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Bob Reynolds is not exactly what you would call a morning person.
It comes from a lifetime of insomnia, paired with nightmares that kick the shit out of him anytime he closes his eyes for longer than two seconds, even with the meds and the therapy the team had fought to get him put on six months ago. It’s why he usually has to tire himself out puttering around the tower while everyone else is asleep—cleaning dishes, or folding laundry, or doing some light reading—until he’s finally worn out enough to collapse into bed, too exhausted for his darker memories to reach him.
It’s also why he usually sleeps in until noon, when the sun is already high enough in the sky to slip through his blinds and kiss the thin skin of his eyelids.
Which brings him to today. Today is a Saturday. The whole team got back from a mission late last night, and nobody has any plans now, except to take the chance to relax while they still can. This means that there’s no reason for him to drag himself from his comfy bed any earlier than he normally would, and so it’s a surprise when he groggily blinks awake to see the red numbers 9:15 glowing from the alarm clock by his bed.
He groans and runs a hand over his tired eyes. Then he freezes. Lowers his fingers, and slowly turns to look back at his bedside table.
Usually, the only things he keeps beside his bed is a glass of slightly stale water, a beat-up lamp he’d found at Goodwill for five bucks, whichever book he’s reading at the moment, and his alarm clock. Right now, though? The wooden surface is covered in bright, fuzzy objects that are slowly coming into focus;
There’s a stuffed animal, a little brown dog that sort of looks like the lab/mutt mix named Butter he’d had growing up in Sarasota Springs. There’s a bag of his favorite sour gummy worms. And there’s a little square of paper propped up against the side of his mostly empty glass of water.
Bob stretches out an arm and picks it up, turning it over between his fingers. It looks like one of those cheesy valentine's day cards kids give each other at school. This one is Star Wars-themed, judging by the cartoon-Luke Skywalker on the front with a speech bubble that says, May The Force Be With You, Valentine.
And, like…what? “What?”
His voice comes out small and confused in the silence of his room, and then he smacks his hand around on his comforter, until his fingers come in contact with the cool screen of his phone. He quickly unlocks it, eyes immediately drawn to the top right corner;
February 14th. Valentine’s Day.
It’s Valentine’s Day, and someone had actually left him…gifts? Maybe? He picks the paper card back up from where he’d dropped it by his pillow, and turns it over to look at the back.
To: Bobby
From: John
Holy shit. Holy shit, he’s pretty sure John freaking Walker left him valentine's day...stuff, and that makes no sense at all. Why would he do that? Bob’s brain is starting to melt out of his ears trying to figure it out, and his breath is picking up pace at a frankly alarming rate, so he scooches up in bed and tries to do some box breathing, while getting his thoughts in order.
They’ve been fucking for three of the six months they’ve all been living together, an unnamed relationship born out of too many late nights, and the silent agreement that, yeah, they’re both a hot mess, so there’s not really many other options if they want to let off some steam through really, really awesome sex. Plus, it kind of works for them, the balance of sarcasm and protectiveness it takes to share the same space, without wanting to kill each other. Bob likes how caring John can be when he isn’t too busy being a dick, and John likes having someone to make out with on the couch who doesn’t put up with his bullshit.
It’s good. It works. Which is why none of what's happening right now makes any sense.
Bob stumbles out of bed, tugs on a hoodie over his sleep shirt, and heads for the hallway, stopping just two doors down. He raises a fist, pauses for one second in indecision, and then knocks anyway. There’s no response. He tries again, but nothing. And when he strains hard enough with his better-than-average hearing, he’s pretty sure that there’s no movement coming from inside.
John, unlike Bob, is a crazy person who actually likes getting up before the sun rises. He’s always going on about proper sleep hygiene, and not wasting your day away, or whatever. Bob usually gets a kick out of teasing him about being such a dad, but he’s a little too busy right now desperately trying to hunt down answers to find John’s freaky, military sleep schedule funny.
Time for another tactic.
He makes his way to the living room, careful to keep his shoulders relaxed and his steps even, and waves at the first person he sees; Ava, sitting on the couch with a cup of black coffee and a protein bar.
Perfect.
“Morning.” He aims for casual. “...You see Walker around anywhere?”
“Hmm? Oh. I think he’s gone to the gym for a run. Why? Did he do something stupid again?” She jokes, pausing to take a sip from her mug.
“Nah, nothing like that. Just needed to ask him something.” He offers the woman a weak smile. “Thanks for the help, though.”
Her big green eyes narrow just a little, and it makes his heartbeat skitter beneath his ribs. “...Of course…anytime.”
Quickly, before she can interrogate him further, he speed walks towards the elevator, pushing the right button to bring him to where he needs to go. Unfortunately, the gym is located on the second floor, meaning he’s got to sit there stewing in confusion and anxiety for the million years it takes to bring him to the right stop. But once the metal doors open, he forces himself forward, stumbling his way into the cavernous training room, eyes scanning around, until they land on a familiar strawberry-blonde head.
John’s on the treadmills, not even breaking a sweat, even though his legs are pumping at a rate that would probably send a normal person flying. Bob winds his way around random equipment and comes to a stop in front of the soldier, who notices him coming, and offers him a little nod, without pausing. He does, however, take out his headphones and sets them on the little ledge of the machine. “Hey, Bobby. What’s up?”
God, he’s not even out of breath. What a show-off. Bob clears his throat and tries to keep his eyes from straying to the grey material of John’s t-shirt and the way it’s clinging to his broad chest. “Uh…hey…this is probably stupid, but I was just- I was just wondering if you…”
He clears his throat again and shuffles from one foot to the other, cheeks going tellingly hot.
John pushes some buttons and slows to a stop, pale eyes raking over Bob’s nervous features. “...What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong.” Bob laughs awkwardly. “I was just wondering if- well, I wanted to see if maybe you- didyouleavestuffinmyroom?”
John’s whole body goes very, very still, except for his mouth, which turns down in an expression that Bob recognizes as the face he makes whenever he’s embarrassed. “...Oh. Right.”
“Right…so…did you?”
“Maybe.” John grumbles, cagily. He runs a hand through his hair and looks off towards a random spot in the distance. “Yes. Why? Did you…not like it?”
“No, I- I liked it! All of it was- it was really cool of you. Nice.” He adds, lamely. “I just wasn’t sure…why you- uh- did it?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day.” John says it like it’s obvious, face still stuck in that upside down ‘u’.
“Uh huh. Yeah, no, I know, I just…didn’t know we were doing that?” He’s starting to feel kind of bad about this whole thing, and he’s not even really sure why.
John takes a loud breath and crosses his arms, still looking away. “I know we didn’t talk about it, or whatever, but I’m not…I’m not seeing anyone else, so- I don’t know- I guess I just thought that maybe you wouldn’t mind…being my Valentine. Or something.”
Bob stares at him unblinking, while trying to get his brain to turn back online.
“Not that I expected you to get me anything.”
Bob’s still staring.
“That’d be pretty stupid.”
Why is thinking so hard right now?
“I just…felt like doing it.”
Aaand that’s the part that really breaks him. His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “But…why?”
The blonde huffs. “What do you mean, ‘why?’”
“Why did you…you know…” He gestures lamely. ”...feel like doing it?”
John throws his hands in the air. “I just did, okay? Is that such a bad thing?”
Bob walks around the treadmill, and climbs onto the belt behind the other man, who turns around to face him, mouth opening in confusion, right as the brunette leans forward and presses a shy kiss to the corner of his mouth. “‘T’s not a bad thing, just...no one’s ever asked me to be their Valentine before. I’m just…surprised. Good surprised, though!”
“Oh.” John’s face slips into something a little less ashamed, and a lot more bashful. It’s pretty cute. “Yeah, well, I am. Asking you to be my- you know.”
“Awesome.” Bob nods, and grins up at him dopily. “I’ll- uh- I’ll totally be that.”
John looks down at the band of the treadmill for a second, the tips of his ears going pink, and then he looks back up with those pale, unreadable eyes, and grabs Bob by the chin to guide him into a real kiss. They usually don’t do this kind of thing out in the open where anyone could walk in on them, but Walker doesn’t really seem to care. He’s a little too busy licking into Bob’s mouth, and sucking on his lower lip, until his mouth starts to go all tingly.
When he pulls away, the grin he shoots the curly-haired man is blinding. “I kinda need to finish my run, but I’ll- uh- see you later? Tonight, maybe?”
The way he breathes out the word tonight all low and full of promise honestly gets Bob a little hard in his sleep pants, but he’s doing a pretty good job of ignoring it for now. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay.” John nods, still smiling, and kisses him one last time, before turning back around to reach for his headphones.
Bob climbs off the treadmill in a daze, brain still struggling to make sense of all this. He barely remembers to steal another longing look at the muscles in John’s thighs, before stepping back into the elevator, waving one last time in the soldier’s direction, even though the other man probably can’t see him.
So…John wants to celebrate Valentine’s Day together. Even though they aren’t really in a relationship. Unless they are? Does John think that they’re in a relationship? Does being fuckbuddies count? Is this something he’d even want with someone as messed up as Bob?
Does Bob want to be in a relationship with John?
Okay, gun to his head, he can totally answer that last one. Yes, he’s maybe daydreamed once or twice about holding hands with John on the subway, and going on dates to Essex Market, and cuddling up on the couch without worrying about any of the others walking in. But that doesn’t mean he ever thought it would really happen! Or that it’s happening now, for that matter. Maybe John’s just being nice: he’s always been good at making people forget he’s capable of being soft. It’s probably thanks to how much time he spends riling up Yelena about leadership stuff, or mansplaining stupid shit to Ava, or drinking the last of the orange juice without replacing it. He’s so good at being vaguely annoying, that all the nice shit he does gets overlooked sometimes.
Because John is nice—to Bob, at least. He’s always cooking Bob’s favorite foods on those days when it’s hard for him to get out of bed. He washes his curls for him anytime they shower together after sex. And one time, he even carried Bob to bed after he fell asleep watching YouTube videos on the couch.
Small, thoughtful stuff that proves that he has a heart underneath all that ego. Stuff that makes Bob not want to let go. Stuff that makes him want things he’s never been allowed to have before.
The doors of the elevator open onto the residential floor, and Bob runs a hand through his bedhead, while moving towards his room.
“Good morning, Bob-o.” Yelena sing-songs from his right, scaring the crap out of him. “I need your help, Bucky’s being boring.”
“All I said was I’m not base-jumping at 10 AM, I think that’s pretty freaking reasonable, if you ask me.” Bucky grumbles from a stool tucked alongside the kitchen island.
“Like I said, boring.” She rolls her eyes and snorts. “Come on, I need someone to spot me. Ava has asked that I stop jumping off the roof by myself—she worries, you know?”
Bob laughs wheezily and scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m- I’m a little busy right now, actually, but maybe later?”
Yelena raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. “Too busy for me? Wow, Bob, I see how it is.”
“No, seriously, I totally wish I could! But I just- I really need to go do something. It’s kind of…important?” He tries again.
“What is it that’s so important that you don’t have time for your favorite person in the world, huh?” She asks with her grey eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Oh! It’s- It’s nothing, really, just- something I have to do. Alone. Right now.” He tries shrugging it off, but Yelena doesn’t appear to be moved.
“Uh huh. Right. Okay.” She tilts her head, doubtfully. “You know you are being really so suspicious right now.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He laughs awkwardly, and backs away slowly, inching towards the hallway. “It’s nothing serious, though, I swear! Can you just…trust me on this? Please?”
“...Ugh. Fine! Whatever, abandon me with grandpa over here.” She groans. “But do not think you can keep secrets from me forever, okay?”
“Totally, of course, we’ll talk!” He nods earnestly, and hurries the last few feet towards his bedroom, locking the door behind him once he’s safely inside.
He takes a deep, long breath. He beats himself up for almost giving everything away. And then he pulls out his phone and heads to Google, a vague plan finally forming in the back of his mind.
~~~
After two pink red bulls, several cracked Zyn’s, and one sock-footed trip to John’s room while the other guy's still busy cooking dinner, Bob's feeling pretty proud of himself.
Yeah, he’s got charcoal smudges all over his fingertips, and a dozen crumpled up balls of sketchbook paper scattered across the floor of his room, but other than that, things seem to be going pretty well. He snags the bag of gummies John gave him off his bedside table and plops down on the floor with crossed legs to tear into them, thoughts already drifting.
Was what he did okay? Was it good enough?
Bob sighs and bites into the blue half off a candy worm, only to nearly jump out of his skin when his bedroom door slams open. “Je-sus!”
It’s John, shutting the door behind him with enough force to make the wood groan, a familiar sheet of paper held in his right hand.
“Oh. Uh. Hey, Walk-”
“-Shut up.” John cuts in, breathing hard. “You did this?”
He holds up the sketch and Bob tries not to shy away from the intensity of the other man’s stare. Shit. He’d clearly fucked up somehow. The brunette clears his throat and turns his eyes to the far corner of his room to avoid having to see any anger or disappointment in John’s winter-colored eyes. “I…yeah. Sorry. Sorry, I just thought- you know, after this morning, with the whole…valentines thing…I just- I just wanted to do something for you, too. But if I made you uncomfortable, or- or- overstepped, I-”
John drops to his knees hard enough to make Bob wince, and kneels in front of him, one big hand coming up to cradle his face. “-Go on a date with me.”
Bob chokes and squeezes the other half of the gummy worm in his hand hard enough to turn it into gross, candy sludge. “What?”
“Go. On. A. Date. With. Me.” John repeats slowly. “Please.”
That last part seems mostly like an after thought. “You- really? With me?”
“Christ, Bob, do I need to spell it out for you?” The blonde huffs and brushes his thumb against Bob’s jaw. “I like you. I think you like me. I’m pretty sure we could…make something work.”
“...Is this because of the drawing?” Bob asks, still trying to wrap his brain around the two of them being something.
“Yes. And no. Both, I guess.” John shrugs and glances down at the charcoal sketch in his other hand.
It’s a picture of him and his son. Bob had found the original photo online from an old at-home interview he’d done during his Captain America days, and after seven hours and several hand cramps, he’d ended up with one of his better sketches. It was all strong, curving lines, with special attention given to the laugh lines by John’s eyes and the cute, button nose of a baby with his father’s smile.
Now, Bob’s stomach goes all squirmy thinking about John actually liking it enough to want…that. Something. With him. “You really want to go on a date? Like…with me?”
“Don’t be such a dork.” John’s thumb keeps rubbing circles against his cheeks, sending warmth pulsing towards his chest. “Yeah, with you. I’ve wanted it for a while now, I was just too chicken shit to say anything.”
Bob takes a quiet, shuddering breath, before hesitantly swaying forward for another kiss. This one is wetter, all open, sliding mouths and quiet heat. He tries to put all of the emotions currently overwhelming him into the kiss, to show John just how badly he wants this—whatever this is—with him. When they finally part, Walker chases after his lips for two more quick pecks, and Bob laughs a little breathlessly, feeling better now than he ever did at his highest high. “Yeah, John. I’ll go on a date with you.”
The smile he gets in response could give the sun a run for its money.
~~~
They sneak out after dinner (which was a fresh, homemade lasagna and vinegary chopped salad that put the TV dinners of Bob’s childhood to shame), and head for the Insomnia Cookies down the block. John steals Bob’s hand along the way and threads their fingers together, swinging it back and forth between them, while the shorter man has to force himself not to blush like a freaking middle schooler.
When they finally make it inside the crammed shop, John buys them both two plastic bottles of milk a piece, and enough cookies to feed two genetically enhanced individuals (and raise the eyebrows of the person behind the counter), before they split everything on a wobbly table in the park. And once they’re done, nothing left but warm crumbs in a box, and a smudge of chocolate by John’s mouth, they clean up and head for the ice skating rink at Rockefeller Center.
It’s a bit of a walk, but neither of the men mind too much. They’re too busy sharing stories from their childhoods and stealing glances at one another every time they think the other one isn’t looking. All in all, it’s exactly as sweet and cheesy as you’d expect a Valentine’s Day to be if the only healthy relationships you ever saw growing up came from rom-coms streamed on cable.
It’s just so…easy, hanging out together like this. Before, when they were just fucking, he’d treasured those moments right after finishing, when the two of them would lay together in the dark, bodies cooling down, whispering stories back and forth. It had been a small taste of this, this friendship that was something more. And now he has the real thing, and it’s almost too good to be true. Definitely too good for someone with his rap sheet.
Although, he has to remind himself that he isn’t the only one who’s fucked up before. John’s only been divorced for a little over a year now, he consistently polls in as America’s least favorite New Avenger, and he has the communication skills of a brick wall. But he’s also the kind of guy who slips a homeless woman selling paper flowers a $20, and gives Bob his coat when the night starts getting cool, and doesn’t complain when Bob keeps stopping them to look at passing murals.
So maybe it was all about balance again. The two of them, both haunted by their pasts, trying to be better, and doing it together.
It’s a nice thought.
Once they make it to Rockefeller, John gets them both skates, and helps lace Bob into his with a kiss to each knee, like Prince Charming, if Prince Charming used to play hockey. The soldier brushes off his concerns about falling, and holds him carefully, one hand on his wrist, the other on his waist, skating backwards the whole time, because John really is a show off. And in the end, It’s almost like they’re dancing, John leading them in careful circles while looking down at Bob with the glow of nearby street lights twinkling in his eyes.
It’s sort of the most romantic thing to ever happen to him, and it’s making his heart skip unsteadily beneath his ribcage.
Once they’re done, both of them red-nosed and winded, they return their skates and start the long walk home, both of them wrapped up in the deepening blue of the New York sky.
There’s this falling feeling building in his stomach; a weird mixture of disappointment that the night is ending, and something bright and new fluttering around inside him every time he looks John’s way. It’s a little scary, but he’s ignoring it for now, too busy listening to the incredible sound of Walker’s laugh flooding the busy streets.
They’re only a block or two away from the tower when the sound of music begins to thread its way around their voices, something pop-y and Spanish pouring out from a speaker outside a bodega. The woman’s voice turns everything a little softer—a little more intimate. Bob glances over at John and notices that a lock of his red-blonde hair has freed itself from the gel holding it in place, leaving it soft and messy against his temple. That, paired with the crisp white of his long sleeve clinging to the strong line of his shoulders has something deep inside Bob chanting mine, mine, mine.
It’s probably not super healthy considering this is their first date, but there are worse things.
Without thinking too much about it, he tugs on John’s hand, and pulls him into a nearby alley separating two apartment complexes. The soldier opens his mouth to say something, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but before he can get anything out, Bob’s mouth is on him, eagerly swallowing up his words. And John just lets him. Mr. Rule Follower himself immediately gets with the program, and lifts Bob up by the thighs to press his back against cool bricks, hands digging into muscle hard enough to ache.
Bob moans in response and sucks on John’s tongue, one hand burying itself in short hair, while the other goes to the man’s shoulder for support. He can practically taste how smug John is when the man grins into their kiss, before dragging his mouth away to nip and suck at Bob’s neck.
He lets his head fall back with a thunk. “J-ohn.”
“Yeah, baby?” Walker rasps and rocks forward a little, grin widening when he realizes that Bob’s half-hard in his jeans already. “You couldn’t wait until we got home for this?”
“Got tired of waiting.” He mumbles, body jerking down to chase after friction.
“Is that right?” John cocks his head to the side, blue eyes hidden by the dark of the alley. “I don’t know, Bobby…what if someone finds us like this?”
One of John’s hands burrows its way under Bob’s band tee/hoodie combo, pinching one of his nipples meanly. It makes the smaller man gasp and tighten his grip on the other’s shoulder. “Oh, fuck.”
“I bet you’d love that, huh? Showing the whole world what a good boy you are for me, giving it up in a dirty alley, just ‘cause you need it that bad.” John chuckles darkly and nuzzles his face against Bob’s collarbone. “Don’t you, sweetheart?”
Bob makes a broken, wobbly sort of noise, and John pauses. Sets him down gently, ignoring Bob’s whines, and runs a hand through his curls. “...Is this too much? We can stop if you-”
All of his pretty boy cockiness is gone, replaced by something sweet and concerned. Which is appreciated, seriously, but not what he wants right now. “-If you don’t put your dick in me in the next five minutes, man, I’m walking home alone.”
John laughs in surprise. “But I didn’t bring any-”
“-I might have…brought stuff…you know, just in- just in case.” He clears his throat and tries to appear casual.
It’s hard, though, with the way John’s face goes slack in understanding. “...Where?”
Bob nervously reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a disposable, travel-sized packet of lube. John stares at it for a long second, before carefully plucking it out of his hands, and licking back into his mouth, kissing him hard and deep. He groans into it, and John swipes his tongue against the seam of his lips just once, before pulling away again, light from a nearby neon sign catching on the spit-slick shine of his mouth. “Christ, you’re such a little slut, Bobby.”
Bob nods rapidly, while trying to catch his breath. “Mhm…just for you.”
“...Just for me?” John repeats slowly—dangerously. “That a promise?”
Bob whines again and reaches down between them to cup Walker’s hard cock through his jeans. “Uh huh.”
John bucks into his grip for a second, before spinning him around, and yanking his jeans just below the curve of his ass. It makes his skin breakout in goosebumps, being so exposed like this. Then there’s the sound of tearing, and one wet index finger pressing ever so slightly against his hole. With his other hand, John kneads one of his asscheeks, keeping him open as he slowly presses in, and it’s- fuck, it’s so good.
And then the hand holding him open lets go, right before coming back down with a firm slap that makes Bob sharply sucks air in through his teeth in surprise. “Shit.”
“You like that, honey?” John’s breath is hot against the skin below his ear. He spanks Bob again, a little harder this time, and then again as he slips a second finger in alongside the first. Usually, they take their time with this part. Bob has a bad history of exes who didn’t take the time to prep him, and John gets off on watching his fingers disappear inside Bob’s hole, so most of the time, they like to go slow. One time, Walker spent two hours stretching him open, alternating between milking his prostate and scissoring him wider, until he finally slipped his dick in around the time that Bob was shaking through his third orgasm.
It was awesome.
But they didn’t have time for that now. Not when they really could get discovered at any moment. So Bob bears down, and breathes deeply, and trusts John to take care of him. “I can take another one.”
“You sure?” The soldier asks lowly, while the two fingers slipping in and out of him speed up.
“Yeah. I’m sure. I’m- I’m sure.”
John doesn’t add a third finger right away. He just curls deeper, hunting for the spot inside him that’ll make him light up like a Christmas tree. And once he finds it, Bob has to fight to keep from shouting, body already pushing backwards to try and get more. “C’mon, John. Please, I can- I can take it.”
“...You will.” He grits out, giving in and pressing in a third digit. “You’ll take whatever I give you. Won’t you, baby?”
Bob arches his back in response, and tilts his ass higher, shoving backwards onto John’s thick fingers with all these little embarrassing moans spilling from his lips. And John keeps giving him what he wants, which is stinging slaps against the place where his ass and thigh connect, and the pads of three fingers rubbing in and out of him.
Fuck, he wants this to go on forever. But he also wants more. He wants everything John will give him and then some. It makes him feel greedy, and pathetic, and a little wrung out, but none of that matters, because John’s behind him whispering all sorts of praises into the dark;
That’s it, you’re always so tight for me, sweetheart.
Look at you, fucking yourself open on my fingers like a good boy.
Fucking perfect.
You gonna walk back to the tower with my cum spilling down your legs, baby?
God, you’re gorgeous. My gorgeous, wet boy.
And all Bob can do is moan, and scrabble against brick for balance, and jerk backwards as he imagines how good it’s going to feel once he finally gets John inside him.
“Okay. I’m- I’m ready.” He gasps.
“You’re ready when I say you’re ready.” John huffs and spanks him again, but it’s sloppy and halfhearted, like his mind is somewhere else.
And hey, how fucking dare he be thinking about something else right now?
“Please. Please, give it to me. I- fuck, I want it so bad, Daddy.” Okay, so maybe he’s playing dirty, but it works, because next thing he knows, he’s getting spun back around to face the other man, and-
-Oh. Okay. Even in the dark, Bob can tell that John’s flushed head-to-toe, with one hand now tight around the base of his cock to keep him from cumming too soon. It’s so hot, seeing how worked up the blonde is for him. It makes Bob smirk toothily, and reach forward to wrap a fist around where John’s leaking, making the soldier whimper, and snap his hips forward into his grip.
“I want you to fuck me.” Bob slides his hand down real slow, enjoying how warm and wet with precum the soldier is. “Right now.”
John makes a sort of dying noise low in his chest, and hitches Bob back up against the wall, guiding his legs up and around his waist. He then fumbles around for a second, reaching between them to slowly, slowly start pressing his cock inside, both of them clinging to each other in desperation. Bob’s fingers dig into John’s shoulders, and the other man’s hands spread wide and possessive against the flesh of his thighs, as he sinks into him inch-by-inch.
Once he’s fully seated, he pauses, gasps for air, and then immediately starts pounding into him, driving him up against the wall with a force that makes Bob sob and clench down around him.
God, he’s so full. His own aching cock is getting rubbed between their stomachs, and every muscle in his body is drawn tight with how good it feels to finally have John this close to him. To have him inside where he belongs. “Don’t stop. Don’t- Don’t stop.”
“Won’t stop ‘til you’re cumming on my cock, baby.” John promises roughly. “You think you can do it without me touching you?”
Cool sweat slides down Bob’s back, but he nods as his body continues to be lifted up and down. “Yeah, I- I think so.”
“That’s right. Just like that. Just-” He buries his face in the crook of Bob’s neck and laps at the overheated skin there as his dick continues to hit that place inside Bob that has him seeing stars. “-Just like that, darlin’.”
Bob keens, blood buzzing, as he tries his best to bounce down to meet John's thrusts. “Fuck, it feels so good, Daddy. I need you to cum…need it inside.”
“Don’t worry. I’m gonna fill you up just how you need it, just as soon as you finish for me like a good boy.” And with that, John picks up the pace, while ducking down to steal another kiss.
It’s overwhelming; this whole day, John asking him out, their impossibly perfect date, the feeling of calloused hands holding him like he’s something to be kept. All of it’s too much. And now he’s got John flicking his tongue against his, and the friction of their bodies slip-sliding against his cock, and the cool breeze from the night air reminding him exactly where they are, and he’s shuddering his way through an orgasm, dick shooting wetly across the skin of John’s stomach where his shirt had ridden up.
Walker holds him through it, giving him the chance to come down with a sweet kiss to the side of his head, before he starts moving again. After that, it’s only another few minutes, before the other man tenses up and groans, spilling hot inside him. Then they both have to catch their breath for a minute, still holding onto each other, as everything around them settles, including the lull of passing cars and music still playing nearby.
Except John’s a dickhead, who can’t let them have this nice moment without reaching down and swiping up some of the cum sliding down the inside of Bob’s thighs to shove it back inside him, making him moan. “Dude.”
John makes an almost purring sort of noise and does it again, trying to keep his release locked in nice and tight. “Should have brought a plug.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Bob scoffs playfully, and shoves at his chest, until he puts him down and steps away, allowing the brunette the space to drag his jeans back up over his softening cock.
“Yeah, but you like it.” John shrugs and tucks himself back into place as well, before wiping his hand off on his jeans, and reaching over to thread their fingers together once more. “C’mon.”
Bob allows himself to be led back out into the night, the light of a hundred stores making him blink rapidly to adjust to the sudden change. “I think this is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”
“...Oh, yeah?” John asks shyly, peeking over at him with pale eyes and a small smile.
“Mhm.” Bob smiles back.
“I know it wasn’t, like, super romantic or anything.” John scratches his beard nervously.
Bob pulls them to a sudden stop on the sidewalk under the shadowy branches of a tree and laughs once in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” He huffs, throwing his arms up. “I just- wanted to make this nice for you, and then I kind of…lost control at the end there. With the…alley stuff. So, yeah, I know it wasn’t a fancy dinner, or a movie, or-”
“-John. I don’t need those things to have a good time. I just like hanging out with you.” Bob cuts in seriously. “And I liked the alley stuff. I mean, this has probably been the best date I’ve ever been on.”
“Seriously?” He asks hopefully.
“Seriously.” Bob nods and kisses the back of his hand (remembering a little too late the lube/cum situation they’ve got going on). “I’m more bummed that it’s over than anything.”
“...We could go on another one. Tomorrow, if you want?” John’s face drops and creases in frustration. “Unless that’s too soon. Fuck. Sorry, I’m not- I don’t really know how to do this kind of thing.”
Bob shakes his head fondly, warmth filling him from head-to-toe. “Hey. Tomorrow sounds great. I’d- I’d really like that.”
“Oh. Cool.” John’s body goes slack with relief. “‘Cause…I really like you. Like, a lot. And I know we’ve only been on one date, but…I want to do this. The whole…dating thing. With you.”
“I want to do the dating thing with you, too.” He admits softly. “...I feel like I should warn you that I’m probably gonna be really bad at it, though.”
“That’s okay.” John shrugs and starts leading them forwards once more. “We can figure it out together.”
“Okay.” Bob takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “...Hey, John?”
“Yeah, Bobby?”
“I’m really glad you asked me to be your Valentine.”