Archive of Our Own

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up at the table, who the people around him were or if they were playing for money or not but he had cigarettes and a good hand. The room was already turning hazy from the smoke and the lights were low, casting golden pools of light everywhere.

He recognised the man on his right hand vaguely, seen in passing somewhere in Italy most likely. Or in a pub, just anywhere. There was liquor, actual honest to god alcohol that wouldn’t make you go blind or crazy or dead and the smiles were friendly, so he wasn’t gonna go and let the opportunity pass him by. Plus, there was a girl leaning on the dresser that held the ichor of the gods. She had a glass in one hand, already half drained even though they’d only sat down for like five minutes and the game hadn’t even properly started yet. There was a book in the other, but it was being neglected in favour of a liberal eyefuck.

She’d just glanced over the other three in the room and was now undressing Bucky with her eyes. There was a ring on her finger, which was a damn shame, but the fact that he was looking back didn’t seem to be a problem. It was nice to be in civvies again, at any rate, even if it was just what he’d been able to scrape by from a pawnshop on account of his uniform being completely and utterly trashed.

Her dress was a deep dark green and the fabric shimmered in that kind of way that said expensive. And where her dress was a fucking bonfire, the rest of her was plain in a pleasing sort of way. Her hair wasn’t even pinned up and the curls hung limply, like their owner couldn’t be bothered with making it all stick. The half shadows she was covered in still gave Bucky shivers anyway. She smiled and started watching the man opposite him.

Bucky let a few chips hit the table and took another drag.

‘It occurs to me I don’t even know your names,’ he said into the companionable silence, just filled with the clink of glasses and the occasional exhale of smoke.

It gained him a loose and throaty chuckle from the man opposite him. He was all relaxation, his limbs sprawled over the chair and the cards hanging from his fingers.

‘I’m Riddle,’ he said with half a shrug and then pointed at the blond on his right. ‘That’s Rosier, he’s a brat.’ The motion to his left was a little more violent and accompanied by a strange cocking of the head that made him look like a bird. Bucky couldn’t keep his snort in. Rosier made an indignant noise and blew smoke in his direction.

‘I have no clue who that fellow is though.’

Riddle waved his hand in a languid way and then gave a pointed stare. The poor fella looked unnerved but still managed to keep hold of his cards and smile.

‘Roberts,’ he said and then took a nervous gulp of his beer.

The glare got turned on him next and Bucky rolled his eyes.

‘Barnes, but call me Bucky, everyone does. Do you always bring complete strangers into your home, Riddle?’

Riddle smiled but before he could answer another voice cut in. It took him a startled moment to realise the woman was talking.

‘Only the ones we like, Bucky.’

Her voice was tinged with warmth and she sounded out his name with obvious pleasure. Slowly, savouring the tones of it. He hadn’t entirely made the connection between the ring on her finger and the gold band on Riddle’s, but it was pretty clear now.

Their gazes shifted to the surface of the table by mutual agreement and the only sound left was the quiet glug of someone refilling a glass. The woman seemed determined to get through the entire bottle of whiskey all by herself.

The smile hadn’t gone from Riddle’s face, a small quirk of his lips that betrayed amusement in what would otherwise have been an imposing face. He wasn’t sure entirely what the man did, but his bearing fairly screamed soldier. And there was something feral hidden under all the relaxation and the friendly smile. Something he knew all too well, the knowledge you could kill, easily, with the slightest pressure to the trigger, and do it well.

It was hard to separate that out from the rest of him, from Bucky the person, not the soldier. Not the one who had to watch the shadows for enemies and keep his eyes open at night. But here it was easier, here the shadows didn’t move even though there was barely enough light to see and there wasn’t a sound in the room to make him jump and startle.

It was so different from the dancehalls and cafes he frequented with the Howling Commandos, it was both upsetting and calming at once. He was waiting for the penny to drop, for the show to grind to a halt, but it didn’t. There was only the rustle of the cards and the rush of nicotine in his veins with every smoke.

It didn’t take long for the woman to go through her glass again but Bucky didn’t look up to check whether she knocked this one back in one go as well. He was too busy trying to scope out what ticks and tells his fellows had, which was how he noticed Riddle’s smile growing wider at the clink of glass. His eyes gleamed with his amusement and they were riveted to the figure of his wife. She did make a pretty picture with her head thrown back to savour the last sips of whiskey.

The disproving sound he made was tinged with laughter and she almost dropped the glass when it reached her.

‘Do drink through my entire salary Mary,’ he muttered loud enough for all of them to hear. ‘I don’t mind.’

She didn’t answer, only slowly turned her back and refilled her glass with slow and deliberate movements. Bucky wondered who she was putting on the show for.

The glass was already halfway to her lips before it stopped and hovered gently in the air, some of the little light got caught in the amber liquid and Bucky followed the gentle swirls in the glass. He saw her lips curling out of the corner of his eyes and it made her prettier somehow.

‘Oh,’ she said, the picture of innocence. ‘I was under the impression it was my salary supporting our drinking habits.’

Riddle’s smile turned sharp, no longer an expression of mirth but bared teeth for just a second. His wife only blinked and raised the glass to her lips and sipped from it with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky couldn’t focus on his cards anymore, or his drink, or the cigarette. This was all far too entertaining. He was watching a fucking cage match, but without all the gore and a little more eyecandy. Riddle rapped his cards on the table and shifted in his chair for a moment. Bucky had to keep his wolf whistle in. One point to wife, naught to husband.

And she knew it too, by the way her lips kept curving up no matter how hard she bit her lip.

For a moment he expected an explosion, but it never came. Instead Riddle turned his eyes back to his cards and his attention on the game. He knew when he was beaten apparently, which felt odd, as he didn’t seem the kind of person to quietly submit. Everything about him oozed confidence and there was a sharpness to him that was at odds with his friendly demeanor. Even his clothing was crisp. And a shirt and vest really shouldn’t be that crisp, no matter how dark the wool was, or the fact that the piping and his tie coordinated perfectly. It certainly wasn’t supposed to look as imposing as it did, he was sure of that. There had to be some significance to the green, especially because it was the exact same shade Mary’s dress was in.

The game, focus on the fucking game Barnes. And don’t get distracted by his cheekbones either, even though they’re a damn crime.

Mary wasn’t done, apparently.

‘You see, I’ve had the terrible misfortune to be on leave together with my husband, which can only possibly be borne with copious amounts of liquor.’

Her voice had transformed into a drawl, but it was tinged with warmth and affection. The alcohol was colouring her cheeks, making them blush pink. Rosier hummed in agreement before knocking back his own glass and holding it out in question. She tipped half of hers in his.

‘I have to spend my time with that man in the field,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine?’

Her laugh cheered them all visibly, the sound of it making the room brighter and even Roberts shook his head with half a grin on his face.

She didn’t say anything after that, returning to her book while the game slowly took up its pace. It became a problem he didn’t know the people around the table all of a sudden. When he could convince the Commando’s to play poker, it was simple, simple and fun, because Dernier always played with his cards just so and Steve didn’t have any sort of poker face, even though he could act now. But neither Riddle nor Rosier seemed to have any ticks, nothing strange they were doing that signified anything. Rosier at least wasn’t sitting completely still, but Bucky couldn’t tell what the fuck it meant that he was constantly tucking his too long hair behind his ear. Likely that his hair was too long for regulation, or that he was just a nervous fella.

When he looked up from the table, Riddle had locked eyes with his wife, whose book was now dangling lazily in the air, almost slipping out of her fingers. Her glass was standing on the dresser, empty and not looking like it would be refilled any time soon. There was a slight frown on his face, the only sign of concentration he’d shown in a while and there was a hesitation as he folded and laid his cards down on the table.

The frown didn’t go away, it only grew deeper and Bucky was waiting for something now. Maybe their host was growing tired and would simply throw them all out, he didn’t know. If anything, he’d had a good time, no matter what happened next. The calm had settled in his bones, a solid and warm presence he was thankful for.

‘For god’s sake Mary, stop pestering me.’

Mary shrugged her shoulders as if she was swatting an insect away. There was a smirk playing around her lips, making her look positively evil in the low light.

‘I just wanted to make it a little more interesting for you, darling, you seemed so bored.’

Neither of them broke the glare and Bucky fought the temptation to wave his hand between them to see what would happen.

‘I’m quite content being completely and utterly bored,’ he muttered and scowled at her.

Mary gave a serene smile and he abruptly turned pink, his face flushing with colour. If anything, it made him look even better. Her smile turned into a wicked grin and she blinked slowly. The book was set on the dresser with care and she almost prowled towards Riddle, who looked like he needed some air, or a drink. Or to be anywhere but here right now. He had to be better at this game, whatever it was, because he was good at poker, but his wife seemed to have him entirely under her thumb. Or heel, likely both.

Her hand trailed over Rosier’s shoulder when she passed him and the poor guy seemed ready to choke on his drink, regarding both of them with astonishment. She rested her hands lightly on Riddle’s shoulders and leaned in closely, breathing out deliberately against his skin. He only flushed further.

‘You are a prude.’

Rosier didn’t just choke on his drink, he spit it out and then continued sputtering. Neither of them paid him much attention. Riddle only scowled a little deeper and then turned his head to lean in for a kiss. Bucky was honestly surprised she let him.

‘And you are a bloody menace,’ he shot back when they separated. The sputtering grew louder and Mary only leaned on his shoulders a little more and regarded his cards with detached interest.

Bucky thumped poor Rosier on the back a few times, which helped with the coughing but his voice was still squeaking slightly when he spoke.

‘I didn’t think- I didn’t- I-’

He got two raised eyebrows for his troubles, which stunned him into baffled silence.

‘Good God, William,’ someone said from the doorway, not simply speaking, but drawling, voice half contempt and half familiarity. ‘You were there when they married man! Did you really just assume the bedsheets would stay clean?’

The newcomer was still in uniform and where Riddle looked feral, this man looked wild. There was something in his eye, that even the tan coloured beret of the SAS and the two stars on his shoulder couldn’t negate entirely.

Rosier turned red as a beet, the colour in his cheeks from all the coughing spreading all the way. He spluttered a little more while the man dragged a chair to the table and set himself between Bucky and Rosier. His knee connected with Bucky’s leg when the man splayed his legs and leaned against the back of the chair, knocking a fist into Rosiers shoulder.

Neither Riddle nor Mary seemed to mind the abuse of their furniture, or their guests. He’d expected them to comment on the bedsheets, but that didn’t happen either. The man just slotted in like he fit with the group and maybe he did, Bucky had no clue. Even Rosier did not seem overly upset at being manhandled and Mary broke her heavy lean on her husbands shoulder to pour him a drink.

His pants were damp with the mist and fog from outside, and there were droplets of water lying on the man’s coat. He barely seemed fazed by the close examination, giving a smile that seemed far more sincere than anything Riddle had done and extended his hand towards Bucky to shake.

‘Antonin Dolohov, see you’ve made it to the best place in town.’

Bucky liked the man’s grip, strong and warm with clear callouses that spoke of work, work and more work. And there was something friendly too, Riddle seemed to play at friendliness, like he didn’t really know how to do it, but this man knew exactly. And even if his name spoke of foreign parts, and Commie ones at that too, his voice was as British as Bucky could imagine. Posh too, like Riddle and Rosier both, he could definitely imagine the three of them at some stuck up school somewhere and then at Sandhurst together, earning their stars by doing sums with infantry men. Falsworth never stopped muttering about the rich boys in their rich boy colleges. He was falling in with brass, God help him.

‘Bucky Barnes, the liquor sure is nice here.’

Dolohov smiled and then turned in his chair to wrap an arm around Mary’s waist and draw her and presumably the glass of whiskey she was holding even closer. She held the glass high as he pulled her and the liquid sloshed perilously close to the edge. Bucky couldn’t help liking the smile on her face and the sparkle in her eye.

Even Riddle seemed just a little more relaxed than he had been before, like the sharp corners were coming off now and his mouth was tilting into a smile that felt real. A tiny thing, but clearly filled with fondness for the people around him. It only solidified the feeling that this had been a good idea. Better than any dancehall, that was for sure, though he wouldn’t pass up the chance to dance with Mrs Riddle, if he got it.

And then Dolohov leaned in and kissed Mary, not on the cheek, but just square on the lips. Clearly she hadn’t expected it, because the whiskey spilled and Bucky had a hard time not keeling over with surprise, chair and all. There was a brief struggle that Dolohov won. Bucky glanced towards Riddle, unease pooling in his stomach, thick and black like smoke, because he was sure this would trash the quiet mood completely. But Riddle wasn’t watching with bared teeth and eyes full of aggression, like he’d expected, the darned smile was still there.

‘God you two, don’t show the freakishness in front of the guests!’ he said in a voice that was definitely poking fun at something, except Bucky couldn’t tell who or what. The unease wasn’t leaving and there was electricity, streaming through his veins, prickling in his muscles, prepping him for anything that might happen, for the enemies in the shadows.

He took a gulp of his drink, which was pleasant enough, the alcohol burning the back of his throat with more vengeance than he remembered from the previous sips and tried to flush the feeling out with another drag of his cigarette. It wouldn’t go, but Dolohov flipped Riddle off in the middle of his necking and Bucky was sure Mary was smiling even glued to him as she was.

Rosier on the other hand, was playing with his drink and examining his cards like there weren’t two people right next to him committing adultery. Roberts looked shocked thankfully, his eyes as wide as saucers.

He was gaping like a fish and surely regretting coming as much as Bucky did, which was to say, not at all. It was the most fun he’d had in awhile and there was something so well worn about the situation that the electricity went out of his limbs all by itself. Mary’s cheeks were flushed once Dolohov let her go, though he didn’t really, she just set her free hand on his shoulder and pushed until the man let go of her waist and made a grab for the glass of whiskey.

He wasn’t getting it, seeing as she stepped back and held the thing just out of his reach.

‘Oh no, for that, you can pour your own damn whiskey Antonin.’

The man was a horrible actor, because he couldn’t look ashamed even with whiskey on the line. His mouth kept curving back into a smile and he looked self satisfied rather than anything else. Mary seemed give him up as a lost cause because she looked to the rest of the table. Bucky could see her dismissing Roberts entirely, by how flabbergasted he was. Bucky lamented his own inability to be fazed while bracing himself for whatever that woman was cooking up. She was clearly seeing an opportunity for something and Bucky didn’t really have to guess to tell what it was.

Any other time, he’d be aching for a good kiss, but now he was in someone's house, in her house, with her husband watching. Even if said husband eyes gleamed with something Bucky could only call delight, there had to be something wrong about the scenario. Not that he was able to stop the force of nature who was heading for him, extra slowly, like she wanted to prolong his torture. He felt bad for being so darn amused over her and her husband, it was something else to experience it yourself. She was smiling now and Bucky tried to not stare at her face, at all of her, but there was something terribly magnetic about her.

‘What are you looking at Bucky,’ she asked and he had to wonder whether she turned that false and innocent tone on anyone else and if the poor fella found it quite as hot as he did.

‘I’m an emancipated woman, I can kiss whoever I like.’

She closed the distance easily, just one last step and only when her lips met his Bucky caught up with what she was doing. She was kissing him, because she could, because she liked it. Her lips were warm and soft and she only leaned in further when he did the same. Warmth seemed to be spreading from where their lips met, where her hand was braced against his shoulder, not arousal exactly, but somehow a balm to all the storm inside him. Calming the fire in his veins a little. He could hear someone chuckle, a low and pleasant sound mixed with an exclamation of approval from Dolohov.

They were both out of breath when they parted and her eyes were sparkling so fiercely, clearly daring him to say something, that he almost pulled her close for another kiss. But that would be pushing it. Riddle looked downright pleased, when Bucky glanced his way, which was disconcerting, but certainly far better than making the man angry. Bucky didn’t know him, but he was damn sure that angering him would not go well for anyone. Well, probably anyone except Mary.

Who was turning towards Roberts now, that same gleam in her eye. Roberts pinked, his cheeks flushing a little and he held a hand up in defeat.

‘Jane would eat me if I did, madam,’ he said and it wasn’t even a mumble. Mary smiled at him and inclined her head.

‘Very well, that’s a proper excuse if I ever heard one.’

Riddle was tapping rhythms on the table with his discarded hand and it was hard to not stare at the elegant movement. Dolohov made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat and got up to get himself a drink. Rosier sighed deeply and cast a baleful glance around the table.

‘Are we still playing or what,’ he grumbled. Mary wasn’t just walking now, no, she almost floated over to the man and pecked him on the cheek.

‘Of course you are, darling.’

It earned her a smile and then the game ambled on. Mary flitted between them and no amount of cajoling from him or Dolohov could get her to join the game. She kept making excuses, kept saying poker was a man’s game, but Buck was sure she wasn’t such a goody two shoes when it came to anything else. A woman who kissed another man like that, she couldn’t be the sort of person to stay with her appointed lot.

And damn her, after Dolohov had drawn her in for another kiss between rounds -the fucker lost, but that didn’t stop him from claiming a victory kiss- she set herself in Bucky’s lap. If he wasn’t so bewildered, if he wasn’t so warm with the drink, he’d have stopped her. But no, she was sitting in his lap, her elbow leaning on the table and her arm slung around his shoulders for a little more balance. He couldn’t even look at his cards without seeing skin and curls.

Every breath he took brought the smell of her a little closer, and he wasn’t about to reach for his cigarette, because burning any of her was definitely unacceptable. She smelled like the whiskey she’d been drinking, something warm and burned with a hint of peat. She wasn’t wearing any perfume, but he didn’t have it in him to mind. Perfume would have been boring, wouldn’t be so tantalising- oh fucking fuck, appreciating the view was all well, but now he was slowly getting hard. It wasn’t fair. No woman had the right to be so damn intoxicating. It had to be the note of flowers and herbs under it all, not even the vague but sharp hint of disinfectant could turn his stomach.

He wasn’t the praying sort of man, not anymore, but he was definitely praying she wouldn’t notice. That Riddle wouldn’t notice. He wouldn’t escape a ribbing on account of being a guest in this company. Roberts did, but that was definitely because the collective opinion was that he couldn’t keep up if they did. Mary kept a respectful distance, like the acknowledgement of there being a Jane was some sort of line in the sand. Clearly they were all bonkers. But a good sort of bonkers.

He tried not to breathe, tried not to feel the weight of her resting in his lap, or the way she was playing with the fabric of his shirt, rubbing it between her fingers. He lost the next round and Riddle watched him from the other side of the table. It wasn’t an unfriendly sort of stare, if he had any knowledge of such things.

No-one had ever looked at Steve that way, before the first punch was thrown, but Steve only fought bullies, not predators in crisp uniforms, with stars on their shoulders. He was still smiling, but that said very little, Bucky had no doubt the man would smile as he sent Krauts to their grave. No, he was watching, much in the same way Bucky had watched him earlier, enjoying the show.

It should have made him uncomfortable, should have sent him running for the hills, back to the Howlies and their loud and uncomplicated dance halls and brothels, but all he could do was take another sip of whatever Mary had been pouring in his glass as she helped herself and savour the taste. And Riddle’s smile went a little wider, like something about that satisfied him and Bucky could only set the entire thing out of his mind -as much as he damn well could with the man’s wife on his lap- and focus on his cards.

His vision was going hazy, which had to be the shadows as much as the alcohol. The calm only spread, even with the devil on his lap. The game dragged on and after a while winning or losing stopped mattering all that much. He was vaguely aware that Roberts left, swept his coat over his shoulder and accepted a chaste kiss on his cheek after all.

He only noticed Mary had stood up when she returned, trailing a hand down his spine in passing. She halted halfway to Dolohov already, the steady sway of her hips stilling out. He hadn’t watched, really not, his eyes just- just happened to fall on the way the fabric lay over her hip bones, how it swished around her legs.

She turned abruptly, one graceful twist and before he could take another breath she had already kissed him. The haze was still there when he closed his eyes. He could see her glow through the darkness. And where her lips had been warm before, now they burned. Like touching the coals in the stove, but where he’d be able to draw his hand away before, here the only thing he could do was lean in.

She was smiling when she withdrew, so radiant his chest hurt. He was almost sorry he’d called her plain before, there was nothing plain about her like this, the way she so easily drew him in, the way she moved. No-one heckled them this time and the silence was thick and syrupy. He liked it. He liked everything about the entire evening. Time had stopped mattering, while with the Howlies he counted down the seconds to the moment everyone was drunk enough to be dragged home. Here he didn’t need to, and it didn’t seem to matter how many hands he lost, or how many he won.

It was nice enough to watch Mary watching them, even if she was standing with Riddle again, close enough for them to touch and her touches were accidental and easy. It only seemed fair, with what the rest of the room getting more taste of her than Riddle did. How comfortable the two of them were gave him a strange sort of hope, a flutter in his chest, something airy and faint, but still there. If they could do it, he could too. He’d find someone, sometime, if he wasn’t dead in a grave in some godforsaken place. Someone who wasn’t Steve.

When he looked up next, the radio was playing, a soft murmur in the background, the singer and the band barely audible. Mary was sitting in the empty chair to his left, bowed over the table, her curls obscuring her face. She’d carved out a little space on the table for her book and there was a glass of water at her elbow. She was being careful with the spine of the thing, cradling it in a way that suggested she was always careful with her reading. He could just make out the title, but the words wouldn’t solidify into anything that made sense. Practical Potions Applications In The Field.

It didn’t take long after that for his respite to come to an end, the niggling feeling that he had to go back to Steve. Had to make sure he was doing well, that the brass wasn’t stealing him away for too long, that he wouldn’t forget to eat between all the drinking. The gulp of whiskey didn’t help, even though the stuff burned all the way down to his stomach, so fiercely that Riddle let out a snort on account of the dumbstruck expression he must be wearing.

‘What the fuck is that stuff?’

He wished the man would stop looking so damn amused with everything. It wasn’t pretty- well- it was, but that’s why he should stop in the first place. It wasn’t fair. His was the kind of smirk that is only good if it’s being kissed off his face in a few moments. Maybe against the wall. Bucky shook his head to dislodge the thought, except it wouldn’t go. No. No, he wasn’t coming on to both husband and wife, he didn’t even know if they were into that, but with how his night was going, maybe he’d get lucky.

And that thought wasn’t helping anything either, if Riddle wasn’t watching him so closely, he’d squirm. The man was smiling so damn knowingly, maybe he’d cottoned on already, which should have made Bucky worry, but it didn’t. The alcohol had robbed him of his self-preservation by this point and he had no idea how he’d even managed to consume that much of it. He ought to leave really, before he made a spectacle of himself.

‘Firewhiskey,’ Riddle answered and Rosier choked. Bucky suspected him of timing it right to the moment his friend took a sip. Dolohov didn’t seem very inclined to help with the coughing and spluttering, his eyes were sparkling with laughter and the sound of his mirth seemed to come in waves, rolling over Bucky like water. Strangely refreshing water.

He liked Dolohov’s laugh, it was warm and easy. Stupidly, it made him think of treacle. The shadows in the room jumped and jittered when Dolohov’s chair scraped over the floor, the sound too loud in the room. But he didn’t jump, electricity did not run through his veins, even if it tried. He was still here and nobody could take his cards or his drink from him.

He was on leave, with Steve, with the rest of them, he didn’t need this now. The monster could come out when he was in the mud and the shit, but not here. He didn’t need it here.

His teeth clattered when Dolohov’s chair scraped over the floor, the tortured screech of the wood loud in his ears.

‘What the fuck is Firewhiskey,’ he said, trying to cover for the anxiety. Riddle flashed him a look, clearly completely unimpressed with his bravado. It was almost reassuring to know that someone at least looked straight through him, even if that person was a scary fucker. Bucky half expected him to call him out, to just, tell everyone what a mess he was, but that didn’t happen. Instead he took a sip of his own drink, clearly savouring the taste, closing his eyes and practically inhaling the liquid.

‘It’s good,’ he said and smiled.

Bucky shook his head and had another swallow, prepared for the burn this time and a little surprised at how much he enjoyed it, knowing what was going to happen. It was good, the taste of it, even the way it burned with something that definitely wasn’t the alcohol. Riddle smiled again, more modestly this time, just a quirk of his lips, like Bucky was being included in some sort of secret. The secret of really good whiskey. It was a silly secret, and a whole lot more palatable than any of the others he had to keep.

Dolohov hadn’t risen to get more whiskey, as he’d expected. He walked almost silently, instead of heavy footsteps and creaking wood, the only indication Bucky had that he’d moved at all was that he appeared in his peripheral vision again, even if it was on the wrong side.

Bucky forced his body to relax again, tried to take the steel out of his spine by sheer force of will. He didn’t need to be prepared, not here. He was allowed to fucking relax here. Dolohov might be an ass, but he wasn’t a kraut, even if he was a commie.

Mary didn’t notice him, and Bucky tried to silence the derisive voice in the back of his mind hissing about how civilians were so trusting and stupid. She wasn’t stupid, he barely knew her and yet he was completely convinced of that. She just felt safe, safe with everyone here. Safe with him. That knowledge allowed the last of the tension to seep away. He slowly released his deathgrip on his glass and breathed. He didn’t know what Dolohov was planning, but he didn’t need to, he wasn’t being threatened, he could just watch. Knowing them, it’d be a good show.

Riddle was watching as well, his eyes flickering with light in the darkness. Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect, something like the kiss, something light, but not Dolohov hesitating for a moment and then carefully brushing his fingers through her loose curls. Separating the strands with his fingers, softly tugging at the knots that formed, teasing them out and sweeping her hair over her shoulder, exposing pale skin. Mary didn’t notice him doing it, only turning a page of her book. Bucky was holding his breath and when he looked over Riddle was staring just as intensely, the game momentarily forgotten.

Dolohov didn’t seem to mind the fact that he got no reaction, something much like the fire of the alcohol burning in his eyes. He watched her like they were, almost looming over her, one hand resting on the back of the chair almost touching her shoulder.

Another page turned, the sound of it barely rising above the hum of the radio, but it seemed impossibly loud. Bucky forced himself to breathe out again and let the rush of the drink light up the room a little. The world kept narrowing down to nothing every time he looked at them, the lamplight blotting out and his vision tunneling until the only thing left was how close they were and how much he wanted to touch every bit of her skin. Like Dolohov was doing, letting his fingers trail over the exposed muscles, letting them rest against her collarbone under her dress.

Mary made a soft sound, barely audible but still there, sending his nerves tingling. Dolohov smiled and bowed down to press a kiss just behind her ear. Bucky had to swallow when she did, and breathing did little to help the rush of anticipation, the rush of arousal, only heightened by the nicotine and the alcohol. Damn him. Damn them both for doing this to him. His fidgeting drew Rosier’s glance, a curious look and a flash of raised eyebrow in question. Riddle didn’t spare him any more eye contact, thank heavens. He didn’t even know what to do with Rosier mild attention, couldn’t parse anymore what it meant and if Riddle looked at him right now, all derision and elegance, he might cry.

That or make the biggest mistake of his life -the second biggest. Steve was definitely the bigger mistake, no matter how enormous this one would be. And Dolohov wasn’t stopping either, trailing kisses down Mary’s neck until her book was forgotten and she was leaning into his touch. She was even prettier like this, her breath hitching with every touch and her muscles straining. There were no more sounds that set him on fire, but her mouth was still open, her face transforming with breathless pleasure.

He wanted to kiss her mouth, long enough for her lips to turn red from his attention, rather than the lipstick. He wanted to stand and shove Dolohov aside and touch her skin himself. He wanted to grasp Dolohov’s shoulder and kiss him too, see his eyes widen, see him flushed and excited and surprised. Wanted to see if the bravado would hold if Bucky was stroking him, or if his face would go slack with pleasure as well. Wanted to-

The scrape of his own chair surprised him, he hadn’t been completely aware that he’d even made a decision, but now that he had he knew he was right. Homosexuality was illegal and he didn’t like being in the Army, but fuck it if he wasn’t going to behave like he should. And that meant getting out now, before he embarrassed himself by reading the signals wrong. Even if he felt somewhat sad, taking a hold of his jacket and swinging it over his shoulder in his haste. No-one spoke and Mary blinked like an owl, as if she was trying to snap herself out of the daze she was in.

He set three steps to make sure he wouldn’t freeze now, with all those eyes on him.

‘Leaving already?’ Riddle asked behind him, his voice less friendly and more like a drawl. He did freeze, for just a moment, unable to respond. He wasn’t going to give some half-hearted response to that. He wasn’t. He had more dignity than that, he would just not respond and walk out. And the only Brit he would have to talk to after this was Falsworth and that would not be a problem. He’d never see them again, being rude was fine.

He didn’t realise Dolohov was standing in the doorway until they were nose to nose. He hadn’t noticed how tall Dolohov when he came in, but now the only thing going through his mind how they were almost the same height. Dolohov was drawing himself up though, one arm braced against the doorpost and the rest of him blocked the way. Bucky refused to be intimidated, but he couldn’t move either. The same fire was still burning in those eyes and if he kept looking into them too long he’d drown.

The kiss came as a surprise, a bewildering surprise. Suddenly they were even closer and there were lips on his and it was good. The sort of kiss that promised more, that made him want to push for more, a kiss that promised sex. A kiss that said he hadn’t been wrong, but that couldn’t be. He broke away before he could do anything stupid and Dolohov looked disappointed, the corners of his mouth turning down a little and the fire dimming. He pushed himself off and set another step towards Bucky, which allowed Bucky to duck under his arm and flee to the hallway.

‘Honestly Antonin, is that the way to convince anyone?’ he heard Mary say behind him and there was a moment of relief that he was alone and nobody was coming after him. He wasn’t sure if he could resist for much longer if anyone did. The darkness of the hallway was a blessing, the moonlight coming through the window like cool water on his skin. The hallway was colder too, calming the prickling of his skin and dousing the spreading warmth a little.

‘Sorry about that, Antonin really shouldn’t have done that.’

Bucky whirled around, all vestiges of calm suddenly gone because he hadn’t heard her coming. He wanted to think of some answer, needed to say something, but she was still talking.

‘Well, no, he gets to kiss whoever he likes, but it would have been nice if he asked first rather than assuming.’

The floorboards were turning to mud, Bucky was sure of it, his footing unsure and the world tilting.

‘You people are impossible,’ he blurted out and felt his cheeks heat. He hadn’t meant to be that rude. It was one thing to be nasty to the Howlies, or a jerk like Dolohov, but she hadn’t done anything wrong. Besides being so stupidly sexy he couldn’t think straight.

She didn’t agree clearly, because she laughed and regarded him for a moment.

‘I’ve heard that before,’ she said and set a step closer. Bucky set a step back and hoped he wasn’t running into the wall, or the doorway. What little light there was seemed to illuminate her face, giving her hair a silverish cast and making her eyes shine. He swallowed and she watched him do it with a smile.

‘I’m really sorry Antonin can’t act like a grown up.’

The last bit was said loudly and Bucky could hear the outraged spluttering from the other room if he made himself focus.

‘I meant to say it was fine,’ he answered, trying to recoup some of his dignity. Which clearly was a mistake, because something about her suddenly intensified and her eyes narrowed a little.

‘Was it?’

Before, her gaze was a nice thing, he always enjoyed it when anyone looked at him like that. It was a rush to realise you were desirable enough that someone might forget their manners, no matter how often it happened. But now her eyes burned, tracing patterns of fire into his skin and he didn’t- he did- he didn’t want her to come closer. She did anyway, a purposeful step that send him back even further his boot hitting the door with a crash that seemed to vibrate through his body, setting his teeth clattering and making Mary jump.

‘Don’t let her break down my house! And for god’s sake, don’t wake the neighbours!’

Riddle’s voice was a surprise as much as Mary yelling back at him was.

‘It’s our house you wanker!’

It startled a laugh out of him, dispelling some of the tension and Mary’s smile had a little less teeth in it, at least for a moment. He didn’t feel the need to set himself against the door and beg to be let out. He didn’t want to think about it, but there was something about Riddle’s voice that implied something. Was he thinking? Did the man seriously just assume they were necking in his hallway? Damn.

‘Did he just say that?’

Mary’s smile went a little wider and Bucky pressed his back against the door on reflex. If he didn’t, he’d probably fall down, his knees were feeling a little weak by this point. Like she had him on strings, like she was controlling his limbs already. And fuck that was hotter than he thought it would be.

‘I think you need to get laid, Sergeant.’

She came closer again and this time there wasn’t a thought in his head about getting away. He needed to meet her, needed to be closer and the sound she made when their lips came together sent a flare of heat through his gut. And she didn’t stop moving either, this wasn’t a chaste kiss, just one point connecting. She was leaning in, almost slamming her body against his and pinning his hands down above his head. The scrape of his skin against the rough wood of the door was a strange counterpoint to how soft her lips were. For a moment he was almost embarrassed about how much of his enthusiasm she had to be feeling and then his mind went blissfully blank until she broke to gasp for breath. The smile, amazingly, didn’t seem to fade, only grow. He had to fight away the sense that he was prey, something to be conquered, the idea that he could be trapped. That a woman was trapping him. His heart was suddenly hammering in his chest for a completely different reason and then the pressure on his wrists eased.

Bucky blinked at Mary stupidly, he couldn’t tell why her eyebrows had knitted together, why there was a frown wrinkling her forehead. Fuck, he really didn’t want to get this wrong. Damn him. But the frown smoothed a little as his breathing eased. She looked cute like that and it was hard to feel intimidated by someone who was almost going crosseyed with concern.

She leaned back a little, still close but not crowding him so much. He didn’t want to admit it but it was nice. He got the feeling she knew what to do better than he did.

‘You alright, Sarge?’ she murmured and her gaze went a little sharper, clearly watching for a lie. So he didn’t.

‘Yeah, it’s just been a while.’

And damn it all, that didn’t make the frown go, even if it was mostly true. But he was fine, he wanted this, god he wanted it so badly that it was almost frightening. Normally he’d take care of this almost as soon as he landed, finding someone, anyone, to work the leftover adrenaline with out of his body. He hadn’t felt a rush like outside of the first day. It was bewildering that someone like her could draw that out of him, she wasn’t even special. But he still couldn’t stay still, not with her hands on his shoulders, threatening to slip down. He could just see her eyes widen slightly before his lips reached hers, but just that made the last anxiety vanish. He wasn’t trapped, this was his damn choice and he could still surprise a stupid broad.

And now his hands were free, free to touch whatever bit of her he could and the noise she made when he touched her- Putting his hands on her shoulders made her more insistent too. Her kisses previously could have been considered chaste but when he let his fingers play along the neckline of her dress she bit down on his lip and moaned. The sound of it vibrated through him, getting lodged in his throat. He wanted to hear more of that, wanted to know what other sounds she would make. She didn’t seem the kind of lady to be shy. That, and Riddle’s comment seemed to hint at more. Just the idea was giving him shivers and she could tell, he was sure of it. Because she bit down again, softer this time until her teeth were causing a sharp sting of pain that tingled down his spine and he hadn’t even been able to do anything back yet.

He surged forward when she let go of him, crowding her mouth with kisses until she had to let him in. He could taste the whiskey on her tongue still, remembrance of the fierce burn prickling in the back of his throat. But she tasted good. All he’d wanted was to forget for a bit and here he was, getting so much more.

The shred of skin he could touch wasn’t enough anymore, no matter how she softened under his hand when he followed the muscles in her neck so he curled an arm around her waist and let his other hand drift lower and lower, tracing the contours of her hips, her thighs through the fabric. Exhilaration coursed through him with the knowledge that his dirty hands were spoiling the pristine cloth, that he was going to touch her. Everywhere. Ma would never have let him touch anything this pretty. And by the end of this he’d be all over her. He’d have caused the tangles in her hair and be the one to strew her clothes all over the floor. The one to kiss her mouth raw and make her scream.

Bucky hiked her skirt up and happily followed the line of her garter strap, letting his fingers stray lower and lower, the ribbon soft and smooth compared to her skin. But her skin was warm and every time he touched he felt her shiver with delight. She broke their kiss to nuzzle at his neck, laying her head on his shoulder and softly kissing any skin she could reach. He didn’t blame her, his lips were tingling from use, his breath coming in stutters because he’d denied himself air for so long. The only shame in it was that he couldn’t see her face.

She kept moving, little shifts in her stance, leaning against him harder or taking more of her own weight, like she needed to remind him she was there. He didn’t need reminders, thank you very much. He was already paying attention, every part of him. She laughed when he pulled her tight against him, keeping her still and relishing in the pressure, the warmth of her body. The way he could feel every curve with his whole body, not just his hands. Heat seared through his stomach, demanding more, demanding he divested her of her clothing right now.

The snap was warm from the heat of her body and his fingers fumbled with it, suddenly clumsy.

He only realised she was drawing back after the fact, his body bereft of the warmth and pressure it craved. The feeling of the fabric of her skirt sliding over his hand as she moved away drew a veil over the memory of her skin. The hallway seemed freezing for a moment. Had he done something wrong? Probably not, if her smile was anything to go by. It had teeth, teeth that promised that they’d be sinking into his skin sooner rather than later. But she was too far away for any of that, standing just outside the range of his fingertips, which was too damn far away by any measure. When he stepped closer she moved away and raised her hand. Bucky stopped in his tracks, righting the urge to stand to attention.

‘You ought to learn about the virtues of patience, Sergeant Barnes. If you think I’ll give you a quick shag in the hallway, you’re sorely mistaken.’

He felt like a fool in the face of that.

‘Yes madam,’ was the only answer he could give and clearly that was the right one to do because she came in close and rewarded him with a kiss, softly, with closed lips, but still full of heat. She caught his hand before he even noticed he was moving towards her again and broke their kiss with her smile still firmly in place. He wondered if she ever stopped smiling.

‘Good boy,’ she whispered and turned away, leading him along.

A shiver ran down his spine when they walked through the doorway. Anticipation and a strange sort of fear mingled, like he could barely believe what he was doing was allowed. But there was no-one to judge him sitting at the table. Mary declined her head ever so slightly, indicating a corner of the room, the wall filled with bookcases and the three of them in quiet counsel, heads together and all bent over something at a table.

The discussion wasn’t loud enough to hear and Bucky got the distinct sensation it was better that way. Mary tugged at his arm, gently insisting he let the whole thing go. It was the easiest thing he’d done in his life.

The bedroom door was open, the doorway looked so very unassuming, leading to darkness beyond that he couldn’t make out with the contrast between light and dark. Mary let go of his hand when she went through and he was halfway to closing the door between them and the others when he had to stop and blink until his eyes adjusted a little. There were streaks of moonlight, tentatively making their way through the shutters and pooling on the wooden floor. The curtains didn’t help, even white as they were, blocking most of the light that did come through, half closed as they were. He let go of his breath and closed the door.

Mary leant against the dresser, the mirror illuminating the flash of her teeth as she smiled. There was no standing still after that, because her teeth reminded him she had a mouth and a mouth like that needed to be kissed. And this time he wasn’t rebuffed, but even allowed to let his hands explore. It didn’t matter he wasn’t touching skin yet, just searching out the way she was put together over layers of fabric because he could. He was allowed, even if she might retract any sort of approval just to be contrary.

Or… maybe she wouldn’t. The blush was there even in the dark, a haze over her skin that made everything tingle, combined with how dark her eyes seemed. Her kisses were eager, searing with intent and desire. He didn’t remember that sort of thing from any other dame. Carter, he imagined, would kiss Steve much like that, but looking back, no woman had ever kissed him like it.

It was exhilarating, electric and terrifying at once, like he was dancing with someone far beyond his skills, only just keeping up. And he liked it, more, far more than expected. Still, it was good to take a little control back. He wasn’t some uncertain kid, he knew what he wanted, just as much as she did. She gasped when he lifted her off her feet and instinctively wrapped her legs around him, surprisingly strongly. It was like being grabbed by a vice, a wiggly and wily vice, because she didn’t stay still either. She held on to his shoulders hard enough for him to wince and smashed their teeth together. Her breath came out in a rush when he set her against the wall, but she didn’t seem to mind the hard landing all that much, with how she was moving her hips.

Bucky tried to come up for air, his lungs burning now, the gasps with every rush of pleasure as she moved depriving him of his breath, but she wouldn’t let him. The outline of her smile was clear through their kisses, no matter how sloppy, she was enjoying this so much, he had to do something about it. That or come in his pants and that was so not the plan. No matter how nice it was to be able to grip her ass that tightly. She wasn’t expecting him to let her go, which gave him the time he needed to grab her wrists, still conveniently on his shoulders. She didn’t pale at his wolfish smile, just returned one of her own and valiantly kept her efforts up even as she had to set her legs down to support herself. Her teeth caught his bottom lip, sending sparks of pain everywhere, but that didn’t diminish his victory when she couldn’t fight him hard enough to free her arms. She even broke away, trying to muster the strength, but her wrists still collided with the wallpaper above her head.

Bucky was sure he could hear a victory march somewhere, her whole body heaved with her breaths and the light was just right that he could see just how much she was blushing. And the fact that she was glaring daggers at him and he was moving forward before he could even think about his next move. She didn’t like being kissed so softly, trying to get more and more, moving forward and then meeting his leg wedged between hers. And damn it was good to feel her follow him until she couldn’t, letting his lips barely brush hers. Anticipation and arousal mingled in his stomach with every slight touch, every time she held her breath and her lungs stuttered because nothing happened after all.

Her annoyance and dissatisfaction shone through on her face clearer every time they parted. The glare turned into something more, something even fiery and her forehead creased with a frown that didn’t came out of worry. She was angry. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh in the face of it. And after the next brush of skin, she hissed like a cat. Maybe he shouldn’t laugh at a woman’s anger, or feel attracted to it, but he did. And he couldn’t even make himself feel ashamed at how hard he was, or how amazing he felt right now, keeping all of her in check.

And then suddenly she’d wrestled one of her arms from his grip, almost sending him off balance with shock. All thirst for her was quenched for a moment, waiting for a blow that didn’t come. Instead she wrenched him closer, so hard that he almost thought she might have torn one of the seams of the jacket.

She hauled him closer and sinking her teeth in his lower lip to prevent him from darting away again. It didn’t just sting, it hurt this time and Bucky felt the rush of copper rather than tasted it. To her credit, Mary seemed to come to her senses for a moment, her eyes less clouded and she let go of him immediately. And yet she didn’t back off, as if she was unwilling to give up her position completely despite her mishap. Bucky swallowed, the tang of his own blood thick on his tongue except he couldn’t really bring himself to care much about the violation. He decided he was feeling brave and caught her unresisting hand to pin her again.

‘We’ve moved on to marking one another, eh?’

It earned him a smile, not as wolfish as the others, but that might have been because he was tracing her cheekbones with his free hand. She seemed to like it, by the way her eyes slid closed and how she stopped struggling like a fish that wouldn’t die. She even went quietly with him, when he put a little pressure into his touches, which was her loss really.

Her neck looked good up close, he completely understood Dolohov’s desires all of a sudden. There was nothing special about it, it wasn’t different from any broad’s neck, there couldn’t be. But logic didn’t fly here, he’d left it at the door, surrendered it voluntarily for a piece of her. And he’d make sure he got it too.

‘Well darling, it’s my turn now.’

She stiffened completely when his lips met skin and it was hard to pay attention to what he was doing. He didn’t want a little sweet mark, something shallow and barely seen. He was going to leave a fucking bruise, she’d bit him after all, it was only fair. She squirmed under the attention, not working particularly hard to get out from under him, his hand still gently holding her face away might have something to do with that. Bucky realised belatedly that someone who liked to bite lips might also bite fingers, but even that knowledge wouldn’t sway him.

Frustration was back, when he let go, her cheeks almost as deeply coloured as the bruise blooming at the base of her neck. She was glaring again and he got his hand out of biting range with a pang of relief, coupled with another rush of arousal. At this rate he’d be over the edge before she’d even touched him, if he dared let her after this.

Reality reasserted itself, the world going upside down, or maybe right side up again. He’d just pushed a perfectly respectable woman -somewhat respectable anyway, better than he usually did- against the wall clearly against her will. Bucky blinked and wondered if he could go back to being sensible, or if it was a lost cause. Mary was watching him, the smile back on her face, suddenly relaxed, appearing as if she did this every day. She wasn’t even panting all that hard, while he felt like he’d just gone through boot camp again. If he couldn’t see the vivid mark he’d think he was leaving her cold.

Just her smile made his clothes feel too small, the room warm and cold at once. He almost let the whimper working its way up his throat escape, but managed to catch it just in time. Definitely a lost cause.

She must have noticed something, because the air of submissiveness vanished, like she was shedding a skin. He could barely keep up with what was happening, the way little details kept catching his attention. But she’d definitely pushed him, maybe softly, but the imprint of her fingers still burned on his shoulders, like it didn’t matter there were still layers of fabric in between them.

She was halfway to the bed, but he hadn’t even felt her move past him. She’d decided to shed the skin of roughness too, graceful without an edge. She didn’t even deign to turn to watch him, just throwing a long look over her shoulder.

‘I recall saying something about patience, Sergeant.’

Bucky blinked and fumbled for something to say. The way her back curved and twisted was distracting and the smile just made matters worse and worse. He wanted to throw his weight forward and catch up with her. Draw her back in and make her whimper. But a voice much like Steve’s was telling him to give up on this insanity and get out already.

Mary fluttered her eyelashes at him, blinking slowly and her smile was like syrup, slow and taunting. She twisted again and sat down on the bed, suddenly the image of perfect innocence, knees together and hands in her lap. But still that smile.

‘Or are you getting cold feet?’

Steve would say that, Steve wouldn’t want him to have fun with strange women. Steve would want him with him and wherever the fuck the Howlies were, drinking and laughing and pretending everything was fine. No. No, he was going to have a good night and he’d go back when he wanted to, not when his prim and proper CO told him to. Even if that CO was just in his head.

She laughed when he approached her, the sound of her delight loud in his ears. He breathed while he walked, going slow and forgetting about how odd it might look for a moment. He was on a mission and from this point on and he didn’t want to think of Steve, or anything else but Mary. She deserved all of his attention and he would damn well give it to her.

She reached for him when he came close enough, grabbing his waistcoat again and pulling him in for a kiss. It was sweeter this time, the rough edges gone from this as well. A promise. A reward. If he was patient, as she kept saying, he’d get more of this.

There was something about the roughness that appealed, but the sweetness attracted him even more. Her willingness, her kindness was his prize, if he did it right and he knew, he was sure he could do it right. Part of him wanted to push her down and take control once again, but something held him back. Mary’s eyes twinkled in the dark, like stars. She nodded in approval and kissed him again.

‘Finally getting it, are you?’

He kneeled before the bed on impulse and Mary watched him do it, radiating amusement. Bucky grasped for her hand and bent over it, doing his best to paint a picture of the guilty supplicant.

‘Oh my lady,’ he exclaimed, feeling a little silly but soldiering on nonetheless. ‘Forgive me for my slowness, my lady.’

He applied himself to her hand, feeling the bones under his lips and when he turned it around and kissed her wrist as well, the fluttering of her heartbeat. Her coldness was clearly an illusion, it had to be, because her heart was racing as fast as his. It occurred to him that she might be holding herself back. She said he shouldn’t expect a quick shag, but perhaps she was as excited as he was and her admonishments of patience were meant for herself as much as for him.

When he looked up her blush had deepened, and she was biting her lip, though it couldn’t entirely hold back the smile that crept around the corners. He made eye contact, trying to convey how much he meant his next words.

‘I’ll make it up to you, my lady.’

She bit her lip a little harder and attempted to school her face into something serious and benevolent. The look she gave him, the way she looked down at him and everything that meant sent a jolt of arousal straight to his groin.

‘Very well,’ she said, slowly, like she wasn’t entirely convinced. Her intonation had changed, now she was speaking somewhat like Bucky imagined a Queen would speak to some particularly lowly peasant. ‘You may undress me.’

Grinning widely broke character, but Bucky didn’t care much. He was damn well going to kiss every inch of her while he undressed her and see if he could make her squirm with impatience. See how long he had to tease before she was as crazy with lust as he was.

He sat down next to her and curled an arm around her waist to draw her near. Half of him was still expecting resistance, expected her to draw away and make him work for it, but she went easily and didn’t object to his attention anymore. Keeping his kisses gentle wasn’t easy, but he managed to keep the heat he was feeling out of them, mostly. Nipping her bottom lip was just retaliation and the intake of breath signaled she didn’t mind. Her breath halted when he let his lips touch her neck, her whole body leaning in, silently asking for more. Bucky grinned against her skin and reached out to see if he could deal with buttons without seeing them.

The fabric was soft, but not the sort of soft he wanted to feel. Her skin was better, far better than what he thought was probably some sort of silk. The buttons opened easily and when he drew away to slide the dress off her shoulders her eyes were closed and she was swaying with the loss of sensation.

‘And here I thought I was missing all the fun,’ said a voice.

For a moment, Bucky was missing his gun and sure he was in a sniperhole somewhere and then he saw Dolohov standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorpost. The light made him into a paper cutout, but Bucky knew the man was amused. He sounded amused, with a rough edge underneath that sounded like arousal and lust all at once.

Mary hummed, the sound warm and deep and just as rough.

‘I was saving him for you,’ she murmured, the words coming out a little muddled, like her attention was more on Bucky’s fingers still lying against the back of her neck rather than making conversation.

Dolohov stepped into the room and silently closed the door, Bucky blinked and tried to force his eyes to adjust again. He couldn’t quite fathom why the man was looking at him so expectantly, almost hovering a few steps away. Dolohov thankfully seemed to get that Bucky was behind on the facts.

‘Well man, are you up for being shared?’

He paused, seemed to reconsider and continued: ‘Unless you want to share Mary with me of course, these things are flexible.’

Images rose unbidden, making Bucky shiver with phantom touches and sensations and pitching the heat in this stomach to something almost unbearable.

‘Sure,’ his mind raced after the word, wondering how the fuck that had slipped out without him noticing, but on second thought, he wanted it. Balls, he wanted it really badly.

Dolohov had the air of a man who knew how to satisfy anyone in bed and now he was grinning a wicked grin and approaching the bed.

‘How about you sit back, Sergeant,’ he said and made it sound filthy too. ‘And I do all the hard work?’

‘By all means, earn your salary Lieutenant,’ Bucky answered and Mary snorted.

‘I resent the notion that any man thinks touching me is hard work,’ she said and moved as if to get off the bed and flounce out the door.

Bucky grasped for her arm and Dolohov went for her shoulder at the same time. Most uncertainty vanished with that, Bucky was quite sure this would work out, if the both of them were already in accordance. Mary glared at them both, looking a little surprised by the fast reaction. Dolohov winked and made to kiss her, so Bucky laid his lips against her neck again and relished in the way she shivered.

Dolohov drew her away, made her stand and the dress slipped off her with a silken rush. Mary laughed and stepped out of the pool of fabric around her legs. Dolohov seemed to pretend she was some kind of doll, easily manipulated and malleable, but Bucky couldn’t tell how he even communicated what he wanted her to do.

Yet she still swayed her hips and turned prettily for Bucky’s benefit. Bucky swallowed and reached down to untie his boots. He was going to sit back a bit, even just to make sure they wouldn’t notice just how much- They’d take advantage if they knew, Bucky was sure. And the bed was very comfortable, that was his excuse.

Dolohov let Mary swing out and then returned her, his eyes on her not on Bucky, like for a moment, he wasn’t even there.

‘You’re worth all the work, darling,’ he said in her ear, loud enough for Bucky to hear, while he pressed her against him and Mary let her head collapse back to rest on his shoulder.

She hummed in response and leaned back, despite Dolohov already locking her in place, an arm around her shoulders and one around her waist. And the woman who had bit him and done everything she could to get free was now as docile as a kitten. A kitten with sharp teeth.

Dolohov set a kiss to her neck and then leaned on her shoulder, looking at Bucky and for once, making eye contact. He looked too damn smug and Bucky had half a mind to steal Mary back.

‘Now something you got to know about Mary, Sergeant, she may have teeth, but she has weaknesses and when you use them-’

Mary growled, but that didn't seem to concern Dolohov at all, instead he relaxed his hold and set a finger softly against her collarbone, dragging it along the the sharp lines and then following the groups of muscle up to her jaw. The growl abruptly turned into a whine.

Dolohov raised his eyebrows, as if that was just what he’d meant to demonstrate, smiled and bent down to apply himself to her neck. He trailed a hand down her flank and let go of her shoulders to do the same to her other side, slowly following the curves while Mary slowly started squirming under the attention. She didn’t make a sound again, but Bucky watched her swallow, saw the muscles of her neck stand out as they tensed and knew in his bones she was fighting the impulse with everything she had.

Bucky wanted to stand up and join them and he wanted to sit and watch the spectacle. There was something mesmerising about it. Something almost better than doing it himself. He was intensely aware that they were doing this for him, that he was a part of it, even if it was just passive right now and it did things to him. He’d probably gone around the bend. But the heat in his stomach was growing, not fading and he knew Mary wanted him, he knew Dolohov wanted him, so he was content to go without, if the reward would be greater.

It didn’t take more than a breath for her to start moving more overtly, no longer just shifting her weight to follow the pleasure but deliberately moving her hips. Grinding down on Dolohov like it would make the man stop. She was possibly losing her senses with how Dolohov was playing her and for a moment Bucky envied her.

Dolohov stiffened when she snapped her hips sharply and Bucky held his breath. And then Dolohov chuckled and steadied her hips, like the contact was undesirable. Which, Bucky had to correct his assumptions, Mary wasn’t going mad, but her friend was, if he was deliberately stopping her.

‘Oh no, no you don’t get to do that darling,’ he said and Mary hissed at him. Bucky was laughing before he realised. Dolohov looked up and grinned at him.

‘I get what you’re trying to do you minx,’ he whispered in her ear, loud enough for Bucky to hear and Mary tried to squirm her way out of his grip, her head still lying against his shoulder. ‘You think that if you make me come that I’ll play nice and make you come as well hm? You forgot this is a special occasion, I’m going to watch you fuck our new friend and make him make you come and I’ll graciously use my own hands for my own pleasure.’

Bucky’s laughter died in his throat and he didn’t just make a noise that could be classified as a moan, no fucking way he didn’t. He’s fine. He’s not stupidly turned on by this, nope.

‘I like my girls undressed,’ he croaked and watched Mary smile.

‘Yes Antonin,’ she said. ‘Undress me.’

Dolohov sank his teeth in her shoulder in response. All her breath went out of her with an undignified sound and Antonin worried slightly at her skin. Bucky saw him smile despite what he was doing and then before he felt the need to say something, Dolohov let go and placed a kiss on the spot as if that would make the imprints of his teeth go away. And then he gently turned Mary, so Bucky could see her back, like she was on display. The idea that she was -that Dolohov was doing this on purpose, that Mary wanted to do this- hit him like a brick in the stomach. Suddenly he needed something at his back, someone to hold him up, someone to fucking touch him.

‘Make yourself comfortable Sergeant,’ Dolohov drawled. ‘We wouldn’t want you to get impatient.’

Bucky managed to glare through the heat suffusing his cheeks and crawled back to lean against the headboard. The sheets were so pristine the whiteness of them glared even in the half dark. The pillows had to be stuffed with actual goosefeathers, because they were soft and sweet like clouds. His stomach twisted with vicious pleasure at the idea of soiling the things with spunk and sweat and Bucky had to dig his fingers into his thigh to not let out a sound at the thought.

He tried to focus on the present being unwrapped before his eyes. Soiling things was all fine and well, but first they had to get naked and being distracted through that show would be a darn shame. He didn’t recognise what she was wearing and the lacing had been done up all queer. British and their weird unfashionable ways he supposed. Dolohov was loosening it from the top, drawing the cord slowly through the lacing holes, completely and weirdly focussed on his task, pausing to press kisses to Mary’s bare shoulders. They looked like a portrait together, bathed in the soft lamplight. Like some of those dirty pictures Steve painted when they were short for rent except maybe a little more refined.

He liked watching, he liked the way Dolohov’s hand seemed giant but still ever so gentle and the way Mary’s cheeks were so flushed they seemed three shades darker than her skin was. The corset came off with a sigh and a rustle of fabric, but where the dress had been thoughtlessly discarded on the floor, this was carefully draped over the back of a chair.

Dolohov looked between them and grinned. Mary showed her teeth in her own smile and ran her hands over her sides as if she was daring him to find fault. He couldn’t.

With the corset gone her slip only skimmed her figure, making all her curves disappear in a swathe of light pink silk. Bucky swallowed and cast around in his head for something funny to say to break the heavy stares and all the tension that came with them. His head was terrifyingly empty.

‘I’ll let her off her leash and let you do the honours, shall I?’ Dolohov asked with an even bigger grin. Bucky nodded, for lack of anything better to do. He realised belatedly that he had no idea how this would work, with the three of them. He’d thought about it of course, he didn’t think he had ever met a man who hadn’t. Except perhaps Steve. But fantasy was devoid of nasty things like gravity, and actual people, and logistics. There were three of them, and if Dolohov was anything like Mary, he’d want his needs satisfied thoroughly. Bloody hell, bloody buggering hell.

Before he could open his mouth to voice the concerns flying through his head Mary was coming close. She didn’t quite advance, stopping at the edge of the bed to let her eyes roam his body. He could feel the way she traced him, her looks leaving sparks on his skin. His stomach tightened at the sensation, almost cutting off his breath with the fierceness of it.

Bucky realised it was fear, not arousal setting his body on fire. He was scared.

He was scared.

Of everything that had happened today that seemed the very strangest. There was nothing to be afraid of but here he was, feeling like he was staring at an oncoming tank from a foxhole, rather than at a lovely woman who wanted to fuck him.

He was out of his mind, there was no other explanation. Mary noticed, he saw her notice because some of the hunger went out of her eyes. There was a shift that was harder to define, he could only decipher the symptoms of it.

Her shoulders relaxed and instead of coming straight at him over the bed, she walked to the side of it and set herself down. He could smell her, she was close enough the salt of her sweat prickled on his tongue as if he could taste it and some of the fear went away. It was hard to be afraid with her so close. He hadn’t noticed her eyes were grey, probably distracted by her mouth, but they were grey like clouds and wouldn’t Steve love to draw that? He’d spend ages trying to perfect the way the messy curls of her hair fell. And Steve wasn’t here. Not here to judge, not here to see Bucky’s weaknesses like Mary or Dolohov.

He breathed out. They weren’t pushing him, or even asking what was wrong. It was ok to need a little space and with every breath he liked them more. How patient they were. Most of his previous lays would have walked out the door if they realised something was wrong with him.

But here were two people -two of them!- who liked him, who wanted him and were fine waiting to make sure he wanted them too. He’d never felt so taken care of in his life, and definitely not in bed.

It sent prickles down his spine, not quite want but something close. Possessiveness maybe. HE wanted to keep them and they’d barely touched him yet. He had an inkling it would only be worse when they had. He’d only met them and already he wanted to know more.

Dolohov had set himself on the chair, heedless of his own severe face in the mirror and not quite looking at Bucky. He was thankful for that. With the full scrutiny of both of them on him he was quite sure all his courage might desert him. The silence was a nice blanket, but it didn’t last.

‘Do you want to keep going?’ Dolohov asked, his voice quiet now all the bravado had gone out of it.

Bucky considered not going on, discarded the whole notion and tried to find words for the swirling mass of emotion stuck under his breastbone. The way Mary was looking at him told him he had to answer, even if that answer would be ‘I don’t know.’

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat roughly and made himself give the only right answer.

‘I do, but isn’t homosexuality illegal here?’

Damnit his cheeks burned when the words came out of his mouth and his voice was almost squeaky instead of being confident, as he wanted it to. It didn’t help that Mary raised an eyebrow at him in question, suddenly a mirror to her husband. Who was in the other room doing god knows what.

Dolohov’s gaze changed, he didn’t seem the sort of man to wear his emotions on his sleeve but Bucky could tell he was disappointed. Christ. And then he was actually standing up from his chair too.

‘I can go,’ he said and reluctantly moved towards the door.

‘I don’t want you to,’ Bucky blurted and blushed even deeper. ‘I just, I don’t…’

Some of the relief on Dolohov’s face mirrored in his stomach, together with a burst of heat because now it was really going to happen, whether he wanted to or not.

And suddenly Mary’s lips were on his, like a kiss could be a reward for a good choice. He almost imagined she tasted sweet, and he had to stop himself from reaching to get her closer, drink in more of her. Her lips gleamed in the low light and her eyes sparkled in a way that gave Bucky a shiver of foreboding.

‘I admit I was hoping to make you do things,’ she murmured, her voice seeming intolerably loud to Bucky’s ears. ‘But maybe you should tell us what you want instead.’

Dolohov smiled and so did Bucky, unable to control his face because what she suggested sounded amazing. Mary rose and instead of coming closer, she went back to Dolohov and draped herself across her friend, showing the curve of her breast through her slip.

‘Well Bucky, what do you want?’ she asked and fluttered her eyelashes at him. He was apparently going to feel self conscious throughout this entire affair and god help him, it was actually starting to turn him on.

Bucky swallowed and did his best to formulate and answer over the roar in his ears.

‘Uh, fuck?’ he hazarded, feeling a pang of shame at his directness. Mary laughed and so did Dolohov which did nothing to quell the feeling of shame. He wasn’t in a damn school class, dammit, but the need to give the right answer was strong regardless.

‘Do you mean you want me to fuck her?’ Dolohov asked with a grin, his hand slipping down towards Mary’s groin suggestively.

Bucky almost choked on his own breath barking out a hurried ‘No!’.

Mary snorted and Dolohov’s face twisted with mock disdain. Bucky hoped it was at any rate, since the expression was a little terrifying on the man. It just fit far too well for comfort.

‘Possessive, huh,’ he drawled and caressed Mary’s hip, skirting close enough to her groin she started moving her hips, little rocking motions trying to edge her friends fingers to where she wanted them.

‘Terrible trait in a man,’ Dolohov continued. ‘Makes me want to teach him how to share.’

Bucky couldn’t help but consider it, wonder how good he would be at sharing, since he was going to find out rather soon.

‘I mean,’ he stammered, trying and failing to figure out what it actually was he wanted. ‘I mean, yes- no… I don’t know.’

He felt monumentally stupid but confronted with the choice he didn't know what to do. He wanted so much he wasn’t sure how to describe it and despite Dolohov’s overtures he couldn’t help but hesitate. He wanted Mary, but right now he wanted something else more. It would help if he could put it into words rather than shying away even in his own mind. He would have been happier if either of them took the lead so he wouldn’t have to.

But it was clear nothing would happen unless he was explicit about it. There was no use in balking, if he wanted it, and he did, he would have to say so.

He was safe here, they wouldn’t go running to Steve or Phillips, what happened here would stay here even if purely because he would never see them again after.

It still rather felt like lowering his gun in the face of the enemy to open his mouth.

‘I want him to blow me.’

Damn, that was actually easier than he thought it would be.

Mary nor Dolohov seemed surprised by his admission and a prickle of annoyance went down his spine at how easily read he was. Was his unnaturalness so clear they could see it in his face?

But Mary’s smile held a hint of approval and Dolohov looked eager. Eager to touch him, to make him feel good. The thought was heady, strange and exciting.

There was a moment where nothing happened, just the both of them sharing a look like they were constructing a battle plan. When they looked back their eyes burned and sparkled with mischief and arousal and Bucky lost the last of his breath.

They looked like hungry wolves, pretty and enticing hungry wolves, but predators nonetheless, out to tear him to bits. He bit back a sound at the thought.

‘If I’m going to suck you off then I want you naked,’ Dolohov stated and Bucky immediately started unbuttoning his shirt. There was something about Dolohov's voice that made Bucky want obey him, as fast as possible, no matter how ridiculous he felt.

It was a relief to be naked, to feel his clothes sliding over his hot and sweaty skin and then shiver as the cool air in the room hit him, bare of all the layers he’d been wearing.

The gleam in Dolohov's eyes only got worse as the man surveyed him, nodding in approval at what he saw. Mary closed the distance and kissed him again, her hands roaming his body, featherlight touches over his nipples that made him hiss in pleasure and firmer strokes over his shoulders and abs, like she was mapping out his body through touch. Her lips tasted salty and the realisation that she was as aroused as he was made his knees weak.

And then her hand was on his shoulder, guiding him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, with Dolohov towering over him and licking his lips in anticipation.

Mary kissed his shoulder and moved away, walking past him to the head of the bed. Bucky turned around and watched her go, irritated at the suddenly lance of nerves that shot through him. He was suddenly too nervous to look Dolohov in the eye and part of him wished Mary would stay near.

To his astonishment, she set herself on the bed and made herself comfortable, burrowing into the pillows and resting her head against the headboard with a smile playing around her lips. She rolled her eyes at him when she noticed his stare.

‘You’ll be plenty busy, darling, so I get to watch for my pleasure.’

Bucky was about to answer but Dolohov turned him around and kissed him roughly, His lips were warm and his hands were so hot they seemed to burn on his skin, but Bucky didn’t mind. Dolohov didn’t seem to feel like stopping either, worrying at Bucky’s lip and letting his tongue explore. Bucky wanted to respond, return the sentiment but the kisses extinguished his desire to do anything. In the end all he wanted was to luxuriate in the feeling. And Dolohov had no problem with that, judging by the smile Bucky could feel on his lips and the rumble of amusement every time he made a sound.

Dolohov was out to render him thoughtless and speechless. Bucky would have told him how well he was doing, just to egg him on but the sensations made the last of his control, the last of his thoughts and apprehension flee and the only thing he could do was lose himself in what was being done to him.

Bucky woke slowly. He wasn’t used to that, half his mind making a bugle call all by itself. But even his own brain couldn’t rouse him at once. He was too calm, to relaxed for that, and man it was fucking amazing.

No need to open his eyes immediately, or scramble for clothes and orders. No errant Commando’s to raise from their alcohol induced slumber. He didn’t even have to move.

There was an arm slung over him, warm and comforting and Bucky let himself drink it in. He was safe, he had no pressing needs or obligations. He hadn’t felt so unbothered in a long while. Everything- the stress and pain and fear would return, but right now, it wasn’t there.

There was a vague tinkling of alarm bells in the back of his mind, his senses bringing information that couldn’t be correct. There were more people than there were supposed to be surrounding him. Given he’d fallen asleep with Mary and Dolohov next to him, but now there were more bodies in the bed than there had been.

He took a deep breath, refusing to let the mystery take away his peace and simply opened his eyes instead. It was easier to simply confirm suspicions than to lie there in a panic. There were no enemies here. Riddle would see any ill-meaning folk crossing his threshold as a personal failure, Bucky was sure.

And Riddle, it turned out, was facing him, still sleeping and looking surprisingly young, without the cold in his eyes and no mocking sneer disfiguring his mouth.

Bucky raised his head ever so slightly so he could catch a glimpse of whoever was lying behind Riddle.

He had half hoped it was Mary who was touching him and that her touch was an invitation for more but it was Dolohov who’se arm was a steady anchor because Mary was lying in a close embrace with Rosier, their foreheads touching and their hands entwined. His heart gave a thump at the sight, but there was no pang of jealousy coming after. There was just something about seeing their closeness that made him want the same thing. They were so… together, all of them. They shared a bed, for heaven’s sake. And he rarely did anymore.

Fuck it all, now he missed it.

Bucky blinked and laid his head back on the pillow. Being homesick for a Steve he couldn’t have was silly. Steve was was being Captain America and while Bucky was his sergeant and still his friend there was little space for actual friendship now. He had to seek his comfort elsewhere for now and believe they would pick the thread back up after the war.

Riddle was waking up, blinking lazily right until his eyes focused on Bucky. Awareness sprang into his eyes with a speed that made Bucky shiver and Riddle smiled, like the sight of Bucky between his friends pleased him. Bucky did his best not to feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

Riddle’s smile only went wider and he stretched like a cat, curling his toes in pleasure before sitting up. ‘Good morning,’ he hummed and the leftover sleep in his voice only made the words more hypnotising. ‘Fancy some breakfast, sarge?’

Bucky nodded, not entirely trusting his voice and watched Riddle slide of the bed with all the grace of a panther, leaving his still sleeping friends undisturbed. Bucky carefully moved Dolohov’s arm aside and did the same before his courage could desert him. He was hungry, the empty feeling all too familiar and Riddle had offered, after all.

He could have sworn the bed was smaller the night before, looking at it now, with watery sunshine peeking through the curtains. Or made that was just that the room seemed much bigger now that he had to find his clothes in it. When he’d gathered everything and gotten it on there was already the spell of eggs cooking in the air because Riddle had apparently decided clothes were to pedestrian for him.

The fact that he was at least wearing briefs didn’t matter a whole lot to Bucky’s heartbeat. Riddle was paying more attention to the eggs sizzling in the pan thankfully. Bucky wouldn’t survive the man's stare, not with yesterday night still fresh in his mind.

‘I gathered you enjoyed yourself,’ Riddle remarked.

Bucky blinked back to the present. Riddle was facing him, keeping half an eye on their breakfast and regarding him with a smirk. Bucky swallowed and did his best to find his voice.

‘You know I did,’ he hazarded and damnit it sounded like a question, but his memory was surprisingly hazy so it probably was.

Riddle’s smirk went from a smirk to a cheshire grin.

‘I wondered whether you’d remember.’

He did remember, sort of, it was more of a certainty, a feeling, than any real memory. He knew Riddle had been there because he’d left an impression. Intense eyes on him and a presence that both confused and aroused him at the time.

‘What were you doing?’ Bucky asked, curiosity bubbling up inside.

Riddle’s smile impossibly went even wider.

‘Watching,’ he answered and Bucky couldn’t help a shiver at the tone. He bet the man could make girls swoon reading the fucking newspaper.

‘Why didn’t you join in?’ he returned and made himself comfortable in one of the chairs.

Riddle’s grin vanished, he didn’t quite frown, but something made him look pensive, like he was considering something.

The silence seemed to last for ages but Bucky couldn’t bring himself to mind, as he got his breakfast during it. And god it was good to have some actual egg rather than the powdered shit their rations held. There was even coffee, poured steaming into a cup and handed over. And it was real, actual real coffee, like the alcohol last night. Smooth and bitter and absolutely heavenly.

Bucky wondered for a moment whether he was dreaming but Riddle’s voice proved he wasn’t. There was no way he could make up a voice like that.

‘I like watching,’ he said, his voice slow and his tone even, like he was discovering his inclinations as he went. ‘I like seeing other people enjoy themselves and on occasion I like helping but if I were to join I’d only make myself uncomfortable and that’s rather against the spirit of things, isn’t it?’

Bucky considered this while trying to be polite and not simply hoover up his breakfast like he wanted to.

‘So I wouldn’t have a chance?’ he asked.

Riddle laughed and Bucky couldn’t even feel disappointed.

‘You’re allowed to look,’ he replied, the sound of his mirth colouring his voice in such a way Bucky felt warm with it. It was as if someone was draping a soft blanket over him, temporarily soothing all his pains and hurts.

The grin just appeared, drawn out by Riddle’s words and his smile and just the man himself. The complete mad bastard who clearly enjoyed confusing and leading completely innocent people into a swamp of alcohol sex and breakfast that was too fucking good to be real.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Bucky said and waggled his eyebrows at Riddle over his coffee cup.

It didn’t quite have the intended effect as he just got a raised eyebrow for his troubles.

There was something about sitting at the table, slowly sipping another cup of coffee, that made him want to stay. Simply forget about the war and stay forever. But he couldn’t, it was hard to forget about anything when the eye candy in front of him had his muscles to thank to what was no doubt some Special Ops training and there was still a uniform jacket hanging over a free chair.

A hand brushed the nape of his neck, the cool touch brushing away some of his dark thoughts.

‘I was hoping for a second go, but it seems my victim is already dressed,’ Mary said behind him.

Bucky couldn’t help admiring her, with how her hair was going everywhere and her slip was almost see-through in the morning light.

‘I’m sorry, but my CO is gonna be displeased about me staying the night elsewhere and if I come back before noon I stand more of a chance to get off without latrine duty.’

Both Riddle and Mary wrinkled their noses in sympathy and regret made Bucky’s stomach feel heavy. He didn’t want to leave but Steve would indeed blow a fuse and make him do all sorts of dirty work. And he couldn’t delude himself with the thought they might meet again after the war. He didn’t know what Riddle did, but it was clear enough he didn’t sit in a cushy office pushing papers. And Mary wouldn’t be content with a safe hospital in England somewhere either.

She poured herself a cup and knocked it back in one go.

‘At least let me get dressed so I can walk you back,’ she said.

Bucky was about to refuse, but Riddle shook his head.

‘You’ll get lost and then your CO will have something to be displeased about.’

Bucky gave him a mock salute and a grin.

‘Yes, sir!’