Work Text:
It was messing with Bucky. A lot.
His husband had always been unfairly hot. Back in Brooklyn, during the war, after, once Bucky remembered.
Working on their farm had done him good. He'd stopped going on missions, instead opted for ambassador work. And when he was home, he tended to the goats.
He'd grown out his hair and beard, stopped waxing, had put on muscle, matching him.
The rings on their fingers still drove Bucky wild.
He didn't know how he ever let Steve out of bed. Not that they got much done with how often Steve jumped him instead.