Work Text:
When Steve had inspected his fresh ink at the studio, he’d been impressed by the clean lines and smooth loops, and how well his artist had brought to life what he’d wanted. It’s nothing too intricate, Bucky’s name in a swirling script with a plain heart at the end, but sitting right at his tail bone, framing his cheeks like a garish welcome sign over his ass, it makes for one hell of a sight.
It’d been a joke, mostly, when Bucky made some offhand comment about tattooing his name on Steve’s ass in case he gets himself lost somewhere in the Arctic again. A permanent If lost please return to— if you will.
The idea had Steve in enough stitches that he’d drawn up a preliminary design just to tease Bucky, never thinking it’d actually grow on him.
He can’t remember now what prompted it, if Steve had taken another unnecessary risk when trying to save a civilian, or if Bucky had slipped into one of his possessive moods because someone got their paws on him for a hair too long. Either sounds plausible, borderline staples in their lives these days.
People think Steve’s the jealous half of their relationship because he gets handsy after Bucky flirts with the little old ladies in their neighborhood, but Bucky’s the one who never learned to share.
Well, now that Bucky’s name is permanently stamped onto his skin, maybe he won’t get his panties in a bunch over every starry-eyed brunet Steve spends his time with.
Leaving his hastily pulled off clothes by the bed, Steve wanders into the living room to find the perfect spot to lay himself out. He wants his new body art to be the first thing Bucky sees when he comes through the door, all healed up thanks to the serum and smooth as a baby’s—well, smooth as Steve’s asscheeks right underneath.
He ends up on the couch, ass in the air and propped up even further with both knees on the armrest. The tattoo appointment had been preceded by a full wax a handful of days before, so Steve’s looking extra put together down there for the big reveal.
Giggles threaten to take over his body, and he has to bite at the insides of his cheeks to keep them at bay lest he topple over and break the coffee table. Bucky walking in on a naked Steve sprawling amidst broken glass and wood splinters would be much less sexy than what he’s got in mind.
It’s only a couple minutes later that he hears keys at the door, and Steve arches his back in preparation.
He’s got impeccable timing, Steve can’t help but mentally pat himself on the back. Bucky’s about five seconds away from cackling his stomach sore or plowing Steve right there and then on the living room couch. Maybe even both—there’s always been plenty of laughter in their sex life, even when they’d had to lay down blankets and fuck on the floor so the neighbors wouldn’t hear them through their tenement’s paper-thin walls.
What he hears at the presence of someone behind him, however, is not Bucky’s low, seductive voice or his embarrassing crowing laughter. Instead, Steve is assaulted by Sam screaming the house down, earning an equally panicked yelp from Steve.
“What the fuck, Sam!” Steve leaps off the couch, barely missing stubbing his toe in the rush to turn his bare ass away from his best friend. “What are you doing here?!” He’d be mortified by the pitch of his own voice if he didn’t just show Sam way more than he ever wanted to.
Well, there was a couple weeks there when showing Sam exactly what he’s sporting below the belt had been a top priority, but those days are long gone.
Nevertheless, nobody could possibly hear Steve’s humiliating squeak over Sam howling a loop of, “Ohmygod, why?! No, my eyes! Jesus fuck, my eyes!” His eyes are squeezed shut, both hands pressed tight against the upper half of his face, and a cup of—thankfully empty—coffee lays abandoned at his feet.
Honestly, Steve’s a little insulted. He’s got a nice ass, thank you very much. Sam’s acting like Steve’s just blinded him. The fucking nerve.
Once Sam’s calmed down enough from his freak-out, he manages a horrified, “Why, Steve?!” Arms stuck out on either side of his head, face twisted into a sour pinch and angled just slightly off center from where Steve actually is, Sam looks utterly ridiculous.
And that’s saying a lot, given Steve’s standing bare-ass naked in his living room, flushed red in a full-body blush from head to toe with his boyfriend’s name tattooed on his ass.
“I thought you were Bucky!” Steve tries to defend himself, shifting in discomfort. When he’d been thinking of surprising Bucky with a mostly seductive, partly comical pose, letting his dick fly free outside of the bedroom seemed like a great idea. Now, with Sam an arm’s length away and not a scrap of clothing in sight, it sounds real fucking dumb, even for him.
Sam huffs, lips pursed in clear regret for where the day has taken him. “Uhuh, and you got a reason for that tramp stamp of Bucky’s name?”
“Hey, that’s an offensive term!” Steve can’t help but scoff, hands absentmindedly coming up to rest on his hips. Without a stitch of clothing much less his suit, however, the pose is nowhere near respectable. In fact, it’s bordering on lewd, his dick framed perfectly by the stance. “And besides,” he mumbles, “I’m only a tramp for Bucky.”
He swears he hears Sam mutter an aggrieved, of course you are, but Steve chooses to ignore him. It’s not like he’s ashamed—he can’t imagine anyone not jumping on Bucky’s dick given half the chance.
Sam makes to tear his hands away from his eyes but stops just in time. “Are you still naked? If I open my eyes, am I gonna get some full-frontal action?”
Steve looks down at himself, and finally shifts to cover his shaft and balls with both hands. “No?” He doesn’t sound nearly as convincing as he does declaring his undying love for Bucky’s dick. Oh well, that’s never been hard to believe.
“I swear to—”
“What the hell is going on?” Bucky finally makes his entrance, arms loaded with groceries and a few cups of coffee. Ah, that makes sense. Bucky does like to get coffee with Sam and grab some weekly groceries at the end of his walks. Steve should’ve thought of that before he scarred Sam for life.
Guess his timing’s not so impeccable after all, though that’s been proven pretty fucking well going by the fact that Bucky walked in on Steve cupping a handful of his own junk and Sam scandalized beyond belief, instead of his lovingly planned-out present.
All Steve wanted was to plan a romantic night in for Bucky and put a smile on his face—and, okay, to get dicked down six ways to Sunday—and now the surprise is ruined! Ugh, can’t anything in his life go right?
The second Bucky’s brows rise in appreciation, however, his heavy gaze drinking in all the exposed skin on display, Steve’s excitement perks back up. “Not that I don’t love seeing you flaunt it, Stevie, but why are you showing the goods to Sam?”
“I hate you so much,” Sam grumbles, whirling sideways to aim his scowl at Bucky—though the wall about six inches off from his intended target gets the brunt of Sam’s oozing displeasure. “Steve, it was not nice seeing you, and do not expect to see me anytime in the near future.” He stumbles backwards and feels his way over to the front door, muttering under his breath about needing ample time to bleach his brain before leaving with a quick, “He’s all yours, Barnes!”
Bucky sets his mountain of groceries down by the couch, slowly making his way over with both arms already outstretched. They smooth up Steve’s sides, across his chest and around his waist, pinky only just missing the very edge of his tattoo. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”
He beams down at Bucky and comes in for a quick peck, the giddiness over his silly gift taking over once more. Steve can’t wait to show him exactly what Sam, unfortunately, got a long first look at.
Well, Bucky’s the only one who’ll be seeing it for the foreseeable future, that Steve can guarantee.
Image: He wants his new body art to be the first thing Bucky sees. | Art by: kocuria