
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5833612.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes_&_Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      Steve_Rogers, Alexander_Pierce, James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Brock_Rumlow
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Regency, Alternate_Universe_-_Royalty, Angst, Hurt/
      Comfort, Other_Additional_Tags_to_Be_Added, Rape/Non-con_Elements
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-01-27 Updated: 2016-07-06 Chapters: 9/? Words: 18468
****** A Rough Trade ******
by neversaydie
Summary
     Bucky leads a charmed life. It’s not often that a young man gets to
     live the life of a royal without so much as a birthright to a title.
     However, life in the palace isn’t always such a blessing. Sometimes
     when the rooms go dark, secrets that are so carefully hidden make
     their way into the light. Sometimes his charmed life is more of a
     curse.
     That is, until Captain Rogers shows up to another society ball and
     turns Bucky’s whole world upside down.
Notes
     We're trying this again after some much needed time away from this
     piece (and a couple of meltdowns on my part).
     This is a writing experiment with my bro neversaydie. We write this
     in a Google document in real time, so it's about half his writing and
     half mine.
     This chapter is only slightly edited, but the next few will be edited
     more heavily.
***** “We live at home, quiet, confined, and our feelings prey upon us.” *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Introduction
He's supposed to be in his room. Supposed being the operative word, and Bucky
can't help but feel the quiet thrill of freedom as he slips through the quiet
halls where every footstep might cause an echo and give him away. His guards
have been given strict orders to keep him confined to his quarters by any means
necessary, the consequence of a particularly nasty exchange with the Duke this
morning, and they'll come looking when they realise he's broken out. Bucky's
never been one to follow the rules, and he's certainly not going to stay in a
cage against his will.
The escape hadn't even been difficult this time, and Bucky is starting to think
the Duke severely underestimates him if he really thinks two guards are enough
to keep him confined. He'd slipped out while they were engrossed in
conversation with the pretty new chamber maid (her daily rounds are the most
fun they get, stuck guarding a royal brat, so it was an easy distraction) and
made his way to the west wing of the palace. It's almost empty at this time of
day, only an occasional maid or butler roaming the halls as their duties
require. Perfect for a boy who wants to stay hidden for as long as possible.
He’d love to be around people, love to have heartbeats and skin near him that
wasn’t mottled with age or sweating under the intense heat of another society
ball, but it’s too risky. If Bucky wants to be hidden and keep even this tiny
bit of freedom, he needs to be alone.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hallway, making his heart rate
spike nervously, and Bucky ducks quickly into an empty drawing room. He closes
the door quietly behind him and waits, ear pressed to the wood to see if he's
been discovered. He doesn't intend to be docile and sweet and go quietly back
to his punishment like he's supposed to, not this time.
The footsteps pass after several minutes, and Bucky breathes a long, low sigh
of relief. He advances further into the room, dragging a hand across the fancy
wallpaper and letting the nervous sweat of his fingertips drag along with it.
It’ll leave smudges, visible ones, and that shouldn’t give him such a thrill as
it does. Crossing to a small table, he picks up a random trinket and tosses it
under a chair before carrying a vase across the room and depositing it onto a
different table with an expensive clink that’s oddly satisfying. His acts of
vandalism are never anything too obvious, always petty and maybe a little
childish, but it’s just enough to annoy the Duke. Tiny rebellions are about all
he has left to express himself against the dull and crushing loneliness of
routine, and Bucky takes advantage at any chance he gets.
The windows have been left open, probably to take advantage of the fresh air on
such a stiflingly hot day, and he leans out to glance down at the ground below.
This particular room looks out on the Duke’s private entrance and he spots the
Duke’s favorite guard, Rumlow, disinterestedly standing watch below. There’s a
collection of small stones on the sill, likely dropped there by the birds who
sometimes take shelter under the old, decorative awning. Bucky palms one of the
larger stones and leans out again, doing his best to aim at Rumlow’s greasy
head before tossing it down. When it misses, he picks up another one and uses
his mistake to aim again.
This time the stone connects with a thwack Bucky can’t hear from this high up,
and Rumlow jerks a hand up to rub at the back of his head, whipping around to
scan the house with a frown. Bucky ducks out of sight behind the wall and
smirks to himself, enjoying his little victory to the tiniest molecule he can
because he doesn’t get a lot of them lately. Rumlow has always been
particularly annoying in his meticulous obedience to the Duke’s orders,
bordering on excessively ‘exact’ adherence at times, and that’s just the
smallest of his many crimes. Bucky can think of no one more deserving of a
smack to the back of the head.
He chances a peek around the wall after a second or two, and his heart drops
into the pit of his stomach. Rumlow has spotted him, his expression folding
into a thunderous scowl, and his hand jumps up immediately to point the window
out to someone just inside the house. Someone will be coming in any moment to
drag Bucky back to his room, and he can’t let that happen when he’s only just
got the sweet air of freedom into his lungs. He sprints across the room,
throwing the door open wide and taking off down the hall as he tries to ignore
the sounds of a quickly approaching mob of guards behind him. He just needs to
make it to the staircase leading to the kitchen, then he can escape to the
garden through the servants’ entrance and nobody will be able to find him for
hours in the elaborate hedge maze.
He probably could have made it, if he hadn’t accidently missed the turn and
ended up cornered at the end of a hallway with no exit. He watches the guards
close in with a carefully cocky expression, a facade of stillness despite the
almost certain knowledge that he’ll be punished severely for this infraction.
He won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear, not when he got so
close to getting a whole fifteen minutes to himself this time.
“You’re supposed to be in your room, sir.” The guard at the head of the group
steps forward, gently taking his elbow. They’ve dealt with Bucky enough to know
that staying close isn’t enough to keep ‘the brat’ (as he’s un-affectionately
referred to among themselves) from taking off again.
“Don’t you have better things to do than babysitting me? Wars to fight?
Rebellions to put down?” Bucky rolls his eyes dramatically, purposefully
ignoring the quickened pace of his heart as he does his damndest to keep up his
front of bravado and sarcastic tone. “Let’s get this over with. Deliver me back
to my cell.”
Once he’s been contained, the guards disperse back to their designated posts
without a backward glance. Despite the indignity of being forced back to his
gilded cage like a petulant child, Bucky feels a little better when he sees
that there are two extra guards left flanking his door. Maybe the Duke doesn’t
think so little of his desire to escape after all, maybe one day soon his wish
for more freedom will be taken seriously.
Bucky sinks down onto the plush bed, as fluffy and empty as all the promises he
was made when he was first brought here as a child. His life was like a
daydream back then, the horrors of his distant past left behind in favour of
the bright lights and delicate ways of the palace he was purchased for. Things
changed as he grew, but back then he’d felt all the promise of a real future
laid out before him and no bed has ever been so comfortable since. He throws
himself down onto the quilt, burying his face in the soft pillows and swearing
that he won’t give in to his emotions this time.
That’s the first thing he learned when he was brought to this palace. Emotions
are for the weak, the feeble who don’t last beyond their first punishment or
their first long, lonely night away from home with nothing but solitude and a
sweating old man for company. All of Bucky’s emotions were left behind in a
crumbling mansion, falling under the weight of debt that only the selling of
his parents’ only son could repay. As a babe he’d learned to crawl in rich
carpeted hallways. As a child, they had worn to wood. And finally, in his
youth, they had become bare and rotten just when everything else did. He’s
never been sure who exactly arranged the match, between the Duke who lacked an
heir and the noble family who desperately needed to pay their bills, but he
remembers the carriage arriving at his house and then… and then everything
changed.
Things have been the same ever since, and Bucky is hungry for something,
anything, to change for the better.
Chapter End Notes
     You can hit us up in Tumblr. I post stories from my gay life, and Syd
     embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** “Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure;
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little
mistaken.” *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Bucky struggles to follow the rules, and Steve is
     perpetually confused.
Chapter Notes
     These first couple chapters will be up pretty fast because they've
     already been posted once. I'm only doing some light revising and
     editing to fix the mistakes that bugged me out the first time.
     After that, posts will be slower but hopefully regular.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It takes the Duke nearly four hours to arrive at Bucky’s room, which he’s
pretty sure is a record length of time between crime and punishment. Maybe the
man is slipping in his old age, or maybe losing interest in his pet project
when it becomes more of a hassle than a pleasure. Bucky’s always hoping for
some kind of political catastrophe that would see his benefactor called away to
court and far away from the house, but things have been upsettingly stable
lately. He still has hope though. The tiny ray still left in his heart is hard
to kill.
“You’re testing my patience James.” The Duke moves toward Bucky where he sits
on the bed, words clipped but expression unreadable as ever. He never lets
Bucky know when he’s really pissed off, not until it’s too late. “I’m just
trying to keep you safe. The least you can do is follow a few simple
instructions.”
Bucky keeps his expression neutral, only the smallest tic of his jaw giving the
game away. Showing fear in front of the Duke only makes things worse.
‘We’re lucky that Rumlow wasn’t seriously hurt, young man.” The Duke folds his
arms and watches him for a moment before he continues, just waiting for Bucky
to slip up even as he keeps his voice steady and calm. “What would we do around
here without the protection he provides?”
“Of course.” Bucky mutters petulantly, glaring down at his knees and hoping
that’ll be enough to hide his emotions from the Duke. People frequently call
him a brat behind his back, he knows that. He hates to perpetuate the
stereotype, but he can’t help the burst of sarcasm that slips through in his
frustration. “Because you don’t employ fifty other guards for that exact
reason.”
“You will not take that tone with me.” The change is immediate. A tightness
sets into Pierce’s jaw and he brings the back of his hand down hard across
Bucky’s cheek with a crack that reverberates through his skull and snaps his
head sideways. Bucky runs a hand cautiously over his still stinging skin as he
reels, an icy chill settling in his stomach. It’s rare that the Duke actually
strikes Bucky (he must look presentable after all), which is what makes it so
terrifying when he does.
Pierce turns away, clasping his hands behind his back as he crosses to the
fireplace while Bucky shrinks back into the bed. He feels very small and
vulnerable in moments like these, would like nothing more than to crawl under
the bed and stay there until he was alone and safe again. Even if he can’t
remember the last time that was really true.
Several agonizing moments of silence pass before Pierce turns back to Bucky,
unreadable mask carefully in place.
“I will need you to be on your best behavior tonight. We have many men of worth
joining us. More worth than your temper tantrums.” He steps closer again,
brushing his fingers lightly across Bucky’s cheek where the skin is still
inflamed and angry. Bucky forces his flinch down into the pit of his roiling
stomach. “We wouldn’t want to have any incidents that might tarnish our
family’s status, now would we?”
Bucky hates the way he relaxes into the touch, craves it even, because it means
that Pierce isn’t upset with him anymore. He spends so much time disobeying his
rules, telling himself he doesn’t care about the punishments or the
consequences, but his body betrays him every time.
“I can trust you to do this for me, can’t I? It’s such a little effort and it
would make me very happy.” Pierce settles his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, a small
smile creasing his usually stoic features. Sometimes he talks down to him like
this, like he’s a dog or a child, and Bucky can’t help but feel oddly comforted
by the rare show of affection.
Bucky nods limply, cheek burning as a strange counterpoint to the chill in his
veins. Pierce’s hand feels heavy on his shoulder, and the weight is an odd
grounding when his head is still fuzzy from the jolt of the slap.
“You’re a good boy really, James. My good boy.” Suddenly Pierce’s hand is gone,
and when Bucky manages to raise his sluggish head he’s back across the room,
opening the door with his usual carelessness. It’s as if their argument never
happened. “Wear your blue neckcloth. The one I bought you in Paris. It brings
out your eyes.”
And suddenly he’s gone, the door shutting firmly behind him and leaving Bucky
alone again.
As soon as he can move, once the ringing in his ears dies down enough for him
to hear the faint hustle and bustle of the household preparing for the
festivities, Bucky crawls back on the bed and reaches over to his nightstand.
The top drawer holds his flask, the cabinet underneath the bottle of brandy
that’s been running worrying low the last couple of days. Pierce doesn’t much
care if he drinks, so long as he can’t smell it on him and as long as Bucky
behaves himself in front of company.
There will be plenty of company tonight, and Bucky does intend to behave, but
right now he needs to take the edge off. His limbs are beginning to tremble
with the cold adrenaline aftermath of any physical encounter with the Duke, and
his valet will be coming to make sure he’s dressed correctly soon enough for
getting himself under control to be a matter of priority. He mustn’t embarrass
the Duke, especially not in front of his own staff when they might gossip.
He empties the flask in a few long swallows, relishing the burn. He’ll behave,
he’ll be good, he just needs to make everything a little more quiet and
distant. He’ll be charming and social this way, and he can stop before he gets
drunk.
As if that’s been true any time in the last two years. Still, Bucky has his
hope along with the rest of the bottle.
 
This isn’t the first society party Steve’s been to, but it’s definitely the
stuffiest.
Alexander Pierce isn’t the most prominent noble in the country, but he’s very
influential in military circles. That’s why Captain Rogers is here in full
uniform, all his medals polished to gleaming in the tasteful candlelight, and
sweating through the rough wool propriety has ensconced him in. He’s here to
give Pierce the spiel about military funding in the North, on behalf of his
superiors who consider him personable and non-threatening to delicate high-
society men, but he hasn’t had a chance to get anywhere near the Duke yet and
he’s getting sick of turning down dances.
The primary source of the Duke’s distraction seems to be his ward, the boy
Steve has heard all the rumours about just the same as anyone who’s anyone has.
From what he’s heard, the boy’s parents died in some newspaper-friendly tragedy
and Pierce acquired the child as a sort of pseudo-heir in an out-of-character
fit of philanthropy. Steve doesn’t pretend to understand the monarchy and its
various complexities, but he’s pretty sure there’s a rule against adopted
orphans inheriting the family titles of the landed gentry.
The boy (more of a man than Steve had expected, given the apparent childishness
of his behaviour if the rumours are to be believed) hasn’t left the Duke’s side
all night, and it’s becoming apparent that Steve won’t get even a moment of the
Duke’s time if he continues to hover just outside the inner circles of the
party. He finally steels himself and moves into the throng of guests, making
his way to the Duke. He has to dodge an old man with a rather bulbous nose who
has been asking him all night about his marriage prospects and informing him
that he has a daughter that would make a fine wife (not exactly the most
comfortable conversation), and in his crooked path he narrowly misses smacking
directly into someone without the gall to get out of his way.
“My apologies. I should pay closer attention to…” He struggles to maintain his
military issue frown when he realizes who exactly is in his path. “I’ll be more
careful.”
The young man’s eyes squint up at him as if he’s struggling to bring him into
focus before he flashes a brilliant smile. A trained smile, one that just about
forces the corners of his eyes to crinkle. It doesn’t exactly set Steve at
ease, even if it’s pleasing to look at.
“No harm done. Captain Rogers right? You’re staying in the palace this week.
The Duke’s special guest.” He sticks his hand out, eyes twinkling with mirth
that at least seems genuine. “I’m Bucky.”
Steve clasps the hand in his own and nods somewhat stiffly, adjusting his grip
when he feels bony fingers digging into his palm and suddenly feels bad. This
is almost a child, not someone he needs to intimidate through irrelevant
displays of dominance. The poor kid is probably out of his depth already, no
matter how confident he seems in this situation where Steve feels like a fish
out of water. Horses for courses, his mother always used to say.
“So what’s a big, strong soldier man doing in the palace? Shouldn’t you be
charging into battle on your trusty steed?” Bucky’s hand lingers slightly too
long, fingers dragging against Steve’s palm purposefully as he pulls away.
Steve suppresses his urge to shiver at the overly-forward touch, especially as
it must be an accident coming from another man. The boy must be drunker than he
seems, must be sloppy in his movements instead of sharp and aware as he seems.
“There’s more to the military than the actual fighting. There’s strategy and
discipline, and occasionally there are parties.” Steve drops his hand to his
side, looking the boy over with a critical eye that’s trying hard to help him
maintain his patience in spite of the youth’s slightly rumpled look and
position blocking him from the Duke (politely ignoring, of course, the whiff of
alcohol emanating from him). “It might be past your bedtime… sir. Bucky.
Perhaps someone should escort you to your quarters.”
“If you insist.” Bucky leers, a little too loose to be intentional. “I’ve got a
bed big enough even for you, Captain.”
Steve’s normally controlled demeanor vanishes, his posture visibly tensing as
his cheeks burn, but before he can respond the Duke appears behind Bucky, hand
materialising on his shoulder like it’s always been there to guide him back to
the straight and narrow.
“Now James, I think the festivities may have tired you.” Pierce’s face flashes
one of those smiles Steve is used to seeing from the upper class, the bland and
pleasant promise of caring that’s usually entirely false on close inspection.
“I apologize for my ward, he seems to have forgotten his manners.”
“No. No sir. Bu...James was just telling me about the, uh…chandelier. It’s
beautiful. Really.” Steve hopes the Duke doesn’t ask him about the specifics of
the imaginary conversation. He doesn’t know the first thing about chandeliers,
he didn’t grow up around all this wealth and opulence like most of the people
at this staid party. He can tell a chandelier from a regular candlestick,
that’s for sure, but that’s about as far as his knowledge goes.
The Duke frowns slightly, a new crease forming in his wrinkled brow, but he
doesn’t inquire further.
“I have yet to have the chance to thank you for your hospitality. I know the
Lieutenant gave you short notice of my arrival. He didn’t know I would be
passing through the area.” Steve relays the pre-rehearsed narrative easily,
voice wavering only slightly under the intense gaze of the Duke.
“Of course. The Lieutenant is an old acquaintance.” The smile is back. “I hope
you find your lodgings adequate.”
“Yes, sir. Quite.” His gaze falls to Bucky again. Even though he tries to tear
himself away, when the young man’s eyes find him again.
“Maybe I should escort you there after the party. Make sure they really are
adequate.” Steve can see the blue in Bucky’s eyes darken slightly, even from
the feet of distance between them. It’s clear he’s full of mischief and no
doubt about to embarrass himself again if his previous outburst is anything to
go by.
The Duke raises a hand slightly, subtly motioning to someone across the room.
“I believe James has reached the end of his night, Captain. I’m sure he found
it a pleasure to meet you. Tell our guest good evening, James.” Pierce’s hand
falls down to Bucky’s bicep as another man joins their circle, surreptitious in
his movements and dressed almost just like any other party guest. “Ah, Rumlow.
James has grown tired. Please escort him back to his room.”
Steve looks up from Bucky in surprise at the familiar name, eyes landing on a
face he thought, or maybe hoped, that he’d never see again.
“Captain Rogers. It’s been a while.” Brock’s voice is just as grating as Steve
remembers it, just as off-note and wrong as it was in the weeks when everything
went to shit, before the court-martial.
“Brock. I thought you went to Vienna after they discharged you.” He almost adds
dishonourably, but he refrains. This isn’t the time or place, not now. His past
with Rumlow doesn’t need airing in front of these people who couldn’t possibly
understand what a soldier goes through. It feels somehow obscene to even think
about discussing it here, in this lavish ballroom.
“I did, for a while, but his Grace needed a guard to keep the palace safe.”
Brock’s face cracks into a superficially charming smile that Steve sees through
like glass. “Someone with the right kind of experience.”
“I should have known. Of course you’d be friends with Rumlow.” It’s as if the
name tastes bitter on Bucky’s tongue as he says it with how tightly his face
screws up, and Steve is taken aback by the sheer vitriol in his tone. “You get
the same look on your face when you’re lying about what you really think.”
Steve balks at the young man’s tactlessness even as the Duke’s hand visibly
tightens on his arm, creasing his impeccable jacket.
“Rumlow. I’m sure you can catch up with Captain Rogers another time. James
really has had enough tonight.” The Duke’s voice has lost its carefully
calculated calm, and there’s a thread of stern steel underlining his command.
“Please take him. Now.”
Rumlow’s hand wraps tightly around Bucky’s other bicep, making the boy flinch
and almost try to yank away from him before he’s whisked off without another
word. The Duke turns back to Steve once they’re gone, face completely neutral
in a way that’s too studied to be masking anything but anger.
“James has had a long day. Please excuse his… indiscretions. The Lieutenant
mentioned you had to speak with me about a business matter, I haven’t
forgotten. We’ll talk soon, Captain.” He doesn’t wait for an answer but simply
turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd of people, leaving Steve alone
once more. It’s sort of a relief after being hit with the full force of
whatever the hell is brewing between the Duke and his ward.
Steve would be lying if he didn’t say he was baffled by the whole situation,
the complexities of the upper classes don’t seem to explain everything he just
saw and it tugs at the back of his mind uncomfortably. He’s pondering what just
happened over a glass of wine, that is much too rich for his palette, when he’s
approached by a woman whose face is turned sharply skyward. He can’t understand
for the life of him why these haughty people feel the need to turn their noses
up like that. It’s not exactly an attractive angle from where he’s standing.
“Captain Rogers, I hope you’re enjoying yourself. I’m sure parties can seem
trivial to a man fresh from the battlefield.” She curtsies gently, holding out
her hand demurely for Steve to take. The low light glints off her tasteful
jewellery and the beading of her dress, and such finery can only indicate the
hostess of their gathering.
“My husband can be so brusque sometimes, I hope you don’t feel slighted by his
sudden disappearance. He always feels the need to put on the face of a good
host at these parties. Mingle with all of his guests.”
Steve studies the woman shaking her hand gently. He seems to remember somewhere
during his brief coaching (to not make a fool of himself during this visit)
being told that this is the Duke’s second wife. The first died in childbirth,
he thinks he was told. He can’t be sure, because he’s been fed so many cribbed
notes about these people over the last two days, but he thinks that’s it.
“Of course not, your Grace. He was very accommodating considering the great
number of hands he has to shake.” He releases her hand, dropping his back down
to his side to avoid fiddling awkwardly with his wine glass. “He had his hands
full with James. They seem very close.”
“Oh, yes. My husband is very invested in James’ future.” The woman’s smile
falters, just a flicker in her delicate composure. “It’s really very sad, the
circumstances in which he came to us. His parents, the poor things, they
perished in a fire along with half their household. James was very lucky to
make it out alive, and if my husband hadn’t come along, who knows what would
have happened to him.”
“I heard the stories, it’s very sad.” He pauses for a moment to consider his
next question, trying to decide if it’s impolite to ask. “Excuse my boldness, I
don’t mean to offend, but does the Duke mean for him to inherit the title?”
“Oh, heavens no. That would be impossible, he has no claim to it.” She does a
very poor job of hiding a sneer, and Steve wonders just how much liquor it
would take to get these people to really loosen up. “James is to be a
clergyman, or perhaps join the Royal Navy. The Duke has connections there, as
you know.”
“Yes, of course. I haven’t been in polite society in a long time, do excuse me.
I’m never quite sure what’s proper anymore. I just meant they seemed well
acquainted with the way he grasped his arm and such.” He quickly backtracks.
All he needs is to offend the duchess and get banished before his mission is
completed, that would be the icing on the cake of this fiasco. His eyes dart
quickly around the room searching for an escape. “I don’t mean to cut our
conversation short, your Grace, but I really must excuse myself. My journey
here was long, and I find myself very tired. I believe I will retire to my room
for the evening before I become unfit for good company.”
He bows politely before moving away, cutting a path toward the door. He really
should get to bed anyway. His nightly routine is already hopelessly ruined, and
if he doesn’t fall asleep soon his morning routine will be in for a similar
fate. If he’s going to have to deal with these people for an entire day then
he’s going to need all the energy he can to keep his wits about him. Otherwise
he’ll probably end up married to one of the Duke’s daughters before he realises
what he’s agreed to.
As he goes through the motions of folding his dress uniform neatly and
carefully lining up the few possessions he brought with him, Steve can’t help
thinking about his exchange with the Duke’s ward. Something about the whole
situation struck him as odd, but he isn’t sure exactly what. Maybe it’s in the
way the Duke’s eyes lingered for slightly too long on the boy’s retreating
back, or the way the Duke passed his over-sexualized banter off as a childish
lark when it was clearly on the verge of breaking laws, let alone social
conventions.
Eventually Steve falls into bed, pulling the elaborate bed clothes over himself
and quietly longing for the familiar feel of his more modest housing. Sighing,
he pushes away the thoughts of Bucky that are still running around his weary
mind, and closes his eyes.
He’s here to complete a task, and he can’t let blue-eyed troublemakers distract
him.
Chapter End Notes
     You can hit us up in Tumblr. I post stories from my gay life, and Syd
     embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** “For he is such a disagreeable man, that it would be quite a misfortune
to be liked by him.” *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Bucky has been a very bad boy, and the Duke knows exactly
     how to fix it.
Chapter Notes
     This is the last chapter that was previously posted. Expect a slight
     slow down in posting because we have to do quite a bit more work on
     chapters after all this.
     Please heed the tags on this. There are serious trigger warnings in
     this chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Bucky has been pacing the richly-carpeted floor of his bedroom for an hour,
body still thrumming to the rhythm of the party below. He’s still drinking,
working his way through the bottle he had hidden in his dresser for just such
an occasion, and he just barely has time to hide the evidence under the bed
when his door opens. He straightens up cautiously, watching as Pierce makes his
way into the room without a word, Rumlow flanking his side like a glowering
shadow.
“James, I thought we had an agreement. When we spoke earlier, you promised me
you would be on your best behaviour tonight. What I saw was very far from your
best behaviour.” Pierce clucks his tongue disapprovingly, moving toward Bucky
with a slight cloudiness to his gaze. He’s clearly consumed enough wine to give
this interaction an air of danger, the seasick uncertainty that has nothing to
do with the way the floor is moving under Bucky’s feet. “Our guest would have
been scandalized if he had any knowledge of proper social conventions.”
Bucky takes a step back as Pierce closes in, hands balling into fists. There’s
no point in trying to escape, not with Rumlow here to block his path, but maybe
he can at least brace himself for what’s coming.
“Rumlow.” The Duke turns suddenly, with a smoothness Bucky would no longer be
able to manage at his level of inebriation. “Leave us. Dismiss the guards. You
will suffice for the time being.”
So that’s what kind of visit this is. Bucky’s fists automatically unclench,
hands relaxing in relief. It’s not like he wants this, but given the choice
he’d much rather deal with this Pierce than the violent Pierce that visited him
earlier. There are things he can handle from experience, but being beaten is
something he’s never gotten used to.
As soon as the door shuts behind Rumlow, Pierce closes the distance between
them and lets his hand drift up to Bucky’s cheek. He strokes a leathery
fingertip over his prominent cheekbone before slipping lower to cup his chin.
He squeezes Bucky’s face suddenly, holding him in place with a bruising grip.
Bucky goes limp, it’s easier that way.
“I know what you were doing. Flirting. Trying to make me jealous. ” Pierce’s
usually controlled features twist with disgust as he spits the words, so close
to Bucky’s face he can feel the heat of anger radiating from him. “But you
can’t possibly make me jealous, boy. You are mine. You belong to me.”
Bucky lets out a quiet sob as Pierce’s hand slips slightly lower, coming into
dangerous proximity of his throat. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he really
doesn’t want to be choked again if he can avoid it. The bruises are difficult
to hide even with his high collars, and with a guest in the house he doesn’t
want to be confined to his quarters again.
“I’m willing to let your lapse in judgement be blamed on brandy, since I can
smell it on your breath from here.” His eyebrows raise, eyes flat and deadly as
some tropical beast Bucky has only read about. “But only if you say it. Say
you’re mine.”
“I’m…” Bucky swallows roughly, struggling against the weight of Pierce’s hand.
“I’m yours.”
Pierce smirks triumphantly, the corners of his eyes creasing with the effort,
and Bucky has no time to protest before he leans forward and crushes his lips
against Bucky’s.
“You are a good boy James. My good boy.” His hand drops to the front of Bucky’s
waistcoat, fingering the buttons momentarily before letting nimble fingers
unfasten them.
Bucky knows what comes next so he shrugs out of the waistcoat, letting it slip
unceremoniously to the floor. Pierce reaches down, pulling his shirt up over
his head and leaving him in only his breeches and underclothes. Bucky feels
exposed, but he does nothing to show his discomfort. It only ever makes things
worse.
Pierce pushes down on Bucky’s shoulders, forcing him down to his knees and
running a hand through the slicked-back hair that’s already become dishevelled.
His hand then moves to the front of his own pants and makes quick work of the
buttons to free himself from the confines of his underclothes. The Duke’s
length is already swollen, ready and waiting for Bucky to begin his usual task.
The same task he’s been made familiar with since he first came to live at the
palace. His inexperienced throat hadn’t been able to handle much of the Duke’s
length back then, but that’s not the case anymore. After all, practice makes
perfect.
“Open your mouth, darling.” His hand is suddenly cupped around the back of
Bucky’s neck, guiding his head forward with a force that dares him to even try
and resist.
Bucky does as he’s told, parting his lips and tilting his head to accommodate
the shaft as it pushes thickly into his mouth. He hollows out his cheeks,
creating a gentle suction and beginning to bob his head as he’s been taught, as
he’s learned the Duke likes. The quicker he gets this over with, the sooner
Pierce will leave and Bucky may even get some sleep tonight. There’s still a
half bottle of brandy under his bed, it’ll be enough to soothe him to sleep if
he can just get through this.
Pierce begins to move along with Bucky, thrusting harder and harder against the
back of his throat until it begins to burn. Bucky’s eyes are beginning to
water, gag reflex coming threatening close to betraying him when suddenly
Pierce is pulling away, hand releasing from where it’s tangled in Bucky’s hair.
“Get on the bed James.” Pierce’s eyes rake over his body hungrily, all the fog
of inebriation transfigured into something more primal, harder to deny. “I need
to make sure you believe the words you just said.”
Bucky’s head screams at him to resist, to run and fling open the door and flee
as fast as his legs will carry him, but he learned a long time ago that would
only make things worse. He walks slowly to the bed, climbing up and laying back
against the pillows. Pierce follows, leaning over Bucky with a devilish gleam
in his eyes. He reaches down to the fall on Bucky’s breeches, slipping his
fingers underneath the flap and releasing the buttons with a familiar
dexterity. Bucky lifts his hips as Pierce rakes his fingers down his stomach,
letting them catch in his underclothes and drag his remaining coverings away,
leaving the boy completely nude.
“No one else gets to see you like this. You know that, don’t you?” Pierce’s
touch is cold against Bucky’s skin that burns with the embarrassment of being
laid bare in front of another man. He knows down to his very bones that this is
improper, even if the Duke has seen him in this state of undress almost weekly
since he was a mere boy of fifteen. He was smaller then, as small as he still
feels when this happens now.
Pierce reaches down, fingers finding Bucky’s hips and then circling down to the
ample planes of his backside. Bucky holds back the feeling of nausea as
Pierce’s hand moves closer to his entrance, dry and promising the pain that
always comes. It doesn’t matter how many times this happens, how many times he
lays here with the Duke on top of him, he’ll never get used to the burning pain
and the discomfort of being invaded. Bucky widens the spread of his legs
slightly, relaxing his body forcibly because he knows that accepting what will
come is the only thing that makes this bearable.
“That’s my good boy, opening up for me so well. You enjoy this, don’t you?”
Pierce leans in, breathing Bucky in deeply before steadily forcing a finger
inside him.
Bucky tenses involuntarily, which only makes things worse. The Duke hasn’t even
taken the trouble to use saliva this time, so there is nothing to ease the
slide, nothing to alleviate the burning as the muscles fight against the
intrusion. Pierce pushes his finger in and out a few times, but it’s not enough
to prepare Bucky before he presses in another finger that feels like it’s
tearing him apart. Bucky lets out a whimper, grabbing onto Pierce’s bicep in an
effort to ground himself, but he doesn’t dare let out more of a complaint.
Pierce seems to relish the sound of discomfort, because his eyes shine with
light and he smiles as close to genuinely as he ever gets.
“You like that, don’t you sweetheart?” He pulls out his fingers, settling
himself between Bucky’s legs before pressing his knees up and out. Bucky feels
frozen, like he’s watching this happening to his body from a long way off.
“You’ll like this even more.”
Pierce has the decency to drop his head and spit roughly in the vicinity of
Bucky’s opening a few times, but it does very little to help as he presses his
cock inside without restraint. Bucky can’t hold back the cry of pain this time,
and he tries in vain to push back against the Duke’s chest even though his
intoxicated limbs have all the strength of a wet kitten within them right now.
“No, no, no. Be a good boy. Take your punishment.” Pierce moves his hips and
every centimeter more that he buries himself inside Bucky feels like a thousand
relentless knives. Why hadn’t the alcohol dulled his feelings instead of his
reflexes?
“It hurts. Please.” Bucky finally loses his pride and gives in to begging,
breathlessly, closing his eyes to try and shut out everything around him.
Pierce ignores his pleas and continues to push into Bucky without pause. He
picks up speed until his body tenses suddenly, gaze shifting upward as his
thrusts grow shallow and jerky. Bucky finally opens his eyes when the movement
stops, gaze reluctantly falling upon the Duke lying sweaty and panting above
him. He lies there, trapped for several moments until Pierce finally rolls off
of him and Bucky can finally get some air into his lungs.
The Duke steps to the basin on the dressing table and begins to wash the
evidence of their meeting from his skin, back to being businesslike as if he’s
about to put money on the bedside table before he leaves. Bucky stays still on
the bed, not daring to move or even breathe as the Duke completes his routine.
When Pierce finally steps back towards the bed Bucky collapses in on himself in
a near fetal position, trying to make himself small. It’s a coping mechanism
he’s developed for nights like this, and occasionally it spares him extra
suffering on top of what he’s already endured.
“Oh, James.” Pierce reaches out, stroking Bucky’s cheek with the back of his
hand in some semblance of tenderness and care. “I suppose you’ve learned your
lesson.”
Bucky nods weakly, shrinking away from the touch, and the gesture of submission
brings a small smile to Pierce’s face because he likes it when his toys know
their place.
“You’ll do better for me next time, won’t you? You’ll be a good boy for me.”
Pierce’s hand moves up to Bucky’s hair, wrenching his head back from where it’s
tucked into his knees and bending to press another kiss to lips. It’s a parody
of affection, a movement of control over love, and Bucky’s stomach rolls at it.
As soon as the Duke releases his head, Bucky presses it back into his knees
defensively. He doesn’t see Pierce leave but as soon as he hears the door close
he uncurls himself, trying to ignore the nervous trembling of his limbs. He
reaches below the bed for the half bottle of brandy and clings to like a
lifeline, pushing himself up and take a long pull from it, relishing the burn.
It makes him feel like he’s coming back to his body, at least. The world
spinning around him is irrelevant as long as he’s pretending he’s fine.
He thinks crazily, drunkenly, for half a second of seeking out Captain Rogers.
He looked strong, solid, like someone who would protect Bucky from all the bad
things in his world. But the prospect of getting caught and the promise of what
would happen afterwards is enough to squash that idea even in his inebriated
thoughts. He’s scared to even imagine what Pierce would do if he found out
someone knew.
Bucky’s stuck in his head, letting himself live in the fantasy of Captain
Rogers coming to his rescue and carrying him out of this place and out of this
existence as he takes another burning swallow of brandy. That’s why he doesn’t
notice at first when his door opens and then softly shuts again. The intruder
takes a few quiet steps in, and it’s only when they hit the floor near the
fireplace where the carpet gives way to bare wood that their boots make a
sound, alerting Bucky to their presence.
He sits up unsteadily, eyes scanning the room and landing on a figure half cast
in shadow near the wall opposite. He squints his eyes to bring the face into
focus, drawing in an involuntarily pained breath when he realises who it is.

Rumlow stands there, a half grin on his pointed face and his arms crossed over
his chest. He has the kind of rough look that suggests a life spent mostly
outdoors, and the firelight casts his sharp cheekbones into shadow to make him
look like some kind of demon.
“What do you want? Did the Duke send you to tuck me in? I’m perfectly capable
of doing that myself, you know.” Some of the snarkiness is back in Bucky’s
voice in spite of the waiver, the fresh addition of alcohol doing a lot to
help, but there’s still a distinct fear that colors his words.
“Oh no, James. I’m here of my own accord.” The half smile turns to a sneer as
he walks towards the bed.

Bucky takes another swig before he sets the bottle down. There’s no use
resisting, he knows that now.
Chapter End Notes
     You can hit us up in Tumblr. I post stories from my gay life, and Syd
     embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** “I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.” *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Bucky needs some time away, and the Duke is clearly
     scheming.
Chapter Notes
     This is the first all new chapter. Feedback would be severely
     appreciated on this one.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It takes two days for Bucky to work up the strength to get back to being his
normal, cocky self. He spends most of that time confined to his quarters,
paddling around in his nightshirt and repeatedly filling his flask from the
various bottles hidden in his drawers. He’ll send his valet into town to
restock him soon, bribe the man to keep his mouth shut about what he’s buying
and for whom, as if the fact Bucky’s almost constantly inebriated isn’t an open
secret within the Pierce household. The Duke greets him with a bright smile
when he finally emerges for breakfast on the third day, and if Bucky didn’t
know better he’d almost believe the happiness is genuine.
“James, my boy. Your valet said you were ill, it’s nice to see you up and about
again.” Pierce watches every movement intently as Bucky walks over to his usual
chair across from the Duke’s eldest daughter. Near the Duke, of course, he’s
never left out of sight for too long. The rest of the family acknowledge him
politely, like he’s some distant relative and not somebody they grew up with,
but it’s at least familiar.
The meal passes with Bucky barely making a sound, choosing instead to push his
food around on his plate moodily and avoid being drawn into the light
conversation about the latest society gossip. It lets him fly under the radar
so he can slip his coffee cup under the table long enough to top it up with
brandy, which helps things immensely. The maids enter the room to retrieve
their plates at the end of the meal, and only then does Bucky look up and clear
his throat to get the Duke’s attention.
“Is there something you need James?” Pierce pats his napkin across his mouth
delicately before setting it onto the table, making it clear that he’s only
giving Bucky his attention because it’s convenient.
“I… I was wondering if I could call on Master Dugan. I could use a ride through
the country and the fresh air would be good for my… ailment.” He chooses his
words carefully. It’s not often that Pierce lets him escape, and he desperately
needs a break from the palace if he’s not going to repeat what happened last
Christmas.
“I suppose if I could procure a suitable chaperone, I’d be obliged to let you
go.” Pierce studies Bucky’s face, looking for any hint of dishonesty in his
expression. “Would you return tomorrow or stay longer?”
“It’s an awfully long ride. I think perhaps staying for a few days would be
better. If your Grace will let me, of course.” He’s laying it on thick and he
knows it, but he hopes Pierce won’t see right through him if he just bats his
eyelashes enough. He’ll probably pay for it with his mouth when he returns, but
for now all he’s thinking about is fresh air and freedom.
“I suppose you may go, providing I can find a chaperone. You’ll need to ready
your things.” Pierce stands, allowing the rest of the table to rise from their
seats. “And of course, you will be on your best behavior. We wouldn’t want
another incident.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Bucky stands too, relief flooding through him. The
last careful threat doesn’t go unnoticed, but he can still barely conceal his
excitement over the tiny taste of freedom as he dismisses himself to his room.
 
The Duke has drawn the curtains closed in his study, blocking out the bright
morning light that would give too cheery an air to this meeting. He taps his
fingers on his desk absentmindedly as he watches Captain Rogers shift
uncomfortably in his seat, no doubt unnerved by the general atmosphere of the
room. Using the intimidation techniques he learned after being subjected to
them for years by his own father has always been his favourite part of these
negotiations. Today, he relishes it.
“Have you enjoyed your time here, Captain Rogers?” When he finally speaks, his
voice is low, forcing the man in front of him to crane forward to hear his
words.
“Yes, sir. It’s been very enjoyable. The palace is… vast, I’ve found many
interesting places to visit.” Pierce can see the sweat beading at the Captain’s
brow and he takes a slight thrill in knowing he’s the one causing it.
“I had an interesting conversation this morning and thought perhaps you might
fancy an excursion. My ward has plans to call on a friend in the countryside
and he’ll need an escort, I thought you might be just the man for the job.” He
settles back in his chair, forcing the Captain to lean forward even further. “I
could pay you handsomely to be his guard, he needs a firm hand to keep him out
of trouble.”
Steve swallows thickly and Pierce allows his mouth to widen into a smile,
expression tighter than he wants it to be when he’s wearing his good person
suit.
“I suppose an excursion would be relaxing, your Grace, but I thought maybe we
would be able to talk today. About business matters.” Captain Rogers is putting
on a good show of trying to make himself seem unintimidated by wealth and
power, but the Duke can see through it and secretly enjoys seeing the man
squirm.
“Of course, Captain. I was hoping we could talk when you get back, since there
will be more time then. If you wish to accept my proposal, of course.” Pierce
pauses, the look in his eyes speaking volumes more than his carefully measured
words do. This is clearly not a mere suggestion, it’s plain that Steve’s
ability to state his case is contingent on his answer now.
“They don’t need you back right away, do they?”
“I don’t suppose they need me immediately.” Steve allows, cagily. Pierce
watches the frown forming on the Captain’s face with a measure of triumph quiet
in his expression, happy to express power over such a powerful man.
“Good, good, then it’s settled. You’ll leave today, James is preparing for the
trip as we speak, I’ll have his valet come and fetch you when he’s ready.”
Pierce raises his hand, motioning to Rumlow who’s standing at his post at the
back of the room. He opens the heavy wooden door with a loud bang, and the Duke
is satisfied with the fact he almost certainly sees the Captain tense
momentarily. “Thank you, Captain, you really are doing me a tremendous favor.
I’m sure you’ll find the trip very restful.”
With that, Pierce dismisses the Captain with a wave and watches his back as he
retreats from the room. As soon as the door is closed Rumlow steps forward,
boldly enough that he clearly demands to be heard regardless of how against
position his actions are.
“You could have asked me, sir. There’s no need to hire a stranger to do a job I
can do.” Rumlow’s hands are clasped behind his back, his stance rigid. It’s the
same position he takes when he’s refusing a guest entry to a ball, and Pierce
takes that to mean he’s trying to assert authority he really doesn’t have at
all here.
“Rumlow. You’re my most trusted guard, are you not?” The Duke clasps his hands
back together, drumming his fingers along to the beat of his heart and waiting
for the next move.
“Of course, your Grace.” Rumlow’s face doesn’t falter, but his body relaxes
just the slightest bit to give away his insecurity. Blood in the water to a
shark like Pierce.
“When I was a child, Rumlow, our governess would scold us for fighting over our
toys. She said it was proper that we should learn to share our things. I had a
spinning top I adored, at the time it was my prized possession. My father had
brought it back with him from a trip and I loved it so, but my brothers coveted
it from the very moment it was placed into my hands. I remember it was a
particularly harsh winter, that year. We’d been inside the palace for days,
working up our cabin fever with no reprieve. I had been spinning the top over
and over again, and finally my brother said he wanted a turn. I must have
remembered what the governess had told us because I let him use my toy. It was
a mistake, I know that now.” Pierce pauses, rising from his plush chair to make
his way slowly towards Rumlow. “My brother, he was jealous that my father had
brought me back something so beautiful. He grabbed my spinning top and he threw
it on the fire. I tried to save it, but it was too late… my beloved toy went up
in smoke.”
Pierce circles Rumlow before stopping less than a foot from him, close enough
to see the pulse ticking in the younger man’s jugular. It’s satisfying in a way
he can’t quite put his finger on.
“I decided that day that I would no longer trust other people with my beautiful
things. That I would never be forced to share them with anyone.” His eyes
search Rumlow’s face, and he’s spitefully pleased when he finds fear there.
“You understand Rumlow, don’t you? That I would be forced to take action if
someone, anyone, put their hands on something of mine.”
Rumlow nods, barely concealing a gasp of surprise when the Duke closes the
space between them, crowding into him forcefully and twisting a hand in his
collar. He stands there for a full minute, invading Rumlow’s space before
suddenly moving away, smoothing Rumlow’s waistcoat, and seating himself back in
his chair.
“That will be all, Rumlow. You’re dismissed.” He watches Rumlow stand in place
for a long moment before the man finally gets his legs in motion. He shuts the
door firmly behind him, giving the Duke a reason to smirk to himself. This
particular problem seems to be taken care of, and now he can move on to more
urgent matters. Matters concerning Captain Rogers and his presence here,
specifically.
 
Upstairs, it doesn’t take long for Bucky to ready his things. He’s already set
his trunk near the door, ready for the valet to carry it to the carriage, and
that just leaves one very important thing to be taken care of. The elder Mr.
Dugan is a devout man, and his morality drives him to abstain from all things
that might cloud his judgement, mainly alcohol, which means Bucky needs to
bring his own supplies. It really would have been better if he’d had time to
send his valet out to replenish his stock, but he’s managed to find a near full
bottle hidden in the back of his dressing room and another one wedged behind
the bedpost with just enough to fill his flask.
Bucky’s in the middle of filling said flask when the door to his room opens
suddenly, he jumps, sloshing the amber liquid over his hand and muttering a
curse under his breath.
“Go away Rum-” His eyes widen when he turns and realizes it’s not Rumlow who’s
interrupted his task. “Captain Rogers?”
“I’m sorry, sir. They told me… Um, I’m supposed to escort you.” Bucky watches
as the Captain’s cheeks begin to warm, ending up a vibrant shade of pink, and
that gives him just enough time to regain his composure.
“This is my private bed chamber, Captain Rogers. Haven’t you ever been taught
to knock?” He quickly pushes the now full flask into his waistcoat, hoping the
other man hasn’t seen. He really doesn’t need the Captain tattling to the Duke
and stopping this trip before it even starts. “I suppose I’m ready. We need to
get going quickly or it’ll be dark before we arrive.”
The Captain doesn’t even question carrying his trunk down to the carriage, and
Bucky is slightly charmed by the way the weight seems like a feather in his
arms. He’s not easily charmed, at least he tells himself so, but he must admit
that the bulk of Captain Rogers doesn’t go unnoticed on their descent.
It’s just his luck: the Duke has managed to find one of the few people in the
palace Bucky’s desperately trying to get away from to be his chaperone. Bucky
sighs heavily as he descends the steps to the courtyard, patting the flask
where it’s hidden in his pocket for reassurance. He thinks for a moment of
cancelling his trip, but only for a moment.
He can’t trust himself around Captain Rogers, not after his display the other
night and the fantasies he eventually fell asleep to later on. But cancelling
the trip would only make the Duke suspicious. The old man probably chose the
Captain to chaperone on purpose, to catch Bucky in the act of some small
rebellion that would justify punishment. No doubt the Captain will be taking
careful notes to report back to the Duke upon their return, and that makes
Bucky a good deal more than nervous.
He climbs into the small carriage, pressing himself close to the wall to avoid
accidentally brushing against the Captain who doesn’t seem to take the hint
because he takes the seat across from him, their knees practically touching in
the cramped quarters.
“I hope you aren’t too upset by my presence. The Duke insisted that I should
escort you.” Captain Roger’s voice is exactly as he remembers it. Deep and
warm. The kind of voice he could imagine whispering his name in the darkness.
He swallows hard, closing his eyes to try to force away the visions swimming in
his head.
“It was unexpected.” He keeps his answers short, cold. There is no way he can
be accused of doing anything unsavory if he keeps it that way.
“The Duke said you were ill the last couple of days.” The Captain is clearly
trying to fill the near agonizing silence, and Bucky already feels his resolve
failing. “I hope you weren’t too poorly.”
“Just a head cold.” He allows his gaze to drift slowly to the Captain before
snapping his eyes back to the clasped hands in his lap. “Rest. That’s all I
needed.”
“I...you seem different than you did the other night.” Captain Rogers seems
almost surprised, his voice rising up slightly in register.
“Why? Because I’m not so forward?” Bucky’s face snaps up, eyes narrowing.
“Contrary to popular belief I don’t bed every person I meet.”
The Captain seems to choke on his own surprise as soon as the scandalous words
have left Bucky’s mouth, sending him into a coughing fit. It takes him several
moments to catch his breath again and when he again can speak, the words come
out scratchy and course.
“Heavens no. I didn’t mean to insinuate…” He gestures wildly and it’s only then
that Bucky realizes that he’s more scandalized by the thought that he has
offended him than the ugly words Bucky shouted. “ I simply meant you are much
more reserved. Almost shy.”
Bucky has the good sense to look momentarily ashamed before he allows himself
to relax the tiniest bit.
“I apologize. That was unnecessarily harsh of me.” Bucky could kick himself,
and he may just do that once he’s managed to secure a little privacy. This
existence, the one where people think they can just take and take from him
without his say so, has left him more scarred than anyone can even imagine. He
wipes his now sweating hands on his breeches nervously before reaching into his
waistcoat. There’s no point in worrying now. If the Captain is supposed to
report back to the Duke, it will be several days before he can do so. His
fingers stumble upon the familiar coldness of his metal flask, and he slowly
pulls it from it’s hiding place. His hands are trembling slightly from the
adrenaline still coursing through his veins after his earlier outburst, so he
has to use both hands to steady the flask as he drinks, the burn of the alcohol
warming him all the way to the pit of his stomach. When he finally chances a
glance upward, the Captain is studying him closely.
“What? Do you want some?” He holds the flask out in front of him, hands already
steadier as the brandy hits his system, and to his surprise, the Captain grabs
it from him, his Adam’s apple bobbing dangerously as he drinks from the spout.
There is no way he can implicate him now, not without making himself seem an
unfit chaperone. Bucky is suddenly confused by the Captain’s presence. If he’s
not here to help Pierce catch him breaking the rules, Bucky can’t begin to
understand why he would have accepted the job.
“Why are you here? Why did you agree to escort me?” Bucky throws decorum and
propriety out the window, blurting out the question before raising a hand to
his mouth in embarrassment.
“I told you. The Duke insisted. While I find you very interesting, and I don’t
mind keeping you company on your journey. There are very pressing matters that
I have been sent here to attend to.” He finally passes the flask back to Bucky,
and Bucky notices that it is now much lighter. This man must have an extremely
high tolerance to this stuff if he can drink so much all at once.
“Oh.” Bucky feels a tiny twinge of sadness settle in his chest at the thought
that the Captain would much rather be elsewhere.
He can’t help thinking that the Captain Rogers in his fantasies has one very
large thing that makes him much more desirable than the flesh and blood copy
that sits in front of him. The Captain Rogers who soothed him to sleep with his
gentle words and strong arms when Bucky had been so close to falling apart, had
no other place it seemed he’d rather be.
Chapter End Notes
     You can hit us up in Tumblr. I post stories from my gay life, and Syd
     embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which
laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that
I had begun.” *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Steve is unimaginably beautiful, and Bucky is surprisingly
     normal.
Chapter Notes
     My husband is out of town this week which means I am holding down the
     fort on my own. That means y'all luck out with an early chapter
     because I won't have time later in the week. Let us know what you
     think.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Steve has been watching Bucky sleep for what seems like hours, studying the
gentle rhythm of his chest as he breathes in and out and listening to the quiet
murmurs that break the silence in the cabin at intervals, when he feels the
carriage take a sharp right turn and slow considerably. He forces his gaze away
from the sleeping man and out of the window, his eyes falling immediately on a
sprawling estate with a large white house settled at the top of a hill. There’s
a faint memory, just below the surface that causes a slight twinge in his
chest.
The white house in his memory is much smaller with far fewer acres stretching
out around it and an even smaller stable around the back occupied by two
perpetually annoyed dappled-grey horses. He hasn’t thought about that house in
years, not since his mother’s second husband sold it behind his back to pay off
a gambling debt. He’s still not sure how the weasel managed to convince the
lawyer that he had any right to sell it, but the news had come by post too late
for Steve to do anything. Last he’d heard, the son of a well-known businessman
had moved his new bride in on their wedding day. His mother had been apologetic
about the situation, but there was little she could do by then. The prospects
for a widowed woman past childbearing age and with grown children weren’t such
that she could challenge her husband and potentially lose him, so Steve had
found himself without a home to go back to.
The carriage comes to a halt outside the house, and Steve prepares himself to
jump down and help Bucky out. Before he can move, however, his charge slips
under his arm and lets himself down without so much as a glance over his
shoulder.
Steve knows he’s done something wrong, but he’s not sure exactly what he did to
upset the Duke’s ward. He thinks briefly about asking what he’s done wrong, but
Bucky has already stepped up to the front door and knocked before he can unfold
his much larger body from the carriage. The young man seems to have a rather
childish temperament anyway and Steve supposes he’ll probably get over it soon
enough. He shouldn’t care that much about the whims of the spoilt nobility
anyway.
The servant who answers the door is extremely old and, it would seem, nearly
blind because he squints at them down the bridge of his nose for several
moments before a spark of recognition crosses his face.
“Oh, Master Barnes, Master Dugan said he was expecting you. I’ll show you to
the parlour.” He steps back, leading the two men into a room off the main
hallway. “Let me just go and fetch him, sir.”
While Bucky sits down, making himself comfortable in a chair in the center of
the room, Steve stands awkwardly near the door with his arms clasped behind his
back. There’s a clear contrast between the two men: while Bucky feels
completely at ease in these formal settings, Steve feels twitchy and irritated
when surrounded by such opulence. He studies the room around him, eyes taking
in every crystal vase and piece of ornamental fabric that decorates the room.
While the manor’s facade reminds him of his father’s house, the inside could
not look any more different. He’d lived comfortably as a child, his parents had
always had enough money to meet his needs, but they were never able to fill
their house with this sort of refinement. They were lucky to have a few
portraits and a single pair of prized, hand-crafted Parisian candlesticks to
decorate their parlour for company.
“Bucky.” The voice comes out of nowhere and Steve cannot help the flinch of
surprise that jerks his body. “I thought you’d be here much later. I’ve only
barely had time to warn father to keep to his study so he can avoid your
devilish behavior.”
Timothy Dugan has a towering presence due to his considerable height, but his
shock of bright orange hair and his overgrown sideburns take prominence over
any of his other features. He’s broad-shouldered and generally large all over,
with the general build of a man who spends his life outdoors. He dwarfs Bucky’s
smaller frame when his friend stands, but there’s no intimidation in his
stance, only warmth.
“It’s not my fault your father finds fun ungodly.” Bucky reaches out a hand to
shake Dugan’s briefly before stepping back again, a quirk to his pale lips.
“So, to what do I owe this visit you fiend? You’ve never been one to call
without reason.” Dugan quirks an eyebrow with a smirk, making it clear that
this teasing is a normal occurrence between them. “I’m not entirely sure why we
remain friends, you know.”
“Because I bring alcohol to the house of no fun. You’re greatly in my debt.”
Bucky teases right back, and Steve thinks his face may be displaying the first
genuine smile he’s seen on anyone since he arrived at the palace nearly four
days ago. “I thought we might go for a walk, I have some matters to discuss
with you.”
“Of course, I think a walk would do us some good. Come on, we’ll go out to the
garden and take the path toward the stable.” Dugan’s voice drops
conspiratorially so that Steve can barely even make out the words. “We’ll have
a much better talk away from the prying ears of my father’s maids, I suspect he
keeps them mainly for the gossip these days.”
Steve feels mostly invisible as he watches the two friends exchange
pleasantries without so much as a glance in his direction. It seems like, and
probably is, an afterthought that Bucky even flaps a hand in his direction to
bid him follow them as they leave the room.
 
Bucky accompanies Dugan into the garden and down a worn path toward the stable
without a word. He waits until they’re several dozen meters from the house
before he dares to speak, making sure that their little party is out of hearing
range of the people inside.
“Is your father upset that there was so little notice of my arrival?” He
studies Dugan’s face carefully for a reaction. He’s become an expert at reading
people’s faces the longer he’s been at the palace, and the amount of time he’s
spent with Dugan has left him very aware of the way his mouth turns down when
he is being deceitful.
“No, I think he’s used to it now. He didn’t even put down his bible when I told
him, just grunted.” Dugan half-laughs, and Bucky is relieved to see that the
corners of his mouth stay perfectly in place. Dugan turns his head slightly and
lets his eyes dart sideways to find Captain Rogers in his position several
steps behind him, glancing back at Bucky curiously. “Who’s your companion? I
don’t recognize him, he’s not one of your usual guards.”
“That’s Captain Rogers. He’s not a guard, just some soldier that the Duke sent
to keep me from ‘doing anything that may tarnish the family name.’” He lets his
voice drop octave, scrunching his face up as if he’s just smelled something
foul to mock the duke’s scowl.
Outside the Duke’s house is the only time he can truly let his guard down like
this, and he relishes in the feeling of freedom even as the rebellion causes a
twist of nervous nausea in his stomach. Dugan lets out a deep laugh at the
impression, and Bucky feels genuine happiness for the first time in what seems
like months.
“At least the view’s quite... appealing.” Bucky’s grin brightens as Dugan’s
cheeks redden at the naked impropriety.
“You’re far too bold. Talk like that could get us both jailed for indecency.”
Bucky can see Dugan’s eyes shining, letting him know that the comment is in
jest, so he steps closer to him, arm brushing comfortably against his friend’s.
“I do prefer a man in uniform, but I guess those breeches will have to do.”
Bucky continues as if he’s talking innocently about the weather, and Dugan
shakes his head and bites his lip as he stifles another laugh. “At least
they’re tight enough to show off his assets.”
The talking ceases while the men try to gain some air of seriousness again, but
it’s slow going as they each let out involuntary laughs before they can regain
solemnity. When they do finally find their composure again, Dugan clears his
throat and shifts his gaze to Bucky’s profile, studying him but trying to be
subtle about it.
“You are alright, aren’t you? You’re being more careful, I mean? It’s hasn’t
even been a full year since…” He’s cut off by a loud sigh from Bucky.
“Yes, of course I am. Do I seem troubled?” Bucky’s tone is clipped, almost no
emotion in his words but the prickle of defensiveness. “I wish you’d let that
go. It was only an accident.”
“Of course. You accidentally almost killed yourself.” Dugan mumbles under his
breath, clearly annoyed with the way Bucky brushes him off. “It’s not uncommon
for a man to worry for a friend who’s had a hard time. Is it?”
Bucky shakes his head, and his refusal to discuss the topic lets them fall into
silence again. He may be tired of his moment of weakness being brought up again
and again, but he can’t exactly blame Dugan for showing concern. He doesn’t
intend to isolate one of the only friends he has left, after all.
Bucky sighs before trying to change the subject. “The Duchess is planning
another ball, she was discussing the guest list with the Duke a week ago. Miss
Carter will likely be in attendance.”
“Are you sure she’ll attend?” Dugan’s cheeks flush bright red as he struggles
to maintain a passive expression.
“Well, I’ve heard rumors.” Bucky smirks mischievously. He enjoys torturing his
friend much more than is entirely socially acceptable. “I could be persuaded to
send you a note upon her acceptance of the invitation.”
“You’re playing a dirty trick. Just because you’re a confirmed bachelor and
don’t understand the importance of courting.” Dugan’s voice shows just a hint
of exasperation, which makes Bucky much happier than it should.
“Oh don’t be such a sore sport, of course I’ll tell you Miss Carter’s answer.
Although I really don’t understand why you won’t just have your father call on
hers, I’m sure they could have the whole affair arranged quite quickly.”
Dugan ignores the remark, stopping to turn and face back up the road they’ve
been strolling down. “We should get back, it’s almost time time for dinner and
I’m not about to let you make me late again.”
Bucky nods, turning on his heels to follow Dugan. Steve turns too, staying a
decent distance in front of them as they walk back to the house. As they walk,
Bucky can’t help letting his eyes run over Steve’s muscular form. He watches
the way his broad shoulders roll slightly with every step, and the way his
pants tighten against his backside every time he extends a leg forward. He
can’t help but wonder what the body looks like laid out bare, and he lets his
mind wander to Pierce.
The Duke’s body went soft long ago, muscle melting away in his old age. When
Bucky grabs Pierce’s arm or pushes against his chest he feels the skin give way
and sag. Rumlow, on the other hand, is lithe and lean like a greyhound. When
Bucky tries to push him away it’s unyielding like touching stone, all harsh
angles and straight lines. When he tries to imagine Steve he can’t quite find a
suitable image. He’s only ever seen two men naked in his life and neither of
them can even begin to compare to Steve’s bulk. There’s something about him
that makes Bucky’s brain go just a little fuzzy when he tries too hard to
picture him, and he tends to half think that the sheer beauty of his fully
exposed form would just be too much to handle.
When they arrive back at the manor they return to the parlour to find the elder
Mr. Dugan has emerged from his study and settled into a chair by the fireplace,
bible open in his lap, with his eyes firmly fixed on scanning the page.
“Father?” Dugan clears his throat to alert the older man of their presence and
Bucky stays silent, waiting to be addressed. Mr. Dugan has always been
stringent in his adherence to the more formal conventions of society, and Bucky
definitely doesn’t want to offend him this early in the visit.
Mr. Dugan holds up his finger, eyes cast down to the bible for another moment
before he finally raises his head and looks to them in the doorway.
“Master Barnes. I hope your journey was acceptable.” He stands, allowing the
three younger men to move further into the room.
“Yes sir, it was quite enjoyable. I like a ride through the country once and
awhile, it clears the mind.” Bucky reaches forward to shake Mr. Dugan’s hand.
“I’d like to introduce Captain Rogers. He’s my escort for this trip.”
Bucky watches Steve’s hand jut forward and his earlier visions of those
muscular arms wrapped around him resurface, sending an involuntary shudder
through his body.
Bucky doesn’t have time to think about exactly what that means before the maid
is alerting them to dinner and they’re being whisked off to the dining room.
Silence settles over them as the servants bring out their plates, and Bucky is
just trying to figure out how to sneak a nip from his flask when Mr. Dugan
decides to break the silence.
“Captain Rogers, how long have you been a military man?” Mr. Dugan’s voice is
exactly as boring as one would expect from a man who finds reading the bible to
be an acceptable leisure activity, but Bucky sits up slightly straighter
despite that. He’s more than a little interested in Captain Rogers’ answer.
“Uh, it’s been seven years. I joined when I was eighteen.” The Captain seems
uncomfortable now that the attention has been turned to him, but he puts up a
valiant effort of hiding it. If Bucky hadn’t been so good at reading people he
might have believed him.
“Were you at Waterloo, under Wellington?” Mr. Dugan’s eyes are trained on the
Captain and Bucky can see his already weak facade crumbling.
“Yes, sir.” He sets his fork down on his plate, abandoning the food in front of
him in favour of conversation. “You’re familiar with the battle?”
“I’ve knowledge of it. I find some pleasure in reading about military
strategy.” Mr. Dugan begins discussing the specific details of the battle, but
Bucky doesn’t hear much of it. His mind has already wandered again this time to
thoughts of Captain Rogers clad in uniform and riding off into battle. He can
almost smell the gunpowder in the air and hear the yelling of men as they’re in
the throes of fighting.
He doesn’t even notice Dugan calling his name for several moments, and he
emerges from his thoughts with a start.
“I’m sorry. I’m suddenly rather tired.” He plays it up, letting his eyelids
become heavy and his shoulders roll slightly forward. “I hope you won’t think
ill of me if I retire to my room instead of returning to the parlour.”
“Of course, I hope you’re not unwell.” Dugan is clearly concerned, and Bucky
dials it back slightly.
“No. No. I'm fine. It was just a long ride.” He plasters on a small smile,
trying to reassure him.
Mr. Dugan gives the signal to stand, and Bucky nearly knocks over his chair he
jumps up so fast. He’s about to make his escape when the Captain steps forward.
“I’ll escort you sir. I’m feeling rather tired myself.” Bucky can’t exactly
tell him that he’s trying to get away from him, especially since his thoughts
have turned much less innocent the longer they’ve stood here staring at each
other.
“I suppose. If you insist.” Bucky turns to head up the stairs, keeping a step
ahead of Captain Rogers. He’s not sure he could control his actions if he were
to find himself once again staring at the Captain’s ass.
When they arrive at the hallway marking their guest rooms, Bucky stops outside
the room he usually sleeps in and motions to the room across the hall.
“That one’ll be yours.” Bucky presses his back to the door, trying to keep
himself closed off as he waits for the Captain to leave. “I suppose this is it.
Thank you for accompanying me on this trip.”
“You seem distant, sir… quiet. Have I done something to offend you?” Captain
Rogers gazes at him, face full of concern as Bucky feels his resolve cracking.
“No, of course not.” Bucky sighs, raising his gaze to find the Captain’s face.
“It’s been a nice day. You’ve had a nice time haven’t you?”
“Yes, it’s been lovely. This is a very picturesque place.” The Captain’s face
seems to relax and Bucky notices the relief that settles over his features. He
can’t help but think that when the Captain finally allows himself to relax even
the tiniest bit, he’s beautiful.
There’s a short lull where the Captain doesn’t seem to be leaving and Bucky
feels the need to say something, anything to fill the silence.
“I’m sorry that the Duke made you do this. I know you have more important
things to do, Captain Rogers.” Bucky can’t figure out for several moments why
he feels so awkward around the Captain, but he decides to blame it on the lack
of brandy in his system.
“You should call me Steve. Captain Rogers is very formal.” The Captain looks
down breaking eye contact, and Bucky can’t help the longing he feels. “I’m glad
that I agreed to accompany you, other matters can wait.”
Bucky pulls a shy smile, practically kicking himself for letting his carefully
constructed facade of cockiness fall. However, he doesn’t have time to get too
upset about it before Steve reaches for his hand unexpectedly and pulls it
between his own much larger ones.
“Good night, sir. I hope you have pleasant dreams.” Steve leans down, pressing
his lips gently against Bucky’s knuckle. It’s a strange feeling, there’s no
ulterior motive behind the gesture, no display of dominance or promise of pain
later. There are only soft lips against his skin and a strange warmth radiating
through his body.
“Good night… Steve.” Bucky feels the hold on his hand slacken and then Steve is
stepping to his own door, leaving Bucky’s mind reeling.
He waits for the other man to open his door and disappear inside before he
opens his own door, shutting it firmly behind him and then sliding down against
it.
There are two things Bucky knows now: the first is that he’s hopelessly drawn
to Captain Rogers, and the second is that this is going to be a long couple of
nights. Mainly because he can’t seem to get the feeling of Steve’s lips against
his hand out of his head.
Chapter End Notes
     You can hit us up in Tumblr. I post stories from my gay life, and Syd
     embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular
evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome. *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Pierce is scheming, and Bucky is seriously over this shit.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It’s several days later that the carriage carrying Bucky and Captain Rogers
returns to the palace. Pierce has been impatiently pacing in the window of his
study for nearly two hours, finally stilling when the carriage comes into view.
He moves towards the glass, close enough that his breath mists against the
window, and he’s struck by the memory of a young James drawing pictures in the
fog on the carriage windows that first journey to the palace all those years
ago. He can still see the way James stilled suddenly as they entered the gates,
looking up at the great building with eyes full of wonder. He used to look at
the Duke like that too, but those innocent eyes full of admiration are now long
gone.
Pierce watches intently as Captain Rogers dismounts the carriage first and
holds out a hand to James, the picture of propriety until the wayward ward
comes into view. The boy takes his hand and follows him to the ground, and
Pierce’s gaze sharpens to a glare as his ward smiles and raises his hand to
rest on the Captain’s bicep. He lips tighten into an involuntary frown, but his
silent fury is interrupted by the creak of the old wooden door that signals
Rumlow’s arrival.
“The Captain is growing too close to James. We may need to set my plan into
motion a little earlier than I intended.” Pierce clasps his hands together
behind his back as he pontificates aloud, needing to give voice to his words to
fully realise his vision. He’s always been a talker, and Rumlow is a decent
enough sounding board even if he’s not sophisticated enough to understand
everything his master says.
“What plan is that, your grace?” Rumlow moves forward (without asking
permission, but it can be overlooked for the moment even though he’s becoming
increasingly too familiar lately), joining the Duke near the center of the room
to hear him better.
“You served under Lieutenant Fury, didn’t you? Before you were discharged?”
Pierce leans back against the desk slightly, a more casual position than he’d
take in front of any other staff. Rumlow is his man, his alone, and he assumes
he can let his guard and manners down just a little at this point in their time
together.
“Yes, your Grace. Lieutenant Fury is the reason I was… abruptly discharged.” A
frown pulls at the corners of Rumlow’s mouth as he squares his weight across
his legs, clearly trying to keep himself from shifting nervously like a boy or
a subordinate. Pierce is slightly proud that he’s still intimidating as he
reaches his twilight years, not that he’d ever say so aloud.
“I’ve always been a friend to the armed forces. A benefactor. And, on occasion,
I have asked that my own special interests be taken into consideration in their
actions. An occasional peacekeeping mission for certain foreign diplomats that
I call friends and such.” He pauses, folding his hands in front of himself now.
He’s been suppressing his emotions since he was very young, bottling them up
and pushing them into the pit of his stomach so no one ever truly knows what to
expect, and now he’s an expert in masking his intentions until he chooses to
reveal them. “Several months ago, I proposed one of these missions, and Fury
refused to follow my orders. His insolence nearly caused a political
disturbance which could have been highly embarrassing.”
He keeps his voice steady and calm despite the fire burning in the pit of his
stomach just thinking about Fury’s disrespect. Rumlow’s nerves are clearly
being tested, and it’s highly satisfying.
“I can’t have my authority tested, not by the likes of a lowly Lieutenant.” He
lets his gaze wander to the fireplace and watches the flames rise and fall for
several moments, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I’m going to make
sure that everyone knows these acts of defiance won’t be tolerated. Fury seems
to be very fond of Rogers, he’d be devastated if his favorite Captain were to
find himself at the center of a nasty scandal.”
He smiles devilishly, eyes darting back to Rumlow. The guard stiffens once
again under his scrutiny.
“I’m going to offer Captain Rogers a temporary placement here. We’ll tell him
that Rollins has become ill, so you’ll need to release him from his duty here
at the palace. Set him up with a errand that takes him away for a time.”
Rumlow swallows hard but nods, and Pierce moves away from the desk. “I think
I’ll pay James a visit later tonight. You’ll need to take care of Rollins
before then so you can be at the door. You’re dismissed.”
He watches as Rumlow moves away toward the door, before stepping back to the
window. He turns suddenly as the door creaks open, as if having an
afterthought.
“Oh, and Rumlow.”
Rumlow pauses, hand tightening on the ornate doorknob. Pierce can’t help the
small smile that pulls at his mouth at the involuntary display of anxiety.
“I trust you’ll treat this delicate subject with discretion, of course.”
Rumlow’s jaw tightens as he nods, the sincerity in the gesture letting Pierce
know that he picked wisely when choosing his guard. The door closes behind him
and the Duke is left alone with his thoughts. A dangerous place to be, but not
for him.
 
Bucky has only just finished tucking his belongings back into their rightful
places when his door opens. The silence that follows the intrusion is eerie
considering the hall outside his door should be bustling at this time of day,
maids going in and out of rooms, guards talking in the hall(the normal white
noise of a royal household as it settles into its daily routines), and the lack
of noise makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This kind of
silence can only mean one thing, and it’s not good.
“Good afternoon, your Grace. I was just about to come and inform you of my
arrival.” Bucky takes a step back when he sees the Duke standing in his
doorway, putting a chair between himself and Pierce. The change in position is
subtle enough to keep from drawing Pierce’s attention, but ensures him an extra
second to react before he can be grabbed.
“How was your trip James?” Pierce steps over to the small seating area before
Bucky can reply, settling himself down on the couch. Bucky swallows a sigh,
because of course the old man would want to re-stake his claim after he’s been
away.
“Restorative, your Grace.” Bucky hesitates and keeps his position for a moment,
a last act of hope before it’s all dashed again. He’s far too sober for this to
be tolerable.
Pierce doesn’t say a word, simply crooks a finger and motions Bucky over.
Bucky’s actions are rehearsed from this point, dropping to his knees in front
of the Duke without protest. He forces himself not to flinch when Pierce
reaches out to stroke his cheek, relaxing into the touch slightly when he
realizes it isn’t an act of aggression. At least not this time.
“How was your escort? A decent guard?” Pierce removes the hand from his cheek
and Bucky nods, only able to croak out a small ‘yes’ in reply. He watches dully
as Pierce reaches for his pants, making quick work of the buttons there and
freeing his length from his underclothes.
Pierce reaches forward again, guiding Bucky’s head down toward his swollen cock
and waiting for him to part his lips before pushing him down hard. Bucky
doesn’t choke, because it’s routine enough by now that he’s beyond reacting too
strongly when Pierce uses him like this.
“I’m thinking about offering him a temporary position here, since Rollins has
come down with an illness of some sort. It’s rather convenient that Captain
Rogers is here, we won’t have to be down a guard while he recovers.” Pierce’s
voice is nonchalant. Bland. In fact, if not for the dick in his mouth and the
insistent pressure on the back of his head as Pierce pushes him further and
further down on his length, Bucky could almost believe they were having a
conversation.
As if he’s ever been enough of an equal to have a conversation with the Duke.
Bucky’s pretty sure nobody’s listened to a word he’s said since he hit puberty.
“Of course, I do have some concerns.” Pierce’s voice drops suddenly and his
hand stills, holding Bucky down deep on his dick. Bucky’s throat is burning,
eyes watering, but he doesn’t dare fight him. “Captain Rogers seems to be
taking certain liberties with you.”
Bucky squeezes his eyes shut tightly. Pierce can’t know. Nothing happened, at
least nothing that could have been interpreted as anything other than a
blossoming friendship. His jaw is beginning to ache and he finally gags
roughly, only just able to suppress the bile that’s threatening to bubble up
from his stomach. Just when he thinks he may die like this, choking on the
Duke’s cock like the trash he knows he is, the Duke suddenly releases him and
lets him pull off his dick and swallow to clear his raw throat.
“It’s nothing, I’m sure. Captain Rogers does seem to be rather ignorant of the
customs of polite society, after all. We’ll just have to set him straight,
won’t we?” Bucky’s eyes shift upward, finding the Duke’s as his breathing
slowly returns to normal.
Pierce grasps his cock in his hand and thrusts into his fist until he finally
releases, sticky come landing on Bucky’s face and in his hair. Bucky doesn’t
dare close his eyes as Pierce’s head falls back, face contorting as he rides
out his orgasm. When he finally raises his head again, he locks eyes with Bucky
with such intensity he could be staring right through him.
“I’m glad you’re home, James. My discussions with Rumlow are rather dull and I
much prefer our little talks.” Bucky stays still, following Pierce’s movements
with his eyes as he stands and redresses himself.
“You should get cleaned up. Dinner will be at the usual time.”
Pierce moves toward the door and Bucky nods slowly, turning his gaze to the
floor now that he’s no longer expected to be obedient.
“I have a meeting with the Captain before dinner. I hope he accepts my
proposal, we could use some fresh blood around here.” Pierce pauses in the
doorway with the lazy confidence of a man who knows he can’t be beaten. “You’re
mine, James, and you’ll always be mine. Don’t forget that.”
The doorway in empty for a long time, Pierce’s footsteps long disappeared down
the corridor, before Bucky slowly forces himself to stand. The muscles in his
legs are stiff, and he has to steady himself against the arm of the chair to
keep from falling as he straightens up. The Duke’s mess is already drying
against his skin, so Bucky stumbles unsteadily to the wash basin. The water is
long cold, but he can’t exactly call the maid for a replacement in his current
state so he plunges his hands inside regardless, bringing the icy water up to
his skin and scrubbing hard. He knows it doesn’t matter, that he can keep
scrubbing until his skin is red and aching but he will never feel clean. Not as
long as he lives in the Duke’s palace, at least.
He grasps blindly for the towel beside the basin, hurrying to dry his face
before the water drips down his collar and then tossing the cloth carelessly
aside. The icy water has done little to dull the steady ache growing in his
skull, but he knows what will actually help alleviate the pain. He drops to his
stomach next to the bed, plunging his hand beneath the mattress and stretching
out his fingers until they find the familiar shape of his favorite bottle of
brandy. It had been a parting gift from Dugan when he left and it’s already
half empty due to frequent sips as they got closer to the palace.
With one smooth motion he uncorks the bottle, bringing it to his lips and
swallowing deeply. The rawness of his throat is overtaken by the burning of
alcohol, and he can almost pretend that’s all that’s making it hurt. Another
deep drag from the bottle leaves him feeling almost normal again.
When he catches a glance of himself in the mirror, hair still dripping and eyes
dull, he flashes one of his best false smiles before taking yet another swig.
When the bottle leaves his lips again he sighs, murmuring to himself.
“Welcome home, Buck.”
Chapter End Notes
     Let us know what you think.
     You can also hit us up on Tumblr. I post stories from my gay life,
     and Syd embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** "The more I see of the world, the more am i dissatisfied with it; and
everyday confirms my belief of the inconsistencies of all human." *****
Chapter Summary
     In which Bucky is surprisingly open, and Steve goes very red.
Chapter Notes
     Hello? Is there anybody still there? It's been a long time. Thank you
     for your patience as I dealt with my stuff.
     Special thanks to neversaydie who has been riding me about continuing
     this. I love you man. No homo.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Steve has only been in the Duke’s employment for a matter of hours before Bucky
decides his best strategy is to make as much mischief as possible. It doesn’t
take him long to figure out where they’ve posted the Captain during his stay
(the maids are unsurprisingly chatty about the hot new guard), so Bucky spends
most of the morning carefully picking out an outfit and checking himself over
in the mirror. Captain Rogers is stationed on the North side of the property
near the royal stables, so Bucky tells his guards that he’s going for a short
ride and makes his way there. They’ll tell the Duke he dismissed them, and
he’ll pay for it later, but the punishment will be much less severe than the
one that would be doled out if the guards were to see him fraternizing with
Captain Rogers.
Bucky is only slightly upset when Steve is nowhere to be found on his way, but
his mood quickly reverses when he catches a glimpse of a familiar pair of broad
shoulders ducking through the stable doors. As much as he would like to, he
doesn’t run. He can hear the Duke’s words in his head sometimes no matter how
hard he tries to keep them out (“The nobility never run, James. It’s common.”)
Steve is in deep discussion with the stable hand when he enters, so he walks
right up between them, cutting Steve off mid sentence as if he doesn’t even see
him.
“Saddle up Étoile, I’d like to go for a ride.”
The stable hand nods, shooting an apologetic look over Bucky’s shoulder before
moving down the line of stalls to find the horse. Bucky doesn’t turn around,
instead waiting patiently for Steve to signal his existence. A minute passes
before Steve clears his throat, and Bucky finally turns.
“Captain Rogers. I didn’t realize you were here.”
Steve quirks an eyebrow, obviously less than convinced of Bucky’s overly-
theatrical greeting.
“Yes. Of course.” Steve moves slightly closer, posture relaxing somewhat.
“Where are your guards? They should be escorting you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.” Bucky ignores the pang of annoyance that rises at
Steve’s words, choosing to place a hand gently on the other man’s bicep to see
the look on his face. “But you could certainly accompany me, I suppose. I could
use a big strong captain on the back of my horse.”
He swears he sees Steve’s adam’s apple bob as if he’s swallowed a lump in his
throat.
“I’m afraid I need to stay here. I’m on duty.”
Bucky’s eyes sparkle with mischief as he drops his hand from Steve’s arm.
Satisfactory response.
“Of course. Silly of me to ask.” Bucky walks down the row of stalls before
turning suddenly as if he’s thought of something. “Although, I’m sure the Duke
would be less than happy if he heard one of his guards let me go out
adventuring on my own. But of course, you are on duty.”
Bucky comes up the stall that houses Étoile and reaches out to run his fingers
gently over the horse’s muzzle. He’d been a gift from the Duke when Bucky had
first come to the palace, a great spotted thoroughbred, black with a lopsided
star on his side, and one of the only things that Bucky truly loves. The stable
hand leads the horse out into the paddock and hands the reins to Bucky before
returning to his duties inside the stable.
With all thoughts of Steve gone for the moment, he mounts the horse and nudges
him gently into action, leading him out of the paddock and into the field
beyond. They don’t make it far before Bucky hears the unmistakable sound of
hoofbeats behind him, so he tugs on the reins to bring the horse to a stop.
There’s no mistaking Steve’s shape as his horse trots across the field toward
Bucky, who can’t help feeling pleased to see him.
“You decided to join me after all.” Bucky smiles as Steve comes to a halt
beside him, one of the genuine smiles that only Steve seems to be able to bring
to his face.
“I weighed my options. I don’t think the Duke would like me letting you go off
without an escort.” Steve returns the smile with a shy grin of his own, eyes
dropping away from Bucky’s quickly.
Bucky nods, urging Étoile back into his trot and starting down the path again.
Steve keeps pace, riding just a shade behind like he’s shadowing his charge on
foot. It’s oddly endearing.
“I was surprised to hear you took the Duke’s offer. I thought you were here on
military business, do they not need you back?” Bucky keeps his gaze forward,
very carefully not looking at Steve in a way that might be considered overly
familiar. He’ll play games with him, sure, but it’s all ruined if he jumps the
gun and gets himself punished.
“I found a reason to stay, I suppose.” Steve glances over, finding Bucky
focused elsewhere before looking away.
“Why did they send you here in the first place? I can’t imagine they’d be happy
to lose such a strong soldier to business matters.” Bucky finally allows
himself to look over, eyes darting quickly back to the path when he
accidentally catches Steve’s gaze for a second.
“There’s… Well, there’s a matter of money. Which I probably shouldn’t be
discussing out in the open like this. But then, they knew I wasn’t a diplomat
when they sent me.” Steve stalls, shaking his head before deciding to continue.
“We’ve lost several of our benefactors since Lieutenant Fury took over. He
refuses to play dirty politics and it’s cost us funding, frankly. Not that I
can blame him, I wouldn’t deal under the table either if I were in his place.”
“Why not?” Bucky frowns slightly, because he’s been taught all his life that
getting his (the Duke’s) ends achieved is more important than the method taken
to achieve them.
“It’s against my principles.” Steve doesn’t exactly shrug, but Bucky gets the
distinct impression that he would, were he not in polite company. It’s that
simple to him, a moral code he sees as obvious.
Bucky lets his eyes linger on Steve’s profile when he looks over, this time.
He’s never met a man like this before, someone who seems driven by morality
rather than what he can take. Bucky’s life up until this point has been an
endless parade of manipulation at the hands of the Duke, and he wasn’t sure men
like Steve actually existed outside of his book of fairy tales.
“Why are you here? If it’s not rude to ask.” Steve’s voice suddenly cuts
bluntly into Bucky’s thoughts, and he blushes slightly when he realizes he’s
been staring. “I mean… I’ve heard the stories, but it’s hard to discern gossip
from the truth these days.”
“Are you saying my benefactor keeps company with liars, Captain?” It could
sound cold, if delivered from the Duke’s lips, but Bucky’s tone remains light
and teasing as Steve flounders for a moment.
“I’m saying I find it hard to tell snakes from saints when off the
battlefield.” That surprises Bucky pleasantly, he hadn’t anticipated that the
Captain might be clever.
“A ballroom can be a battlefield too, you know. You’ll learn.” He hears Steve
scoff slightly at that, which forces him to hide another genuine, small smile.
They ride in silence for a minute or two, deeper into the trees and away from
the manicured lawns of the estate, before Bucky speaks again.
“My father was a friend of the Duke’s, from his school days. They were boys
together.” He hesitates, because he’s never told anyone about that night and
he’s not sure what compels him to open up to Steve now. He’s never been sure he
can actually trust those memories, not when the Duke seems so sure of his take
on the events. “There was a fire. Everything was lost, my parents included. The
Duke took me in as his own.”
“That’s not what the stories say.” Steve’s voice has softened somewhat, though.
He doesn’t sound like he’s accusing Bucky of lying, at least. It’s a balm over
the raw feeling of talking about this, delivering the version of events that he
can never question.
“I… I remember the night he came for me. The house wasn’t on fire when we
turned away from it up the road. My father… he was there, not ashes. I heard my
mother crying.” It suddenly occurs to him that he’s speaking aloud, and the
fear must show on his face because Steve makes an aborted move to reach out to
him. What if he reports Bucky’s recollection to the Duke? He’ll be punished
again, always was as a child until he stopped trying to tell the truth and
learned to toe the line.
“Sir-”
“But that’s not what happened.” He corrects himself quickly, schooling his
expression again. “A dream I used to have as a child, that’s all. The Duke is
my benefactor, and I owe him my life.”
Bucky shakes his head, digging his heels into Étoile’s sides to speed him up a
little. He gives himself a few moments to get himself together, wishing he’d
remembered to bring his flask, before turning back to look at Steve where he’s
fallen behind.
“We’re almost there.”
Steve spurs his horse on, catching up to Bucky just as they reach the crest of
a hill. Bucky stops, pointing to a small clearing next to a stream only just
visible beyond the treeline.
“Come on, Captain. I’ll show you my secret place if you promise not to tell.”
“I thought we agreed you’d call me Steve, now.” He’s watching Bucky with an
unreadable expression, probably not sure what to make of him after his little
slip-up. “What’s all this Captain business?”
“Well, you’re still calling me ‘sir’.” Bucky raises his eyebrows, and Steve has
the audacity to roll his eyes where he probably thinks his charge isn’t
looking. Bucky likes a bit of audacity on him, he thinks.
“What would you have me call you, then? James?” He’s definitely not entirely
comfortable with the proper protocols of society, and Bucky finds himself
somehow extremely grateful for that. Sometimes they feel like a noose as much
as a necktie.
“My friends call me Bucky, I’m sure you heard Master Dugan.” He tilts his head
and licks his lips unconsciously as he looks at Steve, who may turn a little
pink at the tips of his ears. “Are you my friend, Steve?”
Bucky spurs his horse on without waiting for an answer, but smirks to himself
when he hears Steve choke on a cough behind him. Very satisfactory.
They dismount at the edge of the clearing, tying the horses to a tree near
enough the stream that they can drink. They’re far enough from the estate that
there are no sounds from the house drifting near them, just birdsong and the
wind rustling through the trees over the gentle babble of the flowing stream.
“It’s beautiful here.” Steve says in awe, watching the sunlight as it dances
across the water. “Peaceful.”
“I found it shortly after I arrived here. I used to explore a lot.” Bucky drops
to sit on the grass, leaning back and folding his hands behind his head to look
up at the sky beyond the trees. “It’s the only place I can be alone.”
“Do you come here often? To be alone?” Steve sits down next to him, more
controlled and clearly keeping a carefully calculated distance between them.
Bucky doesn’t mind it.
“When I can. The Duke doesn’t like it when I stray too far, he’s afraid I might
not come back.” Bucky catches himself, just like before, and Steve frowns at
the sudden, hurried correction. “I mean, he just wants me safe. Coming out here
alone, anything might happen.”
“You seem man enough to travel within his grounds alone, pardon me for saying.
He’s very protective of you. Some might even say overprotective.” Steve is
looking at him with that unreadable expression again, the one that makes him
feel dizzy and see-through all at once, and it’s all too much.
“Hot today, isn’t it? I feel like a swim.” Bucky stands suddenly, forced
joviality in his voice to hide the tremor in his hands. It’s so much easier to
settle back into his familiar pattern of self-sabotage, so much safer than
looking at the wounds he’s trying to cover up.
He strips off his clothes carefully, laying them out in the grass away from the
water to keep them as clean as possible. There can be no evidence of his time
with Steve, not if he wants to leave his room in the next few days. Steve’s
face turns a satisfying shade of red the more skin he reveals, burning bright
by the time he removes the last of his undergarments. The stream is deep enough
to come up to his chest in the middle, so Bucky wades out a way before be ducks
below the water, resurfacing and slicking his hair back from his forehead.
“Are you coming in, Steve? It must be stifling in that uniform, I’m sure no one
would mind if you relieved yourself of it.” Bucky pulls his lip between his
teeth, forcing that doe-eyed look on his face that used to drive the Duke wild
(when he still cared to give the illusion that there was anything like
tenderness between them).
“I think that might be beyond my duties as your escort, but you should enjoy
yourself.” Steve’s eyes very clearly search for something, anything to focus on
aside from the naked upper half of Bucky’s body. It deflates him, somewhat,
because how else is he supposed to get Steve’s attention?
Bucky leans back in the water, mind whirring. For as long as he can remember,
the Duke has only been interested in taking one thing from him. There was a
time in the beginning when he was naive enough to believe that the Duke really
loved him and not just his body, but that belief died quickly and painfully the
first time he said ‘stop’ and the answer was ‘no’. He’d assumed it wouldn’t
take much to get the same interest from Steve, physical at least, but he’d
literally stripped off his clothes in front of him and the man had tried his
damndest not to look. It’s confusing, because Bucky doesn’t understand what
else Steve could possibly want from him.
When he finally climbs out of the water and lies out in the sunshine on the
bank to dry, he takes his time to look the Captain over. He can’t see any
reason for him to be so different from everything Bucky’s encountered before,
he doesn’t seem to have any special bearing or airs about him. He’s just…
different.
“I’ve never met a man like you.” Bucky mutters eventually, quiet in the ambient
noise of the clearing. Steve very slowly looks over, eyes meeting his charge’s
and locking there so that they don’t accidentally move to other parts of his
anatomy.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not like the Duke. Or Rumlow.” Bucky muses, pulling a handful of grass
from the ground and releasing it into the slight breeze. “They only care about
power. Domination. Taking what they want. You… You care about doing what’s
right.”
Steve blushes again, and Bucky thinks he could get used to watching his face
turn pink like that.
“It’s nice. I didn’t know men like you really existed.” Bucky’s eyes drop and
he flicks an errant piece of grass from his stomach. Steve watches him for a
minute or two, wondering what sort of life this boy has lived that he’s been
left with the impression that men who care about what’s right and wrong are
rare. It makes his stomach clench uncomfortably, but he doesn’t say a word.
“I… We should probably head back, shouldn’t we? They may come looking if I’m
gone too long.” He gets up and moves toward the horses without another word,
drawing a deep sigh from his charge.
Bucky slowly pulls on his clothes with shaking hands, trying to prolong his
time away from the house as much as possible. Steve is quiet, suddenly distant,
and he can’t work out what he’s done wrong.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t.” Steve turns, Étoile’s reins held out for him to take. “I just…
You seem so confident in yourself, most of the time. Just now, I remembered
that you’re still a boy. You haven’t even been out into the world yet, Bucky.
There are plenty of good men still around.”
“I’ve seen a lot more than you think, and I haven’t seen that.” Bucky takes the
reins and pulls himself into the saddle without meeting Steve’s eyes. He
doesn’t wait for a reply, doesn’t want to answer any more questions, just spurs
Étoile up the hill and back toward the house.
Chapter End Notes
     You can hit us up in Tumblr. I sometimes post stories from my gay
     life, and Syd embarrasses me on the regular.
     jamesraydean.tumblr.com
     saferforeveryone.tumblr.com
***** Author Update *****
Hey guys, 
As you can see, this unfortunately isn't a chapter update. This is just a note
to let you know that this story is pretty much on hiatus for the foreseeable
future.
Jamesraydean, who does most of the writing on this (I do mostly editing), is
pretty seriously sick. So far there's no indication when he might improve, and
since there are people waiting for updates I figured I'd let you guys know
there probably aren't any coming for a while. 
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, 
neversaydie (@ saferforeveryone on tumblr)
***** Note *****
This fic isn't going to be finished. Sorry.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
