Work Text:
Steve:
Coming on Thursday?
Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the question upon seeing it pop up on his screen. Of all the times that Steve could ask if Sam was coming, it was while Sam was in the middle of one of his 'masturbate whilst simultaneously hating himself' sessions that regular people, like himself, engaged in on a Tuesday night.
Sam left Steve on read while he pumped himself towards his orgasm. He replayed the only good part of the porn, which was the foreplay, because professional porn sucked ass when it came to the actual penetration part. First of all, it was the noises that put him off (not including the balls-hitting-the-ass sound, he could dig that). It was mostly the scripted dirty talk and the moaning that put him off because it all sounded so falsely enthusiastic. It was as if the porn industry was just disgusting satire, because regular sex just isn’t like that, and Sam always felt like an idiot for watching the stuff.
But he couldn’t deny that he loved the beefed-up men with their abs as defined as line art and biceps the size of their heads. That was hot. And that was probably why he still tolerated professional porn, because all of those men reminded him of James Buchanan Barnes.
That was when Sam came, when the thought of Bucky mounting him like the feral lover that he was plagued his thoughts like a seedy cloud of lust. The vision made Sam’s mouth drop open as if Bucky was physically there working his tongue over his hole like it was melted ice cream running down the cone, or as if Bucky's arm was currently wrapped around Sam’s chest while he fucked him from behind, balls slapping against him.
Sam’s body recovered with his mind as he thought about the aftermath. In his vision, Bucky would wrap Sam in a blanket and spoon him. Bucky was the big spoon, always the big spoon, because Sam liked the feeling of protection that accompanied being near James Buchanan Barnes, who was unfathomably massive like something out of a lab. With his size came the pervasive warmth that Sam compared to the feeling of being snuggled up in a fleece blanket. Except Bucky's warmth was something more organic, spiritual. Something about being wrapped in Bucky’s scent made Sam feel as if it were safe to fall away into his dreams filled with things that never actually followed the sex he had with Bucky. The Bucky in his lonesome post-orgasm fantasies wasn't the same Bucky as the one who actually did fuck him in real life. Fantasy Bucky was caring and soft as he was hard and gruff. Real life Bucky came and went like a passing thought. Except it wasn't passing for Sam. Unfortunately, possibly, maybe he was in love with the guy. Definitely. Or whatever. He should get a towel and clean his cock probably.
And get a towel and clean his cock he did.
--
Sam texted Steve the next morning on his lunch break. He felt guilty when he received a response instantaneously.
Sam:
Comin
Steve:
Thanks for the quick reply!
Sam:
Any time
Steve:
Just told Sharon you're coming. She's mad. Thought you weren't coming. Baked enough dessert for like only 7 people.
Sam:
Y is she baking two days before a party?
Steve:
Working late tonight
Sam:
Oh. All g. Tell her I'm on a diet anyway.
Steve:
What’s the magic 'legs only' diet?
Sam:
Breakfast: protein shake. Lunch: protein shake. Dinner: protein shake. In between meals: squat till you drop!
Steve:
Must work wonders for your butt too
Sam blushed. Not because Steve just indirectly complimented his ass, no. But because once Bucky told him, tipsy with rosy cheeks, that his ass didn't quit. Then he fucked Sam in someone's tiny bathroom. It was a Christmas party. And from memory it was probably Steve's bathroom.
--
There was something terribly mundane about Wednesdays. Aside from pay day nothing significant had ever happened on a Wednesday.
Except, of course, this Wednesday. This Wednesday night when James Buchanan Barnes, the bane and love of Sam's life, decided that he would call Sam.
Bucky was not a caller as much as he was not a texter. Sam usually received one-off texts from him that were worded in such a way that insinuated that he needed a good lay. But more often than that Bucky liked to just show up unannounced and seemed to hope for the best. And of course Sam would never deny Bucky his ass, as Sam was just too good of a person. He was also in love with Bucky.
Sam assumed it was a butt-dial and let it ring. Seconds after it stopped, Bucky attempted to call again.
Sam scrutinised Bucky’s name on his phone screen. He let it ring again. Afterwards, he sent Bucky a text message.
Sam:
You're calling me???
Bucky:
Yes I am
A beat later, Bucky sent another text.
Bucky:
!!!
Sam rolled his eyes.
Sam:
But why
Bucky:
Ah
Sam sighed. Bucky's texting voice was incomprehensible yet somehow a perfect virtual translation of his absurd character. In their brief back-and-forths to one another, Bucky would manage to fill their pauses with abrupt messages that would convey his hindered train of thought. 'Ah' was a common one. Sam would also be bombarded with many Hmm's, misplaced lol's and the occasional emoji.
Bucky further responded in a series of brief texts.
Bucky:
For U see
Bucky:
m outside
Bucky:
Of ur aprtment
Sam should have known it was a booty call. Now he wished he had answered it just so he could claim one day that he received the most unflattering flirtatious phone call from James Buchanan Barnes.
One difference that Sam did not account for between fantasy Bucky and real-life Bucky was that real-life Bucky was hopelessly unromantic. Fantasy Bucky was the embodiment of stereotypical romance; wind perpetually blowing through his long hair, rose between his teeth and beckoning Sam forward with his eyes. And it worked on fantasy Sam, who was significantly weaker than real-life Sam.
Except who was real-life Sam kidding? Because here he was, five steps away from the door expecting real-life Bucky to sweep him off of his feet.
Sam held his breath. He opened the door.
Bucky was, as promised, there. His hair was tied back with two strands falling at either side of his head. Either Sam was imagining it, or Bucky’s chest was so big that the fabric of his shirt was tearing slightly at the bust area, unable to contain it.
"Hey, man," Sam said, although the words were absent of his natural confidence.
"Can I come in?" Bucky asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Sam said and immediately regretted his lack of control in allowing this beast into his home.
Every other time this happened, Bucky’s hand immediately grabbed for Sam’s waist and he’d kiss Sam with gentleness and ferocity all at once, as if he didn’t want to break Sam but kissing him was also the last thing he’d ever get to do. But Sam knew he was just reading into things, because Bucky behaved with this type of subtle passion about all things. Everything he did from making coffee to sex to changing the channel was performed with a poise that was so endearingly Bucky. He did everything as if he were too shy to do it, but also with the pride that he could do it at all.
“You know I hate it when you stare,” Bucky said.
“And what exactly are you doing?” Sam asked.
Bucky looked away.
“You going to Steve and Sharon’s thing?” he asked.
“Hm? Oh yeah. That. Yeah. Are you?” Sam said.
“Yeah.” Bucky smiled then.
Sam wished that this whole thing just went down the way it had in his head, with the passionate kiss and subsequent awkward stumbling towards his bedroom.
“Just wanted to make sure someone else I knew was going,” Bucky said.
“What? Oh. What the hell do you mean? You know Steve. You know him a lot better than you know me. And you know Sharon. And…Stark. Clint, Natasha. You know everyone who’s going.”
“Eh. They’re not you. Stark is Stark. I can handle him in small doses. He’s always offering to build me a new arm. You know how I hate that.”
“Yeah.”
“And Clint’s fine. And Natasha’s also fine. But it’s hard to talk to them and Steve and Sharon when they’re together. Because couples are like that. Always talking about…couple stuff. Ugh. Anyway. I’m frustrated. Can I fuck you?”
Sam couldn’t stifle his laugh. It came as a result of nerves more than humour, and when he was done laughing the silence came back full force. The passionate kiss still wasn’t happening. Sam did want to get fucked, but he also wanted to know what Bucky meant by they’re not you. When it occurred to Sam that Bucky wasn’t going to move until he gave a response, he nodded, then Bucky moved closer and closer and, finally, his mouth was on his.
Bucky’s hand was on Sam’s lower back. His fingers tightened around Sam’s shirt so much that it bunched up, exposing his back. Sam’s hands slid up Bucky’s chest and snaked around his neck. Bucky responded to his touches and kissed deeper. When Bucky pressed his arm below Sam’s ass, Sam took the signal and leapt up to wrap both his legs around Bucky’s waist. Bucky blindly navigated the both of them until his knees hit Sam’s couch and they fell onto it.
Bucky left kisses all along Sam’s jaw. He kissed down to his neck, lips grazing his Adam’s apple, while his hand was in his jeans and squeezing his ass. Sam was breathless. Bucky sucked hard at the junction where Sam’s neck met his shoulder. His fingers moved closer and closer to where Sam wanted them to be. Bucky moved so Sam was seated on the couch and Bucky was between his legs, almost on the floor. Then, Bucky started talking.
“You don’t think Sharon’s gonna cook do you?” he asked.
Sam gasped when Bucky’s hand slipped out of his pants and relocated up under Sam’s shirt to pinch both his nipples. Bucky kissed his way down Sam’s chest, past his collarbones, far down enough that Sam’s V-neck would allow his mouth venture.
“‘Cause, you know. She’s a real good baker. She just can’t do savoury well,” Bucky continued.
Sam wanted to cry. Sex never went without some kind of conversation. But this?
“She’s a fine chef,” Sam managed. He helped Bucky get his shirt off, then his own. Bucky knelt down to take Sam’s left nipple between his teeth. “Ah!”
“Do you think her and Steve share the cooking duties? Like for that party tomorrow: Steve would be doing the dinner and she’ll be doing dessert? They seem like they’d be really good at sharing tasks,” Bucky said during the time when mouth was free, moving off Sam’s left nipple to the right one.
“Oh, Bucky—I don’t know. Probably.”
Sam was sweating both out of embarrassment and because Bucky was so good with his mouth. And it was only his nipples. He couldn’t wait for the moment Bucky’s tongue would find all the places he knew how to work it.
Bucky started to work on Sam’s pants. “Actually now that I think about it, Steve’s a worse cook. And he seems like he’d be good with taking care of the house because he’s really active but—“
“Bucky, I know we usually talk during this stuff but this is a bit much. This is a lot of talking. Are you even hard right now?”
Bucky gave him a look then leant back, undid his pants and shoved them down as much as he could while balancing on his knees. His cock sprung out. Indeed it was hard and needy for attention. Sam stared for a moment, mouth ajar, and he couldn’t believe that after the amount of times he had seen Bucky’s cock he still couldn’t contain his reaction.
“Um…I stand corrected?” Sam said.
“And I stand erected.”
“Oh my god. Okay. I can’t with this right now. Shut up and switch with me alright? I have to get my mouth on that thing.”
Bucky did as he was told. Sam was certain the talking would stop here. As much as Bucky apparently loved casual conversation during foreplay, he wouldn’t stop himself from enjoying a blow job by speculating about Steve and Sharon’s domestic life or whatever the fuck.
Sam watched Bucky’s head fall back when he wrapped his lips around the head of his cock. He moved up and down slowly, sucked hard and often pulled back to jerk him off and lick around the head.
“Oh fuck!” Bucky yelled.
Sam was so happy. He was so happy to have his mouth around Bucky’s big fucking cock and so happy to have his man scream into the void of his empty apartment because of him. Sam took him all the way down and stayed there. He looked up to see Bucky writhe, lifting off the couch. Bucky placed his hands on the back of Sam’s head. When he added a little pressure Sam complied, staying put until he couldn’t take it anymore, then let Bucky slip out of his mouth. Sam jerked him fast as he licked his lips.
“Bucky, I just really love your big fucking dick. Okay? I love it.”
He took the head back into his mouth and sucked. Sam stuck his tongue out in front of it and jerked him some more.
“Fuck, Sam. Stop that. I’m gonna blow it on your face and I don’t wanna do that. I mean yes I do. But not tonight.”
Sam sat up straight, still jerking Bucky. “You know what? I better let you just bust it on my face right now instead of in my ass as punishment for that shit you just pulled. What the hell, man? Asking me about Sharon’s cooking.”
“Okay, okay. Babe. I’m sorry. But can you get back up here please? Let me make it up to you. Come sit on my face, Sammy. Please.”
Any sense of frustration Sam had evaporated completely. He was going to ride Bucky’s face, yes, and he wanted Bucky to fuck him with his tongue.
They stood up to get completely undressed. Sam pushed Bucky back onto the couch and kissed him hard. Bucky held him close and they made out until Bucky pulled off to tell him on my face now and Sam couldn’t deny him of that pleasure, not anymore.
Sam lowered himself onto Bucky’s face. When Bucky’s tongue darted out, Sam released a sincere moan that he felt he’d been bottling up since he jerked off last night. Bucky licked around him first and slid his hand to Sam’s front to fist his cock.
Bucky did that while he fucked Sam’s hole with his tongue. Sam was almost gone. This was his favourite thing aside from having Bucky inside him. Sam felt as if he was being rewarded with Bucky’s silence as a result of his preoccupation with Sam’s ass. He felt Bucky’s stubble scratch against him. Then he heard muffled sounds from below.
“Uhh…Nah uh. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now unless it’s praises for this ass I am giving you.”
Bucky took the flesh of Sam’s plump ass cheek between his teeth. Then Sam heard, “Sam Wilson, your ass is a godsend. I would eat this ass for every meal of the day, every day of the week. You’re so hot, baby. So glad to have you…right now.”
Then Bucky’s tongue started to work on his hole again and Sam let the scream tear from his throat. Heat spread from Sam’s neck through to his lower back. It seemed to trap both of them onto this couch. He felt as if he could slice the air and produce something tangible.
Bucky finally replaced his tongue with his fingers and stretched Sam open. Sam liked this part, too, because even if Bucky intended to fuck him rough he would perform this part with grace. He liked the fact that Bucky’s delicacy didn’t stop when it came to Sam, who was as much of a sucker for Bucky’s affection as he was for being manhandled by him. Bucky used his tongue and his fingers at the same time. By the time the fourth finger was in him Sam felt like he was really going to lose it.
Bucky stopped before that could happen. He pushed Sam down onto the couch so he was on his stomach, presenting his ass to Bucky as if it belonged to him. To Sam, it was true. Bucky really did own his ass even if Bucky himself was not aware of this mental decision Sam had made long ago. This one-sided relationship was like limbo for Sam. It ached him to realise that Bucky probably treated every ass the same way, showed up uninvited to other guy’s apartments and used the same lines on them. Sam felt his heart constrict as if someone was tying a noose around it. He swallowed the feeling down. No way in hell was he going to allow himself to be vulnerable and start crying.
Sam felt the head of Bucky’s cock bump against his hole. Bucky’s hand smoothed over the expanse of Sam’s back and stopped to wrap his fingers around the back of his neck.
“You good?”
Sam moaned. He loved when Bucky held him down. The gesture was enough to make him forget about his sinking heart. “Yeah. Please fuck me.”
“Well since you asked so nicely…”
Sam opened his mouth to say something snarky. Then Bucky’s cock was in him, the whole thing, in a languid motion. Just like that he melted into the couch and submitted his body to Bucky. Who was he kidding? He was always vulnerable around Bucky. He allowed himself to melt and be fragile around him because he trusted that Bucky would be careful, would always ask him if he was okay. Sometimes Bucky could do that without words. He could do it with just a graze of his fingers against his back when he walked past Sam to get the sugar when he stayed over, or with the way Sam could see him watching him closely in his peripheral vision.
Bucky fucked him thoroughly. His hand switched between a hold on the back of Sam’s neck to a tight grip on his waist. Sam hoped Bucky would leave bruises like he always did. He admired the marks every morning after. If Bucky affected Sam enough with his touches, Sam would go out of the way to wear a low hanging shirt or even a crop top so people could see. But every time someone pleaded for the identity of the one who left the marks, he could never say Bucky’s name. He would always leave people hanging with ‘some one night stand’ even though James Buchanan Barnes was definitely not some one night stand. He was something in Sam’s life that was temporary and permanent all at once.
Bucky flipped them and fucked Sam on his back. He nuzzled his neck, licked him and kissed him there. He whispered sweet nothings into his ear and slowed his pace so he could focus on just fucking him hard.
They came in that position, Bucky first inside him and then Sam all over their stomachs. Bucky jerked Sam off to completion, still thrusting as actively as he could post-orgasm. They laid together and kissed idly while they recovered. This part was truly Sam's favourite part, the part after sex where it felt irreversibly true that Bucky belonged to him and him to Bucky.
Bucky was still inside him and didn't pull out until Sam expressed discomfort. Sam held Bucky close and selfishly hoped that time would freeze so they could be locked in this moment.
It didn't take long for Bucky to fall asleep. He almost always did after an orgasm. This habit allowed Sam a special kind of privacy. While Bucky slept, Sam could touch him in a way he couldn't when Bucky was awake. He could thread his fingers through Bucky's hair and kiss him tenderly. He could fantasise in that very moment that this was their life together, that this was them as a real couple and that the unforgiving reality that Bucky would be gone quicker than how he came wasn't an impending doom, but rather a non-existent universe. But the real non-existent universe was this one: Sam smoothing the hairs out of a sleeping James Buchanan Barnes' face, wishing for more and constantly enduring the fact that this was all he could have, just a moment to steal and hopelessly give back when Bucky awakened and nothing more.
--
Sam felt as if he had already experienced one hundred years’ worth of painful love when Thursday finally came.
Bucky spent the night. He was currently lounged beside Sam in his too-small bed that forced them to constantly touch. Sam moved to rest his head on Bucky's shoulder, whose natural response was to curl his arm around him. Sam expected a further kiss on the forehead. When that didn’t happen he wasn’t surprised, but still he allowed himself to sadly dwell upon it.
"Why do Sharon and Steve keep planning get-togethers?" Bucky asked.
"Because they're both show-offs. They want to show off their perfect life all the time. The only people who can match them are Clint and Natasha," Sam said.
"I prefer Nat and Clint. They like to fight publicly about little things. Like a real couple. Steve and Sharon don't fight. It's shady. Maybe they have these dinners to cover up their failing marriage."
"Is this another one of your conspiracy theories, Barnes?"
Bucky was passionate that Sharon's assertiveness in her professional life translated into their sex life. Bucky and Sam had heated debates about this, as Sam tended to disagree with Bucky's idea that Steve was in fact a submissive in bed. But it was hard to win those arguments when Bucky seemed to have an elaborate argument at the ready to counter him, something about how Steve was so physical already in his everyday life that he liked to relax as much as he could in bed. Sam often let Bucky go on tangents, always suspicious of how much time Bucky dedicated to creating domestic scenarios like this about his friends. Sam wondered if Bucky did the same for himself and Sam, or if he had any thoughts about what Sam did in his spare time when he wasn't letting Bucky fuck him. He hoped to God Bucky thought about him as much as he thought about Bucky.
"Do they expect us to bring anything?" Bucky asked with mild panic.
"Umm... No? I'm sure they're cooking everything as they always do," Sam responded.
"But Nat and Clint always bring stuff."
"Why are you suddenly invested in this? You've never brought anything before. And neither have I."
"Exactly. So you can imagine how often I have a mini crisis over my etiquette whenever I show up without anything. And on your behalf too because... Yeah anyway."
Sam paused as he always did whenever Bucky mentioned him in such a way and trailed off. He took his phone from his bedside table.
"I'll text them so you don’t have a mini heart attack over etiquette of all things. Cool?"
Sam:
What should we bring tonight?
As per usual, in a way that made Sam think Steve had his phone surgically attached to his hand, Steve replied immediately.
Steve:
Not a thing! We've got it covered :)
Sam's phone vibrated again.
Steve:
You bringing a date?
Sam:
Huh?
Steve:
You said "we" Who’s the lucky guy?
"Fuck," Sam said aloud.
"What is it? Shit. Were we in charge of bringing cupcakes the entire time? I can't bake, Sam. It's not my thing." Bucky tried to grab Sam's phone but Sam evaded the manoeuvre.
"No, no! It's just, uh, my back's aching."
Bucky's expression fell and Sam realised that wasn't exactly the best lie. He surged forward and gave Bucky a firm peck on the lips.
"But I'm fine! Nothing too bad. Just, uh, help me sit up."
Bucky moved his arm and helped Sam sit up, then sat up as well.
Sam's heart was still racing as he attempted to recover from his own mini heartache. He was slightly distracted from Steve's question as Sam, too, was getting hung up on the word 'we.' What did Bucky mean by 'we' had to bring cupcakes? Did Bucky think that they went together naturally? Did Bucky think there was no him if there was no Sam?
With a sympathetic squeeze to Sam's shoulder, Bucky went to the bathroom, still wonderfully nude.
'You read into things too much,' ended up being Sam's response. Not even he could escape the irony, as really it was Sam who was the king of ‘reading into things too much’ with the way he tried to find meaning in every single thing James Buchanan Barnes did.
"We don't need to bring anything. So you can relax," Sam said to Bucky when he returned.
"How's your back?" Bucky asked when he slipped into bed again, his conflict about guest etiquette apparently irrelevant now.
"Great. Sorry."
"Don't be."
They fucked again slowly with Bucky on his back. He watched Sam with a glimmer in his eyes that Sam got caught in and, as usual, when Bucky left with a promise to see him again that night, Sam was still caught up.
--
Steve’s first reaction to Sam's arrival was to conspicuously eye the empty spaces at Sam's sides and sigh.
"What?" Sam asked.
"We were excited. Thought we were going to meet the future Mr. Wilson."
"We?" Sam said. He smirked.
"Sharon and I share an interest in your love life. So what? She thinks you have great taste and that you'll end up marrying a model or something, someone as attractive as you are."
"Please. You're making me blush."
Somehow, without even stepping into their apartment yet, Sam was already drowning in his feelings. He wanted to say a witty comment about how they'd already met Mr. Wilson, because Mr. Wilson was really James Buchanan Barnes. This dragged up thoughts that Sam frequently had about who would take whose last name lest they got married. Sam thought maybe they could hyphenate it and he's yet, if ever, to bring up the topic with Bucky.
Sam kissed Sharon on the cheek when he entered. Sharon kept her last name when she married Steve, which Sam respected and felt was characteristic of her to do. Bucky often used Steve's decision to take Sharon's last name as evidence of his sexual submissiveness and Sam always retorted about how unrelated the argument was.
Clint and Natasha arrived next. Sam thought of Bucky when he noticed food in their hands. Sam was constantly enamoured at Clint and Natasha’s ability to be both emotionally and physically compatible. Clint wore a tie that matched Natasha's dress, because they were perfect like that and had to let everyone know. Sam knocked fists with Clint and kissed Natasha on the cheek.
Tony could be heard before he could be seen. The roar of his luxury car probably made the ground shake outside too. He had both his hands full with liquor when he entered the apartment. He tipped his chin upwards at Sam as a greeting. Sam had no time to offer an amicable gesture in return when Tony barged past him into the Carter's kitchen asking questions about the forthcoming meal.
Bucky finally arrived when they’d already started to eat. Sam was thankful to already be seated. He’d spent the majority of the time waiting for Bucky to arrive devising what he would do to greet him. Bucky wasn’t a fist-bump type of guy. He often slapped people’s hands and held them while they knocked shoulders, but he and Bucky were past that kind of friendship—in the private sphere at least.
Sam fretted often about how to behave around Bucky in public. He was hyper aware of everything they did together when around other people. He wondered if Steve or Sharon had ever picked up on their behaviour. Sharon was very intuitive and Steve was impeccable at reading signals and body language. Sam’s anxiety surrounding their knowledge about what went on between him and Bucky was offset by the fact that they were both very verbal about situations, given their outspoken value of communication. If something needed to be talked about, they’d bring it up. They’ve never spoken about it, nor had a tendency to mention Sam and Bucky in the same sentence. For all he knew, he and Bucky were in the clear.
“Hey.”
Sam’s transportation back to reality was so abrupt that he thought his head was spinning. He could see Bucky with refreshing clarity. He was seated next to him, apparently, wearing a dress shirt and a tie, no jacket.
“Hi,” Sam said.
He looked around to see if anyone witnessed their awkward exchange, but they were all immersed in a debate about Steve’s waxing regimen. Sharon told an anecdote about how she’d scoured the house for secret tools that Steve may use to perform the said waxing. The only person who denied the existence of Steve’s waxing regimen was Natasha, who argued that Steve’s rough skin contradicted any evidence of waxing, even if he allegedly had a scarce amount of hair on his body if at all. Clint countered Natasha’s opinion on the topic and they engaged in a mini-argument until Clint, for the sole purpose of pissing off Natasha, turned off his hearing aid and had her freely yell at him. When she noticed what he’d done, she smacked him in the arm and he turned them back on.
“Say, Barnes,” Tony said whilst the waxing argument persisted. Sam’s attention sprung at the mention of Bucky’s name. He tried not to make it obvious. “I’m working on a little something-something that could fill out that empty space in your shirt like a dream. Pure metal, tougher than titanium.”
Sam, on Bucky’s behalf, wanted to throw up. Tony mentioned the knotted dress shirt that dangled by Bucky’s vacant left side. Sam noticed Bucky’s fingers tighten around his fork. Sam, instinctively, patted Bucky’s thigh under the table and, just as instinctively, Bucky slotted his fingers between Sam’s. This never happened. But Sam wasn’t going to stop it from happening.
They held hands like that for the rest of the night, everyone too engaged in delightful conversation to notice the way the air seemed to change around Sam and Bucky, who were purely focused on one another.
“Sam needs a boyfriend,” Sharon said suddenly when Steve was distributing dessert; something baked, the icing on top glistening under the lights.
“Agreed,” Natasha said.
All at once everyone shared their opinions regarding Sam’s love life. Everyone but Bucky. Sam wondered if Bucky tightening his grip on his hand was real or imaginary.
“Sam doesn’t need a boyfriend,” Steve chimed. “He’s absolutely fine on his own. But whoever ends up marrying him would be the luckiest guy in the world.”
“Always the charmer aren’t you, Rogers?” Sam said.
“It’s Carter,” Steve corrected, to which Sharon gave him a kiss on the cheek in response.
“Doesn’t Sam already have a boyfriend? That guy who looks like he could be a literal prince.” Clint suggested.
“T’Challa? He’s cute,” Natasha commented.
Sam’s face grew warm, so warm that he wanted to be doused in actual ice. Something about Bucky’s grip changed. Or maybe, as per usual, he imagined that.
“That’s a dead relationship,” Steve said, knowledgeable about what had transpired between Sam and T’Challa.
Long story short, T’Challa and Sam had dated for a while. Then one night as they were making love, right before Sam came, T’Challa told him he wanted to stop the benefits and just be friends. Sam, so stunned by the assault of T’Challa’s truthful emotions, softened almost immediately, never came, and sobbed quietly while T’Challa held him.
It was the single most embarrassing moment of Sam’s life and only two people knew about it: Steve and Bucky. Bucky and T’Challa after that ordeal were hostile to one another. Sam had a hard time doubting that their newfound hostility had something to do with what T’Challa did to Sam.
“T’Challa’s engaged,” Bucky said. It was one of the only things he’d said aloud all night. It evoked a number of shocked expressions.
“Oh yeah. I saw that. Facebook is a great database for personal information,” Clint said.
“Isn’t that the whole point of Facebook? To eradicate privacy?” Natasha said.
“Here we go. Are you going to go on a tangent about social media again? There’s a space for that, hun. It’s called Twitter,” Clint ranted.
Natasha did not, in fact, go on a tangent. She just rolled her eyes but followed it up with a look that could be described as hopeless adoration for her husband. Clint and Natasha smiled at each other, all the love, admiration and respect in the world embodied in their expressions. Sam watched this carefully, heart stilling at the silent exchange that he yearned to have with a certain someone. Speaking of that someone, he turned to Bucky.
“What’s your problem?” Sam whispered.
“My problem? I have no problem, dear,” Bucky said too loudly for Sam’s liking.
“You know how I feel about what happened with T’Challa. Why’d you have to mention he was engaged?”
“Because we were having a conversation, my love. Excuse me for wanting to contribute to it,” Bucky said.
Sam glared hard at Bucky, who had this strange offensive manoeuvre when they argued that involved fiercely spitting pet names. It made Sam’s chest hurt.
The change in T’Challa’s relationship status happened very suddenly. There was a Facebook status T’Challa had shared regarding his engagement that Sam didn’t read as to not give the words the power to affect him. But he was still hurt and that night he expressed this hurt to Bucky over the phone, demanded that he come over and fuck him, and he rode Bucky on the floor space right by the front door because he just couldn’t wait to get to the bedroom.
“Well you added gas to a flame. You know how I feel about that certain topic of discussion yet you kept it going,” Sam said.
“Oh baby, were you even paying attention just then? The topic literally ended after I spoke.”
“You’re missing the point. Do you remember how much I hurt that day? You remember how hard I cried? Oh shit, I’m getting second-hand embarrassment for myself just thinking about it. And you! You want me to remember all that pain.”
“Fuck, honey. You’re so dramatic. You know what? Fine. You’re right, babe. I wanted you to remember all that. Because after you cried to me on the phone, I came rushing to your place and with just one foot through the door you threw yourself at me and rode me till the fucking cows came home.”
Bucky had said that right by Sam’s ear. In a moment of weakness, Sam grew hot at the memory and his heart was about to punch right through his chest. And Tony, being Tony, opened his godforsaken mouth.
“Uh oh, guys. Looks like Clint and Natasha aren’t going to be the married couple to ruin tonight’s dinner,” Tony said.
Everyone looked at Tony.
“Hey…” Tony continued and stared right at Sam and Bucky. “Anyone ever tell you two that whenever you’re together the sexual tension is so strong that you could successfully cut diamonds with it?”
Sam was going to scream. He was going to spew profanities at Tony so bad that the sheer violence of his words would kill him. Sam looked at Bucky, who smirked.
“You’re enjoying this?” Sam said.
“You wouldn’t be so offended by this if you yourself did not think it was true and subsequently wanted to hide any evidence of your feelings for old Barnesy over here,” Tony said.
“Okay to be fair, Barnes kind of matches Sam’s level of attractiveness. He’s worthy,” Sharon analysed.
“Don’t they hate each other?” Clint asked as if Sam and Bucky weren’t there to speak for themselves.
“True. Hate isn’t a good foundation to base relationships upon,” Steve said.
“Oh quite the contrary. It depends on what type of hate it is. Between these two? It’s fake hate. It’s a fabrication to cover up the undying love they have for one another,” Tony said.
Bucky chortled. He poured himself a glass of Tony’s liquor and drank as he observed everyone discuss the prospects of their relationship with a great deal of comfort. Sam, on the other hand, wished he had an eject button to launch himself out of his seat and break through the stratosphere never to fall back down to the ground.
The conversation continued for too long. Sam spent it all wishing he had some kind of shield to hide behind. Bucky took it in stride, often offering his own opinions that made Sam worry that this conversation was becoming the perfect agency to revealing the truth.
The conversation moved from the dining table to the living room where everyone began drinking in earnest. When there, the conversation gradually died and got buried under ridiculous banter. Sam was thankful for the boisterous atmosphere facilitated by the increasingly important role of alcohol. He snuck away into the bathroom to wash his face.
The bathroom was narrow with one shower in the corner, a sink and a toilet. With the door closed, Sam felt as if he were in a cell. Except who was Sam kidding? He was always locked in a cell where he was in a constant battle against his emotions for James Buchanan fucking Barnes.
There was a knock on the door followed by, of course, Bucky’s intrusion. When the door closed behind him there was even less space in the already cramped bathroom. They were so close together, knees forced to almost touch.
“What the hell was that, Bucky?” Sam asked. The laughter from outside erupted like thunder; distant but close enough to make the room quake. “You know we’re just confirming their suspicions right? Us two being absent.”
Bucky shook his head. “No, no. The stuff Tony brought was strong, baby. They’re not gonna notice a thing. They’re playing charades. I couldn’t deal with that, honey. I wanted to play it smart like you and escape.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “I’m escaping from you, asshole.”
“Why are you being like this, babe? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I brought up T’Challa. You know, I hate him more than you right?”
“How the hell can you hate that man more than I do? In fact, fuck you. I don’t hate him. I’m not like that. I’m happy for him.”
Bucky paused.
“Well. Whatever. I still hate him,” Bucky said eventually.
“Why?”
“Because! He! Ugh. That guy gets all the good shit.”
“Like what?”
“He fucked you!”
“Wow, Bucky. And you’ve never fucked me. Never. Not once in your life. Your dick has never been personally introduced to my asshole.”
“But you guys were in a real relationship! He asked you out on a date. Took you to some fancy five star restaurant. Like some dickhead! You don’t even like five star restaurants, Sam! But you went anyway because he was everything you wanted. He’s an absolute asshole because the whole thing is that he’s not even an asshole in the first place. He donates most of his money to charity. What a dickhead.”
“Wow. Are you drunk? You’re probably drunk. You’re also definitely the most ridiculous fucking person ever, James. Absolutely ridiculous. And do you know how possessive you’re being right now? You don’t own me, Bucky. You act like I owe you some apology for dating T’Challa.”
“Oh fuck you, Sam. Fuck you, sweetheart. I’m not acting like anything. You’re the asshole here. You’ll lovingly fuck every other person in the world but fuck me and leave me hanging like a discarded condom or something. But no. Whatever. Sam Wilson: always the fucking victim.”
Sam shoved him. Bucky caught his arm. Then he smashed their lips together and Sam pressed their chests together.
“I fucking hate you,” Sam said when they broke free from the kiss to get Bucky’s shirt off.
“And you’re a fucking bitch, darling,” Bucky said before dipping Sam in his arm and kissing him again.
“Mmf—Bucky. Get my pants off.”
Bucky turned Sam around and shoved his pants down. Sam lifted one leg on top of the toilet seat and was hit with a wave of nostalgia. He’d been in this position before in a similarly cramped bathroom.
“We’ve done this before,” Bucky said, reading Sam’s mind apparently.
“Are we ever gonna give Steve’s bathroom a break?” Sam asked.
“Probably not.”
Bucky knelt before Sam and ate him out. He was more ferocious, spitting and generally being more verbal than he had been last night. Sam looked down and moaned when he caught a glimpse of Bucky pumping his cock rapidly. Bucky sucked a bruise into Sam’s right ass cheek and stood. Behind him, Sam heard Bucky rummaging through the Carter’s drawers.
“They don’t have lube,” Bucky said in between the rustling and thudding of various objects.
“Ha. Maybe that proves your sex theories wrong. Maybe they don’t have sex at all,” Sam said as he lightly stroked his cock.
“Uh uh. I’m right. I have to be. About everything. Fuck! Where’s their fucking lube? Maybe they keep it by their dresser or something.”
“Get back here and let me get it wet.”
Bucky turned around as Sam sat on top of the toilet seat. “I don’t wanna do it without lube again. I think my dick chafed last night. I don’t know.”
Despite what he’d said, Bucky lowered his cock into Sam’s mouth. Sam didn’t hide how much he wanted it. He sucked Bucky off desperately, moaning at the warmth in his mouth. He let the tip of Bucky’s cock hit the back of his throat in quick successions. He held him there before letting him slip out. Sam’s mouth was still connected to Bucky’s cock through a string of saliva. Bucky jerked himself off in front of Sam’s face, who leant down occasionally to leave kisses along his length and a final open-mouthed kiss on the head.
“I think I’m just gonna use the Vaseline I found as lube,” Bucky said, stroking himself.
“Whatever gets you in my ass faster, champ,” Sam said.
Bucky smirked and used the Vaseline to slick himself up. Sam repositioned himself with one leg on the toilet seat. His mouth fell open in a silent gasp as Bucky pushed in.
“God, Bucky. You stretch me open you know? Big fucking dick,” Sam rasped.
Bucky responded with a sharp snap of his hips. He fucked Sam hard and fast. He groaned, fingers curled around Sam’s hip and nails digging into his flesh. Sam loved everything about it; both of them partially dressed and moving back and forth against each other. Each movement was more desperate than the last.
“Fuck, baby. Turn around,” Bucky groaned. When Sam did, Bucky said, “You might have to help me out with this one after a while.”
Bucky lifted Sam into his arm and slid back inside him.
Sam was so impressed with how Bucky jumped straight back into his brutal pace, fucking him while Sam was in the air. After a while Bucky moved forward until Sam’s back hit the shower wall. Standing up, Sam could see their reflection in the mirror. He clung to Bucky’s shoulders, who only had his pants on but shoved down to his knees, while Sam still had his fully unbuttoned shirt.
“Watch me fuck you,” Bucky whispered into his ear.
Sam did. He watched Bucky’s hips snap fast and admired his every shoulder and back muscle. When Sam was about to come, Bucky stopped.
“Bucky?”
“Sam, I…Listen. I have to tell you something…” Bucky said.
The words brought back another wave of nostalgia, a violent one that crashed along the shore against the backdrop of a swirling grey sky. They were the precursor to T’Challa’s confession that struck Sam like lightning and left a scar that took too long to heal. Bucky had been a huge part of that healing process and here he was about to reopen that wound.
“No…No, Bucky. Not you. Don’t do that. Please. Please don’t…”
Bucky kissed him hard. The world stopped spinning on its axis. It was Sam’s wish come true. Time stopped just for him, just so he could permanently exist in this blissful second with Bucky.
“Sam, listen. Babe, just listen,” Bucky said breathlessly. Sam tightened his legs around Bucky, who carefully slid his arm away from where it was trapped between the shower wall and Sam’s back to cup his face in his hand. “I’m not doing that. Don’t think like that. I’d never fucking do that to you. Are you listening?”
Sam closed his eyes. He held his breath. He wasn’t going to cry. Not now. He nodded.
“Okay. So...Ah. This is so hard. I talk about you, baby. All the time. To my therapist.”
Sam couldn’t stop his emotions from gathering inside of him and becoming a deadly manifestation of what had been kept in too long. He was already so close to imploding, even after hearing the ridiculousness that spilled out of Bucky’s mouth.
“Oh my god, Bucky. I really hope this is going somewhere.” Sam tried to laugh as he said this, but the tears were coming in too quickly for him to even start fighting them back.
“It’s going somewhere. I think. This is hard for me alright? I’m, like, doing really well right now. I haven’t got a lot to talk about these days in therapy. So I go less now. And every time I do go, once a month, I talk about you. I’m this grown ass man talking to his therapist about being in love with a boy that doesn’t love him back. And I just wanted to let you know that it’s been like that for months. Aside from talking about other stuff, I spill my heart out about you once a month. And my therapist was like if I don’t tell you the truth then loving you might actually kill me. So. Yeah. I love you and all that.”
The tears fell slowly. As they fell, Sam felt the relief more than he did actual sadness. He felt like sunlight slicing through that onslaught of grey clouds.
“Did that really happen?” Sam asked.
“What?” Bucky said, though he laughed nervously.
“Did you just say you love me? James Buchanan Barnes, do you love me?”
Sam opened his eyes and thought he could see his own reflection in Bucky’s, which seemed to be on the brink of spilling too.
“Yeah. Yeah, Sammy. I love you. So much.” Bucky closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against Sam’s.
“Oh god, Bucky. Fuck me while you say that.”
Bucky’s head rocked back with a laugh that made his whole body shake. He did just that. He fucked Sam while he whispered how much he loved him, and Sam came harder than he ever had before. Bucky followed after him, spilling in his ass with sharp jerks of his hips.
“I don’t think I’ve ever cried happy tears during sex before. Congratulations, Bucky. You’ve broken a record tonight,” Sam said as he breathed heavily.
It was eerily quiet outside but Sam didn’t care. He hoped that when they walked out of there they would be met with a standing ovation.
“I don’t want to make you cry during sex ever again,” Bucky said.
“Oh don’t get all emotional now.”
“My heart was breaking, Sam! You were crying and it was my fault.”
Sam kissed Bucky on the tip of his nose. “You love me though. So I forgive you. And I love you too. You’re an absolute fool that I am head over heels in love with. But I’ve got one question,” Sam said.
“Mm?”
“Does Sam Barnes sound nice? Because I really don’t know how I feel about it. And James Wilson is also weird to me. Bucky Wilson? Plus Wilson-Barnes and Barnes-Wilson are equally overwhelming.”
“Marriage seems stressful. Remember those few months before Steve and Sharon got married? They fought like every single day. Funny how the only time I’ve ever seen them fight was in the months it took to prepare them to declare their permanent, unbreakable and undying love for each other,” Bucky said. His cheek was pressed against Sam’s shoulder. He still had him pinned against the shower wall, cock softening inside of him.
“True. Maybe we don’t need to get married,” Sam suggested.
“Look. If you want a marriage proposal, let me know. Because our marriage proposal has to be better than Steve’s and Clint’s. It has to be overwhelmingly dramatic,” Bucky said.
“Overwhelmingly dramatic. Yeah, Bucky. That’s what we are. That is definitely what we are.”
Bucky slid out of Sam. They used toilet paper to clean themselves. Bucky stored away the Vaseline and rearranged the mess he made as he sought the lube.
When they re-entered the living room there wasn’t the standing ovation that Sam had hoped for, even when they’d made a show out of it by walking out hand-in-hand. Steve and Sharon smiled whilst Clint and Natasha smirked at them. Finally, Sam got his applause. From Tony.
“I would like to take full responsibility for this,” Tony said.
Sam and Bucky squeezed themselves onto the couch and remained on the sidelines of the conversation. It was back to Steve’s grooming habits, who had in their absence admitted to waxing. Bucky absentmindedly nipped at Sam’s ear, who nudged him back.
“No. I’m tired. You took the life out of me back there,” Sam said quietly. He leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder.
“I can’t wait to tell my therapist about this,” Bucky whispered, looking down at him.
“I’ll bet,” Sam said.
Sam closed his eyes. He hoped that when he re-opened them he would be back in his apartment, Bucky beside him. He hoped that Bucky would catch onto the fact that they now lived together, no questions asked. Sam would no longer have to feel guilty about longingly staring at Bucky’s sleeping figure. He no longer had to pray for time to stop so he could cherish those stolen moments just a bit longer. He’s more than happy to have the world continue spinning on its axis, constantly in movement, because Sam could say he had what he wanted now.
And that’s how he fell asleep: head against Bucky’s shoulder on Steve’s couch, his fantasies seamlessly merged with reality.