"Oh, Bucky...!"
Bucky turned his head at the sound of Steve's sing-songy voice. Opening the bathroom door to release a massive cloud of steam, he headed into the living room, shirtless and barefoot in a pair of loose white sweats, to find Steve sitting on the couch with a Cheshire cat grin on his face and a cardboard shipping box on the coffee table.
"There you are," Steve said, beckoning for Bucky to sit next to him. "You look good enough to eat." When Bucky dropped onto the couch beside him, Steve proved his point by burying his face where Bucky's throat met his shoulder and covering the area with several wet, gentle love bites.
Squirming and laughing, Bucky pushed him away. "Slobberin' all over me right after a shower! You some kinda savage, Rogers?"
"Yep," Steve said, sounding proud of it. "You turn me into a caveman. I'm thinkin' about grabbing you by that long hair and draggin' you into the bedroom to take what I want."
"Promises, promises." Bucky tapped Steve's foot with his. "What'd you holler at me for?"
"Mail just got here." Steve gestured to the box on the table. "I've been waiting for this."
"And what is this, exactly?"
"This," Steve said, pushing the box toward Bucky, "is going to keep us in bed the rest of the day."
"Oh, really?" Bucky gave him the old side-eye and turned the box every which way without picking it up. It looked innocent enough; it was a plain brown box, sealed with tape, with a label addressed to Steve on top. The return address included no name, only a post office box in a town Bucky had never heard of. "Who's it from?"
"I dunno." Steve shrugged, but the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes said otherwise. "That's some 'discreet packaging' if I ever saw any."
"You're being extra weird, so this must be something way outside your usual shopping habits. In other words, it's not a box full of baby t-shirts or tiny man-panties."
"They're called briefs, jerk—"
"Whatever they're called, they look like panties." Bucky smirked. "You never heard me complain about 'em, did ya?"
"You're usually too busy makin' fun of me for 'em or peelin' 'em off with your teeth."
"Exactly."
Steve shoved his shoulder. "Open the damn box!"
"Language, Captain." Bucky produced a knife from God knew where and slit open the tape with the utmost care, giving Steve a funny look before opening the flaps and digging into the package to retrieve the first item. "What the fuck—"
It looked like a small alcohol bottle filled with bright green liquid, and the label read Liquor Lube. "Appletini," Bucky read, looking up at Steve with an incredulous smile. "You bought booze-flavored lube?"
"Sure did." Steve's grin could have been tattooed on; it appeared permanent at that point. "I figured if we can't get drunk, we might as well enjoy the taste."
"Yeah, but we never took shots out of each other's assholes," Bucky muttered, sending Steve into a gale of laughter.
"Touché. Keep going; there's more."
A small black box appeared next with a clear plastic window revealing its contents, a metal chain with black rubber-covered gadgets on either end. "Broad tip ni—nipple clamps, Steve?!"
"They're adjustable. They won't hurt unless you want 'em to. Relax."
Open-mouthed, Bucky shook his head and returned his attention to the box, pulling out a small plastic package with what appeared to be a soft silicone ring inside. There was no label, so Bucky held it up, quirking an eyebrow.
