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While Steve’s negotiating with Sharon underneath the overpass, Sam and Bucky are left to their devices, alone together in the car. It’s close quarters, tiny space not meant for several muscular men, and so having Bucky directly behind him is a bit claustrophobic.
The silence is icy. Sam’s a talkative man, but Bucky gives him nothing to work with. He’s all hardened glares and clenched jaw and unapproachable facial expressions. Which really, is fine by Sam. He doesn’t have a need to talk to him. They can be cool in complete silence.
Creeeeak.
If only the car wasn’t so damn squeaky, and Bucky wasn’t so.. beefed up. Every movement of his makes the car’s metal frame screech obnoxiously. It’s not a great noise to have to listen to, and Sam just wishes Bucky would just sit quietly and stay still, but that’s obviously not on the menu today.
Creeeeak.
Sam’s first instinct is to glare daggers at Bucky, but he keeps his eyes facing straight ahead. As wary as he is of him, losing his temper at him right before their grand escape is probably not the move.
Creeeeak.
Alright, it’s getting a little annoying, but Sam’s a grown ass man. He’s an Avenger, for fuck’s sake. He is not about to let Bucky get under his skin, he tells himself firmly. He’s better than that.
Creeeeak.
Now Sam glances back at Bucky, raises an eyebrow.
The guy’s squirmy, shifting his weight back and forth. The car’s creaking slightly with every motion, telling Sam just how uncomfortable he is for some reason.
“You good?” He asks. Not that he cares or anything, just. He wants to make sure Barnes is okay because he’s so important to Steve. That’s all.
Then, to his absolute shock, Bucky suddenly hunches forward and whines. It’s low and mournful, like he’s in pain, and maybe he is, but-
Another look back, and Sam realizes Bucky’s hard. His bulge presses obscenely up against the fly of his baggy blue jeans, framed beautifully between his clothed, muscular thighs.
Well. That explains why he’s moving like he wants to crawl out of his own skin.
Bucky, having now caught on that Sam’s seen him, drops his head in embarrassment. His hair falls from his shoulders, hiding his face from view. “Sam, it’s not- I’m not-“ he starts, stumbling over his own words. Poor guy.
Sam thinks for a moment, chews at his lower lip. Steve’s still out, at the front of the other car chatting up Sharon. He looks like a golden retriever, fixated on the pretty blonde in front of him, so it’s safe to say that he’s not paying any mind to the two of them.
“It just, um, happened, Sam, really, I didn’t mean-“ Bucky keeps on stuttering, clearly trying to find something, anything to say to make the situation appear any better than it actually is. “It’s just been a while since I’ve…”
“Hey, it’s okay.” Sam says softly, trying not to spook him. This, at least, he’s sympathetic towards. “I get it, Barnes. You’re good.”
Apparently, that choice of words isn’t ideal, because Bucky makes that strangled noise again, and his hips jump, hiking a good few inches up into the air before he shoves himself firmly into the leather seat with a gasp. “I’m… I’m good?”
Oh. Sam should’ve known that this big, strong soldier would’ve had a praise kink the size of the sun. That makes… a surprising amount of sense considering his track record.
By now, it’s clear that Bucky’s issue ain’t going away on its own. The man raises his head again, pressing his spine flat against the seat backing as his shoulders heave. He’s trying his best to contain himself, Sam knows, and it can’t be easy after so many years touch-starved.
He clears his throat, bringing Bucky’s attention back to him. Steve and him are close, maybe suspiciously so, and so he takes the leap. “Do you want me to go get Steve? Maybe you two could-“
“No.” Bucky’s staring him down now, sharp blue boring a line of unexpected heat down the back of Sam’s neck. Behind all that rough-and-tumble attitude and haphazard stubble, Bucky’s actually pretty good looking. “Don’t want him like that. Never have. He’s like a brother.”
There’s Sam’s answer. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe Bucky doesn’t like guys the way Sam thought he did and Sam’s just been far too presumptuous.
(He doesn’t want to unpack that the idea of Barnes being straight sends a jolt of disappointment through him. Not now.)
So he draws in a heavy breath, tries again. “I can leave then, give you some privacy. I don’t know how much you know about the internet, but there’s a couple of websites to help you out with that-“
Bucky snarls, then, curling his lips. He’s letting out a low rumble, like he’s frustrated and can’t find the words to say what he wants to. It takes a few moments for him to compose himself before he mutters, “Stay. Please.”
Sam’s never considered himself a particularly lucky man, but right now, he’s feeling like he should go buy himself a lottery ticket. If that’s not Bucky offering him a front row seat, he doesn’t know what is.
“Yeah.” He’s surprised by the sound of his own voice, much lower than expected. Apparently, his body’s on board with this too, which, whoa. He needs to settle himself the fuck down, because he’s not about to let himself get in the same desperate predicament as the sad-eyed supersoldier seated behind him. “I’ll stay, Bucky. Just, uh, tell me what you need.”
Bucky is digging his fingers into the faded denim of his jeans. He’s clearly trying not to touch himself, not wanting to be that vulnerable out in the open. Sam gets it, although he’s just a little disappointed he won’t get to see what Barnes is packing right away. But if he plays his cards right…
“Can you- can you just talk to me?” Bucky mumbles bashfully. Sam cranes his neck to take another look at him, sees how red his face has gotten, the sweat running down his furrowed brow as he does his utmost to control his desire.
And yeah. Yeah. Fuck yeah, Sam can do that. Very well too, if he does say so himself.
The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches upwards at that request. “I’ve got you.” He says, and it’s entirely the truth. He’s got this.
Bucky nods. He runs a shaky hand through his hair, smooths it out of his eyes. Sam has the sudden urge to tug on it, to make Barnes moan like a girl, and he has to put that thought away real quick.
The silence is a bit awkward, and Sam comes to the realization that he has absolutely no clue what this guy is into. Like, at all. All he’s got is bits and pieces of Bucky’s life before HYDRA, memories passed on from Steve, which doesn’t exactly give him any hints or direction to go off of.
Relax, Wilson. He’s dealt with things more difficult, and far more precarious. He can be cool. He’ll just have to wing it as best he possibly can.
“You’ve been needing this for a while, huh?” Sam starts. He keeps his tone hushed, just loud enough for Bucky to hear him, but soft enough not to startle or draw attention to either of them. Then, going out on a limb: “Been thinking about me, Barnes?”
Bucky goes stock still, lips pressed tight together in a tense line, and Sam thinks for a moment that he’s messed up, but then-
“ Sam..” He groans low, drawing out the vowel, turning it into a moan midway.
So Sam steadies himself, keeps on going, “You look good, man. Handsome guy like you, can’t say I’d complain if you manage to find your way into my bed sometime. Which, y’know, my door’s always open if you feel up to it.”
Bucky sighs, self-indulgent. His hips jerk forward, grinding into the minimal friction provided by his jeans. His chest is heaving, frantic heat all but radiating from his body.
“I’ve been thinking ‘bout it too.” Sam admits softly. “What I’d do to you once you’re lying next to me, if you’re wanting it.” He quirks a brow, waiting for Bucky to respond.
The car squeaks obnoxiously as Bucky slams his boots into the carpeted floor, unable to contain himself. “I want it, want it so bad…” he’s mumbling, repeating it like it’s the only thing he knows how to say.
Sam can’t help but grin. Never, in his wildest imagination, was Bucky this responsive. This feels like Christmas and his birthday all at once. “Yeah? Well first, I’d kiss you, tug on your hair a little while we make out. Bet you’re a real good kisser, you had all those girls on your arm back in the day.” He laughs, pausing for a moment to ensure Bucky’s still with him.
When Bucky nods jerkily, cuing Sam forward, he goes on. “You’d be hard for me by then, huh? All thick and full and wanting to be touched, all for me. I bet you’re a nice handful, baby.” Sam says, absolutely delighted when Bucky shudders intensely. “We’d have all night. There’s so many things I wanna do to that gorgeous body of yours, Buck. I wanna spread you out on that bed, have you under my fingertips, make you squirm and moan while I touch up on your chest. Does that sound good?”
“Yes, yes,” Bucky whines. He’s trembling, pulled tight with the unfaltering weight of his want, and it’s making Sam crazy. “Want it so bad, Sam. Need you to get your hands on me, make me feel so good.”
Wow. Barnes clearly isn’t messing around. Sure, right now it’s talk, but Sam’s serious about his door being open, and maybe after this whole thing blows over, they can find themselves alone together, naked and so, so close, chasing their pleasure together, making Sam’s wooden bedframe slam against the wall…
Well, fuck. Sam’s own pants are unfortunately too tight now. He’s not really sure what he expected from himself, frankly, but he doesn’t have time to take care of himself. Instead, he turns his focus back to the other man in the car.
“I could suck you, if you’d like that,” Sam offers, dizzy with the idea himself, “when we’re in bed together, I mean. I promise I’d make it good, baby, let you come down my throat or on my tongue, or on my face if that’s what you’re into.”
“Sam,” Bucky rasps, mouth falling open, those pink lips forming a perfect “o”. “Oh god, Sam.”
“That’s it. Say my name, baby, keep thinking about me. You just keep on going, just like that,” Sam encourages, egging him on, watching Bucky gasp, the metal of his left forearm shifting as he clenches both his biceps. And boy, does that give him a hell of an idea.
He lazily palms himself, feeling a bit bolder now. Bucky’s hanging on his every word, barely containing himself, and Sam’s so, so very turned on right now. “I want those pretty fingers in my mouth, Buck. Wanna suck ‘em while I fuck you into the mattress. You’d moan so pretty for me, all that muscle and strength, opened up and lookin’ gorgeous under me. You want me to fuck you ‘til you come, huh?”
“I- I want- yes, god, please, Sam, anything, anything you’ll give me, I’ll take it,” Bucky’s panting now, unable to get enough air in and out of his lungs to calm his racing heart. “Just wanna feel you. Need your body so bad.”
Sam’s fully shifted now, watching Bucky like a hawk. He doesn’t want to miss a moment of this, drinking in the unfairly beautiful sight of such a big, big man wanting him beyond comprehension. The air between them is electric, and he finds himself leaning over the side of the front seat, almost as if he’s being drawn in closer.
“Maybe,” Sam all but whispers. “Maybe you wanna fuck me instead? Maybe when I’m done with you, you wanna put me on my back and push that fat cock inside me, thrust all the way, nice and deep and make me yell for you.”
Bucky’s gaze is wild, and he’s practically humping the air at this point. He’s drawn up, rigid, the once lax lines of his body angled and tight. If Sam had to guess, he’s probably about thirty seconds from losing it and coming in his pants.
And lord, Sam wants so very badly to get him there.
“You know it’d be good for both of us, baby. So warm and tight around that perfect cock, you getting me hard again just from how well you’re giving it to me. I bet you could make me come again, hittin’ my prostate just right, I know you could…” He rambles off, eyes still glued to Bucky’s rolling body.
“Sam- I’m gonna, oh, oh,” Bucky’s all but thrashing against the headrest now, fighting to stave off what they both know is nearly upon him. “You’re gonna make me-“
Sam looks him up and down one last time, savoring every inch of Bucky keeping himself right there on that razor’s edge, before he grants him mercy. “Go on, then. Come for me, Buck, come inside me. Give it to me, let it out, c’mon, that’s it,” he urges, and slumps against the leather seat and just watches.
When Bucky comes barely seconds later, completely untouched, god help Sam, he’s like a damn work of art. His back arches, thighs holding the brunt of his weight stable as he chokes out short, needy noises, grunting over and over with each twitch of his lower body. It feels like it lasts forever and no time at all, and Sam instantly wants to see it again and again and again.
It’s another minute or so until Bucky settles down enough to actually keep his ass steady in the seat. His hips are still shaky, knees wobbling, face completely reddened. His eyelids are shut tight, stray strands of hair framing his flushed jawline.
“You good?” Sam asks cautiously. He doesn’t wanna scare him.
Bucky’s head lolls, eyelashes fluttering as he keeps trying to catch up to his breath. “Good.” He confirms, managing a little thumbs-up before letting his arm fall back to his side.
“Good.” Sam says plainly. He turns back around, sits up straight. His erection, thankfully, is slowly starting to go away. As bad as he wanted to take care of it in the moment, he’s acutely aware of how little time they actually had. Not to mention that Bucky may not actually be ready for that, and the last thing Sam wants to do is push him beyond what he’s comfortable with.
“Sam,” Bucky calls out. He’s shrunk back into his shell again, face set in that broody expression once more. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Buck.” Sam responds easily. He purposefully ignores how his heart pumps harder at Bucky’s soft acknowledgement. He does not have time for this at his age.
“Everything okay?” Steve asks, once their gear has been loaded into the trunk and he’s behind the wheel again. “Buck? You alright? You look a little flushed.”
“M fine, Steve.” Bucky mumbles. He’s resting his head against the glass window, clearly fighting off sleep. “Tired.”
Steve gives Sam a worried look, those sad puppy dog eyes staring right through him. Sam has to school his face, keep himself looking as neutral as possible, like he didn’t just make Bucky come with nothing but some dirty talk. “Sam? Is he okay?” Steve says, concern rife in his tone.
Sam turns his head, double checks on Bucky. The guy’s still just as blissed out. “He’s fine.” He confirms, and can’t help a small smile. Without all that stress weighing heavy on his face, Bucky’s downright jaw-droppingly handsome.
Bucky clears his throat. He’s not nearly wound as tight as he was ten minutes earlier. “So fine, doll, so fine…” He mutters, smirking lazily. The smug bastard.
This prompts Steve to shoot Sam another look, this one more confused than anything else. “Are you sure he didn’t hit his head?” And that makes Sam laugh so hard he almost folds over.
Steve, still clearly bemused, chuckles awkwardly, and then that’s the end of the conversation, because they’re pulling into that parking lot at the airport, and now it’s time for Sam to fight for the surly, moody, and kinda sweet guy in the seat behind him.
He can hardly believe it, but he’s motivated. He wants to protect Bucky, wants to fight with all he can to keep him safe. Call it the heat of the moment, but Sam wants to make good on everything he’s said.
And judging by Bucky’s small smiles and quick, tender touches to him as they’re getting suited up, he can’t help but think that Bucky’s feeling the exact same way.