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Sam’s a busy man.

He knew full well when he took on the role of Captain America that he would be; being a superhero is already a full time job, even when you’re not also trying to stay an active member of your community at home and navigating the politics and hostile environment that come with being both a Black transgender man and Captain America.

All that is to say, Sam doesn’t have a lot of time on his hands to mess with things that are already pretty comfortable. He likes his furniture well enough, so he doesn’t go out and buy new pieces even when he sees a nice table he’s been eying for a while. He enjoys the meals he’s always made, so he doesn’t go out of his way to experiment with new recipes or even just change up the old ones. He’s thought about a few of those meal delivery kit services, but he axes the idea when he realizes the food would probably go bad based on how little he’s regularly home. He continues to wear his tried and true clothing instead of taking up various designers on their offers to jazz up his everyday style.

He goes back to his own room every night even though he’s pretty sure Bucky has been lowkey hinting Sam’s welcome in his, because being just friends is easier. Romance takes up time Sam just doesn’t have.

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

That’s not to say he and Bucky aren’t extremely close, though. They’re great roommates; it’s rare either of them spend time apart when they’re both home. Bucky never seemed to be the type to really care for cleanliness, but, weirdly, Bucky enjoys cleaning as long as he’s not the only one benefiting from the fruits of his own labor, so the space is always neat and tidy. Sam cooks, Bucky cleans, and they spend just about all of their free time together, content in their playful bickering and easy camaraderie.

If a decent amount of that free time is spent with Bucky pretty openly ogling Sam’s arms and his thighs, along with Sam looking away too quickly when his eyes fall anywhere below Bucky’s neck, Sam really does not have the time to ruminate on their newfound leisure activities.

He also does not have the time to ruminate on how these activities aren’t exactly new.

So Sam rushes from mission to mission, splits his free time between his family and Bucky—though he’d be lying if he said most of the time Bucky didn’t tag along when he spends time with his family—and goes to sleep in his own bed every night he’s home, thinking about how Bucky would rail the living daylights out of him if he’d just follow him down the hallway instead.

It’s an existence Sam is entirely content with, even if he sometimes wishes he had a bit more free time. Bucky makes sure to wrangle up plans for them when Sam needs to get out of his routine, whether it’s a day out on the boat or an evening at some winery Sam’s been putting off going to for months despite saying he’s going to go someday, and Sam picks up books he knows Bucky would be interested in when a mission takes him near a local secondhand or Black owned bookstore and tries not to absolutely melt when Bucky smiles at Sam like he just made his whole year. It’s rare that they ever step on each other’s toes these days.

Which is why Sam’s ecstatic when he finishes up a mission earlier than expected, the op going down easy with Joaquín’s help in the sky and a few extra feet on the ground when Hawkeye and his new protégé show up. He speeds through the post-op debrief as fast as he can, thanking Joaquín profusely when he offers to drop the reports off on his way out so Sam doesn’t have to go out of his way, and he flies home with his own wings rather than waiting for a flight home in a small plane the agency he’s working with offered to him.

He ends up back at their little cottage a full day and a half earlier than expected. He realizes halfway through the flight that he never told Bucky he was headed home early, but he’s a stickler about not texting and flying, so he figures he’ll make it a surprise. He figures he could have Redwing send off a message if he really wanted, but Bucky’s usually happy when he gets home early, and he knows Bucky was kind of bummed about Sam leaving when the op got pushed up unexpectedly. They’ve got enough security tech on their house that no one could get in without permission except Sam, so he knows that’s not going to put Bucky in attack mode, and he figures Bucky might be due for a pleasant surprise.

He sincerely regrets that line of thinking as soon as he walks in the door to see Bucky in flagrante on their couch, a hand around his dick and the unmistakable sound of moaning coming out of his phone speakers.

Sam thinks he should probably turn around and try again later, thinks maybe he should try and run to his room and hope Bucky’s too blissed out to notice. Instead he just stays there, watching while Bucky bites his lip and fucks up into his own hand, letting out a soft, “Fuck,” as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

Sam’s brain stops functioning when Bucky actually comes, his mouth open and his hips lifted up off the couch. He thinks he should take his chances and move forward into the hallway then, but his feet don’t get the memo, and instead he takes a step backwards and crashes loudly into their mostly closed front door.

He hears Bucky get up quickly, and Sam decides to try to act like he hadn’t just seen his best friend’s dick hard and leaking, which is particularly difficult when Bucky walks right up to him, his dick still all the way out. 

“Sam? You okay? I thought you weren’t getting back for a couple of days,” Bucky says weirdly nonchalantly, like he would if he was fully clothed and Sam wasn’t having a spectacularly difficult time looking at his eyes rather than his crotch. 

“Clint showed up,” Sam manages to say surprisingly evenly. “We finished early.”

Bucky looks down at himself, the first time he’s even hinted at the fact that Sam walked in on him getting off, and chuckles. “Yeah, I guess I did too.” He ignores the way Sam chokes on his own spit at that, instead turning around and walking back towards the living room and slipping his sweats back on, but not before Sam gets entirely too good of a look at his adorably tiny ass.

Sam’s got about ten more seconds before things get awkward, so he forces himself to keep acting like Bucky is, like everything’s normal. He goes to the kitchen and takes his cowl off, grabbing a beer like he always does when he gets home from an op, and sits down in their little-used armchair. 

He’s definitely not avoiding their couch like the plague, thank you.

Bucky’s still shirtless, his bulge distractingly prominent through his thin sweatpants with no underwear underneath. He launches into questions about the op—how it went, how Clint’s doing, if Torres has finally entirely gotten the hang of the wings yet—and Sam manages to answer all of them in a way that seemingly leaves Bucky satisfied despite half of his mind being dedicated to the thought of his favorite dildo in his room that, fuck, isn’t actually as big as Bucky is.

Bucky eventually bids him goodnight, heading back to his room in the way he always does, in the way that feels like an invitation, but he never once acknowledges that Sam saw his dick.

That Sam saw him come.

He heads back to his own room in a daze, taking off his clothes and walking to the bathroom to at least wash off his face and hands, too keyed up to take a shower just yet. If his mama was around, she’d give him hell about climbing into bed without a shower first, gross and sweaty from an intense mission, but Sam’s past the level of desperate, so he walks over to his bed and plops down, digging through his toy drawer on autopilot.

He can wash his sheets in the morning.

He’s already wet when he takes out a vibrator and lube, setting the toy aside before adding a bit of lube to two fingers and sliding them into his cunt, biting his lip to keep from making any noise.

It doesn’t take long before he’s aching for something more substantial, so he pulls out his fingers and lubes up his toy before sliding it home. He starts it on a low setting, the stretch enough that he’s not sure he could handle more right away. His legs involuntarily stretch out and he flexes his toes at the way the dual stimulation feels on his dick, and he knows his leg will cramp tomorrow, but today he’s too blissed out to care.

The image of Bucky on their couch stays at the forefront of his mind as he turns the setting on the vibe up a few notches, racketing higher and higher to the memory of Bucky’s hand working over his cock, eyes glued to his phone, letting out grunts and groans when he twisted his wrist just right.

Sam comes right when Bucky does in his memory, his own toes curling while the Bucky in his thoughts lets his mouth drop open, thick ropes of come shooting off from his cock. He turns the vibe down a few settings, oversensitive but still too horny to stop right away, and works himself through the vestiges of pleasure before turning it off entirely and pulling the toy out.

He lies there for a moment and catches his breath, wondering if Bucky’s doing the same thing after Sam had interrupted his little session on the couch. He thinks he should probably be more upset about the couch, given that it’s their shared furniture, but he’s more focused on how he’s going to sit on it now without getting horny as all hell.

Their armchair isn’t that uncomfortable if he doesn’t think about it.

Eventually he forces himself out of bed and over to his bathroom, using the restroom before hopping in the shower and washing all his mission-related grime down the drain. He tries to think of literally anything else while he suds himself up, but his thoughts stray back to Bucky on their couch in sync with his fingers straying to rub over his dick as the water streams down his back. It’s not long before he comes again, thankful for the noise of the shower allowing him to let out the moans he’d been holding back earlier.

When he gets himself off a third time before he goes to bed that night, he keeps telling himself he’s too busy for a relationship.

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” he whispers to himself after he comes down, but it sounds hollow to his own ears.


Things pretty much return to normal after that.

Sam goes on ops, he comes home to a weirdly clean house, Bucky takes him somewhere fun at least once a week, and they take Cass and AJ out for ice cream more times than Sarah entirely approves of. Sam brings Bucky a book here or there, they watch the shitty reality TV they’re both obsessed with from their respective places in the living room—the armchair is definitely comfy enough to sit in more often, Bucky, why are you asking—and Bucky always bids Sam goodnight with an unspoken invitation that Sam never says yes to.

Sam goes back to his bedroom and furiously jerks himself off to the stubbornly still crystal clear memory of Bucky pleasuring himself on their couch.

Perfectly normal stuff.

It all comes to a head about a month and a half after the day Sam can never get out of his mind. He finishes with an op early again, which is a goddamn miracle, but he’s learned his lesson. He shoots Bucky off a text to say he’s headed home, taking the offer of the plane ride this time so he can shower and change clothes beforehand, giving Bucky even longer to get through whatever he might be in the middle of right now. Bucky responds with a singular thumbs up emoji like the middle aged white mom he actually is deep down. (Sam will never let him live down the “live, laugh, wine” sign he tried to buy when they were furnishing their house.)

Even knowing that Bucky acknowledged the heads up, Sam still knocks on their front door before he unlocks it, calling out, “Hey, Buck! I’m home!” before he properly walks in. He keeps his eyes mostly closed until he gets in the living room and can hear enough to assume Bucky isn’t naked on the couch. He finds the room empty, which is a surprise.

He shrugs and heads down their hallway back to his room, but he hears something faint when he opens his door.

He stops to listen, wanting to make sure Bucky’s fine after uncharacteristically missing Sam getting home, and the noises get progressively louder and louder.

It doesn’t take but a second for Sam to know exactly what the sounds are, as similar ones are burned into his brain from when he walked in on Bucky over a month ago. Groans, grunts, the occasional moan as he gets closer, an expletive here or there, and, to top it all off, one long, drawn out, “Sam.”

Fuck it, Sam thinks, high tailing to Bucky’s bedroom door. It’s broke.

 Sam knocks on Bucky’s door, giving him enough time to cover up if he so chooses before he lets himself in. The door’s unlocked, which means Bucky had always planned on him letting himself in. 

Bucky all but confirms that when he looks up and smiles. “Mission go okay?”

“You’re playing dirty, Buck,” Sam says, ignoring the question and plopping down next to Bucky on the bed. He covers Bucky’s hand with his, still keeping good time on Bucky’s cock. “Two early op finishes and both of them I come home to find you like this.” He runs his hand down until he can fondle his balls. “Tsk tsk, baby.”

Bucky groans, arching his hips up. “First time was an accident, honest,” he says, letting his hand fall to the wayside when Sam takes over. “Didn’t know you were coming home, and when you walked in it was already too late for you to not see my dick.”

“So you just kept going?” Sam asks, amused, leaning down to kiss at Bucky’s jawline.

“My indirect invitations weren’t working, angel. Had to go for more drastic measures,” Bucky says, tilting his head to take Sam’s lips properly.

He tastes like toothpaste, like he’d brushed his teeth waiting for Sam to get home and see him like this, and Sam waits for him to part his lips before kissing him deeper, never letting up on his cock.

Bucky’s just about out of breath when he pulls back, and Sam doesn’t even try to not let that go to his head. “Fuck, angel. I should’ve done this sooner. Didn’t think it’d take this long after you literally watched me jerk off and then locked yourself in your room with a vibrator.”

“How’d you know it was a vibrator?” Sam asks, sure he’d been quiet.

Bucky reaches up and traces the shell of Sam’s ear. “Super soldier hearing. Doesn’t matter how quiet the manufacturer says it is, angel.” He moans again, loud and unabashed. “Though I like when you use your dildos best. No buzzing sound. I can hear your breathing get heavy.”

“Jesus Christ, Buck,” Sam breathes, leaning down to kiss him again. “You’ve been listening in this whole time?”

Bucky nods, moaning. “And getting more desperate all the time, sweetheart.” He gestures down his body and over to his unlocked door, now completely ajar. “Desperate times, desperate measures. You’re stubborn as hell, you know that?”

Sam laughs. “Don’t act like you don’t like that about me, baby.”

Bucky smiles, gooey and genuine. “Love that about you,” he says, ignoring the way Sam’s breath catches. “My dick was admittedly not the biggest fan, though.”

Bucky’s dick is currently hard and leaking, and Sam thumbs over the head. “Doesn’t seem to have much of an issue now.”

“‘M close, angel,” Bucky says then, too caught up to continue their banter. Sam picks up his pace, bending down to kiss Bucky again, swallowing his moans with his mouth until Bucky leans his head back, his cock spent. “Fuck, Sam.”

Sam wipes his hand off on Bucky’s bedsheets, ignoring Bucky’s noise of protest. “You’ve decided to masturbate in front of me, twice, in order to get me in your bed, Buck. A little bit of payback is earned, I think.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he sits up, grabbing at the hem of Sam’s shirt. When Sam nods, he hurriedly gets it over Sam’s head and throws it on the floor, roaming his hands over Sam’s abs and then up to his chest, tugging at his chest hair. “I’ll show you payback,” he says, abandoning Sam’s chest to work his fly open and tug his pants down after Sam gives him the okay.

When Sam’s fully naked and straddling Bucky’s waist, Bucky sucks his own middle finger into his mouth, getting it all wet before he licks at his thumb. He reaches between Sam’s legs and presses his middle finger into his cunt slowly, using his thumb to rub at his dick.

“Fuck,” Sam groans out, grinding down onto Bucky’s hand in time with his rhythm, but it isn’t quite enough. “Need something a bit more than that, baby. Been practicing with toys a lot bigger than your finger after I saw the size of your cock.”

Bucky crooks his finger, and it makes up for the lack of girth. “We’ve got a bit before my cock’ll be back in the game, angel, but I’ve heard my tongue’s pretty skilled,” he says, pulling his finger out and letting Sam walk on his knees up to his face. 

“This okay?” Sam asks before he sits down any further. Instead of answering, Bucky just grabs his thighs and pulls him down, licking at Sam’s cock before he fucks his tongue in and out of his cunt.

 Bucky doesn’t hold back, working Sam over with his tongue while Sam grinds down into his face. He keeps him on edge, pulling back and teasing him when Sam’s moans get too loud, when it’s obvious he’s getting close, and Sam’s not sure he’s ever had a partner this in tune with him so quickly.

Honestly, Sam’s not sure he’s ever had a partner who knew how to use his tongue quite like this.

He gets close again but this time it doesn’t seem like Bucky’s going to pull back, so Sam does it himself. “I’ve been thinking about your cock for over a month now, Buck,” he says when he’s far enough back from Bucky’s face he can see he’s confused. “I’d kinda like to come on it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Bucky’s halfway to hard again already just from eating Sam out, so it doesn’t take much more than a few strokes to get him all the way there. Bucky already has a condom and some lube sitting out on the bedside table, either a little too cocksure or maybe just desperately hopeful that this plan would work, and he wastes absolutely no time rolling the condom down his cock and adding some extra lube.

Bucky leans up against the headboard while Sam straddles him, arms around his shoulders. He sinks down slowly, enjoying watching Bucky strain to not fuck up into him before he’s all the way seated in his lap. He fucks himself up and down on Bucky’s cock just as slowly as he sunk down the first time, smiling at his partner’s obviously pained restraint.

After a minute though, he lifts himself only partly off Bucky’s cock before giving him a filthy kiss and leaning back. “Fuck me.”

Bucky does, grabbing Sam’s hips and slamming him down to meet where he’s thrust his hips up. Bucky sets a pretty ruthless pace, though Sam keeps up, grinding down just when Bucky thrusts up, both of them a moaning mess.

They both know neither of them are going to last long, not after Bucky’s already come once and Sam’s been on edge for so long. Not after both of them have been daydreaming about this for months.

 Sam licks his fingers and reaches down to play with his cock as both of them get closer, and he feels his orgasm crash over him not too long after. His whole body shakes with it, his grip tightening on the back of Bucky’s neck, and Bucky just keeps fucking up into him as he works through it.

Bucky comes inside him when Sam is fully seated on his cock, burying his face in Sam’s neck until he’s completely finished. Sam’s legs are shaky when he pulls off of him, and he just lies down on the bed, rolling over onto Bucky when he scoots his way down to lay flat as well after he takes off the condom and ties it up, throwing it somewhere off to the side.

“Gross,” Sam says, half-joking as he cuddles even more into Bucky. “What happened to that knack for cleaning?”

Bucky snorts. “Well thanks to someone in this bed wiping his come-covered hand on my sheets, I have to do laundry now. Might as well clean everything up all at once, let myself have more time cuddling with the handsome guy in my bed.”

Sam kisses Bucky’s chest before looking up at him. “Speaking of cleaning, I’ve got a question, by the way, now that we’re officially acknowledging that I walked in on you getting off and then kept watching.”

Bucky kisses the top of Sam’s head in response to the kiss on his chest. “Shoot, angel.”

Sam hums. “You ever plan on cleaning that couch after you literally came while sitting on it?”

Bucky lets out a half-laugh, obviously surprised by this line of questioning. “I’d thought about making a show of it so you’d actually sit down on it again, but I never got around to it while you were home.”

Sam shakes his head. “I didn’t not sit on it because you’d come on it, Buck. I avoided it because I couldn’t stop thinking about how you looked when you were coming on it.”

Bucky rolls them over, sliding a knee between Sam’s legs and taking his face to kiss him. “In that case, if you’re all good to sit on it again, cleaning it would be a waste. I’ve got about a million fantasies that involve fucking and getting fucked by you on that couch, angel. It’d never get fully clean anyways.”

Sam leans up to take his lips again, making out with him long enough he almost forgets the thread of conversation. He pulls back right before the line of thought slips away.

“We need a new armchair, by the way,” he says, still managing to finish his sentence when Bucky bites at his lower lip. “Ours is uncomfortable as shit.”