Chapter Text
There was nothing quite like having a great round of meaningless sex to take his mind off his problems.
That was the plan, at least.
Ever since Darcy Lewis had let it slip that the company buyout was going to come with yet another re-org and probable layoffs. They always did, no matter what the bigwigs promised, the whole idea of acquiring a company was to find people they could make do the work of three for the cost of three-quarters. Even if Bucky lasted through the first round of cuts, he’d done this shit before and ended up with two other people’s jobs in addition to his own.
He was already working fifty to sixty hours a week, on call for half of his Saturdays and attending conference calls at six in the fucking morning because half the staff was in India. It was absurd and obscene and Bucky was torn between desperately not wanting to lose his job and almost hoping they’d just fucking take it. Give him the severance package and let him move on to bigger and better things.
So, the plan.
Steve and Sam had gone with him to the bar, but Bucky had lost track of them almost an hour ago. They were probably out dancing, or they’d moved on to fucking in the men’s room. They did that sometimes and it never failed to make Bucky roll his eyes. Did they not have any idea how many goddamn germs there were in a men’s room stall? Ug.
Even if he was losing his job tomorrow, Bucky would hold out for a hotel room before he would put out.
Which meant he kept sweeping left on the matches on his Grindr.
No Asians, no femmes, no fatties.
Sweep. No fucking way. Bucky didn’t stick his dick into racist assholes. (Ha, he made a pun.) He gave himself a toast with his mostly empty whiskey glass because no one else was around to toast his terrible pun. Where the hell were Steve and Sam, anyway? If Bucky was taking an Uber back to his apartment alone, he’d have liked to have known about it.
Eight and a half million people in New York City and Bucky couldn’t find anyone to fuck. It was like cable television. Two hundred channels and nothin’ worth watching.
“Now that is a grade A grouchy face there, wallflower,” someone came up beside him at the bar and practically purred in his ear. “You practice that, or is it your resting bitch face.”
“It’s my active bitch face,” Bucky responded, before turning around to see him.
Bucky’d been told before that he had a type, and this guy pinged every one of Bucky’s personal buttons. Brunette, dark eyes, ready grin and little laugh lines around his eyes. Tinted glasses and an elaborately styled goatee. (Bucky had a thing for beard burn, so sue him.) He was dressed up to slay, a suit that clung to a lithe, lean body and slacks that weren’t slack at all, outlining his trim waist and -- as the guy turned to order drinks from the bartender -- a killer backside.
“So, what are you actively bitching about?” The guy took his drink and knocked it back with smooth efficiency, tipping his head to drain the entire martini in one long pull. His throat worked beautifully as he swallowed, and the way he smiled when he plucked the toothpick with its three olives out of the glass and popped them into his mouth suggested that he’d done it deliberately to see if Bucky noticed.
“Do you care, or are you just makin’ small talk?” Bucky asked. The bartender slid another whiskey to him with a jerk of his chin at the guy.
“Pretend I care,” the guy said. “I’m Tony. Drink up, honey. I’ll tell you about my shitty day while you drink, then you can tell me about your shitty day while I drink, we’ll get nice and shit-faced, and I’ll blow you in the backseat of my car.”
Bucky had just picked up his whiskey and tasted it. Oh, nice, the guy had gone for top-shelf instead of Bucky’s shitty Kentucky Straight. Which meant not spitting it all over the bar. Damn, the guy was direct. On the other hand, the backseat of his car was probably cleaner than the men’s room. No one had a car in the city unless they cared about cars.
“Name’s James,” Bucky said, because there weren’t that many people he trusted with his nickname. Most men just stared at him like he was a child. What kind of a fucking nickname is Bucky? The last guy Bucky’d tried to pick up with his preferred name had actually zipped his damn pants up and walked away. “What kind of car?”
“Does it matter?” Tony raised an eyebrow.
“If I’m gonna fuck you in it, yes, it matters,” Bucky said.
“Oh, you’re particular, I like that,” Tony said. “It’s a Jaguar XJS. I wouldn’t even use it, but half the rest of my cars are two seaters and my PA doesn’t like me driving in the city. And, you know, they’re all in California.”
Bucky absently wondered how many cars the man had, or if he only actually had the one and was trying to impress. Not that it mattered, if he actually had a Jaguar, and was really interested in a little romp in the backseat, Bucky was probably going to take him up on it. Meaningless fuck before his life got fucked, that’s what it was. It was a thing and Bucky was going to do it. “You’re just visiting?”
“I wish,” Tony said. “Relocating, business thing. Boring. Not what I want to complain about.”
Bucky pushed back on his bar stool to look at Tony. God, that man was gorgeous. Bucky licked his lip. “So, what do you want to complain about?”
“You know what, I can’t think of a damn thing right now,” Tony said, his eyes drawn to Bucky’s mouth and lingering. “Finish your drink and let’s get out of here.”
“Was that an order?” Bucky’s eyebrow went up. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to scorch the deal, but he really didn’t like bossy men. They tended to put their own gratification at the top of their priority list.
“Let me guess,” Tony said, mouth tipping up in a mimicry of a smile. How Bucky could already tell that wasn’t a natural expression? “You only take orders when naked and wearing a collar?”
“Oh, the mouth on you, darlin’,” Bucky said, because he could visualize that with crystal clarity. Not that he was big into the scene, but a little kinky sex had its appeal. Just not with a stranger. Bucky had trust issues, he knew it.
“Yes, indeed,” Tony said. He flicked his tongue out briefly to wet his upper lip. “You should give it a try.”
Well, Tony was offering a blowie, which meant him on his knees, and therefore not in the general position of giving orders. The idea of this pretty man on his knees for Bucky got him a little more interested. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
Bucky texted Steve while Tony was settling up with the bartender.
Got a hot one
Catch a cab home later Cap
Don’t wait up
Tony grabbed his wrist and started pulling him toward the door. “Come on, before you change your mind. I gotta see if you taste as good as you look.”
Bucky almost fumbled his phone.
The valet brought Tony’s car around and handed him the keys. From just down the block, a stocky man was jogging up the sidewalk. “No, no, Miss Potts was very clear, sir--”
“Get in, get in!” Tony threw himself in the driver’s seat and they were down the road before Bucky even got the door closed. Tony was giggling like a maniac and driving like a Formula One race car driver. Which was kinda impressive. Even in the early morning on a Sunday (or did it count as Monday yet?), the roads weren’t exactly what anyone would call good, but Tony managed to find spaces for his sleek vehicle to move into as if by magic.
Tony’s cell phone was buzzing. “That’ll be Happy,” he said. “My driver. He’s going to yell at me.” He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, changed two lanes and ran a light that was just turning red, ignoring a chorus of angry horns. “Yeah, Hap, you’re on speaker?”
“Sir, come back here at once!” the man said. Bucky glanced at the phone; Tony had it not only on speaker but on some video chat program. The guy had the phone held up awkwardly, giving Bucky a glance at the driver’s nose, eyes, and hair and little else.
“Is this the forehead of security?” Tony asked.
“I promised Miss Potts I would stay with you th’ whole time, sir,” the driver said. “I promised!”
“Yeah, well, you lied, took your eyes off the prize, let me walk around in a bar all night by myself, Happy, you’ll just have to face the consequences of your actions,” Tony said, “which, knowing Miss Potts as I do, will mean she’ll yell at me for twenty minutes tomorrow, you’ll get a bonus for putting up with my spoiled rotten ass, and we’ll all cry and promise to do better next time.”
“Mister--”
“Ah-ah, no,” Tony said. “What did I say about calling me Mister anything? That’s my dad. It’s banishment for you, Happy.” He plucked the phone off the magnetic holder, triggered the car’s window with one finger, changed lanes again, and threw the fucking phone right out the window.
“You are crazy,” Bucky told him.
“Bet your pretty ass I am,” Tony said, “and you’re letting me drive, so what does that say about you, sunny?”
“I kinda got the impression back there that nobody lets you do shit,” Bucky said, “and you do exactly as you goddamn well please.”
“That kinda sexy talk is gonna get you laid, James,” Tony said.
“Yeah? Back seat of your car, you said. Where, ‘xactly?”
“Got a parking space at my hotel,” Tony told him. “But we can go upstairs and use the bed, if you want.”
Bucky ran a hand over the leather seats. The car still had that new car smell, leather and plastics and a little bit of orange-scented sanitizer. The stitching felt nice under his fingertips. It was a pretty damn nice car, honestly.
“You said car,” Bucky pointed out. “Think I’d like that.” Also, it was weird to go up to someone’s specific hotel room. Weird and personal, like hitting someone’s apartment. Not that Bucky hadn’t done that before, but that was usually a case of drunken staggering down the block to meet up with a Grindr hookup.
He wasn’t sure. It was just weird.
Besides, he kinda wanted to see Tony crouched in the footwell of the Jag, lit by the dim fluorescents of a parking garage.
“A man who knows what he wants. I like you, James,” Tony said, and then he was flashing a card-key at the hotel’s security box. He drove through the garage and found a corner spot, backing the car into the space with ease, something Bucky would not have wanted to attempt in that tiny little turn around after as much booze as Tony had put away.
“Go on, get in the back,” Tony invited. Bucky climbed out of the passenger seat, and Tony stayed right where he was, watching. Bucky wondered if this was all some weird practical joke where Tony would slam the locks down and drive off, and if it was, why?
But he didn’t. Tony just waited until Bucky was opening the back door to slide the seat up and tip it forward so that he could crawl over the gearshift and end up sprawled in Bucky’s lap like some predator-cat, and wasn’t that hot as hell?
Tony kissed like he drove, wild, crazy, and not sticking to the speed limit. His tongue was in Bucky’s mouth, the taste of martinis and some heady aftertaste. He nipped and lipped at Bucky’s mouth, licking into it like he was taking frosting off a cupcake. Sloppy and wet and open and so unbelievably hot.
Bucky turned his head to gasp for air, noting they were already fogging up the glass, a sure sign to anyone outside the car what they were up to, but the chances of getting caught were remote, just enough to give their encounter a darker thrill. Tony was sucking at Bucky’s throat, like a starving vampire. Bucky thought about protested, he didn’t really need to go to work tomorrow looking like he’d had a walk-on roll for Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but at the same time, he really couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d already be walking in there with sunglasses and the puffy face of too much drink and not enough sleep. Might as well get the debasement to match.
Tony ran a hand down his chest, yanking Bucky’s shirt up to show off his chest. “Hold that,” Tony told him. Bucky kept his shirt pulled up while Tony explored the rest of him, licking at Bucky’s nipples until they were hard and aching. That was nice, Bucky’s nipples were so, so sensitive, but most one nighters didn’t care much for nipple play. They wanted to go straight to the goods, and what Bucky might have wanted in a lover was thrown over while they both raced to get to an orgasm and a messy good night and the desperate hope of never seeing each other again,
It was as artificial and ugly as everything else in Bucky’s life.
Jesus, what the hell had been in those drinks? Bucky was getting maudlin as hell, which didn’t make much sense, given that a really, really hot guy was opening up Bucky’s pants and staring at Bucky’s cock like it was a dream come true.
“Holy shit, you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Tony wrapped his hand around Bucky’s shaft, measuring the girth with his fingers and marveling at it. He made a production of inching his way up Bucky’s cock, then, “almost twenty-two centimeters, my hand to God.”
“No, your hand’s on me,” Bucky told him, flushing. He wasn’t porn star huge, but he’d seen enough pricks to know he was on the larger side. It usually wasn’t a deal breaker, and there’d been a couple of guys who’d been thrilled to find themselves with the top of all their wank fantasies. “Pretty sure God don’t want anything to do with that.”
“You are so sassy,” Tony said. “I like that.”
“You keep sayin’ that, and here’s my dick, still unsucked,” Bucky said, and then he was gripping at the grab-handle for balance and all but screaming.
Tony went down on him like he was a professional sword-swallower, taking him most of the way down in one long pull.
Tony took his blowjobs seriously, getting both hands into the mix, one twisting around the base of Bucky’s cock, the other one fondling his balls and Bucky couldn’t have done anything else but arch into it if he’d been on fucking fire. His entire body responded to Tony’s touch, all shouting oh, god, yes at the same time. His heart pumped harder and his breath came faster and his whole being was a mess of nerves and heat that were steadily coursing downward. He was acutely aware of his own skin, and how each inch of it was craving Tony’s touch.
His hands wandered into Tony’s hair, down his shoulders, along his spine, caressing him through that fucking suit and how hot was that? The feel of crisp, rich fabric under his fingertips, the debauched look on Tony’s face when he glanced up, peering at Bucky though long eyelashes, those lips red and puffy.
Bucky was drunk with the heat of it, and the wanting, and the way Tony’s mouth moved on him. He drunkenly wanted it all and he wanted it now.
A gathering of electrical current, sizzling from his ears all the way down to the arches of his feet, pooling in his balls. His toes curled inside his shoes and his hand tightened on Tony’s hair, holding him right where he was.
Tony pulled off for just a moment to lick his lips, give Bucky a wicked glance. “Bossy,” he said. And just that, just that, was enough to tip Bucky over the edge and he was spurting come, gasping for breath. Tony managed to get his mouth back over the crown of Bucky’s dick -- and Jesus, that was something else right there, as oversensitive as he was -- to keep the mess to a minimum. At least that was Bucky’s thought at first, swallowing meant not having to have the cleaners in to sterilize the back seat, except after Bucky was done, collapsed and trying to catch his breath, Tony went about licking Bucky’s stomach clean, scraping his beard over the tender skin of Bucky’s belly.
“Holy shit,” Bucky said, arching up into it. He had always loved the way that felt, that too-rough tickle of beard, followed by soft lips and a wet tongue, and Jesus, if he’d had anything left, he might have come again, whimpering and writhing under Tony’s mouth.
Tony petted him and nuzzled him through the aftershocks and the dreamy laziness that came post-coital, not even once indicating that he was bored or restless, or even horny. He just watched and stroked Bucky’s skin and over his thighs, still trapped in clubbing pants.
“So, uh,” Tony said, eventually as Bucky’s eyes came back into focus, “James, I was wondering if you might let me fuck you. I know, I know, big as you are, you’re probably used to doing it the other way, but I think it might take too long to work me open to take you, and I do have an early morning tomorrow.”
Bucky just about cried. Tony wasn’t wrong; Bucky usually topped on the rare occasions that he had a hookup that was interested in more than just a hand job or a little swordfighting. But damn, he missed being fucked, that closeness, that fullness, the way it stretched and satisfied. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah, you got, you got stuff?” Bucky had a lube packet and a condom in his wallet if they needed it, but he wondered if Tony was prepared.
“Hey, it’s me,” Tony said, like that was supposed to mean something, and maybe it did. Bucky gave himself another minute to catch his breath, then shifted, getting onto his knees and pillowing his head on his forearms, giving Tony the best angle in the small space. The scent of the new car leather surrounded him, was brilliant and hot and Tony had gotten his supplies from wherever he was keeping them -- the glovebox, Bucky thought.
Tony’s hand went down on the back of his neck, keeping his face pushed against the car seat, his ass arched up for Tony’s attention. Bucky didn’t mind. He let his cheek rub against the leather, blissed out, as Tony started working him open. Bucky bit down on his arm, feeling the sting as Tony breached him. He was trembling and the sweet ache of Tony’s fingers made him shiver all over, in pleasure.
He pushed back into Tony’s touch, greedy for the warmth and hardness of the man, too eager to let him get a proper stretch. He was whining for it, nearly begging. Tony’s hands promised so much more, so much better, and Bucky savoured his expertise. Pushed back until Tony was three fingers deep in him and rubbing at his prostate. He didn’t know how to resist that temptation, didn’t even know why he should, so he gave himself up to Tony’s care.
Finally, Bucky heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper, and then -- “Here,” Tony said. Bucky reached back and discovered that Tony had a tissue for him, which made Bucky laugh.
“You think I’m gonna again?”
“Do you think you’re not?”
And then Tony was pushing into him, filling him up. It stretched and burned and felt so goddamn good it was no wonder it had been illegal. Anything that good was rated right up there with sin and danger and deadly. Bucky damn near died, he was sure of it, as Tony moved, rocking into him.
Tony had pushed his shirt up again and was dropping searing kisses along Bucky’s spine, which was oddly sweet and tender and Bucky was loving every aching second of it.
“God, you feel good, baby,” Tony was babbling, stroking Bucky’s thighs and then gripping his ass, spreading his cheeks and pushing in, squeezing as he went. The scorching touch of Tony’s mouth burned away every fleck of Bucky’s sanity until he was drooling onto his arm and the seat’s leather and rocking helplessly back into the push of Tony’s strokes, meeting each one with enthusiasm.
Tony’s hand was back on his neck again, keeping Bucky there. As if Bucky wanted to go anywhere except where Tony was taking him. He needed more, more, more, and even though he could hardly form words to ask for it, Tony was giving it to him. The first, light tug of Tony’s hand wrapped around Bucky’s cock send silver threads of electricity under his skin. He hadn’t even realized he was hard again, but then he was moaning, fucking up into Tony’s hand.
It was wild and dark, a pulsing throb of sensation. Tony took him into the darkness, drawing him deeper with his hands, with that cock, and his low, ragged voice.
The remnants of his restraint fell away, and Bucky found himself begging and moaning, wanton and open and vulnerable, needing and wanting and desperate. Lost in the scent of Tony’s skin, so potently masculine, a touch of amber cologne and soap and sweat, in the sinful strokes of his hand, the stunning power of muscle in those long, rangy thighs.
Bucky wanted, he wanted. He hadn’t thought he would come again, getting fucked was its own reward but an orgasm wasn’t always part of the deal, but then he was pretty sure he was going to. Christ, he was staring at thirty-five, not fifteen anymore, but he felt it building. Spasms racked him, and an unreasoning, inescapable craving.
Tony moved inside him, slow strokes and then faster until he was pounding away, and their thighs smacked together like clapping and Bucky was crying out, and Tony was moaning. Heat and passion and desire raced between them like its own living thing, determined to consume them both. Bucky was with him the whole way, moving and feeling, and this was exactly what Bucky had needed, exactly what he wanted, and he was tipping over the edge of the abyss. One last, searing burst of rapture and then Bucky sank into release. He barely remembered the tissue in his hand, and he probably missed more than he caught.
Tony bit him again, one last time, sucking hard at the skin and leaving what would undoubtedly be a brilliant purple mark on his hip.
Bucky moaned as Tony slipped out of him, hole fluttering in protest of being suddenly empty.
“God, you’re precious,” Tony said, and from anyone else, Bucky might have taken that as an insult, but Tony had just thoroughly fucked him and done a damn fine job of it, too, and Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to be offended.
“If you go all Gollum on me and start calling me your precious, we are going to have a disagreement,” Bucky said. He mopped at his spill with the tissue and only succeeded in smearing it around. “Yuck.”
“That is not my fault,” Tony said, handing him another tissue.
“Excuse you,” Bucky told him. “It is entirely your fault. Which is why it’s good that it’s your car.”
“Look, uh, my etiquette here is not current,” Tony said. “Do I offer you a ride home now, or cab fare or what?”
“Go up to your room and sleep, Smeagol,” Bucky told him, zipping himself back up. “I’ll get a cab or something, not a big deal.”
“All right, my precious,” Tony said, and it was all Bucky could do not to kiss him, he wanted to kiss Tony, so, so much. Post-coital hormones making him sappy. “Here. Cab fare, since I cost you your ride home, and I’ll put something in your pocketses.” Tony slid a hand into Bucky’s front pocket. “Call me, if you want.”
Bucky gave into the urge to kiss him. If Tony was asking him to call, then maybe he’d like to do this again. Having a regular booty call, one that satisfied him, and was satisfied by him, that was a gift rarer than rubies and Bucky would be a fool to turn it down.
Tony’s mouth was still tangy with Bucky’s taste, and his lips were soft and he kissed Bucky back without a trace of hesitation, warm and firm and giving.
“G’nite, Tony,” Bucky said, then, “thanks.”
“You’re welcome, my precious,” Tony said in a scarily accurate Gollum voice. With a laugh and a wave, Bucky exited the car and made his way to the street, where he poked at his phone app to get a ride.
***
Bucky was late getting up, lackadaisical in the shower. He drank two cups of coffee before he even got dressed, head aching and thighs pleasantly sore. He didn’t bother to shave, but he did pose in the mirror for a few minutes to admire the brilliant series of hickeys down the side of his throat. He looked utterly debauched and dissipated. Great. Lovely first impression for the new boss. He was decidedly getting laid off.
Hello, severance package. Good morning, job search.
He managed to get to his office before the new boss came around. Darcy rushed him in. “Where have you been? Stark’s been visiting all of the mid-level executives in their offices.”
“Who’s been let go, so far?”
“Hammer’s gone. Stone slunk away, trying to hide with his box of stuff. You’ve got ten minutes to get your ass up there-- what the hell, did you go bar crawling last night?”
Bucky shrugged and squeezed Darcy’s arm. He was going to miss her. “Don’t worry about me. I’m already emotionally prepared.”
He got up to his office, didn’t bother to turn on the lights, and booted up his computer, squinting in pain around the electrical whine.
A few minutes later, someone rapped on his door frame, and Bucky looked up. “Good morning, Mr. uh--”
Bucky trailed off. A very familiar pair of whiskey dark eyes were looking him over, that sybaritic mouth twisting into a grin. Bucky’s heart dropped somewhere around his ankles and tried to scurry away. “Uh, oops?”
“Well, hello, precious,” Tony Stark said.
Fin