Vermont is cold as ice in winter, even in its motel rooms. Bucky burrows into the comforter of the bed, balling himself up so his torso can spread warmth to his remaining attached limbs. The room smells stale, the bed stiff and its sheets starchy, too-crisp. Bucky wriggles under the covers in an attempt to find a comfortable position. No dice. Sleep won’t come easy tonight. He’s used to the feeling but that doesn’t mean he enjoys the weight of exhaustion on his back.
What he’s not used to is having a partner to share the bed with. Bucky feels vulnerable when Sam’s not in bed with him, it’s embarrassing to admit, but he’s trying to practice transparency with himself. He loves Sam, would lift three tanks stacked on top of each other for him if it made him happy.
Hell, it’s partly why Bucky followed Sam on this wild goose chase through the Northeast; A.I.M is rumoured to be harbouring blueprints for a new bioweapon and Redwing tracked the mooks upward into Brownington. Sam and Bucky had to stop for food and sleep, but as it stands, Sam doesn’t seem to be too interested in the sleeping part.
Redwing returned to Sam earlier this evening with a ‘broken wing' due to a mook slapping an EMP onto it (Sam looked legitimately upset; Bucky believes Sam has an unhealthy attachment to inanimate objects and should just get a parakeet or something). When he and Bucky returned to the hotel at around eleven, Sam immediately got to work on repairs. It has been three and a half hours since then and Bucky has not gotten a single wink.
God, Bucky must repeat himself, he loves Sam. Loves him. But his left hand is currently pressing a pillow over his head with enough force to cause his skull to cave in. The racket is driving him crazier than he already is.
“Sam,” Bucky says, and then Sam stops humming tunelessly to some song Bucky’s never heard, takes his goggles off his forehead, and turns around in the desk chair.
Sam blinks a couple of times before he says, “Oh, god, I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t know I was keeping you up.”
“It’s two thirty in the fucking morning,” Bucky replies, too exhausted to hide the annoyed scratchiness in his voice. “Just give it up and go to bed.”
Offended, Sam takes Redwing into his hands, cradling it like an infant, pointing to the bald spot on its paint job where he’d welded over it.
“Redwing is the only way we can track these stupid bastards without getting lost in the snowstorm,” Sam reasons. “You checked the weather, right? It’s coming up and we’re gonna be heading right into it.”
“Do I look like a schmuck who checks the goddamn weather,” Bucky says, deadpan. Exhaling through his nose, he bundles himself up in the covers, knees pulled against his stomach. He’s cold and cranky and he wants Sam to get over here and snuggle with him, not spend fruitless hours trying to fix his robot bird.
Sam huffs, puts Redwing back on the desk and slumps over in the chair, rubbing his face with his hands. Of course Sam’s tired. Bucky’s not as stupid as he likes to pretend, he’s noticed how Sam is neglecting his own needs over the course of this mission. When Bucky woke up from a sort of-nightmare the other night, Sam was wide awake, reading intel files in bed. Yesterday he’d barely eaten a thing; Bucky had to finish both meals for him. Tonight Sam looks gaunt as a ghoul from the way he’s been treating himself.
“Baby, please just put all that shit down and get some sleep,” Bucky tries, pulling out Sam’s favourite pet name as a last resort. It sort of gets to Sam; his gaze darts back to meet Bucky’s for a quick second before he turns to his equipment again.
“I need to get this done,” Sam asserts. “The mission’s gonna fall out of our hands if I don’t.”
Bucky’s eye twitches. That’s it. No more Mr. Nice Partner-Coworker-Boyfriend.
He hauls the thick duvet off his body and gets to his feet, marches over to the desk where Sam’s sitting, and grabs onto Sam’s shoulders with both hands. Sam squawks as Bucky lifts him off the chair and carries him by the torso over to the bed.
Bucky tosses him onto the bed with enough force to make his body bounce with the mattress. Sam stares up at him with big owl eyes, pools of earth-brown that are dilated from the impact, from Bucky manhandling him.
Looming over Sam, Bucky stares back, a challenge, an invitation for Sam to accept. If Sam’s not gonna let him sleep, then maybe there’s another way for him and Sam to work off some steam.
Sam looks vulnerable from where Bucky’s kneeling above him, his posture rigid, he’s keyed up. Bucky leans in, curling his lip and scanning Sam with watchful eyes.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you,” Bucky says, but it’s not for reassuring, it’s to let Sam know who’s in charge.
When Sam attempts to wriggle free, Bucky pins his arms down with his hands and his hips with his thighs. He’s got Sam now, there’s no escaping. Sam’s going to have to answer no matter what.
But Sam is a stubborn little fucker, he looks away from Bucky, turns his head to the side and juts out his lip.
Bucky snarls and thrusts his face into Sam’s. “You’re making this real fuckin’ difficult.”
His left arm whirrs and the plates shift up and down, back and forth. Sam eyes it with a hint of hunger. So Bucky lifts his hand and presses his thumb to Sam’s lips.
“Open up,” Bucky growls.
That gets Sam’s attention. His tongue darts out to lick at Bucky’s metal thumb, tracing over the divots and scutes, like Sam is relishing in the blood-tang of vibranium alloy. Sam unsheathes his teeth to bite, gently, at the pad of the digit, and Bucky can feel it thanks to the advanced pressure sensors installed within.
“Tell me what you need, sweetheart,” Bucky repeats, softer this time around, ‘cause hell, he’s sweet on Sam even when he’s trying to be intense.
“I,” Sam licks his lips, turns away from Bucky’s hand, ducks his head. His voice is shaky and his face is red as he says, “Want you to use me. Just fucking — fuck my brains out of me. Okay? Get me outta my head. That’s — that’s what I need.”
Bucky’s brain turns to static for a few moments, because fuck, how is he supposed to respond to that? It’s not like Bucky wasn’t anticipating this kind of answer, but he never expected Sam to say it out loud. It’s practically Bucky’s dream come true — he just wishes Sam didn’t have to be so bull-headed about it.
“Sure,” is all Bucky can force out of his mouth, and it’s a dumb response, but he makes up for his blunder by settling on top of Sam and sinking his teeth into the exposed skin on the side of his neck. Sam gasps and grabs at Bucky’s hair, panting as Bucky worries the flesh with blunt incisors and canines, tasting salt on his tongue.
“Kiss a guy first,” Sam complains, and that just makes Bucky bite down harder, to which Sam cries out. There are other people staying at this buttfuck-nowhere motel, he and Sam know this. Malevolence flares through Bucky’s veins because he plans to take full advantage of their surroundings.
Bucky releases Sam when he starts to squirm underneath him. He drags the flat of his tongue along Sam’s throat, feels Sam shudder. “I’ll kiss you when I want.”
Sam responds by tugging on Bucky’s hair; Bucky grits his teeth to prevent a sharp noise from escaping his pulled-back lips. He chomps down on the soft skin beneath Sam’s earlobe. Sam moans, it’s loud and wanton and Bucky’s sure the guests in the next room can hear it. Excellent. Time to exact his master plan.
He sucks bite after bite into Sam’s neck, marking him up with burning and angry hickies that everyone will see if Sam doesn’t take extra care of covering them up. Sam doesn’t tell him to stop, hell, Sam seems plainly delighted in the way Bucky’s treating him. Bucky’s cock is throbbing in his boxers, he needs to get in Sam soon, bury into that tight heat and show Sam who’s here to take care of him.
Sam gulps air when Bucky humps against Sam’s leg, the single thin layer of fabric the only filter between skin on skin. Bucky knows the serum helped him out down there, even though much of his sex life pre-War is a blur. But Sam’s the first fella that Bucky’s made time with, ever, the guy yanked him out of the closet with that winning smile and eye-rolling sense of humour, and Bucky knows Sam has it bad for his size and strength.
Bucky presses his weight into Sam’s thighs, rutting with intent. Fuck, he’s gonna make himself come doing this, but it feels so good, his face going slack. Bucky nips at Sam’s lip, doesn’t quite kiss him, not yet. Sam hasn’t earned that part.
“Bucky,” Sam pleads, but Bucky’s a stubborn bastard too, he lines himself up against Sam’s crotch, drags his cock along Sam’s which is still bulging in his sweats. Sam tosses his head back, pants with noise. “Fuck me.”
Bucky gets up off of Sam, ignoring his own blue balls. “Nope.”
Sam wails, another brittle sound that ricochets off the drywall. “You motherfucker , if you don’t fuck me like a fuckin’ animal right now, I swear to god, I’ll —“
Bucky grabs Sam’s lower jaw with his left hand, holds it still. “I could leave this fuckin’ room right now if I wanted. Could go grab a drink and leave you here all by yourself. Leave you here to fuck yourself on your fingers and think of me, only me.” He leans in, practically nose to nose, forcing Sam to look him right in the eye. Bucky softens his expression as he continues, “No, I won’t do that to you, baby. You’re so caught up in the shit, need me to rescue you, I’ll do it.”
The body beneath him is trembling now, Sam looks like he’s about to burst into tears from frustration. “I don’t need —“
“You do,” Bucky finishes for him, mouthing and nipping at the line of Sam’s jaw. “And I’m gonna give it to you.”
Bucky feels Sam turn to jelly in his grasp. Sam’s limbs go limp, he gives up the struggle, resigning himself to Bucky’s whims. As much as he’d hate to admit it, Bucky likes it when Sam puts up a good ‘fight.’ It keeps the momentum going, and all that. But Sam’s got his own needs and right now Bucky’s here to make sure they’re satisfied.
Sam whimpers when Bucky hauls his sweats and briefs off with one swift motion. He splays his thighs, rides up his sweater so he can play with himself. Sam’s long and hard and he must be aching, the poor thing. Bucky swipes his tongue around his lips before he dips his head down and sucks one of Sam’s nipples into his mouth, palming Sam’s balls with his right hand.
“Bucky,” Sam yelps. Bucky feels Sam grasp at his hair again, and he growls, sinking teeth into the soft flesh of Sam’s areola. “Bucky, god , good boy.”
Of course, Sam has to bring out the secret weapon, the knife in his boot that he only uses when he really wants Bucky to move and moan. It works, it always does. Bucky breathes out a noise that sounds foreign to his own ears, his jaws still clamped around Sam’s nipple. Sam huffs out a laugh, but it’s a temporary and pyrrhic victory. Bucky drags his hand down from Sam’s sack to his taint, pressing big and broad fingers into the sensitive spot. He sucks on the skin in his mouth at the same time, causing Sam to mewl.
“You’re my good boy, always giving me what I need,” Sam rasps, breathless, the last of the fight in him going out in a blaze of glory. Bucky gasps and cuts him off with a kiss, but it’s more like Bucky thrusting his tongue down Sam’s throat. Sam lets him, whining into it, Bucky’s tongue fucking in and out with all of his weight bored down onto Sam’s body.
When they come up for air, Bucky says, firm, “I’m gonna suck you.”
Sam blushes, but he nods, spreading his legs and letting Bucky crawl down to the foot of the bed. Bucky stops to just look at Sam, eyeing him with starvation and dominance. Sam’s gaze is hidden by the sweep of his lashes, he looks embarrassed by the way Bucky drinks up the sight of his mostly nude form.
Bucky decides, fuck it, and frees himself from his boxers so they’re both half-naked.
“Look at you,” Bucky says as he settles onto his knees (a place he loves to be, but he’ll never say that aloud). He uses his left hand to stroke Sam’s cock, thumbing the head, and he smirks as Sam’s thighs spasm.
“Quit looking and start sucking,” Sam grits out. Bucky squeezes Sam’s shaft in response; Sam sobs. “Okay, okay, I get it.”
“Such a brat,” Bucky chides, slapping the meat of Sam’s inner thigh. “Gonna have to suck all that out of you.”
He takes Sam into his mouth, and god, Bucky’s never quite as content as he is when he’s sucking Sam’s cock. Sam’s long, not too girthy, and he slides along Bucky’s tongue with such grace. Bucky laves at the tip, tasting bitter precome, letting some drool roll down Sam’s shaft. Sam’s going wild already, making all these little noises that are music to Bucky’s ears.
“Baby boy, you’re so good at this,” Sam breathes out, gasping like he’s being deprived of oxygen.
Sam doles out praise during sex like it’s casual, but it’s also Bucky’s weak point, and that only fuels the fire. Bucky pulls off to groan, taking himself in his left hand and squeezing the base. He goes back down, farther this time, feeling Sam enter and fill his throat. It’s exhilarating, it fills Bucky with the same adrenaline as a good brawl.
Sam fills the silent room — except for the wet sounds of Bucky swallowing Sam down — with more talking. He never seems to enjoy quiet. “You’re always so good to me, yes you are. Can’t believe you’ve never sucked cock before me, makes me feel so special, no other guy gets to feel your lips, huh...”
The words make Bucky’s body buzz all over, precome oozing onto his metal fingers. He moans, Sam far down his throat, and the vibrations it sends through Sam’s groin cause him to keen out, the loudest noise he’s made so far.
Bucky can hear it, someone asking ‘is someone getting fucked in there?’ outside the room. He isn’t sure if Sam can, though, with his normal human ears. So he pulls off, tongue dragging along the length, a string of spit following his lips.
“You hear that, doll?” Bucky asks, his voice rough and scratchy and his throat aching. “People outside can hear us making time. Maybe you should pipe down.”
Sam freezes, his whole face turning a deep crimson. His gaze darts to the door, then around to the ceiling, the walls. He gulps, sweat beading at his brow. Then he looks at Bucky and says, “Let ‘em hear.”
The wooden frame of the bed that Bucky’s now holding in his left hand breaks under his grasp. Whoops. He’ll have to explain that to the front desk in the morning.
Sam looks down. “Did you break the bed?”
Bucky nods, but doesn’t respond, he instead reaches into Sam’s rucksack and takes out the condoms and lube.
“No condoms,” Sam says. “If you’re gonna fuck me like this then you’d better commit.”
Bucky can feel his cock twitch at that. He puts the condoms back and crawls back onto the bed, settling between Sam’s parted legs. He thinks. And thinks. Perhaps he could. They could break something doing it like that. Bucky finally decides that he could care less.
“Get up, face the wall,” Bucky orders. “Spread those legs for me and show yourself off.”
Sam flushes again, but Bucky knows he’d love to oblige, and he does, sliding onto his feet with shaky legs. Sam braces his hands against the thin wall and parts his thighs, sticks his ass out, shows Bucky his hole all sweet and inviting. He even looks back at Bucky with a lust-covered glaze in his eye.
Bucky wastes no time with prep, flattening the plates on his left hand and coating the fingers with clear fluid. He sticks his index and middle into Sam’s hole, and fuck, Sam takes it so nice, his eyes squeezing shut and his glutes clenching for a moment before he relaxes at the sensation. Bucky crowds into Sam’s space and rests his chin atop Sam’s shoulder, letting lube dribble down Sam’s shaking thighs.
He wraps his right hand around Sam’s bare middle, fucking him deep with vibranium fingers. Bucky mouths at the shell of Sam’s ear, purrs into it, “Who’s being sweet for me, huh? Taking me so easy, baby, damn near in heat with it.”
“ Bucky,” Sam gasps. Yeah, it’s filthy, and Bucky will probably look back on this moment with a blush on his face. But it makes Sam deflate, he goes pliant again, and Bucky has to keep Sam from buckling under his own weight. He slides his hard cock along Sam’s thigh.
“You want me, sweet thing?” Bucky goads. His fingers scissor Sam’s hole, stretch him open. Bucky feels Sam’s curve forward. “You’re gonna have to say it. C’mon.”
It takes Sam a few moments, but finally, Sam turns back to Bucky and whines, “W-want you so bad. Please, baby, please fuck me.”
Bucky smirks with teeth, pulls his fingers out slowly so Sam can feel it, shake with it. He pours some lube into his right palm and lathers his dick up, just for the ease of what he’s about to do.
He takes Sam by the shoulders and turns him around so they’re facing one another. Sam blinks, confused, until Bucky grabs his waist and hauls him upward, pressing him against the wall. Sam looks stunned, gaze towards the floor, his legs wrapped tight around Bucky’s waist.
“Hoid on tight,” Bucky says with a wry grin, lining himself up with Sam’s open and slick hole. The head of his cock nudges against Sam, and Sam whimpers. “It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you. I won’t let you go.”
The wall groans under the pressure, it’s thin and the guests next door can definitely hear them now. Bucky can pick up the murmurs, the hushed whispers. Sam’s arms wrap around Bucky’s neck, and Bucky pushes in, slow, easy.
Sam’s head thumps back against the drywall. “You’re big,” he moans.
“And you’re tight,” Bucky says with a dirty chuckle. He buries up to the hilt in Sam’s heat, he can feel Sam spasming around him. Bucky lets his jaw unclench and he groans, pleasure radiating through his body, he feels so good, Sam’s making him feel so fucking good.
Bucky shifts his posture to indicate he’s ready to move. Sam holds onto him for dear life, trusting Bucky not to give out and let go. Bucky won’t, he swears on it. He rolls his hips, a fluid motion that bleeds a desperate noise out of Sam.
“Give it to me,” Sam begs, and Bucky begins to really move, thrusting with all the energy he can expunge. The room is filled with the smack of Bucky’s groin against Sam’s ass, Sam’s pleasured cries and Bucky’s panting breaths. Sam’s bunched up, curled inward as Bucky fucks him. Lube drips onto the floor, down Sam’s ass and thighs, Bucky’s cock as it slides in and out.
The walls are rickety and they groan with the repeated impact. Bucky buries his head into the small of Sam’s clavicle, licks at the soft skin there, pulls his head back up and stares Sam down.
“I’ll always give it to you, honey, all you gotta do is ask.” Bucky tries a new angle, hooks one of Sam’s legs higher, really fucks his hole and Sam is alight with it all. Bucky laughs again, dark and warm. “Yeah, this is what you needed, huh. Needed me to use all my bulk on you so I could fuck you like a plaything.”
Sam’s eyes cloud over, he’s gone, Bucky has officially fucked the fight out of him. He moans with each piston into his prostate, Bucky hitting him right where he needs it. But he clings on, blunt nails digging into Bucky’s back.
Sam clenches his hole tight around Bucky, causing Bucky to gasp and thrust his left fist into the drywall. It goes through the wall like a hot knife through butter. Bucky grimaces, he’s like a bull in a China shop tonight.
But it seems to delight Sam, he wails again as Bucky tentatively takes his now dust-covered vibranium hand and strokes Sam’s cock, fondles his balls. Bucky’s growing tired, and it seems like Sam is, too, with the way his grip on Bucky falters every once in a while.
There’s a violent knock on the door, and Sam freezes up, clenching again. Bucky ignores it, doesn’t stop moving. He fucks Sam through the humiliation, the embarrassment and surprise of being caught. It thrills Bucky to the bone knowing people are curious about what he’s doing to Sam, how he’s ravaging him right now. If those folks open the door, they’re gonna be met with one hell of a sight.
“Bucky,” Sam whines, hiding his face into Bucky’s right shoulder, heat coming off his skin in waves.
“It’s okay, baby, I won’t let ‘em see,” Bucky pants. “They won’t get to see Cap getting fucked like this.”
His thrusts are becoming more erratic as time passes, he’s going to come soon. They both are, from the looks and feeling of it, Sam idly flexing his walls around Bucky as orgasm builds in his gut.
“You gonna come, sweetheart?” Bucky asks before he takes Sam’s tongue and draws it into his mouth. They kiss for a few moments, a little too tender for the sex they’re having right now, but Bucky’s feeling protective.
Sam breaks away and nods, his jaw slack and eyes wet at the edges. Bucky braces himself, aligns himself in another angle and fucks Sam without refrain. He pumps metal fingers around Sam’s cock and mouths at Sam’s collarbone.
“Show me how much you needed this,” Bucky rasps, and Sam comes, his back arching and his grip on Bucky like a vice as he lets out a long, drawn out moan of Bucky’s name. He spills all over Bucky’s hand, his stomach and chest. It’s a spectacle of an orgasm, it’s something Bucky will never grow tired of seeing, Sam at the peak of pleasure.
When Sam comes to, he purposefully clenches around Bucky’s cock. Bucky knows he’s overstimulated; thankfully for him, Bucky’s on the brink from watching his partner come so pretty.
“Gonna come, Sam,” Bucky warns, holding Sam tight now, both arms wrapped around his back and fucking Sam on his dick like it’s no one’s business. “Gonna come, fill you up, oh, fuck, fuck.”
His climax hits him like a cold jab to the face but in the best way possible. Bucky’s legs almost give out as he comes in Sam, so much of the stuff spilling out of Sam’s hole that it spatters onto the carpet, fuck, it’s so hot, Bucky groans for it, groans for Sam as the last of his come fills Sam to the brim.
Bucky stills, pulling out slowly, carefully. Sam whimpers, still clung to him. Come is oozing out of Sam’s ass, mixing with the lube coating his inner thighs. Bucky carries Sam back to the bed, lays him down with gentleness.
He cleans Sam up, applying what little bits of aftercare he knows to do, stroking Sam with a warm washcloth till the markings of come are all gone. Sam doesn’t fight back, he’s in another world right now, and Bucky allows him that.
Bucky hauls the covers over him and Sam both. He’s exhausted, Sam’s exhausted. There’s a lot of things they’ll need to talk about later, such as the come all over the carpet and the gaping hole in the wall, but for now, they’ll just lay here in this cheap motel bed, dicks hanging out, shirts still on.
He cradles Sam’s limp body in his arms. Bucky doesn’t bother to ask how it was for Sam; the fact that he’s so slack and ragdoll-esque is evidence enough that Bucky satisfied his desires. After a few minutes, Bucky feels Sam’s chest rise and fall slower, deeper.
Bucky smiles to himself. Finally. He shuts off the lamp light and, at long last, he and Sam get some shut eye.