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Bob Reynolds doesn’t like to be touched. Or…maybe he does, he just doesn’t know how to handle it.
John noticed it shortly after moving into the tower. Yelena would gently touch the puppy-eyed, bathrobe wearing, lab-grown god on his arm, and he’d flinch like he’d been electrocuted. Alexei would pat him on the back, and he’d shudder, before sliding out of the bigger man’s grip. Bucky would start to move him during warm-ups in the gym and he’d look like he was crawling right out of his skin.
It made sense, in a, like, super depressing sort of way.
They’d all seen Bob’s shame rooms. They knew what kind of childhood he had, what kind of touches he was used to receiving. Unfortunately, this just made John feel deeply, unbearably guilty about how he treated the guy in the vault. Putting hands on him like that…he just- he shouldn’t have done it, okay? He may be an asshole, but he’s not an asshole, alright?
So now, he’s gotta figure out what Bob’s whole deal is, so that he can also figure out how to properly apologize for being a ‘raging dick,’ as Ava once put it. Then maybe they can all move on and Bob’ll stop acting like skin-to-skin contact is a step away from torture.
Everybody wins.
“You ever think about dating?” He muses out loud into the dim, 3am light of the kitchen.
Bob chokes on the sip of ice tea he’d been in the middle of taking, sputtering and hacking, as he tries to remember how to breathe. “What?”
The two of them had bumped into each other in the living room about 10 minutes ago—literally. John had been shuffling through the dark to fix up a late night snack and Bob had been doing…whatever it is Bob does when the rest of them are sleeping. Even with his enhanced vision, John hadn’t noticed him, until it was too late, and by then, he was already shouldering into the slightly shorter man, who gasped like it had hurt.
It’s part of what reminded John of the whole topic of Bob and touch that he’d been stewing on for a while now.
“Dating. You know, putting yourself out there.” He tries again, while pausing to take a massive bite of one of his sandwich halves.
Bob stares at him like he’s grown two heads, and then laughs wheezily, before running his fingers through his hair. “Uh- I mean, not really?”
“Huh. Why not?” He asks through a mouthful of bread, meat, and cheese.
“Are you- you’re serious.” Bob raises both eyebrows at him and gestures towards himself. “...I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Walker, but I- I don’t exactly have a great handle on…all of this yet.”
“You’ve been doing a lot better lately.” He shoots back.
“Maybe.” Bob shrugs. “Maybe not. It just…it just seems like it would be pretty irresponsible to expose some- random guy to my whole…depression-fueled shadow powers…right? And what if I get used to people touching me and then it stops again? What if it makes me Void out? And- And where would I even meet someone in the first place? On one of Alexei’s boy’s nights? Grindr? I’m pretty sure Val has my phone bugged, God, man, can you even imagine the emails-”
“-Alright, alright, I get it! Your head’s all fucked up, and you live like an animal nerds track for conservation, join the club.” John rolls his eyes, and finishes off the first half of his sandwich, before wiping the crumbs on his hand off on his sleep pants. “What about one of those professional cuddlers. They have those, right? You pay them to come over and, I don’t know, spoon you, I think.”
“Walker, what-” Bob laughs awkwardly and steps back a little. “-What is this?”
John opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again once he thinks he can maybe explain himself without sounding like a wackjob. “I might have…noticed your thing. Your touch thing.”
“My touch thing?” Bob repeats incredulously.
“Look, I don’t know what else to call it!” He whisper-shouts, remembering just in time the four sleeping individuals down the hall. Looking around, he closes the gap between them again, and points towards the other man’s chest. “Every time someone touches you, you panic. And I know we’re not, like, best friends or anything, but I…worry. About you. I guess.”
“You worry about me?” His voice drops into something soft and confused.
It makes his stomach flip for some stupid reason. “Yeah. I worry, okay? Sue me.”
Bob’s dark eyes study him for a long time and then his eyebrows scrunch together adorably. “...And you think the solution is to pay some stranger to touch me?”
He throws his hands up in exasperation. “Jesus, I don’t know! I think someone should do it. Hell, I’d do it, if it meant you’d stop playing possum any time Ava falls asleep on you during movie nights.”
Bob’s thin mouth parts in surprise. Then, he clears his throat, and drops his eyes down to the iced tea bottle still sitting in his hands. “So…what? John Walker is volunteering for cuddle duty?”
“I mean…it’s not like it’s that big of a deal. We already did a Thunderbolts puppy pile saving your ass three months ago, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” John crosses his arms over his chest.
“I trap you in a shame room, forcing you to relieve your worst memories.” Bob deadpans.
He leans in like he’s telling a secret, amused, disbelieving smirk fixed firmly in place. “I’m a big boy. I think I can handle whatever you try and throw at me, Bobby.”
A pretty pink blush spreads from the tops of Bob’s cheeks down to the collar of his trashy cut off t-shirt. “Okay, well- I- that’s- fine. Fine, if you’re not worried, I’m not worried.”
“I’m not worried.” John nods.
“Then I’m not worried.” Bob repeats like he’s trying to hype himself up. Then, he cocks his head to the side. “So…do we do this right now?”
“Sure. Why not?” He crams the last part of his sandwich into his mouth, puts his plate in the dishwasher, and heads back towards his room, pausing to look over his shoulder when he doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind him. “You comin’, Bobby?”
Bob trips into motion, scurrying after him towards John’s bedroom. Once they make it inside, door safely shut behind them, John cracks his neck, and then tiredly crawls back into bed, lifting the corner of the blanket for the man now frozen on the other side of the rug. “C’mon, I don’t bite.”
Bob mutters something under his breath, rubs a hand over his eyes, and jerkily walks over, before crawling onto the mattress. They lay frozen like that for a second, neither of them moving for a long time, until John groans in annoyance, and tosses an arm over Bob’s middle, ignoring his shivers, as he arranges the man against his chest.
“This okay?” He whispers, breath rustling the messy brown curls framing Bob’s ears.
“Mhm.” Bob bobs his head up and down robotically, and doesn’t stop shaking.
It’s not exactly a reassuring sign.
Taking a deep breath, John tries to keep his grip loose—just a gentle press of a flat hand over Bob’s heart to keep him pinned against the soldier’s front. When a few minutes pass, and Bob’s still twitching beneath his touch like he’s two seconds away from crawling back to his own room, John lets go, and rolls over with a dramatic sigh. “Alright. New plan. Your turn.”
“I- uh- what?” Bob asks wobbly from behind John’s shoulder.
“Clearly someone else doing the holding is a little too much for your first step back into the world of healthy, normal people touching. So why don’t you try taking the charge and see if that helps.”
There’s a long moment of quiet where John starts to wonder if Bob is going to give up on this whole thing, when a strong, warm hand tentatively copies John’s previous motion, gently resting directly over the blonde’s heart. John blinks, swallows with a click, and tries to shove down the hot feeling in his face, as Bob scooches closer, until they’re perfectly curved together.
Huh. This is…
“‘S nice.” Bob slurs out sleepily.
“Uh. Yeah.” John says in confusion. “Yeah, is this…does this feel any better?”
“Mhm.” Bob murmurs, right before burying his face in the crook of John’s neck, and passing smooth the fuck out.
There’s honest to God snoring.
“Unbelievable.” He huffs. Although, there’s a smile at the corners of his lips he tries to force down, as his own heavy eyes slip shut.
~~~
It happens again the next day without them discussing it. Everyone else goes to sleep, and then Bob shows up outside John’s door with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants, a shy half-smile painted across his face.
It happens again the day after that, only Bob doesn’t wear a shirt this time (I run too hot), and the feeling of his sweaty abs against John’s back gives him some very confusing dreams that he immediately burns from his memory.
It happens again, and again, and again, and the whole weekend after that.
John should probably say something. He should probably point out that Bob hasn’t freaked out once since they’ve started doing this. Or that Mel touched the guy’s shoulder to direct him towards a makeup chair halfway through the week and his eye had only twitched a little. Or that they might want to move to the next step, so that John isn’t stuck playing little spoon to a rom-com addicted Florida man for the next however long the team is trapped living together.
Only, that would mean putting a stop to what they’re doing, and John maybe doesn’t want to do that. Just yet, that is! Things are going so well, why ruin it with talking, when they can just keep getting the best sleep of their adult lives?
John hasn’t gotten a straight eight hours in…Christ, probably since before he was deployed. But with Bob blanketing his shoulders, he wakes up in a puddle of his own drool to sunlight hitting the back of his eyelids, and a phone alarm that’s been snoozed over a dozen times.
Bob was right. It is nice. And John sort of doesn’t want to lose this arrangement, which is pretty selfish, considering he’s supposed to be doing this for the other man, not the other way around.
“We’ll rendezvous back at the safe house at 2400 to go over recon. Then, head out first thing in the morning to tackle part three of the plan. Should things all go smoothly, we meet back at the safehouse once all mission objectives are clear, and head home the next day. Sound good?” Bucky lays out the outer mission schedule with practiced impatience, ignoring Alexei’s raised hand, and Yelena’s pretend snoring. “Great. We leave in an hour.”
“Fucking finally.” Rolling his eyes, John pushes himself up from the mission briefing table to head for the elevator, where he pushes the button to the residential floor with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
“Hold on, you big idiot!” Ava huffs, before phasing into the closing elevator with him. “Why didn’t you hold it?”
“Uh- maybe because I didn’t see you coming.” His hands go out defensively. “And besides, you literally ghosted inside, why does it matter?”
“Well, maybe I didn’t want to have to phase my way through 17 flights of stairs.” She rolls her eyes and leans back against the opposite wall from John. “And here I thought you’ve been less of an asshole lately.”
He perks up just a little. “...Really?”
She raises an eyebrow in his direction. “Yes, alright, you’ve been less—less—of an asshole this week…I appreciated you bringing me dinner yesterday.”
Ava had been having one of her bad pain days and leaving the big cube thingy in her room was out of the questions. So yeah, maybe John had dropped by with a plate of spaghetti and garlic bread (and salad, because they could all use some more vegetables), along with a warm brownie he’d saved just for her. They were a team, right?
It wasn’t a big deal. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Just accept the thank you, Walker.” She sighs. and closes her eyes, as the elevator continues to rise. “Whatever you’ve been doing lately, keep it up.”
Before he can even begin to process that, the metal doors open onto their floor, and they both file out to head to their rooms to get suited up. Only, John waits for Ava to disappear inside her space, and then passes his door, before coming to a stop outside somebody else's.
He raises a fist. Almost talks himself out of it twice. And then knocks, dropping his hand back down to swing by his side as he awkwardly waits.
“John?” Bob answers the door with a gravely voice, paperback book clutched in one hand.
“Have you had enough water today?” He asks without thinking.
“Oh. Uh…probably not.” Bob blinks at him in surprise and then lifts the book. “I must’ve gotten a little…sucked in, I guess.”
John snorts and pushes past him to head further into the room. Bob just lets him, an unreadable expression painted across his face. The soldier heads for the empty glass beside the other man’s bed, which he scoops up and carries to the en suite to fill, before bringing it back, and shoving it towards Bob’s chest. “Drink.”
Bob, still just as unreadable as before, accepts the cup and takes a long, slow drink when John just continues to stand there with his arms crossed waiting. “...Better?”
“Better than nothing, I guess.” He retorts with a sigh. Then, he remembers why he came, and he starts to shuffle a bit in place, feeling suddenly awkward. “So…”
“...So?” Bob prompts gently.
“So…we’re leaving in an hour.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Two day mission in Stockholm.”
“Oh.” Bob blinks in understanding, mouth turning down in a way that makes John’s chest ache.
He blows out a rushed, loud breath to try and get rid of the sensation. “I was thinking you could sleep in my room while I’m gone. If you want.”
“Oh.” The blinking increases, but his mouth softens into a surprised little ‘o’.
“And maybe borrow a hoodie or whatever. See if it…helps.”
“Thanks- Thank you.” Bob looks down and starts fiddling with the edges of his book. “Uh- why, though? It’s just two days, right?”
Yeah, John, it’s just two days. So why the fuck does this feel so important? “Well, I mean- you- uh- you said something about…not wanting to get used to someone touching you only for it to stop…right?”
It was a throw away comment from their first conversation in the kitchen, just Bob spiraling after John asked him if he’d consider dating. But he’d remembered it anyway, because the way that Bob said it…like it was a thought that had been clawing at him for a while…it landed a little too close to the part of John’s heart he tries to keep locked down. The part of him that remembers what it was like to share a bed with someone for nearly twenty years, only to have it disappear in an instant.
Bob’s breath catches in his throat, drawing John’s eyes once again to the guy’s pink, surprised mouth. “...Right.”
He sounds winded.
“So…I know it’s only two days, but I figured…we’ve been- uh- working on your…touch thing for a week now. It probably wouldn’t be too good for you to quit cold turkey.”
“That makes sense.” Bob nods distantly. “Also, stop calling it a touch thing. ‘Makes it sound dirty.”
John chokes on a startled laugh and grins, big and wide. “Got it. It’s a no to the touch thing.”
Bob rolls his eyes, and gently shoves John, who laughs again, and sways in place. “Alright, Captain…you should probably go get ready. The team needs you.”
He ignores the shiver he gets when Bob calls him Captain. “Sir, yes, sir.”
With one last cheeky salute, he heads for the door, and has just put a hand on the knob to turn it, when Bob reaches out, and grabs the edge of his shirt sleeve. “Wait!”
Pale eyes look over his shoulder. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Just-” Bob lets go and steps back again. “-Be careful.”
With his heartbeat thudding in his throat, John slowly nods, and smiles one last time, a little quieter—a little more private—than he had been before. “Take care of yourself, Bobby.”
The last thing he sees as the door shuts is dark eyes watching him leave, a shadow of fear blooming around the edges.
~~~
That last glimpse of Bob before leaving for Sweden haunts him through the first day of recon. It leaves him distracted, slow, off-track. And the rest of the guys notice.
They don’t say anything, except a quick, ‘you good?’ from Yelena that he shrugs off, but it’s pretty obvious that he’s off his game. And all because he’s worried that Bob might have been right about these little cuddle sessions of theirs.
What if Bob voids out now that he’s started to form human connections again? Does any of it even matter enough to Bob for him to lose control like that? When Bob had originally been worried about this, it had been in a dating context, and they’re…definitely not doing that. He’s honestly not entirely sure what they’re doing, but he knows that he’ll regret it for the rest of his life if his attempt at helping backfires, and sends Bob sliding backwards into a depressive episode.
So when he gets back to the safe house early, he looks around a little, before sliding his phone out of his pocket, and shooting off a text;
Sent 11:02pm -
Hey
Received 11:03pm -
hey, man, whats up?
John’s fingers hover over the keyboard for a second, before he forces himself to continue.
Sent 11:06pm -
Not much. Mission is boring. Thought I’d check in.
The three little typing bubbles appear and disappear a few times, until-
-He gets a photo. At 11:11pm on the dot, a slightly dark photo pops up of a blurry, sleepy Bob laying back against what’s clearly John’s pillow on John’s side of the bed, while wearing John’s old ROTC hoodie and John’s tightest pair of black briefs.
He’s wearing my underwear, he thinks dumbly, eyes staring down at the harsh blue light of his phone without blinking.
Received 11:12pm -
no sign of the void just yet. i think your plan is working.
Holy shit, why is his mouth so dry. Is the heat on in this place? God, who turns the heat on during the summer? John coughs a little, shakes out his shoulders, and tries to stop looking at the photo. It doesn’t work. Every time his screen starts to go dark from inactivity, he taps the screen again on autopilot, without clicking that little back button glaring at him from the bottom of the page.
Bob looks…Bob looks good. He looks soft, and cozy, and safe, and yeah, maybe John notices how the stretchy material of his briefs clings to the muscular tops of Bob’s thighs, but what stands out even more is how fucking right it looks to have him right there, snuggled up in John’s blankets, waiting for him to get home.
Only, John has to remind himself that Bob isn’t waiting up for him. John’s the one who texted first, Bob’s just having a totally normal conversation with a friend while spreading his strong legs out across John’s forest green sheets, a sliver of his tan stomach peeking out between the waistband of the underwear and the grey hoodie, and-
-And Jesus fucking Christ, he has got to get a hold of himself. What is his problem? He’s not- He isn’t gay. And Bob’s just his teammate, nothing more, nothing less. So what if Bob is gay, and Bob sleeps better with John curled in front of him, and Bob keeps getting all cute and pink whenever John does something nice for him?
It doesn’t mean anything. None of this means anything.
Received 11:20pm -
john? you okay?
John’s eyes slide shut.
Bob had called him John. He never calls him by his first name. It’s always Walker this or Walker that. But here he is, looking like a fucking Christmas gift, calling John by his name like it’s easy.
God, what he wouldn’t give to hear Bob say it in person.
With hands that are shaking, he forces himself to slowly type out a response;
Sent 11:21pm -
Yeah. Look, the team just got in, I've gotta go. Glad to hear you’re doing okay.
And then, before he can change his mind, he types;
Sent 11:21pm -
You look good.
You look good. Oh, John is so totally screwed.
~~~
The next day, the actual day of the mission, he’s a hot fucking mess. If the day before was bad, it’s nothing compared to trying to sneak down a service alley with the image of Bob wearing his underwear stuck in his head. He steps on a beer can, for Christ's sake, the loud crunch can be picked up on the comms.
“Walker! Could you please try and focus?” Yelena barks over the line.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m doing it.” He rolls his eyes, gun carefully held aloft, and slips his way inside the building. The first hallway is clear, as is the second, and he’s just shimmied his way into the IT room, when he realizes it’s probably going to take Ava a second to catch up, seeing as she was supposed to phase in around the more congested main streets. Before he has time to remember why this is a supremely bad idea, he slips his phone out of his pocket, and navigates to his gallery, where he may or may not have saved the grainy Bob image from the night before.
“Jesus…” He mutters to himself.
Bob’s eyes are dark, and relaxed, and he’s wearing that signature blush of his, hot pink spreading from his face to whatever bit of his bare thighs is visible.
“What are you doing?” An accented voice pipes in from behind him.
“Oh my God.” He swivels, gun raised, to face an amused looking Ava. “Are you fucking kidding me, Starr?”
“Are you seriously on your phone right now, Walker?” She huffs and pushes past him to get to the computer terminals. “Really professional.”
“Sorry some of us finished our part on time.” He snarks back, while quickly locking his phone, and shoving it away.
“And what part was that, exactly? Lucking out and strolling down two empty hallways?” She looks over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow.
“Alright, just- can we hurry up and get this over with?” He jerks a head back towards the screen and she resumes what she’d been doing before.
But after another minute has passed, she daintily clears her throat, dragging his eyes to the back of her helmet. “I won’t tell anyone, you know.”
All of the air leaves his body in one go. “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right…” She nods disbelievingly and stands once she has the information she needs. When she turns towards him again, he desperately wishes he could see what kind of face she’s making, but as it is, he’s stuck feeling one step behind. “If it helps, I think you two make a cute couple.”
Why does his tongue feel so clumsy? “It’s not like that.”
“Right.” She says again. There’s a pause, and then she marches back out, with John right behind her, forcing himself into motion.
With Ava around, it’s a little bit easier to stay focused. He doesn’t want to give her any more reasons to think that he’s distracted (even if he is). Time moves quickly, and before long, they’re wrapping up inside, with only a brief skirmish with security guards to breeze through on the way out. No one even takes a scratch.
The air in the safe house is stagnant when they return, heavy with side eye glances from the rest of the team that land on John’s shoulders like blows. He tries to shrug off the feeling of being watched, but the paranoia is really starting to get to him.
And then his phone pings with an incoming text notification and he nearly drops it in his hurry to get it open.
Received 3:40am -
hey, can i eat in your bed?
John hates when people eat food in the bed. Crumbs always, always get in between the sheets, and then he’s stuck feeling gross and irritated all night afterwards. Why would any rational person want to subject themselves to that?
Only, Bob sometimes skips meals while they’re out on missions, and now John’s picturing him feeling good enough in John’s bed to want to take care of himself, and the idea of saying no is kind of impossible.
Sent 3:41am -
Sure, just don’t make a mess.
Sent 3:41am -
And no chips!
Another picture pops up in response. It’s Bob, still wearing that same mindblowing hoodie+briefs combo, sitting up criss-cross applesauce in bed, eating cereal out of one of those straw-bowl things Yelena bought him at Goodwill.
It makes him snort.
Sent 3:43am -
Cute.
Received 3:43am -
You really think so?
Now, John…John isn't really sure how to reply to that. If he didn't know any better, he'd almost think Bob was flirting. But that would be- that's not possible. So instead, he decides the safest thing to do this time is not reply, even if having to pay attention to the actual mission recap (instead of sneakily texting with Bobby) sounds like his version of hell.
But maybe he lets himself take one last look at the cereal picture before locking his phone. Just the once.
~~~
They show up back home around dinner time the next day, after everyone napped for a few hours, before stopping in D.C. to drop off important intel. His body is sore from spending so many hours crammed into the quinjet, and his head hurts from the back and forth he’d had to sit through between Yelena and Val during their afternoon meeting. Now, though, he’s able to trudge onto the residential floor with everyone else, and beeline it for his room.
When he goes to open the door, though, he realizes it’s already cracked. With a gentle press on the wood, it swings backwards to reveal Bob swaddled up in John’s blanket with his Nintendo Switch propped up on his stomach. Dark curls swivel in his direction.
“Oh, hey! You’re home.” Bob smiles, and it’s the real deal; all big and full of teeth.
It makes John feel unsteady on his feet. Still, he offers a tense smile in return, and finishes heading inside to start rummaging through his dresser for something to change into. “Yep. Drop-off ran longer than expected.”
“Oh, that sucks. I’m sorry.” Bob murmurs sympathetically.
“Nah, it’s okay. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” He shrugs, grabs a plain t-shirt and clean pair of boxers, before retreating towards the en-suite. “Gimme a second.”
“Take your time!” Bob calls back.
Changing at the speed of light for totally normal reasons (he’s just tired, he missed being home, it’s good to see his bed), he walks back into the room, and collapses onto the mattress on his stomach with an exaggerated huff.
Bob just chuckles, and sets his switch down on the bedside table, before scooting down further in bed, and turning on his side. Then, he lifts a hand, and starts running his fingers through the hair at the back of John’s head.
It feels fucking amazing. He groans, long and loud, and melts into sheets. “...Someone’s feelin’ touchy tonight.”
“Isn’t that the whole point of this?” Bob shoots back smugly.
“Mmm…” John could argue, but holy shit, do Bob’s fingers in his hair feel good. They scratch circles against his scalp, and tug gently on the ends, taking away some of that building headache he’d been beating back ever since stepping into the tower.
“So…” Bob trails off.
“Uh huh.” John’s eyes slide shut.
“We’ve been doing this for about a week now.”
“Yeah.”
“And I was thinking…”
“Mhm.”
“That maybe you could spoon me this time? See if I’ve made any progress?”
That wakes John up a little. Or a lot. Peeling his eyes back open, he tilts his head to the side, and takes in the strangely hopeful look in Bob’s eyes. “You- uh- sure you’re ready for that, Bobby?”
“I- I think so.” He bobs his head up and down and messes with the front pocket on his hoodie (John’s hoodie).
“Uh. Okay.” John nods once, and then flips onto his side, waving Bob over. “Okay, let’s give it a go.”
Bob scrambles to hit the lights, before crawling in alongside John, pressing his back to the soldier’s front. He trembles a little when John sets his hand on the smaller man’s stomach, but after tensing up one or two more times, it fades away, all of the tension bleeding out of him, as his shoulders gently rise and fall against John’s chest.
Walker kind of likes it, how warm and soft he feels against him—how alive. It cuts through some of the fog of loneliness that’s been following him around these past two years, slicing it away to reveal the vulnerable part of him that’s starting to get a little too scared of the day he has to stop holding on.
~~~
When John wakes up the next day, there’s a leg shoved between his thighs, hair tickling his nose, and a heavy weight on his chest pining him to the bed. His headache is gone, thank fuck, as is the stiffness in his muscles. And the urge to just close his eyes and fall back asleep is starting to look pretty enticing. Instead, he blearily stares up at his ceiling, early morning light turning everything soft and dreamy, and yawns hard enough to make his jaw pop.
This is the best he’s felt in years. And it’s all thanks to the dark-haired sleeping beauty snoring against his collarbone.
Huffing fondly, John has just reached down to tentatively run his fingers through Bob’s hair, when the other man’s eyes flutter open into lazy, content, golden slits.
Oh, shit. “Uh- good morning.”
“Morning.” Bob drawls, rubbing his face back and forth against John’s chest. It appears that he’s unaware that anything’s wrong.
“...Hooow are you feeling?” He gently prods.
Bob purrs in response, but says nothing.
“Hey, Bobby. Look at me.” John gently takes him by the chin and lifts his face up towards the light.
“What’s wrong?” Bob tilts his head adorably in John’s grip, Sentry eyes still blazing like melted coins.
John swallows. “Your eyes. They’re- uh- gold.”
“Oh.” That does seem to surprise him, although he doesn’t look particularly upset about the fact. “That makes sense.”
“That…makes sense?”
“Mmm…” Bob nods slowly. “I can…hear things.”
“Hear things?” John repeats again.
“Intrusive thoughts, mostly.” Bob shrugs. “Nothing too bad.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?” He asks curiously.
Bob closes his eyes, eyebrows scrunching in concentration, before he blinks down at John again (still just as yellow as before). “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I promise not to laugh.” He swears.
“Okay…well, um-” Bob licks his lips and gently sets his head back down against John’s chest to hide his face. “Just…silly stuff. Like…I kind of don’t want to let you leave the bed. Isn’t that stupid?”
John’s not really sure what to do with that. “It’s not stupid. Uuuuuh you’re gonna though, right? Let me go?”
Bob laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s heard in years. “Of course, man. I’m not, like, totally out of it or anything. It’s more like I’m…flying a little bit.”
“Flying.” John gives in to his previous urge to play with one of Bob’s curls. “Right. Okay. Is there anything I can do to…help you come down?”
Bob seems to think about it for a long moment, before sighing, and shaking his head. “Nah. It just…feels nice. I…kind of missed you while you were gone. Now I don’t want the touching to stop.”
Bob missed him. He tells himself it’s stupid to feel pleased.
“...I can get that.” John reluctantly agrees.
“Oh, yeah?” Bob mumbles against John’s shirt.
“Mhm. When I came back from my first tour overseas…” John’s jaw juts out a little, as he tries to put together the right words. “...Well, it was hard to adjust. I’d gone so long without any kind of…intimacy, that those first few months back, I had a tough time letting Olivia leave the bed. I wouldn’t, like, keep her hostage or anything! But it definitely made me feel…not great. Both ‘cause I hated not touching her and ‘cause I hated making her worry about letting me go. It was kind of a lose-lose situation for a while there.”
“So what’d you do about it?” Bob whispers.
Every inch of him, from his scalp down to his freaking toes, turns bright, cherry limeade red. “Oh. I. We. Uh.”
“Joooooohn…” Bob slides up onto his forearm, hovering over Walker with a curious, slightly manic grin that does nothing to help John calm down from hearing his name pass Bob’s lips.
“Do you smell something burning? I think Alexei tried to make pancakes again, I should probably go check on-” He tries to sit up, only to be pushed flat back down.
“-Dude, you’re blushing so hard right now.” Bob chuckles. “What, did you guys have, like, a sex marathon or something?”
John chokes.
“Oh my God, you did.” Bob’s already shimmering eyes glaze over, taking on an almost opalescent tinge.
“We did not have a sex marathon, alright?” He rubs at his eyes, feeling suddenly much too tired for this conversation. But…he can also still feel the weight of Bob’s eyes on him, desperately looking for a solution that John knows without a doubt he can’t provide. Not with his sanity intact. “Liv did some research and suggested we…try…cockwarming. Which is actually a totally normal thing that people do, in case you were wondering.”
Bob flops over onto his back, and for a brief moment, John allows himself to mourn the loss of the man’s heat above his heart. Still, Bob doesn’t go too far. He keeps a leg tossed between John’s thighs and reaches between them to thread their hands together.
The soldier’s blush deepens.
The brunette doesn’t seem too bothered to be talking about sex with someone who’s barely a friend, functionally a co-worker. He just nods a little to himself and stares up at the ceiling. “But…you don’t like men. So…that wouldn’t really work in this case. Right? Like, how would you stay-”
“-I’ve never been with a guy.” John concedes, sounding like a fucking 15 year old trying to convince their boyfriend to take it slow, even as the feeling of Bob’s long fingers brushing his sends his heart into a goddamn tizzy. “But…I don’t know. I trust you. So if you think that this could help, I’d be…down.”
“You’d be down?” Bob rasps out, turning to stare at him in shock.
“Not in a homo way, or anything.” He adds quickly, mentally banging his head against a wall as soon as the words leave his mouth. It’s too late to take it back now, might as well push on, and hope that Bob still wants to talk to him after this. “But I get it if you’re not interested-”
“-I am! Interested!” Bob quickly cuts in, and boy, does that make his chest tight. “So like…you’d wanna do that now, or-”
John thinks to the sharp cut of Bob’s smile, and the light that hasn’t dimmed in his eyes, and decides it’s probably best that they don’t try to wait. “-Now is good. I’ve got, you know, stuff.”
Bob bites his lower lip, and laughs a little, looking way too beautiful for a guy John’s supposed to not be feeling homo about. “Okay, yeah. Should I-?”
“I’ve never really…touched myself there. So. You might have to help me out a little.” He admits slowly.
“-Wait. You’ve never been- you mean you’re offering to- for me?” The guy looks shellshocked.
Suddenly, John realizes what Bob assumed. That he’d be the one to- “Oh. I mean. We can do it that way if you want. I just figured that after the first time we, you know, cuddled…it seemed like it helped you more when you got to be the one in charge.”
The color of Bob’s eyes flicker- just for a second. Swirling gold crashing into bottomless blue like waves on a rock, before returning to gold once more.
It feels like a good sign.
“Yeah…I think I’d- I think I’d like that.” Bob whispers.
“Okay. Cool.” John tries to smile reassuringly, even as his nerves start to get the better of him. “Cool, I’ll just-”
Tugging himself free, Bob whines, as John untangles them to dig around in the bedside table for a moment, before sitting back on his calves with a strip of condoms and an individual-use lube he’d been handed at this year’s brief Thunderbolts pride parade appearance (Yelena insisted to Val that they go and nobody else had a problem with it). He’s not really sure where to start, so he shoves it all towards Bob, and hopes for the best.
Thankfully, Bob takes pity on him, and shifts into action. He rests a big, warm hand on John’s side, right where his t-shirt has slid up a little, and rubs a soothing circle against the skin. “Why don’t you lay on your stomach for me, while I help you get ready, hmm? It’ll be easier that way.”
John nods slowly, alarms already blaring at him from inside his head, and rolls over onto his stomach as instructed.
“There you go.” Bob murmurs, guiding John more onto his knees, overheated stomach now flush with the sheets.
“I look stupid.” He mumbles into the pillow.
“You don’t look stupid.” Bob insists in a strained voice, hands now both working to bring those mindless circle patterns from his hips down to the meat of his ass.
It makes him jump a little, but he quickly settles back into it, biting back the unexpected little noises threatening to escape him. Jesus, why does he feel like such a girl all of a sudden?
“Just breathe for me.” There’s the sound of tearing plastic, the feeling of his waistband getting tugged down over the curve of his ass, and then something cold presses up against that place he’s studiously avoided for the past- oh, 39 years or so. It’s a shock, to say the least. But then Bob starts to press in, and John forces himself to take deep breaths, and just like that, the tip of the guy’s finger is in. It’s inside him, spreading him open, gently rubbing in and out. It’s not bad, not really, but it’s also not good. He’s honestly not really sure what the hype is behind the whole thing, until the pressure slips down just a little bit more and-
“OhJesusfuckingMaryandChrist.” His eyes roll back, and his hips jerk down, and Bob’s fingertip brushes against something inside him.
“So good. You’re doing so good, John.” A pair of lips brush against the dip of his back and set him on fire.
Every new inch that slips in makes him feel lit up and disoriented, skin jumping nervously beneath Bob’s free hand, as the brunette pets him like a skittish horse. His stomach muscles clench every time Bob touches that place, and before he has time to try and rationalize what’s happening, a second finger is added. And wow. That feels- That’s-
He moans, and pushes back into it, before he can stop himself.
Fuck. Fuck, he has got to calm down. No more noises. No more reaching out. If he’s not too careful, this could almost be real sex.
“Wow…look at you.” Bob’s voice is hushed, and reverent, and no one’s ever sounded that way when talking about John before, and now there’s sweat dripping down his spine, and another finger pushing, pushing, pushing, and Bob makes sure to sweetly rub against that spot inside him that feels so freaking good every time his fingers slide out, and- “You think you’re ready?”
“Ready?” John croaks out.
“Mhm.” Bob kisses his back again, which is sort of super distracting. “Ready to take me.”
Is he? Is John gonna let a guy have him?
“Uh huh.” He gasps dumbly.
Apparently yes.
“Alright, let me just-” Bob removes his fingers, making John’s eyebrows scrunch as the soldier clenches down around nothing. Then, he struggles out of John’s hoodie and briefs, while sitting with his back propped up against the headboard, before gently tugging on John’s arm. “-C’mere.”
John clumsily pushes himself up, feeling wobbly and slow, before swinging his weight onto Bob’s lap. The other guy’s hands fall on his waist, clutching him with firm, seeking hands, and John swallows hard, while looking down between them. The sight of his own bigger, heavier body perched high on Bob’s lithe, muscular frame sends sparks racing through his brain. It’s hard to keep up, but he knows this feels good, and he knows it probably shouldn’t, and he knows that he’d do anything to make sure it doesn’t stop. “...‘M gonna crush you.”
“Nah.” Bob smirks, and lifts John up by the back of his thighs, to guide him over the tip of his- of his dick, which is thick, and long, and flushed just as pink as the man’s signature blush. “I can handle you.”
John peeks at golden eyes, which are watching him without blinking, before looking away again, and slowly lowering himself down. “Like- Like this?”
“Just like that.” Bob coos encouragingly, self-satisfied confidence sticking to his skin like sweat. Sentry is clearly fighting to the surface, god-like entitlement guiding his hands, as he pushes John downwards onto his cock.
That steady push, like the meeting of their bodies is inevitable, feels so right, that for a brief moment John can’t remember why he felt weird about any of this in the first place. This is just- how it’s supposed to be. John’s supposed to sink down onto Bob’s dick with a girlie gasp, tight hole wrapping around the other man’s length, until they’re finally flush together. Front to front, John’s thighs snug around Bob’s legs, hands holding each other close like they’re scared to let go.
This is good. This is going to work.
Oh, fuck, they forgot the condom. “Is this helping?”
His voice is thin and embarrassingly wrecked.
Bob hums thoughtfully and nuzzles his face into the crook of John’s neck. “...I don’t know. I’m not sure yet.”
His cock twitches inside of John, making the soldier shudder, and lick his lips. “...You can kiss me. You know, to keep yourself hard. Pretend I’m somebody else or something”
The brunette frowns and John panics trying to figure out what he said wrong. “Okay.”
Then Bob guides him forward by the back of his neck and gently spreads John’s lips open with a swipe of his tongue.
It’s- huh. John hasn’t made out with anyone in over two years, and Bobby’s clearly got experience, judging by the pattern of smooth little nips and licks he quickly falls into, prying John open, while still throbbing inside of him. Only, if they weren’t having sex before, they’re definitely having sex now, especially seeing as John couldn’t hold back his little noises if you paid him. He groans around Bob’s tongue in his mouth, trying hard not to fidget, as he’s kept all full up. He can feel the guy all the way in his freaking lungs. It’s…weirdly comforting.
“You’re really big.” He breaks off to slur in quiet astonishment, clenching down on accident, while struggling to adjust.
Bob’s honey eyes roll back and the fingers on John’s waist dig in. “Fuck.”
“Can you feel me, Bobby?” John sighs and guides one of those long hands from his hip up to his heart. “I’m right here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
The smaller man keens, fingers digging into the skin of John’s chest, while trying to anchor himself back into his body. His thin mouth drops wide open, sucking down air, as those beautiful fucking eyes crash back into glazed, tear-filled blue.
“There you are.” John whispers.
Bob chokes on a sob, and pitches forward to press his temple to John’s shoulder, crying even as he cradles the blonde closer.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He murmurs, rubbing one hand down the guy’s back, while gently tangling the other in his dark hair. Even though he probably shouldn’t, he presses a kiss to the top of Bob’s head, too, only that just makes him cry even harder.
Shit. He’s totally not the right guy for this. He isn’t soft enough, or understanding enough, or even half as brave as he pretends to be. Who does he think he is, trying to be the hero for someone again after all the bad shit he’s done? After all the lives he’s ruined (including his own), how can he possibly help someone put themselves back together again?
“...You feel really good.” Bob sniffles against John’s skin.
“Really?” He blinks. Well, at least there’s that. He might be a total fuck up, but at least he’s helping a little.
Even if that help looks like letting another guy split him in two.
Speaking of; a muscle jumps in his left thigh, forcing him to readjust a little on Bob’s lap, which brushes the base of the other man’s cock against that same spot inside him from before that set fire licking up his spine. He really can’t be blamed for the little whimper he lets out at the sensation.
Bob doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He’s too busy trailing kisses across John’s collarbone, and up his neck, breathing in wetly below his ear. “Yeah.”
“Oh.” It’s more of a gasp than a one syllable word, fished out of the bottom of his stomach by a kiss to his throat that’s half-teeth, and a barely there thrust from below that hits that place again.
“Hey, John, can I…?” Bob trails off raggedly, lifting his head up to give Walker the biggest, most Disney princess-ass eyes he’s ever seen. “Please?”
“What? What do you…oh.” The realization of what he’s asking sets in, and he should really say no—he should—but it seems kind of pointless to deny them both this when they’ve already made it this far. “Uh- sure, knock yourself out.”
“Can I…for you, too?” Bob whispers, trailing a hand down to hover over where John’s been embarrassingly hard this entire time, and too out of it to notice.
He can’t make himself say it. Instead, he nods distantly, and allows himself to be pushed flat onto his back, as Bob begins to slowly rock in and out of him for real, taking John’s cock in his fist to jerk him off in time with his thrusts.
It makes his goddamn toes curl. His eyes flutter shut, too overwhelmed to look down at the sweating, glowing (thankfully) blue eyed demigod who’s now well and truly fucking him into the mattress. The sensation of having something sliding in and out of him…down there…is way more intimate than he ever expected. Jesus, it feels like Bob’s trying to weld them together.
He likes it way more than he should.
But he’s gone so long without having this—without having someone who felt like his—and now that he’s finally getting it again, he realizes that maybe he was starting to get a little touched starved there, too. Maybe he needs this almost as much as Bob does.
Bob sloppily kisses his way back up to John’s mouth, tongue rubbing against the blonde’s bottom lip, as his hips pick up the pace. The sound of their sweat-damp skin meeting is fucking obscene and it’s also the best thing John’s heard all year. His head tips back against the sheets, body aching from a strong hand bruising his waist, and the tight, sweet friction against his cock. He’s not sure whether he should be pushing backwards onto Bob’s dick, or further into his hand, but thankfully, he’s not really the one calling the shots right now.
Bob is. Weird, kind, oddly hot Bob is drilling into his hole, grinding down hard against that spot, while dragging his thumb along the vein beneath John’s dick. And then he swipes up some of the precum steadily leaking from Walker’s tip, and he sucks it into his mouth, all while maintaining a super freaking intense level of eye contact, and holy shit, is it the hottest thing to happen to him in years.
Before he can call out a warning, his body locks up, shooting hot ropes of cum all over Bob’s big hand, and onto John’s trembling stomach.
“I’m sorry. Shit, shit, I’m-” He gasps, blush spreading pink down his chest.
The sound Bob lets out is a cross between a cartoon ghost and gust of wind. It blows out of the guy, as he collapses on top of John, and floods the soldier’s hole with cum that he can already feel trickling out of him. Bob keeps rocking through it, though, swaying above Walker, as he works himself through what looked to be a pretty serious orgasm.
John can’t help but stare up at the ceiling with wide eyes knowing he’s the one who caused it.
“Wow. Wow, yeah, I think that- I think that helped.” Bob’s breathing like he just ran a marathon and John’s not much better off. When the smaller man gently slides out of him, John winces at the empty feeling, and then feels stupid for how lost it leaves him.
That’s not how this was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to be this affected. He wasn’t supposed to want this, or need this, or miss it now that it’s over.
Bob, on the other hand, seems much more relaxed than he’d been before. No more Sentry leaving him flying high. Instead, the lanky man crawls out of bed with a grunt, and shuffles off towards the en suite for a towel to clean them off with.
John continues to brood.
“...Aaaare you okay?” Bob asks nervously once he’s returned, biting the inside of his cheek, as he passes over the damp rag.
“I’m fine.” He replies on autopilot. Once he’s got himself mostly wiped down, he shoots out of the bed, while avoiding eye contact, and pulls on the first pair of clothing he can find. “I’m just…gonna go make some breakfast.”
“Oh.” Bob says quietly from behind. “Yeah…okay.”
When John leaves this time, he doesn’t look back.
~~~
They avoid each other for three days.
Well, that’s not entirely true. John might be a real piece of work, but he meant it all those days ago when he said he was concerned about Bob. He doesn’t want to be the reason the guy backslides. So they don’t share a bed at night, and John pretends like the empty space beside him doesn’t hurt, and Bob goes back to quietly calling him Walker, and everything is almost exactly how it was before they started all of this.
Except for the small touches. The little ones that John can’t help, because he can’t stand the idea of Bobby losing something that he needs.
They’ll be eating dinner and John will make sure to keep his left thigh flush with Bob’s beneath the table. Movie night comes around and he casually loops an arm over the guy’s shoulder. Any time Bob stumbles into the gym, John silently wanders over to make gentle adjustments to his body, turning his legs outwards, straightening his back.
It’s not like what they were doing before, but there’s no sign of Sentry or The Void just yet, so it must be fine. Enough, or whatever.
The one big problem left to handle is the shiny new midlife sexuality crisis keeping him up at night.
He just can’t stop dreaming about it. About Bob fucking him deep, and slow, kissing him like it mattered, touching his heart like it was an anchor point. It felt so right. And- And real, which is the stupidest part about it. Now he wakes up every morning with a raging boner leaking into his boxers and gold/blue eyes seared onto the backs of his eyelids.
Does this mean John’s gay? Or the other one, the bi one? Probably. Or maybe he’s just Bob-sexual. Either way, he’s had time to come to peace with the fact that he’s got a massive, full-homo crush on his male teammate. The bad part of the whole deal is that while Bob is definitely gay, he definitely deserves a whole hell of a lot better than America’s biggest screw up, Jonathan F. Walker.
So they’re not sleeping together (literally or sexually), they’re barely talking, John’s kind of gay now, and everything sucks.
Especially because now he can’t sleep.
He knows he will eventually, after tossing and turning for another four hours or so. But in the meantime, he’s stuck staring up into the dark, missing someone he never had.
And then there’s a knock at his door.
John rubs at his dry eyes, before forcing himself up, and over to the door. When he opens it, standing awkward and curled in on himself in the hallway, is Bob. Sweet, perfect, blue-eyed Bob, still wearing John’s hoodie. “S- Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, I just- I can’t- I keep trying to-”
John opens the door wider with a tired sigh and waves the other man in. “-C’mon.”
Bob tugs on the sleeves of the hoodie a little, while slowly following the bigger man inside. It’s only been three days, but it feels like it’s been a lifetime since John’s had him in his room. With heavy steps, John climbs back into bed, and holds up the blankets just like he did their very first night together.
Bob smiles, just a quick there and then gone again thing, and crawls in after him, snuggling up against John’s side with a shiver. Warm fingers tentatively crawl under John’s shirt to touch his stomach and he can’t hide the way he tenses up at the touch.
Bob’s face falls. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Bobby.” John murmurs, giving in, and tucking him up against his chest. God, it feels so good to be holding him again.
“I hurt you. Or I made you uncomfortable. I never should have-” Bob’s deep voice cracks against John’s t-shirt.
“-Hey. Hey, no, look at me.” He gently takes the other man by the chin to lift his face back up towards him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“...I must’ve.”
“Bobby.” John says his name firmly to get his attention. Blue eyes refuse to meet his. “Bobby. I need you to know that you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then…why’d you go away?” Bob asks hoarsely.
John licks his lips, feeling ten types of stupid for fucking things up this badly. Maybe not talking isn’t always the best solution to a complicated situation. He clears his throat and tries to figure out how to say this without giving away too much. “You’re not the only one who needs it. This…arrangement we’ve got going on. It’s…good for me. I didn’t realize how lonely I was, until you started sleeping in here. Then, when we- you know- did stuff, I got- trapped in my head. Couldn’t stop worrying about what I’d do if you called it quits. So…I guess I pulled away first. If anything, I should be the one saying sorry.”
Bob sucks his own bottom lip into his mouth while his face scrunches in thought. “Did you…like doing it? The- The stuff we did?”
John’s face goes hot again. His mouth opens and closes a few times, before he finally scratches the back of his neck, and shrugs. “Yeah, it was- it was cool. Good. I liked it…did you like it?”
“Yeah.” Bob says it like a sigh and the sound goes straight to Walker’s cock. “...Would you- do you want to try doing it again? But maybe…I do it for you this time? ‘Cause it seems like…like maybe you need it.”
Does he need it? It’s possible. But he damn sure doesn’t deserve it. Although…it might help get rid of the stupid fucking dreams that have been driving him crazy for the last three days. And he definitely wants it. Christ, just the thought of Bob sitting on his cock, keeping him nice, and warm, and close, has his teeth clenching together so tightly, a muscle jumps in his jaw. “...Yeah, okay. I don’t- I don’t have anymore lube, though.”
“That’s okay. I’ve got some in my room, just- hold on.” With that, Bob pulls himself free from John’s arms (which he doesn’t pout about), and skitters off down the hall, only to return moments later slightly out of breath, holding up a half empty clear bottle triumphantly.
John’s mind jumps to how that bottle got to be half full in the first place, and he promptly has to shut that line of thinking down, or risk revealing just how invested he is in this whole thing. He’s already hard enough to drill for diamonds as it is.
Carefully shutting the door behind himself, Bob strips off his hoodie (John’s hoodie), revealing miles of shadow-lit abs, just before he tucks his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs, and slips them off, leaving him bare and glowing in the middle of John’s room.
“C’mere.” He mutters, without taking his eyes off of where Bob’s already hard and curving towards his stomach.
Bob drops a hand to cover his dick, embarrassment turning his soft cheeks pink. But he still stumbles forward, and slips back down beneath the blankets alongside John. The soldier can feel the heat pouring off of his body in waves—it’s fucking addicting.
“I can- I can do it.” Bob whispers, popping the cap on the lube. He settles onto his back, bends his knees, and is just going to squeeze out some of the goop onto his fingers, when John snakes a hand out to stop him.
“Let me?” He asks, trying to sound more confident than he is.
Bob nods his head quickly and fumbles the bottle, passing it over to John. “Y- Yeah, sure.”
The blonde looks down at it for a second, takes a steadying breath, and then opens it with a click. It’s cold on his fingers- and sticky. Tossing the bottle over his shoulder, he props himself onto his side, and peeks over at Bob, who’s staring back with a small, reassuring smile.
Okay, John. You can do this. It can’t be that different from doing it to a girl, right? Just take it slow and remind him to, “Breathe.”
Bob obediently melts back into the sheets, turning his gaze towards the ceiling. John misses the weight of those eyes on him already, but he shakes it off, and reaches forward with a shaking hand to touch the pad of his pointer finger to Bob’s tight, fluttering hole.
“Holy shit, you’re warm.” John blurts out, right as the tip slips in.
Bob doesn’t say anything. His breathing just picks up a bit in the background, eyes still trained firmly upwards. There is a sweet little bead of precum shining on the tip of his cock, though, and for some reason, the sight of it makes John’s mouth water.
He keeps going, gently, gently pressing in, and curling the way he remembers Bob doing.
“You can do another one.” Bob whispers, voice gravely. “I can take it.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I just started-”
“-John.” Bob cuts in. “I want it. Please.”
Fuuuck, that’s so hot. Okay, John decides to trust the only one out of the two of them who’s ever done anything like this before (excluding three nights ago), and he adds a second finger, gently scissoring them in and out to get the guy ready. Before long, Bob’s bouncing down with slow little jerks of his hips to meet John’s fingers, and the feeling of his inner walls squeezing down around Walker’s digits makes him lightheaded. “You want another?”
“Uh huh.” Bob gasps.
John’s eyes darken, as he adds a third finger, now searching for that little bundle of nerves that’ll make Bob-
“Aah!” The brunette keens, lifting up off the sheets.
There it is. Feeling extremely smug, John makes sure to rub ruthless circles around that spot with the three thick fingers spreading Bob open. It makes the smaller man cry, and writhe, bucking down to chase after more. “God, you’re pretty.”
Shit. He shouldn’t have said that. Luckily for him, Bob’s too out of it to notice, eyes now scrunched shut in pleasure.
“Do you wanna- are you ready?” John checks in, praying that Bob says yes.
“Yes, yes, please.” Bob begs.
“Should we…use a condom?” He feels dumb for asking, but they didn’t last time, and the sensation of Bob’s cum sliding hot out of his used hole afterwards had been…well, it had certainly been something. He’s not sure either of them can catch anything with their serums, and they’re definitely not getting pregnant, unless something big has changed in the last 72 hours.
“Is it cool if we don’t?” Bob sounds so shy. It’s adorable.
It makes him smile. “Fine by me.”
Working together, John gets pushed back into the sheets, so that Bob can settle over him in a reverse of the last time they’d been in bed together. The smaller man’s curls frame his face like a curtain, falling gently next to his pale cheekbones, as his strong thighs squeeze around John’s waist. Reaching behind himself, Bob takes John by the base of his cock, making the blonde hiss, so that he can guide the tip of John’s cock to his lube-slick hole.
The feeling of Bob sliding down onto him…he doesn’t have the right kind of words to describe how good it is. He’s never really understood poetry, but there’s a lot of big, flowery emotions brewing in his chest about how hot, and wet, and perfect this is. It’s like he’s been missing a part of himself for a very long time, only to finally find it here in the dark of the New Avengers tower. He wants to hold Bob forever. He wants to never lose this part of himself again. “Wow…”
“Good?” Bob gasps.
“Mhm.” John grumbles, sliding his hands to cradle Bob by the shoulder blades.
The brunette allows himself to be held, tucking his face down below John’s chin. They sit like that for a while, breathing slowly together, until the beating of their hearts sync up, chests rising and falling in comfortable silence.
It’s easy. Almost too easy.
And then Bob lifts his head and goes in for a kiss.
John jerks backwards a little bit on instinct, feeling bad as soon as he watches the other man’s face fall. “Shit. Sorry about that. I just- I don’t need it.”
“Oh. Right.” For some reason, Bob’s voice sounds thick, and his eyes refuse to land back on John.
“Hey, hey, no, what’s wrong, baby?” The pet name slips out on accident, and Bob must not like it, because his breath hitches in his throat like he’s trying not to cry. God, he knew he’d fuck this up. He knew he never should have-
“-I know I shouldn’t. I know you don’t-” Bob clears his throat and covers his face with his hands. “-I know you don’t feel that way. About me. I just…really wanted to kiss you. I’m sorry. Fuck, I should go.”
He goes to lift himself off of John’s cock, stealing the breath from the soldier’s lungs for more reason than one, and without even thinking about it, he guides Bob back down again by gently pushing on the tops of his thighs, firmly bringing them back together again.
Bob could shove him off if he really wanted to, but instead, he just cries a little from behind his hands.
“Hold on. Bobby, do you…like me? Like, like me-like me?” It sounds immature, but he’s not sure how else to say it. He’s too stunned and half-drunk on the feeling of Bob still squeezing down around him to come up with anything better.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Bob cries some more, breaking John’s fucking heart in two. “I didn’t mean to. You’re just- you make me feel so safe. And- And good. You take such good care of me, and I know you don’t like guys, but I-”
“-Baby.” John interrupts him by gently pulling those hands away from Bob’s wet face. “The only reason I didn’t want you to kiss me is ‘cause I meant it when I said I didn’t need it. I thought you were only offerin’ to keep me…you know…hard. And I didn’t wanna make you do it if you didn’t want to, seein’ as I’ve been hard for you since the first time I got you in this bed.”
Bob sniffs. Wipes at his eyes a little in embarrassment. And then he tilts his head down, just a little. “...Your accent ‘s coming out pretty strong there.”
“Well…” He trails off, silently coaching himself through this. “It’s cause I’ve got a real pretty little thing keeping me nice and warm right now, and I’m a little distracted.”
Bob huffs out a laugh, and bites his lip, finally looking back up. His eyes sparkle by the city lights bleeding in through the windows. “...I like you-like you. Do you…Do you like me? Like me-like me?”
Feeling scared, and foolish, and cautiously optimistic, he slowly leans in, and captures Bob’s lips in a kiss, hoping it says all of the flowery things he can’t. It’s deep, and slow, and damned near perfect. Their tongues slide against each other’s, both of them trying to taste one another, both of them trying to get closer.
He loves it. He never wants it to stop. And yeah, they might have to take a break every now and again to do things like pretend to be functioning members of this team, but it’s looking more and more like he might not have to give this up after all.
“John.” Bob breaks off to breathe against the soldier’s cheek.
“Yeah, honey?”
“You should move now.”
“I should-?” His face crinkles in confusion, before smoothening out into slack-jawed pleasure, as Bob rocks down onto his cock, lighting him up from the inside out. “Oh. Oh, fuck, okay. Yeah, baby, I gotcha.”
Moving his hands to the backs of Bob’s thighs, he manually begins to lift the smaller man on and off his dick, making them both groan at the same time. His muscles flex, as he ruts upwards, grinding in hard and fast, while trying to find that perfect angle. It takes him a minute, both of them already sweating, but eventually, he drags a high-pitched whine out of Bob’s throat that sounds like music to his fucking ears.
Making sure to slide past that spot on every thrust, he loses himself to pounding into Bob with all he’s got, mind emptying of everything that isn’t making sure the other man feels as good as humanly possible.
Or maybe inhumanly possible. Either way, he needs to make Bob cum. Needs it like he needs air.
Groping blindly between them, he captures Bob’s cock in his hand, and starts stroking fast enough for his fingers to blur, as his hips begin to lose their rhythm. “Fuck, you feel so good, honey. So fuckin’ good for me. Never wanna let you go. I’m gonna keep you right here in bed with me, fuckin’ you full day and night, ‘til you know you’re mine. That sound good to you, baby?”
Bob gasps, bouncing himself down ever harder to meet John’s thrusts, sending starbursts exploding behind his eyelids. “Uh huh. I want it. Want it so bad, John. C’mon, make me yours. Please, please, please, please, please.”
Without pulling out, John rolls them, until Bob’s back is pressed against the mattress, and then he ducks down a little (hips still driving forward relentlessly) to suck one of Bob’s pretty, perky nipples into his mouth. Breathing noisily, he bites, and sucks, and rubs his beard against it until it’s all hard and red, before switching to the other one, flicking his tongue out over the tip.
Jesus, Bob’s tits taste so good. His skin is salty-sweet like butter from the combination of sweat and the honey scented body wash Ava’s always buying him. And they feel so nice in his mouth, soft skin getting all hard and puffed up. It’s driving him crazy, making him feel feral with need. He flattens his tongue over one and shuts his eyes at the gorgeous, loud moans pouring past the other man’s lips. Bob likes it, John can tell by the hands that thread through his blonde hair, tugging him even closer to the man’s chest.
Still sucking on one of those sweet little tits, John starts to lose his rhythm, thrusts going sloppy the longer this goes on. He hasn’t gotten his dick wet in over two years, he’s honestly surprised he’s made it this long.
“C’mon, John. Please, give it to me.” Bob rasps, wet thighs twitching around John’s waist.
And who is he to deny Bob anything? He’d give him the fucking Sun if he asked for it with those goddamn eyes of his.
With three more hard thrusts, he finishes with a groan, face still buried against Bob’s chest, as he spills warm and thick into the guy’s hole. The endorphin rush it gives him is better than any super serum on the market—and twice as strong. And even as he struggles to come back to earth, he continues jerking Bob off with rough, inexperienced motions, until Bobby whimpers beneath him, and paints John’s stomach white, fingers tightening in John’s hair hard enough to hurt.
It’s weirdly nice, getting marked up by Bob. Even if it’s gonna be a bitch to clean up in about five minutes.
After that, they both have to work to relearn how to breathe, bodies slowly sticking together with cooling cum and sweat. It’s a little gross. But the warmth from having Bob in his bed—in his arms—makes it all worth it. “Hey, Bobby?”
“Uh huh?” The brunette sighs happily, now playing with John’s short blonde locks.
“I think this helped.”
With ocean blue eyes, Bob smiles that big, real smile of his, and laughs, not a tremor in sight.