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1.)
“You’re so gross, Walker.” Bob laughs quietly.
“I’ve been called worse.” John rolls his eyes and screws the lid back on the paper carton of orange juice, before shoving it back in the fridge. “Besides, I’m the one who paid for it.”
“Yeah, with the team’s credit card.” The curly-haired man points out.
“What? Are you planning an audit now?” John huffs and crosses his arms, leaning gently against a nearby counter.
Bob shrugs and shovels another massive bite of lucky charms into his mouth, restlessly swinging back and forth on one of the bar stools along the marble kitchen island. “I dunno, it just seems kinda...rude, I guess?”
“What bullshit is Walker saying now?” Ava asks, while strolling into the room. She pauses long enough to snatch an apple off of a nearby surface before plopping down in the chair next to Bob. “And do I need to hurt him for it?”
“No.” Bob and John speak at the same time, voices overlapping. The shorter of the two goes on to speak through cheeks filled with neon marshmallows, “John’s just doing a bad job of remembering he has roommates now.”
“And princess here has no room to talk, seeing as he’s talkin’ with his mouth full.” John calls over his shoulder while grabbing a pan to start his own breakfast (one that doesn’t involve more artificial dyes than actual food).“Now who’s being rude?”
A gurgling, choked sort of noise comes from low in Bob’s throat right before he sucks a marshmallow down his air pipe, and then forgets how to breathe. Ava ineffectually slaps him on the back a few times to try and help, until eventually, he manages to flash a thumbs up to show that he’s fine. Or at least, he will be once he gets done coughing up a lung.
Even if his face is a little hot afterwards. “What’d you call me?”
“You heard me, princess.” John repeats, slowly stirring eggs.
“Take it down a notch, Walker, before I turn your spine into soup.” Ava says warningly.
“Jesus, fine, whatever…he started it, though.” He grumbles.
It’s then that Yelena finally strides into the room, bee-lining it for the fridge. She jerks the door open and hunts around for a second, before taking out the same orange juice carton John had just been drinking out of. “What is happening?”
“Don’t drink that!” Bob shouts, leaning forwards, and bumping his cereal bowl in the process. Immediately, rainbow-colored milk spills everywhere, missing the corner of Ava’s sleeve by barely an inch. “Oh- My- That’s my bad, guys. Shit, I’m- I’m sorry.”
John huffs out a laugh and snags a towel hanging off of the oven. Raising one eyebrow, he swipes the milk up, and leans over the counter to whisper right into Bob’s face. “...Nice going, princess.”
The sound Walker makes when Ava punches him in the arm can be heard from across the tower.
~~~
2.)
“I’m fine.” John insists for the third time since stumbling back into the tower after his latest solo mission.
His gear is stained a brownish/grey from blood and smoke, the material ripped clean through where an alien creature’s sharp teeth had managed to find purchase along his side. There’s dried mud up to his knees and a smell rolling off of him that makes Bob gag, but other than that…yeah, no, he looks terrible.
Bucky smacks him upside the head. “Shut up.”
“You’ve got, like, four broken ribs and a concussion, Walker, stop saying you’re fine.” Bob forces a glass of water and some random pain meds he’d scavenged from Yelena’s bathroom into John’s hand, and then turns toward the pissed-off Winter Soldier to his right. “And Buck…I don’t think it’s such a good idea to be aiming for his head right now, man.”
“Thank you, Bobby.” John sighs, accepting the water with minimal complaining.
He makes a pitying face and crosses his arms. “Oh no, don’t- don’t thank me. I’m also pretty mad at you right now, but I figured I should at least finish patching you up before Lena comes back from her meeting with Val, and kills you for being a stupid, self-sacrificing dickhead.”
“With the serum, I’ll be all good in- what- 10 minutes tops?” He tries again, despite the other’s unconvinced faces. “Seriously, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m fine- ”
“-Maybe until it’s true.” Bob interrupts sharply, a thin ring of gold starting to crowd out the blue in his eyes.
John just grins meanly, teeth still a little red from where he’d gotten smacked face-first into a building. “You worried about me, Bobby?”
“What? No. I mean- yeah, of course I was worried, we all were, but-” Bob stammers.
“Aw, it’s okay, baby, you can admit that you care.” The blonde steps closer with a smirk. “I can keep a secret.”
“Sit down and leave him alone, Walker, before I make you.” Bucky barks out without looking up from the tablet in his hand. “Yelena should be back soon with an update.”
John lets out a slow breath and steps away, letting it go. ‘Cause unfortunately, Bob is right—the second Lena sees him, she’s gonna threaten to kick his ass back to Georgia and then chew him out for getting hurt. Which is so dumb, considering half the dangerous shit the others have gotten into over the past few months (Alexei was in the hospital barely a week ago with multiple stab wounds and a temporarily fractured leg, but no one gave him a hard time about it)!
Bob, however, doesn’t hear a word Bucky says. He’s too busy staring, jaw dropped in indignation, as all of the blood in his body rushes to his face.
It’s okay, baby.
He looks like an idiot. An idiot who’s just taken a punch to the head.
And John notices when he looks back over, grin widening as he sizes the other man up. “...You okay there, Bobby?”
Bob’s mouth shuts with a loud snap and he clears his throat, blinking past his embarrassment. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m- I’m fine.”
“What’d I say, Walker?” Bucky warns, fingers still slowly tapping across a screen.
“What? I didn’t even do anything!” He huffs in outrage.
“You’re annoying me.”
The two soldiers go back and forth for a minute, Bucky losing more and more of his patience, and John insisting that people should be more grateful that he completed his mission in the first place.
And Bob goes right back to staring at Walker’s dumb, muddy face, a concerning new realization settling bright and shivering in his chest.
~~~
3.)
“Keep your eyes on the fucking road!” John shouts, angrily gesturing out the window.
“Look, I’m- I’m trying my best!” Bob stammers and jerks the steering wheel to the right. “It’s not like I have a ton of experience as a getaway driver!”
The two motorists behind them begin to creep up, flanking either side of the back of the stolen car.
Ava had hotwired it somewhere outside Brooklyn and tossed Bob into the driver’s seat right before ordering him to go save John’s ass. Which was a lot harder than it sounded, especially since John always acted like an asshole when somebody else had to come save him.
“Jesus, Bobby, where’d you learn how to drive?” The super soldier groans.
“Florida.” Bob reminds him with a wheezing sort of laugh. “We’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay. We just- have to get across town without getting pulled over or blown up…no big deal.”
It was a very big deal, especially as bullets began to rattle through the rear window. Luckily for them, John’s gotten real used to providing cover lately, and his shield instantly flies up to protect them both from the metal pinging around inside the interior. “C’mon, can’t you go any faster?”
“This is a Honda Accord, I’m going as fast as I can!” Bob shouts back, hands shaking with adrenaline.
“Well, I’m gonna need you to try a little harder, sweetheart, before we both get shot to hell and back!” He bites back, body jerking under the barrage of metal.
“Could you please not do that right now?” The pitch of Bob’s voice goes thin and high with a mixture of fear and embarrassment, the tips of his ears and back of his neck bright pink.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” John lies, reaching around his shield to shoot the tires on the guy to his left. He makes the shot, and sends the motorist skidding off into a nearby parked car with a loud crash and a cloud of sparks.
“God, you really kind of suck sometimes.” Bob breathes out, swerving across four lanes of New York traffic to head down a side street.
They were only three blocks away from their destination now, and every second it took to get them there felt like a lifetime.
“You like it.” John teases
And the worst thing was that Bob was pretty sure he did.
~~~
4.)
“Wait, you- um- you wanted me to speak, too?” Bob asks Val for clarification, nausea growing in the pit of his stomach.
“Of course you’ll be speaking, Robert, the public needs to see you all as a team!” Val replies, while reaching out to straighten his tie. “Even if some of you are less useful than others.”
The Thunderbolts had woken up to a team of stylists invading the tower and a determined Val, with Mel on her heels taking notes. Apparently, they were supposed to give some speech on their efforts over the past year at a charity fundraiser gala happening tonight at The Met.
Which means they were only given a few hours to shower, sober up Alexei, and think about what they could possibly say to make people think the team sucked a little less now than they had in the beginning. The citizens of New York have been slow to warm up to them, but it’s a lot better than it was before.
It would be a shame if Bob fucked it all up for everyone. “I don’t- I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I mean, can’t Bucky just talk for us? People seem to really like him.”
“No, Senator Barnes cannot just talk for all of you. What kind of message would that send?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Besides, people…like you! You’ve even got your own Pop Figure for Christ’s sake!”
“I mean, not really? There’s one of Sentry, but-”
“I’ve got this.” John interrupts, striding over from the catering table backstage. Alexei is still over there stacking sandwiches on a napkin, Yelena is desperately trying to make him put some of them back, and Ava is at the bar across the room doing last minute shots with Bucky to deal with this whole mess.
Things were not looking good.
“That’s great! I didn’t ask, Captain Great Value. You and your team have 5 minutes to lock in and get your asses up on that stage or we’re going to have a problem.” Val shoots them a Stepford Wives-esque smile before stalking away to hunt down potential financial donors.
Walker turns away from her disappearing back to look at him with surprisingly gentle eyes. “You alright?”
It makes his stomach flip.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just…never been really good at things like this.” Bob tries to play off his nerves with a laugh, but some of his fear must still be showing, because the blonde reaches out and snags him by the wrist, tugging him closer.
Oh man, he smells really good; like fancy men’s cologne and freshly-showered skin. Which is kinda not helping his growing John-problem. If anything, it just makes it even harder to think around the guy than it had been before.
“Hey. You’re going to totally crush this, okay? And if you fuck it up, we’ll just- I don’t know, have Ava throw a smoke bomb or something, and we’ll all ditch this and get pizza.” John says, giving him a lopsided grin.
“...You really think we could get away with something like that?” Bob smiles shyly.
“Oh, there’s no way in hell.” He shakes his head. “But when has that ever stopped us before?”
Whatever this is, this whole interaction between them, it’s really…nice. Bob isn’t used to John being sweet, but it’s probably the only thing on Earth that’s going to convince him to get up on that stage, so.
He decides not to question it too much. “...Hey, Walker?”
John starts to slowly walk backwards, guiding him towards the curtains separating them from their audience. “Yeah?”
“Thanks. This is really cool of you.”
His teammate gives him one last careful look that goes straight to his head, and winks, before softly whispering, “Anytime, darlin’.”
~~~
5.)
They leave the drop sight and start moving into their assigned positions as a group—they’ll split up once they get closer to the target’s estate. Alexei and John are supposed to be the brute force distraction, so they’ll make for the guard outpost once they arrive, and then the main gate. Ava is going to scale an outer wall while security is busy dealing with the boys, and make for the target’s office to try and extract information from his home laptop.
And Yelena…Yelena is on Bob-duty.
Technically, they’ve both been assigned as lookouts, but it’s pretty obvious that Bob is a liability on a mission like this. He shouldn’t even be doing field work, but Val pointed out that he’s an indestructible spare set of hands, and needs to be seen contributing by the media if he wants the public to continue viewing him as a member of the team.
Which bums him out a little. Why can’t he be a member of the team based on his contributions to household chores or something? It’s not like the others are perfect or anything.
…Except they’re all kind of good at stuff like this, stuff that matters, and Bob isn’t.
Maybe Val’s right, maybe he doesn’t contribute enough. Should he be training more in his spare time? He could always bring it up to John, see what he thinks. Knowing him, the guy would be more than happy to help, but that would also mean spending more alone time together, and Bob’s not really sure how to ask for that without blushing like a freaking middle schooler.
Ugh. This whole thing blows. “...Do you think I should be doing more? For this mission, I mean.”
“What? No, no, lookout is a very important role! Everyone needs us to watch their back so they don’t get killed.” Yelena whispers in the dark as they walk.
“Exactly! You are a vital, treasured resource for our much more difficult roles!” Alexei always manages to sound like he’s yelling even when he’s not.
“Right…it’s just- I know I’m not exactly helpful when it comes to these things.” He admits, careful not to step on any twigs as they make their way closer.
“You have got to be kidding me.” John huffs quietly from somewhere off to the side. “Cut it out, Bobby. We need you to make this work, alright?”
“I mean, I’m just not really sure that’s true? I could always carry stuff for you guys or maybe- maybe drive again? I did a pretty good job at that last time.” Bob says.
John spins around and pulls Bob to a stop by the bottom of his kevlar. “What’s this about, huh?”
“I just-” He blows out a small cloud of air. “I want to- do more. You guys are always doing awesome stuff, but you get hurt a lot, and I just know that if I tried I could help. I could…be better.”
It’s quiet for a moment, the only sound wind cutting through tall trees, and small animals moving through the woods unseen.
And then there’s a hand flicking Bob on the forehead.
“Ow!” He squawks.
“We don’t need you to be better, we just need you, alright? So stop being an idiot and remind me what the plan is.” John whisper-demands, his breath hot where it hits the cold skin of Bob’s face.
He rubs his forehead with a frown. “You didn’t have to-”
“-What was that?”
“Could you just listen for a second-”
“No, sorry, didn’t catch it. Try again.”
“Dude, stop being such an ass-”
“Hey.” John’s voice goes firm. Serious. He keeps one hand on the hem of Bob’s bulletproof vest, and slides the other up, up, up to cup the sharp line of his jaw, tilting his curly-head backwards, until his facial features are just barely visible by the light of the moon. “What’s the plan, babygirl?”
And it must be the absolutely freezing, winter night air, or the adrenaline from what they’re about to do, or weeks of putting up with John’s bullshit that has Bob opening his mouth to say, “I’m gonna keep you safe, big boy.”
Even though it’s dark out, Bob sees the way Walker’s lips part, and hears it when he sucks in a short, surprised breath.
“...Um? Hello? Have we missed something here?” Yelena asks in shocked disgust.
“We don’t have time for this, we have to push in now.” Ava cuts in to add. “Although, whatever this is? Gross. Please, never make me have to hear something about Walker like that ever again, or I might just kill myself. Seriously, guys, get it together.”
“Right…” Bob does his best to try and sound casual, while still trying to get his heart rate under control, but he’s pretty sure he misses the mark by about 1000%. “Right, yeah. Okay. Let’s do this.”
John’s hold on his jaw tightens for a split second, just long enough to make it clear this conversation isn’t over, before he finally drops his hand and forces himself back a step. “Let’s get this over with.”
~~~
6.)
“Hey, Walker? You awake?” Lena’s voice can be heard from outside his bedroom door.
John is currently laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded over his stomach, trying not to think fucking Bob Reynolds for the millionth time today already. “Yeah…what’s up?”
She doesn’t reply for a long moment. Long enough that he sits up, and starts to worry. “...I think maybe…maybe something is wrong. We could use your help.”
He’s up and across the room in the blink of an eye, tearing open his door and marching past her down the long tower hallway before she can even get another word in.
God, he hopes he’s wrong. He hopes he’s about to look like the biggest idiot in New York City. But Yelena hates asking him for help. And the way her voice had sounded—like she was trying to stay calm—it made his heartbeat start to beat a panicked rhythm against the inside of his skull.
C’mon, let him be wrong. Let him be wrong, let him be wrong, let him-
-he’s already slowing down outside a familiar door when the wooden frame around it is suddenly swallowed whole by pitch-black shadows.
Fuck.
He closes that last little distance, standing just out of reach of the tendrils of void, before raising a hand, and carefully knocks against a center piece of the material that’s still visible. “...Bobby?”
No response.
“Hey, Bobby…can you talk to me?” He tries again.
“...I think I’d really rather just be alone right now, Walker.” Comes a small, distant-sounding voice.
“I know.” He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes tightly shut, dragging a hand through his short hair. “I know, baby, just- can I come in? Just for a second?”
No response.
“C’mon, honey…please let me in.” He leans forwards to rest his forehead against a safe part of wood.
There’s more silence, and then a small click, as the door is pulled open, making him stumble forwards a little bit from gravity.
“I guess you can come in…just for a second.” Bob’s voice is small, and slightly empty, which makes the soldier’s heart hurt.
He’s wearing his favorite band shirt, but it looks like it’s seen better days, and a baggy pair of sweats that John’s pretty sure are his that sit low on his waist. His hair is all ruffled up in about a about a dozen different directions, and his face-
-his face just looks so…sad. All red and damp, like he’s been crying for a while.
“Awesome. That’s- That’s great.” He nods, eagerly following him inside the room.
The place is a wreck. There’s shit all over the floor, the bed’s unmade, and every surface seems to be covered in random junk. And just below a big window on the far wall is a pile of blankets shoved between the small space separating the bed from the sill.
Bobby makes his way over to the nest and curls up on the floor, knees held to his chest. “I don’t really feel like talking right now, Walker.”
John slowly crosses the room and slides to the ground beside the other man, his back pressed flush against the wall. “That’s okay. I’ll talk. I’ve been told I’m really good at it.”
Bob huffs reluctantly, but says nothing.
Now listen, John’s a pretty confident guy. He’s used to throwing himself into plans like there’s no fear of failure waiting for him at the end. But the idea of failing this? That scares him. Which points to this whole thing he’s got going on with Bob being a lot bigger of a deal than he’d originally thought it was.
But right now isn’t the time to worry about that. Right now, he needs to suck it up, and try his best not to let his fear of fucking up ruin the trust Bobby’s giving him by letting him stay.
Reaching out with a tentative hand, John slowly drags his fingers through Bob’s curls, careful not to tug. At first, he’s worried about crossing some line, but after a second passes without the other man throwing him out on his ass, he figures it must be okay. So he keeps going, forcing himself to be softer than he’s let himself be in a really freaking long time. “...Did you steal my pants?”
Bob laughs for real this time, just briefly, before his smile slides away again. “Yeah…sorry.”
“Don’t be. They look good on you.” He replies easily, hands never stopping in their gentle movements.
The room falls into static, the low hum of shadows swirling around the corners the only sound to be heard over their breathing.
Until eventually, Bob clears his throat thickly, and speaks up. “I’m just- I’m not feeling great today.”
“...You get enough sleep lately?” John asks quietly, without judgement.
“...Not really. I mean, I guess so? We’ve just…been doing a lot lately. I think I’m- I’m really tired.” His voice cracks on the last word and John shushes him soothingly.
“Hey, then why don’t you go back to bed, huh? Those losers out there can take care of their own dishes today.” He tries to pull out another laugh, but it only makes the corners of Bob’s mouth twitch up briefly.
“Yeah…you’re right. They probably wouldn’t even notice if I stayed in here all day.” Bob does laugh at that, but it’s an ugly, wounded sound.
It makes John frown. “They would. I would. But we get that you need rest sometimes—hell, we could all probably use more sleep than we’ve been getting lately. I’m pretty sure Ava slept for, like, 8 minutes tops last week.”
“No, I know, it’s just…” He trails off, mouth opening and closing a few times, before he lets out a broken sound of frustration. But John doesn’t rush him. Just stays quiet and watches his open, vulnerable face, while he thinks.
“It’s stupid.” Bob finally forces out.
“Nothing about you is stupid.” Walker cuts in. “Although, it is kinda crazy how you keep managing to burn canned cinnamon rolls. The instructions are literally right there on the can, Bobby.”
“Shut up, Walker.” He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t actually seem mad. If anything, his breathing is starting to even out, the angles of his face getting more and more relaxed. His dark blue eyes peek in John’s direction just for a second, before slipping away again, like he’s scared he’s gonna get caught. “I’m just…upset. Like, really, really upset. And I don’t even know why.”
“...Is that- uh- something that happens a lot?” John feels kind of bad asking, but he’s gotta check.
“Honestly, yeah. That’s kinda the problem.” Bob’s throat makes a clicking sound as he swallows roughly. “Things have been really good lately. I was- I was hoping I was starting to get better, you know?”
John’s fingers pause for a second where they’re threaded through his curls. “...Did you know I started therapy after all that Void crap?”
“What?” Bob twists around in shock to look at him, jostling John’s hand free in the process.
“Yeah. It’s…fine, or whatever. We mostly talk about my time in the Army, which if you haven’t already guessed, sucked total ass.” John sighs, running a hand down his face. “But my therapist—this lady, Joan—she says that getting better isn’t a straight line forward. Sometimes you’re gonna fall backwards for a little while. But…that doesn’t mean the work you put in doesn’t matter, it just means you’re able to get back on track faster than you could before…if that makes sense?”
“Yeah…yeah, it does. I guess you're not half bad at this whole talking thing after all."
"See? I told you. I'm fucking awesome." John jokes.
"No, seriously, I- I mean it...thank you, Walker.” Bob lets out a slow, deep breath. “You know, no one would believe me if I told them how nice you are sometimes.”
“Hey! I’m so nice!”
“Oh, dude, no way, you’re an asshole.” Bob gives him an awkward giggle. “Don’t worry…it looks good on you.”
“Yeah?” John smiles down at him real slow.
“Yeah.”
When the room goes quiet this time, the silence is lighter, and the dark pooling at the edges of the space slowly, but surely, slips away.
“Hey, Walker?” Bob asks nervously.
“Yeah, Bobby?”
“Why do you call me all that stuff?”
John raises an eyebrow knowingly. “What stuff?”
Bob reaches over to shove at his chest half-heartedly. “Y’know…all that sweet stuff.”
“You’re easy to say sweet things to.” He admits with a shrug. “You want me to stop?”
“...No.” There’s that blush again, burning its way down Bob’s face, and trailing down the length of his neck before disappearing beneath the neckline of his shirt.
Awesome. John loops an arm under Bob’s waist and drags him up and into his lap, where his weight settles easily—like he was made to fit right there against his chest. Bob lets out a little shocked noise, but doesn’t push away, and so the blonde leans forwards to rest his forehead against the back of the other’s neck before speaking up again. “Hey…you wanna play Mario Kart?”
“Um…it’s really cool of you to offer and all, but…didn’t you get banned from playing Mario Kart after what happened last time?” Bob asks, fiddling with one of John’s hands on his waist.
“I replaced that T.V.!” He huffs.
“With the team’s credit card, right?”
“Are you gonna tell on me if I say yes?” He shoots back.
“Nah…not this time.” John can hear the smile in Bob’s voice, and it makes him want to catch the hand playing with his fingers, and hold on tightly.
And so he does, feeling pretty fucking pleased with himself when Bob just squeezes his hand in return.
“Yeah…yeah, okay.” Bob finally caves. “I’d like that.”
They have to let go of each other to stand, which sucks, but it gives John the chance to scoop a couple of pillows and the thick blanket off of the floor into his arms to take with them to the living room. Bob doesn’t comment on it, just gives him a little tilt of his head, and a smile that makes John feel like his insides are being lit up by Christmas lights.
Or maybe grenades.
Shoulders knocking against each other, they make their way forwards together, rejoining the people who care about them waiting just outside.
And if halfway through, Bob falls asleep with his head messily shoved against the curve of John’s shoulder, breathing soft little puffs of air into the material of Walker’s t-shirt, no one gives them a hard time about it (not even Yelena).
~~~
+1)
“C’mon man, seriously?” Bob laughs from the doorway of the kitchen.
“What?” John blinks at him innocently, without pausing from twisting the lid off of the carton of orange juice in his hands.
“Dude, think about the germs and stuff!” He grins, crowding in.
“Aren’t you a little too indestructible to be afraid of cooties, princess?” Walker gives him a lopsided grin and tilts the carton back to steal a swig, maintaining eye-contact the entire time like the dickhead he is.
Bob’s eyes narrow, and he slips even closer, just close enough to reach out and snag the juice away from him, before hesitantly bringing it up to his own lips.
In John’s defense, it’s good juice. Bucky always splurges for the fancy fresh-squeezed kind you can only ever find at Whole Foods. And it’s always super cold, because their refrigerator works a little too-well; sometimes it even freezes the fruit in the lower drawers.
John watches him the entire time, eyes dark and thoughtful, and it makes him feel…brave. So once he’s done, he holds out a hand for the lid expectantly, almost like he’s daring him to say something about it. “I’m not afraid.”
John stares for a beat before passing over the cap, waits for him to shut it, then plucks it right back out of his hands to shove it in the fridge without looking. He then grabs Bob by the belt loops to close that last remaining distance separating them. “Are you trying to start somethin’, baby?”
“Oh. I guess-” Just like that, his sudden burst of courage has slipped out of reach, leaving him red-faced and stammering now that he’s pressed against the full length of Walker’s solid body. “-I mean, if you’re- If you’re offering…”
John tilts his face closer, until their lips are just barely not touching, and answers honestly. “I am.”
“Cool.” The words come out embarrassingly breathy, but it’s okay, because John’s too busy licking into his mouth to mess with him about it.
It’s- fuck, it’s so hot.
Ever since his breakdown a few days ago, they’d been careful around each other. Spending quiet time side by side without touching too much, and definitely not doing anything like this. A kind of kissing that he’d never gotten to experience before, a kind of kissing that makes his stomach go all warm and tight, and has his hands desperately trying to pull Walker closer, just so that he can feel every inch of him while he lets the other’s tongue slide and catch against the parted seam of his lips.
It’s messy, and wet, and he’s probably going to cum in his pants in about 5 seconds, just from the feeling of rough hands against his sides, and the taste of oranges being pressed into his mouth.
“God, Walker, you’re so-” He breaks away with a gasp to try and catch his breath, and John just keeps on going, moving his lips to Bob’s neck, where he proceeds to try his damndest to leave a hickey, even if they both know it’s going to heal too fast for anyone else to see.
“Holy shit, you feel so good.” Walker pants hotly against his skin.
“You, too. Don’t-” He sucks in a hard breath as John grabs him by the backs of his thighs, and swings him up and onto a counter. “-Jesus, Walker, don’t stop. Please.”
“Yeah, yes, anything you want. I promise, I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good.” Despite how confident John may sound, his hands are shaking as they slip down to tug open Bob’s jeans, and drag down his boxers just enough to expose the wet, aching line of his cock where it curves against his stomach. The blonde man freezes, swaying forward between Bob’s legs to look, and look, and look at him all spread out and leaking on the counter. “...Christ alive, you’re pretty.”
“O-Oh.” A mixture of embarrassment and cautious delight pours hot over Bob’s skin. He slides his arms up to wrap around John’s neck, keeping him close. “Thanks, I mean- you’ve gotta know by now how you look to me. I think- shit, Walker, I think you’re perfect.”
It’s John’s turn to blush, a faint pink tone that starts at the tips of his ears, and winds its way down along his jaw. He doesn’t comment though, just moves a hand from one of Bob’s thighs to testingly curl around the length of him.
Bob keens, pitching forward just a bit, as his hips jerk up once into that tight, perfect grip. “Oh, f-uck. I’m so sorry, I’m- this is going to be over so fast.”
John shoots him a shit-eating grin and laughs—but not to be mean, just ‘cause he’s really freaking happy. In fact, he kind of needs to see Bob fall apart now. It pushes him to go harder, faster, his thumb swiping up the precum steadily beading from his flushed, pink tip, and using it to ease the way as he practically drags Bobby across the finish line.
He was right. It really doesn’t take long.
With two more steady jerks of his fist, Bob’s whole body locks up, cum pulsing warmly over John’s fingers. And the sound he makes—God, John’s going to be jerking off to the memory of that sound for the rest of his life.
Starting right now.
Breathing heavily, he shoves his own joggers down and uses the cum on his hand to slick the way as he immediately starts thrusting forward into a fist. Bob is still sitting there, one leg on either side of John’s waist, trying to catch his breath when he realizes what John’s doing. With wide eyes, he tries to slip a hand down to touch, but it’s too late; John’s already shooting hot, thick stripes across Bob’s softening cock.
“Next time.” He manages to gasp out, grinding forward into the mess just a little bit as he finishes up. It’s honestly going to be such a pain in the ass to clean up later, both of them sticky and covered in sweat, the bottom half of their clothes fucked beyond belief.
But worth it—totally worth it.
“Wow, that was- yeah. Wow.” Bob laughs breathlessly. “Nice going, Walker.”
“...Yeah?” John shyly looks up through his eyelashes at the other man, who’s still perched up on the counter.
It’s actually pretty cute. Which is unbelievable, considering what a hyper-masculine douchebag Walker usually is. “...Oh no. I think you’re gonna kill me.”
“No way.” John shakes his head and leans up to press a firm kiss to Bob’s forehead. “I’d never let that happen.”
Bob just smiles, something warm creeping up from the tips of his toes, all the way up to his chest. “You’re so cheesy, man.”
“Cheesy enough that you’ll let me cook you breakfast instead of eating that sugary garbage you usually get?”
“I think both of us should shower before we use anything else in this kitchen…” Bob looks down pointedly. “...and we should probably- um- wipe things down. Y’know, so the others don’t kill us. But after that, yeah. Yeah, breakfast would be nice.”
John smiles, slow and soft, and nods. “I can live with that.”
And he would.