CryingCouture

It didn’t matter anymore whether they were having sleepless nights or not. They came to your room because they wanted you. They wanted to hold you, to press their bodies against yours, to feel you curled and warm and inescapably theirs. They snuggled into you greedily, wordlessly, until you were nothing more than the soft, pliant buffer between two restless giants who seemed incapable of letting you go.

And you reveled in it.

The nights were always the same at first–your body pinned in the middle, their limbs tangling with you until escape was impossible. Bob always curled into your front, his heat oppressive, his chest rising and falling against yours like he was syncing his heartbeat with your own. His arm would drape across your waist, sometimes sliding up to caress your side in absentminded strokes, like he couldn’t bear to leave even an inch of you untouched. Bucky always pressed against your back, his arm always slipping beneath your pillow to claim your free hand, his vibranium arm cinching around your waist, his legs hooking around yours as if they were providing an extra way to keep you locked into place.

They didn’t hog you. They shared you–though the way they did it made your heart pound with a secret, shuddering ache.

You could feel the craving in them, the way they chased every spread of your touch, the way they pressed closer every time you gave them so much as a sigh or a gentle graze of your fingers. It was hunger disguised as comfort. And though you told yourself this whole arrangement was about soothing them, you knew there was something more behind it all. Something heavier. Something dangerous, taboo even. Because there were slip-ups–those little trespasses into intimacy that none of you admitted to.

Bucky would slide his vibranium fingers beneath the hem of your top, letting the cold plates skim the strip of skin just above the waistband of your shorts. The shock of it always made you flinch, and it always drew his name from your lips in a hushed murmur. He’d play dead then, his chest steady, his mouth pressed to the back of your neck like he hadn’t moved at all. But you felt it, and you knew it was a way to claim you with every pass.

Bob on the other hand was less discreet. He would shift until his palm rested against the swell of your breast, not squeezing, not daring to move, but holding–like a man who couldn’t resist the instinct any longer. His breath gave him away, heavy and uneven, his chest straining against yours as if he were inhaling you, dragging the essence of your being into his lungs. Sometimes his mouth fell open against your chest, drool seeping hot into your shirt, shameful and unguarded. It should have been funny, but to you it wasn’t, it made your thighs press tight beneath the blankets, seeking friction and relief from the molten ache that curled in your stomach and sat low in your core.

And then there was the way they would nuzzle against you. Bob, with his face buried in your breasts, his exhales hot, his body trembling faintly as though he could dissolve into you. Bucky, pressed into the nape of your neck, sometimes tucking his scruffy chin there, sometimes burying his nose deep until you felt his breath seep through your shirt and into your skin. Sometimes you swore you felt his soft lips graze you–ghostly, fleeting–like he couldn’t stop himself and that was the only way he could give himself a taste of you.

Both of them tried to hold themselves together. They tried to be good for you and for each other. But you weren’t blind, and you certainly weren’t numb. You felt things building up between the three of you, thick and heavy like humidity in the midst of a storm.

On the worst nights–when you couldn’t sleep, when every brush of their fingers had your skin alight–you tortured yourself with thoughts that made your pulse hammer in your ears.

What if you tilted Bob’s head up and kissed him awake? What if you curled your hand into Bucky’s chocolate brown hair, and dragged his face down to yours and claimed his mouth? Would they unravel? Would they fall on you like starving men at a feast, finally admitting what their bodies already screamed each night? Would they understand that you didn’t want one–you wanted both?

The thought consumed you, tore at you even, and left your body aching and clenched tight. But then came the guilt. Was it greedy to want them both? To want to hoard them when they could find their own partners without the complications? Was it selfish to crave their hunger, and to ache for them in ways that went beyond the quiet respectability of comfort?

Maybe.

But the truth was undeniable. They were already yours. They were technically already sharing you, already touching you in ways no one else dared, and they were already burying themselves into your body as if you were a sanctuary for their deepest desires. And their hands were the ones that betrayed them in the darkness to expose these things to you. Twitching against your waist, your hips, your thighs, gripping when they thought you were asleep. Flexing like they were already picturing more.

Sometimes you woke to find them still there in the morning–splayed out but tangled, your legs still hooked with theirs. Often you woke to their whispers. Quiet talks in the early hours when they thought you were lost in your slumber. They spoke about their past, about missions, about the little nothings that came easier in the hush of the night. Sometimes you caught your own name on their tongues, but you never got the whole sentence and you never got enough to piece things together, though it was enough to make your stomach clench and your heart skip, wondering what they said about you when they thought you couldn’t hear.

They grew closer because of that. It seemed like the more nights they shared with you, the more in sync they became with each other. Where once they had clashed, now they moved like men bound by something deeper than camaraderie. And the team noticed. They noticed how the three of you gravitated toward one another, how you volunteered for missions together, how you lingered in each other’s presence like it was second nature.

Yelena had asked you once, blunt as always: “Is there something happening between you three?” And you had responded of course.

”We’re just close. We’ve bonded a bit.” It was the truth, but not entirely. Because you didn’t tell her how your stomach flipped when Bob would dig his face into you. You didn’t tell her how your body quivered when Bucky’s mouth brushed the back of your neck. You didn’t tell her about lying awake, with your thighs clenching tight because of the ache that pulsed between them. And you certainly didn’t tell her about the taboo and dangerous thoughts that plagued your mind.

You didn’t tell her you wanted them both nor did you tell her that you wanted to be theirs. But deep down, you knew that truth wouldn’t stay buried for long.

————————

The night it all came to a head started differently than most, which should’ve given away that something was going to happen that wasn’t in your regular routines.

You had decided to take a quick shower before bed, a deviation from your usual rhythm. Normally you washed up right after dinner, steam curling from under the bathroom door while everyone else lingered around the kitchen, and Bob and Bucky had their late-night snacks. But tonight the promise of a boiling hot shower right before slipping beneath the covers felt too tempting. You wanted the heat of it to soften every knot in your muscles, to let your skin prickle warm so that when you finally wedged yourself between Bucky and Bob, you’d feel boneless, cozy, maybe even at peace.

The shower was indulgent, with scalding water pounding down onto your body until your skin practically sizzled. By the time you stepped out, your hair was damp at the ends and the towel around you was snug and soft, fresh out of the dryer. The steam had made you feel dizzy, and your body was humming with the residual warmth that was left from the water. You could’ve sworn you burned yourself, but at that point you didn’t really care, you were relaxed and loosened up and that’s all that really mattered. You padded barefoot down the hall, already feeling the anticipation build in your chest, already picturing yourself pressed between the familiar shapes of Bob and Bucky’s bodies.

But when you pushed the door open to your bedroom, you startled.

Because they were already there. Not burrowed down in your bed as they usually were, not drowsy or half-asleep from waiting. They were sitting up, with their phones in hand, with some space between them as if it was some sort of reserved spot for you. It struck you then–how comfortable they had grown in your room, how it wasn’t even yours alone anymore. It was a shared territory, a quiet claim all three of you had staked without saying aloud.

”Jesus, guys, you’re already here?” You blurted, clutching your towel tight against your chest, making sure it was secure and tight around your breasts and body. Their heads snapped up at the sound of your voice.

Bucky’s hazy blue eyes flicked over you shamelessly, roaming down the towel’s edge, lingering a half-second too long on the bare length of your legs, seeing some stray drops of water trickling down the skin there, in his head he pictured himself chasing them with his tongue, cleaning you off until you were dampened with his saliva. His phone lowered, almost completely forgotten, though his lips curved like he was going to disguise his staring with words.

Bob, on the other hand, looked like you had struck him with a brick. His pale, lightly freckled face flushed almost instantly, color rushing high into his cheeks, his whole body jerked slightly as he ducked back into his phone like it was going to save him from drowning in his own thoughts–the thoughts that made him wish he had the courage to truly fulfill them. The glow lit the red blush across his skin, obvious, and betraying.

“You’re–uh–you showered?” Bob mumbled, voice cracking faintly, though his eyes stayed glued to the device in his hand. Bucky didn’t bother hiding the rasp in his tone.

”Didn’t know you would be showering this late…” He smirked, words casual enough to pass, but his gaze gave him away–intent, unblinking, as if the conversation was his excuse to keep feasting on the sight of you.

“Yeah well, I decided to change it up.” You replied, feeling an additional layer of heat crawling up your neck. As you shuffled to your dresser, you tried to shake the nerves, pulling open the drawer with one hand, with your towel clutched stubbornly with the other. You tagged out a pair of black underwear, and though you tried to move smoothly, you could see the way Bucky’s gaze darted down, and you caught the flicker of interest before you quickly layered a pair of shorts on top, shielding it, adding a baggy t-shirt that clearly wasn’t yours to the pile.

”I’ll be back in a second, gonna change in the washroom,” You muttered. But as you crossed the room, the towel loosened just slightly with each step, a narrow gap opening at the fold near your hip. A flash of your upper thigh–skin damp, gleaming faintly from steam–caught the low light of the bedroom. It wasn’t intentional, but it was like the air itself went taut as you left the room.

For all of Bucky’s years being a super soldier, and for all the work Bob had been putting into mastering his new enhanced sensations, both men were on high alert, like their instincts had snapped to attention. They could hear it–the rush of your blood beneath your skin, the soft patter of your bare feet in the hall, the fluttering uptick of your heartbeat still racing from being caught off guard by their presence.

They were practically predators shackled by their own restraint, and you were the flame that threatened to undo it all. Bucky dragged a hand over his mouth, adjusting himself slightly on the mattress, shifting like he might dispel some of the ache that was lodged heavily in his gut. His gaze slid sideways, finding Bob, who sat upright now, his face nearly a cherry-red, jaw clenched hard, the tremor in his hands giving him away.

”Will you get a hold of yourself?” Bucky muttered, low but sharp, his blue eyes narrowing.

Bob’s head snapped toward him, his voice coming out in a hissed whisper, cracked with emotion, “Well I’m so-sorry. I’m not like you where I can hide my emotions and act like nothing affects me…” The words tumbled fast and defensive out of his mouth, but his ears burned brighter as he ducked his head again, his knuckles turning white around his phone from the grip he had on it. Bucky rolled his eyes, exhaling through his nose, jaw tight with effort.

”You have to be more subtle, for god’s sake. That’s all I’m saying.” Bob scoffed.

”Ye-Yeah, subtle. Says the guy who looks at her like he’s gonna jump her bones if she moves wrong.” He bit, the comment landing straight against Bucky’s chest. For a moment, silence stretched between them, sharp and heavy. But neither of them pushed further. They didn’t need to. They both knew the truth–they both knew what lived in the marrow of the other’s bones. Their feelings for you weren’t secrets to each other; they hung ing the air every night, unspoken to you, but undeniable to them.

And yet, it had never been a competition. There were moments, yes–flares of jealousy when your hand lingered longer on Bob’s arm than Bucky’s, or when Bucky’s stories coaxed laughter from you that made Bob’s stomach twist with envy. But it never tipped into rivalry. They had drawn an invisible line together: no moves, no confessions, no breaking whatever fragile miracle this arrangement was.

Even if it left them wrecked with longing, and even if it meant swallowing the anguish of wanting more than you gave.

“I don’t look at her like that,” Bucky mumbled finally, bringing his attention back down to his phone, voice flat, and unconvincing. Bob dropped the subject soon after, slumping back against the headboard, his lips pressed tight.

It only took a few minutes before you returned, the faint squeak of the bathroom door swinging shut behind you from down the hall as you padded back into the room, toweling the damp curve of your neck, a few stray droplets of water slipping down your skin, glinting in the low light of your room.

And then Bucky noticed it.

The shirt was his. One of his old, soft black training shirts, the neckline sagging loose, the hem hanging well past your shorts. It looked so normal when you had pulled it out he didn’t even clock it, but now that it was in his face it was undeniable. He froze for a fraction of a second, his chest seizing with something molten, his mind racing to make sense of how it had ended up in your drawer. Maybe it had got mixed up in the laundry–but why didn’t you give it back to him? Truly he didn’t really know, and maybe it didn’t matter, because all he could think was how the universe had practically shoved the sight in his face, daring him to look, daring him to feel the way he did, to let his heart slam against his chest, and to have his palms heat up with a sheen of sweat just because he could.

You tossed the towel aside, the shirt clinging damp to your warm skin in spots, the fabric darkening slightly from where your body had been left dripping. Bob couldn’t help but stare at the way your breasts looked beneath the shirt, without the support of a bra they hung naturally, and he could see–even in the dim light–the way your nipples pebbled and stood out from the fabric. He cleared his throat slightly, attempting to ease the pressure that was building in it.

“Alright, shift over you two,” You sighed, your tone nonchalant, like nothing you were doing was fraying the seams of their control, like you didn’t feel the electricity thickening in the air, “Give me a little bit of space. I gotta get in.” They moved instantly, like men obeying instinct, sliding toward their sides of the mattress. Both of them powered off their phones in near-synchronized movements, placing them on the nightstands beside them, as though ritual demanded order before you joined them.

You crossed the room in a soft shuffle, your fingers brushing the switch to turn off the light. Darkness enveloped everything but the faint spill of moonlight slicing through the gap in your curtains, silver painting across the floor and the sharp edges of shoulders beneath the blankets. You dug your knees into the mattress, crawling up and dragging the comforter down so you could climb in.

Once you settled between the both of them you laid flat on your back, feeling the heat from Bob immediately surrounding you, and spreading your vanilla-honey scent along the space, letting the scent settle in the air. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. Both Bucky and Bob could hear it distinctly, but you decided to try to play it off like it wasn’t happening at all, shifting in your spot before turning your head to look at Bob, seeing the sheen of sweat reflecting in the moonlight, his light brown hair sticking slightly to his forehead.

“Are you okay Bob?” You asked gently, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. He shuddered beneath your touch, gulping down the saliva that built in his mouth.

”Ye-Yeah…Running hot as usual.” His eyes flicked to your hand like you were placing some sort of blessing onto him, as you ran your thumb beneath his eye, giving him a small nod.

”Okay, just checking…” He breathed in slowly as you turned onto your side, assuming your usual position. Bob took that as his cue to shift down the mattress, hunching into you, his boiling-hot cheek pressing against your breasts, his arm sliding over your waist so his hand could settle on your back, surrounding you in the dampened heat of his body.

“Bucky?” You whispered–soft, coaxing, like you were calling the last piece of the puzzle to fall into place. You heard the mattress creak behind you, then felt him move in, inevitable as a tide: the warm weight of his vibranium arm slid over you, resting just on your rib cage, his metal palm spreading flat against your stomach, as his flesh hand slipped beneath your pillow to find your free one, his fingers threading with yours until your knuckles fit his like a lock answering its key. His chest pressed to your back like a solid wall, his nose tucking into the crook of your neck as he drew a long breath–like he could steal your calmness if he breathed deep enough.

And then your legs found theirs–three sets tangling, calves hooking, knees nudging, shins slotting until it felt like one entity settling itself to sleep, a tangle of limbs and breath and quiet hunger. Bob nuzzled deeper into your breasts, his nose scraping the thin cotton, seeking the soft heat beneath. You started carding your fingers through his hair, slow and steady, trying to smooth him–but he was too tense for a man who usually melted at the first pass of your nails on his scalp. Behind you, Bucky’s mouth ghosted against your neck–a hovering heat that made your pulse trip hard and fast beneath your skin.

The room pulsed with the sound of breathing–theirs and yours–as you felt your thighs clenching together, shifting a bit for some sort of relief from the building tension that began to coil within your stomach. The silver wedge of moonlight across the room made everything feel clandestine, consecrated in a way.

And you knew something had to give.

You felt nauseous from the mixture of heat and arousal flooding through your body–like you were already getting drunk on the closeness. Bob’s hand dragged slowly up your back, his fingers bunching the fabric of your shirt in tense, desperate squeezes. At the same time, Bucky’s vibranium arm shifted higher, hovering dangerously close beneath the swell of your breasts before he pulled it back with gritted restraints letting it return to your ribs like he hadn’t almost made the move that would’ve unraveled everything.

Your brain was stirring, hazy and frantic, impossible to steady. The air was thick, and stifling, and you couldn’t bear to keep yourself in check anymore. You shifted back pressing into the heavy front of Bucky’s sweatpants. The hiss of air he released burned against your neck, his hand tightening bone-crushingly around yours beneath the pillow.

Bob groaned low in his chest and moved in too, his hips pressing forward until you were caged in, crushed deliciously between them both. The thundering of his heartbeat slammed against your chest, frantic, mirroring your own. You clenched your thighs, your breath breaking as Bucky gave a careful roll of his hips in response to your movement. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t subtle. It was deliberate, a signal, an acknowledgment of the fever building between all three of you.

Your fingers tightened in Bob’s hair, pulling just enough to make him gasp against your chest, and immediately you loosened your grip, realizing what you had just done.

”Shit…Sorry…Sorry,” You whispered, feeling the shame and hunger tangling together. Bob lifted his head, his blue eyes glassy and wet. His throat worked as he shook his head.

”It’s ok-okay.” His voice cracked, desperate and earnest. You felt your hips press back again, harder this time, and Bucky’s groan rumbled into the crook of your neck. In front of you, Bob decided to chase your movement again, placing pressure against you, feeling both their erections straining against your body. Your eyes squeezed shut as you tilted your head back with a huff of breath releasing from your mouth.

”…Are we too much?” Bucky’s voice broke low and husky in your ear, laced with both restraint and wicked teasing. His lips curved into a smirk against your skin. “Too restless?”

You shook your head hard, words tumbling out of you like a confession. “Don’t tell me you two don’t know what you’re doing to me…This is all intentional.” Bob made a strangled noise and clutched at the back of your shirt. His free hand slipped lower, fingertips brushing the hem before teasing their way just beneath, touching bare skin for the first time, causing you to arch forward. Bucky’s mouth ghosted over your neck, smug, unhurried.

“We’re only moving against you,” He murmured. “Just trying to get comfortable.” The sheer lie of it had you shuddering, thighs attempting to rub together for some sort of relief. Bob kept his eyes on you in those moments, seeing the way your lips parted slightly, like you were already overwhelmed.

”If yo-you only want one of us…”

You cut him off instantly, fierce, urgent. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I–” Bucky ground his hips into you suddenly, stealing your breath, making your words splinter. “I… want both of you.” The silence that followed felt seismic. Bob’s wide, glimmering eyes darted sideways, meeting Bucky’s. His lips parted like he was pleading silently for permission, for reassurance. Bucky studied him for a moment, then gave a sharp little nod.

“Are you sure? Because if we start this–if we really do this together–there’s no going back.” Bucky asked, his voice low, and steady, like he was the only one that was level headed in that moment. You exhaled hard and shakily, tilting your head toward him, baring your throat like an offering.

“You think I haven’t thought about it? I can’t choose between you. I don’t want to…I want the both of you.” Bob’s trembling hand slid fully beneath your shirt, splaying hot over your stomach, desperate for more contact, feeling Bucky’s vibranium palm coming up to rest over the tops of your breasts like a shackle locking you in place.

“I wa-want you in any way you’ll let me have you,” Bob whispered hoarsely and wrecked. “If…If I need to share, then so be it.” There was a beat of silence, thick and heavy, every breath tangled together. Your eyes stayed locked with Bob’s, his pale lashes damp from nerves, his chest rising fast against yours. You whispered into that tension, voice low and deliberate.

“Bucky…Are you in?” Bob didn’t even blink. His wide blue eyes were still on you, shimmering with unspoken pleas. But behind you, you felt Bucky still, his breath dragging deep as if he needed to ground himself before answering.

“I’m in,” he said finally, the rasp of his voice carving a shiver down your spine. Then he shifted, pressing closer against your back, his vibranium palm flexing against the swell of your breast, “But before we do anything, we’re setting rules. We communicate. All of us. We’ll use the traffic light system–it’s simple. Green means keep going. Yellow means slow down. Red means stop. No questions asked. You two understand?”

Bob swallowed hard and repeated it back, “Gr-Green…Yellow…Red. Got it.” Your heart hammered in your chest. You squeezed the hand Bucky still had tangled with yours under the pillow, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“Okay.” You replied. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, warm and firm.

“This only works if we talk to each other. Especially you. You keep us in the loop, or we stop. Neither of us want to risk hurting you–accidentally or otherwise. Clear?”

You nodded, breathless, your whisper carrying like a prayer. “Okay…Can we start?” Bob’s eyes darted between you and Bucky, a silent tether linking the three of you.

Then, almost in unison, both men breathed, “Yes.” Your hand slid up to cradle Bob’s flushed cheek, the rasp of faint stubble scratching slightly against your palm. His lips parted like he was waiting, trembling on the edge of something bigger than himself. And you tipped forward, closing the distance. The kiss was slow at first, achingly gentle. Bob sighed into your mouth like the world had just given him permission to breathe. His trembling eased beneath your touch as you moved your lips against his, sweet and reverent, tasting the nervous heat of him. His hand cupped your back, shaking, desperate to keep you tethered to him as though one wrong move might send you slipping away.

When you finally pulled back, your chest heaving, Bob’s eyes were glassy and worshipful, his lips damp and pink from your kiss. You eased onto your back between them, offering yourself openly, letting them both claim space. Bob bent almost instantly, his mouth tracing down your jaw, then lower, peppering wet kisses down to the side of your neck, sucking gently on your pulse point before lingering there completely, his breath scalding against your skin.

And with that opening, you turned your head toward Bucky.

His mouth met yours like it had been waiting for years–rougher, hungrier, his teeth grazing and biting at your lips, his stubble scraping heat into your skin. His kiss stole your breath, forcing you to grip him–your hand rising to hold his cheek, anchoring yourself against the sharp edges of his desperation.

At the same time, your other hand fisted in Bob’s shirt, dragging on the fabric like you needed him closer, deeper. They were overwhelming you, devouring you from both sides, hands exploring every inch they could touch. Bob’s hand traveled higher beneath your shirt, his knuckles grazing your ribs until his palm rose to cradle your bare breast. The contact wrenched a gasp from you–sharp, helpless–a sound that vibrated against Bucky’s mouth. His kiss faltered; he drew back a fraction, pupils blown wide as he watched Bob’s hand squeezing you. Then he sat up entirely, breath rough.

“Shirts off,” He said–quiet but undeniable. He wanted to have access to you as well, and that would be the only way to get it.

He stripped first, the black cotton rucked over his head in one practiced pull. Moonlight caught on the planes of him: the layered strength of chest and shoulders, the map of faint nicks and healed scrapes, and wounds where he didn’t get so lucky in a fight, then there was the puckered seam where flesh met metal at his shoulder. Bob fumbled his own tee over his head, cheeks blazing, chest flushed pink and freckled. There were scars on him too–thin white lines like old storm tracks: one across his upper ribs, one near his hipbone, another small crescent beneath his collarbone, they were few and far between but they were noticeable.

Your breath went soft as you pushed upright–caught between them still–and reached first for Bucky. You kissed the scar where the vibranium met skin, slow and careful, pressing your mouth to the uneven ridge as if you could soothe its history. His inhale stuttered, the metal fingers of his left hand flexing tight against the sheet.

Then you turned to Bob, bringing him close by the back of his neck. “Can I?” you whispered, your mouth hovering over the pale crescent at his collarbone.

“Y-Yeah…Yes please,” He breathed. You kissed each little ghost-line on him, tenderness poured into every touch; his eyes shone, throat clicking as he swallowed around a sound that wanted to be a sob and a moan at the same time. Feeling your lips against his skin, the way your tongue traced the lines made his body shake–so much so that he needed to grab your hand gently to silently communicate that you needed to stop before he got overwhelmed.

Once you settled, they helped ease your shirt off your body, before laying you back into the pillows like a precious offering to them. Four hands rediscovered you at once–Bucky’s cool metal and warm flesh, Bob’s hot, shaking palms–both of them cupping and kneading your breasts with a devotion that made your spine bow. You turned your head and traded mouths–wet kisses to Bucky that scraped your lip on his stubble, then back to Bob, who met you with open, quivering hunger. Once, as they hovered over you, their mouths brushed each other–an accidental press born of eagerness. They paused, breath mingling, the moment humming bright and charged; neither flinched. Bucky’s lips ghosted a line along Bob’s cheek like acknowledgement, and then both of them were back on you, letting the electricity of that fleeting contact feed what they gave you.

You could feel Bucky’s vibranium hand slipping lower. The cold plates tracing the curve of your waist before nosing beneath your shorts, easing inside until the backs of his knuckles kissed the soaked cotton clinging to you. You arched into him with a broken sound, thighs twitching, hips rolling without shame.

“You still green?” Bucky rasped at your ear, flesh hand catching your chin and holding you there so he could search your eyes.

“Yes,” You whispered, fierce and breathless. “Green. Please.” He didn’t make you beg twice, as he slid his fingers beneath the elastic to feel your wetness. His fingers parted you–deft, and unhurried–coating themselves in your arousal that was pulsing there for both him and Bob, before slowly pressing two of his cool fingers into you, curling them at the same time as they entered you. You went taut under both of them, a sound climbing out of you that made Bob’s eyes roll closed.

“We’ve go-got you,” Bob murmured, and then he was lowering his mouth to your breast, lips sealing around your nipple. He suckled greedily, drool spilling warm over your skin, his tongue circling, flattening, flicking until the pleasure sharpened white-hot. His hand cupped your other breast and kneaded as if to quiet his own shaking by keeping you held. He was messy with it–sloppy, and open-mouthed–spit shining everywhere he’d worshipped.

Bucky kissed you as he worked his fingers, swallowing your gasps and feeding them back to you, deeper and darker. His thumb smoothed your jaw, angling your face so he could take more, so he could kiss you rougher, tongue pushing past your lips with claiming heat. He pulled back just enough to look down at your mouth, his thumb pressing at your lower lip until it fell open. He tilted your jaw higher, eyes fixed on the wet shine that coated your mouth. Then he leaned in and spit into it–hot, deliberate, claiming. You swallowed on instinct, a broken whimper catching in the back of your throat. He chased it with a kiss that was anything but gentle–filthy and consuming, his tongue licking into you while his fingers inside you sped up, plunging harder, curling deeper, his palm grinding against your clit until sparks hissed through your nerves. Bob turned feral against your chest, your moans and whimpers egging him on. He nipped and bit–careful but hungry–his teeth catching the slick, peaked bud before he soothed the sting with a swirl of his tongue.

Saliva smeared everywhere he worshipped; his chin and lips were glossy, breath hot as he murmured into your skin, “So good…So beautiful–God, you’re pe-perfect–” The praise ran together, tangled and adoring, punctuated by soft, shaky groans as he palmed the weight of your breast like he could keep you steady through the shock of pleasure.

Bucky’s mouth dragged across your jaw, words rough and reverent between kisses. “That’s it, pretty thing. Take my fingers–fuck, you feel unreal. You like how I open you up? You’re making such sweet fucking sounds for us.” He drove his hand faster, the slick, obscene rhythm slapping wet into your core. You could feel your eyes water as his fingers curled inside you just a little more, grinding against the spot that made you writhe around, trying to pull away from the feeling because it felt like you were going to pee.

Then you shatter. The climax slammed up from your heels–sudden, punishing–your body bowing off the bed. You grabbed at Bob’s hair with a sharp cry, fisting the soft strands and dragging him into your chest as your other hand clawed into Bucky’s shoulder, nails raking over warm skin and the hard rim of metal. The gush came hard–hot pulses flooding your panties, spilling around Bucky’s wrist. He growled like you’d just crowned him, grinding his palm tighter, pushing you through it with merciless, exquisite pressure.

“Look at that,” He rasped, awe and filth braided in his voice. “Soaking for us–you made such a mess, didn’t you? We want all of it…” Another rush spilled; your thighs trembled uncontrollably, lips parted on a wrecked moan, as you pleaded for Bucky to calm down, which he respected immediately, pulling his soaked fingers out, bringing the glistening metal up to his mouth so he could suck on them. You let out a little moan, as he smirked, giving you the remnants that coated them, so you could get a taste of your sweet release. Bob tore off your nipple with a wet pop, panting, eyes blown and shining.

”I want to ta-taste you,” He whispered, voice cracking and pleading.

“Fuck…Please,” You breathed, still shaking, “Your fucking mouth feels so good everywhere Bob.” You whimpered, feeling your face being tilted to Bucky, feeling his lips claiming yours again–slow but greedy now–while Bob slid down your body, his hands settling on your hips. You lifted for him on instinct as he tugged your shorts and ruined panties down. The fabric peeled away sticky and shining; he stared for a heartbeat, swallowing hard at the sight of you slick and open, thighs quivering. Then he eased your legs over his shoulders, the broad heat of him bracketing you, forearms sliding under your thighs to draw you down to his mouth.

The first lick unspooled you. Bob flattened his tongue from your weeping core to your clit in one worshipful stroke, humming at your taste like it knocked the breath from him. He lapped again–slower–collecting your mess with greedy patience, swallowing audibly, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed wet kisses into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Then he settled in and ate.

He was messy with it, reverent and untidy: tongue tracing lazy figure-eights through your slick, tip flicking teasingly at your entrance before plunging inside to drink, nose nudging your clit just enough to make you gasp. His hands tucked under your ass, thumbs spreading you to give his mouth better access; every inhale was a shaky prayer.

“So sweet,” He panted against you, breath skittering over pulsing nerves. “So–so good. Mine to taste–ours.” Bucky stayed at your mouth, devouring the little sounds you couldn’t hold back, his flesh hand on your throat–gentle, possessive–thumb stroking the rapid flutter there.

“Tell him how you want it. Tell him to clean you up, Y/N…” He murmured, his mouth hot at your ear.

“B-Bob,” you gasped, head tipping back as his tongue flicked your clit, “Please…Don’t fucking stop…Keep going. Keep licking me, oh my god.” He moaned into you and obeyed, lips sealing around the swollen bud. He suckled, drool mixing with your slick until everything was heat and shine and need. You writhed shamelessly, hips rolling against his face; he followed each chase with a low, eager sound, letting you use his mouth until his chin was drenched, as Bucky’s lips found yours again to muffle your noises. Heat snarled low in your belly again. You needed more–you needed all of it. Your hand slid down Bucky’s stomach, finding the waistband of his sweats. He sucked a breath through his teeth but didn’t stop kissing you; his hips snapped forward once, betraying his control. You worked your fingers beneath the elastic and found him–thick, hot, heavy–your hand curling around the velvet weight of him. He dropped his forehead to yours with a quiet, vicious groan.

“Fuck–yeah…Just like that,” He hissed, voice shredded. “Squeeze me. Use that pretty hand. You gonna make me drip while he eats you? Filthy little angel.” You stroked him slowly at first, savoring the glide, the way his pulse throbbed against your fingers. He rutted into your fist helplessly, breath ragged, dirty praise pouring into your ear between grunts. “You’re so fucking good at that. Look at you–mouth open, thighs shaking–Bob, look at her. She’s perfect, aren’t you, baby? Tell me whose mouth that is.”

“Y-Yours–Bob’s,” You whimpered, the claim breaking as Bob’s tongue flattened and dragged, then circled, then sucked again, “Both of yours…” Bucky’s laugh was low and wrecked.

“That’s right. Ours.” Bob found a rhythm that obliterated speech–two slow, worshipful sucks followed by quick flicks of his tongue, then a gentle graze of teeth that had you crying out. He murmured apologies against you when you jolted–a sweet, frantic sound–and soothed it with a wide, wet kiss before sealing his mouth over your clit again. One hand left your ass to slide a finger inside you–cautious at first, then deeper, curling forward. The angle paired with his suction tore a hoarse gasp from your chest. Bucky watched your face the whole time, reading the precise second that pleasure started to crest. He tightened your grip on him with his hand over yours, guiding your strokes.

“That’s it…Give him everything, Y/N. Make a mess on his tongue. You’re safe–we’ve got you.” Bob groaned like a man starved and dove, sucking harder, tongue fluttering fast against the bundle of nerves until your vision spangled. The coil snapped. You shattered a second time–loud, reckless–flooding his mouth as you seized around his finger. He moaned into you, swallowing greedily, chasing every spill with eager licks. Your hand convulsed around Bucky, and he snarled, thrusts stuttering in your fist as he bent to kiss the broken sounds from your mouth.

He didn’t stop talking you through it–praise and filth poured like honey and gasoline: “There it is–good girl, give it to him. Look at you–fuck–soaking him. That mouth is yours, baby. Take what you need. You’re so beautiful like this–cry for us–just like that.” Bob didn’t stop until your thighs trembled and tried to close around his ears; even then he softened to tender licks, cleaning you reverently, kissing the inside of one thigh and then the other like benediction. He looked up the line of your body–face shining, lips swollen, eyes wrecked and adoring–and pressed a final open-mouthed kiss to the slick swell of you before resting his cheek against your thigh to breathe.

“Fu-Fuck…You’re so am-amazing.” Bob said, completely out of breath, pressing a soaked kiss to the inside of your thigh. Bucky nuzzled your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your temple–the gentleness being a devotion all its own. His cock throbbed hot in your hand; you gave him another slow stroke, and his breath hitched against your skin.

“Color?” He asked softly, even now. You found his eyes–blown, tender, blazing, feeling the tears that had slipped out of the corners of your eyes cooling against your skin.

“Green,” You whispered, smiling, wrecked. “So green.” Bucky smiled at your answer–wrecked and glowing–and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, gentle in contrast to the feral edge that had gripped the room. You slipped your hand out of his waistband, skin tingling from the velvet weight you’d been stroking, and let your palm rest over the iron slope of his stomach. At the same time, Bob kissed back up your body, climbing with reverence. His lips trailed from your hip, wet marks scattered like holy offerings up your ribs until he reached the soft rise of your chest. He licked and kissed until his mouth found the hollow of your throat, where he lingered, panting.

“Sh-She tastes so good,” He breathed raggedly, almost like a confession. His voice cracked on the words, and his lips were wet when he lifted his head. Bucky’s gaze cut down to him, sharp and molten. Then, without hesitation, he leaned across you, catching Bob’s mouth with his own. You froze, wide-eyed, watching as their lips pressed–hesitant at first, then firmer. You saw the flick of Bucky’s tongue, the way Bob gasped into it before kissing back fully, as if he’d been waiting for permission all this time. It wasn’t just hunger; it was trust, comfort, intimacy so thick you could taste it in the air. When Bucky finally drew back, a slick thread stretched, and snapped between them.

“Tastes way better from your mouth than off my fingers,” Bucky rasped, his smirk curved against Bob’s swollen lips. Bob’s pupils were wide, chest heaving.

“Fu-Fucking fantastic…” He muttered, dazed. His eyes swung back to you, shining like you’d rewritten the laws of his world. “You’re fantastic,” He whispered, leaning in to kiss you too–softer, shakier, filled with awe. His mouth was still damp from Bucky’s; the taste was dizzying, like the three of you had finally become one.

They shifted with you down the bed, arranging so there was room near the headboard, Bob brought the pillows down so you’d have head support as you were still trembling.

“I need you two to fuck me…Please…I need it, I need you both to give it to me.” Bucky groaned low in his chest, peeling off his sweatpants and underwear in one rough motion. His cock sprang free–thick, long, flushed dark at the head, already wet at the tip. Veins traced the length, pulsing under your gaze. He stroked himself once, jaw tight, before moving around and positioning himself between your thighs. Bob moved to your head, kneeling by the pillows. He caught your wrists gently and held them up against the sheets, his lips brushing your temple, your forehead, your mouth.

“We-We’ll take care of you…” He murmured, his voice trembling as he kissed you sweetly while Bucky aligned himself, then he pushed in. The stretch stole the air from your lungs, your mouth falling open against Bob’s. Bucky hissed a curse, bracing a hand on your hip as he sank deeper, inch by inch until he bottomed out. The weight of him filled you so completely that tears sprang to your eyes. He stayed there, his hands slipping down to grip your thighs, to coax them higher up on his torso, as he groaned.

“Fuck–you’re perfect. So tight, so warm, taking me like you were made for it,” Bucky rasped, starting to move. Each thrust was a deliberate grind, filling you up and dragging against every sensitive place inside. His dirty praise poured over you: “That pussy’s gorgeous, gripping me so fucking sweet…Look at you, angel, taking all of me.”

Bob kissed your lips through your moans, swallowing the broken sounds. He brushed damp hair back from your forehead, whispering, “You’re doing so good…Yo-You’re so beautiful like this.” His hands kept yours pinned softly against the pillow, but when you writhed, he let you squeeze his fingers.

The harder Bucky fucked you, the rougher the sounds spilled out of you. And when you palmed at Bob through his sweatpants, desperate, begging, he froze. “Are you sure?” he asked, wide-eyed, torn between restraint and want.

“Please,” You moaned, breathless, “I want your cock in my mouth–please, Bob.” He trembled as he pushed his sweats down, underwear following. His cock curved heavy and flushed, glistening at the head. He returned to your side, and you turned your head, opening for him. The first lick of your tongue against his tip made his eyes roll back; the moment you took him into your mouth, he gasped brokenly. Your moans vibrated around his length, muffled by the thick slide of him on your tongue as Bucky’s thrusts picked up speed.

Between the two of them, you were undone. Bucky pounded harder, his hand pressing against your stomach to put more pressure on your g-spot, causing you to gasp.

”That’s it…You’re gonna squeeze the fucking cum out of me already.” He grunted, making you whimper around Bob’s cock, letting the vibration make him shudder.

When Bucky came, it was with a guttural snarl, and with his hips grinding deep. Hot pulses of cum spilled inside you, filling you until you felt the rush spill back down around his cock. You clawed your nails into Bob’s thigh at the overwhelming sensation, muffled cries choking around his cock as you writhed between them. Bucky slowed, pulling out carefully. You pulled off Bob with a wet gasp, spit shining your lips.

“Bob…I need you too.” You whispered hoarsely, glassy-eyed and aching.

They switched seamlessly and Bucky caught your wrists, pinning them down gently but firmly above your head, his vibranium arm a cool shackle that made you tremble, as you watched Bob take up the space between your thighs lining himself up, and trembling as he pushed in–slower, careful, eyes locked on yours. The stretch was softer this time, tempered by patience. He bent low, kissing your chest, nipping at your breasts before suckling the skin at your sternum.

“Yo-You feel like heaven,” He whispered, voice breaking. He rocked into you with a tender rhythm, hips rolling in deep, slow strokes that had you arching up for more.

Bucky leaned close to your ear, smirking as he held your arms down. “Best of both worlds, pretty thing. One to fuck your brains out…One to make love to you. And you get it all.” The words had tears pricking your eyes as Bob worshipped you with every thrust. You writhed beneath him at the gentleness, every languid stroke dragging you open like you were made of silk. The heat of Bob’s body pressed close, his breath heavy as his hands slid down, broad and trembling, to cup your hips. He guided you into his rhythm, each roll deep and unhurried, the kind of pace that seared into memory more than frenzy ever could.

Bucky’s voice broke through the haze, grounding you. “Still green, right?” His vibranium arm kept your wrists secured above your head, but his flesh hand softened against your cheek, thumb brushing away the damp trails of tears cooling there.

You nodded fiercely, a broken little “Yes–green,” spilling out of you. He leaned down and kissed the tears, tasting the saltiness against his lips, as if collecting proof of how much you felt, how much you gave them. Bob’s thrusts stayed sweet, and tender, until you arched your back into him with a desperate sound. He groaned low, pressing deeper, his forehead dropping to your collarbone.

“God–you’re incredible. Every part of you. You’ve taken us so well. You have the pe-perfect body…And the perfect heart. We don’t deserve you.” He whispered, praising you, the words rolling from his lips like prayer as he moved back to look down at you. His right hand slid lower, his thumb circling your clit with a slow, and gentle pressure, making your hips jolt upward into the weight of him. The combination had you keening, chest rising high.

Bucky shifted, finally bending down between you and Bob, his stubble scraping heat into your skin as he drew one peaked nipple into his mouth. His tongue flicked and swirled, the suckle firm, wet, and claiming.

The sensation was unbearable in its sweetness: Bob’s cock stroking your deepest ache, his thumb coaxing sparks at your clit, while Bucky nursed and licked at your breasts like he wanted to brand you with his mouth. The pressure twisted sharp and molten in your belly, pleasure snarling into another peak before you could stop it.

You cried out, back bowing hard against Bucky’s restraint, your wrists straining against his grip as your climax took you. Bob groaned at the sight, his thumb speeding up, coaxing every drop from you as your walls clenched desperately around him.

“Cum for us again. You’re doing so good…So fucking good. You’re perfect, you’re perfect–” Bob babbled, lost in worship as you pulsed around him. Bucky moaned against your breast, his mouth smearing spit and praise across your skin.

“That’s our girl…So pretty when you break.”

Bob’s hips grew erratic as he fucked you through your orgasm, your thighs trembling against his waist. His eyes locked on yours, glassy with devotion as he whispered, “I could stay like this forever–inside you, making you feel loved.” He pushed your legs higher, bending them toward your chest to sink deeper. The stretch was intimate, overwhelming, and it made the pleasure burn brighter.

He kept moving, slower now, his thrusts tender but deliberate. Each one pressed the words from him, helpless and honest: “You’re ours…Yo-You’re everything.” His voice broke on a strangled moan as his pace faltered. He spilled inside you with a gasp, hips shuddering against yours as his release filled you, hot and deep, pulsing with every twitch of him inside your clenching body. Bob collapsed forward, his chest blanketing yours, face buried in your neck. His breath was ragged, damp hair sticking to his forehead. Bucky finally let your wrists go, his hands smoothing over your arms as if to erase every restraint. He kissed along your jawline, your temple, and down to the place where Bob’s damp hair met your skin, his lips catching both of you in the same tender press.

The three of you stayed like that for a while. Their hands stroked your sides, your stomach, your hair–soothing you down from the dizzying heights, steadying every aftershock. You touched them back in kind: fingers threading through Bob’s sweat-damp hair, your other hand curling around Bucky’s bicep, feeling the strength flex beneath your palm.

A small laugh broke from your throat, weak and breathless. “We…We need a shower. All of us.”

Both men groaned soft in agreement, pulling back just enough to catch their breaths. None of you wanted to untangle from the moment, but eventually, with lingering touches and reluctant kisses, you managed to pull on whatever clothes were closest–Bob tugging on his sweats without a shirt, Bucky dragging his tee back over his shoulders, you slipping into one of their shirts, your body still damp from sweat and sex.

The three of you padded quietly down the hall, giggling faintly as if you were teenagers sneaking from your room, trying your best to stay quiet so nobody else caught wind of what was going on. When the bathroom door shut behind you, the clothes peeled away as quickly as they had gone on and steam filled the air as the shower came alive, water pouring hot and heavy.

Inside, it was nothing but hands and mouths and whispered care. Bucky stood behind you first, guiding you under the spray, rinsing your hair while his metal hand massaged your scalp, gentle and precise. Bob pressed to your front, kissing your wet cheeks, your jaw, lathering your skin with soap as if handling something sacred.

They took turns kissing you, kissing each other, water streaming down your joined bodies. Soap slicked over scars and muscles, over soft places and hard planes, every inch tended to like ritual. You rinsed Bob’s hair, dragging your nails lightly through his scalp until he shuddered, leaning his forehead to yours. You washed down Bucky’s chest, your palms tracing scars wherever you found them as he let his eyes fall shut, sighing against your temple.

There were no more frantic thrusts, and no more fever of desire. It was just three bodies moving in slow rhythm, the water beating down like absolution, the steam thickening every touch into something holy. They murmured to you in turns–praise and promises, little thank-yous whispered into your skin.

When you finally shut the water off, the three of you stepped out together, dripping and laughing softly, grabbing towels in a tangle. You dried each other clumsily, kisses brushing damp skin, before padding to Bob’s room with the easy intimacy of people who had finally crossed every line they’d once feared.