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Ever since Valentina trapped all of them into some of public eye corner, it’s – well, kind of easier.
Tell the past John Walker that he’d end up living in the Stark Tower, and man… he would ask you what he did to make himself a hero like that.
At that thought, John sort of grimaces, puts the glass up to his lips again and drinks.
The team is posted in the bar level, just where Valentina’s crews are patching up where Bobby nearly managed to throw them out the windows.
There's some laugher and small conversation, the liquor making it a bit more lax than the days beforehand. A miracle, if one would ask John. Who would ever thought he’d be working with these people in these circumstances?
He watches from the rounded couch as Bucky dodges war stories from an ever-so-persistent Alexei, instead eyeing the giant monitors getting set up in the middle of the room for “superhero” surveillance. Ava is a seat over to John, sniffling drunken giggles as she peers onto the Russian mayhem as well.
Yelena was mumbling some ideas for amenities they could use in the housing quarters, but trailed off when she saw Bob come into the room just earlier. She got up immediately and headed his way.
“You think she got a thing for him?” Ava snorts, raising her eyebrows at the pair as Yelena closes in on her target. Bob waves, smiles, before peering over at John and Ava, too. Ava raises her cocktail glass at him, while John just stares. That must trigger something in Bob, because he kind of just turns away and talks to Yelena.
“Uh,” John starts, squinting at the two as Yelena’s face softens, something rare on his receiving end, as she speaks to Bob. “I don’t know, where do you get that idea?”
Ava laughs. “Don’t ask a ghost for any secrets. Me? I’m just the observer.”
John peers at Ava and she’s sort of staring him down, eyes raised as she takes another sip. John feels a sort of pit open up in him and can’t really pin down why.
Man, he definitely needs to get drunker than he is right now.
Without saying much of a goodbye he gets up, saunters over to the bar where Alexei is now mixing more drinks, the heavy guy rambling about matching haircuts to Bucky, now.
“Hey, you mind?” John says, gesturing with his glass. Alexei grins. “Of course, Walker – No minds here.”
Before a minute passes John has a new drink in his hand, scarily clear as water with a – cherry on top? He takes a sip, and shit, did he put any tonic?
Beggars aren’t choosers, John figures and looks for…
He’s gone, John realizes, staring at the place they just were. He blinks confusion out of his eyes. Yelena isn’t to be seen, either, so John figures she left with Bob.
Ever since the last couples of days, she’s been practically glued to Bob’s side. Sure, who would want to let the guy out of sight after everything, but still – John thinks over his drink about how Bob barely got any space to himself since.
John remembers a crowd closing in on him and blood and shakes off the thought. He looks up, and Ava… wow, she’s grinning at him, ever so knowingly.
Yeah, that’s probably enough socializing for now.
“Thanks Alexei,” John mutters, shaking his head as he gets out of there, taking the drink with him.
He knocks back a few more shots in his room, later.
The place is a bit barren, since he just moved in. Not much John had on his back, anyways, after Olivia left him. Still, he thinks about who else might’ve stayed in this room before, maybe a friend of Stark’s?
Or maybe it was a storage closet for old superhero things.
It didn’t matter anymore, as Valentina ordered it empty along with the other rooms down the hall, and managed to get beds inside before long.
John is on that bed soon enough, lazing around with his thoughts that aren’t too bad tonight. He blinks at the newly placed ceiling fan, hand wandering south to himself.
It’s all he feels like doing anyway.
Groping at his own dick, the first image in his head is Olivia. Remembers her dark hair, but it just hurts and this isn’t really doing it for him right now.
It’s not long before he grabs at his phone next to him, managing to type in a porn website through his blurred eyes.
Scrolls through some potential jack-off videos, the thumbnails moving whenever he stops to peer at what it includes. John hasn’t gotten off in who knows how long now. The last time he had sex, God, with Olivia – but since then even bare attempts at passing hookups fail with some chicks remembering who he was. Who he is.
With a tap he finds himself watching some video with a dark skinned woman and a white guy, the usual, not paying much mind to whatever kink they got going on tonight. John weasels his hand into his pants and feels himself get harder at the thought of finally getting off.
It’s one of those scripted ones, horrific acting right at the bat but John never was a film critic, so he shoves his pants down a bit more for better access as the couple in the shot get closer.
The camera follows the pantied ass of the woman as she stalks her prey – a man in the house who is against the wall, reading a book. So natural.
As soon as she gets to him, she pushes the book out of his hand and grabs his face.
Oh, it’s one of those types. The porn star pushes her face into his and makes out with him, and when she pulls away the man’s face is – wow, he kinda looks like –
“What are you doing?” The guy against the wall says stupidly. She keeps closing in on him, and his hips start to sort of rut against her like they have a mind of their own.
The camera is on her as a coy smile crosses her face. “Nothing,” she gropes at the man’s cock, “Now shut up.”
A weird one, that’s for sure, but John isn’t opposed and strokes himself as the couple squirms. The man lamely attempts at putting her hands aside but she’s focused, undoing his belt.
It’s like he’s holding himself back when he says, “No, stop it,” and John’s hand catches under his cock’s head so he twists his wrist to get the rhythm right.
“No,” the woman coos back, stepping away to strip herself of the leather set she had on, before grabbing the man’s hair, long enough to get purchase of his head and snag it back against the wall.
The man gasps, and John’s cock jumps in his hand.
When the door to John’s room opens, he’s smart enough to use his blanket to hide his dick but drunk enough to leave the video going on his phone beside him.
Bob. Already in pajamas, grey ones, almost the same as how they found him in the vault. His hand is still on the doorknob. “Oh,” is all he says.
John feels his eyebrows raise. He should definitely be horrified right now, some reasonable part of him knows, but the liquor makes the air a bit warmer than it is and he’s not too uncomfortable.
“Ohh,” Bob repeats, the shock sort of settling into him and he takes a step back.
“Sorry,” John says, not knowing why quite yet. It catches up to him a delayed second later. Right.
Bob’s expression changes into something fast, something John can’t really hang onto. “No, no, you’re fine – um, you’re good, actually. Sorry about me.”
John shrugs, and the moans coming from his phone seem to be amplified. John looks at his device, and then back at Bob who is looking at the phone now.
“I’ll – I go now,” Bob says like a two year old, and John sees as he cringes as his own statement, “Have fun?”
When he turns to walk out, John manages to slur out a “Wait.”
Bob stops, not turning completely back toward John. Just like a shadow, frozen.
The porn voices chime in. “Stop it, mmmm, please, fuck!”
“Did I do something?” Bob says and honestly it takes John off guard even though he didn’t know where he was going with this.
“No,” is all John sighs out, “No.”
Bob, always the victim. Whether its going off plan to get shot a thousand times by armed forced or being abused or addicted, he seems to be used to be on the blunt end.
“FUCK!” A voice calls from John’s phone, and he shuts that shit off.
Bob actually laughs and in a bewildered fashion John wonders how he’s managing to handle all this so swiftly. “Did you even drink at all tonight?”
“Um, no,” Bob says, “Yelena seemed to, yeah, overdo it so I tried to stay the sober one to keep her… yanno.”
John can’t help but nearly bark out a laugh. Wait, Bob is the one doing the anchoring? Wow. How the turns tabled.
“So you’re not drunk.” Walker says.
“I think that’s what sober means?” Bob scoffs out, a joke, and John’s face must’ve did something because he sort of immediately retracts at it, like –
“Hey man, it’s okay, stop. Jesus, why do you always do that?” John shakes his head, watching how Bob looks at the ground. “I’m not offended.”
“I really feel like I shouldn’t be here,” Bob says.
“Sure,” John retorts, “Then why are you here?”
The guy tenses so hard John can see it in his neck. “I, um.”
“Just walking on in here?” John presses, and he can practically see the question marks in the air, “Did you even knock?”
“I did, actually. I just – hm. I wanted to say something to – to you,” Bob gestures at John, as if he isn’t the only one in the room.
John’s eyes follow Bob’s hand as it is outstretched towards him, before falling back at his side. “I’m sorry about,” Bob’s voice falters, but tries again, “I’m sorry about the first time I touched you, and almost making you jump back into the vault, wasn’t cool, and, yeah, okay. Bye.”
Doesn’t turn in leave in time to not see John attempt to get up twice, nearly lurching over but still managing to get onto his feet. The floor is cold but his body is warm. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Bob’s eyes sort of twitch and maybe even glisten and for a second John can almost forget what power the guy actually has.
“You’re sorry?” John starts, “You’re sorry ?”
John doesn’t realize how close he is to the guy until Bob sort of steps to the side, into the room, and John sees this as an opportunity to close the door. Bob turns his head at the knob, staring. His hair is shielding his eyes from this angle and John remembers how he looked the same when the team saved him.
“Yeah,” Bob croaks out.
Somewhere inside John there’s a ringing bad idea, bad, bad but his dick seems to take charge. “Show me how sorry you are, how about that.”
Bob looks back up at John and this expression is not familiar. Or maybe he lost all senses.
It’s only a moment before John takes Bob’s chin in his hand and smashes their lips together. John knocks open Bob’s mouth and swallows up his wait.
John takes his arms and pins them, pins them to his side and their against the wall. “Wait wait wait wait,” Bob tries again but groans when John puts his leg in between his and ruts up against him, bites Bob’s lip and licks into his mouth after.
John pulls back enough to see Bob grimacing, eyes closed but John feels his dick waking up, against his leg.
There’s a twitch of a fight in Bob’s arms, but John holds them taut as he goes back in to graze his teeth on Bob’s neck, and the guy is almost shaking, now. John knows if Bob wanted to, if he really wanted to, he would make John a black shadow or put him in a maze of shame rooms right now. If he wanted to.
“You want it,” John says out loud this time, and Bob’s eyes blast open and focus.
“No,” it’s quiet, but unsure and John eats that shit up.
John lets go of one of Bob’s arms, using his own hip to sort of crush it to the side and uses the free hand to jam into Bob’s pants.
Fuck. Bob’s dick feels like, feels like – fuck it, John needs to see this for himself.
John shoves down Bob’s pants, dropping with it and finds himself face to face with a cock that is on the thinner side but long enough to, wow. John’s drunken mind whirs with possibility.
Looks up at Bob and shit, he’s flushed in the face and his chest is heaving and he keeps blinking so hard like his eyeballs might fall out if he doesn’t time it right.
Bob doesn’t say anything of protest this time and John takes advantage of that, even though it wouldn’t matter if he said anything in the first place.
“Fuck, man,” John hears himself say and let’s go of Bob all together before focusing on his cock. John spits on his hand before jacking him once, twice, and Bob’s legs nearly buckles.
“Ff,” Bob stars, and John milks the fuck out of it, saying, “Yeah? Yeah?”
Bob shakes his head fervently and John tries to get it out again but just sinking his mouth on the guy’s dick, staring up while he’s doing it.
Bob;’s eyes blow open and John really thinks, wait, are they going to fall out? “Stop it,” Bob squeaks, but hangs his head back against the wall and sighs out a ha a when John gags on his dick.
While John served, there was no wife around and sometimes it was just Lemar and himself. Who would’ve stopped them? A distant pang hurts John’s chest somewhere but he’s too under the influence to care right now, with the salty taste of skin in his mouth and reveling in it.
John pulls back, swirling his tongue against the head of Bob’s dick, the way he likes it himself, licking up the precum. Bob breathes like its his first time.
Who knows, maybe it is, and John actually nearly falls over.
“Woah,” Bob says, gripping onto John’s shoulders, stabilizing him. But that’s not what they’re playing today. John stares at his hands holding himself steady on the ground and says, “Get on the bed.”
He looks up at Bob, whos peering down at him past his own hard cock. His chin is up, but his mouth is hung open. “Or what,” Bob says.
It’s the same sort of face he had when Bob put John in that first shame room, after he nearly made John jump those flights they climbed. The face that said, Fuck you, I know what you are.
Now, that’s up John’s alley. In the moment, he kind of wishes he had his 45 to push against Bob’s head and force him down, which sounds really hot, but instead he opts with stumbling onto his feet and tackling Bob onto the mattress.
Bob squirms under him, belly down, but that only makes his half-exposed ass flush against John’s crotch. That nearly makes him go blind.
“We shouldn’t–” “Shut up,” John interrupts, pushing down Bob’s pants and boxers the rest of the way before pulling his hands up Bob’s chest from behind, feeling, feelings.
Bob let’s out a sort of laugh and maybe it’s from John’s cold hands or from the ridiculousness oft his whole thing, but John doesn’t care, breathing heavy as he takes in the feeling of Bob’s muscular core, up to his well toned pecs, and his pebbling nipples.
“You have no idea,” John pants, humping Bob slow while his hands push up and down the sides of his sleep shirt, “how I’m going to fucking ravage you tonight.”
Bob stops laughing then, and John wishes he could see his face.
They’re both Donald Ducking it but John could be less insecure with the view he actually has, Bob’s mashes hair next to his face as he watches his pale ass push back against John.
“You gotta get this off,” John says, tugging at Bob’s shirt and he sits back to stare as Bob slowly, slowly peels off the top.
His back. Freckles and so so soft that John knows he needs to fuck it up.
“Move,” John blurts,and Bob doesn’t and John guesses that’s what he meant in the first place. John slides off the bed, rushes towards the closet and scrambles through his unpacked few belongings.
Lube, always, next to the strew of condoms he didn’t get lucky with yet. Like he’ll even use them now.
“Be honest,” John says, voice low, “Have you done this before, Bobby?”
“Don’t call me that,” Bob winces, but is still belly-down naked on the bed, head crooked to the side like he’s stuck.
It’s not a no.
John gets back and braces onto his haunches behind Bob. “Okay, Bob ,” John corrects quietly, staring at the man’s ass, arched in front of him. John braces his left hand on the bed next to Bob while he starts to prod at his asshole, the ring of muscle spasming with the touch. “I’m going to finger you now.”
Bob shudders and John thinks thats in a good way when his finger gets clamped down around, pumping in and out slowly before going a bit faster on rhythm, sneaking in a second finger on cadence.
There’s a moan ahead, and John’s cock begs, please, and usually he’s a good giver but fuck, he needs to be stuck in something right now.
John strains against his will and plays nice to pull at Bob’s pleasure, drinks in his grains and winces and mumbling, always mumbling. John finally lubes up his own dick, tacky but slick and breathes in deep while he lines it up with Bob’s hole.
“This is what you get, right?” John mutters, lowering himself down against Bob’s back, pushing in slow, watching Bob’s mouth drop open in feel-good. The sensation of tight and warm blows up John’s brain, and he struggles to focus.
“Yeah,” Bob drawls, gasping for air like a fish. “This is what I get.”
John can’t come now. “You sorry fucker,” he continues, “You – you slut. That’s what you came in here for, really, right? To get fucked by me?
“N–Yeah,” Bob moans, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, fuck, yes, this is what I wanted.”
“You aren’t sorry. I knowy ou aren’t sorry. You show me those,” John clips his hips up hard into Bob, “ memories and you wanted to fuck me up. You didn’t care.”
“No,” Bob says, “Ah, fuck. More.”
“More? More of what?” John slurs because he really doesn’t know, if he needs to go harder or degrade more or –
“More,” Bob whines, gripping the wrist of John that’s braced next to him, and John fucks into him with more purposeful hooks. John shoves Bob’s hand off of him and reaches around to grab his cock, stroking fast while Bob hums with each pump.
The come that covers John’s fist is hot and messy and he let’s go to grab at Bob’s shoulders, pulling Bob down on his thrusts and that – that seems to do.
With each fuck John feels himself getting closer to the edge and he says, “Fuck, fuck, you slut, this is all your fault, you’re too –” and that’s it.
The wet skin sounds falter as John closes his eyes, sees only the black of his eyelids, leaning into the pleasure as his come spurts deep into Bob.
John finally looks down and realizes he had Bob’s hair in his hand, tugging his head back. He lets go, slow, letting the curls fall from his grasp. Bob’s head sort of goes slack as John pulls out. The come drips onto his thigh.
“Well,” is all John can say, and that’s about all he remembers from that night.
Next morning – or wait, must be afternoon at this point – John’s head sucker punches him awake and he’s naked, yeah, naked, and hurting in his own room.
The lights are still on and it blinds John, him literally reaching out to block it. The floor, clothes strewn.
John gags hard out of a hangover, not disgust mind you, and pukes into the trash can next to his bed just in time.
A part of him feels bad but he can’t put his finger on it. John groans as his head pulsates again. He tries to think of last night, but is met with a blackout wall of liquor instead.
A knock at the door. “Come in,” John says, because fuck, maybe it’s Bob and he can help him figure this out.
“Oh, fuck, gross, oh fuck, what the fuck!” Yelena slams the door shut as quick as she opened it. John just sits there as her muffled voice yells, “Put some clothes on, Walker! Why did you say come in?!?!?”
She’s nearly crying out there, and John’s day couldn’t get any better. Nearly vomiting again, John shoves himself off the bed to grab boxers and a t-shirt. He nearly flops over and dies from Mr. Hangover but manages to get dressed and open the door himself.
Yelena is still there, head tipped back, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Jesus, Walker. Who did you manage to fuck last night and decide to present to me?” Her accented words are slick with disgust and low enough where he’s sure she’s hungover, too.
“Are you really asking?” John questions and Yelena shakes her head hard, “No, no, please – and please never let anyone in your room again. I just wanted to ask what you wanted for lunch, Jesus…”
John manages a laugh. “Who;s cooking? Bucky? Tell him I’m not washing his arm again.”
Yelena nods her head no. “A chef Valentine got for the building. Next floor down, if you want to put in an order.”
“Oh wow,” John muses, “Upgrade. What are you getting?”
“Nothing. Me and Bob are going out somewhere together.”
John fights every demon to not let the surprise out on his expression. Still, he asks – “You and Bob?”
Yelena lifts her chin up. “Yes.” Was that a blush creeping up her neck? “You got a problem with that?”
“No,” John finds himself saying. A void sort of opens in his chest. “No, go ahead.”
“Great,” is all Yelena says, before spinning ‘round and heading down the hall.
Ava may be right. She did have a thing for Bob. Which is fine. Why would John care?
John watches as Yelena turns the corner out of sight, her shadow a split second behind her. Wonders what it would be like to manage to break through Bob’s walls again, but enough to get him to really see her.
That sounds like a battle John doesn’t have to worry about, and he goes back into his room to pick up the clothes.