Chapter Text
Sam sat in the living room of the New Avengers Compound, which was the same as the old one but they’ve got a new logo and there are new people living there now. The entirety of Bucky’s pulled together, hand me down superheroes, and Sam’s more collected and slightly more planned out and put together team. The couch is plush beneath him, Torres sits next to him, intently watching the documentary on the screen in front of him. Yelena is in the kitchen, muttering something about people being tall or whatever.
Their phones all ding in a synchronized sound, and Sam picks his up. The message lighting his screen is from the communal group chat with all of the New Avengers. Despite not all of them being on missions together, Sam had thought it'd be nice to have everyone in the compound have some form of communication together. Mostly, it was used to complain about dishes not being made and weird memes being sent back and forth by the younger generations of superheroes.
Now though, it was Bucky who’d sent a message. That was a weird sign, seeing as the old man barely knew where his phone was on good days, and barely cared to answer nor read messages the times he actually had the device on him. Sam unlocks his phone, and is met with a picture of a piece of rope tied to Bucky's wrist and to a metal pole. The wrist is red and irritated and almost bloody and the rope as well. The text beneath the picture makes Sam roll his eyes.
‘Anyone wanna come here and help me out?’
Their phones ping again as bucky shares his location, and Sam is standing in seconds. “I'll take it.” He snickers into the room, moving to the elevator with annoyed but striding steps.
‘Omw’ He responds quickly.
*
“It’s funny.” Bucky tells him when Sam has shot at least seven guys and broken down two doors, the pale half cyborg is on the floor, looking positively beat down, but relieved to see Sam again. There's a snapped piece of rope beneath him, his vibranium arm freed from its restraints. “World's best assassin,” Sam grumbles as he begins untying the rope, dark fingers working fast, “defeated by a piece of string.”
Bucky snickers back, he rests his head against Sam's shoulder, pressing closer. The skin of his forehead is warm and clammy, he breathes in Sam’s suit, vibranium, ash, Sam. "Hurt anywhere else?” Sam asks him once the rope falls to the floor, assessing the wrist quickly. Skin has been scratched off, most likely from Bucky trying to pull on it, some blood is dripping down, but not something crazy. Bucky's been through worse, they both know it. The super soldier wraps his wrist in his t-shirt, compressing the little wound.
“I'm fine.” Bucky tells him, looking almost shy now. Sam gets him onto his feet, looking into his face, dirty and bloody, but his blue eyes meet Sam’s and they crinkle with a smile. “I'm glad it was you that came here.” Bucky tells him then, horribly ernest and Sam can’t help but smile back. He should be getting Bucky out of here, checking him for more injuries, asking how the hell he even got here and who could possibly get him tied down like this, but he doesn't. He just smiles at his partner, more than coworkers now, more than friends.
“Imagine if it would’ve been John.” Sam snickers, Bucky rolls his eyes at the mention of the other man, but he’s still smiling. John isn’t actually that bad, but the joke keeps running between them despite it. “He would’ve come here just to laugh, then left without helping.”
Sam laughs at this, grabbing onto Bucky's shoulder and pulling him in close to hug him. He can’t help himself. They live on the same floor now, they’re close, working together, but he can’t get enough of the man. He needs to keep him close, needs to feel his warmth against his vibranium suit. Needs to remember that he’s here now, they can do this now. Bucky hugs him back like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like this is what he was made for, and not killing and destroying.
*
“You know,” Sam groans before John can even finish the sentence. They’re eating dinner, all of them together and he’d been enjoying the lack of conversation directed to him, so that he could watch Bucky laugh with Yelena and eat slowly and not think of anything he didn't want to. Which was anything that didn’t have something to do with bucky. “There are ropes that are nicer for the skin.”
Sam furrows his eyebrows this, training the blonde man across the table with a glance. "Okay?" He asks, feeling the pregnant silence around them swell with confusion. “You two can live however you want, just saying that if you’d like something softer, Bucky wouldn’t have to walk around bloody.” And Sam thinks that maybe this is an inside joke he’s missed, because John's words sound like he’s talking in another language. Sam looks over at Bucky, who’s cyborg brain is computing slowly, he looks just as confused, maybe even more confused than Sam does. Alexei breaks the silence, he chuckles. “Let them have their thing, what super soldier wouldn’t like some pain to spice things up.”
Sam thinks that maybe he’s starting to understand the conversation going on, and the turn it has taken makes his cheeks blossom with warmth. “Dad,” Yelena drawls, “Bucky got held back during a mission, they’re not tying each other up.” Bucky looks like everyone around the table has grown at least three more heads, his eyes wide, finding Sams. “Why would we be tying each other up?” He asks, voice silent, shy. “It's a sex thing.” Ava says, stabbing onto a potato on her plate and stuffing it into her mouth. Bucky looks at Sam, his face contorted into confusion. He's cute like that, Sam thinks, and then realises he needs to end this horrible conversation now.
“We’re not having sex, and we’re not tying each other up. if all of you had your notifications for the group chat on, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He says with the most authority he can possibly muster. Ava snickers, John's face growing pale. “You guys aren’t having sex?” Yelena asks then, like she’s finding out there’s an additional 13th month to the year no one has told her about. Sam trains her with the most ‘I-will-break-your-neck’ glance he possibly can, and shakes his head no. “I thought it was weird too.” Torres says then, shaking his head, “glad i’m not alone.”
“I'm pretty sure they've confirmed it countless times in the news.” John says then, Sam rolls his eyes. “The news lie.” Is all he says, taking a sip of his water and wishing that he’d eaten in his room instead tonight. Bucky is still looking at him, icy blue eyes slightly distant, eyebrows still furrowed, nose scrunched, fucking cute. “We'll talk later,” Sam places a careful hand on the man's knee underneath the table, keeping his voice as silent as he can. He knows Bucky hears it with his super soldier hearing. The soldier nods, eyes still wide, he almost looks saddened by missing out on the context of the conversation, but says nothing.
*
"But why?” Bucky asks him for at least the fourth time, he’s sitting on Sam's bed, Sam is pacing, trying to explain kinks to a hundred year old man. This is not something he’ll ever do again, he vows himself. “Bucky,” he sighs, “I don't know, maybe people like giving up control for a while? Maybe it’s nice to let someone have some control and do what they want to you, and that you trust them enough to do it?” He’s rambling, Sam knows it. He’s nervous, scared Bucky will ask why the others think they’re having sex. What is he supposed to even say to that? And bucky must read his mind because that is exactly what he murmurs, “Why was Yelena so confused about us not having sex?”
Sam wants to hit his head against the wall in front of him that he dies. His back is turned from Bucky, the voice sweet and confused and so nice behind him. He doesn't think he can look into Bucky's eyes while responding. “Cuz they think it’s funny to joke about us being in love.”
“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, Sam hears his metal arm flexing, Bucky’s doing that thing where he toys with his fingers whenever he’s nervous or has something to say but isn’t certain how to say it. “But their expectations don't mean anything, and they’ll stop if we tell them.”
“You don’t have to.” Bucky says, Sam turns around to look at him, eyebrows furrowed again. “Don’t have to do what?”
“Tell them to stop.” Bucky's eyes are wide, but he isn’t looking at Sam, staring down into his hands. This man has killed JFK, Sam reminds himself, why is he so shy now? “I don’t mind.” The soldier continues.
“Okay.” Sam nods, “we should probably wrap your wrist up with something so that it won’t get infected.”
“It's already healing.” Bucky assures him, “It’s cool. all fine.”
“I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing you say the word cool.” Sam tells him, and Bucky laughs. No snicker, no chuckle, a genuine, heartfelt laugh. Sam wants to kiss him stupid. “Torres is rubbing off on me.” Bucky smiles, finally looking up at Sam, his eyes happy, loving, a glance only reserved for sam.
“Come here,” he grumbles then, patting the bed next to him. Sam moves immediately, obeying the mumbled order and sits next to the soldier on the bed. They sit in silence, staring ahead of them at a painting on the wall, louisiana, some boats, the water, home.
“Have you ever done it?” Bucky asks him then, Sam looks over but Bucky continues looking straight forward, his cheeks dusted slightly with something pink. "Done what?” Sam asks him. Bucky toys with his fingers again, starting to scratch at his nails on the flesh hand, sam takes the flesh hand in his, bucky's fingers always hurt when he’s scratched his nails down. “tied someone up, like that.”
Sam thinks that maybe it’s inappropriate for them to hold hands while having this conversation, but he can’t possibly let go of the warmth of the other man's skin now that he has it in the literal palm of his hand. “No, i haven't.” Sam tells her, horribly more awkward than he intended. Bucky nods, slow, not meeting Sams eyes.
“Do-” Sam has to think through his sentence before he says it, he’s never good at doing that around Bucky, “Does it sound like something you’re interested in?” Bucky shrugs, but his face is turning redder and redder. “It terrifies me.” He says, and sam thinks back to hydra, and everything there and almost wants to punch himself for possibly even bringing it up. Bucky was tortured for seventy years, kept against his will, of course he doesn't-
“But i think there’s one person i’d let do it to me.” And Sam feels like he’s in a car crash, because Bucky turns his head and he looks at Sam and his eyes are so earnest, so blue, so loving, almost needy. “Me?” Sam squeaks out, Bucky smiles, thin, no teeth. His thumb massages against Sam's palm, he looks down at their entwined fingers. “I don't know why I want it. But i think i’d want you to do it to me, if you’d like?”
Sam feels like he should go buy a lottery ticket now. He nods, of course he does. Of course he nods and he smiles and Bucky smiles and Bucky's lips are so soft against him. Warm, wet, smooth, lovely. so lovely. Bucky kisses like he fights, he’s cautious, he’s aware, he’s passionate. They fall back onto the bed, Bucky kisses like a girl, Sam distantly thinks. While sams hands move to Bucky's hips, to his chest, Bucky's stay in Sam's hair, on his cheek, grasped carefully around his neck.
“When you ask me to tie you up,” Sam speaks against Bucky's lips, the soldier shudders in his grasp, Sam's hand trailing up and down Bucky's spine, “what do you see, what do you want me to do?”
“What do people usually do?” Bucky asks him between kisses, seemingly not being able to hold himself back from Sam's lips, it’s the nicest compliment Sam has ever gotten. “Usually, the person gets tied down, and the other person pleases them. Touches them, fucks them, anything.”
Bucky almost whines, moving closer to Sam, grasping onto his sweater, pulling him closer, kissing harder. “What do you want me to do?” Sam asks again, grasping onto Bucky's hair, holding him close, “Tell me, I'll do anything you’d like.” Bucky keens, kissing sam again with a feverish desire. “Please do anything you want,” The super soldier begs, “‘M yours, please.”
And who is Sam to deny Bucky that? Bucky almost sobs when Sam withdraws, hurrying off the bed in search for his drawers. “Where are you going?” Bucky asks, he sounds almost betrayed, sitting up on the bed and his hair is messy and lips shiny and red from kissing. “I need to tie you up with something!” Sam hurries, pulling open a draw and finding a couple of ties there. He grabs two, hurrying back to bed. Bucky grabs onto him, pulling him down, sending the two crashing into each other. Bucky's hands are persistent, fast, desperate. Sam isn’t sure when his shirt gets pulled off, but he definitely doesn't miss Bucky's kisses against his neck, his chest, his pecks, his stomach. Bucky goes wild with it, kissing everything, holding him close, moving constantly. Distantly, Sam wonders if this is the first time Bucky has gotten laid since the 40s. He figures it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing, Bucky's been on the run, he’s been the most wanted man in the world, and not in the sense that Sam wants him.
He knows him and Steve had something going on. Knew why it hurt Bucky so much to watch Steve leave them. But to what degree of ‘thing going on’ Sam isn’t sure of, everyone is open to stuff in the military, he figures that persisted even in the 40s.
Bucky is kissing him like he’d drown without it, and when he nudges a leg between Sams the falcon realises he’s got to do something quick or he’s gonna lose it all too fast. Some distant drunk conversation between Thor, Steve, Natasha and Tony years ago rings in his head about super soldier libido. He figures Steve was the same as Bucky is, coming once isn't gonna stop him. But Sam is pretty sure that it will stop him, he’s only human, he’s rudely reminded.
“Bucky.” He moans, “Bucky, wait a second.” And Bucky pulls back just slightly, he looks disheveled and warm and his cheeks are red and he’s the prettiest Sam has ever seen him. “I don't think I can cum twice.”
“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, looking a little sheepish now, “Sorry.” He says to Sam, who kisses his cheek softly. “It's okay, I want to save it for when I'm inside you, if you’d like that.”
bucky's eyes widen so far Sam’s worried they’ll pop out. Bucky is back on him with his lips, moving so close that he’s on top of Sam now. Moving down against him, their crotches meet and they both moan into each others mouth. Bucky is such a good weight on top of Sam, the falcon almost feels dizzy with it.
“Cmon,” Sam grabs onto his face now, pushing him back slightly, “Lay down on your back. I wanna give you what you want.” Bucky obeys, but he steals another couple of kisses first, “You are what i want, Sam.” And Sam kisses him so deeply Bucky's eyes are all misty when they move away from each other for breath.
Sam loops the pre tied tie around bucky's wrists, carefully placing the fabric below the already healing wound on his wrist. He pulls tight, watching bucky's eyes beneath him darken. His pink lips separate, his eyes so trained to Sam that the falcon feels like they’re the only two people in the world now.
"Good?" Sam whispers, he’s almost sitting on bucky's chest at this point. The older man nods, licking his lips. “I'm gonna tie it to the bedpost.” Sam tells him, “But tell me anytime and I'll remove it. I think you can break free easily if you want.”
“I like it.” Bucky whispers, his voice all breathy and relaxed and Sam’s heart feels like it’s melting. He gets to do this. He gets to be this person for bucky. His heart soars, he leans down to kiss Bucky's forehead, smiling when the soldier closes his eyes and smiles.
He ties it to the bedpost quickly, fully aware that Bucky can break free like nothing if he’d need to. He moves back down the bed, and sits between Bucky's spread legs. Bucky's shirt was torn off during some part of the making out, laying discarded on the floor with Sam's sweater. The man's chest is heaving, beautiful, pale expanse of skin. Sam kisses it all, desperate to touch Bucky with his lips and the older is so vocal, so loving it. His hips buck, sweat glistening and mouth already beginning to babble between groans and moans.
“What do you need, baby?” Sam leans close to Bucky's ear, whispering softly. Bucky keens, moving close to Sam and stealing a kiss. “Tell me,” Sam says against his lips, teeth knocking together, “Tell me and i’ll give you it. I’ll give you everything.”
"Touch me.” Bucky cries.