Work Text:
John likes to consider himself a, you know, relatively smart person, despite what the rest of the team may think. He got straight A’s in school, was first in class at West Point, always has an easy enough time remembering instructions, even without writing them down.
The problem is, he misses shit. Social stuff, or whatever.
Like- okay, sometimes Yelena gets in these moods where she’s pissed off at the world (usually after a bad night’s sleep, which is pretty common amongst the team), and it has nothing to do with any of them. The problem is, he can never figure out when she’s having one of those days versus when he’s overstepping without realizing it, and it’s part of why they’re butting heads all the time. He asked her if she woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and she nearly strangled him to death with a dishtowel.
And you know what? He still doesn’t know why she was mad!
Or sometimes he’ll be training with Barnes, and the guy will give him a compliment on his form that turns out to actually not be a compliment (which—rude), but an excuse to sarcastically criticize the way Walker’s breathing that day, or something else equally stupid and totally not within his control.
How the hell’s he supposed to improve if he can’t figure out when he’s getting actual freaking advice and when he’s just getting made fun of by a dude who doesn’t know how to use gmail?
Oh, and there was that time last week when Ava and Alexei were playing UNO in the living room, and he asked if he could join in, and Ava said maybe. Maybe. What is he, an escaped lab experiment whisperer? He’d ended up rolling his eyes and crossing his arms to cover up his discomfort, before she took pity on him, and dealt him in with a lingering thoughtful look he hadn’t trusted for one second.
All this to say is, he misses things—usually obvious things—and it always leaves him feeling one step behind, no matter how hard he tries to pay attention.
Which is why this new thing with Bob lately is driving him up the wall.
It started out small a couple of weeks ago. He’d been using the garage in the basement to (once again) work on trying to flatten his shield back out, and Bob had been keeping him company from the roll-y stool beside John’s tool box, orange Flintstones popsicle in one hand, and an open phone in the other.
The two men didn’t hang out too often, but when they did, John couldn’t help but acknowledge that it was…good. Easy. The two of them had more in common than he’d originally thought; both of them had grown up on open-tailgates, and too-hot sidewalks, and Cool Whip-heavy church potlucks. Yeah, they had different hobbies now (Bob doesn’t give a shit about football and John refuses to learn how to use a Nintendo switch), but that just meant that Bob always had an endless stream of useless, interesting new information to fill the space between them. And John liked listening, although he’d never admit it. His life had gotten too quiet after the divorce, so having someone willing to sit beside him while he worked, talking about fucking- Zelda, or whatever, was a pretty nice change of pace.
But then he’d lifted up his welding helmet, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, and tugged his gloves off with his teeth. And Bob had stopped talking mid-sentence—just went completely fucking silent. When John looked over to check on him, he blinked in surprise at how pink Bob was. That perfect jaw of his was covered in red sunbursts that spread down his neck towards the collar of his cut-off tee, his razor-thin smile slid open in a soft o.
“Uh- you good, Bobby?”
“Oh. I-” Bob stared at him for a beat with a weird look on his face and then let out a low, breathless laugh. “Sorry. What’d you ask?”
John’s face scrunched up in concern. “Are you okay? You’re lookin’ a little warm over there.”
“I’m fine!” Bob said quickly, hopping up from his seat to toss a thumb over his shoulder. “I just- I remembered this thing I’ve gotta do. Um- upstairs.”
“Sure…yeah, do what you gotta do, man.” John shrugged, that frustrating lost feeling sinking its claws deep into his chest.
“Cool.” Bob bobbed his head up and down a few times while slowly backing away, nearly tripping over a table clamp John had tossed onto the floor earlier. “Cool, cool, cool…this has been cool. I’m gonna- go now.”
With one last unreadable look sent John’s way, Bob finally made it to the elevators, and disappeared, leaving the soldier behind to wonder what the fuck had just happened.
Shit, maybe he hadn’t done a good enough job of responding to the Clone Wars stuff Bob had been telling him about? Maybe the other guy felt like he hadn’t been listening?
Ugh. He’d apologize, but how could he, when he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be apologizing for?
Frowning down at the gloves in his hands, he took a deep breath, and told himself he’d just have to try harder in the future to make sure he was paying attention when Bob started going on about the stuff he liked. It wasn’t like it would be a hardship, or anything, watching the guy’s face light up going on about one thing or another. John asking him questions about certain characters and saying the names wrong just to hear Bob chuckle.
He could do it. He could be a better friend—a better person—now that he had people relying on him again.
Deciding there was nothing else he could do about it at the moment, he turned back to his worktable, and put his helmet down, determined to try again later.
~~~
But it kept happening after that.
John and Bob would be hanging out, and all of a sudden, the other guy would bolt without an explanation. They’d be sitting on the couch together for movie night, and John would sling an arm over the back of the couch to stretch out, followed by Bob shooting up like his ass was on fire to scurry away to his room. Or he’d be cooking everybody dinner while Bob hummed along to the music pouring from the kitchen speaker, and by the time he started mindlessly cutting vegetables into perfectly even pieces, expertly welding the fancy chef’s knife Ava bought him last Christmas, Bob would have fallen into awkward silence again, all of his noises drying up, no matter how casually John tried to encourage him to keep going.
It was killing him not knowing what he was doing wrong.
And then they went on a mission on Monday and Bob had tagged along to watch how their communication over the comms affected their movement in the field—just for practice. The guy had been training a lot with Yelena, but still didn’t have any field experience, so the team figured they might as well bring him on an easy file grab, so that he had some point of reference moving forward.
It was a good idea. A simple idea.
That is, until they showed up, and found themselves facing an unusually alert security force. The target must have found out they were coming somehow, which meant any hopes the team had of it being a nice, quiet mission immediately went out the fucking window.
They split up, hoping to bottleneck the enemy through separate corridors. Yelena and Bucky took the North entrance, Alexei and Ava took South, which left John on his own to try and coax Bob over the edge of the rooftop.
“C’mon, man, I secured the grapple myself. Look, it’s totally fine.” John reached over and yanked on the clip connecting Bob’s waist to the roof, raising an eyebrow when it didn’t budge. “See?”
Bob nervously tugged on the tight material of his new and improved Sentry suit to pull it away from his muscular stomach, clearly uncomfortable wearing something so skintight, when all he usually wore around the tower was his cute, old man bathrobe and sweats (not that John really noticed that sort of thing). “No, I- I know. But what if our weight ends up being too much for it, you know? Maybe…maybe you should just go on your own. I can be a lookout! Or- Or maybe-”
“-Alright, alright, we don’t have time for this. Don’t forget to keep your feet planted like I showed you.” And with a hand flat curled over Bob’s shoulder, he shoved them both over the side.
Bob yelped, and dropped like a stone, doing none of the tricks he’d been shown in training to slow his momentum. Swearing, John grabbed the front of Bob’s harness, before jerking them both to a stop, and hauling the guy up against his side with one arm.
Thank fuck for super serum.
“Okay…new plan: I’m gonna guide us both down, and then you’re gonna stay back, while I clear us for entry.”
Bob nodded rapidly, and wrapped his strong, shaking arms around John’s neck, which felt…weirdly nice. Steadying. John cleared his throat and hefted Bob’s whole body up a little, until he could get a hand underneath him for a better grip.
Only, for some reason, right at that moment, the curly-haired man decided to let out a soft, gasping sort of noise that made every drop of blood in John’s body rush south, leaving him wide-eyed and stunned.
There was silence.
And then—
“Sorry. Sorry, fuck- I’m-”
John stared blankly at the wall in front of them.
“-I’m just- really nervous, and-”
He distantly noted how wobbly Bob’s voice was. For some reason, that only made his whole blood problem worse.
“-I really don’t want to fuck this up for you guys, you know?”
“Bobby.” John stopped him, still looking forward. “It’s cool. We’re ahead of schedule. If you need me to take us down slower, I can.”
Bob seemed to think about it for a moment, before nodding, and tightening his grip around the soldier’s neck. “...Yeah. Yeah, please. If you really don’t mind?”
“Whatever you need.” Walker murmured back awkwardly, feeling overheated, and confused, and desperate to keep hold of Bob, although he told himself that last part was just ‘cause he was scared of dropping him.
Bob let out a sigh of relief, and John dutifully began to lower them down, feeling the other man’s fingers on his skin like a brand.
Later that night, after they returned from the mission, and John crawled into his bed, he laid awake thinking about that sound Bob had made over, and over again, like a song stuck in his head that he just couldn’t get rid of.
…And if he was being real honest with himself, he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to get rid of it, even if he could.
~~~
So. This new thing with Bob. It all comes to a head one night, when Walker goes to knock on Bob’s door with a plate of dinner for him in one hand, and a Razzleberry Peace Tea in the other (he fucking hates how much artificial crap comes in these things, but Bob loves ‘em, and he hasn’t figured out a way to say no to him just yet).
“Come in!”
John clumsily pushes the door open to find way more people in the room than he’d expected. Ava, who must have just phased in from the kitchen, is sitting up eating the sandwich the soldier made for her at the end of Bob’s bed. Yelena is sitting on her knees next to Bob on the floor in front of the TV, trying to hold him still, while she sticks a sheet mask to his face.
He stands in the middle of the room staring. “What.”
“Girls’ night.” Yelena says, without looking away from what she’s doing. “You make a sandwich for me?”
“Yeah, it’s back in the kitchen, along with everyone else’s.” He scoffs, finally moving closer to set Bob’s sandwich and drink on the floor by the man’s crossed knee.
Bob tries to give him a little smile, but he’s forced to stop when it makes the sheet mask slide out of place.
“If everyone’s dinner is in the kitchen, then why can I see a plate right there on the floor, ey?” Yelena turns to shoot him an unimpressed look. Or, at least as unimpressed as she can be while wearing a sheet mask of her own, and looking like an extra from The Silence of The Lambs.
John huffs and shuffles from one foot to the other in embarrassment, before shyly looking up at Bob from under his eyelashes. “...I was just- worried, alright? I didn’t see you around the tower much today, so I guess I just thought…I don’t know, maybe you were having one of your rough days, or whatever…thought I’d try and make things a little easier for you.”
“Oh.” Bob blinks up at him a bunch, fucking up his sheetmask even worse, before jerking his head down to stare at the rug beneath him. Unfortunately, this just makes the mask fall to the ground completely, and the brunette stares at it with Yelena like it’s personally betrayed them. “...That was sweet of you.”
Sweet? John’s face burns candy heart-pink. “Yeah, well. Don’t mention it.”
The room goes quiet, before the silence is cut by a loud crunch from Ava, who’s just started to plow her way through the chips on her plate as if she hasn’t eaten in days.
“Okay, now that you’ve given everyone but me a sandwich, we’re a little busy here, sooo…” Yelena makes a shooing motion in his direction and he scowls, before crossing his arms over his chest.
“Wait, how come I wasn’t I invited to girls’ night?” He’s not pouting. He’s not.
Yelena raises an eyebrow at him (holding her mask to her forehead) and snorts. “You? Mr. Quarterback? You really want to sit around with us painting nails and talking about exes?”
“Why do you say that like it’s crazy?”
“No offense, Walker…we love you, really, but…” Ava smirks, and glances at Yelena and Bob, before looking back to him. “I don’t think you’re quite old enough for the kind of conversations we’re having.”
The tiny Russian woman on the carpet starts to snicker and Bob coughs once awkwardly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He huffs, feeling strangely left out.
“She means we’re talking about sex.” Yelena says slowly, before reaching for one of Bob’s sandwich halves.
The curly-haired man gently smacks her hand away and clutches the plate to his chest protectively, before turning back towards John, who’s trying his best not to look like a slack-jawed idiot. “I think what they mean is that- well, I guess we sort of just assumed you wouldn’t, you know…feel super comfortable talking about this- uh- kind of stuff. Seeing as you’re- uh- you’re, you know-”
The guy cuts off and John slowly raises both eyebrows expectantly. “...Seeing as I’m what?”
“Vanilla.” Yelena finishes, while finally managing to snag one of the sandwich halves, and crowing triumphantly, before quickly hopping out of Bob’s reach. She takes a massive bite and turns back to John to talk through her mouthful. “It’s okay to be boring, we don’t judge. But I’m not so sure your delicate sensibilities could handle some of the stuff that goes down at girls’ night, okay?”
Ava smiles pityingly. “...She’s right, Walker.”
John scoffs and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, arms squeezing even tighter over his chest as he tries not to look too hurt. “Okay, well, first of all, I am not vanilla, alright? And second of all…I think I can handle whatever it is you guys get up to in here. I’m a grown man with a kid, for Christ’s sake, it’s not like you’re running a goddamn den of inequity out of Bob’s bedroom.”
“We could be.” Yelena deadpans.
“You know what? ...Maybe it could be fun.” Ava cuts in with a look in her green eyes that John doesn’t trust even a little. “C’mon, John should totally be allowed to join girls’ night. Just this once, what do you say?”
“Hmm…” Yelena tilts her head to one side in thought, before straightening up to shrug and continue eating. “Fine. Just this once. But we’re out of facemasks, so you must let me paint your nails, okay?”
“Fine. Whatever.” John rolls his eyes and goes to join the pair of clowns on the floor, sitting close enough for one of his knees to brush against Bob’s. He can feel the heat of him through the thin material of his sleep pants, and for some reason, it makes his skin feel all tingly.
Bob offers him a weak smile as he readjusts. “...Thanks again. For the…for the sandwich.”
“So, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Yelena shoves the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, brushes the crumbs off of her hands, and reaches towards a gallon bag of loose nail polish on the floor nearby. “Kate Bishop brought up knife play twice last week over text, I think she’s trying to tell me something.”
John wheezes, and then has to cover it up with a cough, which just draws even more attention to his red face.
Yelena cracks up, while shaking a bottle of baby blue.
“Shut up!” He bites out. “I wasn’t ready.”
She points the glass in his direction. “I told you. I told you-”
“-Yelena.” Bob cuts his best friend off with a disapproving little frown. “Be nice.”
“I am nice! I’m so nice!” She insists, while bringing one of John’s hands to spread out over her own knee.
It doesn’t feel as nice as touching Bob.
He shoves the thought away, and focuses instead on Yelena as she starts to swipe a little paintbrush over his square nails. “Seriously, you just surprised me. I’m good now.”
“Okaaaay, whatever you say…” The woman sing-songs doubtful, but she continues anyway. “Like I said—Kate Bishop. She’s into the whole- knives thing. I think it could be fun, but- eh, I don’t know. What you think?”
“I dated a girl once into knife play. It was alright, so long as everyone’s safe about it.” Ava pipes up from the bed.
“I don’t know…I usually only get into the surface stuff.” Bob hums and brings his knees up to wrap his arms around the tops of them. “Biting, scratching, that sort of thing.”
It’s in this exact moment that John realizes with a dawning sense of horror that he might have bitten off a little more than he can chew by asking to be included in this.
And speaking of biting, now all he can picture is Bob covered head-to-toe in trails of purple-red blossoms, teeth claiming his pretty tan skin for the whole world to see. Could someone even leave marks on him with all that Sentry healing crap they put into him?
Maybe if the person doing it had super strength, although they’d probably have to spend a lot of time trying. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There are probably a lot of people into-
“-Walker! Earth to Walker!” Yelena shouts a foot away from his face.
“Jesus, what?” He yells back, blinking rapidly.
“I asked you to give me your other hand, like, a gazillion times.” She shakes her head. “You were not listening to me.”
“Oh. Uh. Sorry, I was just-” His eyes dart towards Bob without his permission, before sliding forward again. “-distracted.”
“Uh huh. Right.” Yelena shakes her head and gestures impatiently for the next set of nails. Then, she grumbles under her breath, “...I can’t believe I’m being judged by a man with missionary face.”
Bob grabs a pillow from the end of the bed and smacks Yelena with it, jostling her enough to spill blue paint over the skin of two of John’s fingers.
“Hey!” Her face screws up in outrage.
“You said you were gonna be nice.” Bob frowns disapprovingly, before shooting John an apologetic look.
“I am being nice, he’s the one whose face was doing weird things!”
“Uh- my face is totally normal, thank you very much!” John interrupts. “And I wasn’t judging you, I was just- thinking about a text I got this morning from Olivia. Jesus.”
That seems to calm her down a little (even if it is a lie). She grabs a bottle of strong smelling clear stuff to start aggressively wiping his skin clean, while tilting her head to the side as she goes back to work. “...Sorry. I guuess I should not have said your face was weird. Or whatever.”
He scoffs, but nods. “Yeah, well…I didn’t mean to make you think I was judging you. Or whatever.”
That gets a reluctant grin out of her, before she blows out a dramatic puff of air and sits back to admire her work. Honestly, it doesn’t look half-bad. “That’s okay. Knife play is a lot for your first girls’ night. Maybe we start with something small. Any luck with the daddy kink, Bob?”
“OhmyGod.” Bob makes a dying sound and stares at his friend in horror. “Yelena!”
“What? This is common knowledge, yes?” She looks around the room for confirmation.
Now the thing is, John really is a relatively smart person. But for some reason, he cannot get his brain to process whatever’s happening right now. All he can do is watch as Bob covers his face with both hands, knowing somewhere deep in his guts that some important piece of information is being presented to him.
Something about Bob. And…daddy kinks. And him having one.
Oh, God.
“Like-” Someone starts to speak, and it’s only as all eyes in the room turn in his direction that he realizes it’s him. Which means he has to actually collect his thoughts enough to continue. Fuck, coming in here was a mistake. He should have stayed in the kitchen, maybe made a batch of cookies to keep him occupied, or something. Anything but this. “-Like you like…uh- having people…call you that? Or…?”
Ava laughs and then tries to cover it up by pretending to clear her throat.
Bob looks fucking miserable. His eyebrows are all scrunched up, and his big eyes refuse to look in John’s direction, as he fiddles with the pillow still clutched in his hands. “Uum…no, not- not in that…direction.”
He laughs, but the sound is more painful than anything.
Oh. “Oh. So you…”
“Okay…I’ve been convinced. Ava, you were right; John being here is fun.” Yelena nods slowly. Then, she reaches up and pokes him in the cheek, making him scowl. “Your face is doing weird things again, just so you know.”
“What, am I not allowed to ask questions?” He throws his blue-tipped hands in the air in a weird mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. His whole body feels warm and itchy, and for some reason, his heart keeps tripping in his chest every time he sneaks a look at Bob (who’s still off to the side looking like a drowned kitten). “I was just curious, freaking sue me.”
“Next time, we invite Bucky, too, yes?” Yelena gets up to flop onto the bed beside Ava, who looks down at her, unimpressed. “Not Alexei, though. Eugh.”
“Unbelievable.” Bob mumbles, finally looking up to peek at John, who’s already looking his way. When their eyes meet, John tries to give him a reassuring smile, hoping it makes him feel better about this whole thing. Bob reluctantly smiles back—just a little—before looking back at the pillow with red cheeks. “...If you told me a year ago I’d be hangin’ around talking about…you know…kinky shit with an ex-widow, a retired Shield opp, and Captain America, I’d- I’d probably think you were high.”
“Yeah, well…it’s not all bad, right?” John raises an eyebrow in challenge. “I mean, where else in New York are you gonna get this kind of company?”
“Oh. You mean besides every subway station between here and Coney Island?” Bob jokes quietly.
“Right. Besides there.” John nods, smile sliding into something softer—something private.
Bob hums and pretends to consider it. “Well, when you put it like that...I guess you guys are pretty okay.”
John gives him a puffed up look of outrage. “Just ‘okay,’ huh?”
“Yeah, John.” Bob laughs and chews on his bottom lip in a way that tugs on something dangerously low in the soldier’s body. “You’re okay.”
For some stupid reason, okay sounds pretty good coming from Bobby.
They move on after that, eventually all piling together onto Bob’s mattress to look through Yelena’s texts to her maybe-girlfriend, while the teasing thrown John’s way gets easier and easier to handle.
…And if John scooches further across the blanket to touch his knee to Bob’s again, well, he tells himself it’s just ‘cause there’s not a lot of room on the bed, and he’s trying to be considerate. It’s got nothing to do with the nervous little looks the other man keeps giving him, or the creeping sense of awareness at the back of his mind screaming that he’s close to finally understanding what he’s been missing all along.
~~~
That night, John dreams.
He dreams of laying out on the rug by Bobby’s bed, itchy threads digging into his bare spine in a way that would probably be super uncomfortable if it wasn’t for the absolutely mind-blowing, syrupy pleasure currently washing through his body. It pulses through him, making his already uneven breath catch, as he lifts his hips up to chase after more of the feeling.
When he raises his head to take in more of his surroundings, he realizes he’s not wearing any pants, either. It’s just miles of sweaty skin covered by somebody else’s weight rocking down on top of him, letting out these high-pitched puffs of air every time their bodies meet, while raking blunt nails down his flushed chest.
Oh Christ.
John gasps brokenly the second he catches sight of Florida strait-colored eyes and soft brown curls hovering above him. He drops his head back to the ground in shock, and blinks up at the ceiling, as shameful pleasure continues to build, and build, and build.
“C’mon, Daddy. Please, give it to me.” Dream-Bob whispers, bouncing down faster onto John’s aching dick. The muscles in his stomach flex every time he raises himself up onto his knees, before sliding back down, and John can’t help the way his hands fall to those strong hips to guide him through it. “P- Please, I need it so bad.”
Daddy. Daddy, daddy, daddy.
John keens, and grits his teeth, unable to stop himself from fucking Bob harder—faster—exactly like he asked. He fucks him hard enough to pull a series of gorgeous, wobbly moans from the other man’s throat, and then he keeps on fucking him as hot cum shoots up his chest from his brain’s hazy version of Bob’s pretty, little cock.
When he gasps awake, he finds himself mindlessly grinding into sticky sheets, his own spent length caught between his stomach and the mattress. The disappointment at finding himself alone is almost as bad as the guilt now eating its way through him, turning him inside out as he groans into his pillow in frustration.
John Walker is absolutely, totally, royally screwed.
~~~
One day passes. One day of avoiding Bob at all costs by sulking around the training room is all he gets before he’s forced out onto the roof with everyone else to grill for Joaquin’s birthday. While he gets to sweat through flipping burger patties, feeling like a disgusting creep every time he so much as hears the sound of Bob’s voice from nearby, everyone else gets to enjoy their night sipping Coronas, and laughing about botched missions together.
It sucks.
John scowls down at the sizzling meat and pauses to wipe his forehead off against the hem of his white t-shirt. Then, someone’s chin hooks over his shoulder, causing him to jerk a little.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” Bob murmurs, breath tickling the hair by John’s ear. “Just wanted a closer look.”
He tries to remind himself to be cool. He can totally handle having one teensy, accidental wet dream about a guy without ruining their friendship. He can. He was Captain America, for Christ’s sake. “You- uh- ever grill before?”
“Nah.” Bob shakes his head, chin still digging into John’s collarbone. “My family didn’t really go outside much growing up.”
John clears his throat and nods down at the patties. “...You want me to teach you?”
Bob makes a startled sound, before backing up and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Oh. I mean- yeah, sure, if you- if you want.”
“Cool.” He waves a hand in the other man’s direction. “C’mere, I’ll show you what to look for.”
Moving nervously, Bob slides his way in front of John, which is about when the blonde makes his second mistake; he puts a hand on the man’s hip, and is flooded with memories from his dream two nights before. Just like that, he’s transported back to that itchy rug, the ghost of Dream-Bob riding him on the floor hitting him like a punch to the gut.
Even just knowing what the curve of Bob’s waist really feels like through a layer of band tee is enough to make him feel like he’s going nuts. Both of them tense up at the contact, and then John rips his hand away like he’s been burned. “Shit. Sorry. Instinct.”
Bob stays quiet for a second, probably figuring out how to nicely tell John off for being handsy. Only, then he throws Walker for a loop by pressing backwards—just a little. Just enough for his back to brush John’s front.
It makes his mouth go dry.
When the brunette speaks, his voice is…different. Heavier. Like the words are carrying more beneath the surface. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”
Okay. So…he doesn’t mind John touching him. Does he…want John to touch him?
John stares for a second at the halo of curls in front of him, before swallowing hard, and tentatively setting his hand back on Bob’s waist. He glances around to make sure no one’s looking, even though that probably just makes the whole thing seem super incriminating. Although, it’s not like either of them are actually doing anything wrong, right?
Right?
They’re just hanging out. Two dudes. Two really, really close dudes. And one of the dudes happens to have dreamed about making the other dude cum across his chest.
It’s times like this that make John wish he could control time. Then, he could pause everything and catch his breath. Sort out how he feels about Bob after their whole girls’ night conversation and that stupid freaking dream. Maybe then he’d also be able to figure out what’s been going on with Bob lately. Why he seemed so upset before, always running off anytime John tried to spend time with him, only to turn perfectly content now that he’s got John’s fingers sliding against the material of his shirt.
“John? You okay?” Bob’s voice changes, shifts back into something normal, and John wants to beg him to just please tell him what he’s thinking.
But he doesn’t. Instead, he loosens his grip on Bob’s side even further, and moves to look past his right shoulder at the grill. “‘M fine. You- uh- wanna turn the ones at the back early. That part of the grill typically runs hot.”
Bob nods dutifully and accepts the spatula from John to start flipping the meat. “Like this?”
The patties land a little off to the side of where they were originally, and the soldier tries not to get hung up on how it ruins his orderly rows. “...Mhm. Just like that. We’ll give the other ones another minute or two and then temp ‘em.”
“Doesn’t seem too hard.” Bob chuckles, and then turns to look at John straight on, all of his usual nervousness melting under the setting summer sun. The evening light catches on his hair, turning him golden and warm, while deepening his dimples and the crinkles by his eyes.
He looks happy like this. And beautiful.
Jesus Christ. Without the ability to freeze time, he’s stuck staring at Bob like an idiot as the answer to one of his questions beats him over the head like a crowbar; he’s got a crush on Bob. A big one. And standing this close to the guy right as he realizes it is probably not helping him hide how he’s feeling, like, at all.
His eyes have gotta be huge at this point, and his jaw is hanging open as he stands there dumbstruck, looking at Bob like he’s the goddamn Mona Lisa.
Bob’s eyes, on the other hand, turn into thoughtful slits that make Walker step back in panic.
“I’ve gotta- I’ve gotta use the bathroom. Just- uh- don’t forget to pull the rest of them off. I’m just gonna-” And then he stumbles away like a coward, fast walking towards the access door without looking back.
~~~
“C’mon, John. Get it together.” Sighing, he sticks his face over the sink, and splashes cold water over his face to try and clear his head. When he straightens up to look into his bathroom mirror, his own pitiful reflection drips back at him, reminding him of what a huge idiot he’s being. His eyes are all sad and tired, and his mouth is helplessly downturned in the same upside down ‘u’ Yelena sometimes gets when she’s sad about Love Island contestants going home.
He looks old.
John sighs again, and then shakes out his shoulders, trying to hype himself up to go back out there. Only, before he can quite convince himself to leave the safety of the cramped, tiled room, there’s a knock on the door.
“Hey, John? You okay in there?”
Jesus, can’t he catch a fucking break?
Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes in a slow, deep breath through the nose, and then rips the door open with a plastered on smile. “Hey, Bobby. I’m fine. Just- stomach trouble.”
Bob stands in the doorway of John’s bedroom swaying back and forward on his feet, concern squishing his eyebrows together. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then tries again in a halting voice, “Did I…do something? Make you uncomfortable or-?”
“No.” He tells him emphatically. “No, fuck, I’m the one who-”
John stops with a strangled cough.
Bob looks at him expectantly, and stays quiet, clearly hoping he’ll continue. But what’s he supposed to say, huh? I’m the one who maybe wants to take you out to dinner sometime, before fucking you so good you never leave, and I really don’t know how to deal with all that seeing as I’ve only ever been with one person before, and I blew that relationship to hell and back.
No way. But he’s gotta say something. “-I thought I was the one who' s been making you uncomfortable.”
Bob laughs once, face twisted up in disbelief. “Why- Why would you think that?”
“...You keep running off every time we hang out together.” John’s trying not to sound petulant—seriously, he is—but he’s pretty sure he misses by a mile.
Bob blinks at him in confusion. “But…you’re the one who ran off just now?”
Yeah, there’s…there’s really no arguing with that. “Right…but it’s not usually me. You know…doing the running.”
The other man stares at him for a second, and then scoffs, before wiping a hand over his face. “Alright…yeah, okay. Maybe you’re right.”
“So I have been making you uncomfortable.” He fucking knew it. His heart sinks into his stomach.
“No. No, you haven’t been making me uncomfortable.” Bob says slowly, looking at him with an indecipherable expression. “I just- didn’t want to make you feel weird about the whole…you know…”
John raises both eyebrows nervously. “...Know what?”
Short eyelashes flutter at him skeptically. “John.”
“Bob.”
The other man snorts and turns his eyes to the ground. “I didn’t want to make you feel weird about the daddy thing, alright?”
What?
“Why- Why would I feel weird about the daddy thing?” He stammers guiltily, thinking back on his stolen dream.
Bob looks back up at him without saying anything, familiar nerves back in place, and just like that, it all clicks into place. All of those moments where Bob had run away had happened after he- while he’d been- and then at girls’ night, when he couldn’t even look John in the eye-
“Oh.” All of the air in his lungs whooshes out in one big exhale.
“Yeah, oh.” Bob scratches his pink neck and tosses a thumb over his shoulder. “I can- I can go join the others, if you’re…if you’re grossed out. I’d totally understand. I was just…worried about you, I guess.”
Grossed out? He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s definitely not grossed out. If anything, he thought he was the one being gross, lusting after his teammate after only being divorced for a year. But…he’s missed having someone care about him like this, and having that someone be Bob—beautiful, funny, soft-hearted Bob—is making him a little bit dizzy.
He’s spent weeks trying to be better, more present, for the guy. To be a good friend for him. And the whole time, Bob wanted him. Him. Captain America reject, Jonathan F. Walker, in all his worn-out glory.
It doesn’t make sense, but he’s smart enough not to question it.
Instead, John forces himself to reach out with hesitant fingers to cup Bob’s jaw with one hand. “...Why would I be grossed out?”
Bob sucks in a sharp breath and chokes on it, coughing around hastily swallowed air. John quickly goes to drop his hand to try and pat him on the back, only, that just makes Bob scramble to grab for John’s palm again, clutching it to his cheek like he’s scared to let go. It makes him huff out an exasperated laugh that has the other man freezing self-consciously.
“Are you…Are you messing with me right now? ‘Cause I- I can’t really tell-”
John rolls his eyes, and smashes their mouths together with frankly unnecessary force, teeth clumsily clacking as he tries to erase Bob’s insecurities through sheer willpower alone. The idea that he wouldn’t want Bob back is freaking laughable, and it turns him desperate. He can’t- Christ, he can’t fuck this up. Can’t lose this second chance. Not when he hadn’t expected it, and he certainly doesn’t deserve it.
Bob’s mouth drops open around an airy moan and John takes the opportunity to shove his tongue down the guy’s throat, lapping up the soft, wet heat of his mouth like he’s only got one shot at this. It’s sloppy, and needy, and so good that the front of his Wrangler jeans are already starting to get a little tight.
He hasn’t kissed anyone in a really long time, and before that, he’d only done it with one person. Despite his best attempts to deny it…he really is kind of vanilla. Or at least, he used to be. But he likes how Bob threads his long fingers through the back of John’s hair, and tugs, while rolling his body against the soldier’s front in a way that pulls a low, rough sound from deep in his chest. He likes the way that Bob nips at his lips, and how everything tastes like cheap beer mixed with the mini Reece’s cups the other guy had been snacking on earlier outside.
He likes Bob. And he wants to make this good for him.
Not wanting to give himself time to overthink things, he rips his mouth away with a gasp, and slides his wet lips down to breathe against Bob’s throat. “You’ve been waitin’ for me to take care of you, baby?”
Bob tips his head back to give John more room and whines, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck. “Uh huh. Please.”
The sound of Bob begging makes him think back to that fucking dream, and their conversation with the girls about the things Bob likes, and the way Bob’s body pressing against his had made him go all hot and tingly two days ago. With all that in mind, he bites down on the line of Bob’s neck, digging his teeth against skin, before sucking hard enough to bring a spit-slick bruise to the surface (and the fact that he even can leave a hickey on someone as powerful as Bob makes him lightheaded with pride). Then he lifts up just enough to press his lips to Bob’s soft cheek. “...Please, what?”
Bob swallows with a dry click and jerks his hips up again, rubbing their obvious half-chubs together through the layers of their clothes. It makes John hiss and grip Bob’s waist, pinning him still against the open doorframe to keep him from getting the soldier too worked up just yet.
“Please, Daddy.”
John breaks. Spinning Bob around to lean over the bathroom sink, he shuts the bathroom door without looking away from where the other man is arching backwards to try and grind against his erection. Then, he hooks his fingers under the waistband of Bob’s cargo shorts, and yanks them down after only a second of hesitation, revealing the soft curve of his bare ass.
It’s- It’s a lot. Really fucking fast. But he wants it, even though he feels like he’s drowning, and so he runs a slow hand down Bob’s side, eyes flickering up to watch them in the big mirror above the sink. Bob, with his band tee bunched up around his shoulder blades, eyes dark and wild. Red splotches cover his skin as he mouth-breathes against the cold porcelain like he’s lost all higher function, curls mussed up in a way that makes him look half-fucked already. Only, that’s not possible, ‘cause they’ve barely even started, and-
-and shit, he’s stopped moving. Why’s he stopped moving? It seems like he’s given up on trying to rub himself off on John, and is now just gripping the edge of the sink with white-knuckled fists, staring back at John in the mirror.
Waiting. Like a- Like a- “...Good boy.”
Jesus Christ, he feels ten kinds of embarrassed saying something that dirty out loud. But…maybe that’s not such a bad thing? Not when it’s making his cock throb and his face feel like he’s tannin’ on the surface of the sun. In all honesty, he’s flying by the seat of his freaking pants here, but it’s gotta be the right thing to say, ‘cause Bob lets out a hiccuping whine and jerks once against the cabinet trying to hold himself still.
It’s just about the hottest thing John’s ever experienced in his whole life.
He lets out a shaky breath and fumbles for the button on his jeans, shoving his own pants and boxers down, as Bob continues to watch. Once he’s got his dick free, though, he pauses, suddenly struck by nerves; what if he does something wrong? What if he’s moving too fast, or too slow, or he’s too inexperienced, or-?
“J- John.” Bob’s deep voice cracks in desperation, and something about it buries itself in his bones, and stays there.
It makes him feel like he’s starting to understand.
He brings one hand back to the pretty, little vee of Bob’s waist, and ruts forward, ruthlessly grinding his length between the other man’s cheeks, while pulling him backwards just enough to clumsily pet at his pre-cum slick cock.
It should probably freak him out, touching another man’s dick for the first time, but the feeling of humping against Bob’s ass is so good, and the pitiful little flexes of the brunette’s hips as he chases after John’s fingers is so gratifying that all he can do is groan, and bury his face in the sweat-matted curls at the nape of Bob’s neck, while dragging two fingers up and over his slippery, wet tip. “What’s all this ‘John’ business, huh? Thought you wanted me to be your Daddy, baby?”
Bob shudders beneath him, as John plays with his dick some more, stomach muscles clenching. …“‘M sorry, Daddy. I- I do. I want it so bad. Please, please, I need-”
John stops petting him, and tightens his hold around Bob for real, biting off a groan when it makes the guy whimper. “Yeah? C’mon, tell me what you need, sweetheart.”
Bob lifts his head up off of the cold sink to look John in the eyes through the mirror. “I- I need you to keep touching me. Need you to…”
John’s reflection raises an eyebrow in encouragement.
“...Need you to tell me ‘m making you feel good.” Bob admits, red-faced. “I need to make you feel good, Daddy.”
“Shit.” John hisses, jerking hard between Bob’s cheeks, until his own tip catches just a little on the other man’s tight hole. The sensation makes him pause. Just the thought of it—of getting inside him—is enough to make him rock forward more slowly, blinking rapidly as he strokes Bob faster. “Fuck, you make Daddy feel so good, baby. So good. You’re so sweet for me, just like I knew you’d be.”
“...You’ve thought of this before?” Bob breathes out with wide-eyes. “...Of me?”
“Mhm.” John grumbles and blushes, while pressing a sweet kiss below Bob’s ear. “...Dreamed of you.”
Bob’s eyes roll shut, eyebrows scrunching together and he writhes in the soldier’s hold. “What happened? In the- In the dream?”
John’s throat tightens a little bit at the thought of describing it out loud, but Bob’s blue eyes are all shiny, and his thin mouth is open and gasping, and he’s gone back to rocking back against the blonde’s cock, and the words sort of just- spill out. “I was…I was fucking you on the floor of your bedroom…had you bouncing on my dick like the sweet boy you are. You- You came so good for me, made a mess all over my chest, and-”
He breaks off with an embarrassingly loud noise as Bob shoots warm and sticky into John’s fingers, the hard line of his body pulled tight and he falls apart against the counter. Walker continues to run a thumb up and down his length, though, sliding it through the mess, until Bob keens from overstimulation, and forces him to pull his hand away.
He goes to move back, as well, but Bob stops him by desperately grabbing for John’s hip. “W- Wait! You didn’t finish!”
“Bobby, you just-”
The curly-haired man lets out a pathetic sound, pouting at him as he purposefully rubs his ass against John’s dick.
John hesitantly takes Bob by both hips and goes back to slowly grinding forward. “...Hey, ssh, it’s alright. It’s alright, baby, I got you.”
“I want it- want your cum, Daddy.” Bob begs in that gravely voice of his, and-
Jesus fucking Christ, how’s he supposed to say no to that?
With clenched teeth, John bucks against soft skin, tip still catching every now and then against the other man’s fluttering hole, until he lurches forward, weight pressing Bob’s body harder against the sink as he finally pulses thick streaks of white over the guy’s ass after only a handful more thrusts.
He’s laying there breathing hard, trying to get his heart rate back down, when movement from beneath him draws his eyes back to the mirror. There, he watches as Bob reaches back to slip a shaky hand between them.
Maybe he’s trying to move John off of him now that it’s over? The thought makes him frown in disappointment. Still, he lifts his body away to try and give him space to leave, only Bob doesn’t try to get away. Instead, John looks down just in time to watch as the other man attempts to push some of John’s pearly cum into his tight hole with the tips of three fingers.
His blood fucking burns at the sight. “Holy shit.”
Bob whines with his face still pressed against the sink, and continues to try and shove John’s cum deeper.
Now, Jonathan F. Walker has never been particularly interested in doing kinky stuff before. Until twenty minutes ago, the freakiest thing he’d ever done was receiving reverse cowgirl on his birthday, and maybe enjoying the occasional blowjob. But this? Seeing his cum getting pushed into Bob’s pretty pink hole, knowing that he’s marking him up on the inside? It’s like he’s being consumed by a static roar urging him to take.
He wants to dominate him, pin him down and keep him there. He wants to do things he never would have thought of before, like licking up the cum off Bob’s softening cock, or getting his fingers inside that hot, perfect ass of his. He feels half out of his mind with it, and he should probably be ashamed (and he might even be later), but it’s kind of impossible to feel weird about any of these thoughts when he’s got Bob arching backwards to try and fill himself up.
And just like that, he’s already hard again. John groans and drops to his knees hard enough for his own cock to slap against his stomach, but he ignores the ache between his legs in favor of spreading Bob’s cheeks with both hands. “Can I- baby, please, let me-”
“-Yes. Yeah, anything. Anything you want, Daddy.”
He doesn’t know what he’s doing- not really. But he’s got a rough idea, and he trusts Bob to tell him if he’s fucking things up, so with one last ragged breath, he leans forward to lick his own cum off of the other man’s hole.
It’s…strange. But not the worst thing he’s ever done. He kind of likes tasting himself on Bob’s skin. The brunette moans, and tries pushing backwards against his tongue, but John stills him by pressing him down against the counter, and then goes back to sloppily lapping into him. Once he finally gets the tip of his tongue inside, he starts slipping it in and out in slow, lazy jolts that make Bob’s strong legs shake hard enough to rattle the wood of the drawers in front of him.
It’s fucking great.
John groans, and reluctantly moves his mouth away, shushing Bob when he mewls weakly in protest.
“What are you-”
“Can I fuck you?” He blurts out fast, ears burning.
Bob pauses, and then practically trips in his hurry to twist around and tug John up from the floor. “Y- Yeah, please.”
He lets out a discreet breath of relief and allows himself to be pulled into standing. Then, once they’re face-to-face again, he’s overcome again by just how badly he wants this. How badly he wants him, even having already had him once. Honestly, he could have Bob every day in a thousand different ways, and never get tired of it. “...C’mon, sweetheart.”
With gentle hands, he helps Bob step all the way out of his cargo pants and shirt (so that he doesn’t trip while walking around), before leading him from the bathroom to his bed, spreading him out on his back, flushed, tan skin glowing against the backdrop of John’s dark blue comforter. There’s enough light still coming in from the window to catch on all of the golden parts of him, and John can’t help but secretly wonder how someone this beautiful ended up here with him. It doesn’t really make any sense, no matter how hard he tries to puzzle it out.
As he continues to stare in confused, hungry awe, he drags his own shirt off over his head, and kicks off his pants and boxers, before crawling into bed after the other. Then, once he’s got a forearm on either side of Bob’s head, and they’re both watching each other, waiting to see what happens next, John’s eyes flicker down to the guy’s lips, just before he drops down into a kiss.
It’s chaste. Intimate in a way that doesn’t really line up with his idea of how these kinds of things usually go. But comforting, in the way that it makes him feel like maybe they’re on the same page with this.
Eventually, though, he pulls away, licking his lips as he looks down into stormy eyes. “I…I gotta be honest here, baby….I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“That’s okay.” Bob murmurs, lifting a hand to touch his jaw. “I can- I can show you.”
John nods slowly and steals another quick kiss. Then another. Then, he gets out the lube from the dresser by his bed, and lets Bob pour some of the cold gel out onto his fingers. And then he presses in slowly, one at a time, again and again, until he’s eventually got three fingers twisting in and out of the hot, tight heat of a man who’s looking up at him like he’s not a failure.
Like he isn’t broken, or bad, or irredeemable.
It’s pretty intense, especially for his first time doing…pretty much everything they’re doing. But he’d rather die than stop. So he frees his fingers once Bob signals that he’s ready, and allows himself to be led forward, only hissing a little as Bob grips his length to guide John’s tip to his entrance.
When he first starts to slide in, it’s a little like sinking into a hot bath after a long day working outside in the cold rain. Bob’s body opens up for him, muscles clenching around his cock, and it floods his entire body with a warm rush of electricity that makes him have to smother a groan in the crook of Bob’s neck. “Jesus Christ, baby.”
Bob doesn’t say anything. Instead, he keeps on breathing like he’s just ran a marathon, as he locks his ankles behind John’s back, forcing him deeper. They both whimper at the sensation, and then John rocks forward just once, just to try it out, and the easy glide is so perfect that his brain empties of any thought other than doing it again, and again.
They fall into a rhythm after that of hard, slow thrusts that Bob lifts his hips to meet, sending wave after wave of those electric tingles skittering over his skin every time his cock drives back into Bob’s lube/cum/split drenched hole.
It’s so messy- so messy—the wet sound of their bodies meeting is obscene—but he’s loving every fucking second of it. He snaps his hips forward harder, drawing a ragged sound from high in Bob’s throat. “God, you feel fucking incredible, Bobby. So fucking good for me.”
Bob tips his head back against the pillows, curls fanning out around him like a goddamn painting. “I- I love feeling you inside me, Daddy…keepin’ me all full.”
One of his big hands drops down to just below his bellybutton, pressing a little like he can feel where John’s making a place for himself inside his body, and it drives the super soldier wild.
He sits back on his calves, and turns Bob onto his side, bottom leg to the left of John’s body, the top hooked over one of his elbows, so that John can drive into him even deeper. A line of sweat is sliding down his spine, and the headboard is slamming into the wall every time he re-enters him, and he doesn’t really care. People can probably hear them fucking from space, and it would still probably take the whole team banging down the door to get him to consider stopping.
And even then, considering it is probably all he’d do. Just to be polite.
“You gonna let me keep you after this, baby?” He grunts, thick stomach shaking with the force of his thrusts. “Only ever give up this sweet hole for me?”
He should be disgusted with himself for how he’s talking to Bob, for how possessive he’s being, but it’s hard to feel guilty about it when the other man is digging his fingers into John’s shoulders, and moaning for it like a fucking slut. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yes.”
“Say you’re mine. Say it.”
“‘M yours, John. I’m yours.”
This is the part where he’s supposed to correct him for calling him by his name, but he’s so close to cumming for the second time that hearing his name from Bob’s lips just spurs him on, forcing him to collapse on top of the other as his hips work to fill Bob up just the way he needs it. He shoves a hand down between their bodies, and starts stripping the man’s weeping cock, making him cry out, as tears collect around his eyelashes.
Neither of them last very long after that. They both want it too bad. Just another minute or two later, and Bob twitches through his second orgasm, making a mess of John’s stomach and chest in a way that’s a million times better in real life than in his dreams. After that, all it takes is Bob’s body clenching down around him, and John follows him over, spilling deep inside him with a long, drawn out moan.
And then the room falls silent, except for the sounds of the two of them breathing heavily, bodies cooling in the steadily darkening light of John’s room. Minutes pass, both of them laying pressed together, until the cum between them starts to go cool and tacky, and John forces himself up with a grimace to hunt around for a towel. Once he’s shuffled off to the bathroom to get the cloth wet, he brings it back to wipe Bobby down, rubbing gentle circles over his stomach, cock, and thighs. Then, before he can feel self-conscious about it, he darts in to leave a quick kiss on Bob’s stomach, before settling back in satisfaction. “There. All better.”
Bob watches him work silently with heavy, thoughtful eyes and then smiles at him shyly once John’s done. “...Thanks.”
Walker rubs the back of his neck and gives him a little crooked smile back. “Yeah, well- um…anytime, you know?”
“Yeah?” Bob bites at his bottom lip. “...You mean that?”
John lets out a nervous breath, and shrugs, looking away. “I mean, I…wouldn’t mind it. If you…you know, really wanted to- be. With me. Or whatever. But I’d totally get it if you just wanted to do, like, the whole daddy thing-”
“John.” Bob stops him with a hand to his waist and a big puff of air. “I have a…sort of embarrassingly massive crush on you that pretty much everyone knows about, and I’d- I’d really fucking like it if you’d go out with me sometime…if you want.”
His shoulders drop in relief. Then he processes all of what Bob said, and he cocks his head to the side with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “...Everyone knows? Really?”
Bob rolls his eyes and shoves at him gently. “Everyone but you, apparently.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say?” John huffs out a laugh and leans over again to start pressing even more kisses to Bob’s body; to his chest, his neck, his nose and eyes. He kisses him all over, while Bob grins up at him with a light in his eyes that tells him everything he needs to know, and then he shrugs again. “Sometimes I miss stuff.”