Work Text:
The fact that there are heated floors in Bucky’s house is somehow infuriating at the same time it’s appreciated on cold afternoons. Stiles has been sitting on the warm floor with his back against the bottom of the sofa since he woke up, and he still isn’t entirely sure how he feels about the luxury.
“Why are you scowling at my floor, Doc?” Bucky asks as he enters the room, his pajama pants hanging dangerous low off his hipbones. Those are edible, too, Stiles decides, staring at them intently. “Now you look hungry.”
Stiles raises his gaze and sees Bucky smirking at him. Bucky moves his left hand down to casually scratch at his lower belly, the darkness of his metal arm a contrast against his pale skin. Stiles licks his lips when his fingers get closer to the waistband of his pants. “I’m suddenly feeling ravenous,” he murmurs, liking the way Bucky’s skin flushes at his words.
“See something you like?” Bucky asks, all faux innocence, his lips still curved into that cocky smirk. The smirk doesn’t match the flush or the way his eyes soften when Stiles looks at him, but it’s contradictory in a way that Bucky tends to be.
“You gonna give me a show, Buck?” he asks, forgetting about his heated floor dilemma for the time being. “Gonna keep going lower? Gonna show me what I’ve been missing?”
“Doc,” Bucky groans, his fingers involuntarily flexing as he loses the smirk. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” Stiles asks, meeting his gaze. “Like I want you? I’m sorry, but that’s not happening because I do want you. I can’t wait until I can get my mouth on you, Buck. Gonna kiss you all over. Gonna make you beg me.”
“Why are we waiting again?” Bucky murmurs, biting his bottom lip as he drags his pointer finger from his belly button down the trail of hair on his lower belly to the waistband of his pants.
“Because we want to make sure we’re ready before we have sex,” Stiles says, moving his gaze between Bucky’s hand and his face. “Intimacy isn’t something you’ve ever dealt with before, and it’s new to me with men, so we’re going slow and basically having weeks of foreplay and edging.”
“What’s edging mean?” Bucky asks, arching his brow and looking curious. “Haven’t heard of that before.”
“It’s not really appropriate for what we’re doing, but it kind of feels that way at times,” Stiles says, trying to figure out the best way to define it. “So it’s, like, getting turned on and getting close to the edge but then stopping before you have an orgasm. We aren’t getting down like that, but it’s like a sexy form of it.”
“Damn, they have names for everything these days,” Bucky mutters before he smiles slightly. “Going slow is kinda fun, though, isn’t it? Even when I want more, I like kissing you and teasing you enough to not get that frustrated with waiting.”
“Yeah, it’s good,” he agrees, keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face. “Making out with you is sexier than anonymous handjobs in a club bathroom. Your teasing, however, is frustrating sometimes, but in a hot way.”
“My teasing?” Bucky asks, shifting his weight slightly to his other foot in a way that just happens to cause his pants to slide lower. “You’re the one with the filthy mouth, Doc. Saying all those things to get me going, making me want things.”
“Yeah? You like my mouth, Buck?” Stiles looks him over, wondering how his pants aren’t falling yet when they’re barely hanging onto his hips now. “Just wait until you feel my lips against your bare skin, licking and sucking until you’re whining for more. It’ll be my turn to tease you then.”
Bucky crosses the room and straddles him right there on the floor, fingers tangling in Stiles’ hair as he pulls his head back and kisses him. It’s wet and rough, slightly desperate, and he reaches up to grip Bucky’s hair as they deepen the kiss, tugging just hard enough for Bucky to grunt and roll his hips forward. Stiles can feel him against his belly, half-hard just from kissing, and he shifts up to get more friction for himself.
It feels good— too good, considering they’re going too far right now—and he knows they should pull back before they’re unable to anymore, but Bucky’s kisses are making it difficult to think.
The sudden loud shrill of his ringtone fills the air right by his ear. Bucky pulls back startled, blinking as he looks around until he sees Stiles’ phone. “It’s flashing Lydia,” he says, his voice husky and deep in a way that makes Stiles shudder beneath him.
“Damn it.” Stiles reaches back for his phone, feeling around until he finds it. Hitting the speaker button, he says, “Hey, Lydia. Everything okay?”
“Did I catch you mid-run? You sound like you’re breathing heavily,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “If a simple run has you panting this much, you need to consider doing cardio at a gym because just running occasionally obviously isn’t doing you any good.”
“No, I’m not running,” he says, poking Bucky in the ribs when he starts to shake from his silent laughing. “I’m in excellent shape, Lydia. I don’t need to go to the gym, but thank you for being concerned about my health.”
“Ah, it must be your stairs then,” she decides. “Only you would choose to move into a building with a consistently broken elevator. I plan to speak with the property manager of every unit we visit to ensure that their elevators have a history of functioning well.”
“I’m at Bucky’s house not mine,” Stiles says, still poking Bucky for finding Lydia’s presumptive prissiness so hysterical. “His elevator is fine. You just interrupted us making out on the floor. He’s still on my lap, actually, and he looks extremely kissable.”
“Doc,” Bucky hisses, his eyes widening as he realizes what Stiles just casually said.
“Ah. That’s right,” Lydia says, her tone thoughtful. “You have a boyfriend now. I suppose I’ll have to get used to interrupting you canoodling, won’t I?”
“Canoodling?” Stiles repeats, having to laugh. “Where did you dig that word up from, Lydia? It sounds like something old people would say.”
“Considering the fact that you’re dating someone over a hundred years old, you might want to rethink your use of ‘old people’, little brother,” Lydia says. “Wait, am I on speaker? Why am I on speaker? If you tell me that your hands are otherwise occupied, I’m going to force you to go shopping with me on Friday.”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Stiles denies. “I have you on speaker because I’m sitting on a heated floor with a gorgeous man on my lap, so I didn’t want to sit up to balance the phone on my shoulder.”
“Heated floors?” Lydia makes a thoughtful sound. “However are you coping with such amazing technology after three years in that closet you call an apartment that doesn’t even have proper ventilation?”
“Yes, heated floors. I haven’t decided yet if I like them or if they’re too ostentatious for my taste,” he confides, moving his left hand to rest against Bucky’s bare chest.
“Wait until a blizzard hits then you’ll love them, Doc,” Bucky grumbles, obviously not liking the thought of being considered to have Stark-like tastes.
“Considering you’re rolling around on them with your beau, I think you already know the answer to that,” Lydia says dryly. “Is that Bucky I hear making murmured comments in the background? If so, please let him know that he needs to speak up so I can hear him or keep his commentary to himself if he doesn’t want to share.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” Bucky says, clearing his throat and looking at the phone like it’s going to sting him. “I was just telling Doc—uh, Stiles, that is—that he’s going to like the heated floors when the weather is bad.”
“My dear brother thinks that denying himself simple pleasures and not indulging in extravagance is proper penance for things that he isn’t even responsible for,” Lydia says smoothly. “He doesn’t realize that it just makes him a wanker.”
“You’ve been talking to Jackson again, haven’t you?” Stiles asks, immediately jumping on her slip up. “And I’m not denying myself anything, so lay off the armchair psychology, sister wife.”
Lydia clears her throat. “I speak to Jackson occasionally,” she says, “and that has nothing to do with you being a martyr for things you didn’t choose to do.”
“I know a thing or two about making amends and trying to atone, ma’am,” Bucky says, catching Stiles’ hand before he can move it a little lower on his chest. “I think your brother has mostly stopped the denial thing, since he’s letting himself have me.”
“See, that brings up an interesting question. Did he actually allow himself to have you or were you just too stubborn to be run off by his poor attitude and the multiple ‘stay away’ signs that he’s had up for years?” Lydia asks. “With Stiles, you have to chip away at his ridiculously strong walls and burrow yourself through when you finally see a break in them. Otherwise, it’s arm's length and casual chit chat; nothing of substance.”
“I just love it when people talk about me when I’m right here being ignored,” he says dryly. “Do keep it up.”
“It was actually a little bit of both, ma’am,” Bucky says, winking when Stiles scowls at him. “But he doesn’t like being ignored, so I think you should talk to him about the reason you originally called because I don’t want him annoyed.”
“Is he making the pouty face with his lower lip out?” Lydia asks curiously. “Or is it the scowling grumpy face like someone just ate the last donut?”
“Uh, the donut one,” Bucky says, shrugging when Stiles punches his arm with the hand not being kept hostage on his chest.
“That’s the legitimate ‘Stiles is frustrated’ face,” Lydia says, her tone suggesting she’s giving lessons on Stiles. “If he does the lower lip pout, he’s just being playful and probably horny.”
“Good to know,” Bucky says. “I’ll add them to my other Stiles’ Skills that I’ve been acquiring the last couple of months.”
“I normally wouldn’t give away tips on how to interpret the many reactions and faces of Stiles, but I’m afraid that I’ve inadvertently caused this particular one, so consider it a gift,” she says. “Do stop scowling, Stiles. You’re partially to blame for this because you put me on speaker with your boyfriend in the vicinity.”
“I’m well aware of the error I made by answering when Buck’s right here,” Stiles says, snorting as he hears her making a noise in agreement. “You’ve been wanting to lecture him since you heard me call him boyfriend.”
“That's not true at all,” Lydia says. “I’ve wanted to lecture him since you kissed him and told him about your magic. The boyfriend thing is merely labeling something that’s been there for weeks.”
“It took him weeks before he’d even call me a friend, ma’am,” Bucky offers helpfully, smiling at Stiles. “We were practically dating by then, and he insisted I was merely an acquaintance.”
“If you weren’t already aware, Obstinate is Stiles’ middle name,” Lydia says, huffing softly. “But that’s the past, and I didn’t call to speak with him about that. I don’t want to make him angry because I’m a, what was it you called me last time, babe? Ah, yes, I remember now—an overbearing harpy of a woman who can’t let you live your miserable life alone and in peace.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “You make it sound so harsh and rude when you say it that way,” he points out. “You are an overbearing harpy, and I love you anyway.”
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t say harpy, necessarily, but you’d certainly know about being an overbearing control freak,” she says sweetly. “Now, to the reason for my call. I wanted to remind you that my flight will be arriving on Wednesday morning. I know you have to work on Tuesday night, so I’ll just get a cab to your place.”
“What time is your flight due to arrive? I might prefer to come get you just so you don’t have to wait around my neighborhood if I’m running late,” Stiles admits. Unlike him, Lydia isn’t nearly as comfortable being around normal people. She was born with money and has always had it, so she can give off an aura of snobbiness that some people dislike.
“If it’s actually on time, I should be there by half past six,” Lydia says. “There’ll be time for disembarking, though I don’t think a red eye will be particularly full, and then getting my luggage from the carousel.”
“I’ll see about leaving at six,” he says. “That should give me plenty of time to get to the airport to wait for you.”
“It’s really unnecessary,” Lydia says. “I’ve been in your awful neighborhood alone before without too many issues—“
“Last time you arrived while I was at work, Frank rolled into a meth addict who was trying to rob you before you even reached the door,” Stiles reminds her, looking at Bucky and rolling his eyes. “You’re too tempting a target with all your fancy luggage, babe. You need to buy a cheap duffel bag from Walmart so people ignore it.”
“I had things under control when your neighbor decided that I must need help simply because I’m a woman,” Lydia grumbles. “And it isn’t my fault that I have excellent taste and travel with durable luggage that suits my personal interests.”
“I have a spare room,” Bucky points out, giving Stiles an overly earnest look. “Why don’t you and your sister just stay here during the holidays? She can have her own room without the added ambiance of drug addicts.”
“Oh, that does sound much nicer,” Lydia says, her tone thoughtful. “I’m sorry, Stiles, but I’d rent a hotel room for my visits if I didn’t know you’d refuse to stay with me out of some misguided loyalty to that awful apartment.”
“Give me a moment, sister wife,” Stiles says, muting his phone. “What the hell, Buck? You can’t say something like that where she can hear you. I love her to death, but she’s like a dog with a bone once she’s set her mind to something.”
“It seems like the best solution, Doc,” Bucky says. “She doesn’t seem to like where you live, and I’ve got plenty of room here. I was going to ask you both to have dinner with me, Sam, and Nat on Thanksgiving anyway.”
“Lydia can be a pampered princess, but she’s fine staying with me. She’s done it every time she visits, so I already know the bitching about the neighborhood, the lack of working elevator, the smallness of the apartment, the size of the bathroom, the lack of hot water at her perfect temperature expectations, and the loud neighbors,” he lists, making a face when Bucky’s eyebrows creep up higher and higher. “Okay, so maybe she isn’t fine about it, but she does it anyway because we don’t get to see each other often.”
“So why not just stay here with me? I mean, you’d probably spend your days off here anyway, wouldn’t you?” Bucky asks, still giving him that earnest ‘I’m totally a Boy Scout and offering this for non-selfish reasons’ look that likely means it is somehow selfish.
Stiles narrows his gaze and stares intently at Bucky. “Would I? Sometimes we go to my place,” he says suspiciously. “It’s just smaller and doesn’t have as large of a—oh my God, Buck. Seriously? This is about Lydia and I sharing my bed, isn’t it?”
“No,” Bucky says. “It’s about you not sharing my bed, though. Here, she’d have her own bed, but I don’t give a shit if she insists on sleeping with us instead so long as you’re in my bed.”
“Stiles, I am a very busy woman who can’t just be left on hold indefinitely,” Lydia says, sounding exasperated. “Your boyfriend has heated floors, a working elevator, and laundry that isn’t in a dank and stinky basement. I don’t understand why this is even up for debate.”
“You’re so wrong for this,” Stiles mutters, hitting the mute button on his phone. “Lovely Lydia, apple of my eye, sweetest sister wife in the northern hemisphere—“
“Just the northern hemisphere? Who’s better in the south?” she asks, sounding pleased instead of annoyed.
“Did I say northern hemisphere? I meant the entire world, obviously,” he quickly corrects, shoving Bucky off of his shoulder when he leans forward to laugh. “My ridiculous boyfriend seems to have a sleeping issue that requires him to have a Stiles in his bed to catch some zees, so we’ll be spending your visit at his house, if that meets with your approval.”
“That’s adorable yet also slightly nauseating in a ScottandAllison sappy way,” Lydia points out. “He does realize that I plan to get my fair share of Stiles cuddles, doesn’t he?”
“According to him, he doesn’t mind sharing our bed with you,” Stiles says, giving Bucky a smug smile when he looks up at him. “No funny business, though. He’s my centenarian. You’ll have to find your own. Or we can circle back to that wanker comment and the fact that you seem to be talking to Jackson quite a bit recently.”
“Would you look at the time? Goodness, I still have so much to do before my trip,” Lydia says. “I’ll send you my gate info when I get it Wednesday morning. See you soon, brother husband. Love you.”
“See you soon, sister wife. Love you,” he says, ending the call and frowning slightly.
“What’s the frown for, Doc? Are you really upset about my offer?” Bucky asks, looking concerned.
“What? Oh, no, it’s fine. I mean, it was sneaky and underhanded to ask it when Lydia could latch onto it, but well-played, Buck,” he says. “The frown is because she didn’t call me any number of names for even suggesting that she’s talking to Jackson a certain type of way.”
“Ah, okay,” Bucky says. “I get points for being sneaky, but Lydia is under suspicion over Jackson. Who is Jackson, again? The name vaguely rings a bell.”
“Rich pretty boy douchebag who is a card carrying member of the ‘been possessed and used to kill or hurt people against my will’ club,” Stiles says, looking at him. “I think I planned to tell you about him being a kanima, but we didn’t get a chance. Basically, he was bit by an alpha werewolf, he became a lizard that was controlled by a master, he killed people, then he became a hybrid lizard wolf who didn’t need a master anymore. Oh, and he’s Lydia’s high school boyfriend who broke her heart and was in a toxic relationship with her prior to that. He came out as bisexual years ago, dated his best friend’s ex-boyfriend seriously for years, but they broke up over a year ago.”
“That’s a lot to unpack,” Bucky says. “His best friend’s ex, huh? Isn’t that sort of off-limits? I mean, I wouldn’t have ever considered making a move on Peggy, even if she was my type.”
“Dude, Scott ended up marrying my ex-girlfriend,” he says, laughing. “The only really weird part is that Ethan met Jackson in London, not in Beacon Hills. I don’t even know how the dude got a passport.” He shakes his head. “Did I mention that Lydia’s love somehow saved Jackson from his kanima slash werewolf possession and then he left a few weeks later to move to London? Cause yeah. That’s why I’m frowning.”
“Ouch. She must be remarkable to still be friendly with him after that,” Bucky mutters. “Doc, she’s going to be here in a couple of days, and you can interrogate her all you want about this Jackson fella. Don’t worry about something that could be nothing. Besides, you always tell me she’s a genius, so just trust her.”
“Stop using my words against me,” he grumbles. “It’s not an endearing trait.”
“That’s odd because you always curl your lip just slightly higher on the right whenever I remember something you’ve told me,” Bucky says, shifting slightly and reminding Stiles that they’re still sitting intimately close. “Seems to me like you must find it a little endearing.”
“Pshaw,” Stiles says, feeling like an old man playing chess at Washington Square as he scoffs. “You’re imagining things.”
“Oh really?” Bucky leans forward and traces his tongue along the curve of Stiles’ lips, flicking the right side with the tip of his tongue. “I’m imagining this then, huh?”
“We should get dressed,” Stiles says, moving his hands behind Bucky and stroking up and down his back until he reaches his ass. “I have to be at work in a few hours.”
“Evading the question, Doc?” Bucky chuckles against his ear. “That’s practically admitting that I’m right.”
“Only counts if I say it,” Stiles says, squeezing Bucky’s ass and raising his hips slightly. Just enough to tease. Bucky growls low in his throat, moving his head so he can kiss him.
“Whoa, man, you need to, like, put a sock on your door or something if you’re going to be macking on your man in the living room. There are some things a straight man just does not want to see, and Stilinski kneading your skinny ass is one of those things.”
Bucky groans into the kiss before pulling back and sending a deadly glare towards his door. “What are you doing here, Sam? Uninvited, I might add.”
“Tu casa es mi casa,” Sam reminds him, covering his eyes with a large envelope. “Is there still squeezing going on?”
“Bucky’s ass isn’t skinny,” Stiles says. “It’s stacked. You should have seen it when he was wearing that fitted suit on Saturday night. Damn, I wanted to drop to my knees and take a bite out of it.”
“Now, see, that’s just wrong,” Sam whines. “Here I am, being polite by covering my eyes, and you want to be a smartass talking about my roommate’s butt.”
“I’m just saying, Bucky got back,” Stiles says solemnly, giving it one last squeeze before Bucky reluctantly climbs off his lap.
“I’m feeling objectified at the moment, Doc,” Bucky tells him, winking as he offers a hand to help him up. “I kinda like it.”
“I hate you both,” Sam decides. “You two deserve each other. But now I understand why Nat asked me to drop this file off instead of bringing it herself. I foolishly assumed it was because I live downstairs, but, no, she’s paying me back for the bad fish I got us in Laem Chabang. I knew she’d get her revenge eventually, but I let my guard down.”
“Nat’s revenge wouldn’t be not realizing that you’re intrusive and don’t bother to knock before entering my private space,” Bucky says dryly. “Speaking of—next time, knock or you might get an eyeful of something you don’t want to see.”
“What’s the file?” Stiles asks, walking to Sam and taking it. “Dude, you can open your eyes. You’ve seen more dick in the locker room than you’re gonna see here this afternoon. Stop acting like a homophobe. It isn’t cute, Captain America. ”
“Why’d you say my name like that?” Sam asks, giving him a look. “And I’m not a homophobe. I just like fucking with Bucky. I was in the Air Force, you know? I experimented, and it isn’t my thing, but to each their own. Why am I standing here defending myself?”
“Because you’re as easy to provoke as you seem to think Bucky is, and you don’t want to tarnish the reputation of your superhero pseudonym,” Stiles says off-handedly, focusing on removing the ridiculous amount of tape on the envelope that has his name written on it.
“He got you there, Sam,” Bucky says, walking back into the room with an open box of Fruit Loops. He gets a handful of the cereal and crunches it.
“Who sealed this? It’s ridiculous,” Stiles says, not wanting to just rip it because he doesn’t even know what’s inside.
“That would be Stark,” Sam says, sounding amused now instead of offended. “Nat told me to pass on a message.” He clears his throat. “The envelope is a file from Jarvis for his research bestie that he requested Tony send over.” Sam grins as he flops himself down into one of the comfy chairs. “She said Tony is annoyed that you taught Jarvis the term bestie and that he’s only using it to describe you, by the way.”
“That explains the excessive amount of tape then,” Stiles says, managing to get one end separated and gently peeling it. “Any other news from Nat about the research or Richie?”
“I checked on Richie yesterday,” Sam admits. “He’s safe and enjoying Stark’s hospitality. Said to tell you that everything’s five, whatever that means. I thought he was referencing that hot chick on Buffy, the brunette with the five by five thing, but he just looked confused when I asked.”
“Captain America shouldn’t be calling women hot chicks,” Bucky says, throwing a Fruit Loop at Sam when he flips him off. “That’s something else that Cap shouldn’t do.”
“Yeah, well, it’s something Sam Wilson does when surrounded by assholes,” Sam says, tossing the Fruit Loop that he caught into his mouth. That leads to Bucky throwing another one, and Sam ducking his head around to catch it.
Stiles watches them a moment before he sighs dramatically. “No wonder Nat is always cranky. She’s surrounded by children,” he mutters, shaking his head before going back to removing tape from the envelope.
“I heard that, Doc,” Bucky says, walking over to him. “What’s in the envelope?”
“Does it look like I’ve finished removing all of Stark’s jealousy tape yet?” Stiles arches a brow and shows him the envelope. “I’ll be sure to let you know once I can finally get to the contents.”
“Stark can be a petty jackass,” Bucky says, offering him the box of Fruit Loops. “Or I can order food since you’ll be going to work in a while.”
“I vote Thai,” Sam says, laying halfway across the chair in a way that seems to indicate he isn’t going anywhere soon. “I want it now that I’ve been thinking about that bad food poisoning incident.”
“Huh, I don’t remember inviting you to eat with us or asking for your opinion, either,” Bucky points out, giving Sam a look.
Sam just grins. “Your boy is going to want to hear the updates I have on the Hydra cell, so I don’t need an invite.”
“He’s right, Buck,” Stiles says, shrugging when Bucky groans. “I won’t be able to do much with it when Lydia’s here, so let me enjoy it while I can.”
“Doc, you’re completely bonkers for finding all of this research and crumbs of clues fun,” Bucky says, leaning across the table to kiss him. “Good thing I’m a little crazy, too.”
“We can be bonkers together.” Stiles winks before ripping another long piece of tape off the envelope. “Thai is good for me. You know what I eat, so you can order for me, Buck.”
Bucky and Sam start bickering about which Thai place to order from, and Stiles only half-listens as he painstakingly removes strip after strip of tape. When he finally reaches the end, he’s firmly moved Stark back into the ‘jackass we don’t like’ category instead of the ‘jackass we can possibly tolerate’ category in his mind.
The envelope has a stack of papers inside. The first few are images of amulets with some ancient form of writing on them. The next couple of pages is information about how the text was about Erra and assumed magical functions when inscribed. He focuses and flips through his memories, but the Nogitsune apparently didn’t understand ancient Babylonian, so he can’t transfer the inscription himself.
“Anything good, Doc?” Bucky asks, moving behind him and looking at a picture of an amulet. “This have something to do with Hydra?”
“No, but it does with Erra. Jarvis and I were following the history of the mythology to see if there might be any clues that could lead us somewhere, but I also mentioned finding it an interesting story,” he says. “Jarvis sent this to me because it’s something we didn’t find together. These last few pages are more useful, though I don’t know how he knew I was planning to research it.”
“Jarvis is smarter than Stark,” Sam says, his attention on the television as he flips through channels with the volume low. “He probably analyzed some random comment you made and predicted your next research binge.”
“Yeah, what Sam said,” Bucky agrees. “What is your next research binge, Doc? It just looks like a list of names and dates.”
“It’s a list of every person who works for my hospital system along with their date of hire,” Stiles explains. “I’m wanting to cross-reference everyone with Wash and financial funding from Erra Lagren to see if there are any unexpected connections. Then I’m planning to do some potentially illegal research into bank accounts that I won’t mention right now because there’s a fucking superhero watching the Food Network in your living room.”
“Chopped is awesome, Stilinski,” Sam tells him. “If you need to do illegal shit, reach out to Stark. He’s got everything tapped and bugged and backdoored that can be when it comes to trying to track down dark money and bribes.”
“See? Superheroes are just like you,” Bucky deadpans, his lips twitching when Stiles glares at him. “You’re coming around to them, Doc. I can tell that your bias is slowly, gradually, almost matching a snail’s speed now giving way to acceptance of the good deeds that superheroes do.”
“Bite me, Buck,” he says, rolling his eyes before deliberately putting the file in front of his face as Bucky can’t see him smile.
“Not in front of your roomie, though,” Sam calls out. “Biting belongs in the bedroom, not public spaces.”
“My living room isn’t a public space, dumbass,” Bucky points out. “Learn how to knock, and you’ll avoid seeing anything you don’t want to see.”
“If he doesn’t knock, we’ll just have to assume he does want to see,” Stiles says, grinning as he walks over to sit beside Bucky on the sofa. “Who knows? Maybe Captain America is secretly a voyeur.”
“For that, I’m going to make you wait to hear all of my Hydra updates until after we eat,” Sam tells him, shaking a finger at him. “Being a smartass has consequences, Dr. Stilinski.”
“Keep shaking that finger at me, and I’ll show you consequences, Sam Wilson,” he warns, snuggling against Bucky’s bare chest and stealing a handful of Fruit Loops to snack on while waiting for their food to be delivered. “Also, my name is Stiles.”