later that night, holding Steve’s arm up with a look of concern on his face. He was looking, of course, at the large fingerprint bruises on Steve’s upper arm, where Rumlow had squeezed while he held him down and fucked him. “Do you think it’s something about your vision? Maybe you need to go in and make sure your prescription hasn’t changed.” 

  “My prescription hasn’t changed,” Steve promised, pulling his arm back down and stepping closer to Bucky batting his eyes up at him. “I’m just clumsy. Don’t worry about it, okay? I don’t like it when you’re worried.”

  “Not worried,” Bucky lied, pulling his lip in between his teeth. “You remember when we met?”

  “When you pulled me out of that fight?” Steve recited, leaning against Bucky’s chest lovingly. “‘Course I remember, jerk. You had such a hero complex back then. Still do.”

  Bucky, affectionately, ignored Steve’s jab. “Do you remember what I said to you that night? I said…”

  “...Something as pretty as me never deserved to get hurt,” Steve recited, the memory warm and fuzzy like a black and white photo with the edges starting to curl up. “It was real sweet of you.”

  “I still believe that,” Bucky promised, rubbing Steve’s back lightly. “I never, ever want you to get hurt, and I promise, unless I get screwed up in the head or something, I will never, ever hurt you.”

  Steve’s smile fell a little, thinking about that afternoon, Rumlow spanking him so hard Steve jolted with every movement. He thought about how it’d felt after, all warm and tingly, his nerves wide-awake. It was one of the best feelings in the world, feeling wrung out and aching from a good roll in the hay. He wouldn’t get that with Bucky, though, because Bucky didn’t want to hurt him. Which was fine, obviously. Steve should feel happy he has someone as loving and committed as Bucky. 

  For a second, Steve almost said it. He almost opened his mouth and spilled everything, about the videos and his kinks and his lies, and everything, everything. Then he closed his mouth again, swallowed, the words drying up. “Thanks, Buck. My Bucky Bear.”

  Bucky snorted, and pulled back, giving Steve one of his playful smiles. “Do you want to go out tonight? There’s this event happening down by the plaza…”

  Steve thought of Sam and Rumlow, their easy way of touching, talking. How they kiss before every scene they can, how they don’t have any secrets. He swallowed again. “Sure, Buck. It sounds fun.”