Chapter Text
Bucky Barnes needed a break. He didn’t get burned out too often, but it had been a hell of a year. Maybe it was his job or maybe it was that he was lonely. Maybe it was that his partner had decided to retire and he’d had to pick up the slack. Perhaps he wasn’t cut out to be an assassin anymore. It took a toll, after all, and Bucky was nothing if not conscientious.
He should have been pickier about his jobs. That was why he missed Natasha so much. She’d been the one to make the deals before she’d flown off into the sunset for a well-deserved life of normality. He wasn’t as good at discerning which targets deserved what they got and which were really revenge jobs that did little other than destroying a life. After his next job was over, he would take a break, reevaluate, and decide where to go in the future.
Three days later, he set up his gun and waited. He’d done this so many times he could practically take out a target in his sleep. He was the best at what he did, after all, although he’d been better when he was part of a team. The irony was that he’d helped train Natasha, had guided her as she honed her skills, and she’d made him superior at what he did. He missed her, and that made him a liability in his own job. Being vulnerable meant he could be distracted, and being distracted meant he could fail. Failure wasn’t an option. As soon as that happened, he’d need to find another career. Maybe he should anyway.
Shaking his head, he cleared his thoughts and watched the activity unfolding at street level. From his position on the twentieth floor in the building that faced the erected stage, he had a perfect view of the spot where his target would be sitting in thirty minutes. Why he’d been hired to take out a low-level diplomat he wasn’t sure, but he did know the government for whom his target worked was corrupt to its core. Maybe this assassination was an attempt to start the cleansing process and create an administration that would work for the good of its citizens.
That’s what he told himself as he lined up his shot—that he was making a positive difference in the world by taking out his target. He had to believe that so he could keep taking jobs. Otherwise, he’d never be able to live with himself.
People scrambled as his mark fell, and he dismantled his rifle and packed up in seconds. He was out of the building and headed away from the crime scene within a minute. He caught a cab and then made his train a few minutes early and was headed home before the investigation even began. He was that good, but he was tired. He’d done what he needed to do. It was time for a break.
He woke tired, and that wasn’t a good thing. Four days since his last job, and no one was the wiser. Bucky was a master assassin. There were no traces. Nothing could tie him to the death of the diplomat, and he deserved a day off from his work. Yawning, he stumbled to the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. Scruffy hair, unshaven beard, and red-rimmed eyes stared back at him. He looked older than his thirty-two years. He needed a vacation. He really, really did.
“How’s that for a plan?” he asked his reflection. “How about finding some sand and surf and quiet and figuring out where to go from here?”
He looked as tired as he felt. His shoulders slumped, and his hair hung lankly down his back. A deep furrow in his brow accompanied the frown he threw at himself, and he decided it was time for a little bit of pampering. Or a lot.
Maybe he’d book a massage. He’d like that, maybe. It had been months since he’d felt anyone’s hands on his body, and he craved a little attention. He could always visit that spa Natasha had suggested more than once when he’d lashed out at her when stressed. It catered to wealthy clients who craved confidentiality and discretion. He had money, and he needed to remain invisible.
Bucky fired up his tablet and found the website. He spent several minutes perusing the services offered before he spotted a tab labeled “special services.” Intrigued, he clicked it and immediately knew he’d found something he hadn’t even realized he wanted.
The spa obviously had a specialized clientele. If not, the owners had powerful allies who looked the other way as services were rendered. There were all sorts of amenities geared toward providing satisfaction of an erotic nature, and he almost clicked away before biting his bottom lip. He was tired of his own hand. What harm would it be to hire someone else to give him a little relief?
He pondered for a few minutes, but finally, he relented. Before he could change his mind, he booked a 90 minute massage with a happy ending. If the experience was terrible, he didn’t have to go back. If he enjoyed himself…well, he had a lot of money to pay for what he wanted and an appreciation for people who knew how to keep secrets.
Bucky jumped in the shower and was slightly surprised to find an email waiting for him once he’d finished. Tying his wet hair back in a soggy bun, he opened the message and glanced over the information he’d received from the spa. There were more choices, he realized, and Bucky wasn’t sure how to choose what he really wanted.
Did he want a man or woman to massage him? Would that preference change for the final result? Was he allergic to anything? The questions went on and on, and he almost threw up his hands in frustration. Instead, he closed the document and decided to clear up all the indecision when he arrived at the spa. He couldn’t be the only one to not know how to answer those questions. If he took a nip or two of whiskey to calm his nerves before he left, that was between him and no one else.
“Mr. Barnes, welcome to Asgard.”
The man behind the reception desk might have been the best-looking person Bucky had ever seen. His name tag identified him as Thor, and Bucky almost snorted at the commitment to Norse mythology. There was no way that was this guy’s real name, but he was smoking hot.
Thor walked him through the services, and Bucky was only slightly disappointed it wouldn’t be the Norse god’s hands helping him find fulfillment. Instead, Bucky settled on a masseur with a non-descript name. Steve Rogers was as generic as it came, and Bucky was fine with that.
Until Steve came to get him from the waiting area, and Bucky almost swallowed his own tongue.
Steve Rogers was gorgeous—tall and broad with muscles that went on for days. And his face. Aristocratic nose, full lips, sparkling blue eyes, strong jaw. Bucky almost drooled.
“Mr. Barnes? I’m Steve. I’ll be serving you today. Welcome.”
That voice was magical. The deep tones flowed over Bucky and reverberated inside his bones. He practically sprang to his feet and followed along behind the man, cheerfully checking out the firm ass under tight, navy blue scrubs. He owed Natasha his soul for recommending this place. If the massage was half as good as Steve looked, he’d be booking a return visit before leaving.
Steve led him to a small, darkened room and ushered him inside. The walls were a cozy burgundy lit only by a small lamp in the corner and a few diffusers releasing spicy scents into the air. Steve motioned to the chair and instructed Bucky to remove as many layers as he felt comfortable shedding and to lie down on the table with his face in the circular pillow attached to the end of the table. When he’d given his directions, he stepped from the room to give Bucky privacy. It seemed a little silly, considering what services Bucky had booked, but it must be standard procedure.
When Bucky was naked, his clothes neatly folded in the chair, he stretched out on the table, chest down, face cradled in the pillow, and the blanket hitched over his hips. He only waited a few moments before Steve knocked gently on the door and entered the room.
“Comfortable?” he asked, and Bucky hummed. He was too wound up to speak. “Relax. I’m going to take good care of you.”
He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift. He was vaguely aware of Steve moving around the room, the sound of massage oil being warmed between strong hands, the soothing music. All of it combined to create a calming atmosphere, and he felt his shoulders loosen the slightest bit. When Steve rubbed his palms along Bucky’s back, Bucky groaned at the pressure.
“Feel good?”
“Yes,” he grunted.
“You’re really tense, Mr. Barnes. I’m going to help relieve some of that stress. Let me know if something hurts. Otherwise, just enjoy.”
He did. He absolutely did. Steve’s hands were strong, his fingers perfectly skilled as they stroked Bucky’s skin, worked knots out of muscles, and made Bucky moan. He couldn’t help himself, and it would have been embarrassing if it hadn’t felt so damn good.
Steve worked his shoulders and back for several long minutes. He dug into Bucky’s spine with the heels of his hands and kneaded the soreness from his shoulder blades. Then he moved to the arms and hands. Bucky hadn’t even realized his hands needed attention, but the feel of Steve massaging his palms and fingers felt like heaven.
When Steve shifted to his legs, Bucky thought he might pass out. He started on Bucky’s calves and worked upward to his thighs. And then…
Bucky’s moan reverberated through the room. Steve’s fingers stroked between his legs, featherlight and brief, before returning to Bucky’s thighs. He repeated his actions multiple times, and Bucky responded the same every time.
“Feel good?” Steve asked softly, and Bucky almost wept.
“So good,” he groaned. “Everything is amazing.”
“I can focus here for a while if that’s something you’d enjoy.”
“Please,” he practically begged, and Steve released a pleased chuckle.
“Your wish is my command. Can you spread a little for me?”
Bucky moved his legs and practically purred at the feeling of Steve’s hands on his ass. More oil on Steve’s hands, fingers between his cheeks, gentle stroking of his taint, a blunt tip inside his hole, gentle brushes against his balls. All of it combined to make Bucky vibrate under Steve’s ministrations. He was hard against the table, disconcertingly so since they were nowhere near the ending. He couldn’t stop the sounds falling from him, and he squirmed as Steve fondled his rim.
“Everything okay?” Steve asked.
Bucky fought to not rear back against him. “Fine,” he gasped.
“Do you want…?”
“God, yes, but it’s—”
“Tell me.”
“It’s too soon. It’s supposed to be the end.”
Steve stroked him again and answered in a soothing tone. “There’s no reason it can’t be now and at the end, too.”
Bucky groaned at the thought. “Really?”
“Really,” Steve assured him. “It’s okay, Mr. Barnes. You don’t have to hold back with me.”
“My name’s Bucky,” he panted.
“Okay, Bucky. Just feel. You’re the client, and you get to call the shots.”
Steve stroked him a few more times before massaging him open. He breached the ring, and Bucky whined. He gasped and puffed, desperate for release. Grinding into the table, he yelped at the friction and broke. He was louder than he expected, but that was because it was one of the most satisfying orgasms of his life. It took forever before he stopped quaking, but Steve didn’t stop plying him with attention. He was slick with massage oil on his back, and his front was wet from his own climax. His limbs were loose and pliant, and he thanked his lucky stars he’d booked the extended session instead of the 60 minute package.
“That’s what I like to see, Mr.—uh, Bucky. Let that stress go. We’re going to turn over now. It’s time to work your front.”
Bucky giggled, and he would have been horrified if he didn’t feel so fucking amazing. He let Steve roll him onto his side, cover the mess with a warm towel, and then arrange Bucky on his back. He blinked at the ceiling, but Steve’s face swam before his eyes. Kind eyes and a tiny smirk graced Steve’s face, and Bucky fought down a flash of desire to have this be what greeted him when he opened his eyes every morning.
Bucky closed his eyes and licked his lips when Steve mopped up his front. He listened as water ran. Steve washed his hands before covering them again in warmed oil and sliding his palms across Bucky’s chest. Bucky hummed at the sensation, and his breath caught when Steve’s fingers dug into the grooves between his abs. Steve moved lower and lower, and grazed his fingertips along the wiry hair of Bucky’s happy trail.
“I don’t know what you do for a living, but it’s good to see you letting some of that stress go. Let’s get rid of that worry right here.”
Steve ran his fingers over Bucky’s forehead and down along his cheeks. He pressed his thumbs along Bucky’s brows and pushed the stress out of his forehead, down his neck, and out of his body. When he moved to Bucky’s scalp, a breathy groan erupted into the room. He pressed into the base of Bucky’s skull, and Bucky preened like a cat. When Steve didn’t move, Bucky nuzzled into the pressure.
“Yeah,” he groaned. “This is…so…”
He couldn’t finish his thought, but that didn’t seem to deter Steve. He simply kept stroking Bucky’s hair and scalp until Bucky shivered under the attention. When he moved to Bucky’s feet, Bucky knew they were nearing the end. He tried not to think about that and focus on how good everything felt. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he’d definitely recovered. He was hard again, and the blanket covering his lap did nothing to hide that fact.
Steve repeated his attention on Bucky’s thighs, and there wasn’t any surprise when his slick fingers eased in between Bucky’s legs and stroked the area that made Bucky whimper. When Steve cupped his balls, Bucky sucked in a breath and eased it out in an elongated hiss.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes. Please.”
Steve’s palm closed over him, and Bucky yelped at the sensation. He was grateful for his earlier climax because it was the only reason he had any stamina at all. Steve’s strokes were confident and perfectly timed, and his other hand tugged off the blanket to expose all of Bucky to his masseur.
“How does this feel, Bucky?” Steve’s voice was low and soothing, and Bucky fought hard to open his eyes. Steve’s were hazy, and it did Bucky’s heart good to know he had an effect on Steve, too.
“Feels so good,” he moaned. Steve’s eyes darkened at the admission, and Bucky bucked up into Steve’s fist. Fascinated, he watched his cock sliding in and out of Steve’s hand. Steve reached behind him to slick up his other palm, and Bucky groaned. “Steve, please.”
“I told you I’d take care of you. Let me know how it feels. Don’t hold back, Buck. Let me hear you.”
“Steve!” Bucky shouted when thick fingers slid inside him. “Yeah. Fuck, baby. Fill me up.”
“You want more?”
“Yes,” he panted. “Harder. Give it to me rough.”
“You like it rough, Bucky? You like it when I hurt you a little bit?”
Bucky whined in response, but Steve only jerked harder. Bucky squirmed as the pressure grew, and his hand accidentally nudged against Steve’s groin. When Steve flinched away with a low moan, Bucky’s gaze snapped to Steve’s crotch. His dark scrubs did nothing to hide the bulge there.
“Tell me there’s a package that lets me touch you, too,” Bucky whispered. “I’ll pay whatever it is.”
Steve’s eyes fluttered, and he shook his head. “There’s not.”
“Then tell me you want it, anyway.”
Steve closed his eyes. He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “I can’t—”
“I thought I was the client and got to call the shots.”
“Bucky…”
He reached over, and Steve didn’t stop him. He rubbed Steve through his pants, and Steve thrust into his hand. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. That’s what I want.”
Words failed as they gripped each other. Bucky’s legs splayed open, wide and welcoming. Steve was hard in his hand, and they jacked off at the same pace. Steve’s curled his fingers inside him, and Bucky almost came off the table.
“’M so close,” he sobbed. “So close, Steve.”
It happened slowly. Building into a crescendo, it flowed through him, warming him from the pit of his stomach and out through his fingers before pumping from him in languid, milky stripes. His groan stretched for what felt like hours, but Steve’s exploded from him in a fury. It spattered his side and shot onto Steve’s shirt and Bucky’s hand. Steve sagged when he came, but he made sure to stroke Bucky through it all. He didn’t stop until Bucky grew too sensitive and shrugged away from his touch.
“Fuck,” he drawled as his eyes slid closed. He melted into the table, a pleased grin stretching his face. He must look like a loon, but he felt too good to care. He was relaxed and opened up and covered in oil and come. He’d just exchanged hand jobs with one of the hottest men he’d ever met, and he was absolutely positive this activity would become a regular appointment. He hoped Steve would like that.
Steve’s face was beet red when he was finally able to pry his eyes open. Bucky reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You deserve a raise.”
“Mr. Barnes—”
“My name is Bucky,” he insisted.
“Bucky, I…”
“You weren’t supposed to do that?” When Steve nodded miserably, Bucky chuckled, “I do a lot of things I’m not supposed to. This is nothing.”
“It’s not! I shouldn’t have… I’ve never—”
“Well, now you have, and I have every intention of coming back soon to do this all over again.”
Steve flushed even deeper, but he only nodded. Tucking himself back in his pants, he motioned at Bucky’s state and resumed his professionalism.
“I’ll just step outside so you can get dressed. Thor can help you with payment. I hope to see you soon, Mr. Barnes—Bucky. It was a genuine pleasure serving you today.” With that, Steve slipped out the door and left Bucky alone.
He relaxed into the table for several more moments before groaning and rocking to his feet. He walked on shaky legs to the chair where his clothes waited and forced his clumsy fingers to grip the material and then guide it back over his feet and arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed. Steve deserved a massive tip.
“I take it everything was to your liking, sir?” Thor asked when Bucky returned to the reception desk.
“Everything was wonderful.”
“And your masseur?”
“Deserves a raise.”
“Excellent. Can I interest you in scheduling a repeat visit?”
“Definitely.”
Bucky left Asgard a few minutes later. He’d arranged for a healthy tip for Steve and another massage for himself scheduled in two weeks. He could hardly wait.