Chapter Text
Sam
If there's one thing Shield's done right, it's installing a basketball court on the new compound's premises.
It's a warm Friday afternoon after work, and everyone still on standby is out playing ball under the blazing sun with the garden sprinklers going on both sides.
Joaquín and a few other guys stripped their shirts off, and Sam's still got his vest on, but he's boiling up. He's about to strip down too before the next round begins when Joaquín cups his hands around his mouth and shouts from across the court.
"Hey! How come everyone's shirts are off except Cap's?"
The other players start chanting, "Shirts off! Shirts off!" until Sam caves and takes it off.
"Happy now?" Sam calls back at Joaquín when the cool midday breeze hits his skin.
"Hell yeah," Joaquín says. Someone tosses him the ball. He dribbles it over to Sam, turns his back to keep Sam from getting it, but looks over his shoulder and grins as his eyes travel shamelessly down Sam's frame. "See, now I know why you took your shirt off."
"Yeah, why's that?"
"No one's gonna focus on the ball when Cap's shirtless on the court. Sick move."
Sam snorts and makes a grab for the ball, but Joaquín angles it away and shoots. Makes the hoop. He turns to Sam, all sweat-slicked and breathless. Sam can't help that he smiles.
"Y'all are supposed to have better focus than that anyway. A cute guy with no shirt shows up, and you forget yourself? Nah, come on."
"I'm a wise man," Joaquín says, tilts his head sideways, shrugs. "I'm just a man, though. I got eyes."
Sam laughs and ducks his head. "Jesus. Okay."
Just then, the deep roar of a Harley speeding through the compound's gates turns everyone's attention. And because Bucky's a goddam show-off—Captain America as a partner, super-serumed and hot enough for a 100-year-old—he pulls the bike up on its back wheel before slowing down to park it.
Joaquín drags his hand through his wet hair and looks away from Bucky and back at Sam with the strangest look on his face.
Now look, Joaquín flirts a lot.
Sam thinks it's just how he's put together. He's a charming guy, probably knows he's absurdly attractive too, and maybe uses that to his advantage. Sam's definitely been at the receiving end of it a few times.
And Sam has to admire the persistence there, the guts and gall it takes to throw lines at Sam. Flirting with the Winter Soldier's guy takes some goddamn personality, and Joaquín pulls it off without a hitch.
"You've got game, kid. I'll give you that, but—"
"Don't worry, Cap," he says, glancing back to where Bucky hangs his helmet off the bike's handle and puts his shades on. "I know you're taken." Then, he flashes Sam a megawatt smile and winks. "I'm just playing."
Sam laughs, a little warm in the face, and he's not sure if that's because of the flirting or because Bucky's walking up to them now with that murderous gait in a leather jacket and those damn boots Sam wishes he'd keep on while they fuck sometimes.
"Yeah," Sam says, nodding to Bucky, "one day, playing's gonna get you into trouble I can't get you out of."
"He's one lucky bastard, though, Sam. Hope he knows that," Joaquín says seriously. He turns to Bucky, suddenly grinning again. "Hey, Buck!" And then he dribbles the ball back into the game.
Bucky lifts his hand in greeting and mumbles something under his breath, but his frown falls away when Sam takes him into his arms.
"Hey, baby," Sam says and kisses Bucky. "You're early."
Bucky slips his arms around Sam's waist. "Got us reservations at Chef's Table. Thought you'd like to get ready."
"Christ, how'd you manage that?"
"Threw your name around."
"Is that all I am to you, Barnes? A name."
"And a sweet, sweet ass," he says and closes his eyes like he's reminiscing about it.
"Yeah, alright. Let me get my stuff so you can take my sweet ass out to dinner."
When he turns out of Bucky's embrace, Joaquín is watching. His head is ducked a little like he's trying not to be obvious about it. He looks away the minute Sam looks at him.
Behind Sam, Bucky hums with dripping amusement.
"That kid's in love with you. You know that, right?" Bucky says later while they're browsing the menu at their table near the balcony.
At first, Sam's caught off guard and then confused because Bucky doesn't sound jealous. He sounds amused.
"I wouldn't go that far," Sam says, sipping the complimentary wine. "Maybe he's got a crush."
"You don't know what you do to people."
"That's just you. Fell like stupid for me." He taps Bucky's ankle under the table and winks. He makes a joke because it's not like Sam has never thought about it, imagined what it'd be like with Joaquín, especially when he's flirting the way he does. He doesn't exactly make it hard to picture.
But in the end, that's all it is, just thoughts and fantasies. Sam's deeply in love and happy with no plan of changing any of that. Bucky doesn't leave him lacking, doesn't leave him wanting for anything. He's good to Sam, real good. They're good for each other. No buts, no what-ifs. He's happy, and if he's honest, he likes the attention Joaquín gives him too.
Bucky looks at him with an unreadable grin. "He's hot."
"Yeah. Real smart too. What is this? You jealous?"
"Nah," Bucky says, sits back, and loosens his tie. "Actually, if you want to pursue it, you should."
Sam's brain takes a second to catch up, but their waitress is back at their table by the time it does, and all Sam can do is blink dumbly at his partner.
"Mr. Wilson, Mr. Barnes, how's the wine?" The young lady asks.
"It's good. You can top mine up," Bucky says, smirking at Sam's gaping face. "Honey?" He nudges Sam's foot with his own.
"Uh, yeah. A Lot. Top it up a lot." Then he leans across the table. "What the fuck?" he hisses at Bucky.
Bucky makes a face and nods to the waitress topping up their wine, and yeah, they can't discuss this in front of eager ears because who knows what the papers will say tomorrow: 'Avenger Sexcapades: Bucky pimps Cap out to the new Falcon.'
Christ.
Sam watches Bucky order for them once she's done pouring the wine, entirely unperturbed by what he had just said. Meanwhile, Sam's head is reeling with it.
"She's a huge fan. You should take a photo with her. Her boss won't let her ask," Bucky says when the waitress walks away.
"Stop listening to people's conversations—Buck, what the hell? What are you saying here?"
"Look, dollface. It's real simple. I love you. I want you to be happy. You know that." Sam nods. "That means giving you everything you want. Whatever it is."
"I don't want Torres. I don't want anyone else."
Bucky nods and takes a sip of wine. "If you let yourself, would you?"
Sam opens his mouth to speak, but he's stuck. It should be an easy answer. He shouldn't get stuck at all. And the fact that he does leaves a bitter, guilty taste in his mouth. "Buck, I love you. I don't—it ain't like that. I'm happy."
"I know. I work hard." He gives Sam a teasing, self-assured smile and takes his hand. "I know you're happy. I know you love me. I'm saying that's an option, and it won't change how I feel."
"You're serious?"
"I'm serious. If it makes you happy, you gotta go for it."
Sam runs his hand over his head, "Fuck me."
"Can be arranged." Bucky takes another sip of wine and smirks into his glass. His eyes are dark, the blue rim around them bright. "You okay?"
Sam nods, grabs his glass, throws down the freshly poured wine, then wipes his mouth. "Yeah. Shit, yeah. Think I'm good."
"So think about it, huh?"
"Yeah, thanks. That's all I'll be thinking about now, Buck."
After dinner, Sam finds the waitress and takes a photo with her outside the restaurant. Bucky tips her generously and tells her to come by the new compound for a tour some time. They order a car back to Bucky's place in the city, and Bucky's hands start wandering long before they get there.
So by the time the car pulls up and drops them off, Sam's hot and bothered already, and neither of them wait too long once they're in the door.
Bucky undoes Sam's slacks while kissing him, sloppy and hungry, his hands deft but impatient to work Sam open. And when he's finally done, he spins Sam around with a flip of his wrist, hikes his leg up on the back of the couch, and sinks into him.
There's no decency involved. He fucks Sam like a starved man, like he's been deprived for months. He hasn't.
He reaches around and puts his fingers in Sam's mouth. Sam fucking groans around them. He leaks onto the couch and tries to push backward, desperate for it now like he's starved himself, but Bucky holds him still.
"Just know, whatever you decide to do," Bucky says, then leans close to Sam's ear and fucks him so hard Sam's body bounces violently with it, "no one's ever gonna fuck you like this, babydoll. No other man."
And god, when Sam said Bucky didn't leave him wanting, he meant it.
Bucky takes those fingers from Sam's mouth, now wet, and wraps them around Sam's dick instead and jerks him in time with his thrusts. Sam exhales. He's breathless, choking a little, groaning.
"Yeah, Buck," Sam breathes, "only you, baby." Bucky lets out a pleased groan from deep in his chest and slams his hips in again. Sam's eyes fall shut. "Fuck. Only you, only you."
When Sam finally comes, Bucky fucks him through it, coaxes him into another round, and Sam goes pliantly, willingly, worked up all over again.
Bucky follows shortly after and it's a mess when he pulls out. It drips down Sam's thigh. He's never been a one-and-done kind of guy, so Sam has no idea how many times he came just now.
And because Bucky's nasty, he scoops it all up and presses it back inside Sam. Sam won't even lie and say it's not making him hot, so he lets him.
Later, when Bucky carries Sam off to bed and they're lazing in each other's arms, Sam's mind wanders to what they discussed at dinner.
It's true that there will never be another Bucky. No one's ever going to take that place. Sam knows Bucky feels the same. They've got history, years and years behind them now. They fought long and hard to get here, and Sam has no desire to change it. He is happy.
But Bucky's proposal might warrant some exploring.
He rolls onto his stomach, and Bucky splays his hand on Sam's bare ass.
"If I did, you know, go after Torres—" Sam says, tentatively watching Bucky for any sign that this is a bad idea, but he's just relaxed, spread out with one hand behind the pillow and the other one drawing soft circles on Sam's ass cheek. "—I need to know you'd be okay. Nothing's worth losing this."
Bucky smiles. "I'm the luckiest asshole in the world right now, babydoll. I ain't going anywhere."
"Not what I asked. Buck, this is a big deal."
Bucky sits up and tugs Sam's wrist, so he sits up too.
"I'm on board. I want that for you even. Ain't another guy alive who could love you the way I do, but I want them to try. Torres is a pretty good place to start."
Sam leans in and kisses him softly, and they lie back down.
"You've done this before?" Sam asks, curled up to Bucky's side again.
"Hmm." Bucky traces his fingers down Sam's arm and back up. "Carter, Steve, and I had a good thing going way back when the war was on."
"Well, shit," Sam laughs, a little surprised. "That something you want again?"
"They're both dead. So no," Bucky says, deadpan, with a teasing little grin when Sam smacks his side. "I haven't thought about it. Haven't met anyone that made me think about it."
"Yeah, alright. And here I thought I knew all there was to know about you." Sam guesses he knows something about himself, now, too.
"Doesn't bother you?" Bucky asks.
Sam thinks about it for a beat. "Nah."
"You know who's bothered?"
"Who?"
Bucky lifts his head and looks down his body to his half-hard dick laying across his hip. "That guy."
"Jesus, help me," Sam says. He reaches down and wraps his hand around Bucky, squeezing. "Was this because of Torres or Carter or Steve?"
Bucky rolls on top of him, rubbing himself against Sam in slow rhythmic motions. And lord, Sam doesn't need much to get going again. "That's all you, babydoll. Always you," he says and kisses Sam.
Sam mulls it over for a few days.
He spends a lot of time thinking about what this arrangement would mean and what it would look like.
He and Bucky talk over the logistics and set some soft rules and courtesies. Bucky's pretty chill about it all. Says Sam and Torres can use the apartment, and if they want to be alone at first, he can schedule some plans. If they don't, he's happy to hang around and spend time with them both. That makes Sam's heart pound with excitement.
Sam will admit it feels awkward at first, discussing a date with another guy with the man he loves, but the more they talk about it, the more natural it starts feeling. The more he starts picturing himself with Joaquín. The more he starts paying attention to Joaquín at work.
He starts flirting back, and it's freeing as much as it's entertaining seeing the look of utter surprise and delight on Joaquín's face when he gets back what he gives. And the best part is that he goes home to Bucky and tells him about it.
Bucky grins while he listens and gets an excited glint in his eyes watching Sam talk about what they did that day, the way Sam noticed Joaquín looking at him.
But that's all easy enough. The flirting's nothing, talking about it, fantasizing about being with Joaquín, being with Bucky. Sometimes his mind even wanders to being with both of them. Together.
The hard part is making good on the flirting and actually asking Joaquín out.
He knows Joaquín won't ask first despite always making play passes because Sam's with Bucky. So it's all on Sam.
"How'd I ask you out?" Bucky says one night, busy washing the dishes after dinner. "Just do that."
"You mean I gotta move to his hometown, flirt with his sister, take his boat out on the water and almost crash it because I'm too distracted trying to kiss him?"
Bucky snorts and leans over to kiss Sam's temple. "I never said I was good at it, Wilson."
"Yeah, and somehow you still got a blowjob out of it."
"Oof, yeah," Bucky says, grinning at the memory, "Some of your best work, Wilson. Maybe it was the boat on the water, huh?" He mimics a rocking boat. Sam rolls his eyes.
"Focus, I'm not sucking Torres off on a boat."
"His loss."
"Buck, come on."
Bucky drops the plate he's busy washing back into the soapy water and turns to Sam. "You're Sam fucking Wilson, honey. Doesn't matter how you ask; the answer's gonna be yes."
"You ain't funny. Love you for some reason, though."
"Good dick?"
Sam sputters a laugh, and Bucky takes Sam's face into his wet, soapy hands and kisses him.
"Yeah," Sam says, water dripping onto his brand new t-shirt. "It's the dick."
But yeah, Sam realizes it doesn't have to be complicated. They're booked on a mission with Joaquín tomorrow. So he'll do it afterward, and if he's lucky, all the flirting hasn't been in vain.
Bucky drives them to the compound the following day, Sam clinging tightly to him on the back of the bike.
Joaquín's already in the locker rooms getting ready when Sam arrives hand in hand with Bucky.
"Hey, Cap," he says, grinning, glancing down at their entwined hands. "Buck."
Bucky licks his lips and smirks knowingly. "Hey, kid."
Sam pokes him in the ribs. "Knock it off, come on."
"What," Bucky says, stripping off his leather jacket and t-shirt. "It's about to be the best day of his goddamn life."
Torres clears his throat, strapping Kevlar onto his chest. His curls are still wet, and the golden chain around his neck glints where the water drips onto it. "What happened? Why's he in a good mood—wait, do I wanna know?"
"I'll, uh, I'll tell you later," Sam laughs, sort of starting to sweat under his suit.
He needs to take his mind off Joaquín and get it in mission mode, so he straps on his gear instead of fretting. He focuses on the mission briefing displayed on the hologram but has no idea what it says; he's too distracted.
Off to the side, Bucky loads and checks all their weapons and hands them over when he's satisfied they're all safe before getting geared up himself.
They're almost ready to go when Sam notices Joaquín's struggling with his wing pack. "Something's not clicking into place," he mumbles, fidgeting with the straps.
Bucky cocks his head to Joaquín, mouthing. "Go help him."
Sam feels his cheeks glow hot. This whole thing is ridiculous. Bucky's not his wingman . Jesus Christ, this man fucks him into another sphere at least three times a week, yet he's egging Sam on to flirt with another dude.
But he heads over anyway, yanks on the shoulder harness of Joaquín's pack, and the motion brings Joaquín too close to him. Close enough that Sam sees the faint dusting of freckles across his cheeks. Sam's stomach does something terrible when Joaquín's lips part and Sam hears him take in a sharp breath. Then he blinks and those pretty brown eyes fall entirely on Sam now.
Sam slides his hand between Joaquín's back and the wing pack and pushes down against a latch.
"You gotta slip this part down before you put it on," he says, can't look away.
Joaquín's eyes don't falter or slide over to where Bucky's standing and watching. So he either doesn't care, or he's brave enough to think he can take Bucky. And that has Sam feeling a whole lot of shit.
"Thanks," Joaquín says when the pack finally clicks into place. His mouth tips up on one side then breaks into a broad smile. It's devastating.
Sam squeezes his hip. "Yeah, no problem, kid."
Bucky rolls his neck and winks at them as he pulls his gloves on, "Who's ready to fuck some shit up. Let's go!" Then he walks right by them, smacks Sam's ass, and heads out to the jet.
Joaquín scratches his head and looks at Sam. Sam shrugs, winks at him, then follows Bucky out.
The mission goes off without a hitch, and a few hours later, Bucky flies them back to the base.
They're one hell of a team and shit gets done way faster than before. Sam is getting cocky with his vibranium suit and takes risks he would have thought twice about in the Falcon suit. Joaquín's quick and goddamn slippery with those wings. They don't see him coming. And Bucky punches his way through whatever's giving him uphill. Sam kind of gets a kick out of watching them go at it.
He finds his thoughts wandering again, picturing them together, on either side of him, wrecking him instead of some bad guy. Their hands-on him, their lips on his neck, around his—
"Sam," Bucky says, looking amused at him.
"Uh, what?"
"We're here." Bucky cocks his head to Joaquín and wiggles his eyebrows. Ahead of them, Joaquín carries their duffels back inside, drops them, and zips down the top of his suit. He lets it hang around his waist, standing in only his Kevlar vest while unpacking his weapons.
Sam's looking. Hell, even Bucky's looking. "Jesus." Bucky nudges Sam's arm as if Sam isn't acutely aware. "Get some."
Sam nudges him harder. "Chill out, you're making me nervous, man."
"Go ask him—come here—" Sam turns, and Bucky takes his face between his hands and kisses him. Just soft and quick. "You're Sam fucking Wilson, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah. I'll be waiting in the lot."
"Hey, Buck," Sam says as Bucky gets ready. "You know."
Bucky winks and pats his left pec. "I know."
And then Bucky's gone, and it's just Sam and Joaquín and a few other people milling about, so Sam decides this is the time.
Sam's nerves subside when he looks at Joaquín, now seeming kind of innocent and cute with his curls pulled back in a bun.
"That flip you did today was new," he says. His heart's still in his throat from watching Joaquín launching himself off a building like that. "Impressive. You're getting real good at this."
Sam's ready for a cheeky reply, ready for Joaquín to put the moves on him, but his words strike Joaquín silent instead.
When he looks at Sam, his eyes widen, and his cheeks flush pink. "Uhm." He covers it up by grinning. He shakes out his suit and hangs it in the locker. "Guess I learned from the best there is. You still gotta show me the barrel roll. Said you would."
"What about dinner first?" Sam says. And that was more abrupt than he meant, but he figured he'd just dive right in. Yet, Joaquín seems pretty chill, still folding and packing his stuff, fixing his hair. And Sam's not conceited, but he'd expected a more erratic reaction if he's honest. It stings a little.
Joaquín hangs up his towel, zips his duffle shut, and then looks at Sam. "I mean, if Bucky's cooking, then no, and if he's choosing the place, then also no. Remember that dive he took us to last time?"
Oh.
Wait.
Okay.
Sam just about air pumps but contains himself. Bucky's going to have a crack at him for this, he's sure.
"No," he says carefully, trying not to smile too hard. Joaquín frowns. "Just you and me."
Joaquín blinks, head tilting to the side, “Huh?”
"A date. With me. Tonight. If you want to."
He stares for a few seconds, then puts a finger up. "Hold on."
He disappears behind the next row of lockers. Sam hears a shuffle and thudding, some slapping too, and then a pointed throat clear.
When he appears again, his cheeks are pink. "I'm saying yes, so much yes, but uh, what about Bucky?"
Sam chuckles to himself. "We have an arrangement. Was his idea."
"Wow," Joaquín says. "Wow. I'm. Damn, of course. What time? Are you serious, though? Me? And you?"
Sam smiles, bites his lip. He's about to burn out of his skin. He can't wait to tell Bucky. "Yeah, kid, I'm serious. Seven. I'll pick you up." Then he pushes off the wall he's been leaning on to support his knees—they're feeling like goddamn jelly—and winks at Joaquín. "See you later. Wear something nice."
The kid looks like he's been toppled, standing with his hands behind his head and his mouth open in disbelief, staring after Sam as he goes. Sam can't entirely wipe the smile off his face. "Yeah, I'll see you later, Sam."
Outside, Bucky's leaning up against his bike, checking his phone. Sam walks up and slaps his thigh.
"He said yes."
Bucky's face lights up. He raises his hand to high-five Sam, and that's so goddamn weird but also makes Sam so fucking happy he can hardly take it.
"Tonight?"
"Yeah, tonight. That okay?"
"No," Bucky says, getting on the bike, and Sam freezes. "Your good jeans are at the tailor's, Sam."
"Man, the fuck?" He gets on behind Bucky, and they take off, speeding down the freeway. "I can wear the chinos!" he shouts over the roaring engine and rushing winds.
"You're about to date a man basically half your age. You can't wear chinos."
"I know you can't do math."
"You're basically half my age too," he adds and then cackles annoyingly aloud when Sam mumbles 'motherfucker’ into his helmet.
Sam takes a shower once they're home while Bucky rummages through his closet to find him something to wear. At least that way, most of the work is done when he gets out and dries off.
Sam brushes his hair, slaps on moisturizer, cologne, and underarm, then gives his beard a quick trim. He pulls on the socks and boxers Bucky had laid out and takes a long, deep breath.
"You nervous?" Bucky says with a grin.
"No," Sam says but his stomach's tingling, and he doesn't care for that.
"Alright, come here."
Sam stays where he is and glares at Bucky. Bucky snorts and tugs him closer by the leg of his boxers.
"Relax, huh? Come on," he says and slides to the floor on his knees. He tugs down on the waistband of Sam's boxers and then noses at his dick once it's free.
Sam inhales, hand cupping the back of Bucky's neck. His body's already leaning into it, wanting it, knowing what's coming but still groaning weakly when Bucky slides his warm mouth over him and starts sucking.
Despite Sam having plans, Bucky's in no rush. Instead, he drags his head back and forth slowly, lets his mouth hang open so Sam can see himself fucking Bucky's throat, swallows around him, then gags but looks up at Sam like he loves it until tears start bubbling up in his eyes and running down his cheeks.
And Sam's diving down deep into that wet heat eagerly now, his hands getting greedy and pumping Bucky's head faster and faster. Feels too good to take it slow, too good not to urge it on, and he feels himself hurtling quickly toward orgasm.
So when Bucky reaches up, grabs his tits, and squeezes, Sam comes with a blinding hit.
He folds over Bucky, breathing through it, moaning as he pulses into Bucky's mouth, feeling him swallow. Eventually, Bucky taps his thigh, and Sam pulls out and falls back on the bed with his boxers still around his thighs.
"Better?" Bucky says, leaning down and placing a kiss on Sam's hip bone.
"I have a date," he says, "and I'm—" then gestures circularly around his crotch area. "But yeah." He breathes out, relaxed and dozy now. "Thanks, Buck."
He hears Bucky's footsteps disappear into the bathroom, and when he comes back, he cleans Sam up with a warm washcloth, pulls his boxers up, and helps him to his feet.
"Nice and clean for Torres now."
Sam shoves Bucky away, "Oh my god."
"What!"
"He won't—we're not—I mean, it's the first date, Buck."
"So what is this? 1937?" Bucky holds Sam's shirt out for him to put on. "I got you pregnant on the first date, babydoll."
Sam cackles. He grabs the shirt and whips Bucky with it. "You're disgusting."
Bucky laughs too, throws Sam's pants at him, then settles back and watches him dress. It's weirdly calming knowing Bucky's backing him with this, knowing that afterward, he'd be coming home to him, to a warm bed and loving arms and someone to tell everything to.
"Shit, okay, I think I'm ready. How do I look?"
Sam turns to the mirror and tugs at the jacket collar. He's going with a fitted navy suit, a crisp white shirt, no tie, and casual tan loafers.
"Don't ask me. I just blew you. You know what I think," Bucky says and winks, laughs when Sam rolls his eyes. "You look good. Wanna keep you home now." Bucky pushes off the bed and walks with Sam to the living room. "Called the car. It's downstairs."
"Efficient, huh?" He smiles at Bucky.
"Here." Bucky digs in his pocket and pulls out his credit card. "Dinner's on me."
"Look at you. Thanks, baby." Sam gathers his cellphone, keys, and nano wing bracelet for emergencies, then gives Bucky a quick kiss. "What you doing tonight?"
"Hmm." Bucky wraps his arms around Sam and pulls him closer, noses at his neck. "Gonna take a nice long shower and think of you. Then order sushi for Alpine and me. Killer Wives is on tonight."
"I worry about the shit you watch. Love you."
"Yeah, love you. Have fun," Bucky says, sugary-sweet and suggestive.
Sam waves him off as he closes the door and takes the stairs two at a time to the car.
His stomach's still tingling but he's pretty sure it's from excitement now.