mckeeziiie

Mornings were always a little rough, sometimes longer than they need to be, sometimes too short, too fast, and this morning was a little bit of both; Steve’s head was pounding when he woke, the faint jingle of his alarm like a baby’s rattle, cute but acutely annoying (pun intended), and he blames the three glasses of wine and not the chocolate muffin his husband bought for him, how he knows he can’t handle sweets. He didn’t get to groan, for his husband stole the noise, a resounding, almost cat-like whine and an obnoxious stretch, curving himself into the letter C before shriveling up, shuddering under the thick duvet. Steve didn’t even have to look to know he was frowning, a tight scowl.

“You need to change your alarm,” Tony croaks, voice cracking like a dry leaf.

Steve grunts, hurls himself upright and swings his legs off the bed, casting the duvet aside and stamping his eyes shut - yep, too much wine. His vision was swimming.

“And you need to stop manipulating me to drink,” Steve spat - well, grumbled rather bluntly.

The younger heard a scoff, felt the bedsheets rustle, and mouthed the words that came from Tony’s lips. 

“You left your tolerance in the 40s, Rogers, that’s not my fault.”

Steve rolled his eyes behind his eyelids and shook his head, preparing himself with a sharp inhale and tight shoulders for the worst of his morning: standing up. He normally kept his eyes closed, stumbling through their bedroom until his knee crashed into the bathroom door or his wrist thwacked the lamp so hard it rattled, and while he kept his eyes sealed, he miraculously didn’t run into anything - oh, wait, scratch that, his toe jammed under the bathroom door. 

Tony cracked a smile as Steve cursed, for he always found it amusing when the older stooped low enough to spew profanities, though it only happened on three occasions: when he’s drunk, when they’re making love, or when he just woke up, all of which are exceptionally hot to the billionaire. 

Steve shouldered the door open, stumbled in on heavy feet and snapped a hand out to hang himself off the wall, the small corner into their toliet’s little room; he squeezed his eyes hard, shook his head again, much to his own disapproval, before peeling an eye open, then the other - it wasn’t that bad, he just wouldn’t be able to turn the light on without his vision spotting. Curse his husband and his beguiling lips. 

Just as he sighed, relief flooding him to his toes as he emptied his bladder, a shoulder knocked into his, another stream pelting the water. “Move, I drank more,” Tony grumbled, fiery like a puppy, and Steve rolled his eyes, finishing and tucking himself back into his boxers. 

“You gave me a headache, you moron, you don’t get to act entitled,” Steve retorted, shuffling out and yanking open the shower door, reaching in ungracefully and smacking the shower faucet, water spurting out. 

“You do know who you’re talking to, right?” Tony clapped back, the toilet flushing sounding all too loud at 6 am, the bathroom light, even if it was just the shower’s spotlight, all too bright. 

“Do not give me that obnoxious spiel of yours,” Steve quickly interjected, the words echoing in his head, clunking against his skull - ‘genius, playboy, philanthropist’. His hand was outstretched at his husband before the older smacked it away, sharp and instant like a bug. “Jeez...”

“You’re insufferable, you know that!” The older exclaims, and Steve was barely listening, for it was taking exceptional effort to pull his shirt over his head. “You get to go save the world and be the face of every damn billboard in the country, and you have the audacity to tell me what I can and can’t do!?” Steve stepped into the shower, sighing out when he dunked his head under the water, the spray hot and hard like bullets, and just when he thought he was saved, Tony’s voice got louder.

“…that serum running through your veins, making you all jacked and shit, while I have a reactor in my chest keeping my heart beating. If anything, you’re bullying the disabled, and boy would that be a beautiful lawsuit - one that I wouldn’t fund!” 

Steve groaned and stepped out of the water, pushing his bangs from his eyes, blinking hard, before watching Tony slink under the water like he owned it, like it was his rightfult place, and Steve watched the water run down his freckled skin; how it swung around moles and got stuck in the wrinkles of his shoulders when he went to streak his fingers through his hair, how it sparkled off his ass, plump with that little bit of flab, perhaps with a permenant indent of a certain captain’s fingers. 

Steve stepped forward enough for him to perch his chin on Tony’s head, eyes casting down to admire the way the latter’s chest glistened, how skin folded over itself as the man bent under his weight. “I’m not leaning against you.”

“Yeah, but you’re built like a tank. Imagine being crushed by a tank - and don’t hit me with a ‘that never happened’, it sounds exactly like the stupid shit you and Barnes got into.”

Steve snorted and quirked a smirk - his husband, unfortunately, wasn’t wrong. Something caught his eye, though, and when the younger glanced down, he found a very ironic sight: Tony’s cock, half hard. 

The younger scoffed, a sly smile curling his perfect face. “Your soldier is standing at attention.”

Tony, as if the appendage wasn’t attached to him, snapped his head down, hands flying up like he got caught bending the rules too much to flatten back out. “What the fuck is that about?”

And Steve knew, with a minor throb of his receding headache, that ten years of marriage has him well-equiped for this moment; he knows his husband better than himself, knows that Tony likes picking fights, espeically one’s that he can win, and that he loves bickering with his husband, that eventually Steve tunes it out and gives up, gives in to whatever the older was blabbering about, much to the billionaire’s delight. So, if the pieces fit together, shouldn’t they go with each other? Tony bickering the moment he wakes, that he starts petty squabbles to get something, that Tony’s dick has only stood taller the longer he leans against the older. 

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” Steve finally murmurs, slicing the head off whatever Tony was saying, leaving him with a gaping mouth. “Wow, I’ve stunned the stunner.”

“You - that’s not -“ Tony huffed, his hands colliding with his thighs in a delicious slap. “You’re a fucking ass.”

“I’ll be fucking your ass here soon,” Steve quips and curves his arms around the older, rough palms dragging up Tony’s chest and smiling when the man flinched as his thumbs ran over his nipples. 

“Yeesh, the mouth on you,” Tony grumbles, and Steve has to hold in a laugh when the older leans back, brow creased and eyes stamped shut like this was the last thing he wanted to do - give in to the masterfully crafted hands of his husband, god, sounds repulsive. “Wonder who you got it from.”

“Fury, realistically.” Steve’s smile flashed wicked when Tony scoffed, when the noise faltered as those big hands of his cupped the latter’s pectorals, squeezed like he had a point to prove. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Tony retorts, his words floating on a sigh, a sigh Steve knew all too well: he was his to mold, to knead, to split open and ruin. 

“I’m just responding to your taunts.” Steve’s voice was silk against Tony’s ear, lips somehow hotter than the water, pressed along the arch while he caught his husband doing the very same, with a shiver nonetheless. “Nothing more.” 

Tony scoffed, loud and clearly performative, yet flushed red when Steve’s head dipped down, began littering soft kisses along his jaw. “This is one hell of a response, then.” It took a swallow and another sigh before the older’s head was gently falling back against Steve’s shoulder, baring his beautifully slender neck for him, tan and freckled and oh so bare. He empathizes with vampires now, for the captain really sees the appeal, how breathtaking a bite mark would look on such supple skin. 

“You put on one hell of a show, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs, tongue rolling the bone of the older’s jaw, caged with hot, wet lips. “Who am I not to give you your flowers?”

Steve didn’t see Tony’s reaction, but he heard it, and that’s all that mattered to the younger: that Tony sounded good, sounded like he was enjoying himself, relishing the way Steve gently pinched his nipples, how his lips suckled sweetly at his neck. “You can give me a lot more than flowers, Stevie.”

Ah, yes, Stevie - he had Tony exactly where he wanted him. 

“Do tell, my little genius,” Steve whispers, and it was a miracle it was heard over the spittle of water, over Tony’s huffs one could mistake for a running fever - and, fuck, it felt like one. Tony’s skin was scorching, Steve half expected it to sear his lips straight off as he mouthed along the slope of his shoulder, his hands finally giving the older’s nipples some peace just for them to snake around his hips. His movements were slow but punctual, purposeful, for his fingertips pressed into Tony’s hips until the skin caved, the sharp curve of his hipbone digging into Steve’s palm just as his lips returned to that arch. “What do you want?”

“Fuck,” Tony panted out - yes, fine, he was panting and he’d barely been touched, his nipples tweaked and half of his neck kissed, and that made him hard, painfully so. His cock was damn near horizontal, a pearl of precome forming when Tony had the air to speak again: “It worked too well.”

“Did it?” Steve was quick to reply, low and velvety as his hips pushed forward, just enough for his dick to sit between Tony’s cheeks, perfectly nestled. “So you admit you were riling me up just to get fucked in the shower?” Tony’s mouth dropped open, but Steve was faster, knew he had the upper hand. “Your ego is still too high to ask for cock? Really?”

Steve could’ve cheered when he saw Tony’s entire body glow red, a tantalizing mixture of embarrasment and lust, guilt-ridden desire, and whatever breathy retort was lost between the younger’s teeth, his tongue stealing the words and pocketing them for later; their tongues twirled over one anothers, Steve’s teeth too eager this early in the morning, for they nipped and chased after Tony’s, the thought that those little blotches were from him making him push his dick against his husband harder. Tony let out some noise, probably a mewl or a whine that he’d curse himself for, but Steve swallowed it, his hand snapping back up to his chest and squeezing, nails pricking beautiful skin. 

“Holy shit, Rogers, are you trying to eat me alive?” 

Tony’s voice was hoarse - fuck, it was rasping, and Steve had to tense his shoulders and tighten his jaw to keep himself from acting rashly. 

“You say that like it’s not exactly what you want,” Steve breathed out, his hands back to Tony’s hips, guiding, pushing with what was left of his grace, until the older was flush along the tiles. Now, Steve adored missionary, but not for the simplicity of it, the inherent ‘vanilla’, but the gift of seeing his husband’s face contort and twist, shudder and flicker, and yet, something about crushing the man into the nearest wall, flattening the wriggling, fiesty thing into submission was dizzying. 

“Because you know what I want.” It was half-hearted, blurted out before he could think, like when words slip from drunken lips, and Steve grinned, cat-like. 

“Oh, baby,” Steve whispered, inching closer, until all of him was along all of his husband. “You’re lucky I love you, or that mouth would’ve served you papers.”

Tony’s mouth parted, a bark sharp on his tongue, when another noise stole its place, a high-pitched gasp, shrill like a schoolgirl’s. “Motherfucker,” the older shuddered out, shivering against the tiles and pushing his ass back into his husband’s hand, the finger that poked at his hole, eager and pulsing. “Stevie…”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Condescending, a little mocking, but it made Tony flush, and that’s all Steve needed. “Do you know how to ask nicely?” 

Steve’s finger - how the older man missed was beyond him, though with the man huffing and licking at his neck like a bear to honeycomb, his mind was split - pressed against the rim again, the muscle puffing up, out, asking for bliss, and he bit at Tony’s neck, warring with himself. Should he wait to see if his husband lets the last of his ego slip, or keep pestering him, poking a hissing cat? 

Tony answered for him: “I know how to beg. Would you like that, captain?” 

Oh, the cheeky fucker, he knew what that teasing name did to Steve, how it made his mind cloud like grease swiped across glass, like how the steam fogged the bathroom until one couldn’t breathe - and that was damn near impossible now. Steve was able to blink, just once, before his middle finger was sliding into his husband’s hole, warm and with a pinch of resistance, like Tony was trying to make himself tight. The man sighed, ended the noise with a low whine, and pushed back into the younger’s hand, and Steve had little to cling to, his restraint laughable, so he indulged, pushed in until his palm was cupping his cheeks, his finger tilting up to press against cushioned walls.

“You trying to stay quiet?” Steve taunted, his smile poison against Tony’s ear; Tony, who was panting into the tiles and trying to keep his rutting subtle, but the shower was too slick, his dick too neglected, and the other was just beginning to tease a second finger around his rim. “Egotistical and shy, what a frustrating combination.”

“I’m not fucking shy, you dumb - fuck,” Tony interjected, the fire on his tongue fizzling out when Steve’s index slid in beside his middle, gently pushing him open. Tony’s forehead hit the tiles as Steve’s tongue dove back home, along the ridges of his husband’s collarbones and the delightful slopes of his shoulder, mouthing at the curve like a teething baby. “Stevie, stop playing around.”

“What?” Steve lazily objected, his free hand, which was very busy kneading his ass, leaving indents that’ll stand the test of time, snaking up and curling gently around Tony’s neck, tipping his chin back so he could see his eyes. They were glazed, half open, and honeyed. Perfect. “I thought you liked it when I played with you? Hmm?” To further prove his point, Steve curled his fingers up, the tips pulsing against the older’s walls, and Tony shuddered hard, eyes fluttering, and mouth dropping open. The opportunity presented itself beautifully, so Steve didn’t feel bad slamming his lips onto Tony’s and sucking at anything that so much as peeked into the captain’s mouth, choking down the latter’s whines, defeated noises, because he knew the younger would tease him, but not when he’s occupied. 

“Leaking all over the tiles,” Steve panted out eventually, spit glittering off Tony’s lips. He tsked. “Messy boy.”

“Steve!” Tony groaned, and it actually sounded like he tried covering up the moan. 

“Yes?” The man purred, teeth pricking his earlobe, using the tips of his fingers to pulse at the older’s walls, adoring the shiver that ran through him. 

“For fuck’s sake, fuck me!” 

Steve’s hand was gone, leaving a hole miserably empty, a man frustrated and disappointed, but not for long, for his dick wiggled itself right between Tony’s cheeks again, warm and waiting. “Now, was that so hard?”

“You condescending bastard! Just because you have me bent over -“

“Incorrect. You’re against a wall.”

“-Can it, Rogers-“

“That never applies to you, it seems.”

“Because I’m the one making valid points in this relationship -“

“Oh, so the fact you’re dripping all over the shower isn’t true?”

“Valid and true are two different things -“

“They’re both based on fact, my love.”

“Will you stop trying to one-up - god…damn.”

Finally, tranquility. A quiet punctuated by the drilling of the shower and the weak gasps of his husband, the feeble stamps of his fingers against the tiles as Steve pushes his dick in, the resistance he met before amplified, but only a little, for as much as Steve loved to tease Tony over his loose slit, the former’s situation is no better. Steve leans into the older, no longer molding into him, but instead aligning himself, pushing further in until his pelvis hits the plush curve of Tony’s ass, until they are joined in more ways than one. 

“Always so warm for me, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, cursing himself for how delirious he got the second he sinks home.

“Keep myself up to temperature just for you,” Tony bites back, his words barely audible over the spittle, and Steve knows right then he isn’t going to last long. 

The soldier starts a moderate pace, and while yes, he does have the stamina to slam an imprint of his husband into the shower wall, it’s 7 in the morning, and Tony’s already puffing. His hands can’t find a good place, kneading the skin at the older’s hips before venturing up to cup his pectorals, squeezing in time with his thrusts before smoothing down his stomach, pushing him back into Steve’s movements, making Tony go boneless, head flopping back with a gaping mouth, finally letting some moans out. They were helpless moans, too, brittle and guilty, like he didn’t want to be acting this way, like becoming a puddle in the younger’s hands was deplorable. And maybe it was, but it didn’t matter between them, not when Steve was kissing that spot in Tony that made him whine. 

“God, I’m going to cum,” Steve groaned into Tony’s ear, his movements sloppy, more frantic grinding than pointed thrusts, and Tony’s lips quirked into a grin, going for a retort before a hand wrapped around his dick, squeezing, albeit too hard, but it was bliss, making his eyes fizzle over. 

“Never…fuck, never did last - long.” 

Tony sounded a mess, fumbling over his words, and who wouldn’t when Steve had his fist pistoning fast along his cock, his hips pushing him from behind, encouraging him to take more, to feel more. And, with a broken cry from the older, a deep, baritone groan from the younger, they came; Tony spilled into Steve’s hand in hard spurts, each one jolting his body forward, a hand at his forehead to keep his genius intact. Steve slammed in once, twice, before his entire body shivered, curving inward as he spilled himself into his husband, long and continuous, blissful and warm, so warm. 

They stay together, bonded in a way that’s so natural to them, before Tony groaned, peeled his forehead off Steve’s palm. “It always ends too soon.”

Steve grins, something sweet finally coming from his husband, and he presses a wet kiss below his ear, licking over the mark. “Blame our age, my love.”

“You mean blame mine,” Tony corrects, hands flattening against the tiles, pushing himself up with great effort and a grimace. “I’m the one who actually looks to be aging.”

“And you’re doing so gracefully,” The younger was quick to add in, grin inching wider when he heard the older scoff, surely rolling his eyes, yet he was preoccupied with his neck, how little blocthes he left. 

“You’re relentless,” Tony grumbles, and yet, for the first time that day, he turns to peck Steve’s lips, and the latter has to restrain himself from chasing after them. 

“I love you too.”

---

Their apartment was quiet, strangely quiet, a silence too loud to hide anything, too stuffy to keep secrets in, and that’s exactly how Sam liked it; it meant he wasn’t alone, that his boyfriend was right down the hall doing god knows what, that he was safe and awake and breathing - unfortunately. Look, Sam loved Bucky more than he was willing to admit, not because he was ashamed of it, but because it unnerved people how attached they were, how they bickered like toddlers in preschool but stole glances at each other like they’d been in love since the 50s. 

Speak of the devil, the younger thinks, for footsteps shake the paneling, the bass of them echoing off the walls, and that’s all he was paying attention to, really, the familiar sounds, the domestic, intimate ones that mattered. He was tinkering with his arm cuff, the wiring for Red Wing fried, again, during a mission nearly costing Sam his life - okay, well, that’s dramatic, but in the grand scheme of things, he could have died. Right as he set a wire back in place, about to tweeze the exposed end shut, a large body plopped between his legs, a hard back pressing down into his chest like it offended him. 

Sam let out a strangled noise, arms shooting up over the head that leaned back onto his shoulder. “What the hell, man!”

Bucky glanced up, almost like he didn’t notice the body he fell against had a mouth. “What?”

“What do you -“ The younger cut himself off, closing his eyes and taking a breath, a sort of calming-steadying inhale. “You didn’t see I was working? Red Wing in my hands?”

“You don’t have that stupid thing with you, just the controls,” Bucky corrected flippantly, wiggling to get comfortable. The older’s legs swung up to tangle with Sam’s on the sectional, hand finding the remote and clicking away.

Another steadying breath, mainly because he was being tested in ways he didn’t know he could be. “I’m fixing the controls, Buck - working,” Sam emphasized again, voice firmer, though with no real bite - not yet, at least. 

“I know.” 

“Then why in the hell did you interrupt me?”

“I’m not interrupting anything, just wanted to watch my show,” Bucky clarified simply, like he wasn’t invading Sam’s space, wiggling for the second time, the plump part of his ass conveniently rubbing against his jeans. How fun. “And you looked nicer than the other part of the couch.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this, James,” Sam retorted, making his voice deeper in some sort of intimidation tactic, though he should have known those don’t work on the older, especially using his full name. 

“Wasn’t expecting it, Samuel.” Oh, the nerve of this man! “You have enough room to work, I can scoot down if you need me to - it’s really not that big of a deal.” Bucky stamped a button onto the remote and dropped it between his legs, leaning his full weight back on the younger and sighing. 

Sam, with a retort hot on his tongue, begrudgingly swallowed it, huffed; it wasn’t a big deal, it just startled him when his boyfriend did things like this, quick and blunt, like he wasn’t giving his brain time to overthink, his body the air to pause, contemplate, double-back. He should be used to it now, for it was how most intimate moments started between the two - not that it was a bad thing, and Sam teased Bucky for it relentlessly, adoring how red he got, how his skin burned with aroused embarrassment - and now that he thinks about it, maybe that’s what the older was getting at all along. ‘It’s not a big deal’ because there’s another situation to deal with, an even bigger problem to handle, pun intended.

So, with the faintest smirk one could paint on, Sam finished screwing the hinge into place, just enough to keep the bramble of wires protected, and set the controls to the side, screwdriver toppling from his hand; his fingers started at Bucky’s shoulders, sliding around and cupping the bone, giving it a light squeeze, before loosely circling one around about the older’s neck, the other draped down his chest, palm heavy on his stomach. Sam heard the near-silent hitch in his boyfriend’s breathing, his smirk curling wider - the older hated when Sam let little things like this get to his head, when that charming-ass grin wiggled onto his face. It didn’t mean anything, but the other knew it was quite the opposite when Bucky shifted, his ass rubbing back into the younger’s lap, head moving to tuck under his chin. 

Sam chuckled. “Watching your show?”

He knew he caught Bucky when the older gulped. “Uh…yeah?” He replied, feigning confusion, yet the other heard the tightness of his voice, underscored with something desperate. 

Another chuckle, and Sam felt the older shiver - god, sometimes it was too easy. “Slick, baby. Real slick…” He murmurs against Bucky’s temple, pressing a kiss to the skin.

Bucky groaned and shifted again, and it felt purposeful when his ass ground, a shameless roll, back into Sam’s lap, his head turning to lean against his shoulder. “Just wanted to lie with you, alright? Haven’t cuddled in a while,” the older grumbled, and god, it was so cute when his eyes fell from whatever he was supposedly fixated on when he lied. 

“We haven’t fucked in a while, either,” Sam commented, and he could have snickered when the other’s breathing stuttered, instead choosing to drag his shirt up his stomach, his hand sliding onto the skin and grinning. “You sure you just wanted to cuddle, sweet pea?” 

When Bucky’s head turned back to nuzzle into his neck, huff into the skin as his cheeks burned holes into Sam’s collarbones, he knew he had the soldier cornered, trapped in his lie. The younger grinned, pressed his lips to the older’s forehead as his hand ventured up, taking its time to explore every divot of his stomach, how his skin rippled with every shuddering breath he took, how they puffed against his neck when his fingers toyed with the band of his sweats, teasing him as he pulled, snapped it. 

“Sam…” Bucky croaked, peeling from the younger’s neck and blinking up at him, and the latter nearly moaned; he looked helpless, ashamed to be this consumed with desire, huffing and puffing like he couldn’t take it, flushed from forehead to collar like he was caught taking himself in his hand, like his pleasure was an embarrassment - Sam fucking adored it. 

“I got you,” was all Sam could muster before his lips slotted onto the older’s, tongue greedy as it stormed past, as if it had a mind of its own - I mean, in the heat of the moment, doesn’t everything? Bucky let out a garbled noise, like the moan was tripping over itself, and it just made Sam kiss him harder, wanting every noise the soldier made to reverberate inside his mouth as if he was making all those pathetic whines - yes, Bucky whines, he whines like he can’t fucking take it, and it sets the younger’s body on fire. Sam’s free hand cradled his jaw, keeping Bucky in place, right where he wanted, as the other wandered up, Bucky’s shirt pooling in the crook of Sam’s elbow as his fingers, cool against molten skin, tweaked his nipple, twisting to the left, gently pulling. The sound that tumbled from Bucky’s throat, like the squeal of a startled hamster, the moans you’d hear in some cheaply made porno, made the younger chuckle, his smile near vicious against the plush of his lips, the spit that glistened when he pulled back. 

“So responsive tonight,” Sam teased, soft yet wicked, into Bucky’s ear, hips rolling up into his ass when the soldier whimpered - god, he was such a mess already, wonder how long he’s been aching for it. 

“Please, Sammie…” He whispered, and it looked like he didn’t bother holding himself up anymore, a deflated, horny puddle atop Sam’s chest, too overcome with need to bother holding his head up. “Need - need you so bad, no teasing - please.” 

Listen, if Bucky, his hulking, frowning boyfriend who’d rather jump out the window than hear a single complaint directed at him from Sam’s beautiful mouth, is practically vibrating with desire, hips hovering off the couch, as if he was about to cum untouched - aside from his grouped chest - Sam’s not going to tease him any more than he has too. It’s a requirement during sex, a sprinkle of teasing, playful nips, and Bucky thrived off the attention, the fact that Sam found it so cute when he blushed from embarrassment.

“Since you asked so nicely, baby.” A kiss to the hinge of Bucky’s jaw, wet and hot, and a final squeeze of his pectoral, and Sam’s hand snaked down, making sure the heel of his palm dug a ravine across the older’s skin, eyes flashing with impish adoration as he watched Bucky wriggle, a bug dangling over a roiling witch’s cauldron. 

Bucky’s skin was soft, as much as the older didn’t believe such a thing, so Sam’s hand took many a detour, firstly slipping under his shorts at his hip, palm sliding over the bone, fingers curling around and squeezing, sinking between the pillowy plushness of his ass; the older, much to Sam’s delight, whined, hips lifting and tilting, so impatient, and Sam simply chuckled, pecked Bucky’s searing forehead and flattened his palm along the pouch of skin below his navel, yet just above his erection.

“Sam - Sammie, please,” Bucky gasped out, head tipping back, pressing into Sam’s shoulder, the only act of defiance he could muster - poor, flushed little thing, he was, trapped in this teasing cycle, hand clamped so hard onto Sam’s shorts he’s suprised there was fabric left, the other a vice around the younger’s wrist. He was in a cage, head between the only two bars, subjecting himself to misery and isolation, and in all honesty, Sam found it endlessly adorable. 

“No underwear? My, Buck,” Sam paused, dramatic effect, if you will, as his thumbs pushed the waistband of the older’s shorts down, to the middle of his shaft, reveling in the sounds Bucky couldn’t possibly keep in, pupils surely blowing wide as his dick popped free, bobbling like some sapling in the wind. “Had this planned out? Thinking up all the ways you can rile me up.” The younger’s teeth pricked his ear, and Bucky flinched, arched off his chest. “Nasty boy, aren’t ya?”

Ironically enough, Bucky didn’t say anything, and when Sam was finished nibbling at his earlobe, he craned around to look, and the sight nearly stopped his heart: Bucky teary-eyed, blinking up at him with a wobbly bottom lip, mouth parting only for air, for silent, desperate pleas that would never see the light. The younger knew it hurt, knew this was the most vulnerable he would ever see his boyfriend, crumbling under his desire and in his arms no less, and there was a distant realization that this was something more than Bucky’s need oozing out his ears, that this could be one great leap forward, after many steps back. 

Or that Sam’s being a fucking tease, of which neither was contemplated, for Sam blacked out, his hands flying to grasp at the older’s hips, rolling up into his ass, between those plush cheeks he rarely touched, and his lips molding atop the other’s, hot and passionate. Bucky fucking whined, god, and Sam’s eyes blurred - probably the other’s tears - sliding shut and rutting up, the slide of their shorts devastatingly smooth, not enough, and then Sam’s tongue barreled into the older’s mouth, sucking at anything he could find. The younger groaned, wishing for more, when his hand detached from Bucky’s hip and curled around his shaft, and perhaps that’s when Sam thought he saw heaven.

Bucky ripped his mouth from the younger’s and gasped, high and broken, hips bucking up, nearly shaking in relief, precum already beading at his tip, and Sam should tease him, should call him pathetic and moan into his neck when the older mewls, but he didn’t; instead, Sam started pumping, flicking his wrist up and back down, creating something steady, fast, finally admitting to himself that he was desperate too, that his backbone is only as strong as Bucky’s pride. The younger’s lips were molten against the soldier’s neck, his spit a brand, his lips a marker of his desire, and his wrist kept up no matter how hard Bucky shook, how he thrashed against Sam’s chest when the latter’s palm squeezed on it’s way up, thumbing his slit and making a mess of his tip.

“You’re,” Sam panted out, exhaling something heavy and honey-like against Bucky’s cheek. “Fuck - you’re so pretty like this.”

The older wailed - god, yes, cried out like the was breaking, like the pleasure was swelling inside him at a rapid rate, splitting his seams and fraying his edges, and Sam could’ve came in his shorts at the sight, watching the man he loved, the soilder so brooding and stone-cold roil under the hands of Captain America - but in all honesty, who wouldn’t? Bucky gasped, the hand around Sam’s wrist shifting to pierce with his nails, the other zipping out to grasp at the younger’s thigh, the muscle bulging under his fingers, making him whine. 

“Sammie - Sam, I…oh, god, I-“ 

Sam wouldn’t let Bucky finish his sentence, no, for he would let him finish another way; his wrist tightened, focusing on the upper half of his shaft, quick pulses over Bucky’s tip before long, suffocating drags to his base and back up, panting into his ear, huffing like a bull ready to charge, and it took a few moments of fractured silence, of that ringing that followed numbness before Bucky crumbled. He cried out, body arching away from Sam before his arm slung itself across Bucky’s waist, securing him down, making him take everything, feel everything, make him regret wasting a single ounce of his boyfriend’s gracious pleasure. Sam doesn’t think he’s seen the older come this much, the first spurt weak, the next few stronger, more forceful, punching broken wails of the younger’s name from Bucky as cum nearly reached his chin, staining his shirt, coating Sam’s fingers and wrist pearlescent, shiny and beautiful and sweet, like icing. 

Bucky was rigid for a while, too afraid to relax lest he pass out, before he finally relaxed with a huff, the tail end of the noise a resounding whine, and it almost sounded like he was…disappointed? If Sam wasn’t high off the smell of Bucky’s cum on his hand, he would’ve seen red. 

“Oh my god…fuck, that was incredible, babe,” the soldier panted, all breath and no syllable. “Wish I didn’t finish so soon.”

There’s that disappointment, and it made the younger’s chest swell with pride, his ego already too large given the fact that Bucky let him give him the handjob of a lifetime. 

“Think it’s pretty cute, actually,” Sam admits, voice all husk, like the menacing echo of impending doom. Bucky froze - perfect. 

“Sam…” The older tried to reprimand, but a single squeeze to his dick and he was rendered useless, a blubbering hunk of gasps. 

“We can see if you can hold out for longer?” Sam rolled his hips up, his erection twitching at the slick friction of their shorts together. “Want to see if you can ride me, sweet thing, if all that muscle still works.”

Bucky gulped, and Sam, fuck, Sam grinned wickedly.  

---

“That is literally - physically - impossible!” He hollers, arms thrown out to his sides and spraying water across the kitchen counter, soap suds dribbling down his arms. “I’ve seen your face when you come, your eyes roll back and your mouth drops open -“ He dunks the pan he’s gripping under the faucet, rinsing the soap before shaking off excess water, “-and you’re telling me you don’t react. I don’t believe it, Bruce.”

Said man groans and flops his head back against the couch cushion. “That’s not what I meant -“

“Then what did you mean?” The other interjects, rounding the side of the couch and staring down at the younger, utterly flabbergasted, beside himself - he really couldn’t believe Bruce brought this up when he knows it’s the complete opposite, but he also couldn’t stop the smile that was threatening to dent his cheeks. “Do you not allow yourself to enjoy sex? Do you think it’s beneath you - too much emotion for such a brooding guy? What’s the point of bringing it up?”

Of course he had to throw that in there, Clark is such a fucking brat sometimes. Bruce groans, again, and slaps his palms over his eyes, hoping the heels of his hands hide the blush that’s surely blooming. “It was supposed to be a compliment,” The younger grumbles, trying not to sound pouty that his boyfriend misinterpreted him. “That you’re the only partner I’ve had to make me…make me really feel something.”

Bruce didn’t hear anything for a beat, and just when his heart started to creep into his throat, he felt the couch sink beside him, a strong body molding into his side and warm hands curling around his wrists. “Really?” Clark asked, the sight nearly melting the older’s solitary heart - a smile so sweet, so pure and warm and just a pinch smug, god, he almost smiled with him. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Even if the younger’s smile faltering was a ploy, another fucking tease of his that he liked to pull (yank at his heartstrings, yeah, it sure was fun for the person who doesn’t feel like shit), Bruce fell for it, sputtering out a quick “U-Uh, yeah, really. I don’t think I’ve let other people get this close since you, let someone else see…me.”

Clark hummed, a hand coming up to trace his thumb along the older’s jaw, and he tensed for a split second before the other leaned in and pecked his cheek, sitting back. “That’s real brave of you, Bruce…but it’s not getting you out of that little comment.”

Bruce groaned and tilted his head back again. “It was nothing, Supes, I swear! I wasn’t thinking -“

“I bet my behind you weren’t thinking! I know how much you love your intimidating, bad-boy facade -“

“Bad boy?”

“- but it’s not fooling me, because in case you’ve forgotten - I’m your boyfriend, Bruce. Boy! Friend!” Clark emphasized with hard jabs to the younger’s shoulder, making him wince - at his tone, of course. 

“And you’re saying…?” Bruce didn’t know what he was hollering about, really; it was an accident! He already pleaded with him to forget it, which was fruitless the second he said the word ‘please’.

“I’m saying,” Clark starts with a laugh, swinging his legs off the couch, “that telling your boyfriend that you ‘don’t react when you finish’ is setting yourself up.” 

“Setting myself up…for…” Bruce couldn’t finish his question, not when the younger slid off the couch onto his knees, not when he pivoted to kneel at his feet, eyes flickering up to his with a triumphant gleam.

Okay, maybe he understood what the other was saying.

“For me to prove you wrong,” Clark said, a devious little smile playing at the corner of his lips, palms flat against the older’s skin as he dragged them up his shins, moving slower over his thighs, and Bruce should’ve cursed himself for the way they naturally parted, as if he was letting Clark have this victory. 

“You’re -“ Bruce swallows when the younger’s fingers curl under his shorts, yanking them down to his knees in one swift pull. “This is a bad idea, Supes.”

“Why?” Clark retorts back, light and almost playful if you listened closely, and if you really studied, you’d hear the near-silent hitch in Bruce’s breathing when his shorts pooled at his ankles. “Don’t think you can handle it? Oh, so you’re already confessing to it being a load of -“

“No, no!” The older rushes out, a little too urgently. Clark grins. 

“Then why is this a bad idea, Brucie?” Clark asks, trying his absolute hardest to keep his smile at bay - Brucie, on the other hand, bit his lip at the nickname. 

“I don’t like that one, Clark,” the older warns, breaths getting heavy, laborious, as the other’s head slotted between his knees, cheek squished against the beginning of his thigh. 

“You don’t like a lot of things, apparently,” the younger quips, failing in grumbling with his too-wide grin, for the sight before him was too good: Bruce flushed from the neck down, chest on the cusp of panting and his dick hard and upright between them, the occasional, anticipatory twitch not going unnoticed. “Sex with your boyfriend, for one.”

“I like - love,” Bruce made sure to hold eye contact with the other while he corrected himself, “sex with you, Clark. You’re just being a brat right now.” 

The younger scoffed into a laugh, cheeks plump and eyes gleaming. “I’m being a brat?” He shook his head, turning to pepper sweet kisses up Bruce’s thigh, making the latter’s head spin. “You brought up the fact you think you’re stone-faced when you come, and now you’re trying to back out when I challenge you?” Clark’s hand squeezed his thighs, and the older’s breath hitched - he didn’t realize they slid up to the meat of them, up so close to his hips. “You’re worse than I am.”

Bruce chuckled, lips quirking at the corner, but that was all he could get out, for when he registered the shift between legs, the cushion caving in higher, all thoughts died, all those petty retorts vanishing except for a hissed curse; the younger kissed his tip, delicately and surely purposeful, but Bruce didn’t care anymore - well, he did a little, but the willpower to put his pride in front of his pleasure was waning - and weaved his hands through Clark’s hair. Thank fuck he liked to keep it long enough to curl. 

The younger chuckled, pecked his angry tip again. “You’re very predictable, Brucie.”

“Shut the - holy -“ All words stammered to a halt, breaths sputtering from his throat like some sad, decrepit engine when Clark’s lips wrapped around his tip, tongue swiping over his slit. Fuck, how was he going to keep his word, much less his composure, when it already felt too good to be true, like his head was blowing up like a balloon. 

Clark grinned, gave an experimental suck that made the older gasp, his hips lift to chase the pleasure it shot down his spine. “You know I’m going to -“

Clark got a taste of his own medicine, thankfully, for Bruce’s hand tugged him back down, his face previously twisted into a desperate pout before melting, mouth falling slack and eyes closing, letting his composure slip a little - but just a little, enough for him to take in as much as possible; the younger’s lips were heaven, utter bliss wherever they landed, inching down his cock until his nose poked into the little bramble of hair at the older’s base, and god was he unable to think, breath. It was a numbing kind of pleasure, like when you’re drifting to sleep, the relinquishing of yourself into the hands of the moon, the stars, something bright and soft and good, and that’s exactly what it felt like, having Clark try and prove him wrong. Bruce let himself go, let himself truly feel the pleasure shooting through him, numbing his thighs and crushing his chest and clouding his mind, because he really didn’t care anymore - and yes, now of all times was when he decided to throw his ego out the window and whine deep in his throat when Clark’s tongue dragged up the underside of his dick. And Bruce would answer that with a soft moan, a silent plea as his hips lifted into the younger’s mouth, his nails pricking the latter’s scalp as he swallowed - god, that felt earth-shattering.

And speaking of shattering, it took one long, continuous suck from the base to his tip, successive little sucks with beautifully puckered lips, and shoving his cock down his throat for Bruce to kick his head back, for his hips to jerk up and for a deep moan to rip from his throat, hurtng his chest from the shear bass of it as he came down Clark’s throat. The younger’s kept swallowing around him, eagerly taking as much as he could, and Bruce was in his own world, eyes stamped shut and gasping like he couldn’t breathe, and frankly, he couldn’t. It was too hot, this pleasure, too satiny, too thick, like he was being drowned by honey, sweet and viscous enough to choke on. 

“No!” The older eventually sputtered out, hands desperately fisting Clark’s hair. “No, no, no, baby - Clark - Clark please!” He sounded pathetic, and it made his heart ache in all the best ways.

Clark, on the other hand, had gagged and pulled off his dick, coughing and drooling a sinful mixture of cum and spit onto the carpet, resisting the natural urge to spit it up - not because it was bad, but because there was so much. 

“Clark, my love, please!” Bruce wailed, fiercely yanking at his hair, and the younger hissed, nails biting into the former’s thighs. 

“Goodness, you’re so whiny -“

Bruce shut him down the second he heard the slight rasp on the younger’s tongue, the cracking as his words bumped around his throat. “Shut up and put your mouth back around me!” His demand - at least that’s what he intended it to be, for Bruce’s voice came out breathy, like he couldn’t hold on to one inhale long enough - shook, faltered, and Clark had the moral backbone of a leaf.

“So does this mean I win?” 

Bruce could’ve growled, snarled, ripped hair off, but ultimately chose to pout, to buck his hips helplessly. “It means you need to make me cum like that again, or you’re not going to get to fuck me!” 

“Will you still have the gall to go through with that when I’m finished?”

“Only one way to find out,” The older rushed out, now panting like he was having some sort of sexually frustrated anxiety attack. “Just - fuck, Clark, please! I’m begging you, for Christ’s sake!”

Clark just smirked and re-attached his lips to Bruce’s leaking tip, his entire body jolting when the glorious heat came back, the molten tongue that swiped over his slit, licking up dribbling cum, making the latter cry out - yeah, he wasn’t going to recover from this, his ego and body included. Bruce’s thighs trembled, his knuckles white in his boyfriend’s hair as the heels of his hands pressed his head down, ensuring Clark took all of him, making sure every swallow and gag and sinful drag of his tongue was only on his dick, could only be on him. If this was a drug, he was addicted, for life, until death does him part from such sweet, delicious pleasure, the pain of overstimulation just another sick form of torture Clark was putting him through, his little ‘I told you so!’ with a cute, satisfied smile that he wanted to ruin - well, they both were. 

And as Bruce came for the second time, trying to find enough air to such in before crying out through a slurring of whimpers and drunken chants of his boyfriends name, hands somehow tightening his Clark’s hair, locking his mouth in place for what was going to be a night that rewrote the older’s very soul, they both won, in a way.

Clark got proven right - because let’s be honest, when is he not - and Bruce got the blowjob of a lifetime. 

I’d call that a truce.

---