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It's one of those slow-moving Sundays, nothing important to do, no jobs, no fighting, which means Bucky's easy to distract. Sam's been doing a great job of it: changing into those tiny shorts after their run, losing his shirt somewhere in the process, and now swaying to slow jazz while making coffee.
It's safe to say Bucky's lost interest in everything except the way Sam's thighs move, the way his back muscles ripple.
Sam tells him, "Stop staring, it's creepy." but he's got a skew little grin on his face.
Bucky says, "Come over here," and Sam does- with two cups of coffee.
He leans up for a kiss; Sam's lips are warm from taking his first sip, soft, and presses perfectly to Bucky's. Sometimes he thinks they're two neighboring parts of a puzzle the way they just fit together in all the ways that matter.
Bucky slips his free hand under the short's waistband, fills his palm with a good helping of Sam's ass and squeezes. Sam steps in closer and hugs an arm around Bucky's waist, which results in them kissing deeper, trying to get more of one another.
They break apart only long enough for Sam to slip the shirt off Bucky's back before diving back in, and in the back of his mind, Bucky thinks they really shouldn't have made coffee that'll just end up getting cold, but he's also not stopping this right now.
Sam drags him off the chair, and they do this stumbling walk-kiss maneuver all the way down the hall, gets Bucky's sweats off too before Sam's back hits the bed. And once Sam is splayed out and biting his lip, looking up all bashful and suggestive, Bucky has the pleasure of peeling those ridiculous shorts off Sam's body.
Now he's seen Sam naked so many times, gawked over it even more than that, has it committed to memory. But when Sam lies there and opens his legs like that and gestures for Bucky to join him, it ignites a deep warmth in his chest, a need to give and give until he runs empty and Sam overflows.
So he crawls up Sam's body, gives him a kiss, and sets out to do just that.
Bucky starts in Sam's neck, that hollow spot where his jaw meets his throat. He licks over it, feels Sam's body curve into him, so he starts sucking a little harder. Sam's hand rakes through his hair, and there's this tender sound coming from his mouth.
The tips of his fingers graze over Sam's clavicle, and his mouth follows, nuzzling all along the bone and muscle of Sam's shoulder.
Sam knows what's coming, and his hand tightens when Bucky flattens his tongue over Sam's nipple, just once, just quick, and kisses his way to the swell of sams pec. He shudders with delight when Bucky bites softly, barely, and leaves a wet kiss there.
The other pec gets the same diligent treatment, this time, Bucky exhales deliberately, so his breath makes Sam's nipple harden up against his lips.
"Feeling good yet?"
Sam lifts his head, looks down between his spread legs, where his dick is trapped between them. "Whaddya think, huh?"
"Think I can do better."
Sam's smile is wicked, daring, beautiful, and Bucky'd be lying if he said his dick ain't aching for friction. Sam says, "Do whatever you want, baby."
Bucky does love an open invitation.
He works his way down the middle of Sam's abs, the line that leads to the holy grail, but he doesn't touch it yet except for how he accidentally (totally intentionally) bumps or brushes against Sam's cock, making him twitch.
"Baby..."
Sam will start begging soon, he never lasts long once Bucky gets this low; he gets impatient and feverish in a way that makes Bucky burn from the inside out just to give him everything he asks for, spoil him into the ground.
But Sam tastes so goddamn good right now, his skin on Bucky's tongue as he traces every carved-out line down his torso; there are six, Bucky takes the time of twelve. Soft licks, slick lips, teasing little nips just for that pleased sigh and uncontrolled whimper of his name.
Sam tastes like he could keep Bucky alive for ages, like he could breathe Sam in, and it'll fill his lungs with air until he doesn't need it anymore.
He's got that deep v slope framing his dick and god, fucking goddamn; it's a sight. Bucky's tongue drags from the crease of Sam's thigh all the way up to his hip.
"Mission accomplished," Bucky grins with his forehead pressed to Sam's stomach as he watches Sam's cock dribble a puddle of precome into his belly button.
And because Bucky's a total shit, he pushes Sam's dick aside with just one finger, barely any kind of touch at all, and laps up the spillage.
Sam sucks in a breath anyway because he'll take any action he can get right now, and Bucky knows it. "Holy fucking—I swear... please Barnes. Baby..."
"Oh, I love that sound," Bucky says, chuckling then moves on to the other hip.
Sam's head drops back against the pillow with a rugged sigh when Bucky seals his mouth around the curve of bone. This time he lets his cheek rub against Sam's twitching dick. And Sam makes a desperate, pitiful noise. Bucky pulls away before he enjoys it too much.
"Ah, man... baby, why you gotta do me like that?!"
Bucky shifts down, so he's between Sam's thighs, hikes one knee up over his shoulder. "Said I could do what I want. Remember?"
His mouth attaches to Sam's inner thigh and sucks a pretty mark in right there, feels the skin move over muscle. He loves, adores, and is enthralled with how Sam writhes now, his body wants this, wants release. Bucky craves that too.
"Tell me what you want, baby..." Sam's eyes are closed, his hand tenderly knotted in Bucky's hair, and his hips canted up ever so slightly.
"Just you," Bucky whispers, "Only you." then slips the tip of Sam's dick into his mouth finally.
And oh, Sam curls in on himself and pulls so hard on Bucky's hair he hums around Sam, digging blunt nails into his thighs.
Whatever Sam's saying is stupid repetitions of some non-English garbles, especially when Bucky puts his neck into it and works it down deep.
Doesn't care that it chokes him up, he lets it happen, swallows, gags, listens to Sam sing his praises up above.
"Jesus, baby, fuck, don't stop... I'm gonna..."
As if he'd ever stop now. He hums his agreement and stretches his imperfect hand up over the soft trail of hair that lines up to Sam's navel, and Sam, well Sam's fucking great in every thinkable way, so he takes that metal hand and squeezes it as if blood flows through veins that aren't there.
Bucky pulls off, breathless and throat raw, says, "Come for me, dollface," before sinking back down merciless and sloppy and 'fuck baby, yes, oh my—'
He knows that last little flip of his tongue does it; it sends Sam off. And it's a gorgeous thing to see: he arches up, inhales deep and sharp, his thighs give a warning inward jerk, and when Bucky feels it hit his tongue, there's a long shivering exhale. Sam falls slack except for how he pulses in Bucky's mouth still.
Sam is a god, Bucky thinks as he pulls off, swallows, and wipes his mouth. This sinewed, silky smooth body spread out all over these rumpled sheets. He's beautiful in ten million inexplicable ways, and Bucky's heart sits thick and full is his chest while he stares at him.
It's a ridiculous feeling, wanting to smile and cry at the same time, and since he's stepped over this line with Sam, a feeling that he's come to realize makes him happy in a way he never expected.
"Come here," Sam says with that fuck drunk voice, halfway gone.
Bucky crawls up his body and settles straddled over one of Sam's thighs. Sam reaches for his dick, wants to get him off too, as spent as he is.
"It's fine, don't," Bucky murmurs and starts rutting his cock against Sam's thigh.
"What'd you need, baby?" asks Sam. His one hand finds Bucky's jaw the other squeezes around Bucky's thigh.
Bucky sighs with how good it feels, his head drops back, "Just your leg. Just this. Just..."
His mouth's open, and Sam's fingers trace the outline of his lips while he rubs himself off on Sam's skin.
"God, but you're pretty." Sam says with some sort of amazed inflection, "I fuckin' adore you."
Bucky smiles when he comes, and Sam's fingers stay right there on his lips, feeling the smile he put there.
"Sam..." he groans quietly, works himself over.
"I know, baby."
Sam cups the back of his neck and pulls him down. Their lips crash together in a sweet, rough, i-ain't-ever-letting-you-go kiss.
Their bodies are warm, flushed, and sticky, fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw.
They stay that way long into the night, whispering, talking, tangled together when that twilight daze hits them, and Bucky starts kneading Sam's ass.
Bucky's moving slow, like a lazy reggae beat on an island breeze, and soon his body rolls against Sam's back, his ass, lips between his shoulder blades.
Bucky gets his fingers slicked up and just has to stop for a hot second and wonder how in the hell he got this lucky; what the fuck he ever did to make Sam look at him like that.
Bucky slips a finger into Sam, makes him gasp. He knows that merciless burning pleasure. He knows how insane it feels to want more of it, arching away but also into it, squirming to adjust and letting out that deep, satisfying sigh once you do. Just like Sam does now.
He breathes with Sam, deep in and slow out, tells him, "That's it doll, that's it." and Sam groans quietly against him.
Sam curves back, grabs Bucky's metal arms because he can squeeze as hard he wants, ain't nothing going to happen.
Low in Sam's neck, Bucky says, "Can you hold out for me again, sweetheart?"
Sam nods, helplessly, desperately swallowing, soft, eager breaths tumble from his lips when he moans Bucky's name.
He thinks he's heard that name a thousand times, but it never sounded so whole so rounded so complete as when Sam says it.
"More," Sam mumbles into his pillow, fists clutching at the material, wrinkling it as he writhes around. "Gimme more,"
Bucky presses in a little deeper, drags his fingers up hard, feels Sam's body jerk with that delicious burst inside, that sudden spark of want.
He whispers, "Ask nice." And Sam's body clenches around him.
With a rough, high whine, Sam says, "Shit. Please, another one, more." And he keeps repeating that last one as Bucky slips a second finger in.
He's gotta laugh a little, ain't nothing funny, just bizarre that he gets to have all of this. He gets to take Sam apart in this way and wake up next to him, smiling and whole the next day.
Nothing stays broken here.
"Hey," he says then, sliding those fingers in and out, gradually building a faster pace, feeling Sam relax around him, head tipped back. "I love you, you know." He crooks his fingers up again, "So sweet for me," kisses Sam's shoulder, "My guy."
"Me too, me too, baby. Faster," Sam drones, lazy but breathing fast. Bucky knows that twisting feeling too- hot with pleasure but not getting enough. Borderlands of madness and bliss.
"Don't come." Bucky reminds him, but he speeds up. And fuck, it makes Sam moan, raw, guttural, kind of sound that sets sail Bucky's own desperate need.
"Gonna come!" Sam then says. Bucky can tell by his tone that's the last thing he wanted to warn Bucky about because he stops moving his hand. Sam sighs, "Hate you. I hate you. Why?" And fucks back on Bucky's still fingers.
"Shh baby," Bucky assures him, rubs up against him a little, just for that bit of satisfaction. He reaches around and cups Sam's pec in his palm, squeezes, kisses his neck. He tells him, "You know I got you, honey. You know I'll make you feel good."
"Buck…"
He must be totally bewitched with this man if the sound of his voice gets Bucky to move again. Slowly in and out, just like before, except now Sam's a little more desperate, pent up, hungry.
"Ah, fuck, yeah, don't stop." Sam shivers out, "Just… like—" Bucky drags his fingers up again, makes Sam almost sob out loud, "Baby. Like that." he says, spent, and clutches Bucky's thigh.
"Jerk yourself," Bucky whispers, watches as Sam reaches to touch himself, and that alone makes Bucky blurt out pre-come. It's unbelievably hot. He tries to coordinate his hand to match Sam's strokes, so it builds and builds, and Sam's breathing gets fast and eager.
And yet again when he gets Sam to that verge, feels his muscles tense up, he stops what he's doing. "Stop." He tells Sam and Sam obeys, sagging against him, laughing out of desperation.
He says, "Gonna get you back so good for this."
"Counting on it, honey." Bucky smiles, then, "Ready for the last round?"
Sam turns his head, and Bucky kisses him, "Fuck me up, baby." he says, and Bucky grins against his lips, starts moving his hand again. Like a hot knife through butter, Sam melts, soft, back into him.
His sighs are tired now, wanting, waiting, but his body works with Bucky, he's stroking himself again slowly, languidly.
One last time Bucky winds him up, right to the very brink, feels his body shudder with it. But he doesn't let him come yet; he lets Sam wait. Just for a second so Bucky can slip his fingers out and get his dick slicked up.
"Lie back for me," he says, urgently shifting their positions so he can crawl on top of Sam. They've done it a hundred different ways and still facing Sam, seeing him, being able to kiss him like this while he's at his most vulnerable, it's still the best way.
"Heads up," he says as soon as he sinks into Sam. It takes them a couple of seconds just to breathe through it. Sam's pulled the pillow over his face, so the neighbors won't hear him moan; Bucky's biting down on Sam's shoulder. "Tell me when," he says, waiting patiently for Sam to adjust.
He throws the pillow off, "Yeah, god, move. You can move, baby." He wraps his arms around Bucky's shoulders, and they settle close together when Bucky starts rocking his hips into Sam.
He doesn't want to let on just how close he is, looking at Sam like this, smelling him, feeling his dick twitch desperately between them; the little wet smears it leaves against his stomach.
"Ain't gonna last," Sam says, then hikes his legs up so Bucky can sink deeper.
"Thank fuck, honey," Bucky says to Sam, kisses him, and starts going just a little faster. "Come on, go for it."
Sam reaches between them, starts jacking himself off. He looks at Bucky when he says all cloudy eyed and flushed, "Fuck, that's good, that's… fuck, that's good."
And Bucky, breathless and working up a sweat, tells him the same thing he always does, "Yeah, Wilson." He licks his lips, and Sam follows the movement with his eyes, "Yeah, baby."
"Buck… I'm… ah, fuck!" Sam cries out and arches off the mattress when he comes. God, it's so much, all over. Sam does that non-English mumbling again, works himself over until he's done, and Bucky kisses him through it.
Bucky thinks Sam must be sensitive, after all that time holding back; his skin must be a live wire right now, so he pulls out and jerks himself, hovering over Sam.
Maybe it's cheesy the way he likes looking into Sam's eyes when he comes; maybe he's a total sap because when Sam cracks an impossibly lazy little smile and cups Bucky's face and rests their foreheads together, he shoots out over Sam's chest.
Sam draws him back down, kisses his cheek, open-mouthed. It's gone dark outside, a perfect stillness falling over them.
Sam says, "You carry me to the bath, and I'll make us new coffee after. How's that sound, huh?"
And Bucky laughs because he looks about as relaxed as Bucky feels, and the last thing he wants to do now is move, but there is no universe in which he'll say no to a bath with his guy, so he scoops Sam up in his arms, kisses him on the way there, runs a bath and makes the coffee too.
Much later, after a small reprieve, a couple more distractions, and a hell of a lot more coffee, they start this whole thing again, and Sam gets some of his own back. Maybe this time it'll be Bucky asking nicely. And he'll ask so nice.
Maybe Sam will say no anyway just to be a little shit.
Bucky loves it regardless.