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Mask Up, Mask Down

Summary:

Bucky's never been to a public space for kinksters before. So, of course, he starts off with a masquerade ball.

Notes:

Mildest CW for mentions of Bucky having had alcohol issues in the past.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The domino mask pressed against his skin was more irritating than he’d anticipated. Bucky caught himself scratching at the edges of it nearly a dozen times in the first hour. He hoped it would last the night. 

It was a masquerade ball, so Bucky had waffled over just how dressed up he ought to be. Then he’d decided that he should just follow the invitation’s suggested dress code of “wear your birthday suit or your best suit—it’s the mask that’s required!”. Bucky was a mid-level mechanic at a Mom & Pop auto shop and didn’t own a suit, but he had splurged a few months ago on a black leather waistcoat. It was balanced beautifully on the fine edge between elegant and utilitarian, with a tapered back and a row of straps buckled across each breast panel. The rest of his outfit was much more understated; a simple charcoal gray button up and subtly checkered black dress pants.

He looked around, nervously smoothing his hands across the buttery soft leather of his waistcoat. This was far nicer than any venue he’d ever been in before. It wasn’t like Bucky had been to many ballrooms in his life. Huge chandeliers, dripping with crystals, hung overhead in perfectly aligned rows. Thick velvety drapery hung in heavy folds against the walls. A small gilt stage was the focal point of the room, centered on the wall across from the entrance. Balconies with intricately carved railings lined the walls. 

What was he doing here?

Dozens of people milled around, wearing everything from a mere g-string and a simple domino (not unlike his own) to voluminous gowns of velvet and lace with full painted ceramic masks. Despite the masks, people readily darted forward to greet and embrace each other. It was clear that the local kink scene was pretty tight knit. Everywhere he turned, Bucky saw pairs and knots of people who had the easy body language of old friends. 

Was he really just supposed to walk up and say hello? What a nightmare.

After far too long spent scanning the throngs of people for some kind of easy opening, his eyes landed on something familiar: a bar. 

“This might be a terrible idea, but fuck it,” Bucky muttered, heading directly for it. 

He had to delicately sidestep around a few couples and throuples in the first leg of his journey, but then it was fairly smooth sailing. The bar was busy, but not hectic, so Bucky settled into a chair with a feeling of immense gratitude. Sitting here, no one would think he was odd. Not like when he’d been standing five feet from the entrance, awkward as a pre-teen at their first school dance. 

“First time?” a smooth, richly amused voice immediately to his left asked.

Startled, Bucky turned to find a petite redhead standing at his side. His gaze immediately went to their arms, searching for the color-coded bands that were offered at the front door. An enby flag bracelet circled their right wrist. A black band, a grey band, and a blue band circled their left. Bucky scanned his memory with some difficulty for the associated meanings: a non-binary dom with a kink for bondage who also took a mentoring role.

“That obvious?” Bucky asked.

They hummed thoughtfully. “Only if you know what to look for.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Abject terror, mostly. I’ve been around long enough to recognize a first timer freak out, though I will admit—you do a decent job of covering it,” they said, smiling. They were petite and wearing a pair of loose, flowing dark pants with a crimson corset. A silver filigree mask stylized to resemble a fine web covered their face, spanning to brush across their high cheekbones. “My name’s Natasha, but you can call me Nat.”

Despite himself, Bucky was charmed. Nat was smiling at him with clear amusement at his expense, but their green eyes were soft and kind. “Yeah, alright, you’ve got me pegged,” he said ruefully.

“Not yet, I don’t,” Nat quipped with a wicked grin, not missing a beat. 

Startled, Bucky laughed; loud and genuine. “Kinda forward, don’t you think?”

“Do you want me to stop?” Nat asked, suddenly quite serious.

Bucky leveled them with a considering gaze. Did he want them to stop? He’d come to make friends and meet potential partners, after all. Nat’s comment was heavy-handed, but also clearly meant to be more humorous than a true pass at him. 

“No, I… I don’t want you to stop,” Bucky said finally. Something about the act of explicitly acknowledging that he wanted Nat to continue sent a flush across his skin. Consent really is sexy, he thought. 

Nat must have noticed his flush because their smile widened. “Oh, you’re just a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Not used to being called that,” Bucky muttered.

Few people had ever called Bucky sweet, much less a sweetheart. He knew what he looked like—broad-shouldered and muscled, with a “resting murder face” according to his coworkers. It’s not that Bucky didn’t think he was attractive, exactly. But it was hard to deny that the sum of his parts equalled “intimidating”.

Nat let loose a dismissive huff. “Not enough people look under the surface,” they said. “It’s a shame.”

“Not a lot of people want someone that looks like me to be a sweetheart,” Bucky said with a shrug.

Nat cocked their head, gaze intent on his. Bucky felt pinned to his seat. “That’s not really for them to say, is it?”

Bucky swallowed hard around the sudden knot in his throat. Christ, this was turning into an intense conversation. “I suppose not. Can’t really help who we are, can we?”

Nat’s seemingly ever-present Mona Lisa smile spread into a wide grin. Bucky felt strangely proud to see it. They’d just met, but somehow he got the impression that few people made Nat outright grin.

“No, we most definitely cannot,” Nat replied. “So, who are you exactly?”

That was a weighty question. Bucky released a heavy breath and raised his wrists, shaking the colored bracelets there. “In the context of kink? I’m pretty solidly a Switch. ‘m a fan of voyeurism, some bondage, light painplay...”

“And your name?” Nat said, eyes crinkled at the edges with amusement. 

Oh Christ, had Bucky really forgotten to say his name? They’d been talking for at least ten minutes. He dragged a hand down his face slowly, peering through his fingers at Nat. “Hi, my name’s Bucky,” he said, allowing some of the sheepishness he was feeling to bleed into his voice.

Nat held out their hand. “Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Bucky reached out to shake it with a smile. “Likewise,” he replied.

 


 

He was a bit out of practice with socializing, given he’d relocated just a few months ago, but Bucky thought he might be doing alright because even after about half an hour, Nat hadn’t abandoned him. They talked about the usual suspects: job, family, pets. Nat was a lab technician of some kind, had one adopted sister, and owned a pair of ferrets named Dina and Arina. 

Bucky was twenty pictures deep into showing off his cat, Alpine, when a tall, slender figure with dark hair approached them. Bucky squinted through the dimness of the venue to peer at the name tag affixed to the front of their blouse. He couldn’t quite make out the letters. He could, however, make out the large femme symbol pinned to collar of her utilitarian blouse. Like Bucky, she wore a simple black domino mask.

“What can I get for you both, Nat?” she asked.

“I’ll have the usual, Gamora,” Nat replied. They turned to look at Bucky with an expectant expression. “And my friend will have…”

“Just water, thanks,” Bucky said. He fought to keep his own expression neutral. 

Gamora shrugged, a fluid movement that rippled down her willowy frame, and said, “Coming right up.” She turned her attention to Nat once more, “Want me to open a tab for you?” At Nat’s answering nod, she made for the register. 

Bucky watched Gamora go with a sense of artistic appreciation. She carried herself like a dancer. It was mesmerizing.

“Gamora’s not one for niceties, but she’s incredibly soft-hearted,” Nat said.

“Oh?”

“Volunteers every other weekend with her sister at an orphanage.”

“Huh.”

“She also teaches Krav Maga to domestic abuse victims once a week.”

“Jesus, does she rescue kittens from burning buildings too?”

“Nah, that’d be my boyfriend,” a voice from immediately behind Bucky said. 

He startled, nearly elbowing the person in the trachea from pure, adrenaline-driven instinct. Instead of committing public assault, Bucky locked down every tendon and muscle down tight, going absolutely rigid in his pursuit of non-reaction. The familiar prickle of shame crawled its way from the pit of his stomach, spreading slowly down his limbs. 

Nat’s eyes were focused intently on him, sweeping steadily from the blank expression of his face down to the clenched hands at his sides. “ Tony ,” they said finally, voice low with reproach. “Quit sneaking up on people. One of these days someone’s going to finally deck you.”

This was too much, too soon. Bucky seethed at himself. Idiot—You shouldn’t be here.

A hissing sound derailed his internal angst as a tall, dark-haired man slid around Bucky’s blind spot and into view. He was releasing a low exhale between clenched teeth; a pained grimace twisting his mouth. "Sorry, sorry! Social norms are something of a constant work in progress for me,” he said. Blue eyes peered at Bucky from behind a red and gold Venetian style mask. “It was just such a perfect opening that I couldn’t help myself!” 

Nat snorted. “You just love to remind everyone at any given opportunity that you bagged a hot firefighter.”

The tall man, Tony, nodded vigorously. “Yes, that is correct.”

Bucky glanced down at the man’s wrists curiously. A black and white striped band, a grey band, and a fuschia band circled his right wrist— a switch who liked to receive spanking and bondage, Bucky translated. A masc pin shone faintly from the crimson collar around his throat. A bonded switch, then.

“Why aren’t you behind the bar, anyway?” Nat asked.

“I was! I just had to take a scheduled business call or Pep would have my balls for stress koozies. I’m about to tag back in,” Tony explained. He practically buzzed with suppressed energy. This was a man who didn’t take to boredom well, Bucky recognized. “Because it’s an event, we’re running two rotating pairs until midnight, then we have a fresh set coming in to close for us.”

“That seems fair,” Bucky said. 

“It is, yeah! We like to try and keep one guy and gal in our pairs as well—or enby! Just in case customers need to use the bail out system and have a preferred gender to approach with that kind of thing.”

“Bail out system?”

“If a customer feels threatened or harassed, all they have to do is come to the bar and order a Bail Out,” Nat explained. “If you can’t get away from whoever is bothering you long enough to order by yourself, we encourage people to just scream it at the top of their lungs.”

“This club is full of patrons who have volunteered for official de-escalation training and know how to intervene,” Tony added with a serious expression. “Steve and our counselor buddy Sam did a very thorough course.”

Nat snorted. “Your counselor buddy—is that what we’re calling it these days?”

Bucky choked on a laugh at the affronted expression on Tony’s face. He wasn’t sure how these two knew each other, but it was clearly a very familiar friendship. And Nat seemed to know the ins and outs of this place like the back of their hand. He’d really lucked out when Nat had scooped him up, taking him under their wing.

“Our throuple is still in its infancy,” Tony replied with a dramatic sniff.

“Meaning that Steve is still grappling with his internalized slut shaming over daring to put a toe outside the boundaries of monogamy?”

“Yes, very much so. The self-flagellation is exhausting. Honestly, it almost makes me wish either one of us were into painplay—at least then we could get some endorphins out of it.”

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn’t sure they even remembered he was here, given the intimate nature of the discussion. Then again… he was at a kink event. This level of openness might just be par the course.

Nat had the grace to wince slightly. “Sorry, most kinksters are pretty open about relationship dynamics, including the more universal difficulties. Steve comes from a very reserved background with more traditional dynamics. Joking about grappling with internalized kink shaming, homophobia, misogyny… all of it, really, is pretty common.” 

“But it can definitely be jarring for newbies,” Tony added.

Bucky fumbled for a bar napkin and twisted it in his hands, staring at the knotted paper intently. “That actually sounds like exactly what I’m looking for,” he said, finally raising his head enough to watch Nat and Tony through his lashes. “It seems like that’s what vanilla and straight people do, anyway. Just talk about their relationships and crack jokes—like it’s normal.”

“Because it is normal,” Tony said with an almost gentle fierceness, then turned to face Nat. “This one seems like a good egg. You always did have an eye for them.”

A hot, creeping blush worked its way up Bucky’s throat and across his face. He shifted in the barstool, unsure how to respond. Or if he was even meant to respond. 

“I think you’re right,” Nat agreed quietly, watching Bucky closely. Then they struck Tony’s shoulder lightly with the back of one hand. “You really ought to get back behind the bar. I know your shift is about to turn over.”

Tony looked towards the register. Bucky followed his gaze to see Gamora, arms crossed, staring at Tony with an expression somewhere between exasperated and murderous. Bucky turned back just in time to see Tony grimace. “Yeah, alright,” he said with a sigh. “I’ll probably drop by after Blonde and Blonder get in and settled. Toodles, you two—it was good to meet you, handsome!”

Nat shook their head after him, looking amused. “I’m off to the little enby’s room. Keep my chair for me?”

Bucky agreed easily, settling in to people-watch. Unlike before, he felt completely at ease. Sure, he had no one to talk to at the moment, but it was a temporary situation. He felt… tethered, having met and befriended Nat.

Gamora arrived a few minutes later, depositing two glasses in front of Bucky with a wryly amused expression. “I saw you met the boss man.”

Bucky shook his head in confusion. “I didn’t meet your—wait. You mean Tony?”

“The same.”

“He owns this place, but works behind the bar?”

“He owns several places but works behind this bar,” Gamora replied, twirling a paring knife idly. She pulled a lemon from underneath the bar and sliced it neatly. “Tony likes people in general, but he loves the kink community specifically. He wanted to make a space for us.”

“So he did,” Bucky concluded for her.

“So he did,” Gamora agreed, placing two lemon slices into his water glass. Bucky noted that her wrists were bare, but a thin leather collar circled her throat. She seemed to notice his scrutiny, raising both wrists and wiggling them briefly. “I don’t advertise my interests.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky replied, raising his own hands to indicate surrender. “I was just curious, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, newbie,” she said. “It’s not a big deal.”

A faint bang startled them both. Bucky squinted to his right, seeking out the source of the disruption. Through the knot of people milling around the bar, he made out two heads of shining fair hair. Gamora groaned quietly, rolling her eyes.

“At least they’re on time for once,” she muttered. 

“Your relief has arrived?”

“Seems so.”

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Bucky said, sliding her a fiver. She took it with a faintly surprised expression. 

“Five bucks for a glass of water?”

“And for the conversation. You don’t strike me as the type to do that very often. I appreciate it, as a newbie.”

Gamora slid the fiver back to him. “Not that I'm ungrateful, but consider the conversation on the house… newbie,” she said, smiling at him for the first time. “We look out for the green ones here. Save that tip for next time.”

Bucky grinned. “I will, thanks.”

 


 

The two oncoming bartenders couldn’t have been more different in appearance despite their similar hair color. 

The one behind the register was tall, sporting a neatly pressed and tightly buttoned military style complete with combat boots. Like Gamora, a femme pin was attached to her collar. Unlike Gamora, she was heavily layered with muscle; the rolled sleeves of her button-up strained when she lifted a keg out of the way. Her blonde hair was short and shaved on the sides. 

The blond that walked behind her to take a place behind the taps was wearing a pair of high waisted trousers with wide suspenders and nothing else. Bucky tried to keep his eyes trained somewhere between the crown of their head and their collarbones out of an ingrained sense of respect, but it was difficult. At the very edge of his field of vision, he picked out a swathe of color; purples and blues, with pops of green and yellow. Some kind of octopus, if the deep plum tentacle curled delicately around one shoulder was any indicator.

For the first time that night, a ripple of attraction coursed through Bucky’s frame. 

“You seem distracted,” Nat said, sliding back into their stool neatly. They grinned at him slyly behind the rim of their drink.

Bucky fought the urge to duck his head down with embarrassment. “Only a little,” he admitted. “I don’t want to be a creep.”

“So you’re going to order a drink and introduce yourself then?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. They’re working,” Bucky replied. He sipped his water. The last thing hot blond needed was some customer hitting on them while they had to keep the “customer is always right” bit going. “I don’t wanna be that guy.”

“Interesting.”

“Me not being a douchebag is interesting?” 

“You even realizing that would be a douchebag move? Statistically significant, to say the least. Which falls under the “interesting” category.”

Bucky grimaced. What a depressing assessment. “Cis guys really need to step it up.”

“That demo isn’t the only culprit, but your self-awareness continues to impress.”

“I’ll be sure to add that to my Grindr profile,” Bucky said, feeling a tiny spike of pleased pride when Nat tipped their head back and laughed. 

“Not your Fetlife?” Nat asked, watching him with a wry, inquisitive grin.

Bucky shifted in his barstool, picking at the napkin under his glass. “I don’t have a Fetlife profile.”

He hated that admitting it made him feel like an imposter; or worse, some kid who didn’t know what he wanted. But every time Bucky had gone to make a profile, he’d chickened out. The idea of putting his kinks out there on a public forum for all the world to see—yeah, no. It was just too much. 

Nat shrugged. “You’re hardly alone in that. My best friend doesn’t have one either. He says it’s to keep people from making assumptions.”

“Assumptions,” Bucky echoed. He had a guess as to what that implied, but hoped Nat would elaborate.

“He’s a submissive, through and through. That, coupled with a few of his kinks, well… inexperienced kinksters sometimes get some pretty dated ideas of the kind of person he is.”

Bucky read between the lines there and didn’t like what he was seeing. Not one bit. “I see,” he said. “That’s really shitty.”

Nat released a low hum of agreement. “He doesn’t let it get to him.”

“He sounds like a real trooper.”

“Not like you though,” Nat retorted, arching one fine brow.

For a second, the double meaning didn’t quite land and Bucky found himself squinting at Nat in confusion. Then he realized somehow they’d made him. “How’d you figure it out?”

“You step out on your left foot every time you move. You slashed the zeros on your receipt,” they answered, watching him closely. “And sure, your hair is way out of regs, but you still carry yourself a certain way. Half expected you to hit at ease when we started talking.”

“Guilty on all counts. So did you serve or?”

“Not exactly,” Nat said shortly, then slid him an apologetic wince. “Sorry, it’s not something I like to discuss.”

He waved a hand at Nat. “No, please—don’t apologize. Let’s have a topic change to, hell, whatever you want.”

“Maybe a discussion about what drinks you two want to order?” 

Bucky startled, turning to find the source of the bemused voice. It was the bartender from before, the blond one. 

“Sorry, I’m not a big drinker,” Bucky said. It was an understatement so extreme as to be a lie, but Nat and the bartender didn’t need to know about the one year chip tucked inside his wallet. He had learned long ago saying you didn’t drink at all only invited speculation. “I could use a refill on my water though, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh hey, no worries,” the bartender replied easily. “Just so you know, we do have a pretty dope menu of mocktails. Lots of kinksters don’t want to drink at these kinda shindigs—intoxication being a barrier to informed consent and all.”

Nat wiggled their glass in Bucky’s direction. “He’s right. I drink exclusively mocktails here.”

“See?” the bartender said with a grin. “Besides, there are folks like me who just don’t drink at all, ever. I prefer to get baked, not buzzed.”

Bucky held up his hands in surrender. “Sure, alright. You’ve convinced me. Let’s see that mocktail menu.”

The menu was presented to him with a modest flourish. Bucky’s stomach dropped at the sight. Christ, the thing was huge. He’d spent so long ignoring beverage menus that he was instantly overwhelmed. He was acutely aware that both Nat and the bartender had focused their attention onto him intently; great, he must look overwhelmed too.

“It’s a pretty big menu,” Nat said to the bartender. “Do you have any recommendations for us?” Bucky fought the urge to squirm in his seat, briefly overwhelmed by a sudden surge of gratitude. 

“Yeah, of course! I'm a citrus fan, so I like a good Lime Rickey or a Nojito,” he said. A mischievous grin spread across his face. “And there’s always Safe Sex on the Beach.” Bucky laughed, startled out of his discomfort by the clever name. “Do you like citrus?”

“Yeah, yeah I like citrus,” Bucky replied, clearing his throat around the tightness of his voice. The bartender watched him, equal parts expectant and patient. “I’ll take that last one, I think.”

“You got it! You want to start a tab?”

Did he? It felt so forbidden. For a recovered alcoholic to start a tab at a bar, even for mocktails… “You know what, let’s go for it.”

“Great! And the name you’d like it under?”

“You can put it under Bucky.”

The bartender held out a hand. The hand was smaller than Bucky’s, square and sturdy with chipped dark polish on its nails. “Since you shared yours, I’ll share mine. The name’s Clint, pronouns are he and him. Welcome to The Green Carnation,” he said, smiling.

It was an incredible smile; wide and open, with two matching dimples on either side. Feeling a bit dazed, Bucky reached out on autopilot. He shook Clint’s hand, handed over his debit card, and settled back into his barstool with murmured thanks. His eyes didn’t leave Clint’s compact, lean form as the man walked away. Next to him, Nat’s narrow shoulders were shaking as they laughed silently.  

“C’mon, can you blame me?” Bucky said, tossing a knotted up bar napkin at them. “Did you see the dimples?”

“Oh, I’m familiar with the dimples. Clint and I go way back.”

Bucky felt a flutter of something kick to life in his gut. “Oh yeah?” he said slowly. “Is he…”

“Single? Into guys? Kinky?” Nat asked in rapid succession.

“Yes,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. “To all three.”

Nat inhaled deeply and leaned back in their stool, watching him. “Let me preface my answer by saying I have Clint’s express permission to share this information with certain people,” they said. “Yes, to all three.”

“To certain people?” Bucky echoed.

“I wouldn’t give someone I thought was a potential danger to my friend personal information about him.”

“Wouldn’t the safest route be to not share it, ever?”

Nat laughed. “Arguing against your own interests?”

“To be fair, my interests have been met already,” Bucky said with a wry grin and a shrug.

“Hm, a good point,” Nat tossed their fiery hair back over one shoulder. “Certain people also includes any person I think Clint might be compatible with.”

“So, what—you’re a really dedicated wingman?”

“Something like that,” Nat replied, sphinxlike in their inscrutability. They drank the last of their mocktail, then raised the glass with a cheerful tilt towards the other end of the bar. Clint, gaze caught by the movement, headed their way in a lazy lope. “I’m his dom.”

 


 

Notes:

My much, much delayed Hawktion fill (and it's only the first half, how awful is Ru) for the incomparable Vexbatch. Unbeta'd, so clearly any and all errors are mine. I hope you enjoy, Vex. 💜