By the time Steve made it up to the bedroom, it was nearly eleven and Bucky was already in bed.
He looked up when Steve came into the room, raised his eyebrows over the rims of his reading glasses, and gave Steve a rueful look.
“So,” he drawled, “vacation means you only field phone calls until ten instead of midnight?”
Steve gave him a look and collapsed into the armchair near the window with a sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he started to work off his shoes.
Bucky took off his glasses and put them down on the nightstand, alongside the book he was currently reading. He had already removed his prosthesis for the night, and he looked relaxed and sleepy against the pillows.
“Not complaining, babe, just stating facts.”
Steve leaned back in his chair.
“Still. I really do want this to be a vacation.”
“It is. And maybe someday, going on vacation will mean doing it without a full entourage - and maybe a destination that wasn’t chosen for how easy it was to keep secure.”
“If we’re lucky, maybe in three years,” Steve said.
“Idiot. Seven years, easy.”
Steve gave him a look, but as usual, Bucky remained unmoved by it.
“Look, Buck, we could just-”
A knock at the door interrupted Steve.
Bucky’s expression changed into a smirk, and Steve couldn’t help but share it.
“Come in,” he called.
The door opened, and Clint Barton stepped into the room.
He was dressed in his standard uniform of a plain black suit and tie and white dress shirt.
Gotta blend in , he had said when Steve questioned him on it.
“Clint,” Steve greeted him as the man with perpetually tousled hair closed the door behind himself.
“Mr. President,” Clint smirked at him before looking over at Bucky in the bed. “Mr. First Dude.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, his standard response whenever Clint called him that.
And it was ridiculous, then again, all of the things the press thought to call Bucky were - The First Gentleman, The First Man, The First Husband, Mr. Mr. President .
“Clint,” Steve drew his attention back towards him.
“Yes, sir?” Clint asked, lips still curled, just that hint of insolence he’d always had still coloring his voice.
Steve picked up the book he had set down on the end table by the chair earlier in the day, the Chernow biography of Grant that Bucky had given him for his last birthday and that Steve had had precious little time to read. It was sad, actually, how close to the front of the book Steve’s bookmark had been living.
He opened up the book and picked up the piece of paper that rested between two pages.
“Know anything about the bookmark that I lost?” he asked Clint.
Clint blinked, and somehow made his features appear innocent.
“Nope, dunno why I’d know anything about your bookmarks, Mr. President.”
Steve unfolded the piece of paper and looked away from Clint’s face and to the typed words on the page.
“Interesting, though, how instead of my Lord of the Rings bookmark, there’s a piece of paper with the results of your recent STI testing on it.”
“That is interesting, sir,” Clint agreed.
From the bed, Bucky snorted a laugh.
Clint turned to look at him, the innocent expression failing a little in the face of Bucky’s delight.
“You want something, baby, you’re gonna have to come on out and ask for it. Steve’s real big on people using their words,” Bucky informed him.
Clint bit his lower lip and looked back at Steve.
“Something you wanted to say to me, Clint?” Steve put on the voice, the one that Bucky called his I’m the fucking President voice.
Clint sucked in a breath and looked like he was fighting off a full-body shiver.
“I, uh, well, I kinda wanted to get fucked by you, sir. You and Bucky.”
Steve spread his legs wide and rested his hands on his thighs. Clint’s eyes tracked the movement.
“You already get fucked by me and Bucky,” Steve pointed out.
“Well, yeah, but…” Clint trailed off with a shrug.
“But what?” Steve prompted.
Clint’s cheeks flushed, and he looked towards the ceiling and sighed heavily.
“You can do it, sweetheart,” Bucky prompted, grinning and obviously enjoying Clint’s embarrassment as much as Steve was.
“I want you to fuck me bare,” Clint bit out.
Steve set the paper and the book down, fairly confident he would remember what page he had been on but willing to take the risk of not. He gestured for Clint to come closer.
Clint licked his lips and took a few steps towards Steve, close enough that Steve was able to reach out and tug on Clint’s belt.
The other man let himself be pulled into the vee of Steve’s legs, and went down to his knees.
As often as Steve had had the pleasure of seeing Clint in this position, he still found that it took his breath away.
Looking over at Bucky, he could see that his husband was just as affected. His pale eyes had gone dark, and his face and chest were flushed. Their eyes met, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other in appreciation.
Steve turned back to Clint and nudged his chin up, forcing Clint to look him in the eyes.
“And why,” Steve asked, “do you want that? Something wrong with safe sex, Clint?”
“Nothing’s wrong with safe sex,” Clint said. “But I… I’m not with anyone else, and… hell, I’m assuming neither of you are, either. Not after it took me so long to get either of you to fuck me.”
“You did work hard for it,” Bucky mused.
“Had to earn it,” Steve agreed.
Clint closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Steve curved his hand along Clint’s jaw and cheek, smoothing his thumb over the stubble there.
“Baby, you want us to fuck you bare so we fill you up with our come? Want us to see how loose and sloppy you are after we’re done with you?”
Clint leaned into Steve’s touch, eyes still closed but his lips parted as he drew in a ragged breath.
“What do you think, Buck? You wanna fuck my come into Clint after I’m done with him?”
“Jesus,” Bucky moaned. “Stevie, you’re gonna make him come just from talkin’ to him like that.”
“Yeah,” Clint whispered, voice rough and raw, as if Steve had been fucking into his mouth for hours.
“Mm.” Steve pressed his thumb against Clint’s lips, and Clint obediently opened his mouth wider and flicked his tongue out to lick at Steve.
“Still haven’t heard you say it,” Steve said.
Clint’s eyes fluttered open. He even looked fucked-out.
“Please,” Clint groaned. “Fuck me ‘til I’m dripping your come. Wanna feel you two come in me and fill me up with it. Please.”
“Polite,” Bucky remarked.
“First time for everything, I suppose,” Steve smirked over at him, and Bucky laughed.
Clint made a sound, something desperate and whiny.
“Why don’t you go and put your mouth on Bucky’s cock and keep him warm while I get undressed?” Steve suggested.
Clint licked his thumb again, and then stumbled to his feet and started towards the bed.
“Get naked first,” Bucky instructed him when Clint reached for the white comforter that covered up Bucky from the waist down.
Clint obeyed instantly.
It made Steve chuckle, as did Clint’s weak glare in his direction as the man wrenched his tie free.
Steve started to undress himself, watching Clint shed his clothing with incredible efficiency, and couldn’t help but wonder at the series of events that had led the three of them here.
A chance meeting during Tony Stark’s fundraiser for Steve last July, when Clint had been assigned by the Times to cover the event as a photographer, and now, a year later, here they were - Clint climbing naked into the bed and settling between Bucky’s equally naked legs, mouth greedily fitting around Steve’s husband’s cock while Steve looked on.
Not a bad way to spend his birthday, Steve reflected. Not last year, and not this year.
He could only hope that next year would be this good.