Chapter Text
The week between the request and the action was agonizing, though Steve kept busy with setting several wheels in motion, making some plans, and ordering one highly specific piece of pageantry.
On Friday afternoon, he sent Bucky a text around two, hoping to catch him coming out of a meeting with one of his group project teams.
I’ll be home around 6 or 6:30 - make yourself scarce. Wear a school sweatshirt. Jeans. Chucks. Come to my office, 7 sharp. Don’t be late.
He added a couple of emojis to make Bucky roll his eyes before sending it. After that, he made a game attempt to focus on the job he was being paid an exorbitant amount of money to do. He ended up going down the rabbit hole on a project, and when he came up for air, he found it was nearly six. Damn. He’d have to get moving.
The elevator was blissfully empty and only stopped once in its descent. Steve huffed out a breath of annoyance only to find Peggy on the other side of the doors when they opened onto her floor. She was worth the ten-second stop, and he smiled.
“Hi,” he greeted, kissing her cheek.
“Hi, yourself,” she said as the doors slid shut. “How’s your week been?”
“As if you don’t know.”
“Rather, but it’s fun watching you splutter incoherently at the incompetence of others.”
“Thanks, Pegs.”
“Hot date tonight?” She gave him a once-over.
“Nah. Just Bucky.”
“Careful, now,” she smiled. “I’ll have to tell him you said that. We text, you know.”
“Oh, I’m aware.” The tentative friendship that had formed between Peggy and Bucky still took him by surprise sometimes, considering the history, but he wasn’t about to protest. They had been texting a fair bit since spending Christmas in one another’s company, and Steve sometimes wondered what exactly the two of them were saying. He assumed it was all about him, and that none of it was especially flattering.
“Tell him I said hello?”
Steve grinned, his poker face about as good as Bucky’s when it came to things like that. “I will...tell him tomorrow. We’ve got plans tonight.”
“God, Steve. You’re not subtle.”
“If you want the gory details…”
“Darling. Absolutely not.”
The doors opened onto the lobby, and Steve offered her a smile. “You want a ride home? Monty can swing by, drop you off.”
“No, but thank you,” she said, exiting the elevator at a brisk pace. “You’re not the only one with plans tonight.”
“I guess not.” A pretty redhead, waiting just beyond the security gates, stood up when Peggy came into view.
Peggy made introductions before Steve excused himself, finding Monty waiting outside by the curb. It was already six-fifteen, and he was decidedly behind schedule. In the end, he made it home just after six-thirty and texted Bucky from the lobby.
On my way up. Don’t let me see you
Because Bucky was a perfect boy, by the time Steve got upstairs, he was nowhere to be found. Likely he was hiding out in the guest bedroom, which was perfect, as Steve needed to be quick about things.
He’d stashed the ridiculous extravagance he’d allowed himself in his office, which was where he went after dropping off his bag in the foyer. It hadn’t been his fault that the selection of tweed had been so intriguing and impressive. Hell, why should he only have a tweed jacket when he could have an entire suit custom-made? It was as bespoke as one could get in a week, at any rate, even if he’d had to pay through the nose for the privilege.
When he finished dressing and looked at himself in the mirror, he decided the splurge had been well worth it. He was downright professorial. Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones teaching a class. Who needed the whip and the hat when you had elbow patches and a waistcoat?
(Well, the whip, maybe.)
His final preparations involved hiding his work suit in the small office closet, along with taking out his contacts and replacing them with the glasses he rarely wore, further enhancing the effect.
Looking the part was easy, of course. Acting it was another. He had a general sense of where he wanted the evening to go but was planning on winging it to a certain extent. Bucky would have been proud.
The surroundings helped. He’d cleared his desk of everything save for a blotter, leaving the expansive surface blank and ripe with possibilities. The desk had seemed silly when his interior decorator first showed it to him - all heavy, imposing dark wood, dominating the room. Now? He was mostly glad it was sturdy.
Bucky’s knock came at seven precisely, and Steve had to wonder how long he’d been standing out there, waiting for the numbers on his phone to change.
Such a damn good boy.
Steve made him wait, sitting down behind the desk and clearing his throat. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Bucky stepped inside, unsure of what he was walking into. “Hi, uh...you wanted to see me…?” He was searching for his role, looking to Steve for guidance. Steve wasn’t quite ready to give it to him yet.
“I did,” he said. “Have a seat, James.”
Both of Bucky’s eyebrows shot towards his forehead, though he didn’t comment. He shut the door and crossed the room, sitting down in one of the two leather armchairs positioned in front of the desk.
The name was a deliberate choice. Bucky was James at school; he’d been James at work. As far as Steve knew, he was James everywhere that didn’t involve his family or his closest friends. It was a quirk Steve didn’t understand - he liked Bucky’s name - but it was Bucky’s hangup. Some shit about the name being babyish, and how he needed to establish a professional reputation. Steve didn’t care, so long as he got to keep calling him Bucky.
In most contexts, anyway.
Bucky drummed his fingers on his knees, sharp eyes taking in the tweed suit, the cleared desk. The glasses. “Is this about…” he looked down at himself, the NYU logo emblazoned on his chest. “...school?”
“Good guess, James. My class, specifically.”
“Uh, sure,” Bucky agreed, shifting in his seat. “What’s up, Pro-fessor? Rogers?” He was guessing - sounding it out. Steve gave him a nod. “Have...I mean, am I in trouble, or…?”
Steve briefly considered the ‘trouble’ route. It would be easy to turn Bucky into the recalcitrant youth in need of a firm lesson. But truthfully, to scratch this particular itch, Steve needed him to be good. Mike saw him as a good student, after all.
“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, waving a hand. “I only wanted to talk to you about the paper you wrote.”
“The paper…?”
“For Western Civ.” Which was possibly the only core curriculum class Steve had even the vaguest memory of taking. “The paper about the philosophers?” And so what if he was pulling remnants of his undergraduate curriculum out of his ass? Whatever. It was sex. It didn’t have to be factual.
“The, uh. Sure. Philosophers.”
“The section you wrote about the...mentoring relationships between the students and their teachers. It really resonated with me, James. Really got me thinking.”
“...oh, you’re always thinking, Professor Rogers. That must be why I like your class so much.”
Little shit. Steve grinned, looking down at his hands. He couldn’t break. Not this early. “Don’t interrupt your elders, James.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t.
Steve could work with that. “You’ve just illustrated the problem, though. You’re an intelligent young man. You write well. But you tend to speak before you think.”
An incredulous smile crept across Bucky’s face. “Wow. That sure sounds like me, Professor Rogers.”
Steve’s mouth twitched. “I’m a very observant person, James.” Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers together and fixed Bucky with what he hoped was a keen look. “And I see a lot of potential in you. I’d like to take you under my wing. File off those rough edges so you can become an uh...asset to the university.”
Christ in heaven, he sounded like a bad porno, and he knew it.
“Like…” Bucky furrowed his brow before an understanding passed across his face, and he blinked twice in rapid succession. “Oh! Like you’d be my advisor?”
God damn it. Steve hadn’t been planning on using that word, as it hit very close to home. Bucky was too smart by half, and Steve’s insides were squirming. “If uh. If that’s what you want to call it, sure. I’d like to advise you. Academically, and uh…” he cleared his throat. “Personally.”
“Personally, Professor?”
This was a bad idea. The whole thing was stupid, and Bucky was going to laugh his ass off. Steve was scrambling. “Yes. You uh. The way you dress, it’s...sloppy.”
“Sloppy, Professor?” At least Bucky wasn’t laughing as he looked down at himself with feigned surprise.
“Nobody’s going to take you seriously if you’re dressed like that, James.”
Twisting in his chair, Bucky examined himself from every angle, preening like a peacock. “Golly, Professor Rogers. I never thought about it before. You really think it’s that bad?”
Steve was grateful for the opening - for Bucky playing the game right along with him - and he gestured with an open palm. “I do. Stand up, let me take a look at you.”
Considering Bucky had an exhibitionist streak a mile wide, he looked positively delighted with himself as he got to his feet, tugging his sweatshirt down and doing a ridiculous turn in front of the desk.
“Oh, no,” Steve sighed. “That won’t do at all.” So, British? He sounded British. No, he sounded like Peggy’s father, and why the happy fuck that was happening, he wasn’t even going to begin to try and figure out.
Shoulders slumping, Bucky dropped his gaze. “But you see, the thing is, I’m just a poor underg-”
Steve coughed and shook his head.
“...poor grad-?”
Steve nodded.
“Poor grad student without any money for new clothes.”
“That’s alright, James,” he said, suffusing his tone with warmth. “Why don’t you give me your measurements and I’ll take them to my tailor - have some things made for you. You do know your measurements, don’t you?”
“I...no?” Bucky cackled, breaking character as he stage-whispered, “what century is this, Steve?”
“Fuck off and play along,” he volleyed back.
“Jesus.” Bucky took in a deep breath, eyes to the ceiling before resuming the game. “Noooo, Professor Rogers. I’m afraid I don’t know my measurements.”
“That’s quite alright,” Steve said. The whole thing had taken a turn, but at least this part would get Bucky naked, which was the point. “Why don’t we do that now? Unless you have somewhere more pressing to be?”
“Oh, I cleared my whole goddamn schedule for you, Professor Rogers.”
Bucky was two seconds away from getting the giggles. Which, fair: the entire thing was ridiculous. But a small, desperate little part of Steve needed it to work - needed Bucky to find it sexy and exciting and nervewracking all at once. So, Steve needed to step up and take charge.
“Take your shirt off, then. We’ll get started.”
Bucky froze, any giggles caught in his throat as he hesitated, mulling over the order. He came down on the side of continuing, pulling his sweatshirt over his head. Nothing underneath save for all that pale skin, which Steve took a moment to admire, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
It didn’t take too long for Bucky to start squirming under the scrutiny.
“Hold still,” Steve said. “Arms by your sides.”
Holding still was nearly impossible for Bucky at the best times - he was made to move. Usually, Steve loved watching him writhe, falling apart underneath him and doing as he was told. This, though. This was good, too. He drank Bucky in for ages, minutes on the clock ticking by, as Bucky fought every fidgeting instinct in his body.
Steve put him out of his misery eventually, standing and coming around to the front of the desk, taking one of his wrists in each hand and drawing them up and to the side. For measurements, obviously.
“You’ll have to forgive me, James,” he murmured, mouth dangerously close to Bucky’s shoulder. “I don’t keep a measuring tape in my desk.”
“O-oh,” Bucky said, as though Steve had never said anything more interesting in his life.
“I can improvise.” He stepped back, holding his thumb and forefinger apart slightly. “Does that look like an inch to you?”
“Uh...I guess?”
“Yes or no, James. It’s not a hard question.”
Bucky glared at him. “I’m not a math major, Professor, but I guess that’s about an inch.”
Excellent - Steve had hoped for Bucky to act up a little, even if he was mostly his very good self.
“I see.” Steve smiled. “Well, not-a-math-major, see if you can remember the number one, for now. And hold still.”
Steve began using his inch-measured fingers to draw a random series of lines and patterns all down Bucky’s arms, then across his torso. It was meant merely to tickle him - to force him to move despite Steve’s continued strict admonishments to keep still.
When he reached Bucky’s stomach, he pressed his thumb right into the most ticklish spot on Bucky’s body, which earned him a squeak and a bitten-back giggle as Bucky jumped away.
“No self-control,” he chided. “Forget the number one, now I need you to remember the number two.”
“S-sorry, Professor. It’s uh. I guess I’m ticklish.”
“It’s very unbecoming.”
Steve could almost hear the thought-bubble leave Bucky’s head with the insult “you’re very unbecoming” inside, though Bucky stayed silent. Until Steve tickled him again, which resulted in him dropping position to smack Steve’s hand away.
“Huh. Arms back up, and go ahead and make that three, Mr. Barnes.”
The torture continued - all up and down Bucky’s front, then his back, until nearly every square inch of skin had been ‘measured’ and Bucky’s arms were beginning to shake from the effort of holding them up. Steve resisted the urge to kiss his shoulder as he reached out to retake his wrists, lowering them to his sides.
“Very good,” he murmured. Bucky’s spine straightened at the praise, just as Steve had known it would.
“Thanks, Professor Rogers.”
Steve smiled, moving to sit on the edge of his desk and looking Bucky over. “I won’t be able to measure your hips or your inseam with your jeans on. Go ahead and take them off.”
Bucky hesitated, cheeks going red. Weird - Bucky was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a blusher, and he wasn’t shy. Maybe he was more into the character than Steve realized. “I uh. The thing is, Professor Rogers…”
“Spit it out.”
“The thing is. I’m not. I don’t exactly have, uh. Anything on? Underneath?”
Fuckity fuck, Steve loved Bucky. He hadn’t told him not to wear underwear, but he wasn’t mad about Bucky taking the initiative, even if Professor Rogers was scandalized. “I see. And do you usually...oh, how do the kids put it? Go commando?”
Bucky snorted. Steve held up four fingers. Bucky scowled.
“No, Professor Rogers. Normally I wear, you know. Boxers?”
“I see.” Steve remained where he was, gesturing at Bucky’s jeans. “I’m afraid there’s nothing for it. This ought to teach you to take better care when choosing your outfits. Go on, take them off.”
Bashful Bucky untied his shoes first, removing them along with his socks before popping the button on his jeans, sliding down the zipper and pushing the material over his hips. Steve was pleased to note he was already half-hard, which meant that the game was working for him on some level, at least.
Knocking the jeans away with his foot, Bucky looked to Steve for his next move.
“Pick your things up,” Steve snapped. “Fold them and put them on the chair.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve smirked. “Discourteous, James.”
“I wasn’t!” Bucky protested.
“Why don’t you go ahead and remember the numbers five and six?”
“Steeeeve…”
“Seven.”
“Jesus.” He bent to pick up his things. Steve resisted the urge to smack him on the ass, which was very magnanimous of him.
“Eight. Don’t swear.”
Bucky wisely kept his mouth shut as he folded his clothing and placed the items on the armchair before turning back around to face Steve, arms stiff at his sides.
“Much better.” Steve got to his feet. Then - in a move he hoped came across as suave - dropped to his knees in a way that reminded him he was pushing forty and the rug over the hardwood wasn’t thick enough to insulate his joints from the impact. He bit back a groan, closing his eyes and counting to five before continuing. “I’m going to measure your inseam now. Spread your legs.”
“But Professor Rogers, that’s…”
“I know it might feel uncomfortable, James,” he replied, going back to the kindly-old-professor character. “But we need to be accurate.”
“Right. Accurate.” Bucky’s cock gave an interested little twitch of approval, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he inched his feet apart. Steve’s perfect, gorgeous boy.
He hooked his hands around Bucky’s ankles, beginning there and working his way right up the insides of his thighs. Measuring, ostensibly, though by the time he reached the upper half of his quads, Bucky was fully hard, breath coming quicker.
“Oh, James,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize you’d find this so...distracting.”
“Ssssorry, Professor.” The words came in a heady, whiny tone that indicated Bucky was into it - whatever ‘it’ was - and ready to do as Steve wanted. “I can’t help it.”
“I remember how it is,” he said, sitting back on his heels and placing one hand on the desk to push himself to his feet in as dignified a fashion as he could muster. “Young man like you - it’s perfectly natural. I’m sure you’re beating the guys off with a stick.”
“I...not exactly, Professor Rogers.”
Bucky was giving him the look - the doe-eyed nonsense look that he pulled out when he wanted something very specific.
“Really?” Steve asked, leaning against the desk and raising an eyebrow. “No boyfriend?”
“No, Professor Rogers.”
“But surely you’ve been fucked, James.”
Eyes widening with the scandal of it all, Bucky shook his head. Adorable. “Gosh, no, Professor Rogers.”
Steve wasn’t entirely sure what Bucky was getting at, so he tried a different angle. “You’ve fucked someone else, then? Taken them to bed?” They hadn’t done that before, but if Bucky wanted to play it that way, Steve was game.
“Uh…” Bucky laughed, genuinely baffled at where Steve had taken things. “Uh, no?”
“Wait, really?” Breaking character, Steve frowned. “Never?”
Incredulous, and losing his own character, Bucky shrugged. “No. You know that.”
Steve hadn’t known that. In the almost-two years (more or less) they’d been together, he’d always assumed Bucky preferred bottoming. He’d never asked for anything different, so Steve had figured it was a preferential thing rather than a lack of experience.
He told Bucky as much. “I...did not know that.”
Bucky scowled. “Well, I haven’t. So, whatever. Aren’t you gonna cast aspersions on my sex life some more, Professor Rogers?”
Sore subject, and Steve didn’t want to ruin the evening, though he wasn’t going to forget it had come up.
“No need to be rude, James,” he replied, making an effort to get back into his role. “Let’s make it an even ten, shall we?”
Still pouting, Bucky shrugged. Shit. Steve had to get him back into things. “As I was saying,” he said, clearing his throat and drumming his fingers on the side of the desk. “It’s surprising to me that you’ve never been fucked. But...it explains some things.”
“It does?” The curiosity in Bucky’s tone won out over his sulkiness.
“Mmmhmm.” Steve pushed away from the desk and circled Bucky, hoping to make him shiver. If Bucky wanted to play the blushing virgin, Steve could work with that. “Your impetuous behavior - the way you lash out. You never have an...outlet for your emotions.”
“Oh, but like...I jerk off all the time, Professor Rogers.”
Brat. Steve grinned behind Bucky’s back. “I have no doubt. But it’s different doing it with someone else, I promise you that.”
“Gosh,” Bucky sighed. “Too bad there’s nobody like that around here.”
Subtle. Steve rolled his eyes before tugging on Bucky’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Isn’t there?”
Bucky’s eyes went wide - the most naive and virginal waif at his own debutante ball. “You don’t mean you, do you, Professor Rogers?”
Aggrieved, Steve shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not an idea I enjoy, precisely, but…”
“You’ll do your duty for king and country?”
“Bucky.” Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face, and he cast his eyes to the heavens once again, counting to ten. “James. Bend over the desk.”
“It’s not my goddamn fault you sound like a romance novel, Professor Rogers,” Bucky sighed, before flattening himself across the desk, choosing the short side, so he had more room to stretch. God, the sight of that would never get old - Bucky laid out and waiting for Steve to claim him.
Couldn’t let sentiment get in the way of a good time, however. “Smartass,” he smirked. “Twelve.”
“It was ten before!”
“You were respectful before. Fourteen.”
“I - “
“Fifteen.”
Bucky shut his mouth and turned his forehead against the desk. Steve liked to imagine he was scowling with the might of a thousand vengeful kittens.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” Steve prompted.
Bucky shook his head.
“I thought you’d be curious about why I was having you count…”
There was frustration in every line of Bucky’s body. Steve could see it in the way he bounced on his heels, calves taut, muscles tightening. Good. Steve liked him frustrated. Granted, he liked him ornery, too. Mostly, he just liked Bucky.
He moved closer, breaking character as he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Bucky’s tense shoulder. “I’m gonna warm you up, okay, pal?”
Bucky wasn’t an idiot - he had to know that Steve was having him count strokes of something, and Steve had been doing this sort of thing long enough to know that what he had planned would wreak havoc on skin that wasn’t at least a bit pinked up. Some people liked weals and bruises, but that had never been his preferred aesthetic.
A smile crossed Bucky’s face as he turned his head to the side, pillowing his cheek on his hands. Steve moved behind him, spanking him with an open palm in a steady rhythm, the way they’d done countless times before. All the tension bled right out of Bucky as he worked, body practically melting into the desk as he shifted his position, hands stretching out to hold onto the opposite edge of the furniture, the long, lean line of his body more than inviting. Steve upped the intensity at the end, a few extra sharp slaps echoing through the room before he stopped and lay a hand on the small of Bucky’s back.
“That’s my good boy,” he teased. Bucky grinned, wriggling in that way that always made Steve laugh.
Back to the game, though. They weren’t done quite yet.
Steve took his hand away and cleared his throat. “James…” he began, letting Bucky know where he stood.
“Yes, Professor?”
Walking behind the desk, Steve opened up the middle drawer to retrieve a ruler he’d had since college. It was stupid and sentimental to keep it - he wasn’t designing anything on graph paper these days. Still, it was well-made, and it had held up over years of use and abuse. Hopefully, it would hold up to Bucky’s backside.
Lifting the implement out, he placed it in Bucky’s line of sight, watching as Bucky’s eyes widened, staring at the ruler like it was a live snake Steve had put on the desk and instructed to bite him.
“Do you understand now, why I was having you count?”
Bucky’s eyes moved from the ruler to Steve’s face, and he nodded, a blush rising on his cheeks. “It’s...that looks like it’s gonna hurt, Professor Rogers.”
It would. Steve had practiced it on himself, the same way he did with every new toy, wanting to know precisely what he was inflicting on the person underneath him. Bucky, specifically, was funny about impact play. He insisted he preferred spanking - that Steve’s hand was the best thing ever. Then he’d start humping the furniture any time Steve brought something new into the bedroom. They’d tried floggers, belts, and leather paddles so far, and without fail Bucky would turn into a pretty, crying mess over each of them, cuddling up to Steve afterward, docile and sweet and so terribly Bucky about it all.
The ruler was a different sort of pain. Lighter, stingier, biting in at the surface rather than the deeper ache of the other implements. Bucky had earned fifteen, though Steve wasn’t sure he could take that many and was more than willing to cut him some slack. It was his first time, after all.
“It is,” he said, in response to Bucky’s question as he picked up the ruler and took his position. “You’re allowed to make noise, but be a good boy and don’t move.”
Bucky tensed before Steve could land the first stroke, which undoubtedly made it worse. Steve didn’t hit him too hard, and the impact of the ruler left his pinked skin bloodless for a second or two before the mark made itself evident - a perfect rectangle blossoming right as the pain of it hit Bucky, who let out a whine.
“Fu-uuuuck,” he grunted, knocking his forehead against the wood of the desk as his fingers scrabbled for purchase.
Steve didn’t give him the chance to recover before delivering the second blow, lower than the first. Bucky jerked forward, harder than he’d probably intended, and Steve heard the impact of his hips hitting the wood. He wasn’t about to count that as moving, and he waited for a moment before delivering a third stroke. A fourth. A fifth.
Bucky was a trooper up until the eighth smack of the ruler, which Steve laid diagonally across several of the previous stripes. Bucky twisted away with a yelp, misjudging the size of the desk and slipping off the side in his haste to get away. Once he hit the floor, though, he moved quickly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s calves and pressing his face against the tweed.
“Please, please, no more,” he panted. “Steve. Fuck off, please. I hate that one. It hurts too much.”
Steve didn’t blame him - people had preferences, and the ruler was decidedly a different sort of impact play. He had been brave to try, and Steve was proud of him.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, running a hand through the tangled mess that was Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re done. Come on up here, huh?”
Putting the ruler on the desk, he reached down and pulled Bucky up and into a tight hug, hands moving down to give the abused flesh of Bucky’s backside a rub, which earned him a hiss, but not an unhappy one. Bucky clung to him fiercely, same as he always did after something intense, hiding against Steve’s shoulder and sniffling.
“Sorry,” he muttered eventually.
“Nah,” Steve teased. “Not allowed, pal. No apologies for calling an audible. You don’t like the ruler, noted. It’s off the table.”
“It’s...I don’t know,” he muttered. “It’s like a fuckin’ knife. I dunno how to describe it.”
“Then we’re done with it,” Steve said. “Put it on the list.”
Bucky pulled back, a smile on his face and tear tracks on his cheeks. Steve hated himself sometimes for how much the sight of tears on Bucky’s face did it for him. The kid was a pretty goddamn cryer, was all.
“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled, letting Steve baby him - tuck some hair behind his ear, kiss his forehead, his nose, his mouth.
“What do you think, Buck?” Steve murmured. “Done?”
Bucky considered, a gleam of something in his eyes. “I dunno, uh, Professor Rogers. I seem to recall you saying I was gonna get fucked…”
Steve’s mouth twitched, and he snorted. “Yeah, I uh. That sounds like me.”
Taking a step back, Bucky grinned and sat right down on the desk, only to be reminded that his ass had been very recently-rulered. He winced. Steve tried not to laugh, finding it easy enough to sober up when he looked down and realized that the ‘punishment’ had taken the fun out of things for Bucky - he’d gone soft, whereas usually, their spankings had him raring to go.
That guilty conscience spurred Steve forward, one hand going to Bucky’s shoulder as the other reached between his legs to stroke him. “So impatient, James,” he murmured against Bucky’s temple, using every trick he knew to bring him back around.
“Sorry, Professor,” Bucky said, head falling back as Steve worked. It didn’t take much before he had Bucky shivering and moaning, thrusting his hips up. Any more friction and Steve was going to need lube, so he pulled his hand away instead, enjoying the indignant howl wrought by the action.
“Turn over on your stomach,” he said, slipping back into the academic disinterest of Professor Rogers. “I’d rather not have to see your face.”
Bucky’s expression lit up, though he made every attempt to school his features. “That’s rude, Professor Rogers.”
“I can’t help it if I’d rather look at the back of your head, James,” he said. “It’s much more interesting.”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky stood up and turned around, assuming his previous position. “You’re kind of a dick, Professor.”
“Why don’t you call me Steve, James? Being as we’re so close and all.”
Bucky twisted his head around, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you think that’s kinda...disrespectful?”
Shit and god damn the pale skin of his Irish ancestry that let his blush be so easily seen. “Your uh, whole ass is disrespectful?”
Fucking forget it. They weren’t cut out for roleplay. Bucky officially had the giggles, and they’d both lost the plot.
“Buck, come on…” he laughed, trying and failing to recover. “I’m doing my best.”
“I’m not stopping you!”
Fair point. Steve stepped behind him, cutting off the giggles by digging his fingertips into Bucky’s hips. It was a neat party trick - Bucky went silent, save for a groan as Steve hit the deep muscles under his skin.
“Much better,” Steve said, before reaching over to open the top drawer of the desk, where he’d stashed a bottle of lube. It was a wonder he’d never been a boy scout, considering how goddamn prepared he was. He swore he could see Bucky’s ass twitch when he popped the cap. Pavlovian fuckin’ response.
“This might feel strange, James,” he said, attempting to recapture the role. There was something beautiful about Bucky playing the virgin, he decided, when Bucky did his best to fight and clench against the intrusion of Steve’s finger. As though it were brand new. As though Steve didn’t know Bucky better than he’d known any partner before in his life. His tells, his secret places.
Prepping him was old hat, but that didn’t make it any less interesting, especially when Bucky was having fun feigning shock. Clenching up. Gasping at the first finger, moaning at the second, writhing at the third. Which, of course, Steve had to use, being as he was a virgin and all.
“You gonna uh, get undressed, Professor?” Bucky asked as he fucked himself back on Steve’s fingers. The complete disregard Bucky had for dignity when it came to seeking pleasure was one of Steve’s favorite things about him.
“No.” Steve used his free hand to unzip the trousers of his suit, adjusting what needed adjusting before freeing his cock from its confines. He’d been hard since well before the ruler, but he was exceedingly good at biding his time. “I don’t think I will, Mr. Barnes.”
“Oh fuck,” Bucky realized. “Fuck, that’s sexy. Steve...Professor Rogers. Please, fuck me?”
Some goddamn virgin. “Since you asked so politely.”
Steve realized it was excessively sentimental to wax rhapsodic about sinking into Bucky. It wasn’t as though he was going to say something stupid about how being inside of him felt like touching God, because that was ridiculous. Still, there was something dumb and primal and wonderful about fucking him. Draping his suit-clad body over Bucky’s naked one, grinding against him. The tweed would be murderously itchy.
“Fuh-huuuuuck,” Bucky whined, turning his head to try and get a kiss. He was so easy.
“Lousy vocabulary, kiddo,” Steve grunted, setting a rhythm as he drove Bucky right into the desk. “Don’t you know any other words?”
Bucky grunted. Steve grabbed him by the hair, maneuvering his other hand between Bucky’s body and the desk, fisting Bucky’s cock, the weight of it familiar in his hand.
Talking went out the window for Bucky around that point, usually, whereas Steve knew he could be...uncomfortably verbose. He’d been told as much by various people who’d shared his bed. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t remember half the shit he said when he was fucking, and especially when he was fucking Bucky.
“...prettiest fuckin’ straight A student fuck pretty boy, you’re so good. You’re such a good boy, Bucky, my good boy…”
(Alright, so maybe he kind of remembered what he said. Nobody had to know. Besides, Bucky would never let him live it down if he knew Steve ran off at the mouth with intent. How else was he going to say all the things he needed to say while retaining some semblance of control?)
Bucky came first, which was surprising. Generally, Steve had to work him over for a minute or so after finishing up. The spunk spattered the desktop, and Steve winced. They had to stop fucking without a towel. Any day now, they were going to remember. It had only been two years, give or take a month.
His orgasm wasn’t far behind, hips stuttering a few times as he shoved Bucky face down against the desk, rougher than he meant to be. Once he was spent, he collapsed right on top of Bucky’s body, pinning him down, the sweet, comfortable silence left in the wake of their shared bliss lasting all of thirty seconds before Bucky started bitching.
“Itchy, itchy, itchy.”
Oh, right. The tweed. Steve was sweating, the wool raising his body temperature well over where it would usually have been. He desperately wanted to strip off and shower.
Still, the whiny baby underneath him presented him with too excellent an opportunity to pass up.
“What, you don’t like this, sweetheart?” He rubbed himself against Bucky, every movement likely driving thousands of tiny, itchy fibers right into Bucky’s sweat-soaked skin.
“Oh, fuck you, that’s awful. Steve, Daddy, whatever! Please? I hate you, fuuuuuck, that feels so gross.”
“You’re such a fuckin’ baby.” He kissed Bucky’s shoulder before pulling away, cock slipping from Bucky’s body without much effort. “I ought to make you give me a hug. Sit on my lap and cuddle me for hours. Hate me, pfft. Rude.”
Bucky - genuinely concerned that Steve might make him do either of those things - looked over his shoulder and batted his big, trying-to-be-beguiling blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Uh huh.” Steve pulled him up, giving him a proper kiss and only one little squeeze to put him in contact with the suit once more. “Sit down.” He pointed at the leather armchair that didn’t have Bucky’s clothes in it. “I’m going to clean up.”
Bucky did what he was told, curling up in the chair, legs tucked underneath him as he watched Steve wipe everything down, put things away, and strip out of the suit, which he tossed onto the chair with Bucky’s outfit. It would need to go the dry cleaners, at the very least.
Once he was as naked as Bucky, he held out a hand and hauled Bucky to his feet, wrapping him up for another kiss. “How was that?” he asked.
“Good.” Bucky was still with him - a little dopey, but more in a fucked out way than a subspacey one.
“Did you eat?”
“Umm...at like three? And I had a protein bar when I got home.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Uh huh.”
Bucky was easily pleased - a couple of bagels and cream cheese brought to the den. Bucky’s current favorite band on the stereo and his head in Steve’s lap while Steve dutifully fed him bites of food. He had insisted - as he sometimes did - that he was too tired to lift a hand to his mouth. Steve indulged him.
“Hey,” Steve murmured after a while, figuring they ought to debrief.
“Hey, yourself.”
“Cute.”
“I know I am.”
“Bucky…” he laughed. “Dumb question, but were you serious about that whole...you’ve never fucked anyone thing?”
Bucky frowned, all cuteness forgotten. “You knew that.”
“No, I didn’t. I guess I assumed you’d tried it and didn’t like it.”
“Well, I didn’t. I’m a bottom.”
Sometimes, Steve wondered if Bucky had realized he was gay, read one badly-written article on the internet when he was fifteen, internalized everything in it, and regurgitated it verbatim when pressed.
“Bucky, that’s not...most people have preferences, but it’s not…”
“Ugh, Steve.” Nothing like an eye-roll for maturity’s sake. “It’s not a big deal. The first guy I was with only wanted to top. And then like, I didn’t want to ask, and I didn’t know how to do it, and it’s easier to like...get fucked than do all the prep. Like, I’d probably fuck it up, and what if I hurt someone? I don’t know. I’m with you now, anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You know I’m good either way.”
“Yeah, but not with me.”
Steve couldn’t help laughing. “Why not with you?”
Bucky nearly choked on his bagel. “I can’t. I mean. I can’t.”
“We should,” Steve continued, as though Bucky wasn’t aspirating poppyseeds. “You ought to try it.”
“But…”
“I’m not going to force you, but I could help. Show you what to do. You’re not going to hurt me.”
“No.” Bucky paused, considering. “Maybe.”
Maybe was a start. Steve could work with maybe, though he wasn’t going to push Bucky any further that night.
“Did you like the roleplay?” he asked instead, steering the conversation away.
“Yes,” Bucky grinned. “That was fun. Sorry I kept laughing.”
Steve shrugged and reached out to brush away a crumb that had caught on Bucky’s cheek. “It’s supposed to be fun. Who cares if you laughed?”
“Yeah.” Bucky looked thoughtful, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Steve’s stomach, just above his navel. “You know…”
“Hmm?”
“Just...you should know I love you. A lot. You do know that, right?”
“Yeah, Buck,” he said, curious at the line of inquiry. “Of course I do.”
“Okay, because…” Shrugging, he nuzzled closer, turning on his side and butting his head right against Steve’s torso. “I love you more than anyone. And I think you’re like...so fuckin’ amazing? I talk about you all the time, you know. At school, people tease me about it. Like, oh Steve again, because I’m always bringing you up.”
The sentiment was flattering and unexpected, making Steve smile. It hadn’t occurred to him that Bucky might talk about him that way. The notion of it stroked his ego and his pride, but more than that, it was reassuring.
“That’s...thank you, Buck,” he replied, running a hand through Bucky’s hair and down his jaw, thumb lingering on the skin there. “I love you more than anyone, too.”
Bucky grinned. “God, we’re fucking sappy.”
“Fucking sappy,” Steve agreed.
When Bucky graduated about a year later, Steve went slightly over the top with his graduation party. A venue was rented. There were gift bags. Catering. An open bar with top-shelf liquor along with a DJ. But hell, Bucky was only going to graduate once, and Steve was allowed to be proud.
(He ignored the fact that Bucky had, in fact, already graduated college once, and if he ever chose to get his Ph.D., he would graduate again. Those were semantics.)
The party was a massive success, although Steve only knew about twenty percent of the people in attendance. As it should have been, considering Bucky wrote the guest list. They were making the rounds together, saying hello to everyone who’d come out, when Bucky tugged on Steve’s arm.
“Mike!” Bucky exclaimed, pulling Steve in the direction of - huh. A fairly nondescript guy with a full beard that had more salt than pepper, arm in arm with an equally nondescript brunette. Mike was shorter than Steve by at least four inches and older than him by at least fifteen years. He looked perfectly pleasant, though he did have the fashion sense of a college professor, and not the Indiana Jones variety.
In other words, not quite the debonair lothario of Steve’s fevered imagination.
“Bucky, congratulations,” Mike greeted, drawing Bucky in for a hug before releasing him. “Have you met my wife?”
“No, hi,” Bucky said, extending a hand.
“Jeanne,” she greeted.
“Hi,” Bucky repeated. “This is my partner, Steve.”
The introductions were awkward, and they made small talk for a bit about Bucky’s plans, Mike’s research, Jeanne’s job, their kids, the party, the usual.
As they walked away, Steve glanced over at Bucky. “So uh, that’s the famous Mike, huh?”
To his credit, Bucky didn’t smirk or laugh. Didn’t do anything except lean over and kiss Steve’s cheek before taking his hand. “Yeah. He was a good advisor, but...I dunno. He wasn’t my favorite professor.”
“No?”
“Nah. Didn’t really measure up to this handsome bastard I had my first year for Western Civ.”