Work Header

Merry Christmas, bitch

Work Text:

Out of all things Bucky would expect to happen in the middle of the night (emergency call from the hospital, JARVIS informing him that Steve’s been an idiot again, Steve forgetting about time zones and trying to call for a quick phone sex session), a kidnapping isn’t very high on his list.

That is, until two days before Christmas, when he wakes up in the small hours after a twelve-hour shift, and finds out that there’s a bunch of guys in his dark bedroom, stumbling into furniture like awkward baby giraffes.

Steve’s on a mission in Venezuela, so Bucky’s been taking extra shifts to keep himself from missing him. Now it’s clearly come back to bite him in the ass, because, well. He apparently didn’t wake up when these idiots broke in. Bucky’s been trained better than this.

Before he has a chance to start shit (which, a bad idea, Barnes, you’re not in CIA), two of the guys notice that he’s awake, and then he’s suddenly pinned while someone puts a fucking bag over his head. Thankfully they at least knock him out after that.

Typical. So fucking typical.


Steve’s just stopped to pull a quick breath and pick out some mud that’s lodged under his fingernails when there’s an incoming call in his earpiece. “Bucky?” he asks, because who the hell else would be calling him on a mission.

“Captain Rogers,” JARVIS says. “There has been a security breach in your house. I have sent Stark Industries security to check the situation, but it seems that Mr Barnes has been kidnapped.”

Steve freezes. “What?”

“Mr Barnes’ life signs left the perimeter with five other people fifty seconds ago, sir.”

Out of all possible scenarios that could happen to Bucky, Steve honestly hadn’t considered that somebody would want to kidnap him.

“Shit,” he says, and presses his comm. “Tony, JARVIS called. Something’s happened to Bucky.”

“Shit,” Sam’s voice says, piping in.

“Shit,” Tony’s voice echoes. “Let’s go. Rhodey and Vision can wrap things up here. We have a loverboy to save.”

They’re zooming back to New York two minutes later, leaving heavily confused Rhodey and utterly indifferent Vision behind.


When Bucky comes to, he’s being dragged between two people across something that sounds like linoleum. The bag is still over his head, there’s a merciless throbbing in his skull, and Bucky’s really damn pissed.

“Hey, Mike,” says a voice on his left. “I thought this guy would be heavier.”

“I think he’s pretty heavy, Bobby,” Mike grunts on Bucky’s right side.


“No but really, he looked bigger on the TV,” Bobby says.

Bucky rolls his eyes and winces a little when it makes his head hurt more. These fucking morons think he’s Steve, like Steve isn’t taller and built like a brick shithouse and has shorter hair. This is just Bucky’s luck: he gets accidentally kidnapped, because the kidnappers are fucking idiots.

“Please, Bobby,” Mike says. “Everybody knows the camera adds at least twenty pounds.”

Bucky closes his eyes and prays for the sweet mercy of unconsciousness. It doesn’t come. Fuck.

He’s dragged into a room and plonked down into a chair. Somebody ties his hands behind his back, and then a voice says, “Captain America! I have long wished to make your acquaintance.”

The bag is ripped off Bucky’s head, and then the same voice says, “Who the fuck is this?”

Bucky opens his eyes, takes in the monstrosity in front of him, and says, “What the fuck are you wearing, pal? Is that velour?”

“Who. The fuck,” says the middle-aged man in front of him. He looks like a dad of three from South Dakota, except dressed in a velour tracksuit.

“Oh my god,” Bucky moans. “I’ve been kidnapped by idiots and a moron in a velour tracksuit. I did not sign up for this when I slept with Steve.”

Crime Against Fashion blinks rapidly. “Who is this fool?” he demands. “Where is Captain America?”

“Captain America is in fucking Venezuela,” Bucky says. “I’m the asshole he lives with.” And then, because sometimes he’s so stereotypically gay that Pride would hire him as their mascot if he didn’t swear so fucking much, he says, “What the fuck did you think when you put that on? Is that Juicy Couture, oh my god.


They throw Bucky into a handicapped bathroom turned into makeshift cell while they ponder what the hell to do with him, and leave him there to rot. Bucky’s a little cold in his t-shirt and pajama pants, and his socked feet feel chilly against the grimy floor. At least he has a toilet, and Bobby brings him a curry-smelling blanket, and a lukewarm McDonald’s bag a couple of hours later, looking apologetic. Bucky actually kinda likes Bobby, even if he’s an idiot.

Bucky fucking hates Egg McMuffins, but eats it anyway, because his stomach is grumbling.

Velour Dad comes back at 6:30 a.m. and proceeds to try to stare Bucky down. Please. Bucky’s head is aching and Egg FuckMuffin isn’t sitting well with him, but if he can stare down Stark, a full infantry of childish twenty-somethings thrown in the middle of a war, or five old ladies with old-people cooties who want to pinch his ass, he can very well stare down one fucker with JUICY written all over his buttcheeks.

Velour Dad is the first one to turn away. Ha.

Ten points to Slytherin.

“Have you already decided what’re you gonna do with me?” Bucky drawls. “Concrete shoes? Feeding me to sharks? I’ve seen every episode of Bones, pal, so you better be creative.”

Velour Dad pales a little at the mention of sharks, like he can’t even stomach the thought. Interesting.

“You’re our bait for Captain America,” Bucky’s ‘captor’ declares. “He will come for you, and then we will kill him!”

Bucky snorts. “Good luck, pal. The Captain America suit is lined with stupidity. Makes it bulletproof.”

“Do you always talk so much shit?” Velour Dad asks desperately, throwing his hands in the air.

“Oh no, usually it’s a lot fucking more,” Bucky says cheerfully, and gives him a very fake, toothy smile. “I’m still half-asleep. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

They gag him after that, and tie his hands behind his back again to stop him from taking off the tape. Typical.

Bobby considerately drapes the blanket around Bucky’s shoulders. Yeah, Bobby’s alright.


Waiting is boring. Bobby’s head pops in once in a while to check that Bucky’s still sitting on the diaper changing table, swinging his legs and humming muffled Christmas music through the gag. Bobby has a gun, which makes him more dangerous than the tracksuit guy, because Velour Dad is just an idiot, but Bobby’s an idiot with a firearm.

He does join in, though, when Bucky’s warbling Dashing through the snow, get the fuck out of my way to the tune of Jingle Bells. He has a surprisingly beautiful voice for a thug.

Two hours later, Velour Dad comes back and rips the duct tape off Bucky’s mouth. Bucky’s gonna need so much chapstick after this.

“Still no sign of Captain America,” Velour Dad says. “We need to call him--he probably hasn’t noticed your absence yet.”

“Sorry,” Bucky snipes back, “the Bat signal is broken. Couldn’t stand the pressure of justice.”

Velour Dad slaps him. Honest-to-god slaps him, like they’re fighting over the same guy in a club bathroom after watching too much Drag Race.

Bucky looks him in the eye, bares his teeth, and says slowly, deliberately, “Harder, daddy.”

Velour Dad scrambles out faster than a lightning bolt, followed by Bucky’s chortling. Even Bobby is snickering behind the door.

Twenty points to Slytherin, pal.


Crime Against Fashion comes back in ten minutes, holding an ancient flip phone. “You, little shit, will call Captain America now, you understand? Any more cheek and Bobby will-- will--” His voice wavers. “Sh-shoot your t-toes off.”

A gangster who can’t even talk about violence? Bucky would probably think of him as adorable, if he wasn’t wearing JC.

“Okie dokie,” Bucky says. “Do you have his number?”

“No,” Velour Dad frowns. “You have it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but dutifully recites the number from memory. Velour Dad presses the call button and holds the phone to Bucky’s ear.

It doesn’t take long until the line clicks on.

“Hi, baby,” Bucky says cheerfully. “I’ve been kidnapped.”

Steve snorts. “You sound suitably terrified.”

“This is a ransom call,” Bucky explains. “You’re taking your sweet fucking time coming to rescue me. The bad guy dared to think that you hadn’t noticed my absence yet.”

“As if one wouldn’t notice the blessed silence that falls when you’re gone,” Steve says.

Velour Dad takes the phone back and completely misses when Bobby disappears from the doorway. Bucky doesn’t. When he strains his ears, he hears faint clanging from somewhere in the building. It sounds a lot like Stark’s suit.

“Captain America,” Velour Dad declares, and doesn’t notice when something patriotic-colored appears in Bobby’s place. “We will exchange your life for your lover’s.”

“Damn,” Steve says from the doorway, and his voice is loud in the bathroom. “Can I at least get a goodbye blowjob?”

Velour Dad’s head whips to the side, and Bucky takes his chance and kicks the fucker in the gut. Bucky hasn’t been going to the gym for nothing, and Mr. Juicy sails across the room and hits a wall, falling in a heap on the floor.

“Hi, doll,” Steve says, and comes to give Bucky a kiss. His shield is on his back, and half of his suit is splattered with dried mud. “Ew, you taste like Egg McMuffin.”

“And you smell like the fucking jungle, Tarzan,” Bucky says, leaning against him for a brief moment to ground himself. Then he turns a little so that Steve can cut the tape around Bucky’s wrists. “Where the fuck are we?”

“South Jamaica, near JFK,” Steve replies as he gently peels the tape off. Bucky bites his lip and swears a little when the tape rips out the fine hairs on his wrists.

“Jesus,” Bucky says. “These amateurs, couldn’t even get further than Queens. This whole fucking place smells like cauliflower curry.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “It’s an old Indian restaurant.” He helps Bucky down from the table and activates his earpiece. “Sam, I found Bucky, he’s fine. The guy who’s behind the kidnapping is in the handicapped bathroom. You can tell that to the cops.”

“Great,” Sam’s tinny voice says. “These kidnappers are fucking idiots, man.”

Bucky agrees.

Then Steve glances at Crime Against Fashion, and his eyes widen a little in astonished horror as he says, “Is that a velour tracksuit?”

Bucky’s never been prouder.


After Bucky’s given his statement to the cops, he and Steve get a ride home in Stark’s car. Tony’s blessedly quiet for once, and Happy considerately dims the windows so that Bucky can nod off against Steve’s mud-stinking shoulder. Bucky’s bundled up in a sweater and a pair of slippers Happy whipped out from somewhere, and the heating is on, which totally makes Happy Bucky’s second favorite person in the world.

Steve carries him piggyback from the car to the house, because the slippers are Stark’s, who complains loudly about Bucky’s dirty socks messing them up. Bucky deliberately rubbed his feet together in the slippers when Stark looked the other way to give him some curry-smelling season’s greetings.

The lock to their apartment is broken, and the kidnappers knocked over some stuff and made a general mess when they left with Bucky, but nothing seems to be missing. At least Bobby and Mike and whoever the fuck were with them were decent guys.

They take a shower and Steve blows him, kneeling on the tiles. It’s nice (more than nice, if Bucky’s honest and not an asshole), especially when Steve washes Bucky’s hair and then presses his blood-hot solid body against Bucky’s so that Bucky can jerk him off.

Steve bundles Bucky up in like fifteen towels and dries him off before Bucky brushes the taste of Egg FuckMuffin from his mouth and they crawl into bed wearing fresh pajamas.

Steve curls around him like a huge, very muscled squid, pressing a kiss on the back of Bucky’s neck. “I was worried,” Steve murmurs. “Before they turned out to be morons, I was so damn worried.”

Bucky swallows a little and scoots even closer to Steve. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I would’ve been, too.”

Steve squeezes him, and if his arms are just a tad too tight around Bucky’s waist, Bucky’s not complaining. “Hey, honey,” Bucky says and manages to turn in Steve’s arms so that he can push his nose against the dip between Steve’s collarbones. “I’m here, okay? It takes a bit more than a velour-wearing shithead to get rid of me.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Steve says and rubs his nose into Bucky’s damp topknot. “Love you, bitch.”

Bucky laughs, a small huff against the warmth of Steve’s skin. “Love you too, fucker.”


Bucky half-awakens a couple of times during the day, thinking he’s hearing footsteps and hushed voices from the living room. He half-expects another kidnapping attempt, but his head aches and Steve is so warm, so he ends up pushing his face into Steve’s armpit and falling back asleep. Hell, if it's Bobby again, Bucky might even offer him a beer for being an okay guy.

They finally wake up almost eleven hours later, when Steve stumbles out of the bed to take a leak and says in a very loud, very confused voice, “What the fuck”, rousing Bucky.

When Bucky drags himself out of the bedroom wearing his unicorn dressing gown on top of his Christmas pajamas, he’s greeted by an unexpected sight. The unholy mess the kidnappers left behind has been cleared, and in the corner of the living room is a Christmas tree, decorated and lit, with presents piled under it.

“What the fuck,” Bucky echoes as Steve comes out of the bathroom and scoops Bucky into his arms. “Where the hell did that one come from?”

“Probably Tony,” Steve says, and kisses Bucky’s jaw. “Morning, doll.”

“Evening, honey,” Bucky corrects, glancing at the clock. “It’s 9:15 p.m.”

“Whatever.” Steve shrugs and squeezes Bucky a little, playing idly with the sash of Bucky’s dressing gown. “I’ve never seen you wear this before. Is it new?”

“Nah,” Bucky says and turns his head to press a kiss on Steve’s stubbled cheek. “It’s for special occasions only. Like not being fucking kidnapped.”

Steve laughs and lets Bucky go brush his teeth. There’s a note on the kitchen counter, informing them that Tony’s taken the liberty of fixing the broken lock and reinforcing it, and hiring people to clear the place and bring in a tree. The gifts are from the Avengers, and probably terrible. Knowing them, Bucky’s expecting to get at least one Captain America vibrator.

There’s Nepalese takeout in the fridge. Bucky forgives Stark for a lot of things when he sees all the naan bread Steve pulls out.

The tree is decorated with every single gaudy Avengers ornament available in Target. Bucky loves it, especially the little prancing Steves. Steve lights a fire in the fireplace, and they eat takeout on the couch, Bucky’s feet thrown across Steve’s lap. It’s almost disgustingly domestic.

“I have a present for you,” Steve says after they’ve polished off the food. “Wanna open it now or tomorrow?” His eager face says that Bucky should absolutely want to open it immediately.

“What the hell, let’s do it now,” Bucky says. “There’s a present for you in the pocket of my floral bomber. You know which one.”

“Yeah, I do,” Steve replies, and bends to kiss Bucky as he gets up. “We can save the rest for tomorrow.”

Bucky stretches on the couch and watches Steve pad barefoot into the bedroom and the attached walk-in closet. He comes back barely a minute later with two small packages.

“Here’s yours.” Steve tosses the gift to Bucky. “You go first. Merry Christmas, Buck.”

Bucky catches the present easily and shakes it a little, admiring the ugly Hawkeye wrapping paper. There’s no rattle, and the package is fairly light. Bucky peels the paper off to reveal a blank cardboard box, and starts to laugh when he peeks inside. “You bought me a butt plug?”

Steve shrugs, unperturbed. “Suits your class, sass, and ass. Besides, it glows in the dark.”

“You’re fucking classy, alright,” Bucky says fondly, and pokes Steve’s thigh with his toes. “Your turn. Merry fucking Christmas, hon.”

Steve rips the poison-green Hulk wrapping paper off his own present, and blinks down at the contents. “Is this a cock ring?”

“Guess what,” Bucky says. “It glows in the dark too.”

Steve doesn’t laugh like Bucky expected. He’s staring at the toy with a thoughtful expression, and Bucky frowns. “Hey, you alright?”

Steve doesn’t reply, and Bucky turns to put his gift on the side table, ready to manhandle him into talking or comfort him if Steve’s gonna burst into tears over having a proper Christmas with awful sex toys as a gift for the first time in his life. But when he turns back, Steve’s not on the couch anymore.

He’s down on the floor.

On one knee.

“Marry me,” Steve says, looking completely serious, holding the cock ring in his hand.

“What,” Bucky says, and sits up a little straighter.

“Marry me, idiot,” Steve repeats, and holy shit, it’s not a joke.

“Are you proposing to me with a fucking cock ring?”

Steve looks down at his hand, and quirks a smile. “Looks like I am.”

Bucky blinks. “Where the hell did this come from?”

Steve shrugs. “I love you. Just realized that I wanna live with your ugly mug and horrible sense of humor for the rest of my damn life.”

Bucky tries to hide how touched he is, and fails horribly. His voice wobbles a little when he puts on a brave face and says, “And you got that revelation because we unknowingly bought each other matching sex toys?”

“Yup,” Steve says, now full-on grinning. Little shit. Bucky loves him like an idiot. “You gonna marry me or not, Barnes?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, tearing up a bit. It’s not the most romantic proposal, but Bucky doesn’t give a fuck. He’s a modern man; he can cry if he wants to. “Alright, you fucking mook. But you’re gonna be the one to tell the country that Captain America is getting gay-married.”

“Deal,” Steve says, grinning like a loon, and pulls Bucky down onto his lap. His eyes are shining suspiciously, too. “Wanna go test how this works?” He wiggles the cock ring.

Bucky laughs and wraps his legs around Steve’s hips when Steve gets up. “Yeah,” he says and kisses him, his hands buried in Steve’s fluffy hair. “Just for the record, getting married doesn’t mean that we’re having a baby. Kids are my mortal enemy.”

“Damn,” Steve says, his mouth turned up into a wide, brilliantly happy smile as he hoists Bucky up and carries him towards the bedroom. “I have a list of possible names somewhere. I was gonna ask how you feel about Gertrude.”

“The only good part of that awful name is that there’s the word ‘rude’ in it.” Bucky arches his back a little as Steve’s clever hands knead his ass. “And honey, I’ve got some bad news for you about male anatomy and reproducing.”

“Gee,” Steve says, and kisses Bucky’s neck before plopping him down on the bed. “And here I thought you were gonna grow me a kid in your ass.”

“Jesus Christ, Rogers, the world is missing a lot thinking that you’re a goody-two-shoes,” Bucky says fondly as Steve drops down on top of him. “Fuck, you’re heavy.”

“The world can think whatever the fuck it wants,” Steve says, looking so happy that it probably hurts. He leans closer and says in a horrible faux-whisper, accompanied by hot breath and fluttering eyelashes, “Let’s make a baby, sugar.”

“For that I’m making you sleep with a boner and the cock ring,” Bucky says and slaps him in the shoulder, before pressing their dicks together and pulling Steve in by his shirt.

Turns out that distance - as well as getting kidnapped and then ex tempore engaged - does make the heart fonder, and the dick harder.

It’s a pretty merry Christmas.