Bucky's gotta give it to the future for this: they've turned casual sex into a goddamn art.
What is a friend with benefits, he types into Google, and spends the next two hours reading about the distinctions between booty calls and friends with benefits and fuck buddies. It’s extremely informative. He’s gonna put it to good use, like, pretty much immediately.
“Hey,” Bucky says, flopping down on the couch. “Hey Wilson.”
“What,” Sam says, not looking up. Bucky falls silent, leans his head back. Makes himself more comfortable on the couch, elbowing a cushion into place in the small of his back. Drops a juice box into Sam's lap, and Sam raises his eyebrows.
“It's strawberry mango,” Bucky tells him. “I'm going through all the flavors. This one's the best, though.”
“Oh,” Sam says, sounding surprised, maybe a little wary. Regards the box, picks it up, fiddles with the plastic straw. “Thanks, man.”
“No problem,” Bucky says around the straw in his own mouth. “What are you watching?”
“Uh. Keeping Up With the Kardashians?”
“Is it any good?”
“No, it's fucking terrible,” Sam admits, “you can change the channel if you want.”
“It's cool,” Bucky shrugs, and watches silently for the next five minutes. Sam's right. It is fucking terrible. He's a little in awe. Why’d Hydra have him assassinate people, they could have just gotten them watching this and self-immolate in distress after half an hour. He reaches over Sam for the remote, switches the channel to something in Spanish. It's still probably terrible, but Bucky likes the way it sounds, at least.
“Seriously? You're making me watch telenovelas?”
“Whatever,” Bucky mutters. Gives Sam back the remote, since he's so fussy. Sam settles on what seems to be a cooking show. It's okay. It's soothing. They watch quietly, drinking their juice, and Bucky hides a smile when Sam snorts at the amount of seasoning the celebrity chef adds to the onscreen dish. “Hey, Wilson,” he starts again, judging the situation to be peaceful, or at least not outright hostile. Sam sighs.
“Are we friends?”
“No,” Sam says. Bucky frowns to himself. This is… problematic. He waits a little before trying his next line of attack.
“Well, are we buddies?”
“Come on, we're buddies, right? We fought the kid in the spider outfit, that makes us buddies.”
“You fell on me off a balcony,” Sam says, but he's smiling a little like he's amused despite himself, and Bucky grins back. “Okay, fine, we're buddies.”
“Okay,” Bucky says. “Cool.” Drinks the last of his juice, the straw making an obnoxiously loud noise in the bottom of the box. “You wanna fuck me?” Sam chokes, has to cough for breath. Stares at Bucky like he's not sure if it's a joke. Bucky stares back.
“You're fucking with me,” Sam says. “You're fucking with me, Barnes, what the fuck.”
“I'm not,” Bucky shrugs. “We're buddies. You're hot. I haven't had sex since, like, 1944.” That I remember, he adds internally, because given the last seventy years of Bucky's life any fucking that happened in that time is shit he definitely does not want to remember, and miraculously, his brain plays along. “I just figured, we could fuck, is all. People do that, in the future. I googled.”
“You googled,” Sam repeats. Sounds a little breathless, a lot shocked. Bucky shrugs, one-shouldered.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Fuck buddies. Look it up, Wilson, it's a thing.”
“And you're serious,” Sam clarifies. “You really… You really want to fuck me.”
“No,” Bucky corrects him, “I want you to fuck me.”
“Jesus Christ almighty,” Sam mutters to himself, and then appears to make a decision. “Yeah, okay, what the hell. Come here.”
“Oh-” Bucky says, “I thought- you don't want to go to your room?”
“In a minute,” Sam tells him, “if we're gonna do this I want to spend at least ten minutes awkwardly making out with you on the couch first.” And then he pulls Bucky into his lap, hands already sliding up under Bucky's shirt, and this is unexpected, maybe not part of the parameters Bucky had found go along with fuck buddies as a concept, but if Sam wants to spend some time kissing on him, he's really not complaining.
Sam Wilson is a really good kisser. He starts out tentative, careful little brushes of his mouth against Bucky's, and then deepens it, his tongue dragging over Bucky's lower lip. Bucky sighs into it, presses in closer, and Sam laughs a little like he’s amused. Bucky wants to kiss Sam’s throat, so he does, touches his fingers to Sam’s chin and presses up until Sam tilts his head back. Bucky nuzzles into the curve of Sam’s neck, kisses his throat and his jaw, the tender spot behind his ear, and oh shit he smells good, clean cotton and cocoa butter. This was a real great decision on Bucky’s part. He’s feeling excellent about it.
“Mmmm,” Sam hums, “that feels nice, do that again,” so Bucky does, mouths wetly at Sam’s skin, his Adam’s apple, down to his collarbone. Sam’s got one hand up under Bucky’s shirt, fingers splayed out over the small of his back, and he’s stroking down Bucky’s spine, gentle little movements that have Bucky feeling good in his skin for the first time in so long it’s a little overwhelming. Then he brings his other hand up, slides it up the nape of Bucky’s neck and tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky makes a kind of embarrassing noise.
“Nghhh,” he mutters into Sam’s shoulder, and Sam laughs again, pets his hair, and oh, oh, it’s so good. Bucky just melts a bit under the touch, and he’s not playing it cool, not like he’d planned, but everything is just so good. Sam Wilson is just so good, Jesus Christ.
When Sam pulls Bucky's shirt off, he can't help ducking his head, hiding a little behind the curtain-fall of his hair.
“Sorry,” he mutters, “it- sorry, I know it's not…” The internet hadn't been any help at all with how do I apologize to the guy who I want to fuck me for the fucked-up metal stump I've got now. Apparently that's a little esoteric even for Google.
“No, baby, you're fine,” Sam murmurs. Doesn't take his hands off Bucky's chest, and the touch is warm and reassuring. “Baby, you're so fine.” Bucky's a little not sure about the use of pet names - fuck buddies don't usually call each other baby, he's fairly certain - but he likes the way it sounds in Sam's mouth, so it's probably okay. He kind of wants to hear it again.
“Yeah?” he asks, and Sam leans in, kisses his throat and collarbone and the curve of his right shoulder.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Do you want me not to touch it?”
“It's okay,” Bucky tells him. “I mean, you don't have to. But. You can.”
“Okay,” Sam murmurs, “okay.” And then he does, traces his fingers gently over the scarring in the hollow of Bucky's shoulder, follows the touch with his lips, and Bucky shivers all the way to his toes at how it feels. He doesn't ever remember someone touching here and it not hurting. This doesn't hurt at all.
“So, you gonna fuck me or what?” he mutters against Sam’s shoulder. Sam touches his hair again.
“No rush,” he says easily, “unless you’re impatient?”
“Nah,” Bucky grins, “this is nice. Ain’t even awkward.”
“You’re right,” Sam agrees, sounding a little surprised. “Huh.” And then they’re making out again, more intense than before, kissing and kissing and kissing, and Bucky gets Sam’s shirt off, rocks forward into his lap, grinds down against him. Sam’s hard, he can feel it all the way through his sweatpants and Sam’s jeans, and fuck, he could just do this all day, press himself skin-against-skin into Sam until they’re breathless and wanting.
“God,” he says, “Jesus, Sam,” and Sam laughs.
“Oh, I’m Sam now?” he teases, runs his fingers just under the waistband of Bucky’s pants, traces the shape of Bucky’s hipbones, and Bucky hears his own breath catch in his throat.
“You put your tongue in my mouth and we’re gonna fuck,” he points out, “I’m pretty sure that gets us on a first-name basis.”
“Yeah, okay, fair,” Sam says, slides his hands down lower. “Fuck, man, are you even wearing underwear?”
“Nope,” Bucky says smugly. “It’s just more comfortable not to, I don’t see why I should. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I changed my mind,” Sam mutters, and Bucky frowns, because if Sam doesn’t want - “there’s a rush, there’s a fucking rush, we should- my room?”
“Oh,” Bucky says, “hell yeah, Sam,” and then Sam pushes his hand down just a little more, wraps his fingers around Bucky’s cock and squeezes, and hell yeah, hell fucking yeah, this is gonna be so exceptional.
Sam’s room looks basically the same as Bucky’s, because they haven’t exactly had a chance to go shopping for interior decor, but it’s interesting because it’s Sam’s, and also because now that they’re in Sam’s room with the door closed he’s getting the opportunity to undo Sam’s pants, and oh god. Yes.
“You know, I did not expect-” Sam starts, and gets distracted as soon as Bucky gets on his knees.
“Didn’t expect what?” Bucky asks sweetly, looks up at him through his eyelashes, and then does his best to suck Sam’s brains out through his dick.
“Didn’t oh my god didn’t expect you to be this…” Sam trails off again, lets his head fall back against the door. Strokes his fingers into Bucky’s hair, not pushing or pulling, just touching, light and sweet. Bucky shivers a little, because oh, that feels nice, Sam Wilson touching his hair is something he wants more of. He redoubles his efforts, traces his tongue under the head of Sam’s dick, sucks until his cheeks hollow with it, and Sam groans, slides his fingers down through Bucky’s hair until he’s cradling Bucky’s face.
“Baby, you keep doing that and we’re not gonna get anywhere close to fucking,” he murmurs, and for a moment Bucky’s still tempted. Come on, this is his first blowjob in seventy years, he’s having so much fun, but then he thinks about Sam pushing into him, Sam’s weight, the heat of his body, and his own dick gets so hard so quickly he’s surprised he doesn’t get dizzy. He pulls away, can’t resist mouthing at the head one more time, and then gets to his feet, tilts his head to one side.
“Fuck, come here,” Sam says, and pulls him in.
They stumble back towards the bed, kissing and tripping over Sam’s pants and narrowly managing not to just wind up in a bruised pile on the floor, and then Sam’s pushing Bucky down on his back, dragging his sweatpants down over his hips. Bucky arches up, gets them off, spreads his legs hopefully, and Sam’s eyes go liquid hot and dark like he likes what he’s seeing.
“Tell me you’ve got, like, Vaseline or something,” Bucky says, and Sam cracks up.
“Vaseline ? Seriously?”
“What?” Bucky protests, and Sam leans in, kisses the inside of his knee and then higher, his thigh, up and up until his mouth is pressed wetly to the crease of Bucky’s hip.
“You googled fuck buddies and you didn’t look up lube options in the twenty-first century?” Sam asks, and then reaches over him to the bedside table, opens the drawer, pulls out a bottle and a foil strip of condoms.
“There are options?” Bucky grins, and yeah, he’s messing with Sam a little, but it’s fun, it’s so fun, and he’s so turned on that just Sam’s breath against the side of his dick is enough to make him shudder and gasp.
“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “yeah, there are options,” and then he’s slicking his fingers up, rubbing gently against Bucky’s ass. “You really want this?” he asks, like he wants to be sure, like he wants to hear Bucky say it, and Bucky nods, swallows, nods again.
“Extremely,” he agrees, and Sam licks a stripe up the underside of his dick as he pushes one finger in, smooth and slow. Oh oh god it’s good. It’s so good. Good isn’t even the word, Bucky thinks dazedly, it’s just, it, he wants more, he wants, he wants, and Sam’s being so slow and so careful and easy he feels like he’s about to burst out of his skin.
“Yeah?” Sam breathes, sucks at his dick and then releases it, and Bucky makes a strangled noise.
“I can- you- you can go faster than this, if you want,” he says, and Sam smiles, mouth pressed to Bucky’s hip.
“I like to take my time,” he says, “but if you want more,” and then he’s pushing another finger in, working Bucky open, and Sam’s gonna fuck him, Bucky keeps coming back to that fact like it’s a miracle, he’s been wanting for so long and Sam is so beautiful, his eyes and his mouth and his sweet laugh, oh god, Bucky’s got it bad.
“Please,” he gasps, “please, Sam, oh god, please,” and Sam must understand what he’s saying because he shifts his weight and crawls up to press his mouth against Bucky’s, doesn’t stop pushing his fingers into Bucky in a rhythm that Bucky feels through his whole body.
“Hey, I got you,” he whispers, “you’re fine, you’re good, does it feel good?”
“So good,” Bucky says, and then Sam’s adding a third finger, and Bucky honest to fuck whines like he’s needy for it, and Sam doesn’t even laugh. Just kisses him again, slow and wet, and seriously, seriously, Sam needs to fuck him right the fuck now. “You gotta,” Bucky gets out, “Sam, you gotta, I swear-” and Sam raises an eyebrow, crooks his fingers and drags them over that sweet spot, just light enough it makes Bucky fucking crazy for it. “Oh, come on, Sam, you gotta,” Bucky says again, and huffs in frustration, and Sam smiles.
“Yeah,” he agrees, “yeah, okay, god, yeah,” and pulls his fingers out, rips open a condom and rolls it down onto his dick. Bucky makes like he’s about to roll over, expects Sam to push him face-down into a pillow and fuck him like he means it, and Sam catches his hips, holds him still on his back.
“Can we-” he says, pushes Bucky’s thigh up higher and slicks himself up, rubs his dick against Bucky's hole, and Bucky moans without meaning to.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “yeah, that- okay, sure,” and it’s not what he expected at all; he feels like it’s all there, right on his face, and it’s almost too much except that Sam’s face as he pushes slowly, slowly into Bucky is maybe the best thing Bucky has ever seen in his life.
“Oh, fuck,” Sam says, prayerful, as he bottoms out in Bucky’s ass, “oh shit that’s-” and Bucky reaches up for him one-handed, wishes to fuck he still had both arms so he could grab Sam tighter, clutch right into him. He’s filling Bucky right up, the burn and the stretch of it mellowing into heat that feels like all of Bucky’s muscles are going lax at once, and Bucky has to close his eyes for a minute and breathe because it’s all, it’s, it’s Sam and it’s, this isn’t fuck buddies at all, he knows that for damn sure even if the internet doesn’t, but he has no idea what the fuck else it might be.
“Baby?” Sam asks, “Bucky?” and that makes Bucky smile.
“I’m good,” he says, “god, Sam, you’re so good, it feels so fucking good,” and Sam breathes out, gets in close so he can kiss Bucky again. He’s rolling his hips, slow and shallow movements that have Bucky gasping with every press in, and he thinks sometimes he’d probably like being fucked harder than this but right now it’s exactly what he wants. His dick’s caught between Sam’s belly and his, smearing wet everywhere, and the friction of it is so fucking incredible he has no idea why they haven’t done this before. He wants this forever. “Oh Jesus,” he gasps, “yeah, that-” and bites his lip, blinks hard.
“I got you, sweetheart, oh, you're so good for me, that's it baby,” Sam murmurs, and he’s stroking Bucky’s hair again, pushing it back from his forehead in a way that feels tender, and Bucky’s gonna die, he’s just gonna die from how good Sam Wilson is and how good he’s making Bucky feel, and when Sam moans Bucky realizes he’s saying it all out loud, gasping for breath and letting Sam know exactly how fucking good it is.
“Sweetheart,” Sam says again, soft breath in Bucky’s ear, and that’s it, Bucky’s coming, all sobbing breath and hot wetness on his stomach and chest and probably all over Sam too and that’s, that’s just fine, because Sam’s kissing him again and there’s a moan caught in his throat and he’s pushing and pushing into Bucky, and even through the condom Bucky can feel him coming, so. Sam’s probably having a pretty good time, is the point.
“Mmm,” Bucky murmurs afterward, feeling better than he has in about a hundred years, and Sam shifts like he’s about to roll off. Bucky frowns, and clings, and Sam laughs, subsides, settles heavy and spread out over Bucky. Tucks his face in against the curve of Bucky’s neck and catches his breath and hums in pleasure at the way Bucky’s stroking his back.
“So, we’re friends, right?” Bucky asks after a few minutes, and Sam rolls off him, snorts with laughter.
“Oh, this again,” he says, but it doesn’t sound mean or anything. Just teasing, and Bucky grins, presses the point.
“You called me sweetheart,” he says. Goes in for a kiss that Sam doesn’t pull away from. “Buddies don’t call each other that.”
“Okay, okay, fine, we're friends,” Sam says, laughing against Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky grins harder.
“With benefits,” Bucky says smugly, and dodges Sam's lazy slap. Yeah. The future has got this shit down, for real.