#usa agent

Yet Walker just stood there, it was unnerving how he just didn't move. The egotisical asshole who always spoke his mind just, wasn't speaking. Even with the interuption Bob was still panting, still waiting patiently for you to touch him again. It was jarring, you didn't know where to look, who to focus on, and yet.

"Will you just fucking say something already?!" You blurted out, startling everyone in the room including yourself.

Bob reached for your hand, entwining it with his in an attempted comforting manner. His eyes were still wide with a mix of something like fear and arousal, it was driving you mad how you couldn't read him with ease like normal.

"I don't think you want me to say what I'm thinking right now." Walker finally said, his face still that unreadable staunch look.

"I highly doubt anything will piss me off more than you walking through that door." Bob laughed under you, smiling when you looked at him with a beaming aura of apporval in your sarcasm.

He stayed silent, eyes flickering between you and Bob who seemed way too calm with what was happening. You couldn't gauge how much time was passing, it all seemed to slow with every glance thrown around the room. You could still feel Bob twitch, as if nothing changed, as if the door wasn't rudely opened for a reason that still hasn't been announced.

"I know what he's thinking." The brunet whispered, lifting himself up just enough to have a view of the room. "He's staring for a reason." It was a hint, only meant for your ears, and while it took a moment for your mind to catch up, you weren't shocked when you did.

"You want to join." Confidence was practically dripping from your words as they flew towards the blond, his eyes going wide for the first show of emotion this entire encounter. "Thats why you won't move, won't speak, you want in."

Walker groaned, slamming the door shut behind him in what seemed to be annoyance. He walked closer towards the bed you two were residing on making Bob sit up further, gently pushing you off of his lap onto the sheets. His hand was still holding yours, yet it wasn't tense, there was no tightening the closer the other man got, it seemed almost loving.

"Can you blame me?" His words were quiet yet stern, and now that he was closer you could see the blacks of his eyes were wide, almost erasing any color that was once in his eyes. "Its been months and you two are putting on a damn show for anyone to see and-"

"Door was closed." Bob cut him off, a matter of fact tone in his voice. "I closed the door so it wasn't a show, you just don't know how to knock." He had a wide grin on his face, staring Walker down rather impressively.

"Could have locked it."

"Could have knocked."

The two kept bickering right through you, looking at eachother over you shoulder and arguing about who should have done what. You could tell by the look on Bob's face that he was having fun with this, that high like mindset coming back to him tenfold the angerier Walkers words got. You could feel he was enjoying it too, the twitching of his cock starting back up again as his hands started to trail along you waist under the loose fabric of your shirt.

"Someone really needs to shut you up one of these days." Walker groaned, sighing into his hands as Bob beamed in victory.

He looked back at you for a moment, finally readable once again. He wanted this, wanted to see how far both of you would let it go, his eyes told the whole story. Looking back at Walker you managed to look down, spotting a growing buldge under the dense uniform pants he constantly wore. They both wanted this, how much of you or eachother you didn't quite know, but fuck it, right?

"Maybe you should, right now." You spoke up, bringing your glance back up to meet the blonds, smiling as you heard Bob hum out a tone of agreeance.

"You're fucking joking." Despite the words he moved closer, his breath mixing with yours as he read over your face.

Before you could answer, or he could find his, Bob was moving. Reaching awkwardly around you Bobs hand found its way to the nape of Walkers neck, using the leverage it gave him to pull him closer. He wasted no time in connecting his lips to the blonds, letting out a whine as it was quickly reciprocated.

You watched somewhat in awe and confusion. You could count on one hand how many times these two got along, and yet they were kissing right next to you as if none of that ever happened. To help them you tried to move out of the way, carefully shuffling backwards on the bed to get a better angle.

But, before you could get more than maybe a few inches away you felt hands on your skin. You looked down spotting them, Bob's landed on your thigh, nails digging in slightly until your movement stopped. The other, Walkers, found its way to your wrist. It wasn't closed, just hovering above, as if he was testing the bounds of how far he could go and showing he didn't want you to move.

They pulled away from eachother, both turning their gaze towards you as they waited for your reaction. You couldn't help but stare. Bob looked boderline insane with a wide smile that almost felt evil, a stark difference from his usual self that followed you around like a puppy.

John looked fucked, genuinely fucked. His face was a mix of pale skin and blotchy red patches. His eyes were wide in a mix of arousal and confusion, eyes switching between you and Bob with every fleeting moment.

Bob didn't let either of you speak, still keeping his hand on Walkers neck, he moved the one clutched on your thigh to your cheek. His softness came back for a moment, gliding his thumb across your cheek before pulling your face towards his.

His lips tasted different, which only threw you off even more knowing where they got that taste from. You melted into the kiss, the comfort of familarity calming your nerves and distracting you from the hand still hovering on your wrist. You were expecting him to deepen the kiss, considering the mess you'd seen him create seconds ago, yet his lips stayed soft against yours, the smile breaking through with every move.

"You should kiss him." Bob whispered against your lips, pulling away just enough for his words to not be muffled. You couldn't find words, every sarcastic rebuttal dying on your tongue as you thought about it, coming up empty on reasons not to. "He's a good kisser, and desprate which is your favorite." He let out a giggle at that, a full blown giggle catching you off guard.

The moment you nodded Bob pulled away, smile still stretching his face as his hand trailed downwards. He laced his fingers through strands of your hair, using the leverage to pull you closer to the blond who did not hesitiate to move your way and was aided by Bob's other hand that had yet to move.

Both men exchanged glances, nodding in eachothers directions before you found Walker inches infront of you. He didn't seem as bewildered as before, some of the confidence that always follows him around coming back.

With that it didn't shock you when his lips landed on yours, it also didn't piss you off as much as you thought it would. His lips were rougher, you could feel the slight cracks forming as they pushed against yours in the desperation Bob called.

You could still feel Bob's hand resting on the back of your neck, holding slight pressure giving you the allowance to move if you wanted. Even with the option you stayed, starting to catch on to the pace Walker was setting with the kiss. His hand reached up to your cheek, trying to mimic what Bob had been doing before with almost perfect precision.

Your own hands made their way to blond hair, pulling a groan out of Walker as you used soft strands to tug him closer. He shifted closer to you, deepening the kiss as his full body weight was now on the bed next to you.

"You look so desperate." Bob whispered, you pulled away from the blond ready to defend yourself.

Yet, when you did pull away you noticed Bob wasn't looking at you. His smirk was borderline menacing, it almost scared you. John met his gaze, a grimance on his face at the words he also thought were directed at you.

"I don't look desprate you prick." He groaned, trying to pull you back towards his lips.

Bob looked at you, tilting his head in silent words as his eyes trailed down. You mimicked his movement on Walker, the 'casual' tactical like gear he was wearing not helping prove his point to anyone. When you smiled Bob joined, moving his hand off the back of your neck to hold yours.

"You do look desperate, really desperate." You whispered, eyeing the bulge that wasn't there minutes before.

Walkers eyes went wide, believing your words more than the other mans. Looking down quickly as if it was going to hurt, he sighed at his own condition before meeting your eyes again. The look of defeat mixed with need changed something in you, every annoying moment featuring him seemed to fade away.

While you were having your own moment, you watched Bobs hand make its way to the inner part of the blonds thigh. You prepared for a fight, some type of defiance from him. But, he didn't move, he didn't even flinch when Bob's hand moved closer and closer to his 'problem'. Bob saw you staring, he was confident, far more than you'd ever seen him, and he winked at you before speaking up.

"I think you should take care of this." Bobs words broke the silence, causing Walkers eyes to shift from yours for a moment. "You should ask h-"

"If you're going to do it just do it already." Walker, or John, you haven't decided if you were that far yet, cut Bob off. You saw the slight shift on his face before the eerie cockiness returned.

"You haven't asked her, John." His tone was almost condescending, almost.

"I was talking to you, Bob." John responded mockingly. "You're the one with your hand basically on it, if you want to..." He trailed off, the hint of desperation coming back.

He didn't hesitate, you heard the zipper being pulled down before John caught his breath. The moan that left him sent a shock through you, almost needing to pinch yourself to see if you were even awake at this point.

You could barely see the scene, the bulkiness of the positions mixed with fully clothed people blocking most of it. Even still, you could see Bob's hand moving across the tip of John's cock, getting flashes of the red hue that had taken it over. It was mesmorizing, a scene you'd never imagined and yet it seemed like Bob had everything planned out before hand.

"Come here." Bob whispered, leaning towards you until his lips landed on yours.

The kiss was slow, just enough to keep you drawn in without need for much else. It didn't take long until Bob started mirroring his movements from before, his free hand trailing along your thigh, not waiting much before slipping under your waistband.

He groaned into your mouth the second his hand touched the fabric of your underwear, the slick seeping through setting him off. Normally he took his time, waiting for you to give him approval for every touch, begging just to be near you, but not this time.

You swore he laughed when the whine left your throat, pulling away from the kiss to smile at the shock on your face as he started grinding his hand against your core. Johns eyes were practically burning a hole through you, causing your focus to stray from the brunet.

That seemed to be exactly what he wanted, you could see the smirk coming back, eyes wandering everywhere as if he couldn't take enough of it in. You heard him say something, the words falling on deaf ears as you kept your eyes on John, seemingly unable to move as you watched every move he made with Bobs hand still on him.

You didn't try to figure out what he said, you weren't really given time to. John pulled you into him, kissing you as if he was starved. And Bob sped up his hand, presumably on both of you as John shook for a moment before regaining himself.

Everything was becoming too much, you could feel both yourself and John moving against Bob's hands, any shame drowned in the intensity of it all. It wasn't until the blonds hands made way to your thighs, pushing them open to help Bob get a better angle that you truly started to lose it.

It felt like you were on fire, and no matter how hard you tried to hold it in your orgasm pushed through. You heard moans that didn't match your own as you came, you couldn't pinpoint who it was but that didn't matter. The only things that matter was Bob's slowing hand and Johns lips turning softer with every second that passed.

When you finally pulled away you saw the scene that had been created. Bob's hand and torso was covered in cum, most of which you were sure didn't belong to him. He still had his smirk, seemingly increasing as he looked down at himself. The red marks from earlier were still painfully prominent, making the white mess stand out even more.

John was flushed, his face and neck bright red and covered in sweat. Blond hair was sticking up in every direction. His lips were swollen, you imagined yours were as well with how they felt. When you looked down you saw the other part of the mess that was still on Bob's skin.

"What the fuck just happened." John whispered, falling back on the bed with a thud.

"You didn't knock."

You pulled out your first aid kit, hands steady despite the slight tremor in your chest. You caught him watching you from the corner of his eye.

You unfolded a towel and reached for your water bottle.

“Seriously,” you said, “you don’t have to tough it out alone, you know.”

John snorted, but there was a catch in it—like laughter that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m not exactly made of glass.”

No shit, you thought. He was a super soldier. He’d taken the serum. Made himself “invincible.” Whatever the hell that meant. But the bruises told a different story. The bruises reminded you that, despite everything, John Walker was still a human being.

You wet the cloth and pressed it gently to the swelling on his cheek. He flinched, lips tightening, trying not to show it.

“Look, I get it. You want to prove you’re the damn U.S. Agent, the tough guy who can handle anything. But sometimes, even heroes need a hand.”

He didn’t answer. Just let out a dry breath, eyes locked on the ceiling, like he was avoiding your gaze.

Your chest tightened the way it always did when he looked like that—like he was carrying the weight of the world. You hated that he felt like he had to do it alone.

You’d tried time and time again to show him he didn’t have to hold it in. Didn’t have to handle it all by himself. But you weren’t the greatest at showing how you felt. A lot of the time, your version of caring came out as teasing.

You were working on it. Still weren’t one hundred percent.

“Yeah, well... maybe I’m used to handling my own mess,” he muttered.

You didn’t miss the vulnerability buried beneath the stubbornness. You just pressed the cloth a little longer and let the silence stretch.

Then, carefully: “So what do you mean by that? ‘Handling your own mess’?”

John’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked down to meet yours for a second before sliding away again.

“I’ve always had to,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I like it. But it’s just how things are.”

He had been through it the past couple years. He went from Captain America to hated man, to wanted criminal. Divorced. Best friend dead. The list went on. And if he let himself really think about it, the feelings would crawl into his chest and spill out before he could stop them.

So he didn’t let them. He ignored the hurt. Numbed the pain the best he could.

You shook your head, frustration simmering low in your chest.

“It doesn’t have to be like that anymore. You don’t have to do it alone.”

He blinked, surprised by the softness in your voice—no teasing, no sharpness. Just something real. For a moment, he looked almost... unsure.

“Why are you so damn persistent?” he muttered, but there was no bite in it.

You gave him a small smile. The one you reserved for moments like this.

“Because I’m tired of watching you pretend you’re fine when you’re clearly not. And maybe because... I care.”

John’s eyes locked with yours, a flicker of something you couldn’t name passing through them. The walls he’d built so high wavered—if only for a heartbeat.

The Thunderbolts, the “new Avengers,” whatever the hell they were... they’d changed something in him. But opening up? That still didn’t come easy. He’d gotten good at deflecting.

So when you sat here—close, steady, vulnerable—it surprised him.

John’s eyes flicked away again, voice rough.

“People don’t usually... care about me like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, drying your hands on the towel.

“Because you’re an asshole?”

He let out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah. ‘Junior varsity Captain America.’ ‘Loose cannon.’ ‘Captain Crash-out.’ ‘Asshole.’ That’s the highlight reel.”

You stepped a little closer, softening. As you reached up to clean a cut near his temple, your heart stuttered. He was warm. Close. The tension between you tightened like a pulled thread.

“Doesn’t mean it’s true,” you said quietly. “And it doesn’t mean you have to carry that weight alone.”

John’s breath hitched—and before either of you could stop it, his hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair back from your face. It was quick. Hesitant. But it was there—a crack in the armor you’d been waiting to see.

You swallowed, your chest tightening as his gaze held yours. The man who’d been so guarded, so sure he had to be the toughest in the room, suddenly looked vulnerable in a way that made your insides twist. 

He wasn’t U.S. Agent in this moment. Wasn’t the disgraced soldier or the man with a million labels.

He was just John. And for the first time... he wasn’t pushing you away.

In fact—he was pulling you closer.

You didn’t even notice it at first, not really. Just the shift of his knee brushing yours. The way his fingers lingered near your jaw after brushing the hair from your face. And then suddenly—his face was inches from yours.

Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

Close enough that the ache in your chest turned sharp and heavy, like the moment was balancing on a wire.

John’s eyes searched yours like he was still trying to figure out if this was real—if you were real. Like maybe he hadn’t meant to get this close, but now that he was here, he didn’t want to move.

Didn’t want to let go.

And you didn’t pull away either. You couldn’t.

The air between you was charged, humming with something heavy and quiet and unfinished. His hand hovered near your jaw again—close enough to feel the heat of it but not quite touching. Your heart was pounding, each beat screaming say something, do something, but the words got stuck somewhere behind your ribs.

And then—

A door creaked open.

Footsteps. Voices.

You both jerked apart, as if the moment had never happened.

John leaned back in the chair, jaw tight, eyes cast down. You stepped away too fast, heart still racing, towel clutched in your hand like a lifeline.

“Hey,” Buckey called out from the hallway. “Briefing got moved. Ten minutes.”

“Copy,” John answered, voice sharp again, like armor snapping back into place.

You didn’t look at him as you packed up the kit.

He didn’t look at you either.

The compound was quiet. Most of the team had gone to their rooms or disappeared into their routines. But you couldn’t sleep. And neither, apparently, could John.

You found him in the training room, half in shadow, sitting on the edge of the sparring mat like he’d been stuck in his own head for too long.

He looked up when you walked in—surprised, but not startled. Like maybe he’d been hoping you’d show.

You didn’t speak at first. Just sat down beside him, leaving a careful few inches between your shoulders.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

There was a pause.

“I wasn’t going to—” he started, then stopped, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I mean, I didn’t mean to get that close.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. He wasn’t defensive, wasn’t retreating behind bravado. He looked… torn. 

You tried not to let his words get to you. You knew he didn’t mean to make your heart break a little. He was trying to tell you it hadn’t been intentional. That it was okay if you didn’t want him close. And that hurt—because how could he even think you wouldn’t want that?

“That’s a shame,” you said softly.

His gaze met yours, something flickering behind it. “What do you mean?”

You didn’t answer. Just let the silence settle again, heavy but not cold. And then you turned to face him, brows raising slightly as you stared. You couldn’t get yourself to say it just yet.

You needed him to acknowledge it first. And when his eyes widened in realization, lips parting slightly, you knew he understood what you meant.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said finally.

You leaned in, just slightly—just enough to let your shoulder brush his.

“I’m not exactly great at it either.”

You looked away, eyes shifting to the wall in front of you. You didn’t want to rush this. Didn’t want to move too fast and scare him into hiding. John Walker was a lot like an armadillo in some ways—ready to retreat into his shell the moment things got too real.

John didn’t say anything right away. But this time, he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t deflect.

He just sat there with you, the quiet pressing in around both of you. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like something either of you needed to break.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

You were both just… there. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the mat in the low hum of the training room. The tension between you was different now—softer. Unspoken, but not hidden.

John’s arm brushed yours again, and this time, he didn’t pull back. He let the contact stay.

His voice broke the silence, low and rough. “I used to think… caring about someone would just make things worse. Give people another weapon to use against me.”

You turned your head, met his eyes.

“Do you still think that?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe. But sitting here with you right now?” He shrugged slightly. “It doesn’t feel like a weakness. It feels like—” He shook his head, frustrated with the words, or maybe himself. “—something I don’t want to lose.”

Your breath caught.

“I know I’m not… easy,” he added, voice quieter now. “I’ve screwed a lot of things up. Burned bridges. Pushed people away before they could do it first.”

You smiled faintly. “I’ve noticed.”

That earned a small huff of laughter, but it faded quickly. He turned toward you more fully, something fragile behind the storm in his eyes.

“I keep trying to stop myself,” he said. “From doing this. From wanting to.”

You didn’t look away. “Then don’t.”

He blinked—like that simple permission startled him. Like he hadn’t even realized it was something you could give him. His hand moved first—resting lightly on your thigh, then sliding up to your cheek, slow and cautious. Giving you space to pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

You leaned in the last inch for him.

And when your lips met, it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rushed. It was steady—like both of you had been holding your breath for months and were finally letting it out.

His hand cradled your jaw like you were something he hadn’t expected to find in this life again. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe you were the unexpected thing he didn’t know he needed. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His breath was warm and uneven, but his voice was soft.

“I don’t know what this is gonna look like. But I want to try.”