Work Text:
“Fuck, Jesus, Sam, fuck,” Bucky mutters, biting Sam back in retaliation.
He really doesn’t know how he got here, but he can’t say he’s all that fucking mad about it. Sam Wilson is hotter than he has any right to be, and if Bucky’s gonna make out with someone at one of Steve’s shitty Halloween parties in Steve’s dingy ass bathroom, it might as well be the smart ass football player that looks like he could throw Bucky around if given enough of a reason to. Before looking at the line of Sam Wilson’s shoulders, Bucky didn’t even know he was into that. Colleges are a place for self discovery, after all.
“Come on, sit on the counter for me, sit down,” Sam whispers into his ear, leaving bite marks on the side of Bucky’s neck and across his jawline. Bucky can feel the indents of Sam’s fingertips on his thighs, hiking him up onto the counter, which Bucky allows easily. It’s a better angle for Sam to devour him at, and Bucky gives as good as he damn well gets. They’re both ferocious in nature, Bucky’s own fingers, both real and false, digging into Sam’s skin. When Sam comes back up to kiss him, it’s biting and rough, and Bucky loves every single moment of it. He’s pressed back against the wall perpendicular to the mirror when Sam starts talking again, pressing him back.
“Look at you, already all torn up,” Sam says, cutting eyes at their mirror image in a way that’s a clear instruction for Bucky to do the same. When Bucky does, he can hardly stop the noise that comes out of his mouth. His lips are already kiss-swollen and red, bite marks and half defined hickeys trailing from his ears down to his throat. He surges back into kissing Sam aggressively, not bothering to tuck in the sharp parts of himself that he knows are more made to hurt than they are to heal. Sam doesn’t seem to mind, seeing as he throws just as much of himself back at Bucky.
“You are so fucking hot,” Bucky admits unbidden, feeling some kind of way from catching a look of Sam in the mirror, pressing Bucky back against the wall. Sam follows his gaze and presses him back even harder, catching Bucky’s eye in the mirror as he moves down Bucky’s throat. Bucky keens when Sam gets to sucking on his adam’s apple, trailing bite marks all the way to his collar bones. He doesn’t stop when he gets to the collar of Bucky’s shirt, instead pulling on the bottom of it to stretch it downward and give himself more room. Bucky pushes Sam off for a second.
“You wanna lose the shirt?” Sam asks, suggestive eyebrows conflicting with eyes that speak of humor. Bucky smirks back, grabbing the bottom of his own shirt and hauling it over his head. He almost laughs when he sees how Sam looks at him.
“Lose yours too,” he suggests, though it’s less of a suggestion and more of begging disguised as something casual. Sam nods once and rips his shirt over his head, revealing miles of dark skin and tanned muscles, and Bucky doesn’t stop himself from following the impulse of licking one defined peck. Sam chuckles and pushes him back against his wall to lean against, kissing him softly and then deeply, like he can’t get enough. He trails back down to Bucky’s jawline again, biting and kissing and licking and leaving little hickies that Bucky knows will only last for a day, tops, but is so enamoured with the idea of anyway.
“You’re so goddamn pretty,” Sam says before sliding his mouth over one of Bucky’s nipples, nipping at it before sucking. It feels like a direct fucking line to Bucky’s cock, making him arch away from the wall and into Sam’s mouth, his legs wrapping around Sam’s hips. With the unexpected pull, Sam nearly stumbles, hand coming off of Bucky’s shoulder to brace himself against the wall, but they still grind together where their hips meet, making them both hiss. It’s too much to deal with when there are four layers of cloth between them, and Bucky thinks that Sam is on the same page as him.
“Pretty as I am, I don’t think we want to finish this in Steve’s bathroom,” Bucky says, pushing Sam away more reluctantly than before. Sam smiles at him before kissing him again, softly and just once, before pulling away. He looks awfully sweet in the shitty lighting of Steve’s bathroom with the music pumping through Steve’s surround sound speakers in the living room, a smile pulling at his face. Bucky takes his shirt when Sam hands it back to him, pulling it over his head before grabbing onto Sam’s newly reclothed sides, leaning up to kiss him again. Sam holds onto his waist and kisses Bucky back, though he pulls away after less than ten seconds. Bucky is only a little ashamed of his noise of disappointment.
“We gotta get outta here if you want this to go any further, Buckaboo,” Sam teases, flashing him a grin. Bucky wilts with a sudden insecurity: will this only be a one time thing? Does he want this to only be a one time thing? Based on the wave of disappointment he feels with even the thought, he’s pretty much forced to go with no. Sam cups his face, tilting his head up when Bucky hadn’t even realised he had begun to look down.
“What’s up? No suddenly sad,” Sam says, his teasing tone still evident, but edged with concern. Bucky forces some semblance of a smile. “No, not that either. Tell me what’s up.” Bucky sighs.
“I think I might want more than a one time thing,” Bucky confesses, hiding his face against Sam’s shoulder. Sam guides Bucky back to looking at him, gentle hands complimented by his gentle smile, which is sliding into joy territory faster than Bucky can even remotely handle. A curl of hope sits at the bottom of his stomach when Sam kisses him softly again, tender and careful.
“Halloween is so much better than Christmas,” Sam says, a dramatic pause left for emphasis, “if I get you for Halloween.”
Bucky barks out a laugh he can’t help.
“You’re such a fucking cheeseball,” he says, but he kisses Sam, so it’s not like either of them mind much.