Sam gasps as he feels himself inch up the mattress with each of Bucky’s forceful thrusts. Bucky glances at Sam’s face before returning his full attention to where they're connected. He grips Sam’s hips and jack rabbits into him.
Sam lets out a sob and flails for anchoring. The bed sheets give in his hands, and he’s powerless against Bucky’s brutal speed. “Oh my god,” he breathes out, legs seeming to fall open even more on their own accord.
Bucky huffs out a laugh before straightening. His sitting back on his knees with his back straight, but he's still holding Sam down. He's smirking as he grinds deep into Sam and he looks too tall, too powerful, too smug for Sam’s liking.
“That good, baby?”
Sam grits his teeth in spite. Bucky was fucking him good, no, great, but he had too much pride to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. He musters up enough focused energy to meet one of Bucky’s dirtier thrusts with a filthy gyration of his own. Bucky’s mouth goes slack at the sensation, nerves on end, and Sam snorts.
“Perfect, actually,” he gets out cockily, trying to keep his voice from wavering too much. The head of Bucky’s cock was right up against his prostate, and at the rate they were going, Sam wasn't going to last much longer.
Bucky’s tongue swipes out to wet his bottom lip, and Sam briefly wonders how it's possible for Bucky to be filling him up to the brim and he still wanted more of him. Jesus. “Buck,” he pants, not able to get much else out.
Bucky’s steel blue eyes meet his with laser focus. They've done this enough many times that Sam doesn't need to warn Bucky anymore, doesn't need to (shamefully) ask him to fuck him the way he needs to be fucked when he's this close.
Bucky nods wordlessly, and slides his hands under Sam’s body and carefully lifts him off of his back. Sam lets his body go pliant as Bucky draws him into his chest. Bucky’s chest is flush against his own, and Sam’s enclosed in Bucky and everything about him. Everything is too warm, too damp, too good, and the cooler metal on Bucky’s left side is the only anchor Sam has to reality.
Bucky grunts, curses lowly, and presses a sloppy kiss to Sam’s shoulder. He fucks up into him once, and Sam cries out. He's seeing stars, fuck. Bucky keeps making hard, punctuated staccato thrusts into Sam’s tight heat, hitting oh yes right there baby and fucking Sam so fucking good don't stop Bucky oh my god yes.
Sam lifts his head from where it’d been resting at the joint of Bucky’s shoulder and neck and stares his fuckbuddy in the face. Bucky is watching him, cotton candy pink lips bitten raw and pupils blown so wide that the blue has nearly disappeared. He hair is sticking to his damp forehead, and Sam’s chest tightens with how beautiful he looks.
Sam doesn't dwell on it too much. Doesn't let himself get too caught up on how Bucky’s looking at him or how he might possibly want forever with him.
“Want you to come,” Bucky orders gruffly.
Sam snorts the best he can. “Me too, pal,” he teases. Bucky shakes his head.
“But don't touch yourself.” Sam frowns, and Bucky kisses it off his face. Sam gasps as Bucky firmly grasps both of his asscheeks, spreading him open even further and fucking him harder.
Sam swears to god he can feel this in his soul. He's gonna need crutches afterwards.
“Bucky,” he whines, and tries to rut against the scrape of Bucky’s happy trail. Bucky slaps his ass lightly before gripping it hard again.
“Come on, Sammy,” he encourages. His pace hasn't stopped, and Sam is actually fucking amazed either one of them lasted this long. “I know you can, baby. You can do it.”
Sam should just say fuck it, reach down between them and finish himself off, but the way Bucky’s egging him on and fucking him deep makes it hard to say no. Instead, he rests his forehead against Bucky’s. “Harder, then, yeah?”
Bucky laughs breathlessly. “I'm gonna need a little help then, huh, sweetheart?” He reaches behind him to tap Sam’s ankle, signaling for him to tighten his legs around Bucky’s waist. His hands return to Sam’s hips. “Meet me halfway.”
It’s an order, not a suggestion, and Sam grips Bucky’s broad shoulders to fuck himself back in time with Bucky’s thrusts, which are slightly slowing with fatigue.
Sam feels himself getting tired too, but he desperately wants to get off at this speed. He feels his orgasm in the pit of his belly. He nips at Bucky’s ear hotly. “Talk to me,” he whispers, and Bucky complies.
“Fuck, Sam, you look so pretty like this, baby. You like this? You like being spread out on my cock? You like riding me like this? You like me fucking you til you can't talk?” Sam shudders, and his dick is leaking with more precum. Bucky chances a quick glance at it before focusing his intense gaze back on Sam. “You feel so good, God. You're so tight.” Sam cries out as his hips stutter and he loses rhythm with his impending orgasm. Bucky doesn't bat an eye. “Come for me, Sam. Come on, baby, come on.”
Bucky seems to be everywhere, in Sam’s ear, on Sam’s hips, under Sam’s body, when he comes with a high shout. He paints his stomach and Bucky’s, and shoots out on their thighs in thick ropes before he lets out a shaky breath. His abs contract in muscle memory after he's done.
Bucky is finally started to come around, too. He’s sluggishly pumping into Sam, still holding him in a vice-like grip.
Sam kissed the side of his jaw and feels the muscle clench and unclench like it does when Bucky’s close. “Yeah, Buck,” he says, huffing tiredly into Bucky’s ear. Bucky moans lowly. “Let me feel you. Inside of me, come on, baby.”
That's all it takes before Bucky is cumming, hard, inside Sam. Sam hangs on for the ride, lets Bucky pump with no pattern until he's come down.
They stay like that for a while, sticky and spent, before Bucky gingerly lays Sam on the bed, pulling out slowly. He pushes his knees apart and experimentally eases a finger into Sam’s spent hole. Sam hums. Bucky inspects himself for a moment before moving off the bed. Sam is spacey as he listens to Bucky putter around in the bathroom.
He returns with a warm towel, and Sam feels his muscles turn to jelly as Bucky clean him up gently. He watches Bucky’s shoulders flex as he works.
“English essay, huh?” Sam deadpans, and Bucky shoots him a sheepish smile that definitely does not make Sam’s stupid heart to an annoying ass little flip, nope.
“Uh, sort of?” Bucky grips Sam’s ankle and pushes the towel in, getting what he can. “Sort of finished it before you came.” He looks over Sam’s body pensively, reconsidering his words. “Over here, I mean.”
Sam snorts. “Yeah, I know what you mean, man.”
They're silent as Sam lets Bucky tidy him up. He looks at the thin layer of sweat still covering Bucky’s naked body, how his dick is soft and limp in between his thighs, how his tongue is poked out on concentration on the task at hand.
Sam wills himself to think objectively about Bucky, about how tan he is, not how golden he looks in the setting Brooklyn sun outside his bedroom window.
Suddenly Bucky’s finished, tossing the towel aside and meeting Sam’s eyes before he has time to look away. He grins. “See something you like?”
Sam scowls with no heat behind it. “Not particularly.” He makes grabby hands at Bucky even though his logical brain warns him not to. “Come here. ‘M getting cold.”
Bucky snorts and complies, moving up the bed to slide next to Sam. He wraps an arm around Sam and pulls him into him until they're spooning. Sam shouldn't enjoy this as much as he is. Bucky drops a kiss onto Sam’s shoulder, much softer and more delicate than the pace at which they usually fuck. “You're an awful liar, you know that, Wilson?”
Sam grunts, too physically spent to use his body to argue. “Between you and me, who lied about needing help on a paper just to get a booty call?”
Bucky laughs into Sam’s neck. “Well, yeah, I had to!” Sam laughs too, and laces his fingers with Bucky’s where they're resting on Sam’s belly. “Feels like I never even see you anymore.”
That shouldn't sting as much as it does.
Sam shrugs weakly, staring at Steve’s art on Bucky’s bedroom wall. “I’ve been busy. Last year of college and all that.”
“Yeah, me too, pal. But still.”
Bucky’s voice has gone careful, like he expects Sam to push him away and stomp out of the front door any minute now.
Sam’s too tired for that, though. He yawns and snuggles closer to Bucky, eyes drooping. “Well…” he retorts, and trails off to sleep.
-
Sam wakes up to an empty bed and the TV on in a room over.
He sits up groggily, rubbing at his eyes until his senses come back to him.
He's at Bucky’s.
These aren't his clothes.
This isn't his bed.
It’s pitch black outside.
Shit.
Sam scrambles out of bed and frantically collects his own shirt, underwear, jeans, socks, and shoes. He tosses them onto the bed and makes to start stripping out of what can only be Bucky’s clothes (too baggy on Sam, fragrant like Bucky’s aftershave) when the man himself pokes his head into the bedroom.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he teases. Sam freezes, shirt around his neck to spin around and meet Bucky’s eyes. There's still an amused smile pulling at his lips. “I ordered takeout, but you were still asleep when it went cold. I can reheat it if…” Bucky falters as he finally registers what's going on. He frowns, and then steps fully into the room. “Are you…leaving?”
Sam winces at the break in Bucky’s voice. He's being such a dick, but it's better this way. “Bucky, you and I both know we can't do this.”
Bucky crosses his arms defiantly. His body language is tense, and Sam can tell that this isn't going to end with him quietly slipping out. “No,” he snaps. “We actually both don't know. Enlighten me, please.”
Sam turns away to pull Bucky’s shirt over his head, the worn material taking Bucky’s scent with it. He's enveloped in the cold of the room and Bucky’s attitude before he slips his own on. He takes a deep breath before turning back to find Bucky staring at him even more angrily. “Neither one of us does commitments. We’ve talked about this before.”
Bucky opens his mouth, then clamps it shut. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sam,” he says flatly, more to the ground than to the man in front of him. “That was freshmanyear. I feel like fucking no one else but each other for three years straight is one hell of a goddamn commitment.”
Sam watches him carefully. “You haven't had sex with anyone else?”
“No,” Bucky replies shortly. He lifts his head to eye Sam suspiciously. “…have you?”
Sam bites his lip. He hasn't. Huh. “I- no. I haven't.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “So what are we doing?”
Sam gestured wildly to nothing. “I didn't think you wanted anything more than casual,” he defends weakly, and the look Bucky gives him tells him that neither one of them believe him.
Bucky looks at him incredulously. “Sam, babe, you can't be this stupid.” Sam’s ears burn as he looks down at his feet. Bucky steps towards him cautiously. “I love you. Fuck,” he laughs bitterly. Sam physically winces at the cynicism and self-doubt in his voice, and he vows that, no matter the outcome of whatever’s happening right now, he won’t ever be the cause of Bucky feeling like that again. “I’m really fucking this up.” He sighs, and Sam steals a glance up to see Bucky smiling mirthlessly. His eyes are shining crystal blue with tears.
Sam opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky puts up a hand to stop him, pointedly not touching him like he usually would. Ouch.
“Since you’re probably going to walk about of my apartment and never talk to me again,” Bucky says reluctantly, as if it’s physically hurting him to get these words out, “I need to tell you all of this while I still have the balls to do it, so…” Bucky sighs and squares his shoulders. Sam can’t look anywhere else but into his eyes. “Sam Wilson, I’m in love with you, and I knew it the first time you drunk-punched me at that frat party freshman year.” Sam snorts against his will, and his brief feeling of amusement is gone as soon as Bucky’s smile becomes even sadder.
-
Sam allows himself to reflect back on that particular memory, how fast he’d switched from a you fuck with my friends you fuck with me tough guy to oh my god I thought you were someone else that was trying to mess with my friend Steve sorry you guys have the same color shirt sorry sorry.
He had ushered a bleeding Bucky into some dirty bathroom and sat him down on the toilet while he haphazardly assembled a small army of crumpled tissues for a stranger’s bloody nose.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Sam blubbered. He was drunk, scared, and most importantly, drunk, and his brain was playing out every single worst-case scenario it could think of because he had really just sucker punched a complete stranger at a party for trying to start a social justice argument with his best friend. He was on the floor between this guy’s legs, and was trying not to lean on him too much for drunken support while Steve was probably picking fights with more ignorant people on behalf of every single marginalized group in the world.
Fucking Steve.
The (admittedly attractive) stranger shrugged as he took the tissues from Sam. “It’s fine, dude, like I’ve said eight hundred times before. It is pretty shitty to hit the guy with a prosthetic, though.” He sounded more amused than annoyed, but Sam couldn’t tell the difference. He was nearly hysterical.
“Please don’t press charges, but in case you want to I totally understand. My names Samuel Wilson and I’m a freshman.”
He snorted, then winced. Sam frowned. “I don’t have enough money for that. I’m a freshman too. You have a good arm.” He reached out and wrapped long fingers around Sam’s wrist. Sam was doing everything he could not to scream or even worse, kiss him. It wasn’t everyday that hot boys touched him, and he didn’t want to fuck up this situation even more. Bucky squeezed slightly, and massaged his thumb across the veins running into Sam’s clammy hands. “Trust me, I’m not angry.”
Sam laughed weakly. “You need more tissue.” He says, and moves away to gather more tissue. “Thanks for being so cool about all this…”
The stranger waved a hand. “It’s James, but you can call me Bucky. All my lovers do.” Sam raised his eyebrows, feeling braver than he usually would thanks to some vodka-pineapple juice concoction.
“Bucky isn’t really a name you wanna be screaming out during sex, huh?”
Bucky smirked as best as he could and gave Sam a once over. “We’ll find out once you’re not wasted, huh?”
-
“I wasn’t that drunk,” Sam grumbled defensively. Bucky rolled his eyes.
“Sure you weren’t, honey.” And the pet name seems to bring him back to reality. Bucky glances at Sam apologetically before looking away, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Sam corrects automatically. All doubt from earlier erased, he tries to get Bucky to look at him by staring at him as hard and as urgently as he could. “You know I like pet names.”
Bucky’s glare isn’t something he’s prepared for, and Sam literally stumbles at the ice in his eyes. “But you don’t like me, so what does it matter?”
It doesn’t sound like Bucky really wants an answer, but Sam’s made up his mind, and he was quickly running out of time to get through to him. He knew how cold Bucky could be when he wanted to.
(“I’m a Pisces,” he had teased from between Sam’s legs one night. Sam had come over to vent about the bullshit his counselor was putting him through, and Bucky listened to him complain for all of twenty minutes before pushing him to his back and eating him out until he cried. “We’re passionate.”
Sam lifted his head to give Bucky the most incredulous look he could. “Did you just…use your zodiac sign to justify eating me out?”
Bucky shrugged and casually pushed a finger inside Sam as he talks. “Just saying,” he said evenly. Sam arched his back and groaned. “We’re very passionate people and we should be cherished, Sam.”
Sam gave Bucky as much attitude as he could manage with his finger in his asshole. “Is this about letting you try that position on me to see if it’ll get you deeper? Because you’ve got a pretty big dick already, pal, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to...uh...receive that much of you.” He hissed as Bucky added another finger. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate or encourage you to push yourself during sex, you know?”
Bucky laughed loudly, and Sam ignored the feeling in the pit of his stomach. Bucky guided one of Sam’s thighs over his shoulder and pressed a chaste kiss dangerously close to his pubic bone. “You sure know how to make a guy feel good about himself, Wilson.”)
The memory of Bucky’s smile is enough to drive Sam to the point of desperation now. He tries to control the tears threatening to spill because this would really be a stupid ass time to cry, and he needs to look as certain as possible. “Bucky,” Sam says, and his voice cracks. Bucky’s glower doesn’t waiver, but Sam sees his body relax a little. “I was being stupid. I don’t want to lose you, but I just don’t think I can do this casual thing anymore.” Bucky is still watching him. “I love you too much for that.”
Bucky stares at him for an uncomfortably long period before striding angrily over to him. He closes the gap between them and pushes his chest right up against Sam’s. He can’t tell whose heart is beating faster. Bucky wraps a possessive arm around his waist and tugs him impossibly closer, and Sam lets him.
“You love me, huh?” Bucky’s lips are nearly touching his, and their noses are brushing. Sam doesn’t think they’ve ever done anything more intimate.
He nods, not necessarily trying to kiss Bucky, but not rejecting the way his lips catch on Bucky’s either. “Ever since I can remember.”
Bucky kisses him hard and doesn’t give Sam a chance to balance out the control. As suddenly as it started, Bucky breaks the kiss by shoving Sam. He stumbles back onto the bed. Bucky is climbing on top of him, and Sam should really be embarrassed by how horny he suddenly is, as if he didn’t make a dramatic, Notebook-esque confession moments ago.
“And you were really going to march your cute ass out that fucking door and never speak to me again,” Bucky grunts against his neck. His hands are pushing Sam’s shirt up to his collarbones and pushes his pants under his ass. Sam has never felt more exposed in his life. “Fucking idiot.”
“I know,” he pants, and Bucky’s got a hand on his cock, pumping him tortuously slow. He tries to buck (ha) his hips up, and Bucky sits back so that he can push Sam’s hips down with his ridiculously strong prosthetic. Fuck. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I love you.”
Bucky’s domineering persona almost slips as he snorts at Sam. He looks like an angel in the evening light, Sam thinks, and loses that track of thought as Bucky learns in for another intoxicating kiss. “I love you, too,” he says so tenderly that Sam feels himself about to cry. This is too much, and it’s too much to know that Bucky loves him as openly as ever, and Sam’s been lying to himself for three years. It’s too much to know that Bucky was literally going to let Sam walk away because he loves him enough to want him to be happy, even if that means without him, and Sam was really about to do it.
“Now open your legs.” Sam’s brought back to reality by the roughness in Bucky’s voice and the taunting fingers around his dick. “I’m about to give you the Pisces treatment.”
Sam groans, and not all of it is out of annoyance. “Bucky, no.”
“Bucky, yes.”