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Sam is incredibly content to stay home every Friday night for the rest of his life, eat overly-salted and slightly burnt popcorn, drink a few beers, and then scroll aimlessly through Twitter before he falls asleep.
Steven Grant Rogers does not share the same sentiment.
Steve barged into his apartment an hour ago, got Sam's stereo pumping with some... Okay, it's not all that bad, he kind of enjoys the music. But he's still not in the mood; he just slipped into his sweats and the worn-out t-shirt with holes.
Steve, however, is already dressed- stupid tight blue jeans and a shirt that he might have picked out of the kid's section, but Sam doesn't have proof.
"Dude!" Sam moans when Steve tosses another one of Sam's shirts over his head.
"What's wrong with that one?"
"I have to put it on that's what's wrong with it. Come on, man, just phone Nat or Sharon or both of them. What about that guy who likes cats, what's his name."
"T'challa?"
"Yeah, that's him. Looks like he could do with a night out. Call him. Dress him up."
"Well, much like you, he is home with his fucking cats. Get up." Steve insists, holding up a black v-neck and inspecting it for holes, probably.
Clearly, Sam's not winning this battle, so he drags himself up and starts stripping down. Steve gawks at him, blinking, blatantly watching as Sam marches over to his drawers to take out a new pair of briefs.
"Hey," Steve says, still rummaging through Sam's closet, "Why'd we never give it a go, huh?"
"If we do, can we stay here?"
Steve waves a finger at him, "I refuse to be your social escape fuck, Wilson."
"I don't know man—" Sam says, slipping a pair of jeans on, hopping a little to get them over his ass, "You're literally my best friend."
Steve tips his head sideways in tentative acceptance. "That looks good. I don't know what your problem is with going out, man, with an ass like that."
"Well. As it turns out, that's exactly the problem." Sam grabs the shirt out of Steve's hands, pulls it over his head then slaps some cologne on either side of his neck. "You wouldn't know 'coz you got no party in the back."
Steve grins cheekily and makes his pecs twitch in different directions. "They ain't coming for the ass, baby!"
That makes Sam snort and toss his sweats at Steve's head, "Oh, god!"
After batting the sweats, he gives Sam an approving once over. "Oooh nice," says Steve, ushering Sam out the door, "See not so hard."
"Yeah, whatever, I'm gonna need to be at least tipsy for this. Let's go."
The place Steve drags him to is packed and stuffy, the floor's sticky, it's only 10 a.m, and he's seen three girls puke out front, more than a handful taking their shoes off. Gross. And he's backed up against the bar while Steve's chit chats with everything that moves.
Sam is happy to keep his eyes locked on his phone, scrolling to avoid some hooligan coming to chat him up. He's honestly heard it all, and no one in this place is even worth the effort; all they want is a quick fuck in the back alley or to get blown in a toilet stall.
And Sam's not about that life.
"Put the phone down, Wilson, come on. Have some fun."
He looks at Steve who has a cute girl with long braids on his arm already.
"The song is literally called Booty In Your Face, Steve."
"We should get your booty in someone's face." Steve starts dancing like an idiot toward Sam, wiggling his shoulders and making a duck face. "Come on, please? Please?"
Sam laughs and pushes him away, sliding his phone into his pocket and following Steve and the girl out to the dance floor.
Which is when the bullshit starts.
"Hey, haven't seen you around here before." A lanky white dude with a goatee says to him. Sam rolls his eyes and turns away. He assumes Steve gives the guy a warning glare over his shoulder because the guy scoffs and heads off.
After that, someone starts grinding behind him and says, "Aye baby, you a parking ticket 'coz this ass got fine written all over it."
Steve snorts out loud, and Sam starts laughing so hard the guy crawls away with his lame tail between his legs.
When the song ends, and they head back to the bar, there's a pretty cute guy now sitting in their spot, minding his own business. His hair's just a little too long; he's wearing a Henley, skinnies, and black combat boots. Sam likes the hell out of that.
Steve orders them a round of shots, and the barman refills their drinks. He throws the tequila back like a pro, and they tap their glasses on the bar with a laughing grimace.
Cute Stranger glances sideways, raises his drink at Steve, and Sam.
Steve nods at him, grinning, and pokes Sam in the ribs. Sam elbows him back and smiles courteously at the guy before turning away.
Sam feels someone sidle up to his side just then, and turns. Some sweaty guy who has already had too much, sways and grins at Sam. Slurring, he says, "Your boyfriend—" he hiccups, "—'s a lucky guy."
Sam's eyes probably roll into another dimension as he turns back to the bar. When he sneaks a peek at Cute Stranger, he finds him smiling, amused, before taking a sip of his drink.
"Hey buddy," Steve tells the drunk guy, "take a hike, huh?"
Unphased, he swivels around and sets his sights on a group of people in the corner. Thank god, Sam thinks.
This carries on for a good long while, which is why Sam hates coming out. He's never heard anything original or worthwhile enough that he'll get on his knees for it.
"So… did it hurt…" the next one says.
"Those legs must be tired…" says the one after that.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?"
"If I said you had a beautiful body…"
"I was gonna offer to paint you—" and okay, this gets his attention; he's never heard this one before. Even Steve pays attention, the artist that he is, "But you're already a work of art." the guy continues.
All at once, Sam, Steve, and Cute Stranger burst out laughing, pretty unattractively.
"Hey, fuck all of you, man." the rejected dude says and flips them off.
Steve's holding his stomach, promptly ordering another round. Sam finds it quite amusing that Cute Stranger has been listening in on the failed pick up attempts. Sam's kind of tempted to go over there, say hi, buy him a drink, but he just got his filled up, so that'd be futile.
Besides, he's been out of the game a little too long, so even if he went over, he's got no idea what to say. So he decides to just admire from afar, perhaps thirst a little when the guy turns around to watch the people on the dance floor.
And then, after Sam kindly declines another invitation to someone's car, he sees Cute Stranger knock back his drink and get up. He's taller than Sam'd been expecting, Sam gulps a little.
Because he's coming over. Oh god.
Sam whirls around and tries to grab hold of Steve, why he doesn't know, but Steve's got his tongue down a guy's throat, and a girl dancing on his hip, and Sam's got nowhere to run to.
Secretly, he's thinking, please don't try dumbass lines on me, you're too pretty, I'd hate to bat you.
Cute Stranger pulls up a barstool, flips it backward, and straddles it. "I've been watching these idiots try all night," he says simply.
"Uh-huh," Sam says, "And you think you can do better?"
He winks, Sam falters a little, "Oh, I know I can."
"Alright," Sam grins and leans up against the bar, "Lay it on me."
Cute Stranger beckons him closer; Sam goes willingly.
A corner of the guy's mouth twitches upward before he speaks.
He says, "Sweetheart, I'm gonna stuff you so full of sausage, your eyes'll look like a butchery window."
Sam blinks, takes a second to process, and then he cracks up. Tears and everything.
"Jesus." Cute Stranger puts his hand on Sam's bicep, also laughing, "I'm just kidding. I swear, I'm kidding."
Sam straightens himself up, wiping his eyes, practically wheezing, "Wow, dude. That sure as shit beats anything I've heard tonight! I'll give you that."
"That mean I can stay?"
Sam looks over to Steve, now inspecting the girl's tonsils, then back at his company.
"Hell yeah," he says.
"I'm James. Nice to meet you."
"Sam." He takes James' hand, and they smile at one another.
James stays. And they talk and talk, and James meets Steve, who buys them all more shots. Sam realizes a couple of hours in, that James' leg is wedged in between his, and Sam doesn't mind one single bit.
After a while, James leans in close to Sam's ear, eliciting a rush of goosebumps when he speaks. "Wanna dance?" just as a new song comes on.
Sam nods, feeling James' stubble and warm breath in his neck, his hand slipping into Sam's warm and solid and leading him ahead through the crowd of dancing bodies.
Closer to the middle of the floor, James stops and yanks Sam closer, spins him around so they're back to chest, hands settling around his middle, as he starts grinding behind Sam, and Sam goes along with it.
The song's fast, but somehow they get lost in the deep bass thumping through them, in time with Sam's heartbeat- which increases by the way, as James' fingers fiddle with the hem of Sam's shirt and finally slips underneath.
They're swaying together, James's hips pressed to Sam's ass, and Sam reaching back to tangle his fingers into James' hair.
James nudges his nose into Sam's neck and kisses him, wet and hot.
Sam leans his head back on James' shoulder, lets him do whatever he's doing to Sam's neck with his tongue. He thinks, fucking bite, bite down hard, make me feel it.
And as if James understands, he sinks his teeth in and sucks.
Sam blurts out wet in his boxers, gasping, fist curling in James' hair.
James' mouth comes up to his ear, "Wanna get out of here?"
With no reservations left, Sam nods, he nods hard and fast and thinks fuck getting out of here, he's suddenly not at all opposed to grimey club bathrooms. Not at all.
He drags James by the arm, heading for the toilets, flushed and painfully turned on.
Lucky for them, it's empty when they stumble in there and start kissing like depraved men. James shoves a stall open and pushes Sam inside. Again, he spins him around and gets his mouth in Sam's neck.
"I'm the luckiest goddamn guy in here," he murmurs, bringing a hand around to undo Sam's belt and zipper. Sam helps eagerly, rushed, and trembling.
"Don't ruin it," he says and smiles as James presses him into the flimsy little stall divider, rucking down his pants.
Sam hears the crackling of a condom wrapper, feels James shuffle into place behind him, slipping it on. His stomach goes all hollow and hot with excitement, and when he finally feels James' hand slick in between his cheeks, getting him wet, he lets out a hapless moan.
"Come on, come on, do it," Sam shivers out.
Without another wasted second, James pushes into him. It's tight and blinding, a sharp pain that subsides into pleasure just like that. He's unforgivingly thick; Sam closes his eyes and gives his body over to it.
"Fuck, you're tight," he breathes and takes a moment when he's settled deep inside, when their bodies are as close as one.
Sam's dizzy and desperate and aching for James to start moving, and then he does, pulling back and slamming into Sam with quick relentless thrusts.
Sam braces himself against the wall with one hand, starts jerking himself with the other since this can't be a long dragged out job.
James tightens his grip on Sam's hips, fingers digging into his skin so hard Sam's sure there'll be marks in the morning.
Before long Sam can't keep himself quiet anymore, James is hitting him right where it counts, home base, and Sam lets out a needy whimper.
"Hush up, honey," James rasps behind him, not slowing down in the least, but bringing his hand up to cover Sam's mouth. At which, of course, Sam blurts out another spurt of come.
Sam groans, muffled, so goddamn close to losing it. James is too if the way he bites down on Sam's shoulder is any indication here. He starts speeding up and says, "Now, baby, come on."
Sam tightens his grip on himself and jerks like a man on fire, and three strokes in, he shoots off against the wall. James follows a couple of seconds later; Sam feels him pulse inside.
"Fuck," James says, breathless, still holding onto Sam.
He lets James pull out, turning around to face him, tucking his dick back in his pants. Sam rests back against the wall, deeply satiated and flushed throughout.
James grins at him, a little shy now, "So," he says, handing Sam his phone, "I lost my number," his eyes narrow with a grin, "Can I have yours?"
Sam laughs and looks at James, pulls him near, "Cheesy. But yeah."
And James dips his head down, catching Sam's lips in a soft, soft kiss.