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Fuck Valentine’s Day, you tell them. Fuck the bullshit romance, fuck the expectations, fuck the cash grab. The only good part about it is the chocolate. So they don’t make restaurant reservations, they don’t go to Kay Jewelers, they don’t try to make you swoon over some generic Hallmark card.Instead, there’s a regular day; and at night, there’s a little square golden box next to your mug of tea after a regular dinner.You pick it up and look at them in confusion. Bucky gives you a tight-lipped smile; Steve laughs.“They’re from Paris, sweetheart,” he says. “We had Tony pick them up for us last time he was there. Some tiny shop in some high-end hotel.”You undo the red ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside is a small collection of exquisite truffles, petite and perfect. The chocolate is tempered to a mirror sheen, and each piece is crowned with a flake of gold leaf.
“Well, this is definitely something I’d expect from Tony.” Even as you’re gently chiding them, you can’t keep the smile off your face.
You reach for one of the truffles, but Bucky stills your wrist before you can lift it to your mouth.“These come with special instructions, doll,” he says.
You nestle the truffle back in the box and raise an eyebrow. “What, do I need to be wearing a tux before I can eat one?”“Oh no,” Bucky says, a wicked glint coming into his eyes. “You don’t need to wear anything at all.”*****Once you’re naked and bound to the spanking bench, Steve opens the box and considers his options, Bucky looking over his shoulder.“You’re awful serious there, Cap,” you say. “The fate of the world depend on your choice?”He smirks at you. “Not the fate of the world, sweetheart.”He finally selects one and bites it neatly in half. He closes his eyes and savors it, then steps closer to you and bends over to offer you the other half.You close your lips around it and chew pensively, trying to figure out the flavor. The exterior is a very dark chocolate, almost too bitter to be enjoyable, offset just in time by a burst of sweetness from a liquid caramel in the center. The gold leaf has no taste, but flits against your teeth before dissolving against your cheek. It is, without doubt, one of the best chocolates you’ve ever had.You’re so distracted by the taste, you don’t notice what Steve’s doing until the first smack of the paddle lands on your ass, a resounding contrast to the pleasure in your mouth.You jolt forward on the bench with a chastening yelp, the padding pressing into your stomach. Bucky, still standing in front of you, smiles at the sound.“Told you they were special, doll,” he says teasingly, and your mouth falls open to protest when Steve gives you another swat.You tighten your grip on the edge of the armrests and give yourself over to the spanking. The paddle isn’t especially painful, but it warms your skin nicely, and Steve is expert at landing the blows in an even distribution. He paddles you twice–three–four–five times, then rejoins Bucky, holding out the box.Bucky considers, selects, bites, and gives you half.Milk chocolate, silky, with a crunchy hazelnut center that––Bucky’s hand this time, his right one, a blow and then a kneading of your reddened skin that sends a surge of pain and a wash of pleasure through your body. You moan.Another spank, harder this time, with the smacking sound that turns you on so quickly. The taste of the truffle lingers on your lips as Bucky lifts his hand over and over, moving across your ass and to the delicate insides of your thighs, landing ten spanks before he’s done.You can feel your arousal swelling between your legs, held wide open where they’re strapped to the bench, and you wiggle your hips to grind as much as you can against the edge. It’s not enough and you let out a pathetic whine.“Oh, I know, doll,” Bucky says soothingly. “But you said no bullshit romance.”You want to pout, you almost do pout, but you’re stopped by Steve offering you a third truffle, and fuck, it’s good, rich white chocolate filled with some type of tart fruit cordial, and–The crop. Out of nowhere, a stinging blow that sends your nerves singing with a white-hot pain. You hate the sensation–narrow, sharp, unforgiving–but you adore the surge of endorphins in its wake, your body matching in your muscles the sweetness that hasn’t faded from your tongue.You let out a sighing moan, squirming against the bench, trying to get away, trying to get more stimulation on your clit, trying to buck your hips but finding it impossible in your current position.“Such a good girl for us, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs. Then he lifts the crop and, blessedly, gives you only two more before he steps away.You’re panting now, chest moving exaggeratedly as you breathe through the adrenaline. Bucky pauses to cradle your cheek, lifting your face to meet his eyes. “We’re halfway there, doll. You want to keep going?”You’ll kill them if they stop. You really will. You can feel yourself on the cusp of the trance-like state that a good spanking usually brings, heightened by the culinary experience you’re trying to navigate at the same time. You can’t even form words. All you can do is nod, eagerly.You’re so eager you barely taste the rest of the truffles as they’re selected and halved and shared, their instructions followed: Dark, the paddle. Milk, the palm. White, the crop.The numbers blur as the tastes inside the chocolates swirl together, the spanks landing in a hazy sequence that leaves you floating, sated and aroused at once. Then, all too soon, it stops entirely, and Bucky shows you the empty box.“Finished,” he says.
Your heart falls, though your pulse still pounds at your clit.
“Please,” you say hoarsely. “More.”Steve rubs his hand along your shoulder blades and wraps his fingers around the nape of your neck, the warmth paradoxically making you shudder. You need this. Him. More.“You want your dessert, sweetheart?”You nod, eagerly, again, holding your breath as Steve slides his hand from your neck along your spine, over the curve of your sore ass, and down to your core. He slips his fingers through your arousal, murmuring appreciatively, and then he leans over, his hot breath ghosting on your skin, his tongue swiping once along your slit, drawing a pleading moan from you.“Fuck,” he says roughly. “Sweetest thing I’ve had all night.”And then he doesn’t say anything else, pressing his mouth to you and tasting you with his tongue, his lips, everywhere at once. He doesn’t hold back and neither do you, pushing into his touch as best you can, luxuriating in the softness, how he can demand and coax at once, and as you open your mouth to moan again, Bucky is suddenly kneeling in front of you, capturing the sound with the press of his own mouth, delving his tongue between your lips to taste you, too. There are hints of the truffles in the kiss, a swirling mix of sweetness and sharpness, and you feed him another moan, a sigh, a whine, all the flavors of your arousal.Your climax, already well-stoked, doesn’t take long to build, crest, break. With a final flick of his tongue against your clit, Steve sends you spiraling into pleasure. You pull free of Bucky’s mouth and moan into the open air, riding the wave of your orgasm, a sensation only heightened by the caressing bondage of the bench.When you come down a few moments later, Steve and Bucky quickly unfasten the restraints and help you to the bedroom, where a cup of tea and a fluffy blanket await you.
You’re delighted to also see a final Valentine’s Day gift perched on one of the pillows: a stuffed bear, designed for maximum cuteness in soft fur and pastel colors, its front paws bound together with a tiny length of red rope, its grinning mouth gagged with a scrap of pink fabric.
You laugh as you snuggle under the sheets next to it. “Trying to send me a message, boys?”They join you, one on either side. Steve hands you the bear as he kisses your forehead.“Fuck Valentine’s Day, right, sweetheart?”