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London must make room for the American troops in whatever manner it can, and since it wouldn't be proper to house Agent Carter with the men, she is assigned temporary quarters in an empty building on Great Russell Street. The room is not overly large, and the single bedroom window looks out on a courtyard filled with rubble, but it has four walls and a ceiling, which is more than some in the city can say. The furnishings include a four-poster bed, richly done in walnut, and probably abandoned in a manner upon which Peggy refuses to dwell.
This is where she brings Sergeant Barnes and the Captain when it becomes apparent they should not venture back to the men's barracks.
"I didn't drink that much," Barnes protests as she leads them up the winding and narrow staircase. "You really don't have to—"
"It's nothing," she says, and that plus whatever look Steve must shoot him behind her back quells any argument. She knows Barnes isn't drunk; his stomach, it seems, hasn't settled since Steve's daring rescue, which means he couldn't have downed the necessary whiskey even if he'd tried. But even sober, he's a shambles. His uniform is in disarray, his hair, uncombed. His face is lined with the pinch of worry still. The sight of it stirs a fondness inside Peggy that she imagines was stoked by Steve himself.
"Buck, it's fine," comes Steve's quiet assurance. "It was too loud at the bar anyway."
Peggy suppresses a smile as she keys open the lock. There's a short hallway, and then the bedroom, the bath being on the lower floor. Perhaps it was once a maid's room, or a valet's. She leads them in.
"Oh wow." Bucky--the nickname suits him, actually--spins in a small circle, taking off his hat. "Nice digs." His eyes land on the little details that make this room Peggy's, however temporarily: the stack of files on the bureau, the hairbrush next to them, the nylons hung up to dry over the back of an old wicker chair. The sergeant averts his gaze at this last item; a polite young man, for all his bluster.
He also seems to realize at that moment that the three of them are alone in a bedroom, and the building is otherwise unoccupied, and he appears to be in the way of his friend's pursuits. Peg can see the moment caught in his eyes, where the idea of a third wheel enters his mind. He sneaks a glance at Steve, who is leaning against the door with an unconcerned grin.
"You know what?" Bucky says. "It's getting late. I should report back—"
Peggy stops him, a light hand on his arm to keep him from replacing his hat atop his head. "You should stay," she says, not unkindly. "You're quite tired."
Steve is already preoccupied with unknotting his own necktie. Oh, but he's a dear.
A half-smile rises and falls on Bucky's lips, as if he's unsure whether this is a joke, or perhaps a dream. He looks to Steve, sees him slipping off his tie, and turns away as if the sight is as forbidden as the nylons. "Where'm I supposed to sleep?" he asks. "On your floor?"
Peggy takes his uniform cap from his lax fingers and tosses it in Steve's direction. He catches it without a second thought, then throws it to land with a perfect spin on top of the furthest bedpost. His reflexes are really something to behold. "I don't think that will be necessary yet," Peggy says to Bucky. "Though I may change my mind. We'll have to see."
Bucky's eyes grow large. Peggy allows her smile to come then, and the sight of it seems to thrill and terrify the boy in equal measure.
When she was small, Peggy had nightmares about tornadoes. In them, she was always trapped in the path of an oncoming twister as wide as the horizon. She would turn and run but, as always happens in dreams, she could never escape. The swirl of the storm would blot out the sun, would chase her through streets and over hills, and she'd wake in a panic, sweating and trembling.
Then came a time when Miss Carter did not run, not even while she was awake. The nightmares ceased to bother her, and finally disappeared altogether.
Peggy Carter is no longer afraid of such things. She is no longer afraid of what she is inside. She houses tornadoes, and she is powerful.
"Steve has suggested," she says as she slips Bucky's unbuttoned uniform coat from his shoulders, "that you may benefit from a form of relaxation that I excel in providing."
"Huh?" His mouth is open now.
"She'll whack you, is what she means," Steve says helpfully from his corner. "If you want. You know, like you used to."
There is a split second of shock in Barnes' eyes that turns into pained betrayal. He whirls on Steve, stalks into his space without noticing how he's left his coat behind in Peggy's hands. "You told her!? Jesus, Steve! You can't just—! That stuff's my private business!"
"Now, don't be cross with Steve," Peggy says. "He gave up this information under duress." Bucky looks over at her like she's lost her mind. "A firm caning," she clarifies. A shrug. "I quite like a cane, but if you'd rather, I could use something else." Her eyes trail to the corner, where the old walking stick sits with an unassuming air next to her umbrella. She'd never go anywhere without it, if it can be helped.
Steve ducks his head to hide his smirk. Bucky looks between them, his hair whipping as he turns. Peggy waits.
Steve's stories about Bucky had prepared her for this. Small little sketches at first: I grew up with a boy who looked out for me like a brother, etc. Then shades of emotion came into the tales. 'I need to find him' became 'I need to tell you about him,' which became, somehow, and with plenty of encouragement, a complete picture of two young men who had clung to each other.
Steve loves her, has done so since she first offered him this thing during what was--at the time--an extremely stressful film production schedule. He loves a hand on the back of his neck when he's at the end of his rope; nails digging into his newly toughened skin; a blow that he can take now that he's stronger. And he loves doing for others. This is a gift, and she can give it if she likes.
"I told Peggy because she understands, Buck." Steve's big hand is on his old friend's shoulder now, turning him slowly to face him. "She's like us, except in reverse. You know, how we used to take turns? How good it was?" Peggy envisions her two soldiers as younger men having a go at each other: a smaller Steve draped over Bucky's lap to accept a paddling, Bucky bent over a table to receive his due. They must have been lovely. "It can help," Steve insists. "She can help."
Such a charming way to put it. Peggy almost laughs in pleasure, but instead crosses the room to dig her fingers into Steve's regulation hair. He leans into the touch, not letting go of Bucky's shoulder, but turning his head to better bare his throat for her. A low sigh escapes his lips. Peggy tugs.
"Tell me again. Who do you outrank?" she asks. She is speaking to Steve but her eyes are on Bucky.
"Here, right now?" Steve licks his lips. "No one."
Peg lifts an eyebrow at Bucky as if to say See? Not so difficult. "Would you like to leave, Barnes? Or would you like to stay and see more?"
"I'll stay," Bucky blurts out before she's even finished saying the last three words.
"Very well. Do as Steve does, then. He's well-trained by now. Show him your signal, Steve."
Steve crosses his middle and ring fingers. "Do that if you want Peggy to stop."
"Why can't I just say so?" Bucky asks.
"Because your mouth may be occupied," she says, and ignores the way his eyebrows shoot skyward. "Now come on. Up you go." She releases Steve's hair and prods him in the side. He slides onto the bed with all his newfound grace, stable and strong on his hands and knees.
Bucky gives Peggy a questioning look, but goes too after a moment. He lines himself up at Steve's side, matching his position and posture. Peggy takes a moment to admire their two backsides before stepping out of her heeled shoes.
The sound of her dress zipper is loud in the otherwise silent room. Bucky chances a glance over his shoulder, but Peggy tuts at him. "I didn't say you could look," she says.
Bucky turns back around with a small grunt. The line of his back is practically vibrating with the control needed to keep still. Peggy watches this for a long moment, then gets to work. Her chemise and silk knickers swish quietly as she moves. Bucky, to his credit, does not try to peek this time.
She picks up the hairbrush. Thumps it a few times against her open palm as if testing the weight. Watches the two motionless forms waiting for her in stillness. And then smiles.
"My lovely matched set," she says to herself, and goes to them.
Steve has behaved himself perfectly, so he will receive his spanking first. It's a good lesson for Bucky to absorb. Peggy kneels on the mattress in the little space between them, one hand on Steve's rear, just making comforting whorls across the seat of his trousers. She gives Bucky a small tap on the back of his head with her hairbrush, a gentle reminder.
"Stay where you are," she says. "You may look at Steve, but only Steve. He is your role model tonight. Do you understand?"
Bucky swallows audibly and nods, which is not acceptable.
The point of the hairbrush handle digs into the base of Bucky's skull, forcing his head down between his shoulders. "Speak," Peggy says.
The words come quickly after that. "Yes. Yes, I understand."
Steve sneaks a glance over his shoulder at her, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially. She ceases her warm-up rubbing and gives him a firm slap across his buttocks with her open palm. He shudders on the bed, his massive frame making it creak. "Don't look so smug," she advises. "He doesn't know any better, but surely you should."
"Yes ma'am," Steve says, breathless.
Peggy nods to herself and takes stock of them. She really has her hands full with these two. The hairbrush is transferred to her right hand. It comes down on Steve with a loud crack. Steve, the darling, muffles his cry behind bitten lips and stays absolutely still.
She checks on Bucky. He is not watching at all; his eyes are fastened firmly to the bedclothes, and his cheeks are a flaming pink. Peggy wonders at this: here is a boy who surely has seen her Steve in all manner of compromising positions (she has heard of some of the better ones), and yet he won't even look at Steve's discarded necktie, let alone Steve's face as he's being spanked.
"Barnes," Peggy says, and lands a second blow on Steve's right buttock this time. Steve's exhale is loud through his nose. Bucky still does not look over.
"Ma'am?" is all he says.
A third blow, exactly where the last had been. Steve's spine arches momentarily before returning to its perfect line. He is a table, ready for a meal. Peggy rubs her left palm down his shaking thigh to soothe him.
"You don't seem to be interested in seeing what I'm doing," she says. "Don't you think he's handsome like this?"
Bucky doesn't answer right away, so Peggy uses the silence to find Steve's belt buckle under the arch of his body. Steve--with the knowledge that comes from practice—barely breathes while she works. The jingle of the buckle makes Bucky look over at last, his blue eyes disbelieving. He catches Peggy's gaze for just a moment, but it's enough to earn him a harsh slap across the back of his right thigh.
"Christ," he hisses in pain while Peggy repeats herself: "Don't you think, Barnes?"
"Yeah. I mean, yes. He's handsome," Bucky says. His eyes have returned to the duvet.
Peggy works Steve's uniform trousers down to his knees. He's bare underneath, at her request.
"Why don't you watch his face while I work?" It has the sound of a suggestion, but it's really not. "Here." She leans forward between them, takes Bucky's chin between her thumb and forefinger, and guides him to look Steve right in the eye. She checks Steve's countenance for clues about how he's doing: his forehead is sporting a fine sheen of sweat, and his mouth is red and panting open. He looks quite good. She gives him a small, fond slap to his cheek, barely more than a pat. Steve grins with his teeth.
"All right?" She cups the backs of their heads, one in each hand, and strokes the napes of their necks. "First one to blink loses, gentlemen."
"So what will I win?" Bucky asks, staring down Steve with newfound determination. His jaw ticks with it.
"The mouth on you." Peggy finds the hairbrush among the bedclothes. It makes a loud thud on Bucky's still-clothed backside. He grunts, but keeps his eyes open and focused on Steve's. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
Steve tries and fails to hide his naughty boy's smile.
"You either," Peggy says, and settles in to deliver a series of blows with her brush. She tries to make it as random as possible, some to Bucky's ass, some to Steve's; sometimes two or three in a row, sometimes one each back and forth. Bucky is on her left by design because she's right-handed. It's difficult to determine how hard she should hit, especially when she's become accustomed to Steve's body, which can take a beating unlike any man she's ever known. She must be careful and not hurt Bucky. Steve might never forgive her.
Once she's certain Bucky is able to take a firm slap of the hairbrush, she strips his trousers down like Steve's so she has two nicely bare bottoms to spank. Steve is hardly pinked, of course; he heals far too quickly for the marks to last. But Bucky's backside is a nice, rosy color and his skin is hot to the touch. Peggy leans in and lets her hair and fingertips trail over Bucky, relishing his hisses. His whole body trembles as if his limbs will give out at any moment.
"You're both doing very well. No one's blinked yet?" she asks.
"No ma'am," comes the chorus. She cranes her neck forward to check on them. They're still locked in a stare, turned toward each other. Bucky seems unashamed of looking now that he has the excuse of competition. Or perhaps his bravado is all for show.
"You're not lying to protect each other, are you?"
"No," Steve promises.
"Are you kidding?" Bucky says. "I'm winning this thing." He yelps when Peggy touches the pad of her thumb to the crack of his ass.
"I warned you about pride," she says, and waits. Bucky has no answer.
She could breach him if she wanted to. He could not stop her, not now when he is shaking like a boneless thing. She gets the sense, from what Steve's told her, that no one's ever done this to him. We never went very far, he'd said between strikes of her cane. It was something to do. He loved dares. We both did. Boys. Predictable boys.
From the look of the very wet spot that his dripping cock is making on the bedclothes between his knees, Bucky must like the idea of her fingers inside him. Even if he'd never admit it.
She circles his hole with her thumb and drags the stiff bristles of her hairbrush down the back of his bare thigh. The sound he makes is indescribably needy. He falls forward, pressing his face into the sheets, his arms splaying uselessly at his sides as they give out.
"You lose," Peggy says, and ceases all contact. His groan of complaint earns him one more smack across his ass with her palm. The imprint of her hand stays there in stark white. "Get up. On your feet. Clothes off, quickly."
Bucky struggles to comply, wrestling his trousers down his legs before taking off his shoes, then realizing his mistake. His still-hard cock bobs against his shirt tails, smearing them with fluid. He mutters some choice curses at it, as if it's to blame. Steve stifles a laugh, and Peggy allows it.
"Come now, Barnes. No need to be shy." Peggy strokes a hand up and down Steve's back as she watches. He's still half out of uniform, but she likes him that way.
Finally Bucky is naked and standing beside the bed, chest heaving, hair hanging in his eyes, which are averted to the ground. He's still too thin, but oh, he is beautiful: ruddy skin and muscled arms, a cock flushed purple with the pain of being ignored. He's circumcised. Peggy had been prepared for that (another one of Steve's confessions) but having never seen a cut cock before, she must admit she's fascinated. It looks as naked and vulnerable as Bucky himself.
"Kneel," she says, not unkindly.
Bucky goes down on one knee, then both. His hands fold over his cock as if to hide it from her stare. It's just as Steve said it would be: perfection. Peggy knows it's a cliche, but she's always been fond of former Catholic schoolboys. There's no group better trained to kneel than they are.
"Eyes on me now," she says. "Hands at your sides. Good." His eyes dart up to her, then to Steve, then back to her. He seems to make a valiant attempt to keep his gaze above her shoulders as off the lacy underthings. It's rather sweet. "Bucky," she says, "can you see everything from there? Do you have a good view of Steve from where you are?" She pats her solid table; Steve stays perfectly still on his hands and knees like a champion show dog.
"Yes," Bucky says, voice cracked.
"Tell me how you used to take care of him. I've heard it from him, but I'd like to hear it from you too."
His pink mouth drops open, works ineffectually. His wet cock twitches against his belly. "I, uh— Used to—"
"Speak up." She drags her fingernails down Steve's bare backside, leaving red furrows in her wake. They disappear in seconds, but not before Steve moans softly, his head dipping toward the pillows.
Bucky watches, rapt.
"Barnes," Peggy says sharply. His head snaps back to her. "You were saying?"
"I—I never hurt him," Bucky says in a rush. "He would ask me to, and I'd try to think of ways that wouldn't— Because he was so small, you see. And his heart wasn't—"
"I know. It's all right; I know." Though she says it to Bucky, it's Steve who gets her comforting touch: a hand heavy on the back of his neck, forcing his head down to the bed. Steve goes willingly, face first into the pillows, ass high in the air. They make a lovely tableau for Bucky's viewing. "So what would you do?"
Bucky hesitates. "I'd pinch. Tickle sometimes. Pulled his hair, he liked that." He looks Steve over, then adds, "I was afraid to whale on him the way he did me, but he kept asking so—"
"You tried to be gentle." Not a question.
"Yes ma'am."
It makes her warm to think of these two caring for each other out of necessity; she can't imagine trying to go against her nature like that, even for someone as sweet as Steve. Perhaps Barnes is the sort that can be one thing or the other, but he clearly prefers to be a plaything. Peggy can work with that.
She takes up the space behind Steve, between his spread calves. Her hands ply Steve's skin once more, making comforting circles up his thighs, over his behind, up the small of his back. Peggy even cups his balls in one hand and gives them a tug, then digs her nails into the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Steve muffles his cry in his pillow.
"There's no need to be so gentle with him now," Peggy says. "Is there, Steve?"
"No," Steve pants as he turns his head to speak. "You can be as rough as you want. Please, I like it." His eyes are glassy. He's far away in a place where Peggy can send him but never follow. She pats his flank in reassurance; she'll bring him back to the real world later.
For now, she nudges him in his side until he follows her guiding touch. He flips onto his back, arms lifted above his head, legs spread wide. He's not a table any longer, but a chair, one made for Peggy. She strips off her silky shorts and chemise with neat efficiency, folding them at the foot of the bed. Bucky watches obediently. The flush on his chest reaches past his small nipples. Peggy gives him an approving nod.
She climbs onto Steve, facing the headboard. As she lowers herself down on Steve's mouth, it opens to receive her, warm tongue lapping with an eagerness she cannot ever train out of him. His big hands fist into the pillows above his head to keep from grabbing her hips; he had a problem with trying to hold her closer when they began doing this together, but now he's very well-behaved. She lets her head fall to one side, her hair spilling over her shoulder, and rocks back and forth on Steve's tongue. His eyes are closed in rapture as he tastes her, his whole face a work of ecstatic art.
Peggy glances over to Bucky to gauge his reaction to all this. Bucky swallows, his eyes falling to the floor. A drop of fluid falls down the shaft of his naked cock to make a dark spot on the carpet.
Peggy combs her fingers through Steve's hair, not looking away from her second charge. "What do you think of Steve's new body?" she asks. "Don't you like it?"
"I like it fine," Bucky says. His voice shakes.
"It doesn't seem that way. When I met you in the pub tonight, you sounded frustrated that I didn't leap straight into your arms. Like Steve blots out your light." She gives Steve's hair a sharp tug, and he moans against her pussy. "Are you used to getting exactly what you want, Sergeant? Has everything up till now just been handed to you without any fuss?"
"I've never been handed a damn thing in my entire life," Bucky bites out. The lines and sinews of his shoulders are strained, like it's taking all his willpower not to launch himself across the room and join them on the bed. Peggy smirks, amused.
It's important, she thinks, to walk a very narrow line with men like Bucky. She knows what he needs--better than he knows himself, most likely--and it would do no one any good to simply hand it over without a fight. Not a physical fight, of course. The ability to knock a man out cold is one thing, useful in one's military career, not so much in the bedroom. Peggy has learned this through many years of trial and error: brute strength is nothing compared to applying the correct amount of pressure at precisely the right point.
Steve's cloudy eyes drift open to look up at her. She smiles down at him. "Is he telling the truth, Steve?" she asks. "Has he always worked hard for what he wants?"
Steve's head shifts between her thighs in a slow nod, the flat of his tongue swiping up into her with the movement.
Peggy sighs and grinds down onto his chin. "What do you think dear Bucky would do? To prove he's not a jealous little cretin, I mean." Of whom, exactly, he might be jealous, she leaves unsaid.
Steve shrugs one shoulder against the mattress in answer. His nose bumps against her slit in a clever way that makes her shiver all over. Her thighs tighten on either side of Steve's head, her release coming just as she expected: with quiet self-satisfaction. It only takes a moment to get her bearings again. She snaps her fingers in Bucky's direction, calling him like a dog. "Come up here."
Bucky is on his feet like a shot. His kneecaps are pink from kneeling, and his lower lip looks like he's bitten it to a bright red. He stands at the side of the bed with his arms hanging uselessly. He waits.
Peggy takes a few more moments of pleasure on top of Steve's face, then climbs off to sit at the head of the bed beside him. She indicates Steve's sculpted features with a wave of her hand; he's covered in her slickness from his chin to his upper lip. His faraway stare drifts between Peggy and Bucky, a dreamy smile playing on his wet lips.
"He is such a mess," Peggy sighs. "Would you clean him up for me, Barnes?"
Bucky looks confused for a moment, then brings his hand up to cup Steve's jaw, his thumb drawing across his cheek to wipe some fluid away.
"No, no," Peggy tuts. "Not like that. Really now."
Bucky purses his mouth, eyes on the floor. He climbs onto the bed, closer. He knows what she is telling him to do. He knows, and he doesn't dare look her in the eye.
"How should I?" he asks gruffly.
Peggy reclines against the headboard and rubs the back of her own neck, the picture of relaxation. "Use your tongue," she says. "I'm sure it's capable."
The panicked look that Bucky throws Steve is something to behold. He hesitates, though Peggy can see his cut cock bobbing and pearling just at the thought of it. She opens her mouth to give him a kind word, but Steve somehow swims from his haze in time to beat her to it.
"It's all right," he says, blinking up at Bucky. "Peggy wants you to. You should listen to her, do what she says."
Couldn't have said it better myself, Peggy thinks.
Bucky looks at her, eyes shining. Before him, Steve is splayed, arms above his head, open and ready. It's a gift. If he'd just take it.
"Go on now." Peggy tips her chin toward Steve's damp face. "Get to work. Unless you don't feel up to the challenge." (Boys and their dares.)
He does her one better. He throws a leg over Steve's narrow hips and straddles him before leaning down and licking a path along that strong jaw. Steve's eyes close on a moan, and Bucky's bright ones look up at Peggy.
"Like this?" he asks between swipes of his tongue. If she didn't know for certain that the boy was stone cold sober, she might have believed he was drunk, what with the reckless glitter in his eyes.
"Just like that," Peggy says. "Don't miss any." She takes in the view with pride, paying special attention to where Bucky presses back against Steve's poor, neglected dick; where Bucky's cock dribbles against Steve's stomach; where their mouths trace each other, breathing between parted lips. It's not quite a kiss, but it's breathtakingly close.
"You'll ruin his uniform," she admonishes, seeing the stain Bucky's cock makes on Steve's shirtfront. "Get those off him." So Bucky does, stripping Steve as neatly as you please, tossing the clothes to the floor to join his own. Now both bare, they stare at each other, Steve's glassy eyes hungry for the sight, Bucky's demurely cast down. He leans forward and goes back to work on cleaning Steve with tiny kitten licks.
Peggy is quite sure she could come off again watching this spectacle, and she doesn't see why she shouldn't. Her hand trails downward and plays idly in the wetness between her legs. Bucky sees, of course. Watches while he washes Steve's face with his tongue. Steals glances at her as he licks her juices from Steve's cheek.
Steve, meanwhile, is grinding up into him like a bitch in heat. The poor thing's been on the edge since they left the pub together, vibrating with the thought of the three of them sharing this. Peggy's heart goes out to him; she's been more concerned with making sure their guest is comfortable. Steve deserves a little treat.
But she's so close, with her fingers rubbing her hard clit. (It's not selfish to take care of oneself; it's merely common sense.)
"Barnes," she says in the firmest voice she can manage, "that's enough."
Bucky sits back, blinking at her like he's done something wrong and is expecting to be punished.
"I wonder, could you bring Steve off for me? He needs to come." She nods toward his twitching hips.
"Please, please let me," Steve whispers. His head tips back on the pillows, his chin shiny with spit. "I need to, please."
Bucky's eyes go soft for a moment, hearing that, looking at Steve's wrecked face and needy body. He looks to Peggy. "How?" he asks.
She could make him do anything in that moment. She could tell him to sit on Steve's hard dick and be filled with seed, and Bucky would. She could take him by the hair and force him to swallow Steve's cock. He wouldn't complain, she can see that in his eyes.
Instead she says, "The way you used to, of course."
The flush colors Bucky's face in an instant. It's the shame of knowing that Peggy's heard of his boyish misadventures and fumblings in the dark.
"So all it takes is a caning for him to spill the beans, huh?" he mutters, but the glare he aims down at Steve has no heat to it. He's already shimmying back to sit between Steve's spread thighs.
"She likes hearing about it, Buck," Steve pants. "S-she thought we'd make a pretty sight."
"That right?" Bucky wraps a hand around Steve's dick, helps his foreskin down and out of the way. Peggy pictures them doing this years ago, when Steve was smaller. It's a lovely thought, but the present moment isn't too shabby either.
"I wasn't wrong," she points out.
Her hand speeds up to match Bucky's touches on Steve. It's the height of indulgence, to direct the action as if it was a film, to not have to do every little thing herself. "Faster. Not so hard. Yes, like that. Just like that."
She comes to the sight of Bucky stroking Steve toward completion. Steve follows close behind, covering Bucky's clever fingers with white while his spine arches off the bed. He makes a noise that Peggy loves to hear, high and whiny and shocked.
She strokes his sweaty hair while he catches his breath. It won't take long, she knows. The benefits of his body are endless. He opens his eyes and gazes up at her, nuzzles his damp face into her palm.
"Better?" she asks.
"Yes," he whispers. "Thank you."
Peggy gives Bucky a calculating glance. He's still kneeling between Steve's legs, his right hand covered in seed, erection not flagging one bit. His eyes have gone foggy the way Steve's had been. Peggy knows that look. It's the look of a man waiting for more orders. God, she loves soldiers.
"Lay down, Barnes," she says. "On your belly."
Steve drags himself more or less into a sitting position to make room for Bucky on the bed. Bucky goes without a fight, wiping his dirty hand absent-mindedly on the bedclothes. His body makes an inelegant sprawl, arms bent, backside still a little pink from the earlier paddling with the hairbrush. A small bruise seems to be forming on his right buttock, shaped like a kidney. Peggy touches it gently.
"How do you feel?" she asks.
He turns his head to speak. "Hard," he says, only slightly muffled.
"Hm." Peggy snakes a hand under him, feeling the foreign smoothness of his cock. "Are you ready to come?"
There is no answer for a very long moment. Peggy looks over to Steve, who appears to be recovered and alert, and watching the proceedings from his seat on the edge of the mattress. He gives her a small shake of his head.
"I— Please—" Bucky tries, then burrows his face into the sheets.
Peggy places her palm on Bucky's bare ass and gives it a squeeze. He cants his hips back as if seeking more of her touch.
"You? Please?" Peggy prompts. Bucky stays silent.
This is a quandary. Despite appearances, Peggy does not know everything, and at this moment she's unsure of what Bucky is struggling to say. If she were to guess, it seems he wants to request another beating, but whether or not that's something he can handle is debatable.
She looks to Steve. It's not weakness to ask for help. "Do you think he'd enjoy the cane?"
The groan Bucky lets loose into the mattress tells her she's on the right track as far as his desires go. And Steve's gentle smile is enough to convince her he knows his friend's limits.
"He's tougher than he looks," Steve says. He leans closer to kiss her neck, but also to whisper for her ears only, "Stubborn too."
Peggy raises an eyebrow at Bucky, who glances back at her with a silent plea written clear on his face.
"Normally I would not stand for this," Peggy says. "I make Steve tell me what he wants out loud. It's lovely; you should see how he blushed at first." She climbs off the bed and pads barefoot over to the umbrella stand. The cane makes a musical sound as she lifts it from the porcelain vase. "But you've been very well-behaved, considering. So I will not make you say it. I can parse it out, I think." She stands beside the bed, two sets of bright blue eyes on her as she gives the cane an experimental swish through the air. She's aware of her nakedness only distantly, as one might be mindful of their dress uniform. "I will, however, ask you to make that sign Steve showed you. Right now. Remember it?"
Bucky twists his ring and middle fingers together, holds them up for her inspection.
"Good. Do that the moment you can't take any more. Understood?"
"Yes," Bucky rasps.
"Steve." Peggy tips her head. "Hold him down, please."
"My pleasure," Steve says with a smugness that becomes him. He leans over Bucky's prone form and places one big paw on his head, the other between the wingtips of his shoulderblades. Bucky's eyes close at this gentle pressure, as if it alone might be enough to send him over the edge. From the way his hips are grinding into the mattress, he certainly must be close.
Peggy plants her feet on the carpet beside the bed. The rattan cane is long and thin, curved into a handle at one end, the kind that gentlemen used to take for walks in the country, or to discipline schoolboys. It's light in her hand. Barely anything at all.
It cuts through the air with a whoosh. One quick stripe: bright white fading to pink. Bucky yelps, but of course he cannot move. Steve could hold back a tank if he had to, and right now he's doing a fine job of keeping Bucky pressed into the mattress.
"You can shout if you like," Peggy says. Three in quick succession, all parallel lines. "The building is empty. No one else will hear you."
Two more, this time in an X across his ass. The backhand is especially satisfying. Peggy pauses to touch Bucky's hot skin, and the relative coolness of her palm makes him cry out. But still he does not make the sign with his hand.
She glances at Steve. His eyes are on her, brimming with gratitude and awe.
"You've served me well tonight, Barnes," Peggy says as she brings the cane down again in a series of staggered blows. His body quakes under the stripes. "Steve was right. You really are beautiful like this. Simply gorgeous."
Bucky whimpers. The cane pauses in mid-air. "Oh," Peggy breathes. "Did you not know?"
That shaggy dark head shakes back and forth on the sheets.
Peggy lets a few more strikes fall thoughtfully. "Well, you are. Steve has known it for ages. Now I know it too. Is that so surprising?"
Bucky keeps shaking his head as if refusing to acknowledge what, to Peggy, are indisputable facts. More blows find their mark, just light taps meant to sting, not bite. Bucky takes each one without complaint.
"My sweet new boy," she calls him. The cane falls to rest on the bed. "My brave boy. You're doing so well." She reaches down, pulls one cheek aside to open him wide. Touches the tips of her fingers to his hole. Smirks at his surprised, needy shout. "Yes, I know. You need it badly," she soothes. The very tip of her little finger dips into him, just a tiny intrusion that causes Bucky to jolt against the mattress like a current has run through him. "You may come now," she says.
Bucky shakes. He's not fighting her, but himself.
Steve's hand gentles on Bucky's head, fingertips brushing his hair. "Come on, Buck," he says in that soft way of his. "It's okay. You can let go."
Peggy sees the white flash of Bucky's teeth as he bites down on a wadded up portion of the bedsheet. His eyes are clenched tight as anything, his spine strung like a bow string. One well-placed pluck, and he'll break.
Time to end it, then. Her fingers retreat, and she finds her cane again. She draws the stiff tip of the cane down the center of his back, raising a red welt on his pale skin. Bucky sobs into his self-imposed gag. His hips seek friction for his cock by humping away madly at the mattress. Peggy digs her fingernails into the meat of his buttock, and that's it. He comes, mewling. It's actually a little shocking, how loud he is and how long his voice echoes. Even Steve looks impressed, eyebrows high on his forehead.
Peggy leans over Steve's arm and puts her lips to Bucky's ear.
"Barnes," she says. "Open your eyes. Look at me."
He does, blinks up at her. The tears spill free then, running down his face to patter onto the bedsheets.
She makes a gesture with the cane and Steve takes his hands away, moves off entirely.
"You did so well," Peggy says. She wipes at Bucky's wet cheek with her thumb. "Are you crying because it hurts?"
"N-no," Bucky gasps out. "I mean--I can't—" His face goes through a series of aborted attempts at control, and still the tears come. There seems to be no end to them.
Despite her concern for Bucky's wellbeing, Peggy can't help but notice how wonderful he looks. His eyes are red and puffy, his nose is streaming, and yet Peggy would have him again in a moment if she could.
"Shh, come here, darling boy. On your side, there you are. Careful of your bruises." She leaves the cane on the floor and bunches up on the bed next to him, cradling him against her chest. "Steve, could you—?" She doesn't even need to finish. Steve is already there on the other side of Bucky with the little jar of salve Peggy favors.
"I'll do it, don't worry," he says. "This might sting a little at first," he tells Bucky, "but it'll help you heal faster. Got to be able to sit down tomorrow, right?" He spreads the medicine on Bucky's tender skin with careful fingers. Bucky only jerks a little at the touch before settling back into Peggy's arms.
"Beautiful boy," she coos into his messy hair. His tears are hot where they smear against her bare shoulder. "We're right here. We have you." She shares a look with Steve over the top of Bucky's head.
He needed this, he mouths silently.
Ah. Peggy nods in understanding. "You haven't allowed yourself anything like this in quite some time, have you, James?"
"Guess not," Bucky snuffles into her neck. He pulls back a little, wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. "Sorry. I'm— I don't know what came over me."
"Oh, shush. You were exquisite from start to finish." Peggy presses a kiss to his lips. Of all the things she's done to him tonight, including being tangled up naked in bed with him, this is the thing that seems to scandalize Bucky the most. His eyes go as wide as dinner plates, and he glances over his shoulder at Steve, who is watching them with a fond smile.
"I'm sorry," Peggy says, "is something the matter?"
"No, course not," Bucky blurts out. "Honest. Only, I don't know if Steve would like me kissing his girl."
Steve laughs at him. "Don't you get it yet? I'm Peggy's. She's no one's." He stretches out on Bucky's other side, draping over his back. "That's just how it is."
Peggy makes herself comfortable on her side of the equation. "Does that sort of thing bother you?" she asks. There's a tear still hanging on the tip of Bucky's eyelashes, so she does him the favor of dashing it away.
"Not really," Bucky says, sounding surprised at himself for saying it. He goes a little boneless between them, pulling Steve's arm over his waist, curling a hand around Peggy's elbow. "Yeah. Not at all." He breathes in, then holds it for a long moment. When he finally breathes out, it's in a whoosh as he says, "You called me yours. Toward the end there."
"Mm." She flicks an errant lock of hair out of his eyes. "So I did." The chain of events becomes clear to her: the boy must wonder what his place will be in this new world where men grow larger and war spreads farther. To be given a place must be a relief. "Is that what brought you to tears?"
Bucky can duck his head under her chin all he likes now; he's earned it. "Sounded pretty nice," is all he says in the muffled cocoon of their bodies.
"So you won't be reporting us?" Steve says with his usual dry humor. His lips are on Bucky's neck, stretched into a smile, and neither of them seem to mind.
"Nah. Guess I won't," Bucky says with a huff of laughter.
Steve reaches for the bedside lamp and switches it off, painting the room black in one broad stroke. There's a long moment of breathing and shifting minutely, and Peggy is just about drifting off into a sticky, sweaty sleep when Bucky says, "So should I, uh, head back to the barracks or—?"
"Close your bloody eyes, Barnes," she mumbles. And from the blessed peace that ensues, she can only assume her orders were followed. As they should be.