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take my hand, wreck my plans (that's my man)

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The first Bucky figures there’s something wrong is when Torres kisses him.

It’s Torres’ third mission; they’re on the plane back, transporting what’s left of a black market drug lab that might be working on super-soldier serum. It’s always the fucking serum, Bucky thinks, Christ, they should just give up and build robots or something instead. Along with the crates of dubious chemicals there’s also a pack of miscreants in various stages of unconsciousness, which is a positive sign for getting some intel on the higher-ups of the enterprise but which is extremely fucking annoying for Bucky in not being able to wind down with Sam the usual way: waiting until Torres is in the cockpit out of sight and hopefully earshot, and then jerking each other off while Bucky growls something dirty into Sam’s ear. It’s a good routine to have, and without it Bucky feels kind of cranky, a little driven by adrenaline that won’t quite fade.

“Good work,” Sam tells Torres, “you’re getting better, man. Soon you might be almost as good as I was, like, ten years ago. You know, back when I first started and I had no goddamn idea how to fly yet.”

“Aw, come on, I’m better than that, right? I didn’t even trip over one time. And I didn’t accidentally deploy the wings while we were in the elevator.”

“Thank god for small mercies,” Bucky mutters, because even with his own super-soldier serum, getting hit in the junk with Kevlar-reinforced wing-tips fucking hurt like a bitch when Torres had done it the last mission. “I dunno if I could take that a second time.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam says, “Bucky won’t say it but you are improving. I’m glad you’re on the team, okay.”

“He has to say that,” Bucky says. “It’s part of the job description when you’re Cap, you gotta be encouraging and shit. Team spirit. You wanna tell us how we’re all valuable to the mission, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that when we’re working,” Sam sighs, “it’s bad for my image,” but he smiles at Bucky anyway: the kind of warmth in his gaze that’s a promise for later. “I’m gonna go check our flight path, call in to base to let them know we’ve got prisoners incoming. Be right back.”

“You did do good,” Bucky says to Torres once Sam is gone. “And don’t tell Sam I told you this, but you haven’t let anyone rip your wings off and kick you off a helicarrier, so you’re one up on him there, okay?” Torres cracks up, eyes crinkling. 

“Who—” he begins, and Bucky raises an eyebrow, winks at him. “Wait, you were—huh, okay, wild. No wonder Sam pretended not to like you for so long.”

“Pretended, huh,” Bucky says, and Torres shrugs. The plane must hit sudden turbulence, because it jolts just hard enough that they’re in danger of losing their footing; Bucky steadies himself against the nearest hard surface, reaches for Torres. “Don’t hit these crates,” he says, gripping his arm, “who knows what’ll happen if you get any of this shit on you,” and Torres nods. Bucky squeezes his bicep again, lets go, and Torres makes this weird little noise that’s almost a squeak. “You good?” Bucky asks, and Torres nods again. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice still sounding kind of weird, “yeah, I’m fine,” and the plane jolts again. Torres staggers, pitches forward so that he basically collides with Bucky.

“Hey!” Bucky yells up toward the cockpit, “you fuckin’ flying this thing or what?” and Sam yells back something a little too muffled for Bucky to catch. “Jesus,” Bucky mutters, “giving you shit about your flying, fuck,” and pats Torres on the shoulder to reinforce the point.

“Um,” Torres says. Bites his lip, looks up at Bucky. He’s still standing kind of too close, Bucky thinks; it’s not really necessary.

“You good?” he asks, and Torres nods. Blinks, slow, his pupils dilating, and then he's leaning in even closer, landing a kiss in the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

“Uh,” Bucky says, entirely taken aback, not sure what kind of shit Torres is trying to pull here, and Torres fucking giggles all sweet and breathy, leans in closer and plants another kiss properly on Bucky’s mouth this time. There’s tongue, or at least Torres is really trying for it, and Bucky takes a sharp breath, steps backward and puts both hands on Torres’ shoulders.

“What—” he manages, more surprised than anything else, and Torres whines a little.

“Come on,” he says, “please, Bucky, come on, just gimme,” and Bucky exhales again because he really does not know what the fuck is going on here.

“Wait here,” he says, “just… take a seat, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Torres says, pliant. “Don’t take too long, okay? I really want to get your dick in my mouth.”

What the fuck, Bucky mouths, and gets the hell out of the main hold before Torres follows through on that sentence.


He ducks up to the cockpit, touches Sam’s shoulder and leans against the metal wall.

“What up?” Sam asks, eyes still on the plane controls. Bucky clears his throat.

“Torres, uh, kissed me,” he says, still extremely weirded out by the whole situation, and Sam glances back at him.

“He what?”

“Kissed me. And tried to take advantage of my virtue, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know what you mean, because I’m not Steve Rogers and I haven’t been alive since fucking nineteen-hundred and two, so you’re gonna have to spell it out. Torres did what?”

“Kissed me,” Bucky says. “And, uh. He.”

“Spit it out,” Sam says, “I’m pretty sure you can say it, the shit you talk every time we’re fucking.”

“That’s different,” Bucky mutters, “that’s shit I’m saying to you about what I want to do to you. It’s not that big a deal. It’s just weird. He kissed me, and then he got all needy. Said he wanted to, uh, get my dick in his mouth.”

Torres said that,” Sam repeats. “To you.”

“He’s acting weird,” Bucky says. “I dunno, you know him better than I do, maybe you can figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, jaw set, “we’re gonna figure it out, alright,” and gets out of his seat. Bucky grabs him by the waist before he can squeeze past. Holds him tight, just for a minute.

“Hey,” he says, “you know I didn’t—I mean, I wouldn’t—”

“I am fairly confident you didn’t start flirting with Torres while I’m right here, yeah,” Sam says, eyes softening, and Bucky exhales.

“Okay,” he says, “good. I just wouldn’t want you to think… anyway. How long until we’re home? We’re behind on our usual routine.”

“Couple of hours,” Sam shrugs. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

“Patient, my ass,” Bucky growls, and steals a kiss before they head back down to the hold to figure out whatever is going on with their new baby Falcon.


When Torres sees them both his eyes light up; “Sam,” he says, “Bucky, hi. Are you— can we keep kissing now? I waited like you said.”

“See?” Bucky says to Sam, “like, I’m not as familiar with him as you are, but he’s sure never said anything like this to me before.”

“Torres,” Sam says gently. “Hey, Joaquin? You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” Torres breathes, “I’m feeling great, Sam. I’m feeling so good. But I really want someone to kiss me, and no one is kissing me, and that’s really unfair.” He’s flushed across his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, and then he reaches down, palms himself through his black combat pants. 

“Is he…” Sam murmurs to Bucky, quiet into his ear, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah,” he replies, “sweetheart, we’ve both got eyes, that’s definitely a boner.”

“Would it be weird if I jerked off in front of you?” Torres asks, wide-eyed. Bites his lip again; Bucky can’t help but notice that it’s red, a little swollen like Torres has been chewing on it. “Yeah, it’d be kind of weird, I should just wait so you can fuck me. That’d be better, right.”

“Uh,” Sam says. Swallows hard. “Torres, seriously, man, are you feeling okay?”

“Kid got dosed,” one of the prisoners says. Groans a little. “Fuck, ow, my head, how hard did you fucking hit me?”

“What do you mean, got dosed,” Sam says, and the prisoner groans again.

“I mean, dosed. He hit the lab and our chemist got him in the face with whatever she was working on. Hey, Jones, you see what Roxy hit him with?”

“Nah, but it’s gotta be the Crave serum, right? Look at him.”

“What the fuck is crave serum,” Bucky says, dangerous. Jones glances at the other prisoner, shrugs as much as possible given the cuffs.

“Sex drug,” he says. “Like, I dunno, a combination of Viagra and molly, or something. I’m not the chemist here. It’s supposed to reduce your inhibitions, make you want it.”

“Make you need it,” the other prisoner says. “Make you want it so much you feel like you’ll die if you don’t get it.”

“Yeah,” Jones says, “what Zach said. If you don’t, you know, work it out of your system, it’ll get pretty bad.”

“Not to pry into your criminal enterprise,” Sam says, “but what the fuck, guys, why’d you make a serum like that?”

“Look, I don’t want to incriminate myself, but you busted us, so. The lab makes custom drugs for rich criminals, right? Rich criminals fucking love sex drugs. I think they like this one specifically because of how desperate it makes people.”

“I heard there are a couple of guys in Madripoor who make a habit of dosing any rivals they get a hold of, just so they can get off on their enemy begging for their cock.”

“Gross,” Sam says, and Bucky desperately squashes down the comment that comes to mind: Hydra would have fucking loved this shit.Gross, Jesus Christ. These are your customers?”

“Hey, look, a living is a living, right. People buy it, that’s fine by me, I don’t tell them what to do with it after that. Maybe there are people out there who just like spicing things up a little.”

“Gross,” Sam says again. Bucky clears his throat, glancing at Torres.

“So, you made it, where’s the antidote?”

“There isn’t one,” Jones says. “And I told you, I’m not the chemist, that’s Roxy. But there’s no counter-serum for this shit, that’s not the point, right? You just gotta fuck it out.”

“And if you don’t,” Zach says. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be your buddy here.”

“What’ll happen?” Bucky asks. Pinches the bridge of his nose; he really hadn't banked on criminal sex drugs being a part of his day. “If he doesn’t… Christ, if he doesn’t fuck it out? Will he be okay?”

“I dunno. He’s young and healthy, could be fine in a few hours. Or his heart could explode, it’s hard to say.”

“I really don’t want my heart to explode,” Torres says, his voice small. Bucky pats him on the shoulder.

“Don't worry,” he says. “We won't let your heart explode, kid.” Torres leans into the touch, sighs a little. Closes his eyes.

“Oh, do that again,” he says, “and hey, do you think you could pull my hair while you're at it?”

Bucky,” Sam says extremely meaningfully, and Bucky pulls his hand away.

“I only touched his shoulder,” he says, “Christ, you saw me, it’s not like I’m dirty-touching him or anything. He’s a fucking baby.”

“I’m not,” Torres says, “I’m twenty-eight, I’m not a baby. Come on, what do I have to do? You can both fuck me, if that’s the problem here, you think I wouldn’t die to get railed by both of you at once?”

Christ,” Bucky says again, desperately thinking about the least sexy things possible. Zemo in a bathrobe. Steve, washing his dentures in the shared sink. “Just… be quiet a minute, okay? Let us think.”


“We can’t fuck him,” Sam says quietly once they’re huddling down the other end of the hold. “He’s not in his right mind, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“Agreed,” Bucky says, “sweetheart, you know I’d usually agree with you on that one, but I gotta tell you, I don’t particularly want his heart to explode either. What can I say, the kid is growing on me.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam agrees. “That’s the worst-case scenario, clearly.”

“Maybe… maybe we could just, you know, help him out,” Bucky suggests. “You know, keep an eye on him, talk him through it. Make sure he’s staying hydrated, and shit. No fucking, he can just jerk off until he’s done. And then we can forget it ever happened.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, making a face. “I guess so, yeah. It’s not great, but. Hey,” he says to Zach and Jones, “when you said fuck it out, what’d you mean?”

“Jerking off ain’t gonna cut it,” Zach says. “Might delay things a little, but he’s gonna want to get dicked down before it wears off, I’ll tell you that for nothing.”

“You’re just saying that because you want to see it happen,” Bucky growls, and Zach shrugs.

“Hey, it’s not my ass on the line here. I’m just passing on what I know.”

This is not a great situation, Bucky thinks. “This is not a great situation,” he says, because Sam deserves to share in the burden here, and Sam sighs heavily. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I know. What the fuck.”

“If you’re gonna talk about the ethics of fucking me, can you please just include me in the conversation?” Torres asks, plaintive, and Sam sighs again. Takes Bucky by the wrist, pulls him down to where Torres is sitting so they can shield him from view.

“Look, J, we’re not leaving you out to be jerks about it. But your decision-making isn’t exactly up to par right now, okay? So forgive us for hesitating to take you up on the offer.”

“We could try and hold out until we get back to base,” Bucky suggests. “If we radio in, they can get a medic on the ground, get him sedated until it wears off. It’s gotta metabolize eventually. Baby, you think you could hold on until we get there?”

“How long,” Torres says, gasping a little as he squeezes his dick again through his pants, pinches his thigh in what Bucky recognizes is a desperate attempt to stop himself just unzipping right there. “How long did you say it’ll be, Sam?”

“A couple hours,” Sam tells him, and Torres groans.

“I’m really sorry,” he says, “but I don’t think that’s gonna work. Please, Sam, I don’t— it’s just, it’s a lot, okay? Please, come on, just fuck me.”

“Even if we were to fuck you,” Bucky says, “hypothetically speaking, we’re not fucking on the plane.”

“Aw, come on,” Torres says, “you think I haven’t seen you two after missions? You’re not as sneaky as you think, especially when Bucky is really—oh god, fuck, I shouldn’t have thought about that, that’s hot—really giving it to you.”

“We’re not fucking you on the plane,” Sam amends. “Especially not in front of the popcorn gallery here.”

“Well, you gotta find somewhere,” Torres says, “please?” and the last word comes out begging. Sam looks at Bucky.

“You think, the apartment in—”

“Yeah, that’d work,” Bucky agrees. “Close to the base, and I’m pretty sure we left a bottle of lube there the last time we stayed, since we kept having to make do with olive oil and shit. How far off is that?”

“Maybe an hour,” Sam says. “Less, if I push the jets. We’ll have to refuel but we can figure that out after. I’ll call ahead, tell them we’re changing course for an emergency landing. They can do a prisoner transfer so we don’t have to deal with these shits either.”

“Hey,” Jones says, or maybe it’s Zach; Bucky hasn’t bothered to learn the difference. “That’s hurtful, man, we’re just trying to make a living.”

“Make a living doing something other than selling terrible sex drugs,” Sam tells them. “You can ask Barnes here about restorative justice, he’s got a lot of advice.”

“I really don’t,” Bucky says, “but I’m happy to knock you all out again, you don’t shut up and keep your eyes closed to give my man here some privacy.”

“Noted,” Zach says, and Bucky’s gratified to see that they do actually close their eyes pretty fucking quickly.

“Thanks,” Torres says quietly, “I appreciate it,” and Bucky nods. Sits down next to him, takes his wrist so he can check the kid’s pulse. It’s hammering, rabbit-quick, and Bucky rubs his thumb over the delicate skin, presses gently against the fine bones of Torres’ wrist. “That feels good,” Torres murmurs, “that’s nice, yeah.”

“Nice, like, you’re gonna come in your pants, or…” Bucky says, and Torres gasps a little.

“No,” he says. “Just. Nice. Grounding. Keep touching me, please, god, you wouldn’t believe how bad it feels when nobody’s got their hands on me.”

“Shh,” Bucky says, feeling weirdly tender. “We’ve got you, okay? We’re gonna take you somewhere nice, somewhere private, and you can ride it out. We’re not gonna leave you alone.”

“Okay,” Torres says. Closes his eyes. “I think about you,” he confesses. “You and Sam. Even when I’m not… you know, even without the drugs. I think about what it’d be like, getting in the middle of that.”

Christ. Bucky’s going to hell, no two ways about it, because his dick is taking an interest in the situation now. “Don’t say anything you don’t mean,” he tells Torres. “But I promise I won’t hold it against you, okay? When this is all over, we can just forget it ever happened.”

“Sure,” Torres says, voice breathy. “I do, though. You wanna know what I’m imagining when I jerk off, Bucky?”

“Tell me later,” Bucky says. Grips Torres’ wrist a little tighter. “That’s an order, you hear me? You’re gonna sit quiet and be good and then you can tell me about it later, when we’ve got the place all to ourselves. Just you and me and Sam.”

“Yeah,” Torres says, gasping again. “That’s. Probably a good idea. I’ll just think it in my head.”

“You do that,” Bucky says, and wonders how the fuck they’re gonna get through this without giving in and fucking him after all.


They reach the airbase in forty minutes, which is a goddamn miracle of air flight, but by the time they’re in descent Torres is flushed again, sweat beading on his forehead, biting his lip hard like if he doesn’t he’s gonna start telling Bucky all the things he’s been thinking about. 

“Kid’s gonna pop,” Jones says, and Sam and Bucky both glare at him, tell him to shut up simultaneously.

“You’re doing so good,” Bucky says to Torres. “We’re proud of you, bud.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “How you holding up, J?”

“I’m good,” Torres says through gritted teeth. “You, uh, you think you and Barnes could do something for me, though? Could you try not being so fucking hot?”

Sam looks at Bucky. Bucky shrugs.

“Comes natural to me,” he says. “I could try picking my nose, or something, if that’d help.”

“You’re disgusting,” Sam says affectionately. “Just close your eyes, man, and you won’t have to look at us.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Torres says, “I can—Christ, this sounds weird but I can smell you. Fuck, I can practically taste you. Also, Bucky telling me I’m doing a good job isn’t exactly helping matters.”

“You hear that?” Sam murmurs to Bucky, quiet enough he won’t be overheard. “He likes it when you tell him he’s good, you’re not the only one with a praise kink on this plane.”

Not helping,” Bucky says, willing his dick to cooperate and not get embarrassingly, obviously hard. “Can we land yet?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, grinning wickedly. “I’ll get us on the ground. Gimme one minute.”

“Tell them to get us a car on the runway,” Bucky says. “As close as possible, so J here doesn’t have to walk far.”

“Thanks,” Torres says again, visibly making an effort to keep himself in check, and Bucky can’t help it; he puts his hand on Torres’ thigh, rubs his thumb down the outseam of his pants. Torres groans, the sound going straight to Bucky’s dick. Going to hell, his brain tells him again very helpfully, but they’re well past that by now so: whatever. 

“You really are doing so good,” he says into Torres’ ear, low and hot the way he’d say it to Sam. “Just hold on a little bit more, okay? Just a little more, baby.”

“Hnnnghh,” Torres says, strangled, and thank god the plane hits the runway.


They put Torres in the back of the car—don’t jerk off back there, Bucky tells him, more hopeful than stern—and Sam slides into the driver’s seat, gets the keys in the ignition.

“Hey,” he says, as they’re heading to their apartment. “Buck.”

“Hmm?” Bucky says, kind of distracted; his tac jacket feels too warm, his skin a little too tight. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Sam says, “but I’m pretty sure you’re hit with the same shit he’s on.”

“Not possible,” Bucky says. “I wasn’t even in the lab when she got him with a spare syringe, or however it happened. And it doesn’t seem like it’s airborne.”

“She sprayed me in the face,” Torres says from the back seat. “An atomizer. It got me mostly in the mouth, I think. Tasted sweet.”

“And then you kissed Barnes,” Sam says, “and now he’s doing shit like calling you baby and getting hot over the idea of telling you you’re being so good for him. You see where I’m going with this.”

“Shit,” Bucky says, realizing. “Oh, shit, I am, huh.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. Changes gears, floors the gas. “You are. Honestly, I’m kind of impressed it’s making a dent, given you can put away a dozen beers and change without getting even a tiny bit drunk.”

“But I kissed you,” Bucky says, tracing back their steps. “After Torres kissed me. If it’s that potent, it probably transferred at least a little bit to you. And you’re not…” 

“Oh, no, I definitely am,” Sam says. “Just a little, you know? But I’m feeling it, for sure. So whatever happens when we get to the apartment is just gonna happen, okay, and none of us are gonna talk about it when we’re sober.”

“Just three guys helping each other out,” Torres says. “No big deal. Does that mean you might fuck me after all?”

“You ask me nice,” Sam says, glancing at him in the rear view, “and I just might.”


They make it all the way into the apartment and shut the door behind them before Torres grabs Bucky by the front of his tac vest and drags him in. “Please,” he says, desperate, “will you—Jesus, will you just kiss me already, you have no idea how hard it’s been—”

“I’m pretty sure we both know how hard it’s been,” Sam says, dry and amused. “Go on, Buck, give him what he wants. Just a little sugar, since he’s been so good for you.”

“You’re enjoying this,” Bucky says, accusatory, and Sam shrugs.

“What can I say, it’s a good show. Come on, just kiss him, look how much he wants it.”

“Yeah?” Bucky murmurs, lifting his right hand up to cup the back of Torres’ neck, “yeah, you want it, baby?” and Torres actually whimpers.

“Please,” he says again, a soft little exhale of breath, and Bucky gives in, closes the distance and kisses him properly pressed up against the door.

It—okay, so it’s been a while since Bucky made out with anyone but Sam, and before that the Grindr dates were kind of hit and miss, but it’s better than it has any right to be. Torres groans into it, kisses back open-mouthed and wet, nipping at Bucky’s bottom lip, and Bucky can’t have that; he wraps one arm around Torres’ waist, lifts him up easy and pins him against the wall with his hips, breaks away from the kiss to drag his mouth down the side of Torres’ jaw, the soft skin of his throat, until the scrape of his stubble makes Torres moan again.

Fuck,” he says, glassy-eyed, “you’re just—with one hand, fuck, that’s—Sam, how the fuck do you handle it?”

“Oh,” Sam says, “you learn to manage,” and steps in closer, grabs Bucky by the hair and yanks his head backward so he can lean in and seal his own mouth over Bucky’s. The familiarity of Sam’s mouth grounds him; he chases the kiss, sighs into it.

“God, I missed you,” he murmurs, and Sam laughs quietly, almost under his breath.

“I’ve been right here, baby, how can you miss me? But you go kissing other people up against the wall and it’s gonna get me jealous.”

“I don’t think you need to be jealous,” Torres tells him. “I’ve seen the way Bucky looks at you, man.”

“Yeah?” Sam says, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. “You have, huh? You watching us, J?”

“I jerk off about it,” Torres says, honest like he can’t be anything but: like the serum is dragging it out of him. 

“Oh,” Sam murmurs, “do you,” and Bucky watches in fascination as Sam’s expression goes from decently turned on to something deeper, harder. “Bucky,” Sam says, and Bucky hums in reply, sets his mouth back against Torres’ throat and sinks his teeth in a little. “Bucky,” Sam says again, gives his hair a tug, and the sharp pain lights up Bucky’s brain, sends sparks skittering down his spine.

“What,” he says, a growl at the back of his throat, and in his arms Torres shudders all over.

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Sam says. “You’re gonna get on your knees and give Torres what he needs, okay? I don’t think it’ll take much. You’re just about ready to pop, huh. Yeah? Come on, tell me how it feels, baby.”

“I’ve been hard for three hours,” Torres says. “You tell me, Sam.”

“See?” Sam says. “He needs it, Buck. We’re gonna give him what he needs, right.”

“Why am I doing that,” Bucky says, as if getting on his knees so Torres can fuck his mouth doesn’t sound like an incredibly good idea, and also as if it’s not absolutely doing something for him to hear Sam telling him what to do like that. Sam laughs a little. Tightens his fingers in Bucky’s hair again.

“Because I know what that mouth can do,” he says, “and I figure, you give J a little taste, that’ll take the edge off for a hot minute so you can fuck me first while he recovers.”

“Why,” Torres gasps, “why do you get to be fucked first, huh? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Because I make the rules,” Sam tells him, “and because Bucky and I already have our own thing, man. Are you really saying you don’t want to know what his mouth feels like? You know he’s got no gag reflex, I dunno whether that’s a super-soldier thing or just the fact that Barnes is an absolute slut for dick.”

Sam,” Bucky gets out, his face hot; he’s never heard Sam talk like this, and never mind Torres, Bucky might come in his own pants if Sam keeps going like that. “Christ, fine, I’ll,” and lets Torres go, slides down until his knees hit the floor. Sam keeps his grip on Bucky’s hair, which, yeah, Bucky’s never pretended he doesn’t get off on having his hair pulled and Sam fuckin’ knows that. There’s a dark patch on the front of Torres’ pants where he’s clearly been leaking precome for probably hours by now, and Bucky presses his face to the shape of Torres’ erection, mouths at him a minute through the thick canvas, and then unbuttons his fly, tugs down his pants and underwear all at once. 

“What’s his cock like?” Sam asks, a rough edge in his voice, and Bucky licks his lips.

“Yeah,” he says, “it’s pretty good, Sam. Maybe he’s gonna have to fuck you too so you can feel it, nice and thick. He’s dripping, too. All wet and desperate. Bet it tastes real good.”

Torres swears in what sounds like Spanish. “Please,” he says, begging, “please, please, please stop teasing me and just—” and Bucky takes that as the signal to get his cock all the way down his throat. “Fuck,” Torres says, voice breaking. Pushes forward like he’s gotta get even more into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky grabs his hips, holds him steady. There’s the sound of kissing above his head; he glances up through his lashes, sees Sam taking Torres by the hair with his free hand, keeping him against the wall with the weight of his body.

“That’s it,” Sam murmurs to Torres, “that’s it, baby, I told you we’ve got you. Feels good, right? Go on, fuck his throat. You just let his mouth give you what you need. Yeah, that’s it.”

“Sam,” Torres moans, “oh god, Sam, you know I—”

“Shhh,” Sam says, like perhaps he doesn’t want to let Torres say something he’ll regret. “Come here. Come kiss me, sweetheart, and you can come right down his throat, okay?” There’s something about Sam calling someone else sweetheart, Bucky thinks; it’s usually only something Bucky calls Sam, and it does something tender to his heart to hear it coming out of Sam’s mouth. He pulls back, swirls his tongue over the head of Torres’ dick until he can taste the salt of his precome, and then takes him all the way down again. Keeps his left hand on Torres’ hip, shifts his right hand to cup Torres’ balls in his palm, and Torres cries out, muffled, into Sam’s mouth. His hips stutter forward even with Bucky holding him in place, and Bucky swallows, throat working. Strokes his fingers up to the sensitive spot behind his balls, applies a little pressure, and just like that Torres is coming in pulsing torrents down Bucky’s throat, choking wetly and shuddering all over with the force of it.


“Jesus,” Torres says after a minute or two. Lets his head fall back against the wall; his knees are shaky, and Bucky has to steady him as he stands up. “Jesus, Sam, he does that to you every time?”

“Nah,” Sam says. “Sometimes he puts his dick in me too. And then sometimes we’re so tired after superhero business we just jerk each other off and fall asleep, ain’t that right?”

“That is not true,” Bucky says, voice rough now from having a dick halfway down his throat. “I have super-soldier serum, it’s just you falling asleep.” 

“And that’s why you’re a valuable part of this team,” Sam tells him, teasing. “Hey, you think we could get out of all this tac gear? Torres?”

“Sure,” Torres says, chest still heaving. “Sounds good. Don’t mind me just… taking a minute.”

“C’mere, then,” Sam says to Bucky. Reaches for him, starts unzipping his tac vest, and they peel each other out of their clothes the way they’ve done a hundred times before. Sam kisses him once they’re both stripped down to their underwear, licking at his mouth like the taste of Torres’ come is doing something for him, and Bucky reaches down, cups Sam’s dick.

“Can I—” he says, raising his eyebrows, and Sam laughs against his mouth.

“No, you’re gonna fuck me like I said. Maybe we should help Torres out, though. Get him out of all these clothes and into bed. Or do you think he’s done? Maybe you fucked all that serum out of him just like that.”

“He didn’t,” Torres says, and when Bucky glances back at him he sees Torres stroking his cock, already filling out again. “But don’t worry, Sam, I know how to follow your lead. It’s why you like having me on the team, right?”

“Damn right,” Sam says, “there’s gotta be at least one person who’ll actually listen to what I say,” and makes eye contact with Bucky, holds his gaze. 

“I listen,” Bucky growls. “I sure as fuck listened to you just then, didn’t I?”

“Yeah? Well, you can do something else for me then. Get Torres out of all that gear and carry him over to the bed, okay? I don’t think he’s up to walking yet, the way you just worked him over.”


“Heyyy,” Torres says once they’re all in bed, “this feels good, wow,” and he’s not wrong; the slide of bare skin is absolutely fucking Bucky right up in a way that he knows is probably the drug working on him, but he doesn’t care all that much especially when Torres works his knee up between his thighs, lets him ride the friction. Torres’ dick is fully hard again by now, leaving wet smears against Bucky’s hip, and then Sam spoons up behind Bucky, shoves his own dick in between Bucky’s ass cheeks and thrusts lazily against him.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Bucky murmurs. “Not that I’m complaining, you wanna fuck me between my thighs, make a mess all over me.”

“Maybe I do,” Sam says, breath hot on Bucky’s ear. “Watching you blow someone else, maybe it got me going. Anyway, nothing stopping you fucking me even if I do come all over you like this. Especially if you use that mouth again, get my hole nice and wet and ready for your dick.”

Sam,” Bucky says again, his brain going white-hot with startled arousal, and Sam laughs, fucks up against him harder.

“What, you’re the only one who’s allowed to talk dirty while we’re fucking?”

“It’s not—” Bucky says, “it’s, it’s just that you don’t, usually.”

“Well, I don’t have the side-swipe of a criminal sex drug burning through my system, usually. Speaking of, how’s Torres?”

“I’m fine,” Torres says. Giggles a little. “I’m real good, Sam, don’t worry about me. You just do whatever you want, so long as someone fucks me eventually.”

“You hear that?” Bucky says. “He says, do whatever you want, Sam. So go on, sweetheart, get your dick nice and slick in there, that’s right. Come on, give it—come on me, I want—” and sort of absently he wraps his left hand around Torres’ dick just for something to hold, since he’s pretty sure if he touches himself with even one stroke he’s gonna come and then Sam’s gonna be all mad about it.

“Oh,” Torres gets out, thrusting up into the grip of Bucky’s hand, “Christ, I didn’t think it’d feel that good, fuck.”

“Wait until he puts it in you,” Sam says over Bucky’s shoulder. “In fact, yeah, he is gonna put it in you, I wanna watch you come on it while he works you open.”

Now?” Bucky asks, thinking, guiltily, how can I steal the entire supply of this fucking drug from the evidence lock-up as soon as we’re back on base. “You want me to do that now? While you’re… ”

“What, you can’t multi-task?”

“Fine,” Bucky says, “yeah, okay, sure. Torres, baby, there’s lube in that drawer, you wanna grab it for me? Thanks.” It’s mildly difficult to coat his fingers properly with lube without moving, since Sam is still fucking idly up behind him like he could just keep going all day, but Torres helpfully rolls over, drips some lube on his own fingers and reaches down to work it against his hole. “Since you’re at it,” Bucky tells him, “get some on my ass, would you? Make it nice for Sam, go on,” and Torres pours out another handful, slides his hand down between Bucky’s thighs to slick up his ass, the inside of his thighs, the head of Sam’s cock.

Yeah,” Sam says, “yeah, touch it a bit, baby, that feels so good,” and even with the kind of awkward angle, the fact that Torres is giving Sam a handjob between Bucky’s thighs, his wrist rubbing up against Bucky’s balls and the base of his cock every time he moves, is basically gonna stick in Bucky’s head for the next two hundred years.

“That’s enough,” Sam says after a couple of minutes, “let Bucky get on with it,” and Bucky shoves back at him, squeezes his dick tighter between the muscles of his thighs. 

“Oh,” Torres says, shaky and breathless, as soon as Bucky begins to work his fingers in. He’d usually start with his right hand, slightly more yielding, but Torres takes it easily, pliantly. Moans against Bucky’s mouth, lets his eyes drift closed and his mouth fall open, and Bucky thinks for one brief and particularly filthy minute about spitting in his mouth, shoving his thumb in for something Torres can suck on, before pushing two fingers in right up to the second knuckle. “Oh,” Torres says again, “oh fuck,” and the vibranium hand has enough sensitivity that Bucky can feel his hole tighten up and then relax, the way it gives as Torres gets ready for more.

“How many fingers you got in him right now?” Sam asks, reaching over Bucky’s ribs to pinch his nipple. “Two or three?” 

“Two,” Bucky says. “Are you gonna come this century, Wilson?”

“I’m working up to it,” Sam says. “Pacing myself. Go on, give him another, he wants it.”

“This,” Bucky says, faltering briefly when Sam pinches his nipple again harder, “is not just helping him out, okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, plans changed when it turned out we’d all gotten a sideways dose of whatever this shit is. You want another one, J? Just tell us if you do.”

“Fuck yes I do,” Torres says, urgent, fucking down against Bucky’s fingers. “Yeah, fuck yes I do,” and Bucky’s never claimed to be a particularly good person so he lines up a third finger, works it in less gently than he would in basically any other circumstance. Torres cries out, the noise catching in his throat, and Sam shoves up against Bucky, grabs his hip for leverage so he can fuck into the tight hollow of Bucky’s thighs and ass.

“Oh,” Bucky says, can’t help it. “Finally, huh? Yeah, give it to me, come on. That’s it, sweetheart, make a mess of me, Torres can lick me clean. I bet he’d love that. You’d love that, right, baby? I bet you think about how good Sam tastes all the fuckin’ time, thinking about us when you jerk off, Christ—” and Sam comes, teeth set into the flesh of Bucky’s shoulder, right as Torres gasps again, grabs at his dick and jerks it frantically, rides Bucky’s fingers until Bucky’s actually kind of worried they might break despite the goddamn vibranium.

“More,” he gets out, “more, please, just give me—” and Bucky’s hindbrain takes over because the rest of his brain sure ain’t working.

“You little slut,” he says, letting the admiration bleed into his voice, “you’re taking it so good and you just want more, huh? I tell you what, you come on my fingers now and maybe Sam will sit on your face later while I’m fucking you, does that sound good? You want that?”

“Nghhh,” Torres says, strangled. Arches his whole body up until only his shoulders and the backs of his thighs are still on the bed, and then he’s coming, harder than he did the first time, stripes of come landing in white splatters all over his stomach and chest.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, satisfied. Pulls his fingers out, wipes them on the sheets. “Just like that, baby, that’s right,” and Torres collapses back against the bed, rolls over so he can shove his face in against Bucky’s chest.


“Did you break him?” Sam murmurs into Bucky’s ear, and Bucky shrugs.

“Did we break you, sweetheart? You good?”

“I’m good,” Torres mumbles. “I just. It’s, um. Give me a minute, okay.”

“You’re fine,” Bucky says, that same weird tenderness welling up again, and strokes his fingers through Torres’ hair even though they’re still kind of sticky with lube. “You’re fine, bud.”

“What about you?” Sam asks, shifting his hand down from Bucky’s hip to stroke slowly over his dick. “We’re all one up on you now. Well, Torres is two up, but he took a whole atomizer of whatever sex drug to the face, so he probably deserves it. You ready to come, though?”

“I’ve been ready,” Bucky says, breath hitching. “If you keep touching me like that I will, and I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“Oh, I do,” Sam says, squeezing his fingers tight around the head of Bucky’s dick until it’s so tight it almost hurts. “I’m just fucking with you, baby, you know I love seeing how long I can make you wait. I love it when you’re patient like that.”

“Well,” Bucky says, meaning for it to come out sarcastic and missing, “so long as you love it, I guess. Can I get my dick in you now, though?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Sam says, low and hot. “Get up here and get in me.”

Bucky has to shift Torres; he’s loose-limbed and sweet, blushing when Bucky notices his wet lashes, but Bucky just kisses his forehead, arranges him on the bed next to them. “Go ahead and watch, if you want,” he tells him, “but if I don’t get my dick in Sam soon I might die, so.”

“Oh, go right ahead,” Torres says, drowsy but perking up. “Don’t let me stop you, man.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, sprawling on his back and spreading his legs, “don’t let him stop you.”

They’re so covered already in lube and come that it’s objectively disgusting, but in the drugged haze Bucky just rolls with it, slicks his fingers through the mess on his ass and thighs and then works it into Sam’s hole. “You need me to warm you up?” he asks, and Sam shakes his head. 

“I’m good. Still ready from this morning, actually. Just put it in me already, I know you’re past desperate.”

Bucky wants to find a response for that, but it’s true, he is way past desperate, so he just nods, sinks his teeth into his lower lip and pushes himself into Sam in one long stroke. “Yeah,” Sam says, “oh, yeah,” and Bucky’s been on the edge for so long that he can feel his orgasm building already, threatening like a storm cloud about to break.

“I’m not gonna last,” he bites out, “fuck, I’m sorry, but—” and Sam arches up against him, pulls him in deeper.

“So don’t,” he says, “just let it happen, you’ve been so good for me,” and that’s it: Sam’s a little shit sometimes but he is spot fucking on about Bucky’s praise kink, because all he’s gotta do is murmur to Bucky about how good he is, how good he’s been, how goddamn perfect he makes Sam feel.

Fuck,” Bucky manages, and comes so hard he hallucinates the white-noise whine of the mind-wipe machine for one long, hot second.


They all collapse in a heap after that; Bucky thinks he might pass out for a minute. Wakes up to discover that Sam and Torres are making out, slow and easy, and he lies there just watching them for a bit and enjoying the gentle burn of his muscles.

“God, I’m thirsty,” he says eventually. “Either of you need some water?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Go get us some, would you?”

“I live to serve,” Bucky grumbles, kissing the nape of Sam’s neck, and rolls out of bed, uses the nearest discarded t-shirt to wipe the mess off. In the kitchen he finds a bunch of electrolyte drinks, and that seems like a better idea than water; he drinks half a bottle in about three long swallows, grabs a couple more and heads back to bed. “Hydration,” he announces. “You know, because of how we were supposed to be taking care of J here.”

“I feel fine,” Torres announces, reaching for a bottle and drinking greedily. “I feel great. Is one of you still gonna fuck me? Didn’t you say you would fuck me while Sam sits on my face?”

“Oh, you were paying attention to that,” Bucky says, passing Sam the other bottle. “I dunno, bud. Like Sam says, sometimes we’re just so tired after missions we jerk off and fall asleep, right?”

“You are so full of shit,” Sam says fondly. “Also, I’m pretty sure you’re not done with anything.” He looks down meaningfully at Bucky’s dick, which started twitching about the minute Torres said sit on my face, and Bucky laughs, takes himself in hand.

“Okay, fine, you got me. Super-soldier shit,” he says to Torres, “no refractory period.”

“Huh,” Torres says. Licks his lips. “So, you wanna see if we can fuck this serum out?”

“I’m out,” Sam announces. “Unlike Barnes, I do actually need a break, and I didn’t take a full hit of whatever that shit is, so I’m just gonna lie here and enjoy the show for a minute.”

“The atomizer got me here,” Torres offers, indicating a spot on his cheekbone. “I don’t think I’ve sweated it off yet, if you wanna try another hit.”

“Are you suggesting that I could lick your face to get high again on illegal sex shit?” Sam asks, and Torres hesitates.

“Um,” he says. “Yes?”

“Man, you know I’m Captain America now, right?”


“Just checking,” Sam says. “C’mere and let me see if I can get a little taste, then.”


Sam’s little taste pays off, which means they spend another three hours fucking in various configurations until Bucky thinks his dick might actually fall off despite super-soldier goddamn anything. He’s pretty sure it’s somewhere around the point that Torres says, clearing his throat first in a way that’s both awkward and adorable, “hey, so, say if this is weird, but do you take it too, man? You think I could fuck you before this wears off?” that his brain just stops working entirely for a minute; yeah, he says, hoarse, god, yeah, put it fuckin’ in me, and then Sam takes him by the wrists, holds them up above his head while Torres works him open. All his nerve endings are lit up; he can only imagine how Torres feels. His fingers are trembling when he touches Bucky’s thighs, pushes them open wider, and Sam hums in quiet satisfaction.

“You good?” Bucky asks, tilting his head back to see him, and Sam smiles down at him, touches his cheek.

“Yeah,” he says, “baby, I’m good. You think you’ve got one more in you, Torres? Gonna give Bucky what he wants? God, look at the both of you. What a team.”

“A tag team,” Bucky gets out, and that makes both Sam and Torres laugh. 

“You know,” Sam adds, “Torres, I gotta give you credit, you’re really going round for round with a super-soldier on this.”

And with Captain America,” Torres replies, smiling at Sam like it’s all he’s ever wanted, and Bucky thinks to himself, oh jeez, kid, that crush is gonna get you in trouble when this all wears off. 

“So are you gonna fuck me or not,” he says out loud, and Torres shifts his gaze, looks down at him.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay, though fair warning, man, it might not be all that. I’m kind of tired, right.”

“You just do your best,” Bucky tells him, indulgent. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”


It is; it’s great. “Christ,” he says once he’s got his breath back. “Not all that, my ass, Torres. If that’s what’s going on when you’re tired…” 

“Well, you know,” Torres says, blushing. “I didn’t want to promise anything I couldn’t deliver. Glad it was good for you too. That’s me beat though, for sure.”

“You ain’t the only one. Glad we didn’t fuck on the plane, buddy?”

“Oh my god,” Torres says, his usual brain function clearly returning as the effect of the serum fades, “I said all that—in front of—”

“It’s fine,” Bucky says generously. “I’ll go visit them tomorrow, tell them the Winter Soldier will come for them if they spill anything, okay? Your secret is safe.”

“You can’t just pretend to be the Winter Soldier to get your own way,” Sam tells him, in a tone that suggests Bucky can exactly continue to pretend to be the Winter Soldier to get his own way, at least in certain circumstances. “Fuck, we made a mess, ugh. Move over, Torres, I’m not sleeping in the wet patch.”

“It’s basically all wet patch,” Torres says, wincing, but he moves over anyway. “Hey, uh. Anyway.”


“Thanks,” Torres says. “For, um. All of it, actually, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to have sex again without thinking about this whole thing, but, you know, particularly for looking out for me. I really appreciate you making sure my heart didn’t explode.”

“Man, we got your back,” Sam says, reaching out to turn off the light. “We’d never let your heart explode, okay. But if you don’t shut the fuck up and let me go to sleep, I’m confiscating your wings for the next five missions.”

“Aw, come on,” Torres says, “no need to be like that, I’m shutting up.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, yawning. “Would it be real bad to go steal the rest of that Crave serum out of evidence? Just asking for no reason at all.”

“I’m fucking Captain America, man,” Sam says, “I can’t authorize us stealing bad sex drugs just because it happened to be fun one time,” and Torres starts giggling.

“No,” he says, “we’re fucking Captain America, Sam,” and Bucky cracks up, reaches out to high-five Torres in the dark.

Nice,” he says, ignoring the way Sam delivers a mean pinch to his ribs. “Sleep well, kid.”

“You too,” Torres whispers, voice soft and sleepy, and Bucky yawns again, reaches for Sam the way that just feels natural now.

“You good, sweetheart?” he murmurs, and Sam hums agreement. “Love you,” he says, even quieter, and in the dark quiet he hears Torres catch his breath. Fuck, Bucky thinks, right on the edge of sleep, aw, kid, don’t— and then, the last thought before he drifts off: Jesus Christ, this better not be awkward in the morning.