#congressman

The rest of the day had been routine, filled with meetings and preparations for the upcoming professional dinner with members of Congress. The event was a crucial one, meant to secure relationships and reinforce Bucky’s place in the political world. You had spent the afternoon coordinating details, ensuring everything ran smoothly, pretending not to feel the way his gaze lingered on you whenever you walked into a room.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Bucky called for you.

"We need to get you something to wear for tonight," he reminded, standing near the window of his hotel suite, his tie loosened just enough to make him look devastatingly good. "I want you to look nice."

You blinked. “Is it really essential I attend the dinner? It’s you that they want to see.”

Bucky frowned. “Where I go, you go. I’m not spending an evening with those stuck-up politicians without you by my side. Besides, if things go haywire, I need you there.”

You hesitated, knowing he was right. Bucky knew how to behave, but sometimes, when challenged, he could act a little irrationally, especially when it came to the campaign. His fight was so important to him. Bucky represented every person who had ever been misunderstood. 

“I could borrow a dress from Tara, I suppose.” You shrugged. Truthfully, you’d been sort of intimidated by Tara. She had golden tan skin and long legs and honey blonde hair. Asking her to borrow a dress would have been your own personal nightmare, but you’d rather do that than have Bucky spend his money on you.

‘Tara doesn’t have any dresses either,” He gave you a look that made your stomach twist. “At least, not the kind of dress that I want you to wear."

That should not have sent heat rushing to your core. But it did. He was really adamant about seeing you in this dress.

You swallowed hard, gathering your composure. "Fine. I’ll find something."

"I’ll take you."

That made you pause. "You don’t have to—"

"I want to," he cut in, voice low. "Come on."

You knew it was a bad idea. But you followed him anyway.

———-<3———-

The boutique was upscale, discreet, and filled with racks of elegant evening wear. You had tried to refuse when Bucky insisted on taking you shopping for the formal congressional dinner that evening, but he had been adamant. "I want to do this for you," he'd said, and that was that.

Now, you stood in front of a three-way mirror, examining yourself in a sleek, midnight blue dress that hugged every curve. Small Swarvoski crystals delicately outlined the hem of the dress, and as it caught the light, it sparkled. It was undoubtedly stunning—but you barely noticed. Your focus was on the man sitting in a plush chair a few feet away, his sharp gaze locked on you like a predator watching his prey.

Bucky had been quiet the entire time, watching you try on different dresses with an unreadable expression. But this time? This time, you saw it. The way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers flexed against the armrest. The way his blue eyes darkened with something unmistakable.

Heat pooled in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the thin straps of the dress. "What do you think?” You were nervous to ask.

Bucky stood slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate. He stepped toward you, his warmth pressing against your back as his hands ghosted over your bare shoulders. His eyes met yours in the mirror.

"You know exactly what I think," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. 

A shiver ran down your spine. "Bucky—"

"Shh," he whispered, his hands trailing down your arms, then lower, fingertips grazing the sides of your waist. "Turn around."

You obeyed, heart pounding. The moment you faced him, his hands slid to your hips, fingers pressing possessively into the fabric.

"You shouldn't look at me like that," you breathed.

"Like what?" His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. His question was innocently taunting. 

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat. ”Like you’re about to ruin me."

A slow, wicked smirk tugged at his lips. "Doll, you have no idea."

Before you could protest, he was backing you into the nearest fitting room, the heavy curtain falling shut behind him. His mouth crashed into yours, all restraint crumbling as he kissed you with desperate, unrelenting hunger. His hands roamed, gripping, teasing, pulling you impossibly closer.

You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands were on your thighs, bunching up the silky fabric of your dress, pushing it higher and higher until his fingers met bare skin.

"Bucky, someone could hear—"

"Let 'em." His lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping over sensitive skin. "You’re mine, sweetheart. I don’t care who knows it."

Your mind spun, torn between the scandal of it and the undeniable, dizzying need for him. Your hands clawed at his shirt, tugging it loose as his fingers slid under the fabric of your panties, teasing, tormenting.

You muffled a moan against his shoulder, and he chuckled darkly. "That’s right, baby. Be quiet for me. Think you can do that?"

Bucky dropped to his knees before you, his large hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the silky fabric of the dress higher until it bunched around your hips. He exhaled heavily, eyes dark and filled with reverence as he took you in.

This was madness. Reckless. Completely unprofessional.

And yet, you knew—there was no stopping him. No stopping this.

The dinner could wait. Right now, you had far more pressing matters to attend to.

And just like that, the last bit of restraint between you shattered.

"You're perfect," he murmured, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His stubble scraped deliciously, sending a shiver up your spine.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping the expensive fabric of his suit as his lips trailed higher, his breath warm against your bare skin. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness. The anticipation sent heat pooling between your legs, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps.

Bucky glanced up, his pupils blown wide. "Gotta be quiet for me, sweetheart. Think you can do that?"

You barely had time to nod before his mouth was on you, his tongue sweeping through your folds in a slow, deliberate stroke. A strangled moan caught in your throat, your body arching as pleasure flooded through you.

He hummed against you, his grip tightening on your thighs to keep you steady. "That's it, baby. Just let me take care of you."

The way he worshipped you—every flick of his tongue, every gentle suck—had you unraveling too fast, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you deeper into the blissful haze of him. And when his lips closed around your clit, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, you bit down on your own wrist to stifle the cry threatening to spill free.

Bucky groaned against you, his own restraint barely hanging by a thread. "So fuckin' sweet," he muttered, the vibrations sending you spiraling over the edge.

You came undone with a silent cry, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Bucky didn't stop, drawing out every last aftershock until you were nothing but a boneless mess against the mirror.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistening, his eyes were full of something dark and dangerous. He pressed a kiss to your thigh before rising to his feet, his hands framing your face as he kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

"I could do that all day," he rasped against your lips. "But we’ve got a dinner to get to."

Your breath came in shaky gasps as he smirked, smoothing down your dress like nothing had happened. But the look in his eyes told you otherwise.

This was far from over.

Before you could catch your breath, Bucky’s hands slid back down your body, gripping your thighs as he hoisted you up against the wall. A gasp slipped from your lips, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his body flush against yours.

"Still want me to stop?" he murmured against your ear, his breath hot and teasing.

Your fingers tangled in his hair. "No," you whispered. "Please, don’t stop."

That was all he needed. With a desperate groan, Bucky hiked your dress up further, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned himself between them. The sharp sound of his belt unbuckling filled the small dressing room, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he freed himself.

The first push was slow, agonizing, stretching you around him in a way that had your nails digging into his shoulders. He cursed under his breath, his forehead dropping to yours as he sank in inch by inch, savouring the way your body clenched around him.

"Jesus, sweetheart," he ground out, his voice strained. "You feel so fuckin’ good."

Your legs tightened around his waist as he started to move, each thrust deliberate, controlled—like he was savouring every moment. But you could feel the tension in him, the barely restrained hunger threatening to snap.

"Look at you," he murmured, tilting your chin up so he could watch your expression in the mirror. "Wearing this pretty little dress just for me… and now I’m ruining it."

The words sent heat shooting through you, your head falling back as he picked up the pace, his thrusts growing rougher, more desperate. The silk of the dress bunched around your waist, the delicate fabric caught between your bodies as he fucked you hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to ensure you’d feel him for days.

"Bucky—" You barely choked out his name before he silenced you with a bruising kiss, swallowing every moan, every broken gasp.

The coil of pleasure tightened low in your stomach, winding dangerously tight as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your thighs tightened, his metal hand cool against overheated skin as he pounded into you with reckless abandon.

"Come for me, baby," he rasped against your lips. "Let me feel it."

And just like that, you shattered, your body arching as pleasure crashed over you in waves, dragging him down with you. He groaned against your neck, his hips stuttering as he spilled into you, his breath ragged and uneven.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in the aftermath, your bodies slick with sweat and desire.

Then, with a lazy smirk, Bucky reached down, smoothing the crumpled fabric of your dress. "Guess we’re buying this one."

You laughed breathlessly, resting your forehead against his. "Yeah, no way we’re leaving it behind now."

His hands lingered on your hips, his eyes dark with something that looked dangerously close to devotion. "You really are somethin’ else, sweetheart."

And as much as you knew this was reckless, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

You hummed, lacing your fingers in his hand and bringing it up to your face, pressing a chaste kiss across his knuckles. 

“Does this feel wrong to you?” You asked, out of nowhere. “What we’re doing… I feel like it’s supposed to feel wrong but it doesn’t. It actually feels right. For once it feels like I’m doing the right thing.”

His hand was so much bigger than yours. Before Bucky could reply, you gasped, noticing the time on his wristwatch.

“Shit, we’re gonna be so late for dinner. We have to go now!”

Bucky stayed still. “It’s okay if we’re a little late, no?”

“No Buck,” you laughed softly. “You have to make a good impression. There’s going to be senators at this dinner.”

Bucky grumbled. “I’m not dressed.” 

“Well, we’re at the tailors. I say it’s your turn. Let’s grab you a tuxedo.” You beamed, staying in the dress that you’d be wearing for dinner and pulling the Congressman out of the fitting room. “I’m thinking something dark blue… so we can match each other?” You suggested; lips pursed into a smirk.

“Whatever you want, darling.” He replied, following you out of the fitting room.

———-<3———-

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