Tony's hand slides down Bucky's calf and grip his thigh, hoisting Bucky's leg higher around his waist and Bucky groans because it pulls Tony deeper inside him. They've been at it for a while now and they've changed positions at least three times but they always come back to this one because it's so easy and natural for the both of them.

Tony's lips wander across Bucky's pale skin and trace his jawline as he continues his slow, thorough thrusts and Bucky's hands grasp loosely at Tony's shoulders.

"Do you ever miss fucking me?" Bucky asks quietly, causing Tony to still his movements and stare down at him for a moment.

Tony looks to the side and then back to the familiar blue eyes. "My dick is in you right now. Pretty sure that constitutes as fucking you."

"No, I mean fucking. Hard fucking."

"Kind of," Tony shrugs. "But this is nice, too."

Bucky nods and shifts a little and Tony is still inside of him when he asks, "Do you and Steve still-?"

Tony clears his throat and shakes his head. "Not since before you left."

Bucky swallows and nods a little, sliding his hand up to hold the back of Tony's head and pull him down for a kiss. It's slow and sweet and eventually the kiss is so good that Tony's thrusts stop completely. He wishes he could just disappear and be away from all of these complicated things he's feeling, but he knows he can't. It's not an option. It never will be. Eventually he'll have to deal with these feelings but dammit, he doesn't want to.

Bucky pulls back just a little to nudge at Tony's jaw. He eventually whispers, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tony answers with a small smile. His thrusts resume and Bucky's right hand leaves Tony's hair as he reaches down and grips his own hard cock, thumbing the head as Tony buries himself further and further inside the surrounding heat. Seconds later Bucky climaxes with a throaty whine, coaxing Tony to do the same. Bucky is slightly out of breath but he wants to go again. He wants Tony, forever and always. A few hours a week aren't nearly enough.

"Oh," Bucky moans when Tony pulls out. He shifts in bed and Tony gets comfortable beside him, pressing a feathery kiss to the red star on Bucky's arm.

And Bucky is sure this is the perfect timing. He's concerned that he's waited too long and he just wants this out in the open. "Tony, I—"

"Me first," Tony cuts in, "I think we should stop seeing each other."

Bucky has to pause for a second because what the fuck? He isn't sure what he was expecting to hear but that definitely wasn't what he thought was coming. He glances over at Tony for a short moment before he blinks, clears his throat, and manages a meek and delayed, "Okay."

"That's it? That's all you have to say?"

Bucky attempts to shrug despite his position in bed. He hopes he isn't giving too much away when he manages to spit out a strangled, "I don't guess I have a choice, do I? It's your marriage."

Tony recognizes the change in Bucky's voice. "Yeah," he simply agrees, standing up to collect his clothes and pull them on. He doesn't look up at Bucky for fear of seeing the expression on his face. He can't imagine what he'd see if he did look.

When Tony gets home he finds their floor of the tower decorated for Christmas. Steve is reading in their bedroom and, knocking lightly on the doorframe, Tony asks, "Can we talk?"

Steve hesitates before nodding, closing his book and resting it on his chest. He sits up in bed as Tony perches himself on the edge of it. "What's up?"

"I know I haven't been the best husband lately."

"You've been kind of an ass," Steve nods, not quite looking at Tony.

"I know." Tony doesn't apologize because apologizing isn't Tony's style. Instead, he leans over and kisses Steve's cheek lightly. "So… you wanna go get food?"

Steve can't hold back his smile or his small chuckle. "You never lose your charm, do you?"

Tony grins. "Nope, never. So if you wanna go get dressed we can get food. I'm hungry."

"It's kind of late," Steve says, looking at clock that reads 9:05. He tosses his book aside and steps up, walking into the bathroom to freshen up.

"Where do you wanna go?" Tony calls, just now realizing that Steve has put up the tree in the corner of their bedroom. He wonders why it isn't decorated and notices the plastic storage tub full of ornaments sitting on the floor.

Steve steps out of the bathroom, grabbing his brown scarf off the back of the chair and throwing it around his neck. "Just the cafe is fine."

"That's so boring."

"You don't have reservations anywhere, do you?"

"No."

Steve gives his husband a small, crooked smile. "Of course not. Come on."

Despite the whiskey he's drinking, Bucky is cold. He should feel warmed by the liquor he's consuming, and has been consuming for the past two hours, but he doesn't. The heater in the apartment is on but he's still cold. He's chilled by his own presence and his breath is icy against the empty air around him. He can't help but think that if he had said something, if he had just fucking spoken up things wouldn't have ended this way. His eyes are glistening with unspoken words and he doesn't want to blink for fear of them spilling out, because not only is Bucky devastated by the way things turned out but he can't believe he's done this to himself. He let it happen.

If he had left the tower the night after Steve's birthday nothing would have happened. If Steve hadn't gone on that stupid fucking mission, Bucky and Tony wouldn't have grown so close and then Bucky wouldn't have ended up so fucking alone.

Bucky wouldn't be envious of his friend. His best-fucking-friend. If he had left that night he wouldn't be pining over his best-fucking-friend's husband. He can't help himself, though. It always seems as if Steve comes out on top all the time in the end, no matter what. Bucky tells himself that he's better for Tony than Steve is. Steve is too boring, too bland, too good for Tony Stark.

Even then Bucky is so furious, so pissed at himself and at Steve that he pulls his worn body off of the sofa and grabs the bottle of whiskey from the coffee table. He doesn't really think when he hurls it at the wall. He doesn't think about the fact that the bottle isn't empty, or that it's glass and it'll shatter, or that he probably won't be able to get the smell out of the carpet, or that he won't get his deposit back. He doesn't care because it's at least some sort of relief from this fucking torture.

The little bit of relief that Bucky does receive isn't enough and the lamp next on the end table is doomed to the same fate as the whiskey bottle. Bucky lets out a gravely, animalistic howl when the lamp hits the wall and the unspoken words slip from his eyes.

"Help me decorate the tree," Steve says when they return from dinner at the café.

Tony looks over at their slim, 6-foot tree in the corner of their bedroom and whines, "Can't you do it by yourself?"

"I could, but you could help me and it'd go twice as fast. Plus, it's a tradition."

Tony heaves an overdramatic groan and drags his feet across the room as Steve begins to unbox their ornaments.

In ten minutes the tree is a quarter of the way decorated and Tony isn't really helping so much as handing Steve ornaments to place among the branches. The silence between them is tense, but not as tense as it's been lately, and finally Tony asks, "So, are we not gonna talk about what happened with Bucky?"

Steve scowls and places the ornament in his hand—a crystal snowflake—near the top of the tree. He slowly turns to face his husband. "I just… I got, um, tired of it? I guess? Y'know, Bucky and I were kind of a thing once but I don't really want that anymore."

"Okay, but the way you went about telling him was really shitty," Tony replies pointedly. "You haven't been acting like you."

"Well, I wish I could say the same thing," Steve sighs. "But you're kind of always an ass."

Tony shrugs, humming, because he really can't disagree with that statement. "So, the mission you went on… Did anything happen? Because you weren't really you when you came back."

"Again, I wish I could say the same thing."

"I don't know what you expect me to tell you," Tony frowns, crossing his arms in defense. "You want me to say 'I'm sorry' for doing things that I want to do on my terms? I'm not going to. Do you want me to apologize for staying up late and maybe not going to bed until four in the morning? I won't. That's me, Steve. That's always been me. And you've always been a nag but, I mean, come on. Not this hardcore."

"I'm not a nag anymore," Steve retorts quietly, reaching into the plastic tub for another ornament. "Not since Bucky left."

"So you were just acting like that way because you wanted him out? Why didn't you just say something sooner?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to tell my best friend that I didn't want him around anymore. I was going to get to it eventually, but I didn't think we'd start arguing and he'd hear."

"There are better ways to do it than the way you did it," Tony points out. "You were kind of an asshole about it."

"I was not—"

"Yeah, Steve, you were. Just because you don't want to hear it doesn't mean it isn't true."

Steve rolls his eyes. "You know what? On second thought, I don't need your help with the tree. I can take it from here."

Tony huffs and resists the urge to kick Steve's box of stupid ornaments before heading down to the lab.