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Sam’s nostrils flare on a sharp, stuttering exhale that almost brings a whimper with it, but he steels his throat and wills it away with a hard swallow. Steve had said if Sam made a sound – even a tiny one – he’d stop, and Sam’s too close to coming to risk losing the hand currently working his cock. Sam’s jaw is so tense now he’s certain his teeth are going to ache for the rest of the afternoon.
Steve has Sam partially leaned over his desk, palms flat on the cleared-off surface and naked upper body tilted forward so he can watch his own sweat occasionally patter the wood. His legs are spread wide, hips angled back and up so Steve can fuck him without having to maneuver Sam around, urging him to remain perfectly still despite the constant shove of Steve’s thrusts, the endless drag of his dick along Sam’s insides, working his tender nerve-riddled flesh raw. Everything about Captain America is big and his cock is no exception.
“That’s it,” Steve croons, voice rough with lust and strain; Sam knows his boyfriend could fuck him straight through this desk if he wanted, has to hold himself in check every time like Sam holds himself on these rare occasions. “You’re doing good, Sam; so good for me.”
Sam tips his face up, licking over his lower lip. He only ever asks for this when he’s had a particularly awful week at the VA, which has been just about every week since the waiting list scandal broke. Sam wants to know there’s some kind of controlled aspect in his life, some kind of constant, when the country he serves isn’t even bothering to pretend to be either of those things.
The pale hand on his cock isn’t calloused but the skin still manages to feel rough, gliding over his erection with nothing but sweat and precum to ease the way. Sam’s a leaker, but it’s not enough to smooth how hot and hard Steve’s palm is, how the tuck of his fingers on the underside of Sam’s dick is like a constant drag of ridges. Not being able to make sound makes him so hyper aware of it it’s almost uncomfortable, like the new carpet beneath his bare feet making his toes curl.
A kiss on his shoulder, damp with sweat and spit. Steve’s close now.
“You gonna come for me, Sam?” Steve asks lowly, adding teeth to his kiss. Sam shudders and lets his nails bite the wood under his hands. “I’m asking you to come for me,” Steve says like he’s clarifying something, and Sam’s throat works helplessly, electricity crackling up under his skin because he’s so, so fucking close now, “Do it, Sam, come all over this desk, my hand, you’ve done so good, been so quiet for me, sostill.”
The praise unglues him; he grits his teeth and trembles from head to toe with his face ducked, shooting in messy spurts across the desk as Steve milks his dick for every last twitch and dribble. His arms shake, and Steve drops his hand away and plants it between Sam’s shoulders instead, urging him to lay down across the desk.
“Make noise for me,” Steve whispers reverently, “God, please, Sam.”
Sam opens his mouth but can’t make a sound at first; it’s not until Steve starts really fucking him that his voice comes back, loud and gasping and a little cracked around the edges. His entire body is thrumming, muscles bunched and burning from being still for too long, insides aching from Steve’s hard thrusts. He’s sprawled over his own come, body damp with it and his sweat, chest skidding with every hard smack of Steve’s body against his own.
“Steve,” Sam groans out, hand fluttering back behind himself to find Steve’s hip and grip uselessly at his skin. Steve’s making little hurt noises that make Sam’s heart clench even though he knows they’re not bad sounds, and Sam starts babbling, ragged and whispering, “C’mon, baby, come, I got you, I got you.”
Steve moves the hand from between his shoulders and grips his hand back instead, and comes when Sam moans “yesss” and clenches around him with every nerve screaming at him no more. He catches himself on his free hand but leans over top of Sam so Sam can feel the heat radiating between them, both silent beyond franticly panted breaths.
“We’ve got each other,” says Steve, lowering his face to kiss at the top of Sam’s ear. Sam turns his head enough for them to kiss, more tongue than anything else, but it’s sloppy and slow and good. “I love you, Sam.”
Sam cracks a grin. “You’re still balls-deep in my incredibly fine ass, of course you love me.” He groans in a less sexual way and draws his arms up, folding them beneath his face so he can avoid straining his already objecting shoulders further. “Thanks for that.”
“Any time, Sam,” Steve says, and kisses over the barely disenable bruise on Sam’s shoulder. “Thank you for the – for all of it, but mostly that last part.”
“I’m not the only one who needs to know he’s done good,” Sam teases, but he tips his head up to bump against Steve’s chin. “Love you too, Steve.”
They both laugh a little shyly at the gross wet noises that arise from them prying apart and getting off of the desk, filthy with sweat and gummified jizz, but Sam’s grin is wide and happy when they both trot off to the bathroom for a shower.
Maybe neither of them are a perfectly controlled aspect of the other’s life, but they’re definitely a constant.