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“Hey, by the way,” Bucky says, “what’s the most times you’ve ever made Steve come in a row?”
Sam blinks up at him. “Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” he says. “That’s cold, Barnes. Real cold.”
“Just answer the question, man,” Bucky says, but he runs his metal thumb over the crease of Sam’s hip—ice cold, Sam thinks, shivering under the touch—and leans down to press his lips to the hollow at the base of Sam’s throat. The movement makes him sink deeper into Sam, which makes Sam’s breath catch, which makes Bucky huff out a smug little noise against his skin.
“Um,” Sam says. He slides his fingers into the sweat-damp hair at the back of Bucky’s neck. “I’m not sure.” Unsurprisingly, it’s pretty difficult to think with Bucky’s dick hard and hot inside him and Bucky’s weight pinning him to the bed, the smell of sex heavy in the room. He’s only human, after all. “Twice, maybe?”
“Twice,” Bucky says, aghast. He pulls back to look Sam in the eye. “You’ve gotta be—you’re kidding me, right?”
“What’s wrong with two orgasms?” Sam protests. “Hell, I’m completely wiped out after one. And I sure never heard Steve complain about anything either.”
“Oh, that’s just ’cause he’s too polite,” Bucky says with a shit-eating grin.
Sam twists his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tugs, to make a point. It’s not very effective as far as making a point goes; it only makes Bucky gasp sharply, his hand twitching where it’s hooked around the back of Sam’s knee. His body stutters to a halt for a moment before he continues gently rocking into Sam.
“Polite, my ass,” Sam says, lifting his hips to meet Bucky’s. “Steve was the most demanding little shit I knew before you decided to show up in my life.”
Bucky shakes his head, which makes his hair fall into his eyes. “You’ve got it all mixed up there, pal. I was having a blast in Bucharest till you guys decided to show up in my life.”
“Really,” Sam says. He tucks Bucky’s hair behind his ears again. “In that sad excuse for an apartment.”
“My apartment was fine before a SWAT team swooped in and riddled it with bullet holes,” Bucky says. “Which, as you may recall, happened right around the time when you guys decided to show up.”
“Okay, well, in that case, I’m really sorry to hear that Steve ruined your idyllic life in Bucharest.”
Bucky holds still. “Oh my God,” he says flatly. “You’re taking zero responsibility for this.”
“Yup,” Sam says. “All Steve. I had nothing to do with any of that. Ask him, he’ll confirm it.” He digs his heel into Bucky’s side until Bucky starts moving again, slow shallow thrusts that send ripples of pleasure up Sam’s spine. “And how about you take a little responsibility for getting my ass thrown in jail, huh?” he adds, clenching down around Bucky to emphasize his words.
Bucky chokes back a moan. “I have. I am. I promised you a lifetime supply of apology blowjobs, remember?”
“Oh, I remember,” Sam says. “I also remember you promising to fuck me nice and hard tonight, but instead of that you’re talking about Steve. Who isn’t even here right now.” Who’s at his weekly bridge club meeting, he almost says, but he is expecting Bucky to deliver on his promise at some point, so it’s probably best to steer clear from boner-killing topics like weekly bridge club meetings. For both their sakes.
“Aw,” Bucky says. He kisses the corner of Sam’s mouth, picks up the pace a little. “I will fuck you nice and hard, I swear, it’s just—it seriously never occurred to you to test his super soldier refractory period? You never got curious?”
“I’m a busy guy, all right,” Sam says. “Some of us have jobs we go to on days when there’s no avenging to be done. Also, I spent two years chasing down dead-end leads with your boyfriend because I was stupid enough to offer to help him find you, and—”
“Hey, he was just your boyfriend back then. And you’re the one who offered. Don’t put that on me.”
“I thought you’d still be skulking around D.C., man,” Sam says. “Anyway, hotel room walls tend to be pretty thin, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but that boy of ours tends to get pretty fucking loud.”
“Yeah, well, imagine how loud he gets after three orgasms,” Bucky says, gripping the headboard.
Sam—imagines it.
“Fuck,” he says. And then, when Bucky’s next thrust seems to make all his nerve ends light up, has his back arching up from the mattress, “Oh, fuck.”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, breathless. He hangs his head, fucks Sam faster. “My point exactly.”
“But I don’t want to skip bridge club tomorrow night,” Steve says plaintively. “Can’t whatever this is wait till after my trip to Europe?”
Sam and Bucky tell him, “No.”
“We’ll make it worth your while,” Bucky adds in a sly voice. “Promise.”
It’s a thing of beauty, watching the understanding dawn on Steve’s face—the way he goes from frowning a little to momentarily expressionless to wide-eyed. A flush starts spreading up his throat. His cheeks flood with color.
“Oh,” he says then, and Sam could swear his voice sounds hoarser now than it did just a few seconds ago. Steve clears his throat, says, “Um, yeah, okay, I’ll, sure,” and Bucky laughs and hooks a finger into the collar of his shirt, pulls him close for a kiss.
Steve just continues to stand there, slack-jawed, when Bucky turns away from him to wink at Sam. Sam’s stomach twists with heat.
Tomorrow is going to be a very long day.
It’s dark out by the time Sam gets home, long after dinner. He finds Bucky already in bed, lying on his stomach with a sheet pulled up to his waist. He’s supporting his weight on his elbows, a tattered paperback in his hands.
“What are you reading?” Sam asks. He kicks off his shoes before crawling onto the bed and straddling Bucky, kissing the seam where warm skin meets cool metal.
Bucky lets go of the book. “Something,” he says. “I dunno.” He tilts his head back, reaches up and behind himself to curl his hand around Sam’s neck. “How was your day?” he mumbles against Sam’s cheek.
“I dunno,” Sam says a little mockingly, but then Bucky drops his hand and twists onto his side and Sam notices how dark his eyes are. His bottom lip is swollen like he’s been sucking it into his mouth and chewing on it, and when Sam looks down he can see Bucky’s erection tenting the sheet.
“Wow,” he says, feeling a rush of arousal at how horny Bucky already seems to be. “You’ve been looking forward to this all day, haven’t you?” He touches his thumb to Bucky’s lip.
“What, like you haven’t,” Bucky says. He flops down onto his back and shoves one hand up Sam’s shirt, lazily makes a grab for his dick with the other.
Sam’s ab muscles contract under the cold shock of Bucky’s touch. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Warn a guy, why don’t you?”
Bucky gives him a bland look and cups him through his jeans.
“What happened to Goldilocks?” Sam asks, grinding down against Bucky’s palm. “Thought he was supposed to be the main event tonight. Don’t tell me he went out after all. If he did, we’re confiscating his keys and revoking his driving privileges.”
Bucky shakes his head. “He’s in the bathroom,” he says, rubbing the outline of Sam’s dick between his thumb and index finger. His eyes slip shut and he lets out a soft moan like it’s his own dick he’s touching, which. Jesus Christ, Buck. “Getting ready, cleaning himself up for us—probably stroking himself, working his fingers into that tight little hole of his, he won’t be able to help it—”
“Fucking hell, Bucky,” Sam says.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Bucky glances up at Sam through his eyelashes. He’s shifting, getting comfortable. “He won’t make himself come. He’s far too excited for us to take care of him.”
“You’re such a little shit,” Sam says, running a hand through Bucky’s hair and kissing his forehead.
Bucky smiles sweetly at him.
“How about you?” Sam asks. “Been touching yourself as well?”
“Nah,” Bucky says. “Waited for you to get home.”
“Really.”
“See for yourself,” Bucky says, knocking their knees together to make Sam move. He pushes up onto his elbows again and watches as Sam gets to his feet.
By the time Sam has pulled off his jeans and underwear and started unbuttoning his shirt, Bucky has kicked the sheet away and built himself a little tower of pillows to lie back on. His dick is hard, flushed dark. When Sam kneels on the bed again Bucky takes it into his hand, angles the glistening tip up toward Sam’s face.
“See,” he says, breathlessly, “waited for you,” and he’s so beautiful like this, unselfconsciously reclining on the pillows with his legs spread and so much lust and love in his eyes, that Sam burns with the need to get his mouth on Bucky’s dick.
He leans down and wraps his lips around the head. Sucks on it, just a little, just enough to make Bucky gasp. Bucky tastes good, clean and salty, and Sam can tell from the amount of precome that he must have been hard for a while. Has been rutting against the mattress while holding his book, maybe, too distracted to actually read.
God, isn’t that a thought.
“Jeez, Buck,” Steve’s voice says, “couldn’t take the time to get him out of all his clothes first?”
“Sam’s perfectly capable of taking off his own clothes,” Bucky says. “Generally speaking.”
Fingertips brush against the back of Sam’s head. He pulls off of Bucky’s dick. “I got distracted,” he tells Steve. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Steve says, bending down to kiss Sam, deeply, as if to try and taste Bucky on his tongue. The angle is uncomfortable. Sam curls his hand around Steve’s elbow and tugs at it until Steve sits down heavily on the bed. He seems jittery, on edge, so Sam puts both hands on his shoulders, deliberately slows down the kiss. Steve shivers and then stills under his touch.
Bucky’s suspiciously quiet. He’s stroking himself, Sam sees when he breaks away from Steve’s mouth, watching the two of them intently. He smiles at Sam when their eyes catch.
“All right,” Steve says, straightening up. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
He’s actually rubbing his hands together. It’s when he looks down and touches the back of his neck that Sam realizes, with a start, that Steve is nervous. He’s jittery not just with anticipation, like Bucky is, like Sam himself is, but with actual nerves.
That’s just ’cause he’s too polite, Bucky had joked when Sam said he and Steve hadn’t done this before, before Bucky. Now he knows that it’s true, in a way. Bucky’s right; Steve wants this so badly, and the more Steve wants something the less likely he is to ask for it. This, apparently, is something he wants—needs—so badly he can’t even ask for it at all.
“Come here, then,” Bucky tells Steve in a soft voice, and Steve does.
They kiss each other tenderly, Steve’s fingers trembling where they’re tangled in Bucky’s hair, Bucky’s fingers gentle and reassuring on Steve’s jaw. Steve’s eyes are closed, but Bucky’s are half open, seeking Sam’s. Come here, then, they say.
Sam shrugs out of his shirt and goes to mold himself against Steve’s back.
“Sam,” Steve breathes, leaning back into the arm Sam slings around his waist. He turns his head like he’s moving in for a kiss, but then Bucky does something—Sam can’t see what—and Steve just ends up exhaling hotly against Sam’s cheek. His whole body jerks.
Sam cranes his neck to look over Steve’s shoulder. Bucky’s touching Steve’s nipples, rolling one of them between his fingertips until it’s hard and then moving on to the other one. Steve’s dick is twitching. Sam wraps his hand around it, and Steve shudders against him.
“Sam,” he says, again.
Sam noses at the skin behind Steve’s ear, strokes him, says, “I’m here.”
“God, I love how sensitive his nipples are,” Bucky says, voice low. Steve’s dick pulses in Sam’s hand. “Think I could get him off like this? Just by playing with his nipples?”
“I mean, if you keep at it long enough, sure,” Sam says, and Steve swears under his breath, bucking up into Sam’s grip as if trying to goad him into going faster.
There’s no doubt in Sam’s mind that Bucky has stashed bottles of lube in strategic places all over the bed. He could grab one, slick up his hand, jerk Steve off rough and quick the way he’s wordlessly begging for. Sam feels like keeping it slow for now, though, so he stops moving his hand and waits for Steve to get the hint.
Steve gets the hint.
His body becomes a line of tension against Sam’s, quivering with the effort of holding still. It must be difficult for him, with Sam’s hand on his dick and Sam’s erection pressed against his lower back, Bucky touching his nipples—both of them at the same time now, massaging them with the pads of his thumbs in thorough, unhurried circles.
It must be so difficult, but he’s trying so hard.
“You’re being so good, Steve,” Sam mumbles against the nape of Steve’s neck. He feels Steve’s dick jump again. “So fucking good for us.”
Bucky leans in to scrape his teeth over one of Steve’s nipples. Steve buries his hands in Bucky’s hair and gasps for air as Bucky flattens his tongue against it, fits his mouth over it. He’s still massaging Steve’s other nipple, bearing down, and it’s true, Sam thinks. Steve probably would be able to come just from someone playing with his nipples long enough, rubbing them, biting at the sensitive skin around them, sucking on them until they’re hard and aching and then blowing on them, softly.
Steve is so close now; Sam can tell from the way his breathing changes, the way his body writhes restlessly. He adjusts his grip and drags his thumb over the wet head of Steve’s dick until Steve’s hips start snapping forward.
“Oh, fuck,” Steve says. He’s panting by now. “Do—do that again. Please.”
Sam does. “You’re always so polite during sex,” he says. It’s just an observation, really, but it seems to have the same effect on Steve as his earlier words of praise did, and Steve is close enough that it pushes him right over the edge. He whispers something else—maybe please again, or fuck, or Sam—as he tenses up and comes all over Sam’s hand.
Sam strokes him through it, waiting for the signs. It doesn’t take long for Steve to inhale sharply and start squirming.
“No,” Bucky says, quietly, when Sam’s about to pull back his hand. “Just keep going.”
“Keep—” Sam says, looking at Bucky over Steve’s shoulder.
“Trust me,” Bucky says. There’s a glint in his eyes. His hands are still on Steve’s nipples. He pinches one, and Steve groans, thrusts his softening dick into the circle of Sam’s hand.
Sam picks up the pace again, Steve’s come slicking the way. He slackens his grip when Steve lets out a noise midway between a cry and a whimper. “Too much?” he asks, but Steve shakes his head, and Sam continues to touch him light and careful the way he would stroke a girl through that period of hypersensitivity right after an orgasm.
Steve is hypersensitive; Sam can tell from the way he’s still squirming like he can’t take it, his breath catching in his throat over and over again. And it’s hot, mind-blowingly hot, it makes Sam’s own dick throb almost painfully where it’s still nestled in the small of Steve’s back, but—
“Shit, seriously,” he says eventually when Steve chokes out another helpless noise. “How is this not killing you?”
“It’s killing him in the good way,” Bucky says, taking hold of Steve’s chin, “right Steve? You love this, don’t you?”
“Fuck,” Steve moans by way of response, and then he stiffens again and comes a second time, already, his come spurting in pulses onto Bucky’s stomach. This time his body goes completely limp against Sam’s almost right away, and this time Bucky doesn’t stop Sam when he pulls back his hand and wipes it on the sheets.
Steve bats Bucky’s hands away from his face and his chest, shifts onto his back. He’s still panting, flushed all over. Which makes sense—he just came twice in, what, less than ten minutes, and he looks it too, blinking up at the ceiling like he needs a moment to come back to himself.
Sam presses his palm down against his dick. He glances over to where Bucky is lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand, watching Steve catch his breath. Eyes roaming over Steve’s parted lips, his long eyelashes, his chiseled jawline.
“Good?” Bucky asks. He’s brushing his fingers against Steve’s collarbone, but he looks Sam straight in the eye while saying it.
Steve nods without opening his eyes. Bucky leans in and says, close to Steve’s ear, not breaking eye contact with Sam, “So how about you get down on your knees and thank Sam for making you feel so good by sucking his cock, huh?” and Steve lets out a breathy moan and jerks even though neither Bucky nor Sam is actually touching him.
Bucky’s tone of voice sends a shiver down Sam’s spine. He doesn’t know why it keeps coming as a shock to him that Bucky has such a dirty mouth, and that Steve gets off on it—on being talked to like this, being talked about like this—so much, but it does. Every time he thinks he’s gotten used to it, Bucky pushes the boundaries a little further.
Bucky’s dirty mouth: a gift that keeps on giving.
Steve sits up, shakily, and Bucky leans across the empty space he leaves behind to kiss Sam’s nose. It’s so sweet, so incongruous with the almost callous filthiness of the words he spoke just seconds ago, that Sam laughs.
Bucky narrows his eyes at Sam. His pupils are blown. “Go sit on the edge of the bed,” he says. He’s smiling a little, like he just can’t help himself. Like maybe he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
“Trying to boss me around now too, huh?” Sam says, twisting a lock of Bucky’s hair around his finger and pulling at it. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”
“And we’re nowhere near done yet,” Bucky says. He grins and scrambles to his feet as well.
Sam settles on the edge of the bed, as instructed. Steve’s already kneeling on the floor with his hands in his lap. There’s no trace of his earlier nervousness left in him, it seems; he looks completely at ease. Sam reaches for his face, and Steve leans into his hand, eyes fluttering shut. His skin is hot to the touch.
God, he’s beautiful.
It’s not entirely clear to Sam what Bucky’s planning to do until he’s already kneeling behind Steve. He smooths both hands down Steve’s muscled back. “You all right?” he asks, kissing the space between Steve’s shoulder blades.
Steve’s cheek rubs against Sam’s palm when he nods.
“Okay,” Bucky says, “good,” and then he reaches over Steve’s shoulder to wrap his hand around Sam’s dick, his metal hand sliding into the hair at the back of Steve’s head.
Sam’s mind abruptly goes blank as he watches Bucky guide Steve’s head to his dick, guide his dick into Steve’s mouth. He doesn’t know what’s hotter, the look of concentration on Bucky’s face or the calm, trustful look on Steve’s. Lust surges through him strongly enough to make his toes curl, and that’s before the wet heat of Steve’s mouth even closes around the head of his dick. He digs his fingers into the mattress.
Bucky glances up at him and smirks like he knows exactly what this is doing with Sam. And of course he knows, the little shit. He’s combing his fingers through Steve’s hair, whispering to him. The words are hard to make out; Sam’s too distracted by the sight of his dick disappearing between Steve’s lips, the feeling of Steve swallowing around him, the fucking noises.
“Think you’ll be able to come again?” Sam hears Bucky murmur. “Think you can come like this, untouched, with just Sam’s dick in your mouth and his hands on you?”
And they are, Sam realizes. His hands are resting on the curves of Steve’s shoulders, so high up they’re almost wrapped around his throat. Steve’s surrounded by them on all sides. Kneeling between Sam’s legs, Sam’s dick in his mouth, Sam’s hands on his shoulders. Bucky pressed up against him from behind, Bucky’s voice in his ear, Bucky’s fingers threaded into his hair, Bucky’s hands guiding his head up and down Sam’s dick, faster now—
The noises Steve’s making keep growing louder. They vibrate through Sam’s body, and God, it’s almost like Sam is the one surrounded on all sides here, hot pressure on every inch of his skin. It’s so much, all of this, the way it looks, the way it feels, the way it sounds. It’s almost too much.
He can feel his orgasm building low in his stomach. He doesn’t want to come, not yet. He could ask them to slow down, but he doesn’t want them to slow down. He wishes he could stay on the verge of coming, even though he knows it’s impossible, he was already so fucking turned on long before Steve even took him into his mouth.
“Feels good, doesn’t he,” Bucky says, and Sam doesn’t know who he’s talking to, him or Steve or both, but it does feel good, Steve feels so fucking good, and he stops holding back, allows himself to let go.
Bucky reaches for Sam’s dick again when he starts coming. He strokes Sam through it, fisting his hand into the hair at the back of Steve’s head to pull it off Sam’s dick and keep it in place, tilted back a little, and Steve just closes his eyes and lets Sam—lets Bucky—lets Sam and Bucky coat his face with come. It hits his cheeks and his chin and his swollen parted lips, one drop sliding down the long exposed line of his throat.
Bucky tugs Steve’s head back even further and leans in to lick the drop away, and that’s it, it’s too much, Jesus Christ, this is all too fucking much.
Sam falls backward onto the bed, casts an arm over his eyes. Sweat is prickling along his hairline. For a moment he can’t even speak. “Every time I think sex with you two can’t get any hotter it does,” he says in a voice he barely even recognizes, what the hell. “I feel like a wrung-out dishrag.”
“You sound like you’re complaining,” Bucky says from where he’s still on the floor with Steve.
“No he doesn’t,” Steve says. It’s the first thing he’s said in a while that’s not either a swearword or Sam’s name. He sounds hoarse, dazed. Sam can still feel his heartbeat in his throat, hear his blood rush in his ears. He can’t even begin to imagine how ruined Steve must feel right about now.
Imagine how loud he gets after three orgasms, Bucky had said. Sam’s heart might give out at the thought alone.
Groaning, he rolls over to lie in the middle of the bed. “Gimme a second here,” he says.
He doesn’t know how much time passes until Steve and Bucky join him on the bed again. Steve’s face is clean; Sam doesn’t know if Bucky used a tissue to wipe Sam’s come away or if he just licked it all off of Steve’s face. The latter seems most likely.
“Jesus,” Sam says, voice still a little strangled. “Come here, you.”
Steve obediently straddles Sam’s thigh and leans down to kiss Sam. When Sam runs a hand through his hair it feels damp with sweat.
“Nice,” Bucky says from the foot of the bed. Sam doesn’t know what he means until Steve jerks and his knees slide a little further apart. The underside of his dick brushes against Sam’s thigh, smearing wetness across Sam’s skin. His eyes are dark, and he’s breathing fast.
“Jesus, Steve, you’re so fucking tight,” Bucky says in awe. There’s a squelch of lube, and then Steve bites down on his bottom lip and moves like he’s pushing back against something.
All right. It seems like a sensible progression, from hand jobs to blow jobs to fingering. Maybe Bucky’s going to fuck Steve after. Sam’s definitely not gonna be able to get it up again anytime soon, but he feels a thrill of anticipation at the thought of watching them.
Bucky is quiet now. Steve moans, long and low. The moan after that is even more desperate, and holy shit, Sam realizes, Bucky is working Steve open with his tongue.
Steve is trembling. He lifts his head. His gaze roams over Sam’s face, absently, like he’s looking for something but he can’t remember what or why.
“Hey, you,” Sam says when their eyes catch.
“Hey,” Steve says, voice cracking.
“You good?”
“So good,” Steve says, “so—fuck,” and his eyes flutter shut again and the next brush of his dick against Sam’s thigh is more deliberate, like he can’t bear it anymore, needs some friction. It happens again, and again, and then Steve is full-on rubbing off against Sam’s thigh, gasping.
Sam lets his hand slide down Steve’s spine, presses down on the small of his back. “Yeah, c’mon,” he says, “c’mon, Steve, come for us. You can do it.”
Steve whimpers, hides his face in the curve of Sam’s shoulder. He’s humping Sam’s thigh fast, no rhythm to it, and Sam wonders what exactly Bucky is doing. If he’s fucking his tongue into Steve or licking him open with slow, insistent strokes, if he’s just using his tongue or his fingers as well. Sam doesn’t know, can’t see, has only Steve’s reactions to go by.
He presses down on Steve’s back harder, cups Steve’s head with his other hand. “Come on,” he repeats. “Come for me, that’s it.”
“Fuck,” Steve gasps into the curve of Sam’s shoulder, “oh, fuck, it’s, I can’t, not again, I—” and Sam feels him come, a brief burst of wetness against his skin. Steve’s body is trembling so hard it’s practically convulsing. Sam wraps his arms around him, holds him tight.
Behind Steve, Bucky sits up. His mouth is shining with lube and spit. It’s clear from the look on his face that he hasn’t come yet, is aching with it.
“Want me to—” Sam says, but Bucky shakes his head and smirks, eyes bright.
Oh boy.
“On your back, Steve,” Bucky says softly when Steve’s shudders start dying down, “c’mon, turn over for me,” and Steve obeys. His chest is heaving, stomach dipping with every harsh inhale. He covers his face with his hands.
Sam sits up. That’s it, he thinks, three orgasms is Steve’s max—and then Bucky snaps a latex glove over his left hand and slicks it up with lube and slides three fingers into Steve, up to the knuckles.
“Bucky,” Steve moans, his lower body bowing up from the bed, hands flinging out to the sides, one of them landing on Sam’s knee, “oh God, Bucky—”
“It’s okay,” Bucky says in a soothing voice. He puts his other hand on Steve’s inner thigh, thumb sweeping back and forth. “You can take it, I know you can, you’re so good for us, aren’t you, look at you taking it…”
“Oh God,” Steve says again, panting, “oh God.”
“You can take it,” Bucky repeats confidently, still thrusting his fingers in and out of Steve. “Remember? Remember me making you come over and over again, how good it made you feel? Don’t you wanna show Sam how much you love this?”
“Ngh,” Steve says. And then, “I don’t, I don’t think I can…”
Bucky slows down. “Just say the word,” he says. “Say the word and we’ll stop, right Sam?”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam says, because honestly, Steve looks like he’s a second away from coming apart at the seams.
“No, don’t,” Steve gasps. “Don’t stop, please, please don’t stop.”
He’s clutching Sam’s knee almost painfully, pushing down against Bucky’s hand. Bucky smiles, and Steve closes his eyes and just takes it as Bucky finger-fucks him at a relentless pace, and.
Sam knows how Steve gets sometimes, how sometimes he needs to get fucked hard and fast and deep. To make him forget, or to make him remember. He knows Steve needs it the same way Bucky needs to feel like he’s in charge, the same way Sam—some nights more than others—needs to be able to see and touch them both to reassure himself they’re all still here, still safe. This is next level, though.
Steve’s skin is gleaming with sweat, his hair sticking to his face. Sam strokes it away from his forehead. “Okay?” he asks, and Steve nods, lets out another sob.
Steve sets his jaw and pushes his cheek into the pillow when he starts coming again—the fourth time, if Sam remembers correctly. Fucking hell. His dick is twitching, but they must have milked every single drop out of him by now; he’s coming dry.
And Bucky—
Bucky just keeps going, doesn’t even slow down, fucking his fingers into Steve even as Steve’s body pulses with the aftershocks.
“Bucky,” Sam says, because seriously. “Don’t break him.”
“Oh, he can take it,” Bucky says, voice warm. “Can’t you, Steve?”
Steve moans, nods.
“So beautiful,” Bucky says, “you’re taking it so beautifully, Steve, God, look at you. I love how much you love this.”
Steve cries out. When he lifts his face out of the pillow again Sam sees that he’s—well, not crying, not exactly. There are tears running down his cheeks like he just can’t keep them in, like he’s come so many times already but he’s still feeling so much and it needs to get it out of his system some other way.
“Hey,” Sam says, cradling Steve’s head. “Hey, baby, look at me,” but instead of looking up Steve twists closer to him and presses his face to Sam’s inner thigh, eyes closed, eyelashes clumped together.
“I’ve got you,” Sam says, stroking Steve’s hair. It’s soaked with sweat by now. “We’ve got you.”
“Please,” Steve whispers. His eyes are open again, but they’re unfocused. He’s clinging to Sam like his life depends on it. “I want—please. Please, fuck me, I need—need to feel—”
“Give me ten more minutes and I might actually be able to, if you guys keep going like this,” Sam says.
Steve frowns, like the sentence is too long and complex for him to parse in his current state. Hell, it probably is.
“No fucking way, Wilson,” Bucky says, voice strained. “I’ve been saving myself for this moment.”
Steve laughs breathlessly. “Not gonna last a second,” he says. He sounds surprisingly lucid for someone who looks like he’s about to dissolve into a pool of his own sweat and come and tears.
“That’s rich coming from the guy who just came four times in under an hour.”
Steve could only muster the energy for one smart-ass remark, it seems, because he doesn’t respond. He lets Bucky rearrange him, roll him over onto his stomach again, push his knees under his body.
“Shit, Steve, you always feel so good,” Bucky says through gritted teeth as he pushes into Steve. He’s gotten Steve so loose and wet with his tongue and his fingers that he doesn’t even have to use a condom, can slide right in. It must be torture, having Steve’s tight heat clench around his dick without a layer between them, especially after being hard for so long. Sam’s spent dick twitches in sympathy. “So good, fuck, I love you so much.”
Steve was right; Bucky doesn’t last longer than five minutes before he’s spilling into Steve. Steve doesn’t even react at all the last time he comes—it just happens, his body shuddering as his orgasm crashes through him but his face blissful and vacant like he’s somewhere else entirely.
This time, it takes Steve ages to come back to himself. Bucky leaves the room at some point. Sam sticks close to Steve, strokes his hair and says nothing. Watches Steve’s eyes slowly regain focus, watches him blink, sniffle.
Another tear rolls down Steve’s cheek, and he moves so suddenly that it makes Sam flinch, scrubs the inside of his wrist down his face almost angrily.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Sam says, catching Steve’s hand and brushing the tear away with the thumb of his other hand. “Man, you really needed this, didn’t you?”
Steve nods. Pushes his face into the pillow like he’s embarrassed, and that’s just not gonna fly.
“Steve,” Sam says. He puts his hand on the back of Steve’s neck.
Steve gasps, jerks away from Sam’s touch like it’s scorching him. “Too much,” he says, “I can’t—”
“It’s okay,” Sam says again. Steve reaches for him, and Sam takes his hand, rubs his thumb across the knuckles.
Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath and sags against the bed.
Bucky returns with bottles of water and several washcloths. He puts the bottles on the nightstand and kisses Sam on the lips before starting to clean Steve up, wiping his inner thighs and his crack until Steve jerks away again, hissing. Bucky doesn’t stop there; he takes his time washing the dried sweat off Steve’s back and arms, lifts Steve’s hips to clean his stomach. Steve just keeps his eyes closed and lets it happen.
Sam takes one of the bottles and drinks. The water is deliciously cold; he ends up downing half of it in one go. He holds the bottle out to Bucky, who shakes his head, strokes Steve’s back. “You did so good for us,” he says.
Steve’s fingers jerk against Sam’s palm. Sam squeezes them, says, “We love you.”
“I know,” Steve says sleepily. His voice is wrecked. “I love you too.”
“You wanna have some water?” Bucky says. “Want me to go get you some food?”
Steve shakes his head. “Can we—just wanna lie here for a while,” he mumbles, tugging at Sam’s hand. “Please.”
“Sure,” Sam says, lying down again and letting Steve curl up to him.
Bucky pulls the covers up to Steve’s shoulders, tucks them in around him and Sam before getting into bed on Sam’s side. “You all right?” he asks quietly, his lips brushing against Sam’s shoulder. “Anything I can get you? A snack? Another orgasm?”
“You better keep those greedy little hands of yours far away from my sensitive parts, Barnes, I swear to God,” Sam says.
Bucky snorts. He trails his fingers down Sam’s stomach, presses more barely-there kisses to his skin. “That got pretty intense, huh?” he says, voice soft.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “It did.” Intense, but good.
“More intense than bridge club, for sure,” Steve mumbles from his other side.
Bucky groans loudly. Sam laughs. Steve belatedly lets out an exhausted, contented sigh.
“And a lot more fun, I hope,” Bucky grumbles, to which Steve doesn’t reply. “Listen to that guy. Fuckin’ bridge club. Unbelievable. And you call me a little shit?”
Steve doesn’t bristle, or react at all. He’s breathing deeply, fingers twitching against Sam’s skin.
Bucky can’t seem to get comfortable. He keeps shifting, moving against Sam like he’s trying to either aggressively cuddle him or crawl inside his body. Sam’s not sure.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amused.
“Nothing,” Bucky says. He finally settles down with his chin on top of Sam’s head, his metal arm a heavy but comforting weight on Sam’s chest, above his heart. “Did Steve seriously just fall asleep on his own aftercare? Ridiculous. I’m telling you, he’s the little shit in this relationship.”
Sam rests his hand on Bucky’s arm and turns his head to nuzzle Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s body starts to relax against his. “Cuddling is aftercare,” he says. “And you’re both little shits,” he adds—fondly, because he wouldn’t have it any other way.