Opening the guest bathroom only to walk straight into a ball gag hanging over the towel rack to dry was not how Bucky expected to start his afternoon. He stared at it as he peed, and did his best not to imagine it in Steve’s mouth and--too late. He groaned, but the ridiculousness of it all caused a bubble of laughter to build in his throat and successfully fight off the mental images.
But he wasn’t going to let this go without a bit of retaliation in the form of absolute embarrassment. “Stevie!” he shouted once he was back in the living room. Steve was cooking in the kitchen, half his focus on the meal, the other half turning towards Bucky.
“Yeah?” he asked.
“Your mother taught you better, when it comes to cleaning up before you go inviting guests over.”
Something in a pot in front of Steve bubbled, and he hissed at the pan. “What?” he replied over his shoulder. “What are you--?” His jaw snapped shut and his eyes flicked to the bathroom door then back towards Bucky. “I’m going to kill him.”
Bucky watched as Steve turned red, sputtering to himself as he turned off the oven and threw the spoon onto the counter. It was the most indignation Bucky had seen from him this century, his mind flashed back to Steve the spitfire in the alley, fists up.
“I can’t believe--Tony!”
“Yes, dear?” came from inside the bedroom.
“Get in here.”
“I am, just finishing up--”
A beat of silence, and even Bucky tensed at Steve’s tone. Tony didn’t respond again, he just appeared in the doorway. His calculating eyes swept the room, pausing on Bucky’s raised eyebrow. In a moment of weakness, Bucky had pity on Stark and gestured his head towards the bathroom.
Apparently that was all that Stark needed. “Fuck.”
“Tony, you said you’d clean it!”
“I would’ve have done it myself if--”
“Steve, I can--”
“Yet you didn’t.”
Another bubble of laughter was fighting with a groan in Bucky's throat. This was not what he signed up for when he agreed to brunch. “Guys.” Their heads swung to him. “Don’t make me grab that thing just to shut you all up. I’m here for burnt eggs and cold toast. Apparently. And not a lovers' quarrel.”
“Oh god.” Steve let his head fall into his hands. “We’re burning that toy,” he groaned.
“I don’t think that’s very good for the environment,” Bucky replied.
Tony snorted. “He may have a point, every time we used it, we’d probably just think of you now. Which, kinda hot, but also a totally unnecessary addition to our toy closet.”
“You have a whole damn--” Bucky cut off his own question off because, nope, he didn't need to know that. And also, of course they did. They casually had a ball gag hanging from the bathroom rack.
“Food’s ready!” Steve called shrilly, obviously derailing the conversation. Tony looked over to him all fond-eyed, and Bucky just shook his head, smiling, because he'd never really known what to expect for Steve’s future, he’d only hoped he’d be happy and loved, and that he certainly was.
He wasn’t smiling the next time he witnessed Steve being loved.
They’d taken to playing chess, Tony and Bucky. It started shortly after Steve and Tony’s anniversary party and continued on a semi-regular basis. Bucky only won one in every five games, but the flare of frustration in Tony’s eyes was enough to keep Bucky coming back.
It was nice to hang out with someone who admired Steve as much as he did, too. Steve, naturally, was both suspicious and delighted by their friendship.
When the elevator doors opened, Bucky entered the workshop and immediately knew he wouldn’t be playing chess that day.
Steve was on his knees, between Tony’s legs, rope tying him up under Tony’s workbench in some intricate design that still somehow let his mouth reach Tony’s lap.
Tony was…. working. Tinkering away as Steve--Bucky could barely process anything, hardly wanted to focus on more than one detail long enough for it to be burned, seared, downloaded into his brain for the rest of his life. This was not what he signed up for when he came to look for a game of strategy.
He retreated, too stunned to do anything more and with a few shuffled steps backwards, he was out of the workshop.
“Take me to Nat’s floor,” he managed to say once the doors were closed. “And for all that is holy, JARVIS, why did you let me walk into that?”
That wasn’t good. Double bad because he was going to have to go back out there. Like hell he was. “Avengers!” he shouted from behind the elevator doors. “Assemble!” He waited, listening for the tell tale sounds of shuffling bodies and clothes being put back on. Before long the elevator doors were opening and a too-flushed Steve and Tony walked in.
Luckily they could focus on the mission at hand, but Bucky was still unable to meet either of their gaze.
The last straw was after the mission. How they even had time to find a utility closet in this abandoned warehouse, Bucky didn’t even want to know.
Bucky heard a gasp.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Tony replied. “You’re so good. I’m fine, you’re fine--”
“Touch me, the ropes feel--” Steve moaned, and Bucky wished he could rip his ears off, because he never, ever needed to hear that tone from Steve, but instead he pivoted on his heel and left the warehouse, determined to find his own way back to the Tower.
Outside the warehouse, he ran into Nat. She took one look at him and shook her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She tilted her head. “Or something traumatic--Oh. What are those two--?”
“Stop!” He didn’t want whatever mental picture she was going to provide.
The corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. “Do you need a hug? Or maybe a ride?”
Bucky pulled his face out of his hands. His mind was too deep in horrible, innuendo laden places to imagine anything other than Nat riding his cock.
She laughed as a car pulled up behind her out of nowhere. “Your face!” Her eyes were dancing, but her gaze held steady on him. “Get in,” she ordered.