You guys know I'm a sucker for Steve and Bucky being constantly all over each other, going at it like horny little rabbits every chance they get, day and night, no matter where, no matter how.
And it is most unfortunate that they're in the superhero-ing and world-saving business, because plenty of times they'll get the call while they're in uh. Compromising positions. Wildly making out up against the kitchen counter, clothes half-shed, hands squeezing and roaming and grabbing, hungry and deep and frantic like they just can't press close enough. Dry-humping like teenagers on the couch, so worked up and eager and hot they didn't even make it to the bedroom, nay, they didn't even get around to unzipping their pants. Undressing each other while kissing and blindly bumping into furniture and flinging their clothes across the room on their way to the nearest horizontal surface (their apartment is a sex-wrecked war zone). Sometimes the work phone will ring just when someone was finally getting their hand around a dick. Occasionally, oh woe!, they'll be interrupted mid-thrust.
My point being, that 9 times out of 10 they'll be showing up ready for battle but also bearing the very very obvious signs of sex (or what would have surely devolved into sex, had they not been cockblocked again).
Bucky's post-coital hair is an untameable bird's nest; Steve finds it fucking adorable (and if they were home, enjoying their much deserved afterglow, he would be carding his fingers through it and mess it up some more). The rest of the team, though? Not so much.
It's a good job Steve can hide his own sex hair under his helmet, right? Too bad the helmet can't cover up the spectacular patches of beard burn scraped into the delicate skin around his mouth, over his chin and down his neck - all of them courtesy of Bucky's stubble, rubbing lovingly all over him.
Some of their friends might lament such a view.
"I don't know man, this kinda feels like TMI," Sam might say, gesturing in the general direction of Steve's hickey-dappled neck.
"You should see his thighs," Bucky would then say, eyebrows a-wiggling, and deem himself merciful indeed for not mentioning the teeth marks on Steve's buttocks.
Imagine it with me. The swollen lips. Someone walking with q bit of a limp. Steve tenderly picking a literal splinter out of Bucky's hair, 'cause they destroyed yet another headboard tonight (Steve should probably remind Bucky not to hold onto the headboard with his metal hand when Steve's eating him out, but he won't. There's something too deeply satisfying about watching Bucky lose himself to pleasure like that, and have the effects of that bliss ripple across their bedroom in such a tangible way.)
If you were a Bad Guy fighting Captain America, and Captain America drop-kicked you to hell and back, and in the process, out of Cap's pocket came flying a packet of lube and a couple of condoms, with perfect cinematic timing, would you count that as a success? There are some who would, I'm sure.
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