In most of his prior experiences with something like this, it was a man who would spit his come onto the ground and refuse to meet his eye. They’d part ways quickly, wordlessly, and Bucky would feel a little shame along with his relief.

All of those memories are shoved out of his head by the sight of Sylvie on her knees, staring up into his eyes as she swallows every last drop of his come. By the time she ticks him away and stands up, only a slight smear of the lipstick she’s wearing gives any hint to what she’d just done.

That, and the slight flush to her skin and the fire in her eyes that Bucky recognizes as arousal. She kisses him and Bucky returns it eagerly, licking the taste of himself from her tongue in a way that makes him feel a little filthy, but he’s come to learn that isn’t a bad thing. They’ve taught him that he doesn’t need to be ashamed of the little things that bring him pleasure.

As they kiss, Bucky reaches between their bodies with his good hand and palms at her cunt through her pants, squeezing almost possessively, but he means it as a promise. As soon as he can, he’ll take care of her.

“It’s a good thing we’re not far from home,” he pants out against her mouth, grinding his palm against her as he nips at her bottom lip. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

After one more kiss, he lets go of her to grab her hand instead, plucking up the shopping bag with the other as he leads them eagerly out onto the street.