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Come On And See Me

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At first Sam thinks Bucky's just trying to make it up to him, this thing where he busted Zemo out of prison to help them track down the super-soldiers.

They fooled around a couple times, after Thanos but before everything started hitting the fan. Everyone else was reuniting with lost family members or hooking up with old flames; Sam and Bucky were the people who'd come back, and they had no old flames to turn to, so somehow missing their mutual friend turned into late-night TV at the Avengers compound, when no one else was around. And since no one else was around anyway, one of those late-night TV marathons turned into Bucky crowding Sam's space, Sam doing the opposite of telling him to back off, Bucky's arm around Sam's shoulders, Sam's hand moving up Bucky's thigh--

Bucky had Sam's dick halfway down his throat before Sam had enough presence of mind to think, Huh. Guess we're doing this, then.

Eventually they'd gone their separate ways, when Sam headed back to Louisiana and Bucky's pardon came through. Bucky went back to Brooklyn, and it might be because he still thinks of it as home, but Sam wondered, a little.

None of his texts got an answer, though, so Sam stopped wondering and started trying to move forward with things.

Now they're on the road trip from hell with a guy who tried to kill Bucky, and suddenly Bucky's standing a little closer than he was, pushing into Sam's space more. Crowding Sam when they have to take a seat. Sam's had both of Bucky's balls in his damn mouth at the same time, he does not need to sit with his thighs spread so wide, and yet.

But there's worse ways to say hey, sorry you're having to break the law and go on the run for me again than sex, Sam admits, and as soon as he admits it to himself, they're off to the races.

The first time happens on the plane. Zemo slips on a sleep mask, stretches his legs out, laces his fingers together over his stomach, and conks right out. Bucky looks at him, and when the snoring starts-- it's not so bad, Sam's heard a lot worse-- he turns to Sam with a Look on his face.

"So," Bucky says, a little too casual, "I never asked. Are you seeing anybody these days?"

"Am I seeing anybody," Sam repeats. "Right now the only person I'm seeing is a hundred-year-old man who's making some terrible life choices--" Bucky rolls his eyes, of course, "and dragging me along with him."

"You could've said no," Bucky mutters.

"Yeah, I'm real good at saying no to you."

Bucky cuts his eyes back to Sam and almost, almost smiles. Damn, that's a good look on him. "So there's no one back in Louisiana."

"What the hell are you going on about this for, no," Sam says, "what, did you spend the last few months hooking up with people in Brooklyn?"

"Yeah, that didn't work out so great," Bucky says.

Sam frowns in spite of himself. "Not great like--"

"Like not great. Not like anything bad. I'm just trying to work out if I'd be stepping on anybody's toes if I blew you, that's all."

"You-- what," Sam says, and he should just say no, we aren't doing that again, that's the smart move here.

But if he were making smart moves, Helmut Zemo wouldn't be passed out five feet away from him, and he wouldn't be flying off to Madripoor.

And, hell, it's a long flight.

Bucky sees Sam's hesitation and doesn't waste the opportunity. He comes out of his seat and gets down on the floor, on his knees, pushing Sam's legs apart. Sam gets his belt unbuckled, lifts his hips so Bucky can drag his pants and boxer-briefs down, and even though he's only just starting to pop wood, Bucky just swallows him down and lets Sam get hard right there, in the gorgeous hot mouth Sam has not been thinking about half the time he jerks off, absolutely not.

"Fuck," Sam breathes, glancing at Zemo and then back down to Bucky. "We're gonna have to be quiet."

Bucky looks up at him with one eyebrow raised, like, whose mouth is full, here? Sam gets a hand into Bucky's hair and rocks his hips up; the man's got a point. He's also got a tongue and a throat and those fucking lips, God, Sam could watch those lips stretched around his dick for days.

Bucky draws back, slides back down on Sam's cock, sucks hard-- man's got a mouth like a goddamned Hoover, he could suck a golf ball through a hose for sure-- and Sam has to bite down on his lip to keep from making any noise. Even with that, he's breathing heavy, and when Bucky gets a hand at the base of his dick and starts adding some stroking to the mix, Sam clutches at Bucky's hair, pulling him in close.

"Gotta say," Sam pants, "been a while, not gonna last."

Bucky takes pity on him and draws up and off, and the grin on his face isn't exactly a smile so much as it's a look of confidence, one that tells Sam that Buck knew exactly how this was going to go. "So come in my mouth already," Bucky says, and gets right back to work.

Sam's hand goes tight in Bucky's hair. "Yeah," he breathes, "fuck, yeah, come on, suck me--"

He wasn't kidding when he said he wasn't going to last. It takes one solid lick and one more deep, all-the-way-down bob of Bucky's head, and Sam's losing it, spilling come down Bucky's throat and trying not to yell.

Bucky draws back, wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at Zemo, who makes a little grunt in his sleep and turns halfway toward the window.

"He's still out," Bucky says. "You think he's out enough for me to fuck you?"

Sam stares at Bucky, brain addled and body spent. "Are you telling me you brought lube on this trip?"

"Maybe."

"Who the hell did you think you were gonna get to fuck out here--" The look Bucky levels on him makes Sam pause. Sam covers his face with his palm-- at some point he'll put his dick away, he just needs a minute-- and groans. "I thought you were done with me."

"I don't have to be happy with you to want to fuck you," Bucky says pragmatically.

"Yeah, that's healthy as all get-out," Sam says, but look at that, he's pushing Bucky back and sliding onto the floor, turning so he can rest his arms and chest on the chair he was just sitting in.

"Just checking," Bucky says, and Sam can hear him working on his belt and his zipper, "but that's a yes, right?"

"Shut up and fuck me already."

"Your sweet-talking skills need some work."

"I don't need to sweet-talk you to get you to fuck me," Sam tosses back. "Get in there."

Bucky brought lube on the damn plane. Bucky had a single-use lube packet in his pocket. That's convenient, actually; it's all warm from Bucky's body heat, and even though Sam hasn't been with anybody since Bucky, back during the days after the world ended and then started up again, his body's ready to pick up right where they left off. He pushes back on Bucky's fingers, buries his face against his arms so he doesn't wake up Zemo, and with just a little bit of prep, Bucky's all over him, pushing inside, filling Sam up good and making him ache in all the best goddamn ways.

"Mm, fuck, you feel good," Bucky murmurs, voice coming out in a low rumble.

Sam tries to shush him, he really does not want Zemo waking up to this sight, but then Bucky angles down and Sam has to clench down hard around Bucky's dick, tighten up his jaw, all his muscles tensing because he wants to yell, really wants to be loud. He shouldn't have a second round in him, and he definitely can't get hard again this fast, but it feels good, real good.

"Sam! God," Bucky pants. He puts both hands on Sam's hips to hold him still, but what Sam's doing to him isn't something he can stop that way. It's all muscle strength and Sam's ass squeezing Bucky's dick tight, and pretty soon Bucky's moving again, smooth and fast, making little grunts and huffs every time he bottoms out.

It's unfair is what this is, completely unfair that Bucky goddamn Barnes is pretty much the best dick Sam's had since he flipped over and started taking it, and if Sam's being honest with himself, he already knows he's going to want more.

Bucky leans over him, covering Sam's body with his, head turned to the side and resting against Sam's shoulder. He gets an arm around Sam's chest to pull Sam in close, even though neither one of them lost a scrap of clothing in all this, but somehow that just makes this feel illicit and hot, like they're getting up to something that could land them in a whole lot of trouble. And fool that he is, Sam's into it.

Keeping it quiet means Bucky doesn't ride him nearly as hard as he could, but Sam can feel the strength in Bucky's arm all the same, the way he's steady and sure, how Bucky knows what he wants and how to get Sam to give it to him. Bucky groans, his left hand moving down to Sam's hip again, and his metal fingers splay out over Sam's thigh. Sam stifles a moan-- so sue him, he's a sucker for Bucky's metal hand, and Bucky damn well knows it-- and that moan does it for Bucky, really does it, he's moving in quick and hard now, fucking Sam like he's close and loving every second of it.

Zemo makes a noise, and Sam chokes, turns his head to see if Zemo's waking up. He's expecting it, just positive Zemo's going to be lifting up that sleep mask and looking at Sam and Bucky, but no, Zemo's still out, and Bucky squeezes Sam tight and comes, groaning softly against Sam's back, cock pulsing again and again and again-- shit, Sam forgot about that, he's going to be a mess now. Good news about super-soldiers: no refractory period, can't catch anything, can't pass on an STD. Bad news about super-soldiers: they just keep coming, especially the first time in a night. Well, it's bad if you're trying not to get caught, anyway. Or if you want to keep your drawers clean.

Bucky slides back, and Sam clenches himself up, tugging his clothes up just enough to cover himself. "Back in a minute," he says, and takes himself to the stupid airplane bathroom, which at least is a little bigger than on a commercial jet. He does his best with what he's got to work with, but sometime today he's still going to end up with Bucky's come dripping down his thighs.

That should be more annoying than a turn-on, but what's he going to do? Dicks have opinions of their own.

When he gets out of the bathroom and goes back to the main section of the plane, Zemo's out from under his sleep mask and smiling, his creepy old butler filling up his champagne glass before disappearing up front again.

"Short nap," Sam says. "You sure you don't need some more sleep?"

Zemo's gaze lingers over Sam when Sam sits down, even though it's not like Sam takes it slow or winces; Bucky wasn't that rough. Zemo's just fucking with him, that's all, and Sam's not going to take the bait.

"I feel quite refreshed, thank you," Zemo says. Sam looks at Bucky, but Bucky just sighs and looks out the window; apparently Bucky's in no mood for Zemo's shit, either.

Chapter Text

They don't actually go straight to Madripoor; it's going to take Zemo a day or two to set up their cover stories-- "and get suitable costumes for the two of you," he says.

"Costumes," Sam says flatly.

"Forgive me. The wrong word. What is the English phrase... 'disguises'," Zemo corrects.

Asshole thinks Sam and Bucky don't know his English is perfect and he says exactly what he means every goddamned time. Zemo said on the plane that Bucky was going to have to go back to being the Winter Soldier, basically, and Sam would've happily vetoed the shit out of that, but Bucky took it in stride and didn't object. Sam's going to be watching him like a hawk (he can just imagine Redwing correcting, watching him like a falcon, poor little dude), because if going back down into that headspace fucks Bucky up for even a split second, Sam is gonna rip Zemo limb from limb and worry about the consequences later.

Sam did not spend years on the run just to have somebody use Bucky as their personal assassin all over again. The man gets to choose now.

Of course, giving Bucky choices doesn't always work out for the best; case in point, Zemo out of prison. Still. If Sam tells Bucky that he can't go back to being the Winter Soldier as a disguise, what's that say about how much Sam trusts Bucky to come back up?

So he tries to put it out of his mind and worry about his own situation. Whatever kind of disguise Zemo has for Sam, hopefully it doesn't involve trying to make Sam into a thug or some kind of muscle for sale. Sam will have zero patience for any of that, and he's already not great at pretending to be someone he's not. Zemo better have something solid planned out.

The good news is that once their plane lands and they get through the car ride to Zemo's safehouse in Malaysia, Sam can take a damn shower. He was right about his clothes; his thighs feel sticky, and he's still got a certain dampness from sitting in it all this time. He doesn't even bother to make up an excuse; he just disappears into one of the guest rooms Zemo says has a private bathroom and makes himself at home.

When he comes out, towel around his waist, Bucky's standing in the doorway-- the open doorway, which Sam was pretty sure he closed-- leaning against the frame. He flicks his eyes over Sam, and Sam raises an eyebrow at him. "Tell me you've got Zemo duct taped to the ceiling or something, if you're gonna be in here looking at me like that."

"Zemo's with us until we get the serum tracked down," Bucky says. "And you just got all nice and clean. It'd be rude to wreck you all over again."

"And that's gonna stop you how?"

Bucky steps inside. "If you want me to stop, just say the word."

"Bucky..." Sam sighs. Bucky's being nice enough to offer him an out; he should at least consider taking it before he drops the towel. Good sex can really scramble a man's brains. "The way our weird-ass couples counseling session went down, the last thing we oughta be doing is making this a regular thing."

"Yeah, well, Dr. Raynor's not much of a therapist," Bucky says. He's still coming over, step by cautious step, like he's waiting for Sam to tell him to turn around and walk his ass back out of the room. "We agreed on one thing, anyway."

"Did we?"

"We should be talking less."

Sam doesn't just roll his eyes, he gives a full-on headshake, sighing out loud. But by then Bucky's right in front of him, and Sam reaches out first, pulling Bucky in by his belt loops and leaning in to kiss him.

Bucky makes a little noise, startling for a split-second, but then he's just as ready for this kiss as Sam is, opening his mouth up and letting Sam's tongue come in and play. Even better, he slides his hands up Sam's chest, rubbing over Sam's muscles, letting Sam feel the contrast between one hand that's still made of flesh and blood, and one that's made of vibranium and complex machinery. Sam groans out loud, right into Bucky's mouth, and Bucky shifts his hands to Sam's arms, pushing and pulling Sam in the general direction of the bed.

The towel drops somewhere along the way. Sam takes one more step back, the bed behind his legs, and Bucky picks him up and throws him, bodily, right onto the bed. Sam's not a small man, so it's one of those things that reminds him just how strong Bucky is. He's not too proud to admit it's a turn-on.

But when Bucky starts crawling onto the bed, Sam pushes up on his elbows and says, "Aw, hell no."

Bucky pauses, brow wrinkled, eyes showing some confusion and maybe a little vulnerability. "I thought--"

"Get your damn clothes off first, I'm not gonna be the only one giving a free show in here."

Bucky's eyes go wide, and he scrambles back out of the bed and strips down, faster than Sam would've guessed a body could get out of clothes that tight. He climbs back into bed once he's naked, and Sam drags him up on top of him, cradling Bucky's hips between his thighs and stroking up and down Bucky's back.

"Yeah," Sam murmurs, "that's more like it."

Bucky's eyes slip shut as Sam's hands go exploring. Sam remembers this from the compound: how much Bucky likes being touched, how lost in it he can get when it's gentle and easy and when it's clear Sam just likes to. Sam watches the expressions play out over Bucky's face, and if there's a tug in the center of Sam's chest over it, well, a man doesn't spend years of his life trying to find somebody, help somebody, and then stay all unaffected by it when that somebody looks like he's getting something he's needed for a long damn time.

"You like that," Sam says softly. "Getting touched. It's okay, Buck."

"Yeah," Bucky admits, tongue sweeping over his lips before he opens his eyes again. "How long's it been, Sam?"

Sam stares at him for a second, unable to parse the question. Since Bucky? Since the person before Bucky? Since--

"You said on the plane, it's been a while."

Oh. Right. Sam rolls his eyes and gives Bucky's ass a squeeze. "You know exactly how long it's been, dumbass," Sam says.

"I-- oh," Bucky says, Sam sees it when he gets it, and Bucky leans down to kiss Sam, slow this time, deep and slow and hungry.

It's not like it actually means anything, not really-- Sam's been way too busy back home to even think about dating, and even if he did, everybody knows everybody in Delacroix, and he has no desire to be the center of town gossip. Dating apps don't do a thing for Sam; he needs to make a connection in person, face-to-face. And he's never been hard up enough to think that getting off with a random stranger would be better than what he can do with his own right hand.

So it's not like he's been saving himself for Bucky, or pining after him like fourteen-year-old Sam did after the cute white boy on his baseball team, or anything like that. But, hell, if finding out Sam's been single since their what-happens-at-the-Avengers-compound-stays-at-the-Avengers-compound days does something for Bucky, Sam's just gonna go with it.

Those kisses are starting to really take off, Sam's urging Bucky to start doing a little grinding down and rubbing up, when Bucky draws away to look down at him. "Are you good to roll over again?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," Sam says. "You want to keep doing it, though, you gotta go easy on me."

Bucky takes his left hand and strokes Sam's temple, down to his cheek, over the curve of his jaw. Sam tilts his head back, lets Bucky rub his metal fingers over his neck, down his shoulder, over his chest, and then down to his side, his hip, where Bucky's thumb runs along the line of muscle down toward Sam's cock, back and forth, gentle and light as a breath. It's a little too loud with house sounds for Sam to hear the gears and mech whirring under the outermost vibranium layer, but all that power and beauty being used to arouse and caress-- fuck, it does Sam in.

It's clear enough to both of them, considering the way Sam's cock is full and hard, the way his balls have tightened up. Bucky's looking down between them, and Sam's breath shakes just a little as Bucky moves his hand just that little bit more, curls his metal fingers around Sam's cock.

"Not yet," Sam says, a little urgent. He puts his hand on Bucky's metal shoulder and squeezes. "Roll me over first, get me off when you're in me."

Bucky comes back up to kiss Sam, his hand going back down to the bed, and Sam lets his hand drift down to Bucky's bicep, fingertips tracing along the gold lines. A few seconds later, the bed shifts underneath him-- damn, Bucky's strong, and it's still a turn-on and a half-- and Sam finds himself on his stomach, with Bucky kissing between his shoulderblades and drawing Sam up on his knees.

"You still got lube somewhere?" Sam asks; he wouldn't put it past Bucky to have hidden it somewhere on his body even though he's naked, just like he wouldn't put it past Bucky to have a knife strapped somewhere Sam just hasn't found yet. Bucky pauses, though, and lets out a curse as he drops his forehead against Sam's back.

"It's in my bag."

Sam glances around the room, two nightstands flanking the bed, door still open-- one of them should really get that before Zemo comes wandering down the hall-- and looks back at the nightstands again. "Five bucks says there's something in one of those drawers we can use."

"You think Zemo keeps supplies in all the guest rooms?"

"Would you put it past him?"

"Good point," Bucky says, and hits one nightstand while Sam goes for the other.

This one just has a notepad and a couple pens in it, plus a couple books in Russian. Sam looks over to Bucky, who's stopped in his tracks and says, "I owe you a fiver," but with a tone that says he found more than just a half-used tube of K-Y.

"Is our man Zemo into something freaky?" Sam asks, rolling over to Bucky's side of the bed. It's not much, but there's a length of rope and a folded knife with a thumb hole as well as a box of condoms and two different kinds of lube. "Huh."

Sam is zero percent surprised that Bucky immediately pulls the knife, inspects the blade, and runs his thumb down it. He folds it up again and and tosses it back in the drawer, though, and grabs one of the choices of lube.

"What, no rope?" Sam asks, smirking.

"If you want it," Bucky says, taking that a hell of a lot more seriously than Sam meant for him to.

For a second, the temptation to do it hits Sam square in the gut, so hard it leaves him shook-- but he shakes his head and goes back to all fours, settling down with his elbows on the bed and his ass up and waiting. "Not the time, not the place," he says, head down, not thinking about any of this, about how that sounds like there's going to be another time and another place, and rope is going to be on the table when they get there. "Just fuck me."

"Okay," Bucky agrees, coming back over, his hand going onto Sam's hip. He bends his head down and leaves a kiss against the small of Sam's back, which makes Sam shiver, but instead of just popping the lube open and going for it, he moves down, thumbs parting Sam's cheeks so he can lick between them.

"Oh, fuck," Sam gasps, putting his chest on the bed and tilting his ass back more. "Yeah, that's it, come on, Buck, do it."

Bucky slides his tongue down, all the way to Sam's hole, and twists, and Sam has to scramble to get one hand around the base of his cock, squeezing tight. "Bucky," Sam groans, voice muffled by the pillows. This is it, he's going to lose his mind, he's going to come all over this bed, he's going to break apart into a million tiny pieces, because Bucky's pushing his face into Sam's ass and licking deep, taking advantage of the way he opened Sam up earlier and the way Sam washed up good and thorough, trying to keep himself from leaking any more than he already had. They're well on their way to undoing all that hard work, filling Sam up all over again, but he can't mind it. Not when Bucky's mouth on him is shaking him to the bone, sending sparks all the way up Sam's spine and making him bury his face against the pillows and cry out again and again.

One last swirling lick and Bucky's drawing away, coming up behind Sam again. Sam feels Bucky's hard metal fingertips pushing against him, slick with lube now, and he shifts back, tries to take more than Bucky's giving at first. "Baby," Sam groans, "yeah, that, you know what I want, come on, come on."

"I got you," Bucky murmurs, fingers sliding in good and deep. Sam lets out a low, solid cry, because it's so much, those fingers are so strong and slick and unyielding, and yet so gentle inside him. Bucky moves his fingers, in and out, his own breath catching as he does it. "God, Sam, you're so good, I want to be in you..."

"Fuck, not yet," Sam says. "Just more, just a little more, please--" He rolls his hips back, lets himself find a rhythm to it, fucking back like he's desperate for it. It's not the heavy, deep fullness that's going to come along with Bucky's cock, but it's so good, and he just doesn't want it to stop yet.

Bucky twists his fingers, and Sam digs his fingers into the pillow, growls out loud. "Shit, yeah, do that again," he pants. Bucky does it again, and again, and Sam's pushing back against him now, feeling it down to his toes. It hurts a little--no getting around the fact that vibranium fingers don't have the give to them that Bucky's regular fingers have-- but Sam's ready for it, now, welcoming that little bite of pain.

"Sam," Bucky groans, "if you don't want my come all over your legs, you've gotta let me fuck you. Please."

He's tempted, but he shakes his head. "You can come on me later. Wreck me, Buck. Get me messy again."

"Dammit." Bucky's breath shakes as he draws his hand back. "It's gonna be quick the first time. I'll make it up to you after."

Smug super-soldier bastard. Sam braces himself, though, and Bucky pushes in, thick, heavy, so hot, leaning hard on Sam's hips. He wasn't kidding about it being quick, because he only needs a few strong thrusts, and he's coming, hands tight on Sam's hips and throat hoarse as he cries out. He's loud, too, and Zemo and his butler better leave them the fuck alone, Sam is not going to be nice about it if they come running to ask what's going on.

No footsteps beating a path down the hall; they're safe, for now. Bucky draws back, pulls out, and Sam feels Bucky's come dripping out of him, leaking all down his legs. He rolls over onto his back, looking up at Bucky, who drops right down on top of him, quick enough that he misses when he tries for a kiss the first time, lips hitting Sam's cheek before they both turn their heads to get their mouths on each other.

Sam stays fit to fight bad guys, not to bend full in half while getting fucked, but it's not a bad side benefit. He gets his legs spread and drawn up, holds his knees apart, and Bucky doesn't have any trouble sliding into him again, no recovery time needed. Sam's so slick now it's a little on the filthy side-- Bucky's left Sam so full of come that they can hear the sound it makes as Bucky pushes all the way into him, over and over. Sam drags his mouth away from Bucky's and arches underneath him, eyes fluttering shut, moaning softly with every long, slow stroke of Bucky's cock.

"Sam," Bucky groans, "fuck, Sam, you--" He braces himself on his right hand and runs his left over Sam's face, puts his metal thumb on Sam's lip. Sam sucks it in, rubbing his tongue up against it, stroking and sucking and getting filled up with Bucky's cock, overloading on everything.

A little more, then, Bucky's hips hitting against Sam's ass with a little more speed and force, still easy, but Bucky taking something from Sam, not just giving Sam what he needs. It's good, it's so good, Sam lets go of Bucky's thumb and leans up, reaches up to sling an arm around Bucky's neck so he can kiss him again.

Bucky moans against Sam's lips, and he brings his metal hand down, wrapping it around Sam's cock. This time, Sam's not going to tell him to wait. Bucky has that rhythm down to perfection, dragging his hand down Sam's cock at the same strong pace as he pushes his cock into Sam's body. They're good together, it doesn't matter how many ways they disagree so long as they can have this, Bucky pushing Sam harder and harder until Sam's moaning into Bucky's mouth, spilling over his fingers, his ass tightening around Bucky's cock so Bucky follows right along with him, coming with another hot rush that leaves Sam utterly ruined.

Sam strokes Bucky's arms and shoulders after that, cradles the back of Bucky's neck in his hand when Bucky rests his forehead against Sam's shoulder. He's heavy, Bucky; strong and capable of holding his own in every possible way, but heavy when he's collapsed on Sam's chest and taking some time to catch his breath. Sam doesn't mind it.

He should, maybe. At the compound it felt like being in a place out of time, where real life wasn't intruding just yet. Giving Bucky shit and taking shit from him in return was like that, too, but real life came roaring back to smack Sam in the face when Bucky took him to see Isaiah and then said you threw Steve's shield away like it was nothing, like one minute Bucky gets him and the next minute he doesn't know Sam at all.

"Stop thinking so hard," Bucky mumbles.

"What, you read minds now?"

"Your breathing changed." Bucky levers himself up on an elbow. His expression's gone guarded, but his eyes are asking Sam for something. Sam wishes like hell he knew what. "You want me to get off of you?"

Sam gets an arm around Bucky's waist. "No, man. Look, I'm not having second thoughts. There's just a lot of shit going on. You. Me. Zemo. The--" Shit, Zemo. Sam looks over at the door, which they never bothered to close. "I really fucking hope he doesn't have cameras in here."

"I checked while you were in the shower," Bucky says, and Sam looks at him to try and figure out whether he's bullshitting. "I checked, Sam. We're good."

"Okay. Yeah." Sam exhales, and stretches his legs, arching his back to get comfortable again. "Couple days here, huh."

Bucky does roll off him, finally, but he doesn't go far, just stretches out next to Sam. Sam turns on his side so he can stroke his hand down Bucky's arm and down over his thigh-- so he likes the way Bucky feels under his hands and the way Bucky leans into his touch like Bucky's a cat and Sam's a sunbeam, sue him.

"Yeah. Listen," Bucky says, "you need to know-- I've been to Madripoor before--"

Now there are footsteps in the hall, and Sam springs out of bed, grabbing his towel and bolting for the bathroom again. He hears Bucky say something, someone quiet and smug as fuck saying something back, then the bedroom door clicking shut.

Sam sighs, leaning heavily against the counter. Well. There are worse things than having Zemo know there's something going on, he guesses. And if they're lucky, none of those worse things will come to pass, and they'll get out of here with a way to stop anybody from making any more serum and a lead on where the Flag Smashers are headed.

In the meantime, he's got to take another shower. And whatever it was Bucky needed Sam to know, he needs to follow up on that. This isn't going to be easier if they're not honest with each other. Sam needs to make his peace with that and get to it.

Chapter Text

Zemo feeds them, gives them full access to the wine and liquor in the bar downstairs (of course he has a bar downstairs, Sam's surprised Zemo doesn't have a full-on rumpus room with shag carpeting), doesn't try to needle either Sam or Bucky about what he damn near walked in on. Obviously he knows, and just as obviously it's going to be something that waits until the exact right time Zemo can plunge in a knife and twist. Sam suspects he could spend time bracing for it, but it'll all come to nothing, because Zemo's good at getting under people's skin. Bucky in particular. Sam, at least, has no illusions about what Zemo wants.

When Zemo calls it a night, Sam heads to one of the armchairs opposite the couch that Bucky's spreading himself all over. He could try sliding in next to him, but he wants to see Bucky's face while they talk, anyway, and besides, Bucky's not going out of his way to make room.

"So. Madripoor," Sam says. "You were gonna tell me something before Zemo barged in on us."

"Yeah." Bucky exhales and leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, looking down at the floor. "I didn't go there as myself."

"Right," Sam says gently; this much, he'd figured out. "So are there going to be people who aren't happy to see you?"

Bucky's mouth twists. "No one was ever happy to see me."

Steve was. I was, for Steve's sake. That won't help with this conversation. "How on guard do we need to be?"

"Probably just the usual amount. No one's going to fuck with the Winter Soldier." Something makes Bucky rub his hand over his face, sighing, looking up at the ceiling. "Madripoor has a lot of different elements. People sell different things there."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that."

Bucky looks at Sam, but doesn't say anything. Sam grits his teeth and says, "If Zemo tries to put me on a block--"

"He wouldn't. He won't. He's not stupid, Sam." Bucky looks down at the floor again. "Me, though. That could happen."

No the hell it could NOT, Sam wants to say, but outrage isn't going to help a goddamn thing right now. Still, he has to come onto the floor, crouching down in front of Bucky and squeezing him tight around the wrist. Bucky stares down at Sam's grip. "You're not going anywhere," Sam says. "If that's his play, it's a bad play. We're not sending you off on your own, even if that's what it takes to get information out of Zemo's people. We'll find another way."

"I'm not worried about that." Bucky's hands curl into fists, and Sam gives him a little space, though he doesn't get up from the floor just yet. "I need to ask you a favor."

"Name it."

"If Zemo has to get a demonstration out of me, will you have my back?"

Sam frowns up at Bucky; what kind of friend, or... teammate, or whatever they are, wouldn't have Bucky's back? "What kind of question is that? How do you even need to ask?"

"I just know how these things go," Bucky says. "I know what Zemo's like. If he can make me squirm, he's gonna do it."

"Yeah, about that." Sam eases himself back into his armchair. "About earlier. What'd he say to you about it?"

Bucky sits back himself, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. "Nothing worth repeating, believe me."

"Whatever he said was about both of us--"

"It wasn't, actually." Bucky shrugs. "I don't give a fuck what Zemo thinks."

"Can't say I do, either," Sam admits. "Doesn't mean I'm crazy about the fact that he knows."

"You're a little more used to privacy than I am," Bucky says. "But there's nothing we're getting up to that I'm ashamed of. So if Zemo knows, or if you told somebody--"

"Who would I have told?" Sam sputters, trying not to think about the implications: there's nothing we're getting up to that I'm ashamed of.

"I don't know. Rhodey was in town when you gave away the shield--"

"Can we not get into it about that, because I swear to God, Buck, I don't have it in me--"

"I'm just saying that Zemo or Rhodey or a room full of people, I don't care. We're not dating, we're not together, sometimes we fuck. It's not complicated."

"Right," Sam says. He's got an urge to take another fucking shower, all of a sudden, maybe see if Zemo has a treadmill or a punching bag to take a little frustration out on. "Fine." He stands up. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Sam--"

"I'm not up for anything else tonight, okay? You can find yourself another bed, there's plenty."

"Sam." Bucky stands up, too, reaching out, but not quite making contact before he stops. "Okay. I'll see you in the morning."


There's a noise in Sam's room, the door opening up. He squints at his watch: just past 0300.

"It's me," Bucky says.

Sam pushes back to the far side of the bed, so there's room when Bucky slides in. Sam reaches out for him; his hair's sweaty, his skin clammy.

"You want to try to get some more sleep?"

"Yeah." Bucky stays on his back for a few seconds, but then rolls to face away from Sam. Sam follows, spooning up behind him, even though Bucky's cool skin is enough to nearly make Sam shiver. But Bucky warms up fast, and he pulls Sam's arm around him, threading their fingers together.

Sam's halfway convinced Bucky just came in for another round, and he's going to drag Sam's hand down for a middle-of-the-night handjob. And while Sam wouldn't say no to that, he hopes Bucky can do it with Sam half-asleep, because Sam's not getting any more awake like this.

When he does wake up, there's light filtering in through the curtains, and Bucky's facing him now, eyes closed, mouth open, drooling a little.

"How fucked are we?" Sam mutters. Bucky makes a little inquisitive noise, but doesn't wake up just yet, not even when Sam traces the lines across Bucky's forehead with his fingertips. Sam forces himself out of bed after that, because this isn't a vacation, it's a mission, and the sooner they finish it, the better.

Chapter Text

Sam's "disguise" shows up the next day, which is just as well; he doesn't know how long he could sit in this place with Zemo and Bucky without punching something. Between wondering when the ball's going to drop and Zemo's going to bring up what he thinks he knows, and Bucky being the pain in the ass Sam can't say no to, it's a powder keg waiting to happen, and he can't figure out how he's the only one who's worried about sparks.

It doesn't get any better when he puts the clothes on. He's trying not to look at the colors, he'd like to keep from going blind, but at least it all fits and the fabric is smooth and light and comfortable. As hot as it can get here, he's not going to sweat his way through it all. The shoes are another matter, slick and-- heels? really?-- but what he hates the most is the jewelry, necklaces and rings going on like he's about to guest star on Miami Vice.

"Not one goddamned word," he says, before he even comes out of the bedroom, and Bucky keeps a convincingly straight face as Sam steps out in front of them. Zemo's in that ridiculous coat with the fur collar, and Bucky... it's not as bad as Sam was afraid it might be, no face mask or goggles, no tac vest with an array of knives, just a one-armed leather jacket with straps everywhere, heavy boots, a half-glove on his right hand.

"Perfect," Zemo says, looking Sam over. Perfect what, Sam wants to ask, but fuck it: if it's good enough to keep Sam from getting recognized, they can get in and get this over with.

When they make it to the bridge where they're supposed to meet their ride, Zemo leads the way, which gives Bucky a chance to come back to Sam and ask, "You okay?"

"What about any of this is okay?" He shakes his head. "What about you? You're..." He gestures, generally, at Bucky's fashion-design-by-Helmut-Zemo look, and Bucky makes the facial equivalent of a shrug, his lips tightening at the corners and his eyes going narrow. "I guess the point isn't for you to blend in."

"About what I said last night--"

"I already told you, I don't have it in me to rehash that."

"No, not--" Bucky grimaces, looking forward and keeping his distance from Zemo, pitching his voice lower. "I know I've already asked you for a lot. But if something happens--"

"I think we can pretty much guarantee that everything's going to happen."

"Yeah. And because of that, just... tell me you'll have my back. Okay?"

"Buck, damn." Sam sighs. "Of course I'll have your back, come on."

"I won't let him tell me to do anything to hurt you. And I promise, you're not going to do anything to hurt me."

That seems like a hell of a thing to promise, but Sam looks Bucky in the eye and nods, trying to make it clear he's taking Bucky at his word. "I've got you on this," Sam promises. "Whatever happens."

Bucky's nods, his jaw and shoulders losing a lot of their tension, and he nods to Zemo, catching up with him. Sam does the same, since they're well onto the bridge now, and they keep going, Madripoor in their sights.


It goes bad almost right away. Sam doesn't speak Russian, but when Zemo starts saying shit to Bucky, he catches soldat, and his hackles go up. Then there's the snake drink, and Sam's not squeamish, he's pulled some weird-looking shit out of the ocean and made meals out of it, he's gutted and eaten his own alligator gar, for fuck's sake. He's not thrilled to have to swallow down something that, for all he knows, might be poisonous... or just off enough to give him the runs, which would be inconvenient as all hell. Who knows if the bartender has a mad on for Smiling Tiger? Maybe Smiling Tiger fucked the man's sister the last time he was in town.

Zemo's reputation isn't any better with the people here than it is with Sam and Bucky, but for a second Sam actually thinks the bald guy with the beard is going to go get Selby-- but no, he sees the goon coming for Zemo a few seconds later. Zemo doesn't even turn, but he knows what's happening-- it always slips Sam's mind at first, that Zemo has a background in covert ops and not just smugness and mind games-- and now Zemo has an excuse to put Bucky into action.

It's still a shock when Bucky goes, though, steely-eyed and murder strut and all, kicking the shit out of people like this is just what he does on alternate Tuesdays. Fuck. Sam knew, he knew Zemo was going to get in and mess with Bucky's head, and Zemo leans over to Sam to do the same thing to him: "It didn't take much for him to fall back into form."

No, and whose fault was that, Sam wants to say, but he's focused on Bucky, ready to come in and have Bucky's back the second things look like they're going wrong. A room full of ordinary people doesn't stand a chance against him, though, and Sam can stay back until he can't, when maybe Bucky's got the wrong person up against the bar or the bar's just had enough of this shit, guns being pulled and readied all over the place.

His hand comes down on Bucky's arm, and Bucky doesn't even feel it, the vibranium under Sam's hand all angled down to the man Bucky's holding. Bucky doesn't let go until Zemo says he can, and Sam has to ask, needs to know Bucky's still good after that, the hell with what Zemo said about staying in character.

Bucky's better at it than Sam is, though, giving Sam an efficient nod, one that could've been from himself or the Soldier, and Sam's got no choice but to keep following everyone through the building and off to whoever the fuck this Selby is.


Selby clocks Sam instantly, he can feel it. Not that she knows he's Sam Wilson, the Falcon, but she knows he's not Smiling Tiger. Purring at him, making a crack about his height-- damn, Sam dressed up like a pimp for nothing, because they all know he's not who Zemo says he is, so what's the goddamned point?

But Zemo and Selby get down to it right away, Zemo asking about the serum, good, good.

Not good.

"Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum, and I give you him. Along with the code words to control him, of course," Zemo says, walking around Bucky like he owns the man. "He will do anything you want," Zemo goes on, stroking Bucky's fucking face, playing with his chin, and Bucky just-- just stands there. Just takes it.

Because he knew. Here it is: the favor Bucky was trying to ask, the question of whether Sam was going to have his back. It drops into the pit of Sam's stomach and coils there, like something cut out of a snake.

"You do remember what I like," Selby tells Zemo. She glances over her shoulder at Sam. "Down to the very last detail. Does this one have code words, too?"

"No," Sam says. He catches Zemo's minor warning look and throws his own glare back. "I'm not for sale, either."

"That's all right," Selby says. "I should've known you could only get your hands so dirty, Baron. But please go on. I think a demonstration would be in order."

Zemo says something in Russian, and Bucky drops down to his knees. Bucky looks at Sam, from the floor, expression shut down. Of course it is; the Winter Soldier wouldn't have room to object to anything. But he could still look; he'd still know what was coming.

Tell me you'll have my back.

Sam steps up, because this is the worst plan, this is a horrible plan, when they're out of here and nobody's been shot he'll make sure Zemo ends up dropped down a hole and never heard from again. But he's not letting Bucky do this alone.

"Conrad," Zemo says lightly, "you have carte blanche. Do as you please with him. It may be the last time, I'm afraid, but we'll find someone else for you before we leave town."

"I don't need your commentary," Sam says, reaching out and sinking his hand into Bucky's hair. He drags Bucky's head back, not too hard, enough so that Bucky's throat straightens out. This isn't the shit they get up to back home; already it's got a sick thrill spreading through Sam's body, one that makes him feel like he's going to have trouble sleeping for a while. "Hey," Sam says quietly.

I won't let him tell me to do anything to hurt you. And I promise, you're not going to do anything to hurt me.

"Ya gotov otvechat," Bucky says.

"Ready to comply," Zemo translates.

Sam takes in a breath through his nose, lets it out slowly between his teeth. Trying to give Bucky a choice when the whole point of this nonsense is to prove he'll do anything he's told is an exercise in frustration. But he knows Bucky, more than either one of them has been willing to admit, and if nothing else, he can give Bucky something he won't hate. Maybe even something he can pretend is happening because he wants it to be, not because Zemo's a piece of shit who's not fit to lick the dirt off Bucky's boots.

"Mouth," Sam says, making it simple. Bucky reaches immediately for Sam's belt, and Sam tightens his grip on Bucky's hair. That doesn't slow him down for a second, so Sam gives him a shake. "Hey. Soldier."

Bucky stops, looking up again. Sam stares into his eyes for a minute.

You're not going to do anything to hurt me.

He's got a lot he'll have to apologize for later, promise from Bucky or no promise.

"Make it good," Sam says, and sets his conscience aside.

Bucky goes back to Sam's belt buckle, and Sam lets go of his hair, giving him room to move. He takes the jacket off, partly because it's only going to get in the way now, partly because one less piece of pimp suit is fine by him, but Bucky glances up at him when he does and gives a small nod as he gets back to work. Meaning what, Sam wonders, does Bucky want him to keep going? Get undressed? Fuck Bucky in front of Zemo, Selby, half a dozen bodyguards, and whatever cameras are in here?

No. Just the jacket, and just Bucky's mouth. And his hands. "Fuck," Sam mutters, when Bucky pushes Sam's pants and those damn Smiling Tiger-brand silk boxers down around Sam's thighs. Fuck, because Bucky doesn't have to work for it. All he has to do is wrap his hand around Sam's cock, and Sam's hard, ready to do this.

Bucky strokes him a couple of times, but his orders were Mouth, make it good, so he goes right to work, sucking Sam down and really getting into it. He likes giving head-- Sam's been the grateful recipient of quite a few enthusiastic blowjobs, so he knows that much is true-- but he's above-and-beyond now, eyes closed, giving up his throat, his hands squeezing Sam's hips in that soft, out-of-rhythm way that means he's seriously turned on, trying not to touch himself.

This is why Sam usually doesn't compartmentalize his conscience when he's having sex: he grabs Bucky's hair and drags him in, rocking his hips to push against the back of Bucky's throat. It feels good as hell, being that rough, and it's not something he's ever done to Bucky before, but Bucky just takes it, his throat opening around the head of Sam's cock like gag reflexes are for people who aren't super-soldiers. Sam hisses; he might've told Bucky to make it good, but he wasn't expecting Bucky to make it this good.

Bucky squeezes Sam's hips harder, dragging Sam in until Bucky's nose is pushed into Sam's pubes, the stubble on his chin scratching Sam's thighs and the top of his sac. The man's going to need to breathe sometime, but Sam's filled with a desire to find out how long he can last like this before his body starts to fight it.

More than that, though, he wants motion. He wants to feel Bucky's mouth taking him in, he wants to fuck Bucky's throat until he comes, and nobody's stopping him, not Bucky, not Zemo or Selby, no one. Sam shifts his grip on Bucky's hair until he's got both hands fisted in it, high and tight where Bucky's hair is long enough to grab, and just drills into him, ignoring the way Bucky's chin is coated with saliva and his hands keep clutching at Sam's hips, pulling Sam in as sharply as Sam's pulling Bucky down.

"Getting close, Smiling Tiger? Don't forget to give us a good money shot," Selby says. "I've always wanted to see the Winter Soldier dripping with it, haven't you, Baron?"

"I would never stand in the way of fulfilling one of your dreams, Selby," Zemo says. "If you wouldn't mind, Conrad."

Fuck. That's another thing that Sam's conscience would object to, if it was still in the building. "Back up," he tells Bucky, "mouth open."

Bucky gives Sam's hips one more squeeze as he backs off, but he stays on his knees with his mouth open, and Sam just has to look at the mess he's already made of Bucky's face to be ready to come, working his cock hard so he paints Bucky's face with it, gets it on Bucky's chin and his open mouth, even streaks it across his cheek, all while Bucky holds perfectly still for him.

Sam steps aside and pulls his clothes back together, leaving Bucky in full view of Zemo and Selby. He looks Bucky up and down, tries to get a sense of where his head is at.

His eyes go to the only place they can, though: the dark spot on Bucky's tac pants, right over where Bucky's hard-on is tenting the fabric. Not enough of a mess for Bucky to have gotten off on all of that, but he's leaking enough to make Sam's mouth water. Maybe that's something? Or maybe that just makes it worse for him, Sam doesn't have a clue.

"Very pretty," Selby says, then turns back to Zemo and starts trading information.

Sam puts his jacket back on and tries to look at Zemo, but no, apparently he's just going to let Bucky sit here indefinitely, mouth open, Sam's come dripping down his face and into his collar. Sam grimaces and finds his pocket square, and tosses it to Bucky. "Clean up," he says. "Then get on your feet."

Bucky wipes his face off, shoves the fabric into his pocket, and stands up. At least Sam was able to get him that far.

He's starting to wonder if there's anything else he can do, and how in hell they're going to get out of here without leaving Bucky behind, when his phone vibrates in his jacket pocket. Fuck.

Selby narrows her eyes at Sam, insists that he answers it on speaker, and all hell breaks loose. By the time the shooting stops, Selby's dead, her bodyguards are dead, Sam and Bucky are armed with the bodyguards' weapons, and Zemo looks at both of them, rolling his eyes.

"We have a real problem now. Drop your weapons and follow my lead."

Drop their weapons-- well, fuck, they're going to get even more attention if they're running down the street with semiautomatic rifles, sure. Sam and Bucky and Zemo get the hell out of there, only to be cornered by an old friend.

"Sharon?"

It takes a few seconds of explanation, but once that's done, they're on their way to High Town, leaving Selby and snake guts and Conrad Mack behind. Sam wishes he could say the same about Zemo, but they still need him.

As for the Winter Soldier, Sam doesn't know where Bucky's head is at, but he's going to find out.

Chapter Text

Sharon has a rack full of clothes in a variety of sizes; Sam doesn't know why that is, exactly, but he doesn't care so long as it means he gets to change out of his pimp costume and into shoes he could run in, should the need arise.

He'd be more self-conscious about changing in front of Zemo and Sharon, but Zemo just saw him come all over Bucky's face, and Sharon's the one loaning him the damn clothes, she can have a peek at the goods if she really wants one.

Bucky takes off the tactical gear from Zemo like it's got a stink to it, and he's not any more shy about it than Sam is, getting into an all-black ensemble including a jacket with two long sleeves instead of one.

Somewhere along there, Sharon agrees to help them out, and Sam agrees to work toward getting her a pardon once they're stateside again. And then they've got some downtime before people start showing up at Sharon's place for a party, so Sam pulls Bucky into an empty room, because no way in hell is he leaving this conversation for later.

"About earlier," Sam starts.

"I'm good," Bucky says, immediately. "I'm all right. I'm glad it was you."

Sam blinks at him a few times. "Okay. Yeah. Good," he says, exhaling softly. "Maybe next time you could be a little more specific about how you want me to have your back. I didn't realize I was going to have to fuck your throat in front of a room full of criminals."

Bucky winces. He reaches out for Sam's arm, and Sam doesn't step away from him. "You're right. I should have told you what I thought was going to happen. It's not like you had a choice."

"Oh, I had a choice. I could've gotten shot. Or watched you with somebody else. Maybe Zemo." Sam's conscience should be fully-operational again, but maybe not, because the idea of Zemo touching Bucky's face, Zemo stepping in where Sam had been... Sam should just take it all in stride, recognize he made the best choice for both of them, let that settle in until he's really okay with it, not just okay with it on a technical level.

Instead, he reaches up and puts his hand on the side of Bucky's neck, rubs his thumb over Bucky's chin, and then grips the back of his neck hard. Bucky's mouth comes open, his eyes widen, and he leans in, hands moving to Sam's waist as he seals his mouth over Sam's.

This is not the kind of kiss they've usually had; hell, they don't always kiss when they get off together. This time, though, Bucky's coming after Sam hungry and desperate, the smell of Sam's come still sharp on Bucky's cheeks, and Sam doesn't let go of his grip on the back of Bucky's neck. He gets his other hand up and grabs Bucky by the shirt, like he's damned if Bucky's going anywhere.

They've been shot at, chased, rescued, it's been a couple hours since Sam watched himself paint Bucky's face with come, and if Bucky dropped to the floor right now Sam would do it all over again. But, hell, maybe there's a shred of conscience floating around somewhere, because Sam remembers something else: Bucky was hot as hell for it in Selby's back room, and he didn't get to come earlier.

Fuck. No. That's not his conscience talking, that's something else.

"Bucky. Buck. Hey." Sam gives Bucky a little shake at the back of the neck, and Bucky draws back, biting down on his lower lip. "Do we need to talk about--"

"Nope."

Sam narrows his eyes. "About what was going on here," he says, hand coming off the back of Bucky's neck and going down to his cock. Sure enough, Bucky's hard as steel, and his eyes flutter closed when Sam gives him a rough squeeze. "Because if that was... leftover programming or some shit--"

"No," Bucky gasps, and then, "maybe," and he gets his hand over Sam's, keeps squeezing, starting to give it a rhythm, not quite jerking himself off with Sam's hand, but definitely showing some intent to make this go somewhere. "Fuck, I don't know, I don't care, I just fucking want it."

"Want what," Sam asks, leaning in, nipping at the side of Bucky's neck; whatever it is, it doesn't have to be something wrong, not if it's something Sam can give him. No, still not his conscience talking, but fuck it. Bucky's so damn hard under his hand, Sam wants him, it can be that simple.

"I like it when someone's watching me," Bucky groans, and he gets his arm around Sam's waist and tugs Sam's hand away from his cock. "Fuck. If you don't stop, I'm gonna need Sharon to find me another pair of pants."

Pants, hell, Sam needs a new goddamn brain after hearing that.

"When someone's watching you," Sam says. They stare at each other for a few seconds, but it has to be obvious to Bucky: Sam's not judging. Or more accurately: Sam's cock has already come up with a judgment, and it's telling him that Bucky's kink is hot as fuck.

Conscience, what conscience. Sam drags Bucky in again and kisses him, and this time Bucky just moans against Sam's mouth, clutching at him.

"I might pick somebody different to be watching," Sam says, still so close his nose is brushing against Bucky's, "but--"

"Stop, fuck, stop talking," Bucky says, wrenching his mouth away from Sam's and dropping his forehead onto Sam's shoulder. Sam gets it, Bucky needs time to catch his breath, but Sam doesn't want to give him that time. He wants to crowd Bucky, lean on this hot button, get Bucky off so many times he can't stand up anymore.

"Hey," Sam murmurs, "back up a minute." He gives Bucky a gentle push towards the nearest wall and pushes Bucky's shoulders up against it, and Bucky looks at him with this confused expression-- right up until Sam kneels down, and then Bucky's frantic, getting out of his pants, shoving everything down, and Sam only just barely has time to get his mouth on Bucky's cock before Bucky comes, pulsing hot and thick into Sam's mouth, and damn, this is why Sam doesn't usually suck him off, it just keeps going, there's so much. Bucky slides in, fucks Sam's mouth through all that, cups Sam's head with both hands and keeps making noises until he collapses back against the wall, panting hard.

Sam comes to his feet; his mouth's still sticky with Bucky's come, and he plants a hot kiss against Bucky's mouth. That's a guess, he's not sure what Bucky's gonna do about it, but apparently the instincts that are filling in for Sam's conscience know what they're doing. Bucky licks into Sam's mouth, moaning all the way, getting Sam nice and clean and swiping his tongue over Sam's lips to make sure he got every bit of it.

"Fuck," Bucky says, winded. He just stays put, staring into Sam's eyes, and Sam stares right back at him. "I didn't think you'd be up for this."

"You want to know the truth, I don't think my regular boundaries have caught up to this place yet," Sam says. "But I kind of want to see you lose it like that again."

"So no promises," Bucky fills in.

"No promises," Sam confirms, "but I'm not ruling anything out, either."

There's a knock at the door, and Sharon calls out, "If you two are finished in there, somebody needs to keep an eye on Zemo while I get ready for tonight."

Bucky gets himself together while Sam opens up the door. "Okay. We're on it."

Sharon smirks at him. "Is that what you're on?" She cranes her head slightly, trying to get a look around the door. "Funny. I would've sworn both of you had a thing for blondes."

Sam raises his eyebrows and looks at her; she lifts a small gift bag into view, dangling it off one finger until Sam reaches out and takes it. He blinks down into it-- a box of condoms and a small bottle of lube? Jesus-- then looks back up at her.

"If you get come on any of my displays, you're paying for it. And for what it's worth, Madripoor is not a place I'd go bareback." She shrugs a shoulder and tilts her head to look around the door again, then unleashes another smirk when Bucky shows up behind Sam's shoulder. "You're louder than I expected." To Sam, she adds, "Good for you."

As soon as they're back in the same room with Zemo, Sharon's off. Zemo smiles at both of them.

"Save it," Sam says.

"I was only curious what sort of party favor Ms. Carter had for you," Zemo says.

"Nothing you're going to need," Sam snaps.

"Of course not," Zemo says. He takes a sip of whatever the hell he poured himself at Sharon's little mini-bar. "Perhaps you inferred from my conversation with Selby, earlier. I prefer to look, not touch."

Bucky makes a small noise in his throat; Sam glances over his shoulder at him.

"But from what I've heard, it is that sort of party." Zemo runs a fingertip back and forth over the rim of his glass. "When in Madripoor, as they say."

"Is that what they say," Sam mutters.

But he pockets the lube and the condoms all the same.


It's getting to the point where Sam feels like things should surprise him, but they don't. Millions of dollars changing hands for stolen artwork doesn't say "packed wall-to-wall underground dance party" to Sam, but this isn't the kind of circle he's ever run in, so what the hell. Underground dance party it is.

Zemo takes it in stride. Bucky stays at Sam's left shoulder, like he doesn't want to get separated from Sam for a minute. If Bucky hadn't beat him to it, Sam would've done the same, so he's not complaining.

Most of the floor is dedicated to dance space. People are smashed together, grinding, holding their drinks and laughing, not caring if they drink or spill or break a glass. Sam spots at least three different kinds of party drugs going around; no surprise there, either.

Around the artwork and artifacts, there's a little more breathing room. Sam doesn't bother trying to memorize what's here; he's not in the art insurance business, and putting stolen art back in museums might make some billionaires unhappy, but it's not going to put food on the table for people who are struggling. Zemo takes close looks at several of the paintings, but Bucky looks about as interested in art as Sam does.

When the crowd thins out, Bucky takes the lead, Sam backing him up, and they round a corner together, and--

Huh. Zemo was right; it is that kind of party.

There's a hallway leading down to a dead end, with a large set of LCD screens hanging up near the ceiling, providing a rotating set of pictures of the artwork that's for sale here. There are columns, curtains, small nooks where people can pretend they're trying to have some privacy, but it's clear from the way people are touching and kissing and watching each other that nobody's here because they're afraid of being watched. Sam sees pairs and threesomes, even one group that looks like it's got four. The only lights in this hallway come from the LCD screens, so it's dim, but he doesn't see any familiar faces, from Selby's bar or anywhere else.

The music's loud enough to drown out most of the noise people are making, but it doesn't matter. Sam can imagine it. There's a woman on her knees, head bobbing; the man she's with has his fingers in her hair, and his throat's working like he's moaning in rhythm with her moves. A man about half Sam's age has an even younger man pushed up against the wall, and they're moving together, the one who's up against the wall half-turned so his partner can kiss him while the go at it. Sam can see three women together, hands up skirts, and someone with a short buzzcut and steel-toed boots who's got their partner's hands pinned up above her head.

It's a hell of a lot to take in, and yet the person Sam most wants to see is standing right in front of him, which means Sam can't see his face and can't get a read on what he wants. He reaches out and squeezes Bucky's shoulder--

--and Bucky spins, pushing Sam hard against the wall, almost hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Sam doesn't have time to react before Bucky's got his mouth on Sam's, and from there, he's too busy giving as good as he's getting to care about anybody else in the hall. Bucky sucks on Sam's tongue like he's trying to remind Sam how good his mouth was, earlier; Sam didn't need the reminder, but he's in no way, shape, or form complaining. He slips his hands up Bucky's chest, up to his shoulders, hard muscle under one hand, metal under the other, and Bucky moans out loud, breath hot against Sam's lips.

Sam lets his head drop back against the wall and locks gazes with Bucky. Bucky's looking at him with just the slightest bit of hesitation, not coming in for another kiss. As Sam watches, Bucky bites his lower lip, and his eyebrows come up, like he's asking for something. The plea in Bucky's eyes almost takes Sam out at the knees; his heart's pounding, and yes, God, he's going to say yes to whatever Bucky wants. Anything, man, just do it. Do something.

Bucky crowds him in against the wall, his hands to either side of Sam's shoulders. He gets his thigh between Sam's legs, and Sam loses his grip on his dignity and his sanity all at once, rubbing up against Bucky's thigh like he's gone into heat or something.

"Yeah?" Bucky asks, lips up by Sam's ear. He presses in again, thigh rubbing hard against Sam's cock. "Sam-- can I fuck you here--"

"Yes," Sam gasps, "yeah, Bucky, fuck me, come on, do it."

Bucky drags his mouth over to Sam's, and it's about the dirtiest kiss Sam can ever remember having, Bucky's tongue stroking Sam's, Bucky's thigh working Sam's cock. Bucky reaches under Sam's jacket to his shirt, tugging up the fabric until he can get his metal hand onto bare skin. Sam moans and clutches at Bucky's shirt with one hand, the other one grabbing for Bucky's arm. He can almost imagine an electric charge moving between the vibranium and his fingertips, and it has him trying to get closer to Bucky, practically trying to climb the man, while Bucky moves his metal hand to the small of Sam's back and pulls him closer. He's so hard-- it's going to kill Sam, feeling how hard Bucky is, the tight press of Bucky's thigh against Sam's cock, both of them moving together until they're close to clawing at each other, they're so ready to go.

Bucky digs into Sam's pocket for the condoms and the lube, and Sam turns around, unbuckling his belt and shoving everything down to his thighs. He leans his forearms against the wall, rests his head against them, and jerks forward when Bucky's fingers push into him, dripping with slick but going in hard and fast, take-no-prisoners prep. Sam can't remember Bucky ever being impatient like this. It doesn't matter that it hurts; Sam's flying on it, shoving back against Bucky's hand to get more. "Do it," he growls, "do it, get in me, fuck me."

It takes another second for Bucky to get the condom on. The wrapper flutters down to the floor at Sam's feet. Sam pushes his ass back, and Bucky grabs him by the hip, metal fingers pinching, groping, but then Bucky's pushing in, and Sam clenches his fists, trying not to scream. Bucky isn't trying to make it good for Sam right now, and somehow that's hot anyway: the fact that Bucky's going all out on Sam's ass, the way he's so turned on he can barely control himself-- Sam wants it this way. Sam wants Bucky to be selfish. Sam wants to be the one who gets all this mindblowing lust from the bionic staring machine, from Bucky goddamn Barnes, from the Winter Soldier, everyone Bucky's ever been.

Bucky slams in one more time and cries out, the sound half-buried against Sam's back, and he's coming, holding tight to Sam's hips. Sam's so hard he could probably come if Bucky so much as touched Sam's cock, but then he might be done, and it's so damn clear that Bucky's not. He doesn't want this to be over before he wrings every last bit of pleasure he can get out of Bucky.

"Fuck," Bucky mumbles, collapsed against Sam's back. Sam laughs, even if he's a little breathless. "Sam."

"Yeah," Sam says over his shoulder. "You want to go again?"

He can feel Bucky's cock jerk when he says it. Bucky hasn't even lost his hard-on; he's still filling Sam up, a solid heat holding Sam open. "Yeah," Bucky says, low, rubbing his cheek against Sam's shoulder. "Hang on."

Having Bucky pull out of him makes Sam ache, but it's probably for the best-- Sam doesn't have a serum-enhanced asshole, and getting more lube does feel good. Bucky's a lot more careful this time, easing his fingers in and out, letting Sam get hot enough for it to start fucking himself slowly on Bucky's fingers before slipping them back out.

Another condom wrapper hits the floor. The first one's probably tied up in Bucky's pocket now, a filthy little reminder of what they got up to, and Sam takes a deep breath when Bucky gets himself lined up and sinks in all over again. They finally managed to take the edge off, between Sam blowing Bucky earlier and this first dirty wall fuck; Bucky goes slow this time, groaning softly in Sam's ear with every thrust.

"Sam, fuck," Bucky groans, "can you-- I want to kiss you, can you turn, can you--" He gets an arm around Sam's chest, letting his arm take Sam's weight instead of the wall, and Sam twists halfway around, opening his mouth up so Bucky can have everything he wants.

He almost doesn't have the angle to look at Bucky, barely gets a glimpse of the desperate look on Bucky's face, but then-- then his eyes are open, and he's looking out toward the open area just before the hallway of public hookups. People are out there, watching what's going on down here; there are people watching Sam and Bucky, staring openly at what Bucky's doing to Sam, the way it's making Sam's face contort with pleasure. Sam cries out, reaching back for Bucky's hip, pulling him in closer.

Bucky slides his metal hand up and down Sam's body, down from his hip to his thigh, back up to his chest, all the way up to his throat and the side of his jaw. Sam turns his head, flicking his tongue out at Bucky's fingers, and Bucky gives them to him, lets Sam suck on his fingers and taste metal along with just a hint of lube and spunk-- no wonder, there's enough of it. It's so good-- it's keeping Sam right here, on the edge, ratcheting up his arousal more and more.

He opens his eyes again and looks out at the crowd. A flash of light off someone's drink catches Sam's eye, and he traces that flash back to the man holding the glass. Of course it's Zemo. Of course it is. Zemo takes another drink, his eyes moving slowly over Sam and Bucky, his chest lifting with every controlled breath he takes.

Sam gasps around Bucky's fingers, and Bucky takes his hand back, moving it down to Sam's cock. It's almost over right then, right there, but Sam twists around again, tries to ask for it. "Buck--" His tongue trails over his lips; he hopes that's invitation enough.

It works. Bucky brings his mouth down on Sam's, and from the angle they're at, Sam wonders if Bucky's looking out at their audience, too, seeing the people who are watching Bucky's metal hand moving up and down on Sam's cock. Looking out as Zemo watches both of them. Sam wonders if it's as good for Bucky as it is for him; it's so good Sam's not sure he's going to survive this, it's possible his heart's going to give out.

Bucky draws his hand up Sam's cock one more time, vibranium moving in a slippery twist under the head, and Sam yells out, gasping and shouting against Bucky's mouth. His heart might not be giving out, but he's aching everywhere, certain he's going to collapse, letting himself fall against Bucky's arm while Bucky takes his last few strokes and comes again, cock pulsing in Sam's ass, still holding Sam up somehow.

"Jesus Christ," Sam mumbles. "I can't feel my goddamn legs, Buck."

"I've got you," Bucky murmurs, kissing the back of Sam's neck. "It's okay. I've got you."

He's still half-zoned out as Bucky digs up a handkerchief from somewhere, cleans up Sam and the wall and picks up their leftover condom wrappers, and then goes right back to holding him, his arms folded around Sam, giving Sam space to catch his breath and rest.

Eventually Sam decides he can move again, and he gets his clothes in order, then turns his back to the wall, sagging there, looking up at Bucky. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," Bucky offers back.

They're gentle about it now; Bucky's mouth is warm on Sam's, kissing him like there's nowhere he'd rather be, like he could sink into Sam's arms and just stay there. Sam has a feeling Bucky's getting the same thing from him, because he can't remember the last time a kiss felt like this one: soft and content, touching someone else because the connection between them is too good to let go.

"Well. If you two are busy, let me know, but I found him."

Bucky pulls away; Sam forces himself upright. The mission. Jesus. Sam's out of his damn mind, losing focus like this.

Zemo gives a slight bow and makes an "after you" gesture, which Bucky ignores, pushing Zemo ahead of him, following along after Sharon. Sam brings up the rear, ignoring the ache in his ass and the way his legs are close to trembling. He's toughed it out through worse, and they're almost at the end of the search. As long as Wilfred Nagel isn't mass-producing serum, they might actually be able to wrap this up, find Karli Morgenthau, get Zemo back to prison, and go home.

Chapter Text

Nagel isn't mass-producing serum.

He's not producing anything anymore. Sam's sitting in a safehouse with the man who outright murdered Nagel, because of course that's what Zemo was going to do. Sam and Bucky wanted to stop him; Zemo had to make it permanent.

Other than Zemo, the only idea Sam has about where to find the Flag Smashers-- and, hopefully, the other dozen vials of serum-- is to try and crash a community leader's funeral. And now there are Wakandans after Zemo, too. Sam has no illusions that telling the Dora Milaje "hey, this wasn't my idea" is going to keep his ass un-whupped.

But, well, his ass has been getting a real workout since Bucky pushed himself into Sam's search for the Flag Smashers. And as much as he'd like to think it had everything to do with the anything-goes attitude in Madripoor, here they are in Latvia, and Bucky pulls Sam aside, upstairs into a bedroom, saying, "Sam-- can I--"

"Yeah," Sam says, though admittedly, he sounds a little more resigned than into it.

Bucky frowns at him. "You all right?" he asks, backing off.

"No, I'm fine. I'm okay. I don't have to be happy with you to want to fuck you, right?"

That makes Bucky flinch. He's got some damn nerve. "I'm sorry about Madripoor," he says.

"You-- no, don't be sorry about Madripoor," Sam says, "I was in it with you, it was both of us."

Bucky frowns a little harder. "Okay, then... what..."

Sam's lips tighten, this is not the conversation he wants to be having right now-- God, it would've been so much easier to just let Bucky fuck him and deal with whatever's in his head later. "You don't think this is getting a little bit past the point of sometimes we fuck? We're not gonna be working together forever. Separate long vacations, remember?"

Sometimes Sam wonders if Hydra put Bucky in that mask because he's got nothing resembling a poker face. Bucky looks like Sam just kicked him in the balls, and what the hell, Sam's just repeating what Bucky said in the first place. "So you're done?"

"You don't think that would be smarter?"

Bucky almost manages a smile, but it's more a twist of his lips, and it doesn't get all the way to his eyes. "I don't think I care about the smart move anymore."

Well. Damn. Sam steps a little closer, Bucky meets him halfway, and Bucky's arms go around Sam's waist. Kissing Bucky makes Sam ache a little, but Sam's dragging him back to the bed anyway, keeping him close. Bucky ends up on top of him, arms framing Sam's face, kissing him deep and slow like that last kiss in Madripoor, and Sam is gone, he's fucked, of course he spent two years of his life in hiding because of this guy, of course he said yes about Zemo, that's just the way this is, now, and he might as well own up to it, to himself if not out loud.

They stop for a breath, and Bucky eases back a little so he can see Sam's face. "Yeah?" he asks softly.

"Yeah," Sam says, and Bucky smiles like the sun coming out from the clouds.

It's not picking up heat the way it usually does, it's just a lot of kissing, Sam taking his time and exploring Bucky's body over clothes, soaking it up when Bucky moans and shows Sam what he likes (all of it, he likes all of it, it's like having Sam touch him is something he's been missing out on forever, and Sam's getting so high off that feeling he's half-ashamed of himself), and Sam's thinking about maybe getting a hand into Bucky's pants when Zemo clears his throat and Bucky rolls off Sam, putting his body between Sam and Zemo, and--

"Where the hell did that come from," Sam says, because he's been feeling Bucky up for a good twenty minutes and he does not remember a knife on Bucky's person, damn. But Bucky's got it and he's aiming it at Zemo, and once he sees who's standing in the doorway looking at them, he tosses it onto the nightstand.

"It's customary to close your door if you're looking for privacy," Zemo says, smug little shit, but he adds, "It's late enough now that there are locals around. We could begin our search for information about Donya Madani." He shrugs and tilts his head slightly. "Or we could delay for a little longer. I have no complaints."

Sam lets himself fall back against the pillows and stares up at the ceiling. "Give us a minute," he says.

"Of course," Zemo says smoothly, and a few seconds later Sam hears his footsteps going back down the stairs.

Bucky turns back to look at Sam. "We should--"

"Yeah, we should." Sam reaches out and strokes his hand down Bucky's arm. Bucky looks a lot more alert than Sam would've given him credit for, but his lips are still red and swollen from all the kissing, and Sam's no saint, he wants to see Bucky's lips just that color, stretched around his dick. Later. "Still want to know where you're keeping knives that I didn't find them in all that."

Bucky grins. "Ankle sheath."

"Fair." Sam sits up. "He's got a point about the door, by the way. Did you know he was watching us at the party?"

Bucky hesitates, but nods. "Yeah. I saw that."

"Are you leaving doors open because--"

"...maybe," Bucky admits.

"Zemo, though."

"Sure, let's finish with the Flag Smashers and go home and find someone on Grindr," Bucky says, rolling his eyes. "We can have it posted to, what's it called, the DMZ, about 30 seconds after we do it."

"The--" Sam frowns. Posted to the demilitarized zone, what-- no, he realizes what Bucky meant a second later, and can't help cracking a smile. "TMZ," he corrects. "I mean, you're not wrong, but what, you trust Zemo not to record us and post it online?"

"I think he'd be in it for his own reasons, like he was at the party."

"I mean, you're not wrong, he hasn't tried to record us yet, but--" Something else occurs to Sam, and he has to ask: "Wait a minute, what the hell do you know about Grindr?"

Bucky just ignores that one. "Besides," he says, "Zemo owes me. He did try to sell me."

"I remember. Believe me," Sam says. He reaches up and touches Bucky's chin, draws his thumb down the cleft. Bucky exhales softly. "I would've put up every last cent Smiling Tiger had to his name on you, by the way."

"Yeah?" Bucky grins.

"Yeah. Sorry to say, but Sam Wilson is dead-ass broke."

"That's okay. Sam Wilson can have all this for free," Bucky says, and Sam is determined not to take that too seriously, but it's a hell of a long way from we're not dating, we're not together, sometimes we fuck. It would be nice not to be in this on his own.


Walker and Hoskins running up on them is about the last thing Sam needed. The head start he got talking to Karli was almost enough, he thinks, to get her reconsidering her methods-- but when Walker struts in and tries to take over, he can see her shutting down and locking Sam out in an instant.

Fuck that guy. Fuck that guy so much.

The one thing Walker gets right is banging the shield into Zemo's head, and doing it after Zemo smashes every vial of serum into shards. Thank God Zemo was quick enough; the government would've wanted to study that shit, and Walker would've kept those vials so he could bring them on home and get another damn medal.

Sam won't go as far as Zemo, not now, not ever-- it's never going to feel right to Sam, judging a person by what the serum could do to them instead of by what they choose to do with that power once they have it-- but even Zemo won't say how he feels about their mutual... ally, if that's what Bucky and Zemo are to each other. Whether Bucky deserves to be pushed in there with all the others, when none of this shit was his choice to begin with.

But the way things went down with Karli and Walker leaves Sam burning with frustration, and from what he sees in Bucky's face when he gets back to the hideout, it's no better for him.

"Something's not right about Walker," Bucky says.

"You don't say," Sam slings back.

"Well, I know a crazy when I see one," Bucky says, pulling a glass out and pouring himself a scotch, "because I am crazy."

"Can't argue with that," Sam says, though he can't bring any heat to it.

Bucky, though. Bucky can bring something. He takes a drink and tells Sam, "Shouldn't have given him the shield."

Nope. No. Sam's been trying to keep them clear of this fight, knowing that he and Bucky aren't on the same page, that they're maybe not even reading out of the same book, but he's too tense to let that slide, and he gets to his feet, heading over. "I didn't give him the shield--"

"Well, Steve definitely didn't."

"Is this what you want to get into right now? Really?" Sam pulls Bucky's glass out of his hand and sets it down on the counter.

Bucky hesitates and looks Sam in the eyes, and whatever he sees makes him suck a breath in through his teeth.

"Sam--"

"You want to get into something?" Sam lifts his chin, steps into Bucky's space. He knows, and he can see from the look on his face that Bucky knows, that Sam's not talking about a fight. Maybe that's why Bucky doesn't back up; maybe that's why his eyes are going dark.

It won't help their situation, not really, but Sam's mad, and he's frustrated, and those feelings aren't going to get him anywhere, either. Bucky's the one person who can help Sam get them out in the air, used up and satisfied, and what the hell, sure, throw in Zemo while they're at it. Let him get a look at a super-soldier who's not a goddamn supremacist, who's just trying to find his way back from what so many people have used him for.

"Do you want to get into something?" Bucky asks, low down, right where it can hit Sam in the gut and make him feel like he's starving for it. "Because if you do, I've got you."

"So get me," Sam tells him.

Bucky glances past Sam's shoulder, and Sam looks behind him to track what he's seeing. Zemo, sitting up, the cool cloth across his eyes forgotten, watching the two of them with no attempt to disguise his interest.

"Here?" Bucky murmurs. "That's what you want?"

"Yeah," Sam says, feeling the rush of it sweep through him, heat moving through his whole body. He can feel his pulse pounding at his temples and the sides of his neck, at the base of his cock, and yeah: what Bucky's offering, that's what he wants.

Bucky gets his metal hand behind Sam's neck and holds onto him, and kisses him, rough enough that Sam meets it with aggression of his own. When Sam opens his eyes, he can see Bucky looking behind him-- Zemo, watching them, and God, despite every reason in the world he shouldn't be into this, Sam wants him to watch.

"Come here," Bucky says. "Come with me."

He leads Sam over to the couch, and Sam gets rid of his jacket along the way, takes off his shirt while he's at it, letting everything just drop to the floor. He throws himself down on the half of the L-shape that Zemo isn't taking up, hands laced behind his head, chest bare and exposed. Bucky gets down on his knees and pushes Sam's legs apart, burying his face between them, and even with Sam's jeans and boxer-briefs still on, he lights up and groans, hands clenching to keep himself from grabbing Bucky by the hair and thrusting up against him.

Sam meets Zemo's eyes while Bucky keeps going, his tongue rubbing hot and heavy against the denim over Sam's cock. Zemo's transfixed, staring at the both of them, and when Sam tilts his head back and moans again, he hears Zemo's breath hitch.

It's good-- there's no world where Bucky's mouth in proximity to Sam's cock isn't going to be good-- but it's not enough, not quite what Sam was looking for. He brings a hand down onto Bucky's head, grips Bucky by the hair and pulls him back.

"Hey," Sam says. "Bucky."

Bucky looks up at him. "What do you need?"

"I need you off your knees, man." He lowers his voice and lets Bucky's hair go. "Please."

For a split-second Bucky's eyebrows draw together in confusion-- but Sam sees the instant it hits and Bucky gets it, gets him, and Bucky comes off the floor in a move that's graceful, threatening, and fast. He puts his metal hand behind Sam's neck to hold Sam's head still, grips Sam's left wrist in his right hand and pins it down against the back of the couch-- oh, fuck, that's good-- and his knee comes down between Sam's legs, pressing up hard against Sam's balls and his dick, trapping Sam in place unless Sam wants to risk getting hurt.

Sam's noise isn't a word or a plea, it's just a sound of relief and sheer gratitude, and Bucky crushes his mouth to Sam's, tongue plunging in and forcing Sam to open up for him. Sam's still got one hand free, so he reaches for Bucky's metal arm with it, squeezing Bucky's forearm and feeling the flex and bend of the metal plating, rubbing his fingertips up and down.

In the background, Sam can hear Zemo breathing. It's gotten louder, stronger. Bucky draws his mouth away from Sam's for a minute and looks over at Zemo, and Sam looks at Bucky. For all that his expression is hard and intent, there's also a certain desperation in Bucky's face, a little bit like the look he gets when he's close and just needs a little bit more to go over.

"Bucky," Sam murmurs. He bends forward-- he can only get a fraction of an inch closer to Bucky, given the way Bucky's still got a grip on the back of his neck, but he tries anyway, trying to brush his nose against Bucky's cheek. "Please."

That gets Bucky's eyes back on his, and Bucky nods, then pushes Sam down onto his back, stretched across the couch. This angle puts Sam's head toward the juncture of the L-shape, so all he has to do is turn his head to see Zemo watching the both of them. Zemo's gotten comfortable, and he's still holding his drink, but he's so focused on both of them that he's barely blinking, and his chest is rising and falling like it did at the party, steady like he's having to make it steady.

Bucky holds Sam down at the shoulders and kisses his neck, nuzzling in and forcing Sam's head up, angling him away from looking at Zemo. Sam gets his legs apart again, makes room for Bucky there, and Bucky takes him up on it, grinding down against him, his hard-on pressed against Sam's thigh. Sam's every bit as hard, and it's fantastic. "Yeah," Sam murmurs, letting his eyes slip closed. "Yeah, come on, Bucky, give it to me."

Bucky sinks his teeth in, gentle at first, but when Sam arches and groans and tries to get more, Bucky gives it to him. He sucks hard, bites harder, to the point where Sam knows he's leaving a bruise. Sam gasps out loud and rocks up, trying to get more. "Yeah, want that, give me that," he gasps, "do it, here for it, give it to me."

"Right here," Bucky murmurs, coming up to lick over Sam's lower lip and then kiss him again. Sam can't help moaning against Bucky's mouth, and Bucky swallows that, takes it in like it's what he's owed. Sam shakes under him, hands coming up to Bucky's shoulders, squeezing.

He presses gently, and Bucky draws back. "Tell me," Bucky says. "What do you need?"

It feels-- big, somehow, to say it out loud, but Sam isn't going to get what he needs if he doesn't say the damn words. "Just-- be strong," Sam says, and pushes harder.

There's another flicker of confusion, and then heat, Bucky's face tight with arousal and need. He grabs one of Sam's hands, and suddenly it's man against machine and super-soldier in one, Bucky pushing Sam's hand down to the couch cushions and locking him down. Sam could maybe roll Bucky off, but when Bucky's strength is all coming down to bear against him, he can tell that even if he gets Bucky to shift once, in the end it's going to be a losing battle.

He pushes even harder against Bucky's other shoulder, and Bucky grabs his other hand and pins it the same way. Sam gasps and twists and arches up under him, and he feels his dick pulse, pre-come slicking the head. He licks his lips, hips moving, finally looking up at Bucky and letting Bucky see it, all his desperation and need.

"Fuck," Bucky says, heartfelt, and Sam-- well. It's not losing anything to admit he whimpers when he hears it, right? Because what it means is that Bucky wants this just as much as Sam does, and that he's a little shocked he does. And if it makes Zemo groan, too, that just makes it all so much hotter, Bucky getting off on how much he wants to pin Sam down, Zemo groaning in pleasure watching Bucky come to terms with it.

"Do this," Sam says, "do it while you're fucking me," and Bucky squeezes Sam's wrists, his eyes shutting tight. "Don't go easy. I need to feel it."

Bucky gets his eyes open and breathes, "I want you to. I want--" He leans down and kisses Sam again, and Sam gives it all up, opens his mouth and lets Bucky take over. He's dizzy by the time Bucky lets him up, and he stays where he's been put while Bucky strips down and gets Sam out of the rest of his clothes, too.

Then Bucky's on him again, pushing Sam's legs up onto Bucky's shoulders. He puts his metal hand on Sam's hip, holding him in place, and he licks his lips as he starts working his cock with his right hand, rough and quick.

Zemo leans down to the floor and sets his drink there, and when Sam tears his eyes away from what Bucky's doing to see what exactly Zemo's gotten up to, all he sees is that Zemo's leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded together and his chin on his hands. Sam doesn't want him talking, exactly, but knowing that he's there and he's enjoying it, that he's stopped even pretending to have anything he wants to do but take in the whole picture, that's-- that's good, Sam can kind of see what it can do for a person.

But all his attention narrows to one point when Bucky drags his cock down Sam's ass, leaving a trail of pre-come along it, and Sam sucks in a breath, wondering if Bucky thinks Sam can take it with no lube at all. They've been getting up to a lot in the last week or so, but Bucky's big, his cock's impressive, it would definitely hurt. Sam's not at all sure whether he wants Bucky to try that, if he could take it.

He realizes a second later that that's not what Bucky planned. Bucky angles low and comes, and comes, and he's shooting all over Sam's ass and thighs, streaking Sam's skin again and again and again, and yes, yeah, Bucky's spunk might not be the best lube ever known to man, but it is exactly what Sam wants to have happen, and he drops his hand between his legs, starts pushing his fingers and Bucky's come into his hole before Bucky's even finished.

"Oh my God," Bucky groans, "oh, fuck, Sam," and he uses his metal fingers to help, sweeping some of the spunk off Sam's thigh and pushing his fingers inside, too, his fingers along with Sam's. He can reach further, he can stretch Sam more, and this hurts, it burns, it's perfect. Sam draws his fingers back and lets Bucky take over, lets his eyes fall closed, and he doesn't even try not to make all the noises he needs to make, he just gasps and groans and lets Bucky open him and stretch him and slick him up with all that come.

When Bucky finally draws his hand back, Sam blinks his eyes open again. Bucky gathers up one last palm full of come from Sam's thighs and slides it down his own cock, and oh, yeah, this is absolutely Sam's favorite of all of Bucky's enhanced abilities, the way he's hard as vibranium already and ready to go. Sam gives him a nod, and Bucky exhales through pursed lips, but he's going for it, moving into Sam now, making Sam cry out because that stretch is a lot.

Off to the side, Zemo lets out a long, soft noise of his own, and Bucky closes his eyes for a second before drawing back and pushing in a little deeper. Sam nods at him, hard, and licks his lips. "Go on," he says, low, rumbling. It feels like he's drawing up his voice from the deepest part of his psyche, past reason and past the parts that can make good choices. He's been angry and frustrated and tired, and Bucky's making him feel like he can finally let things loose and uncoil.

"You good?" Bucky asks. His voice has gone breathless, and he waits to catch Sam's eye and get another nod before he moves. And then-- oh, fuck, Sam knew it would hurt, knew it would feel like being stretched beyond what he could take, but right now Bucky's making it feel like it's never felt before, like he's going to find out what happens when he's got all his boundaries and barriers broken to pieces.

Sam reaches for Bucky's metal hand and squeezes. "Get me," he pants. "Need you."

Bucky gets him, all right; he pins both of Sam's hands up above his head, and starts moving, deep and strong and giving Sam everything he needed. Sam can't stop moving, can't stop staring up at Bucky, just arches and pants for it and rocks his hips to get more. Bucky dips his head down, brushes a kiss over Sam's lips, and Sam tries to lean up to get another.

When Bucky kisses him again, Sam loses it. Everything's right up at the surface now: fury, disappointment, fear, outrage, need, desperation, how goddamn much he feels for Bucky, even though he never meant for things to get this far. None of this is safe, fuck, but he trusts the man he's with-- once Bucky earned his trust, Sam's never once regretted giving it.

His eyes are leaking tears down his cheeks, but he's hard and he's shaking and he's close, and when Bucky takes one hand off Sam's to cup Sam's cheek, Sam tears his mouth away from Bucky's and yells it out, coming and seeing stars and pulling Bucky as close as he can with his free hand. Bucky rests his forehead against Sam's and comes with a groan, too, steady and solid and there for Sam, holding them both together.

"I'm here," Bucky murmurs. "I'm right here. I've got you."

Sam's chest aches, a little like it would if he'd pushed too hard after a long run, but it feels like it's been stitched back together, too. He's not going to complain about Bucky kissing his face, his cheeks and his forehead and his mouth and his chin, still whispering I'm here and I've got you, over and over again. He's just going to soak it all up, let himself feel it.

Somewhere along the way he groans and tries to stretch his legs out, and Bucky shifts to let him, still tangled up with him, both arms curled around Sam now, letting Sam come down from all this in just the slightest bit of shelter.

And the reason for that makes itself known with a soft sigh. Zemo sounds a little out of breath as he says, "Beautiful."

Sam snorts. Bucky looks down at him and laughs soundlessly, just a little hiccup of motion on top of Sam's chest.

Zemo stands up; Sam can see that from the corner of his eye. He doesn't turn his head to take in any more detail than that. If Zemo's got a hard-on to deal with, he can do that on his own.

"You would have to do this while I'm suffering a head injury. I suppose you'll tell me later that I was hallucinating," Zemo sighs.

"Probably," Bucky says.

"Definitely," Sam agrees.

But with that, Zemo's done with them. He walks away, either to give them some privacy or find some of his own, and Sam really doesn't give a shit. He wraps his arms around Bucky and holds on, and Bucky settles down with him, clearly in no hurry to go anywhere, either.

Chapter Text

They've gotten dressed, thankfully, by the time Walker comes chasing after the two of them and Zemo.

Zemo already has a drink in hand, while Bucky pours himself another. Before Sam can ask Bucky to set him up with one as well, though, the doors bang open and Walker makes some rude as fuck demands, and that, because Sam Wilson Cannot Have Nice Things, is when the Dora Milaje show up.

Well, okay, actually, watching the Dora Milaje whup Walker's ass is kind of a nice thing, but Sam comes to his senses after a few seconds. Stepping in to try to get them to talk seemed like a good idea at the time, but then Sam's having to block spear hits with his shoulder and elbow (and fuck that hurts), Ayo drops Bucky's vibranium arm to the ground, and Walker winds up sitting on his ass, with another Dora-- her name's Yama, Bucky tells him later-- slamming her foot down on Steve's shield and catching it on her arm.

Sam appreciates beauty in a lot of different forms, but it takes his breath away for a hot minute to see an elite Wakandan warrior wearing that shield. It doesn't look out of place on her. It looks better on her than it does on Walker, and it makes Sam feel some kind of way to watch her hand it back to Walker, when the shield doesn't belong in Walker's hands to begin with.

When the dust clears, Zemo's gone, the Dora Milaje have left, and Walker and Hoskins get the fuck out. Bucky winces as he reattaches his arm, windmilling to get it fully locked and loaded again, and Sam follows Bucky out to the street. God knows what Walker's going to do after all of that, and it's probably better if they're in motion in case something goes wrong.


The first sign that shit's going to get worse-- a lot worse-- is the call from Sarah. Sam feels his bile rise and his blood run cold as Sarah lays it all out for him, the way Karli reached out to her, how Karli was cool as a cucumber while she talked about killing Sam, killing Sarah, the boys, how she knew about what the Wilson house looks like in Delacroix.

Sam knows this bullshit, he knows how to be calm and tell someone what to do if they have to bug the hell out of home, but his sister. Her babies, the ones who turned into little men while Sam was away.

"Pack an overnight bag," Sam says, "and take the boys."

Bucky's head snaps up when Sam says that. "What happened?"

"Karli called Sarah. She threatened my nephews."

Sam finishes the phone call and texts the number Sarah gave him, and stares out into nothing for a few seconds when he sees Karli's response. He turns to Bucky.

"She said come alone."

"I'm coming with you," Bucky tells him.

He's not Walker. It's not going to go south immediately when Karli gets a look at Bucky. And, God, Sam doesn't want to walk into what's probably a trap or an ambush or a firefight on his own.

So he takes Bucky up on it, grateful, and they go back to Zemo's, get Sam into his gear. The rage that was threatening to boil over earlier is at a simmer now. He can't be as cool and calm as he was when he and Karli had their first conversation, but when he and Bucky walk into the courtyard at North Plaza, he can ask questions first, throw punches second.

But maybe Bucky was right about Karli; maybe she's not as different from people like Zemo or other terrorists as Sam thought. She throws around threats and posturing like it's nothing, says Sam's death would mean nothing. She doesn't see a difference between people who are trying to stop violence and death and people who are just on the government's side because they've been taught to follow orders without question.

Whether he can get through to her or not, he has to tell her that she's gone too far, that she has to stop, and then Sharon's voice in his ear tells him that Walker's coming to fuck it all up again.

And if Sam thought it couldn't get worse, he was a fool. It can always get worse. It can turn out Sam was wrong about Zemo getting rid of all the super-soldier serum, and he was wrong about what Walker would do with it if he got his hands on it. It can end with Walker's partner dead on the ground, and Walker out of control with rage, a thousand cameras in the crowd catching him lifting up Steve's shield and screaming. It can end with Sam and Bucky coming around the corner only to stare in horror at the damage, another man dead, Steve's shield stained with blood.

He can feel accusation flooding off Bucky, and Christ, maybe he deserves it. If he'd held onto the shield, maybe there never would've been an attempt to make another Captain America. If he'd destroyed it, there's a Flag Smasher who might have survived this fight.

It might all be too late, but Sam's taking that shield back no matter what it costs.

If it costs him pain, broken ribs, bruises, he's seen worse.

If it costs him his wings, he'll let himself be grounded.

If it costs him Bucky, tossing the shield on the ground next to Sam and walking away from him, walking off alone without a word, then it'll hurt. It wasn't what he thought was going to happen. They were together on this, he thought, but maybe there's no coming back from what Walker did to the shield.

There's still Isaiah, and what Isaiah sacrificed in the name of God and country. Sam has to make that right, somehow.

There's still Sarah, and the boys, and the boat. Sam can call in favors and see if the Wilson name has enough love left in the community to get that boat fixed.

He's not jumping every time his phone buzzes, hoping for a word from a metal-armed former assassin who was never any good at returning Sam's texts anyway.

He was, at first, but he stops after the first time it makes him drink himself to sleep and wake up hung over. Hung over in a house with two young men is a bad, bad idea, and Sam makes himself get up, pack up their lunches, play Mario Kart with them before they go to school, and he pukes over the side of the boat later, figuring he got what was coming to him.

Chapter Text

The days get a little easier.

Nobody's coming after the shield. Not the senator who gave it to Walker, and sure as hell not the Smithsonian. Sam's actually getting to know Nikole, the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, pretty well. He's on the phone with her or Hannah, her top aide, every few days, going over the plan for Isaiah's exhibit. Isaiah's on board as long as it doesn't tell people where to find him, and even though Sam tells Isaiah again (and again, and again), that Black Twitter is never going to let this go, that his days of anonymity are probably numbered, Isaiah tells Sam he's fooling himself, that nobody's going to give a damn about him now just like they didn't give a damn about him for thirty years and then some.

Sam hopes Isaiah's wrong, but the exhibit's a long way off. Museums don't work fast, he's finding out, which is part of how the shield slipped out of their grasp in the first place. (Hannah nearly left Sam deaf in one ear when she let him know how she felt about the senator's staff coming to take it out of the display.)

Down at the pier, Tommie and Carlos make Sam's day when they tell him they've found a replacement for the diesel engine in the boat, and Sam's just marveling at it-- they found a whole-ass diesel engine, that's a piece the boat desperately needed and that he and Sarah couldn't possibly have afforded on their own-- and coming down to Earth enough to realize they don't have a crane out here, the thing weighs almost two tons, how the hell are they going to get it off the truck, let alone into the boat--

--and it moves, and suddenly somebody's lifting it, walking a few steps away with it, and setting it down.

Sam knows so many people with super-strength he'd need both hands and both feet to count them. He knows people with power suits. He knows a guy who could bring a Hot Wheels-sized crane truck in his pocket, slap a Pym particle disc onto it, and grow it up so they could lift whatever they want.

But life hasn't kicked Sam in the balls enough this week, apparently, because Bucky turns and looks over his shoulder and snarks, "You're welcome," at him. Sam comes slowly around the side of the truck, like he's got to take his time or Bucky's going to arch his back like a pissed-off feral cat and go running off again.

"Just dropping this off," Bucky says, hefting a black and silver case onto the back of the truck where the diesel engine was, "you can sign for it and I'll go." He steps away so Sam can get a better look at it. "I called in a favor from the Wakandans," he says, like anybody else could've made something like that, all sleek angles and smooth glassy textures, with what looks like a biometric lock on the front.

A thousand things come to the top of Sam's mind, all kinds of questions he wants to ask, but of course the goddamn boat springs a leak just then and Sam has to go try to tighten up a nut in order to get it to stop spraying. He's struggling to move the wrench when he feels a hand on his side, Bucky right behind him, sliding in to take over, and he gets the nut tightened, both of them looking at the pipes when he's through.

He's got to say something. Bucky's here, and he's... helping? So Sam says the first thing that comes to mind. "Why didn't you use the metal arm?"

"Well--" Bucky stops and looks at his hand. Sam could kick himself. All the things he could say to Bucky after the way they left things, and why didn't you use the metal arm came out of his mouth?

"I don't always think of it immediately," Bucky says. "I'm... right-handed."

I know, Sam thinks, but if he lets that fly, he's going to be saying shit he can't take back, and not just embarrassing, stupid shit like why didn't you use the metal arm.

Bucky doesn't have a handle on this conversation, either, though, because what he comes up with is, "So this is the boat, huh?"

"This is it."

"It's nice."

"You want any help?"

Sam exhales. They're not good, maybe, but that's an olive branch. It's a start.

"Yeah," he says, and tilts his head, leading Bucky back toward the bow. There's plenty to do. He can put Bucky to work.


Bucky goes all in, working harder than anybody but Sam and Sarah. He's lived a long life, and he had a couple years in hiding; maybe in all that time he picked up some experience on boats, or fixing mechanical shit, because he looks right at home working on the boat, needing surprisingly little instruction to help make things better.

It doesn't escape Sam's notice that Bucky stays close to him all day. It makes Sam a little nervous, of course it does, because he still doesn't know how to talk to this man, and there's a lot between them, more than just some unfinished business with the Flag Smashers and a shield Steve left to Sam.

And, God, it's not fair that Sam turns around sometimes and Bucky's doing something ridiculous, like twirling a painter's tool around in his hand like he's trying to work out how many ways he could kill a person with it, or coming around and just ripping up a metal railing that Sam's been trying to get off with a crowbar for the last ten minutes. Little things, like getting close and not getting close, at the same time. Bucky didn't need to come out here, and Sam didn't expect him to stick around, but when he makes noises about getting a hotel room and having a flight out, Sam's gut clenches and he tries to be smooth about it, all while wanting to say, stay.

So he says it.

And Bucky stays.


Sarah gets Bucky set up on the couch, and Sam is a little surprised to hear a quiet knock on his bedroom door after everyone else has gone to sleep. He's already brushed his teeth and gotten into a soft t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and for everything they've done, it still leaves Sam feeling half-naked, like maybe he should have put on his jeans before opening the door.

Bucky's still dressed, everything but his boots. He does a pretty good job of not checking Sam out, although maybe that's because he's too busy noticing the case from Wakanda, tucked in the corner, still unopened.

"You know if you need anything," Sam says, but he gets that far into the sentence and then he can't figure out how he wants to finish it. "If you need anything, I'm right here."

"Okay," Bucky says. He tucks his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. "Thanks for letting me stay here."

He said that to Sarah, already, when he was taking pillows and sheets from her, but Sam doesn't mind hearing it again.

"Thanks for being here," he says.

"Long day," Bucky says, and-- is this small talk? It kind of sounds like it.

"A lot of hard work," Sam agrees. "Making progress, though."

"Yeah." Bucky blows out a breath and then just-- gives up, maybe, because he says, "I'm trying to figure out how to get this conversation to turn into having my hands on you. Got any ideas?"

"How about you just come over here and do it," Sam offers, and Bucky comes over and slides his hands onto Sam's waist, Sam's hands moving up Bucky's chest, and Sam couldn't say who starts it, but once they're kissing, Sam doesn't want it to end.

It feels like asking too much, taking a step back toward the bed, but Bucky goes with it, and in another few steps, they're up against it, neither one of them quite ready to make a move and get this horizontal. It's crazy-- Bucky's taken Sam apart every which way, they've done it in a room full of people, they fucked in front of Zemo, for crying out loud, but somehow Sam's bed in Sam's house is too much?

Maybe it's because what happens at the Avengers compound stays at the Avengers compound, and when in Madripoor, do what the pirate sex underground does, but here, it's just them. It's just home.

Sam presses against Bucky's shoulders, and Bucky slides into Sam's bed. Sam follows, climbing on top of him and straddling him.

"I'm glad you're here," Sam whispers.

Bucky reaches up and cups Sam's face in his hands. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

"How far do you want to take this?"

Bucky tilts his head, like he's listening for house noises or anybody moving. "I don't want to wake anybody up," he says.

"Well, you're the loud one, so that's up to you," Sam says. He doesn't hold his smirk back, especially when Bucky looks back at him with a dropped jaw and a semi-mortified look on his face.

"Does anybody know about me?" Bucky asks, his hands moving around to Sam's back.

Sam remembers Sarah, giving him a look the day Sam woke up hung over; shaking her head and squeezing Sam's shoulder and not saying a word. Treating Bucky like family, once he showed up and put in all the work on the boat.

"Maybe," Sam hedges. "Not the boys, though."

"Yeah. If that's not a conversation you want to have..."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Please. They've had kids in class with them who have two moms, they know Tommie and Carlos aren't just roommates."

"Yeah, but-- me." Bucky digs his metal fingers in against Sam's hip, not too hard, just a little pressure.

Sam brushes Bucky's hair back from his forehead and leans down to kiss him again. "I brought you home," he says quietly, seriously. "It's up to you how far you want this to go."

"Oh," Bucky whispers. "Okay."

They don't make love, not so much because the mood's not there, more because it's not that kind of night. It feels more like a night to hold on, get to know what it feels like when it's not hurried or frantic or just because there's someone nearby who said yes that one time and might say yes again. Bucky sneaks out of Sam's room in the middle of the night, and Sam wakes up when AJ and Cass come running up the stairs, a suspicious metal clatter-clatter-clang making him think they might've been playing with the shield again and this time they woke up the sleeping guest on the couch. But they're laughing, and that means Bucky didn't scare them-- so Bucky didn't have a nightmare under Sam's roof.

The warm feeling in Sam's chest feels like it could lift him off the ground all by himself.


They hash it all out in the yard, passing the shield back and forth, slinging it at trees covered in old gym mats. What the shield meant to Bucky, how it was hard for Sam to think about picking it up when it has layers for a Black man that it didn't have for Steve.

Things that worked for Steve aren't always going to work for Sam, and they're not always going to work for Bucky, either. Bucky's got his own path to clear, and his own amends to make.

But that shield's not all the family Bucky has left. And the warmth of Bucky's hand in his makes Sam believe he knows it, too.

So it doesn't sting when Bucky has to leave. There's a lot he has to do, and there are things Sam needs to decide for himself, not because he knows what they'll mean to Bucky.

When the decision's made, Sam doesn't look back. He learns to make the shield a part of himself. It can't be Steve's shield anymore, and it was never Walker's shield.

It's Captain America's shield. And it belongs to Sam.


He was right about Karli. She doubles down, and makes the wrong choices too many times, but it still kills him to have it go the way it does. Sharon making the call that Sam wouldn't, he understands it, he can't put blame on her for it, but he still grieves over Karli, tries to imagine a world where she'd brought her ideals home without having to put violence and death into the mix. (He's pretty sure his speech doesn't hit the way Steve's used to; goddamn, that man could extemporize. Sam's the son of a fisherman, not a preacher, so the speeches don't come natural or easy, and he just has to speak from the heart. From the way Bucky smiles at him after, he thinks maybe he did okay.)

So now he's got the shield, and the new suit, and claimed the name that Steve passed down to him.

He takes Isaiah to the exhibit when it opens, watches the way Isaiah keeps touching his wedding ring as he walks through, and then how it moves him: how he reaches out to Eli, how he pulls Sam into his arms and shakes. Sam's not ashamed to admit he leaves the exhibit teary-eyed, too.

Bucky texts him back, these days.

You good?

I'm good.

Sometimes with news that makes Sam pick up the actual phone to get Bucky's voice on the line.

Last name on the list. Going to see Yori tonight.

And sometimes he gets pictures that don't make sense until they do.

Bucky's empty-ass apartment, more empty than ever.

Moving boxes.

A destination slip: Delacroix, LA 70085.


The ice cream cake is a mess when they take the plastic lid off it, but nobody cares. AJ and Cass and the other kids dig in and argue over who gets the last Oreo to go with the cookies-and-cream. Bucky is, now and always, invited to the cookout, and Sam takes more than one opportunity to pull him close and just feel Bucky with him, welcome him home.

"I'm about ready to get out of here," Sam tells Bucky. "Want to go back to my place?"

"It's that or find a hotel," Bucky says, looking sidelong at Sam. "What do you think, is there a reason I should go back to your place instead?"

Sam body-checks him, laughing, and ruffles Bucky's hair. "I'll tell Sarah, you go ahead and get your stuff."

It takes Sam a good twenty minutes to say all his goodbyes and get back to the truck, but Bucky's just waiting, jacket draped over his shoulder, sunglasses on, smiling. Smiling. Sam leans in and steals a kiss, because-- he can't not, not with the sun going down and Bucky looking like that.

Somebody was watching, though, because he hears a couple of oooohhhh noises along with two young kids shouting Get it, Uncle Sam and someone shouting I knew it!

"Well," Bucky says, "sounds like maybe I don't need to sleep on the couch anymore."

"Come on," Sam says, shaking his head. "Y'all mind your business," he calls out, to more laughter, and he's smiling, too, as he and Bucky head home.


Back at the house, Sam draws Bucky upstairs, stopping every few steps to kiss him, right here, right in his home, because he can.

This time, once the door's shut and locked, there's no hesitating about getting into bed. Sam leaves his clothes thrown all over, Bucky strips down quick and efficient at the edge of the bed, and when Sam turns back to him, Bucky grabs Sam and throws him into the bed.

The bed groans its disapproval of the rough treatment. Sam's groan is anything but disapproval.

"We need to get you a new bed," Bucky says, kissing Sam's throat, reaching down to pull Sam's hands up to the bedrails.

"Mm-hm, yeah, okay," Sam says, bending his knees and getting Bucky right where Sam wants him. "Damn, you feel good."

"You, too," Bucky says, coming up and kissing him again. Sam sighs, feeling Bucky's hands on his wrists, one warm skin against warm skin, one metal and ridged, heating up by the minute. Bucky thrusts up against Sam's thigh, and Sam's head goes back, eyes falling shut. "God, Sam, you're beautiful, you know that?"

"I do," Sam answers, grinning. He looks up at Bucky. "Oh, I'm supposed to tell you you're beautiful, too, aren't I?"

"Depends on how bad you want me to fuck you," Bucky says, smirking right back at him.

"You are beautiful as all hell, you are so gorgeous I don't know how anybody goes into a room with you and doesn't just throw their pants right at you, you make angels weep, your abs could inspire books of poetry--"

"Sam!" Bucky laughs so hard he snorts, and then tucks his face against Sam's shoulder and takes a deep breath. "Sam."

Sam turns his head and kisses Bucky's hair. "Hey. Kiss me again, huh?"

Bucky lifts his head up and does, warm and strong, and Sam kisses him back, letting all the heat and need he's been feeling these last few weeks apart just unfurl from inside him, letting Bucky have it all. Bucky gives back as good as he gets, and when the temperature rises enough that Bucky's thrusting up against Sam's thigh and leaving smears of pre-come on Sam's skin, Sam reaches down between them, hand around both their cocks, rocking his own hips up while Bucky keeps thrusting, and kissing, and making Sam feel like he's going to go out of his damn mind.

"God," Bucky groans, "Sam," and he's coming, all over Sam's hand, all over both of them, the feel of it pushing Sam over, too, until Sam has to bite down on Bucky's shoulder to keep from making enough noise they could hear him down at the pier.

Sam has the presence of mind to grab a hand towel out from his nightstand so they can clean up before they get stuck together, but when that's done, he goes right back to kissing Bucky, long and slow, no need to go anywhere else or think about anything happening tomorrow. Bucky's here, and he's home, and he's staying.

Sam's bed is a little on the small side for two grown men trying to sleep, so Bucky spoons up behind Sam and wraps an arm around his chest. Sam spends a long time just smiling in the dark, listening to Bucky's soft, easy breathing, feeling the gentle motion of his chest as it rises and falls. No couch for Sam's man. Bucky is right where he needs to be.

Chapter Text

"Kind of too bad about the DMZ, isn't it," Sam says, the two of them home at last after a long trip to New York City. The Avengers aren't back yet, not really, but when there's something big enough that the kid in the red and blue onesie calls for help, Sam and Bucky can fly north and lend a hand.

Bucky's just out of the shower, hair slicked back and towel slung around his waist. He narrows his eyes at Sam. "The DMZ?"

"Mmm, hello there." Sam lets his eyes roam all over Bucky, which gets Bucky's attention. "Sorry, TMZ. You know. The reason we can't hit up Grindr for somebody who likes to watch."

"Oh," Bucky says softly. "Yeah. But it's not like I need it, you know that."

"I know that. Still sounds kind of good, though."

Bucky grins at him. "I wasn't sure you'd want a repeat. It was a while ago now."

"Just because it's not practical doesn't mean I'm not interested," Sam says. "I had a couple of ideas, if you want to hear them."

"Sounds promising." Bucky sprawls out on Sam's new bed-- bigger, sturdier, takes up most of the space in Sam's bedroom, but they're looking for a place of their own anyway, where they'll be out of Sarah's hair and don't have to worry about what happens to the the family home if someone comes looking for trouble-- and props his head up on his hand, his metal arm draped over his side, hand coming close to the place where his towel's gaping open. "What were you thinking?"

"Number one: we could put in mirrors when we get a new place. It's not the same, I know, but--"

"But I'd like it," Bucky admits. He slips his hand under his towel. "What's your other thought?"

Sam sweeps two fingers over his forearm-- where he's wearing his gauntlet. He brings Redwing up behind Bucky's shoulder; Redwing makes a friendly, warbling chirp at him.

"No," Bucky says, sitting up and waving his hand back over his shoulder.

Redwing dodges and flies around to Sam's side. Sam grins.

"You sure? I can make him promise he won't tell on us."

Redwing waggles his wings at Bucky, and Bucky glares at Sam.

"We can trust you, right, buddy?" Sam reaches up and strokes his fingers over Redwing's tail fin. Redwing blorps at him. "He says he's in if we're in."

"God. You're terrible. You're a terrible human being," Bucky groans, dropping onto his back and covering his eyes with his arm.

"Ahhh, you can't fool me with your ornery old man bullshit. You love me," Sam teases.

"That's beside the point, Sam. Tell your robot bird he does not get to watch us fuck."

Sam would, but he's realizing something else, now, and he powers down Redwing and takes his gauntlet off so he can climb onto the bed next to Bucky. "Hey," he says, skimming his fingers down Bucky's arm. Bucky lifts his arm up so he can look at Sam. "Something you want to tell me?"

"What?" Bucky sits up halfway, leaning on his elbows, and he draws his lower lip between his teeth, his eyebrows drawing together. "Oh."

"I promise, Redwing doesn't get to watch us fuck." Sam prods Bucky in the side. "You want to say that again, maybe?"

"...'That's beside the point'?"

Sam laughs, but he shifts and rolls on top of Bucky, trapping him. "Come on. Just say it."

"I'm working my way up to it," Bucky promises. "I spent a lot of time thinking it was just really good sex." He gets serious all at once, reaching up to touch Sam's cheek. "And then thinking it was just on my end, so I needed to leave you an out."

"Man, at what point in time did I look like I wanted out?" Sam asks. "You bat your eyelashes at me and it's, okay, Bucky, let's break the guy who blew up the U.N. out of prison."

"I know, I know, I figured it out eventually."

"Is that what was going on when you said 'sometimes we fuck, it doesn't have to be complicated'?"

Bucky chews on his lower lip and breaks eye contact at that one. "Yeah, not my best moment."

"It still doesn't have to be complicated," Sam says. Bucky looks back up at him. "I love you, man. It's not complicated."

Bucky gives Sam one of those smiles with his heart in his eyes, and then just as suddenly glares at him. "Fuck! I was supposed to get to say it first."

"You snooze, you lose, baby," Sam says, planting a kiss on Bucky's forehead. "Maybe if you'd said 'I love you, Sam' instead of 'that's beside the point'..."

"I love you, Sam, oh my God, why do you have to be so competitive..."

Sam twists his head and whistles the 'wake-up' note for Redwing; Redwing obediently comes to life and hovers over the bed. "Redwing, get this on video."

"Stop," Bucky groans, "what is wrong with you, why is this my life?"

"No, no, go back one. Right into the camera."

Bucky sighs and looks up at Redwing's camera. "I love you, Sam." He turns back to Sam. "Now shut it down."

"Why? He's not going to get in the way. We could make our own private recording..." Sam nuzzles the side of Bucky's neck. "Play it back later..."

"Have Shuri find the video next time you check the suit in for diagnostics..."

Sam cringes. "Redwing, shut down." He rolls off Bucky and rubs a hand over his face. "Okay, you win. No letting Redwing be our third."

"You never know. Our sex tape could go viral in Wakanda."

"Oh, that's what I need. Represent the United States, show everyone in Wakanda my ass. Literally."

But when Sam looks back at Bucky, he's got a thoughtful look on his face. Sam rolls on his side and runs his hand down Bucky's chest. "What's going on in that cyborg brain of yours?"

"Just thinking about Wakanda. We should go. Sometime when we don't have a mission and the world's not blowing up."

"And they're over you busting Zemo out of prison."

"Also that. It's just..." Bucky grins at Sam, and Sam raises an eyebrow. "I think I know somebody who'd make a good third."