Title: Debriefing
Wordcount: 2500
Summary: Bucky Barnes has other things on his mind during yet another Avengers debriefing.
Note: Explicit Sexual Content

Bucky’s bored. And tired. And smells a little…okay, smells a lot to high heaven, a gross combination of sweat and adrenaline and dirt and whatever the fuck it was they’d been taking out. He’s got that bionic critter’s blood and globs of it guts smeared all over his tac suit and oozing around inside the plates of his metal arm, gumming up the works so much it won’t stop hissing. He closes his eyes and huffs out a rough exhale at the prospect of spending fuck knows how long in the lab, trying to tune out the sound of Stark’s voice.

Maybe the hissing isn’t that bad.

This debriefing shoulda been over a thousand years ago, at least, but one of Fury’s minions came with an urgent Code Who Gives a Fuck that required his immediate attention. So now they’re just waiting, a bunch of worn out superheroes and one former-Soviet robot-assassin gathered around a conference table like they’re about to talk quarterly projections or some shit.

Bucky wants a shower. And a pizza.

Jesus fuck, now there are two of them, he realizes with groan, as he watches two suit-clad drones buzz nervously about Fury. This goddamn debrief is never gonna end if they can’t even get it started. With a sigh, Bucky flops his head back against his chair. Judging from the titters around him, it may have been a little more dramatic than intended.

“You okay there, Robocop?”

Without lifting his head, Bucky cuts his eyes over to where Stark’s sitting, looking way too clean and pretty compared to the rest of them, who’d been elbows deep in the gore on the ground. Bucky just glares at him, silent except for the near-constant whirring as the plates of his arm try to accommodate the guts oozing between them. “Ah..oh.” When he notices it, Tony’s smarmy smirk changes immediately, “Lab. Later. I’ll fix it.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek, and then rolls his head back to rest against the chair. He’s in a foul mood and kinda wants to stay grumpy, but Stark’s actually being pretty alright at the moment, so instead, he just barks out his assent.

“You doin’ alright there, Buck?” Steve’s voice is soft and full of concern, and it wraps around Bucky like a one of his ma’s old afghans, warm and comfortable. Bucky feels the corners of his lips quirk upward in a smile, all unbidden, and then lifts his head to look at Steve across the table.

Steve sits at attention, back ramrod straight, notepad open and pen in hand like a super-sized teacher’s pet, even though Bucky knows the serum gave him damn near perfect recall and notes aren’t necessary. His golden hair his mussed from the fight, flattened in places and sticking out in others, still a bit damp from sweat.

Goddamn, he’s beautiful.

Bucky’s mesmerized, is what it boils down to, just like always. Back when Steve was nothing but a fuckton of righteous fury wrapped up skin and bones, Bucky couldn’t get enough of him.

And now that experience and loss and grief have transfigured that fury into something simultaneously more mellow and more lethal, it’s only fitting that it’s wrapped up in the body of a super solider. And still, Bucky can’t get enough.

Bucky lets his mind wander as his gaze drifts, down from Steve’s crystalline baby blues to the scruffy beard that only barely softens the hard lines of his chiseled jaw, to the tendon straining in his neck. Bucky wants to bite it, wants to throw himself across the table and lick a hot, wet line up the column of Steve’s throat and bite at the tendon and then suck a mark into the tender skin beneath the hinge of his jaw. Wants to claim Steve in front of all of ‘em—assembled Avengers, Shield drones, and Fury, the whole goddamn lot. Drag his nails down the flesh of Steve’s back, carving out “Property of James Buchanan Barnes” as Steve fucks him into oblivion.

Jesus, he thinks, since when do I like an audience?

His cheeks flare up at the thought of it.

And Steve notices.

To the casual observer—hell, to all the other superheroes in the goddamn room, even—Steve’s face remains the portrait of stoic reserve, those lush lips pursed in a hard line, eyes clear, breath steady as a metronome. But Bucky knows better, can see his fella’s jaw clenching and releasing, that infinitesimal flare of his nostrils as he picks up on Bucky’s elevated heart rate, on the unadulterated want permeating Bucky’s gaze. Steve levels all the power behind those all-American eyes on Bucky, holds the eye contact for Bucky to see them go dark, lust-blown pupils expanding until only a tiny outline of cerulean remain.

Bucky’s being a little shit now, knows he’s being a shit, but he can’t help it. Not when Steve’s looking at him like that, all hot and bothered and ready to pounce. Without turning his head, he takes a quick glance around the rest of the table. Everyone’s all caught up in their own shit, waiting for Fury and his underlings to get the fuck on with it, so it’s perfect.

Moving with the grace and silence of the well-trained goddamned assassin he used to be, he slides a booted foot forward and teases at the back of Steve’s calf with his toe. It ain’t much, of course, just enough to get his Stevie’s attention, make him hungry for more. Steve’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and his breath hitches as he swallows thickly.

“Just fine, Cap,” Bucky puts it on thick, feigning wide-eyed guilelessness as he offers Steve the barest hint of a smile. “Eager to get changed outta this gear and cleaned up.” He clears his throat a bit, and lowers the volume of his voice to a low rumble as he continues, “Y’know, after we…debrief.” Under Steve’s piercing hot gaze, Bucky parts his lips just enough to let the tip of his tongue peek between them and slowly slides it across his bottom lip. Steve swallows harder, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and he’s clenching his jaw hard enough that Bucky can see it quiver.

“I…uh—” Steve’s cheeks flush, and he ducks his head down as he stumbles over his words, and damned if it ain’t adorable to see Captain America getting wound up over little old Bucky. Bucky chuckles as he watches a fresh bead of sweat dribble down Steve’s temple, wishes he could lick it off.

“I need coffee,” Barton’s sudden declaration snaps Bucky out of his reverie. And apparently, that’s enough to start a chain reaction. Somehow, Clint’s already out the door before Fury’s got sense enough to complain, and Tasha and Banner are hot on his heels.

Better get while the gettin’s good, Bucky reasons, jumping to his feet and bolting around the table.

“Gotta hit the head,” he says to the room, before cutting his eyes over to where Steve’s still sitting at attention like a good little solider.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow, feels the corner of his mouth tug up, unbidden, in a fond, teasing grin. “You good, Cap?” The words come out low and breathy, a clear invitation.

Steve tilts his head, looks up toward Bucky, those crystal blue eyes gone all unfocused. “Mmm?” What can he say? His fella ain’t exactly smooth when he’s horny. Bucky winks at Steve, and then turns on his heel to head for the door.

Bucky’s grin widens into a full-blown smile at the sound of Steve scrambling to his feet behind him, so quick the chair shrieks against the floor as it’s knocked back.

He’s barely out the door when a calloused, super-sized hand grabs him by the flesh and blood elbow, tugging him until he falls back against the hard lines of Steve’s chest.

“You’re gonna pay for that, punk,” Steve growls under his breath, mouthing against Bucky’s ear for just a moment before he’s pulling him backward so rough Bucky stumbles a bit.

Bucky struggles to keep a poker face while Steve leads him down the hall, biting the insides of his cheeks so hard he can taste blood to keep from grinning like a giddy school girl. He tries to channel his inner brainwashed assassin, if only in outer appearances.

Be the goddamned Winter Solider, Barnes, at least until Stevie can get you naked.

Or not.

A rough shove knocks the wind out of him, and suddenly they’re somewhere dark that smells like bleach. Bucky can’t control the startled squeak punched loose from his throat as he falls headfirst toward a shelf of cleaning supplies. If not for super-solider reflexes and a metal arm catching him just in time, he’d have a face full of…toilet cleaner right now. Gross.

Oof.  Who cares about the toilet cleaner, though, because now there’s six plus feet of solid muscle pressing up against his back like they’re meant to be joined together (and, well, they are, ain’t they?), and it’s all Bucky can do not to moan.

“Think you can get away with making doe-eyes at me in front of the whole goddamn team, Buck?” Steve grunts against his ear, grabbing at his hips so tight it almost hurts, and punctuates his words with hard thrusts that have Bucky panting for more.

Steve licks and sucks his way down Bucky’s neck, his breath a hot tease on Bucky’s already too-sensitive skin. “Stevie,” he absolutely does not whine, whatever the big lug lug might say later. “Stevie, please.”

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Steve coos, those sinful hips still rocking—granted, a whole helluva lot slower—so that the hard line of his cock just teases along the crack of Bucky’s ass, “this what you need? I should make you beg for it, shouldn’t I, doll face, for how you were lookin’ at me back there, with those big old fuck me eyes? That pretty little tongue peeking out just enough to tease?” And okay, maybe this time he does whine, but Bucky’s always been a goner for Steve talkin’ dirty.

“Steve, baby, don’t do me like that, you know how I get, seein’ you all stern and commanding like that,” Steve bites down on the tendon in his neck, and Bucky sees stars. It's enough to make him forget himself, forget he was babbling like a goddamn brook until Steve starts to lave his tongue over the spot to soothe the sting. “Need you so much, babydoll…please? Wanna make you feel good, wanna feel you inside me, just—fuck, anything, Stevie, gimme something?” 

“Anything, sugar?” Steve works a big strong hand into Bucky’s pants, undoing the fly just enough that he can shove the backside down over Bucky's ass with the other hand. Bucky hears the fabric rip, and somewhere in his mind, is vaguely aware that the sound is the untimely demise of his own underwear, but who the fuck cares?

“Yes, please, yours, anything,” Bucky babbles, wiggling his now bare ass against Steve’s clothed erection, as Steve curls his hand around Bucky’s cock and squeezes. “Fuck, yes, Stevie.” There’s another rip and rustle of fabric, and then Steve’s dick is throbbing hot and hard against the cleft of his ass.

Bucky’s hips are already moving over their own accord when Steve brings his hand to Bucky’s mouth. “Lick,” he commands, and goddamn does Bucky ever. He flattens his tongue and makes broad stripes up and down Steve’s palm, teases between Steve’s fingers with his tongue, then sucks them—singly and together—until Steve’s hand is sloppy and wet, and then it’s gone, back down to take hold of Steve’s dick, and then Steve’s guiding himself between Bucky’s thighs, ordering him to close his legs and squeeze, and oh fuck when the slippery wet head of Steve’s cock bumps the back of his balls, Bucky can’t help but groan.

He lets his head drop back onto Steve’s shoulder, reaches his flesh arm around to pull Steve in for a frantic kiss, more panting into each other’s mouths than anything, squeezing as tight as he can around Steve’s dick and grinding back against him. Steve is fucking into his thighs hard and fast, the smooth slide against his perineum enough to make him gasp even before Steve starts to jerk him off.

“You feel so good, doll,” Steve mutters against his mouth, “such a good boy for me.” And well. Bucky’s brain may go offline just a little at that because he wants to be good for his fella, wants to be so so good for him.

“More, Stevie?” he rasps, harsh and uneven, as he rocks forward into Steve’s hand and then back toward his hips. “Harder.”

And Steve complies, fucking even more forcefully between his thighs, all wet with spit and sweat and Steve’s precome, and Bucky is on the cusp even before he feels Steve’s tells—that tensing of his thighs, the hitch in his breath—and from there it’s a race to the finish. Bucky wins by a nose, his orgasm spurting thick and white over Steve’s fist and into the remnants of his boxer briefs only moments before he feels Steve’s release explode, hot and wet and seemingly never-ending between his thighs.

They stand there for long moments, quivering and coming back into their breath, Bucky leaning back against Steve’s chest, Steve’s forehead pressed against Bucky’s temple.

Bucky can’t even try to contain the big, dopey smile spreading across his face, not with Stevie still holding him so close like this.

“You know we still gotta go back to debrief, Buck,” Steve sounds downright mournful at the prospect, and Bucky can’t blame him. A nice long shower would be perfect right about now, followed up with round two. Bucky turns in Steve’s arms, and then nips at his ear. “Or maybe we could give it a skip, seeing as how you…uh, already debriefed me here?” He gives his fella a hopeful little half-smile.

“Absolutely not, soldier.” And fuck, the Captain voice makes Bucky’s dick start to get interested again. “You know the rules.”

And so his mouth’s doing a fucking goldfish impression right now, what of it? “But Stevie,” he hisses, “I got your come sliding down my legs."

Steve takes a step back and tucks himself into his own (still intact, dammit) briefs. “Sounds like a you problem, Bucky,” and the fucker winks at him, goddamn motherfucking winks.

“Rogers, you asshole,” Bucky begins, but then Steve’s turned on the goddamned puppy eyes, and Bucky’s a goner again. The shit he’ll do for this overgrown son of a gun.

“You play dirty, Stevie,” he complains, glaring as he pulls his ripped-to-shreds underwear out from his pants. Steve’s shit-eating grin just gets wider as he grabs the mess from Bucky’s hand, bunches it up, and puts it into his pocket.

“I guess you’ll just have to punish me for it later, soldier.”