Chapter Text
There was something almost fun about sneaking out. Maybe it was just because Bucky was really, really bored, or because all of his recent missions with the Thunderbolts had been purely large-scale combat: no spying, no hacking into top-secret government files, no under-the-radar work; it was all missions in broad daylight, more to prove themselves as real heroes to the public than to do actual good— although, under Val’s control, the amount of ‘good’ they were doing was questionable. Or maybe it was because the thrill reminded Bucky of older times— of making out with men he barely knew in the alley behind a crowded bar, of the scratch of stubble against his cheek and jaw, of the fear of getting caught and the rush of adrenaline that came along with it.
Or maybe he was just excited to see Sam.
Because here he was, over a hundred years old, using skills that had been tailored for literal spywork and assassinations, to sneak out of his own bedroom and sort-of home. Was he being dramatic? Sure. It wasn’t like something was stopping him from leaving openly, but if the others caught him, he’d face questions and suspicion, as usual. Of course, he could always tell them the truth, that he was going to his apartment, but then they’d know he had an apartment, and he would be compromised. He left the Tower pretty often, after all. He was careful each time, but living with a bunch of other people with the same spy-slash-assassin skillsets meant that avoiding detection every time was likely impossible. This way, though, when they did catch him, they didn’t see any pattern, since his disappearances were so erratic.
And sometimes he left for multiple days without much notice. That was less suspicious, since it wasn’t the dead of the night, and he had the excuse of work out of town, or intel gathering. Of course, he wasn’t doing either of those things; most times, he was riding his motorcycle all the way to Sam’s apartment in D.C. to spend a few nights in his arms. Right now, though, Sam was in New York for a few days, so Bucky was returning to his own place in Brooklyn, where Sam was currently staying.
The Thunderbolts knew about Sam, in a way. Somewhat. They knew, of course, that he and Bucky were friends, but not of their relationship. They knew that things had been complicated, with the argument over the Avengers title. They had met Sam, even, a couple times (most of which had been a disaster. Bucky could easily recognize Sam’s what-the-fuck smile; it showed in his eyes, even if his grin was polite and encouraging. He knew all of Sam’s smiles), but Sam and Bucky were careful to keep things under wraps.
Suffice to say, his teammates did not know that whenever Bucky left the tower, it was either to drive four hours to D.C. or return to his (and Sam’s, at this point) Brooklyn apartment: the apartment that had two toothbrushes on the bathroom counter, an I LOVE CAPTAIN AMERICA mug in the kitchen sink, and a frankly impressive collection of vintage R&B vinyls— which was only a small part of Sam’s real collection, with most of them in D.C.
On this night, it was just past eleven p.m. and people were bound to be awake, considering the entire team had shit sleep schedules. So Bucky was careful, ears perked, eyes alert, as he made his way to the elevator. This was usually where they caught him, considering he had no control over who was in there— he could take the stairs, or scale the building, but, frankly, he didn’t care that much. Today was his lucky day, though, because nobody was out.
The elevator stopped on the lobby floor and he stepped out, his eyes scanning the area quickly, before walking towards the door that led to the garage. It was just seconds later that he was ambushed.
“Sam!” he gasped against soft lips, his hand stilling where it clutched the knife tucked beneath his belt.
Sam laughed, the sound familiar and warm, making Bucky’s heart swell and ache, then leaned in to kiss him again, long and deep and wanting. Bucky melted into it, letting Sam walk him backwards until his back pushed up against the wall, groaning as Sam’s tongue pressed into his mouth.
“Fuck, sweetheart, what— What’re you doing here?” he managed between desperate kisses. They both liked it a little rough, sometimes, and this was one of those times.
“Wanted to surprise you,” Sam mumbled against his lips, before pulling back just a little, his brown eyes bright and warm.
Bucky stared, his lips parted in awe at the beauty of the man before him. Even after all this time, just the mere sight of Sam could take his breath away. He shook his head, trying to focus, a little confused. “How the hell did you get in?” he demanded. There were, for obvious reasons, multiple layers of security that Bucky himself had tested and verified.
Sam shrugged, that smug, self-satisfied half-smirk curling around his lips. God, it was attractive. The worst (best?) part was, Sam definitely knew what that look did to Bucky.
“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, feeling his face grow hot.
“You alright there, Buck?” Sam asked, still smirking like the asshole he was, like he wasn’t causing all of this.
Bucky groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning his head back against the wall, trying to ignore the way heat was pooling in his gut. “If someone found you here—”
“Joaquin hacked the—”
“Seriously, Sam? You brought the kid into this?” Bucky demanded. “He’s military, he can’t— you can’t just— If Valentina found out—” he sputtered, only to be cut off by a kiss. He made a soft, muffled noise, melting into the touch, tipping his head a little to the side for a better angle, pressing insistently against Sam, only for Sam to pull away suddenly. Bucky huffed, glaring at him. “If you’re gonna sneak in and put us both at risk, at least let me fuckin’ kiss you,” he complained.
Sam chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, baby, hold on,” he said knowingly, like he was well aware of just how much Bucky craved his touch, despite the facade of grumpiness. “Look. I know it’s unexpected. I would’ve let you know ahead of time, but I was trying to do something special.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “Right. And you, being such a fuckin’ daredevil, adrenaline junkie, decided that breaking into one of the most highly secured buildings in New York would be ‘special’,” he said, putting the final word in air quotes.
“I did,” Sam said, sounding smug. “‘Cause it’s a special day.”
“What?” Bucky asked, squinting.
Sam chuckled, leaning forward to press a quick, fond kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “Should’ve known you’d forget,” he chuckled, “dementia and all.”
“C’mon, Sammy, it ain’t dementia. I’m not that old,” Bucky protested.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sure, right,” he agreed, snorting. Then his expression softened a little, the smugness leaving the curve of his smile, the amusement fading slightly from his eyes, becoming something more fond, tender. “It’s our anniversary, baby.”
Bucky’s jaw dropped. “What?” he demanded, his heart nearly stopping. There was no way he’d forgotten. He was certain it was in November, not April. He couldn’t be that far off, surely. No. That was ridiculous.
“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice still incredibly soft. He didn’t look upset that Bucky had forgotten, either, though his lips were twitching a little. Huh…
Bucky just stared. “Seriously?” he asked, still in shock.
Sam smiled, nodding. “Yeah, Buck. Look, I got a little somethin’ for you, to remember the occasion. Though, I feel like it’s a bit backwards, considering… No. It’s fine,” he said, suddenly stepping away from Bucky, into the hallway Bucky assumed he’d originally been waiting (hiding) in.
Bucky watched, still reeling, as Sam gave him the bag. It was dark blue, and… relatively large. Sam didn’t usually get him big gifts, considering there wasn’t much he really needed— besides, neither of them were really gift people, anyway— so now he was really curious, that curiosity getting the better of his guilt.
“Open it,” Sam said, nudging him gently. Bucky looked at him, and he was… hiding a smile.
“Alright,” Bucky agreed suspiciously, beginning to pull the tissue paper out, only to reveal a… He groaned loudly. “You’re a fucking asshole!”
Sam cackled like a madman which, really, wasn’t a good idea, considering where they were, but Bucky was still too dizzy with shock and relief to care. Because, inside the bag, was a steering wheel. Like, a real one, that belonged on a real car. Who knew where Sam had acquired it.
“Anniversary, huh?” he muttered, glaring at his partner mutinously.
Sam just laughed harder, one hand finding Bucky’s shoulder, leaning onto him for support, his entire body shaking. Bucky sighed, pulling him close, and Sam pressed his face into the crook of his neck, still laughing breathlessly, but getting it under control, just a little. When he had calmed down enough to speak, he giggled, "You should’ve seen your face. Anniversary of us meeting, baby,” and then swooped in for a long, deep kiss, his hands clutching the lapels of Bucky’s leather jacket and pulling him close.
And Bucky might be a little pissed— mainly because he’d felt, for a moment there, so awful that he’d somehow forgotten their anniversary— but he was never going to turn down a kiss from Sam. Nope. Especially when Sam plucked the steering wheel from his hands, set it on the ground, and shoved Bucky back against the wall, diving into his mouth with a desire that was quickly becoming more evident by the way he ground their hips together.
“God, Sam,” Bucky gasped. “C’mon, angel, we can’t do this here, gonna— Something’s gonna happen, someone’ll see this. What’ll they think, seein’ Captain America like this, fuckin’ desperate and—”
Sam nipped at his neck, hard, and Bucky whined loudly, slamming his head back against the wall. Sam chuckled, low and a little ragged. “I ain’t the desperate one here, Buck. You hear yourself?”
Bucky groaned. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he complained, and Sam just laughed.
“Good way to go, huh?” he teased, nipping at the skin behind Bucky’s ear, making him gasp.
“I’d die pretty happy,” Bucky agreed breathlessly.
Sam laughed again, beautiful and sweet and free, the sound like music to Bucky’s ears, leaning back to meet his gaze. “Yeah, baby. So, lemme ask you: this alright?”
Bucky stared at him, licking his lips slowly, sweeping his eyes over Sam’s body. “Think ‘this’ should be taken home,” he mumbled. “Think the danger’s rilin’ you up.”
“Probably is,” Sam agreed, his voice low and sultry, holding Bucky’s gaze evenly. He’s always liked the rush of adrenaline a little too much; Bucky could understand, honestly. There was something oddly enticing about the idea of being caught like this, the two of them, such public figures, especially given the media seeming to think they were currently at odds over the whole New Avengers thing. Just knowing that it would drive the press— hell, the world— insane. That they held that power in their hands. “You really wanna drive home right now, though?”
Bucky bit his bottom lip, flushing at the way Sam shifted back, one arm still pressed across Bucky’s chest, the other pinning his hips to the wall. He didn’t want to drive home. He wanted to do this here and now, rough and fast against the wall. Sam had surely come prepared, probably had condoms and a small bottle of lube in his pocket somewhere; he was wearing those tight jeans that hugged the curve of his thighs and ass perfectly, and had his sleeves rolled back over muscled forearms, and smelled like sea salt and oakmoss, clean and earthy and sensual. Clearly dressed to impress— or seduce. And Bucky was a weak, weak man when it came to Sam Wilson.
He surged forward, grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt and pulling him in. Sam gasped in surprise, then laughed, mashing their lips together, teeth clanking just slightly. He shoved Bucky back against the wall, and Bucky moaned at the feeling.
“Fuck, baby, you keep making those noises, we won’t be here long,” Sam gasped, grinding their hips together and whining a little at the feeling. The soft noise was impossibly needy, a rare sort of sound from Sam; that along with the friction against his crotch made Buck shudder.
“Feels so good,” Bucky panted, staring down at Sam, who had moved in to suck at his neck. Bucky’s body jerked involuntarily as teeth sunk into his skin; when a hot tongue lapped over the spot like an apology, he whimpered softly.
Sam was breathing heavy, rolling their hips together, still pinning Bucky to the wall, attacking his neck with surprising ferocity. His hand shifted up slightly, moving to shove the collar of Bucky’s shirt down so he could suck a bruise against his collarbone, where it would be easily hidden, since visible marks weren’t really an option in their line of work, all the publicity.
“God, Sammy,” Bucky moaned, squeezing his eyes shut as Sam sucked and nipped at his skin, reveling in the slight sting he left in his wake— they both liked a little pain with their pleasure. “You’re so fuckin’ good at that, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s right, mark me up, make me yours, I’m yours, angel, c’mon,” he croaked, his voice rough and deep with lust.
“Gotta give you somethin’ to remember me by,” Sam mumbled, flashing him a small, playful, gap-toothed grin before shoving Bucky’s collar down further and latching on again, this time in a different spot.
Bucky keened as Sam began to move again, practically dry humping him into the wall, each movement strong and steady and sure. A hand moved to roughly push the hair out of his face, and then ended up tugging, making Bucky keen again, louder, between the friction against his crotch and the hair-pulling and the stinging bruise Sam was currently sucking into his skin.
Sam’s mouth was busy, so instead of speaking, he raised his free hand to Bucky’s face, shoving three fingers into his mouth, likely in an effort to shut him up. Bucky made a high, desperate, muffled whimpering noise that sounded pathetic even to his own ears, lapping eagerly at Sam’s fingers, sucking them into his mouth, savoring the taste of his skin.
Sam was moaning into Bucky’s skin as he finished his second bruise. This time, he let go of Bucky’s collar, instead grabbing his shirt by the hem and pushing it up to his throat, then diving in to mouth at Bucky’s chest, sucking the hard peak of his nipple into his mouth. Bucky let out a broken whine at the feeling, overwhelmed with sensation as Sam’s hand left his hair to, instead, pinch his other nipple between thumb and forefinger.
“Good boy for me, Buck,” he mumbled against Bucky’s pec, slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of Bucky’s mouth, then running his tongue, hot and heavy, over Bucky’s chest, making him squirm at the sensation and whine desperately around Sam’s fingers. “Shh, baby, relax… Gotta be quiet for me, c’mon, you got it, you can take it. Can take anything I give you, huh?”
Bucky nodded eagerly— as best he could, anyway, with fingers shoved in his mouth.
Sam grinned up at him. “Yeah, Buck, bet you can. Can’t help bein’ so good for me, huh, puppy? Always the best.”
Bucky moaned again, his hips jerking up against his will. Sam’s hand left his chest in an instant, grabbing him by the hip and holding him in place firmly. Not strong enough to restrain him if he actually struggled, but Bucky really wasn’t trying to get free.
And then something caught his ear, and he stiffened. The familiar chime of the elevator, a couple floors up, only audible because of his enhanced senses. Shit. He looked at Sam, and Sam understood in an instant, removing his fingers from Bucky’s mouth, dropping Bucky’s shirt and tugging his collar back into place, then scrambling away to snatch up his ‘gift’ while Bucky fussed with his hair, trying to make it look at least half decent. He looked at Sam, wild-eyed, and then the elevator chimed again, this time much louder, and Sam flinched.
Bucky grabbed him by the waist, hauling him against the wall, out of sight, up against his chest and pulling him close, just praying it wasn’t Walker— he’d probably be able to hear their hearts, and then they’d actually be screwed.
The two of them held their breath at the sound of the elevator doors sliding open, voices suddenly audible.
“I just don’t get where he disappears to each night,” Yelena said, sounding like she was frowning. “Or why he sneaks out.”
“Well, he’s the only one whose whole life doesn’t revolve around this,” Ava pointed out. “We’ve all got nothing else. He’s got…” Bucky could picture her waving her hand obscurely as she finished, “people. A life.”
“It’s just weird. We never hear or see him leave, you know?” Yelena continued.
“Well, he is a spy,” a third voice added: Bob. “I— I mean, so are you guys,” he hurried to add. “I just— it’s different, considering, you know…?”
“That he was the Winter Soldier?” Yelena said dryly. “Yes, Bob, you won’t offend us. I can admit that Bucky is more experienced than me in some aspects.”
Ava sighed. “SHIELD wasn’t wrong, calling him a ghost,” she muttered. “Used to upset me, considering that was my callsign. But he can disappear like this, no powers necessary, right under our noses, so. Guess I lose.” She didn’t sound like she particularly cared anymore.
Their footsteps were retreating, growing fainter. “Whatever,” Yelena said. “There is no need to worry, I don’t think. It is his life, and not ours. We are all hiding something or another, no?” she prompted. The other two were silent. “Exactly. So: ice cream?”
“Ice cream,” Bob agreed enthusiastically.
“Ice cream,” Ava repeated, a smile to her voice.
And then the sound of the doors sliding open was audible, and then they closed, and his teammates were gone.
Sam was silent, for a few moments, just taking a moment to stare at Bucky, his eyes sparkling, a bright grin on his lips. “Sneaking out, huh?” he teased.
“That’s what you’re gonna focus on?” Bucky deadpanned. “Not the fact we almost got caught making out?”
“Oh, baby, that was definitely more than making out,” Sam chuckled.
Bucky rolled his eyes. His heart was still racing a little, and he couldn’t help but feel caught off guard by the fact that the team did, in fact, know he’d been sneaking out. Or that they didn’t care. Still, he had more important things to worry about, right now: like the beautiful man still in his arms, smiling at Bucky like a lovestruck, giddy fool. “You’re an idiot,” Bucky informed him, even as his heart ached with fondness.
Sam laughed. “At least I’m not sneaking around my own team!” he exclaimed, grinning, and, wow, he was beautiful.
“Please, ‘cause it’s only Joaquin and, like, partially Isaiah, sweetheart, you ain’t got much sneakin’ to do. Besides, you don’t live with them.”
“Just admit you’re sneaking, Buck,” Sam snickered. “Didn’t think we were going back to high school. Can’t remember the last time I snuck out to see a guy. Do you do this every night you’re at home? You haven’t even told them you still have your Brooklyn apartment?”
Bucky groaned. “You’re never letting go of this, are you?” he sighed.
“Nope,” Sam chuckled, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist. “Now c’mon. I wanna ride on your stupidly hot motorcycle, it’s been a while. Then,” he continued, lowering his voice and snaking a hand under Bucky’s shirt, brushing over his hipbone, “we can finish what we started, yeah, baby?”
“Yeah,” Bucky agreed breathlessly, his heart suddenly racing as he stared, impossibly in love with this beautiful, beautiful man. “Yeah. Anything for you, angel.”
“C’mere, puppy,” Sam said, his voice pure, sweet affection, caressing Bucky’s cheek. “You really would do anything for me, huh?”
Bucky nodded, a little dizzy with sudden eagerness and desire, the words making his head spin.
“Then take me home, Buck.”
And that was all Bucky needed to hear.