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Take Them Off Slow

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“What?” said Sam, laughing, “You did not.”

 

There was a glint in Bucky’s eye as he snickered, taking another sip of their blackberry cava mules that they’d made a pitcher of tonight to share on their front porch. Because Sam was an idiot and renting a house with a guy he was so clearly head over heels for and had no clue if the other guy liked him.

 

“Drunk. Naked. Freezing my ass off in rural France. I was sprinting, sprinting around that house, everyone cheering me on, me finishing the dare until the couple we were staying with, Camille and Olivier, they caught up with me, and we sort of toppled to the ground together… and then there was a moment… and then they took me into their home, walking me up to their bedroom, and… well…”

 

Bucky shrugged, taking the last sip of his mule.

 

“What did Steve think?” asked Sam, definitely curious.

 

Bucky cackled.

 

“Guy came banging on the door the next day,” said Bucky through laughs, placing a hand on Sam’s thigh which Sam was trying not to think too much about, “Mad that I slept in. He did politely say hi to Camille and Olivier, though.”

 

Sam giggled imagining Steve striding into this couple’s bedroom as they spooned with Bucky, all sleeping, Steve waking them all up as Steve politely greeted the good couple before chastising Bucky on tardiness.

 

“That’s such a Steve thing to do,” said Sam, “Courteous and thoughtful to anyone he wasn’t close to.”

 

“I know, right?” said Bucky, leaning in closer, Sam feeling Bucky’s hair lightly falling on Sam, barely grazing him, “Very Steve.”

 

And Sam’s heart stuttered at the attention; the complete and absolute feeling of Bucky keeping his eyes on him, how it felt as if Bucky didn’t want to look at anything else besides Sam. Sam didn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. He wasn’t exactly lucky in love, and it wasn’t as if the life he chose as Captain America gave Sam either the time to date or the security that anyone he dated would be safe from those who wanted Sam dead. And the way Bucky was so close, the way Bucky smiled at him… it was giving Sam ideas he wasn’t sure if he should squash right away or let that horribly scary feeling, the anticipation of something more bloom.

 

“Sam,” said Bucky thick, raw, eyes wanting something, anything, “Give me a sign here. What do you want? What do you desire?”

 

“You,” said Sam, without thinking, without hesitation, just thoughts of here and now and Bucky so close to him, Bucky’s head leaning onto his own, a deep sigh coming from the man as he slouched, eyes never leaving Sam’s.

 

“Me too,” whispered Bucky, that hand on Sam’s thigh giving Sam a small squeeze, Sam shivering at the feeling, “For a long while now.”

 

Sam pushed up, a small peck, sweet and fleeting and wanting of more, seeing Bucky look at him like he was something, like he was more than the symbol, the good brother, the VA counselor, the friend people lean on, the hero making speeches.

 

That he just wanted Sam because he was Sam.

 

That he was okay that it was just Sam there; the man who sometimes forgot to wash his dishes or left his clothes in the washer until Bucky reminded him to put them in the dryer; the man who didn’t really know how to parallel park or roller skate without instantly falling on his ass; the man who sometimes ate his cereal with orange juice and liked anchovies on his pizza; the man who forgot not everyone loved waking up at five in the morning to jog or went to bed at ten on the dot to not be too tired at five.

 

Sam leaned into Bucky’s hand when he moved it up onto Sam’s face, feeling the vibranium rub his cheek so gently.

 

“Inside?” asked Bucky, Sam nodding as they both stood up, never leaving each other’s space really as they walked together back into the house, Sam just…feeling.

 

Feeling the coarse jeans and jean jacket Bucky wore in the crisp autumn night, the soft cotton of the one size too small Avengers t-shirt Bucky had stolen from him months ago, the thick, slightly rougher feel of the long navy shirt under it, the fray of the ends of those long sleeves, knowing every unraveled piece of the fabric.

 

And there was something tangible about the feeling of Bucky pulling him in for just another kiss, and another, and another, as they moved through the hall towards Bucky’s room, the closest out of the both of theirs, making their journey take that much longer but become all the more cherished. That made Sam feel cherished.

 

And Sam giggled a bit when they both stumbled clumsily onto Bucky’s bed, Bucky only narrowly stopping himself from falling straight on top of Sam.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” said Bucky, kissing all around Sam’s face, “I didn’t mean to almost crush you.”

 

“Yeah,” said Sam, unable to get his hands off the man, just feeling the textures of Bucky, letting his eyes roam like he always wanted to do before this but was too scared to let himself, “It would be nice to do more than kissing before you squish me to death.”

 

Bucky snorted.

 

“Yeah,” said Bucky, “That would probably be nice. There’s a lot of stuff I’d like to do to you before I smush you to death, probably in the middle of the night.”

 

“Is that what the headlines will say? ‘Captain America, Flattened Like a Pancake by War Hero Bucky Barnes’?” asked Sam.

 

“Nah. It will probably say, ‘Captain America, Squished like a Cartoon Character by Ex-Winter Soldier and Infamous Assassin, Bucky Barnes’,” said Bucky, “Because people are terrible.”

 

“Yeah, makes sense,” said Sam, snickering with Bucky, “I’m sorry that you may become my demise in your slumber.”

 

And then the giggles died down, their eyes meeting once more, the moment coming back to them.

 

Sam stared into Bucky’s eyes, their breath intermingling, Bucky definitely feeling the smooth softness of Sam’s suede jacket, as he slid the jacket off inch by inch, savoring the moment, savoring Sam, Sam’s voice hitching as Bucky finally removed the jacket, Sam moving a touch closer, feeling his hardness against Bucky’s with fabric between them.

 

And there was something tantalizing about the act of stripping someone. The tease of fabric between one another, the anticipation of the act that will come soon after.

 

Bucky’s stubble grazed Sam as Bucky moaned lightly at the feel of the movement between one another, laying close to each other, Bucky’s hands feeling their way down Sam’s slick silk button down as if he was memorizing every touch he gave Sam, slowly unbuttoning Sam’s cuffs, Sam feeling Bucky’s hands shake a bit as those hands moved up Sam’s arms, down to his chest, starting to pop one. Button. After. Another. Slow. Steady.

 

And since when did Sam had so many buttons? He didn’t really care though. It was the deliberate procession of it, the gentle pace of it all, and Sam wondered if Bucky could feel Sam’s heartbeat quickening with every button undone, hear it, sense the pulse of it, how it sped faster and faster into oblivion, the razor’s edge between panic and excitement gripping Sam, knowing this was actually happening, that Bucky wanted this too, that he relished every moment with Sam, Sam feeling the silk button down leave his chest exposed to the AC of the room, Sam shivering with how the silk crawled down his arms.

 

And then there was the small pop, the pop of Sam’s jean button which felt almost too audible, as well as the zipper sliding down the feel of the roughness of the jeans slinking down his hips, his thighs, his knees and calves, Bucky’s head falling back to the side, face buried in the covers groaning, tensing up and…

 

Sam laughed.

 

“Oh my god, you,” said Sam, giggling, just watching Bucky go through his orgasm fully clothed.

 

“Don’t say it,” said Bucky, sounding more like a sigh despite himself, “Please. I feel lame already.”

 

Sam couldn’t help feeling something warm and fuzzy spreading in him, watching Bucky there, especially vulnerable, and he couldn’t help himself, he rolled over, jeans still around his ankles, underwear still on, wrapping himself as much around Bucky as physically possible in his state, rubbing and kissing and whispering into his hair, his stubble, his neck, his chest niceties and words of adoration.

 

“You’re delightful,” Sam whispered into the man’s skin, “Marvelous. I’m so glad I can turn you on so much, even through clothed teasing on your end.”

 

Bucky glanced down and said, “Fuck.”

 

“What?” asked Sam.

 

“I forgot to take off your shoes.”

 

The both of them laughed, Sam taking a moment to toe his shoes and socks off before Bucky completed his mission, heading to the comfortable tightness of Sam’s boxer briefs and…pausing.

 

“What is it now?” asked Sam, smiling at Bucky, Bucky’s face on Sam’s crotch, something fascinating about the feel of the stubble grazing Sam with the boxer briefs between, Bucky glancing up from his cuddling of Sam’s dick.

 

“I just can’t believe I get to be here,” whispered Bucky, and Sam wasn’t sure if he could take that, “Get to do this.”

 

“Get to unwrap me like a birthday present,” deflected Sam a bit, waggling his eyebrows, earning the feel of a laugh right on his crotch, Sam trying not to accidentally thrust at Bucky’s face.

 

“Get to do this with you. Even if I… finished prematurely,” said Bucky, genuine, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the boxer briefs atop Sam’s hips, his fingers moving under and out of the boxer brief waist elastic, “It’s nice. That we can take this time. That we can be like this. You’re so beautiful and loving and it just… I’ve wanted this for a while. And not just the sex. You.”

 

Sam pulled Bucky up, giving him a deep kiss, feeling Bucky’s hand move down his boxers, starting to move on Sam’s length, Sam already too hard already, swarming with too much emotion, feeling everything a little too much, needing very little to start his way towards that elation, that fall off the peak down into euphoria, Bucky working Sam through his orgasm like a champ, especially in the state post-orgasmic he was in.

 

And they lay there together for a while, just close to each other, lovingly close, wanting nothing else to be in each other’s spaces, feeling each other’s heat.

 

“So… should we get you out of your dirty underwear before it gets real gross, or…?” asked Sam, snickering as Bucky groaned into the covers again, Sam definitely never letting the man he loved live that down.