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Bucky waits near the door, on the far side of the couch. His leg bounces, so he tries to stop it, and then he remembers no one else is in the house, that’s why he’s waiting here like an impatient ninny.
His eyes flicker back and forth between the television and the wall where the door sits nestled within. Their apartment walls are covered in a dour cream-beige that makes him sad to look at. Nothing being spoken from the television registers in his mushy, barely-functioning frontal cortex. He’s preoccupied, waiting for Sam to come through the door.
Sam answered his last text, so he assumes all’s fine on the other end. He shrugs and folds his hands back in his lap.
It’s about another ten minutes of waiting. Bucky checks his phone (a device he finds marvelous, a pinnacle of human innovation, and most of all a saviour of satisfying the super soldier libido when his unenhanced partner is away) and puts it down. He realizes he didn’t check any of his texts, so he checks those. He hasn’t missed any, not even from Leah.
His hearing picks up light and airy footsteps, ones of a man always in a hurry, coming up the flight of stairs to their floor. The man is holding a bag of luggage or two and he’s listening to music.
See? Everything’s fine, Bucky says to himself.
The door clicks open. Enter Sam, who has the shield in its ridiculous leather briefcase (did Steve have that made specifically for it?) in one hand and a duffel bag hanging across his body. There’s a sheen of sweat on his brow, his gaudy striped dress shirt disheveled. Bucky can pick up what singer he’s listening to now: Tina Turner. (Excellent choice.)
“Those stairs are a bitch,” Sam pants, using his phone to pause the music. He takes off his sunglasses and out comes those bright and sunny eyes he has.
“You know we have an elevator.” Bucky gets up from the couch to help Sam haul the exorbitantly heavy duffel bag into their bedroom.
“I wanted to work my legs after that god awful taxi ride,” Sam explains, breath still labored.
The common room is abandoned as they close the door behind them. Bucky asks, “How was the briefing?”
“Agonising. Ross is a tyrant.”
“Hm,” Bucky says. He offers to take the cross body bag.
Sam scoffs at Bucky as the luggage is freed from his shoulders. “You’re such a gentleman. Really, I appreciate the chivalry for another capable man.”
Bucky rolls his eyes and sits down on the edge of the bed. Sam pads across the room to the washroom, where he ducks his head into the sink.
“I’ll still kiss on you even if you reek,” Bucky offers from the bed. He looks down, noticing the shield balanced precariously against the nightstand. It bothers him, so he leans it between the nightstand and the bed frame.
“That I also appreciate,” Sam responds, mulling it over in his hands as he splashes a mixture of water and cleansing soap onto his face. “I just hate feeling all sweaty, you know.”
“I don’t,” Bucky says.
They both pause. Bucky can’t help but laugh. His laugh is croaky and on the ugly side, rusty from misuse, but it makes Sam laugh too, every time.
Sam towels his neck and face off and practically barrels into Bucky, enveloping him in a tight hug that sets Bucky’s body alight with serendipity.
“I missed you,” Bucky confesses. He wraps his arms around Sam’s middle and buries his face into the crook of Sam’s neck, finally allowing himself to get a little emotional about how lonely he felt.
Sam hums and rubs his palms up and down Bucky’s back. “I missed you, too. You have no idea.”
Bucky helps Sam onto the bed and they settle onto their sides, then scoops Sam back into his arms and kisses his forehead. His nerves are buzzing and they make his hands shake a little.
Sam knits their fingers together, presses a kiss to his cheekbone. “I’m here.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says. He forces his hand to be still as he sets it on Sam’s cheek. “I'm here, too.”
Sam smiles, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Bucky’s heart melts and he wasn’t sure if that could ever happen again. Bucky kisses Sam, gentle and testing. Sam giggles and kisses him back.
“I missed you,” Bucky repeats into Sam’s mouth.
Sam sighs, letting Bucky take control of the kiss. Bucky licks against Sam’s tongue in the way that makes Sam shiver in his grasp. The kiss isn’t frantic, it’s tired and languid, time ticking by without either caring to address their less important needs. All that matters right now is each other.
“Sam,” Bucky whispers, his hands traveling down with his kisses, sweeping delicate touches that he hopes Sam will adore. It delights Bucky to hear Sam moan, to feel him loosen up under his hands and his Adam’s apple buzz under his lips.
Bucky unsheathes his teeth to bite down on Sam’s neck, sucking a wet mark. Sam squirms and Bucky tightens his grip on Sam’s sides.
“What do you want?” Bucky goads with Sam’s skin still between his incisors.
“You,” Sam says, breathy and needy and plain.
Bucky relents his teeth from Sam’s neck and he closes his eyes, letting himself shiver all over and enjoy the feeling of being so desired. When he opens them, Sam is back on top of him, peppering his jawline with kisses. His lips are soft and damp, heaven on Bucky’s skin.
“How much did you miss me?” Sam asks between pecks and licks. He even throws in a bite, not too deep, but it burns Bucky’s jugular if just for a moment.
Shuddering, Bucky dips his hands underneath Sam’s dress shirt. He doesn’t know if he wants to admit it to Sam just yet, he wants there to be an element of surprise. As he caresses Sam’s skin with his fingertips, he decides it doesn’t matter.
“I tried fingering myself again,” Bucky says as he ignores the heat spreading on his nose ridge.
Sam pauses his motions to groan against Bucky’s clavicle. His eyes go cloudy, like he’s imagining Bucky alone in the bedroom, boxers around one ankle, fucking himself with two right fingers and whining Sam’s name into his pillow.
(Which did happen more than once while Sam was away, and Bucky’s quite happy Sam didn’t hear his whining.)
“If you can last another round, cause, goddamn, I need you in me right now more than life itself, um,” Sam rasps when he comes to and continues kissing Bucky all over, “Can I see you do that for me?”
The very idea sends a shock wave of lust through Bucky’s body. He’s always wanted to feel how Sam loves feeling, presenting and letting Sam see parts he once shunned on himself, and letting them be admired along with the rest of his body.
“Sweetheart,” he says, voice breaking from how good he feels, “I’ll put on a fuckin’ show for you, I promise.”
An eager noise passes Sam’s lips and into Bucky’s mouth as they kiss again. Bucky tugs at Sam’s full bottom lip, Sam hisses, grabs Bucky’s hips so his full cock presses into Sam’s thigh. Bucky moans, bitten off and sharp on the ears.
“Fuck, you’re so hard,” Sam surveys, ghosting his palm along Bucky’s shaft. Bucky lunges to seal Sam’s lips with his own. Sam’s skilled hand travels lower and cups Bucky’s sack through his pants. Even through denim, Sam’s hands are wonderful, and he shunts up into the touch.
“Let’s get ready?” Sam asks as they break for air.
Bucky nods, suddenly shy, then disdainful of how hot-cold he gets when he’s flustered.
Sam is patient. Sam’s been there, he understands. He always places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder when he gets like this, squeezes it, looks at him with tender and loving pools of umber. This time is no different.
“We’re okay?” Sam asks.
“We’re okay,” Bucky confirms.
Sam huffs out a vocal breath, looking excited for what’s to come. He pulls at the buttons on his dress shirt, starts undoing them. Bucky is a little slower to take his henley off. He’s got it rucked up around his stomach but he hesitates to go any further. Bucky notices Sam notice him.
“You really don’t have to,” Sam says quietly.
“I want to,” Bucky says, keeping his throat clenched.
He doesn’t wait for Sam’s permission. He hauls the shirt off his shoulders like he’s ripping a bandage off. His dog tags stay, they always stay.
They’re both shirtless now, and Bucky doesn’t want any attention on himself, so he gives it all to Sam. He draws his eyes up and down Sam’s exposed body. “God, you’re a picture.”
Sam flushes at the praise. “I see what you’re doing.”
“I mean it.” Bucky takes Sam into his arms again, kissing his bare shoulders, biting and nipping at the soft skin on his upper chest. “Whenever I get to see you like this, I feel so… I don’t know, blessed.”
“Buttering me up when you know you look just as good.” Sam threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair.
“Just trying to help you feel as loved as I do,” Bucky says, and Sam goes limp in his arms.
He sucks and sucks at Sam’s nipples, draws the flat of his tongue over them after leaving blunt-toothed bites.
“You’re… you’re a fucking angel painted on the Sistine.” Bucky mouths at Sam’s areola, pressing his fingers into the meat of his sides.
Sam’s muscles ripple under his skin like pulleys as he stretches out under Bucky’s weight. “Bucky, holy shit.”
Bucky keeps going as he nibbles at Sam’s abs. He lifts his lips from the stomach beneath them and sets his chin against it. “God, when I look at you, I fall in love all over again.”
He’s starting to get overwarm, and so is Sam. And yet he continues, panting as he palms himself, “When I wanna feel good, all I have to think about is you and I’m there. I’m there, Sam, you’re with me, around me, in me.”
“Bucky,” Sam sobs. His hands rest on Bucky’s shoulders as Bucky switches their positions so that he’s on top. Sam’s expression is slack, his eyes wet at the edges. He looks like he needs to be fucked out of his own head.
Propping himself up by his arms, Bucky straddles Sam and bores down on him with all the starvation a man could feel in his gut.
“Lemme suck you,” Bucky says with a voice tinged in desperation. Sam doesn’t respond right away, so Bucky adds, “You can watch me jerk myself off.”
That startles Sam into life again. He stirs, then he wraps a leg around Bucky’s waist, his ankle hitting Bucky’s sit bones.
“Holy shit, baby,” Sam laughs. “Give me a minute. You’re blowing my mind and we haven’t even gotten our pants off yet.”
“Is that a yes?” Bucky asks.
Sam catches his eye, a glint of humour melded in with arousal. “Buck, I will never turn that beautiful mouth of yours down.”
“You spoil me,” Bucky muses, more than satisfied with Sam’s answer.
He initiates rather than Sam. He hooks his fingers around Sam’s waistband, stares up with intent to continue. Sam nods, and he pulls Sam’s pants and underwear down to just above his knees. Sam’s cock is just as beautiful as the rest of him.
Bucky kisses the sensitive, cut head of Sam’s dick. He laves at the frenulum with quick presses of his tongue. Sam moans, spreading toned thighs further apart and allowing Bucky more access into his space.
Sam’s hand cups the base of Bucky’s skull, a gentle and omnipresent pressure that ensures Bucky neither of them are going anywhere. When Bucky kisses down the shaft of Sam’s cock, letting saliva dribble down to the base, Sam starts to rub circles into the nape of Bucky’s neck. It feels so incredible that Bucky doesn’t know if he deserves it.
“You’re being so good, Bucky,” Sam murmurs. “Who’s my good boy.”
Bucky pulls away to gasp. He bows his head and counts to five in his head so he doesn’t come on the spot.
“You love that, don’t you?” Sam croons, cupping Bucky’s burning face and encouraging him to make eye contact. “Being told you’re good.”
(He’s been told he’s been good so many times before, is the thing. Mostly after kills, by the people who hurt him. It never made him feel anything.)
“Only by you,” Bucky says, holding Sam’s gaze, speaking from the heart. “‘Cause I love you.”
Sam’s smile is akin to the sun, blinding and spectacular. “I love you, too.”
Bucky blinks slowly and returns to Sam’s dick, which is still hard and leaking. He drags his tongue along the blot of precome at Sam’s tip. Sam’s hips spasm and he grunts.
“I love you,” Sam says again as Bucky starts to suck on the head of his dick.
Bucky hums in response, lazily jerking off the rest of Sam with his left hand. Leaning onto his side, Bucky undoes his belt with his free right hand and pulls out his cock. He nestles his cheek on Sam’s thigh and licks at the shaft, and then he starts to stroke himself. Sparks fire off in the back of his brain. He spreads his legs the best he can, just so his gestures are deep and rhythmed.
It earns him more talking. “There we go. So sweet on me. What’d I ever do to deserve you, Buck?”
Arousal drives him to take at least half of Sam into his mouth at once. Sam shouts and clamps his hand in Bucky’s hair. In turn, Bucky jolts, his drool coating Sam’s shaft in a thick clear sheen.
“Yeah, I like that, oh, good boy, such a good boy,” Sam keens.
Bucky pulls off again. Big, strong hands pet his hair and stroke his scalp.
“Too much?” Sam asks, sounding embarrassed. Bucky looks him in the eye, or at least attempts to.
“It’s a lot,” he says honestly. His cock twitches in his hand as he lowers his thigh back down. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to fuck this up.”
Sam lets out another sigh. It’s inward. He’s mad at himself. “Bucky, you’re not fucking this up. I’m just worried I’m always… overstepping.”
(They wait for the other to finish talking. They never interrupt each other, not anymore.)
“Can we talk about this later?” Sam says after some silence. “I really want you back on my dick.”
There’s something about the way Sam uses his words that gets Bucky back into momentum. “I was gonna say the same thing,” he replies. “Fuckin’ A.”
He sucks Sam down, letting him fill his throat and he burrows into Sam’s groin like he belongs there. He hears Sam yell, feels fingers grab tightly at his hair and pull and, fuck, Bucky has earned a chance in heaven through this invitation by an angel.
They stay there for a bit, Bucky’s dog tags pooled on the bed sheets as his head bobs up and down in Sam’s lap, stroking his cock out of his jeans. Sam’s talking peters out. He cradles Bucky’s head in his hands, breathing heavy, a groan escaping his lips every once in a while.
Bucky releases Sam when the heat pooling in his stomach begins to boil. “Can I fuck you?”
Sam lays down with his back to the pillows and says, “You’d better.”
Bucky reaches into the nightstand to grab lube and condoms. He sits up on his haunches, attempting an expression somewhere in between gentle and hungry.
“How do you want it, beautiful?” He asks Sam.
Sam shows him. He gestures for Bucky to get off of him, and as Bucky does, he rids himself of his pants and boxers. He then gets onto his hands and knees and spreads his legs a bit, not showing all of himself but just enough for Bucky’s cock to throb at the sight.
Bucky takes his jeans and boxer briefs off with haste. Sam looks over his shoulder, eyeing Bucky’s groin with a grin.
“I’ve been missing you, too,” Sam whispers, seemingly half to himself.
Bucky hears him, pours lube into his palm and chuckles. He elects not to say anything else, instead pressing a wide pointer finger at Sam’s pucker. Sam’s back bows inward.
“No, don’t keep fucking around,” Sam orders, strained-sounding. “Make me ready.”
“I don’t fuck around,” Bucky protests, but he follows Cap’s orders like he’s supposed to. Sam crows at the first breach of a finger in his asshole. Bucky grins big, twists his finger, curls it upward.
Sam braces himself with his broad shoulders, fucks himself back on the digit in his ass. “ Oh, Bucky.”
Bucky fucks his finger in and out, holding Sam by the hip with his other hand. “Tight,” he says.
“I didn’t exactly have opportunities in Washington,” Sam reminds him through wet, reddened lips.
Bucky smiles, but it comes out a little crooked-feeling.
Sam laughs, falsetto and fond. He says to Bucky, “Need more of you.”
Bucky gives him two more fingers out of generosity. He has never seen the human back coil in the way Sam’s does when he’s being fingerfucked.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Bucky says. “My god, look at you move, baby. You feel good?”
“ Yes ,” Sam cries out in bliss.
Prepping Sam takes a while, and Bucky purposefully draws it out just because he doesn’t want to hurt the guy who saved his life. He treats Sam in bed as though he owes him a great debt. (And he does.)
“Fuck me, please,” Sam outright begs.
“You said to make you ready,” Bucky says. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“You’re overcompensating, is what you’re doing.” Sam clenches his blood-hot walls around Bucky’s three fingers. “Fuck me right now.”
Bucky does what he’s told. He pulls his fingers out, slowly, to hear Sam mewl for it. He rolls a condom over his cock and holds the weight in his hand, steeling himself.
He presses in at a glacial pace. Not for confidence’s sake, either; Sam is sensitive and they’ve had more than a few bad entrances. Bucky hangs his head and moans, gripping Sam’s hips.
“Fuck,” Bucky exhales as he buries himself to the hilt, an expert attempt at modulating his own strength. “ Fuck, baby.”
“Oh, god.” Sam bristles as Bucky settles inside him.
Startled, Bucky rubs his palm against Sam’s back. “We’re okay?”
“We’re okay,” Sam says, husky. “Move.”
Bucky begins to thrust. The meaty smack of his groin against Sam’s ass fills him with carnal want. He takes it slow, though, just for now, so Sam can get used to him.
Pleasure shoots up his spine every time he pushes back in, and he groans for Sam. “You feel so fucking good.”
Sam responds by arching his back and meeting Bucky’s thrusts, fucking back on his dick. “Fuck me, fuck me, oh, Bucky.”
Bucky gives Sam the best he’s got. He leans in, pressing his stomach skin to skin with Sam’s lower back, and pistons into him. He lets go, lets his hips work and his mouth run.
“If you could see yourself right now,” Bucky pants, “If you knew how amazing you look.”
Sam buries his face into the pillow and pushes his ass back up. Bucky holds onto it for dear life.
“No, sweetheart, don’t hide from me,” Bucky says. He loops an arm around Sam’s middle and pulls him close, back to chest. His hand strokes across Sam’s belly, petting down his happy trail.
Sam doesn’t say anything, just whimpers and yelps beneath Bucky. Bucky continues, “You’re my home, you know that? You’re everything to me. My beautiful, beautiful everything.”
“Bucky, oh,” is all Sam can say back.
“I’m here, darling,” Bucky assures, fully atop Sam now. He threads his fingers with Sam’s and kisses the nape of his neck.
If he strokes Sam now, he won’t last more than a few seconds. Something daring sparks in the back of Bucky’s mind. He nips at Sam’s neck again and asks him, “You think you could come without my hand on you?”
Sam’s reply is a garbled, “Keep talking.”
“Okay,” Bucky agrees with a breathless laugh. Where to begin, he wonders as his hips stutter. “You’ve got the most golden heart out of any fella I’ve met.” He licks at the crook of Sam’s shoulder, along his scapula. “You’re good, Sam. You’re so good.”
“Yes, yes , fuck,” Sam happily whines.
Bucky changes his angle, the last one causing pins and needles in his thighs, “Uh-huh? You like being told you’re good, too, don’t you?”
Sam can only hang his head and nod, sweat dripping down his brow. Bucky nips at his ear and thrusts deep in Sam, keeping himself buried as far as he can go. Sam starts to wriggle underneath him, his breaths short and shallow, and Bucky holds him close.
“Come for me, beautiful, let me see you come,” Bucky says.
And Sam does, just as Bucky asked, without a hand on him. Sam arches his back and his lower half convulses as he comes. Thick white stripes paint the bedspread below. Sobbing gasps escape Sam’s parted mouth, Bucky going still inside him, letting him ride out the high.
(It’s something Bucky never gets tired of seeing, and it’s something he’s pleasured himself to dozens of times, Sam at the peak of orgasm.)
Sam goes taut as Bucky pulls out, slow as molasses. He’s so hard and sensitive it almost hurts when he pulls the condom off of his cock.
He knows what he’s going to do for Sam now. He’s nervous.
He allows Sam some time to come back to the world as he throws the condom in the trash and takes the lube out again. Bucky eyes Sam, who’s strewn out on the bed with his ass still high in the air, lube and come smeared on his thighs.
“You didn’t come,” Sam says after a minute.
“I thought you wanted me to fuck myself in front of you,” Bucky says. He begins coating his fingers in the clear fluid while ignoring the ball of solid matter lodged in his throat.
Sam hauls himself onto his ass, wincing at one point. He’s gone soft, of course, but his eyes are shining with lust. “Well then, show me how you make yourself moan.”
Bucky settles himself on his stomach, a pillow under his arm, Sam watching his every move. When he spreads his legs, his asshole is on full display for Sam’s view. It’s nerve-wracking but his cock is hard and heavy as ever.
Sam always knows what to say to ease Bucky’s nerves. “Hey, pretty boy.”
Bucky ducks his head, huffs a laugh. “You don’t mind doing the talking now?”
“‘Course not,” Sam says as he rubs Bucky’s naked back. “Whatever helps you get there, baby.”
Bucky shuts his eyes and his fingers travel along the crack of his ass. He rubs the crevice of skin, back and forth, just to ease himself into things. Pleasure lights his nerves like a smoldering fire. It becomes an all-consuming blaze when his fingertip brushes against his asshole.
“Sam,” he groans into his arm.
Sam’s breath comes hot against his neck. “Aren’t you gorgeous when you’re all inviting like this.”
One of Sam’s hands holds onto his shoulder, a simple grounding touch. Bucky shivers. His finger breaches the tight ring of skin, and the noise that comes out of his own mouth is nothing short of foreign.
It’s just one finger that he fucks in and out of himself, but it feels so fucking good that Bucky quickly speeds up the tempo once he’s gotten used to it. Above him, Sam makes another approving noise, rubbing up and down his arms and thighs and back and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.
“Good boy, Bucky. That’s it, make yourself feel so sweet for me. Can I hear you, baby boy? How do you feel, huh?”
“So good,” Bucky whines. “I need more.”
“Well, give yourself more, pretty boy.”
Two fingers makes his pants become vocal and frayed. Three fingers has him yelping, these little animal noises that he can’t control. Sam seems to eat them up, praising Bucky every time he moans outright.
“I’m gonna come,” Bucky rasps, his vision going cloudy and unfocused as he fucks himself deep, pleasure flashing over any kind of pain or inhibitions he may have felt before. “Tell me I’m good, Sam, please , I need you, please.”
Sam goes the extra mile and wraps his hand around Bucky’s cock, pumping it while he holds him close. “You’re my good boy. Always are. Come on now, love, I wanna see you come, you look so nice when you come.”
Bucky doesn’t get a chance to anticipate his own orgasm. He keeps his middle finger pressed against his prostate as he comes in Sam’s hands, shivering and twitching as more and more come blurts out of his cock tip. He’s silent when he comes, not because he wants to be, but because the feeling of raw bliss is just that overwhelming.
It takes him a few minutes to shake the post-coital haze from his system. It’s not like he’s in any rush, anyway.
He’s home. Sam’s home with him, now. They can take all the time they want to clean up, shower, and get back to their day. As long as Bucky’s in Sam’s arms, he could care less.
“I missed you,” Bucky says against Sam’s shoulder. Sam lifts his head to kiss Bucky’s scalp.
“I missed you, too,” Sam says. It’s simple, it’s all Bucky needs.
You’re home, he tells himself, and he listens.