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John stood in front of a bar. It was a regular bar, if a bit out of the way. The entrance was set into the ground. A few short steps and he’d be at the door, but he didn’t move. He stood still instead, listening to the conversation leaking through the windowpanes. None of it was intelligible, but someone told a joke and the glass rattled with laugher.
He tilted his head back and forth. He couldn’t do it. He couldn't make himself go inside. It was all too much, too soon–
“John?”
With concentrated effort, he smothered a wince.
“Hey, Travis.”
Travis was nice. Travis was the reason he was at that particular bar on that particular night. But that didn’t mean John wanted to see him at that particular moment.
“You made it,” Travis said.
He spoke like John wasn't ten seconds away from turning around and bolting back to the Watchtower. Which, to be fair, how could he possibly know that? But Travis was sharper than John gave him credit for. Travis didn't manage a group full of angry, reticent vets for nothing. His eyes scanned John just once, taking in his rumpled button-down and day-old khakis. Mercifully, he didn’t comment.
Shrewd as ever, he dapped John once by way of greeting, then headed down the stairs. It was done with deliberate casualness. There was no expectant look back. He didn't pressure John to follow. He just opened the door and said over his shoulder:
“Nothing more terrifying than taking that first step out of the cold.”
Then he was inside, and John was alone.
He still wasn't sure how he'd ended up at Travis’ support group. He wasn't a veteran, not like the rest of them. He didn't deserve the same grace. Congress made sure of that.
John snorted to himself. If Travis could hear his thoughts, he'd surely be disagreeing. So would the rest of the group. The idea was enough to make him smile. So he wasn't perfect. He wasn't a cookie-cutter honorable discharge and a “here you go, enjoy your ‘benefits’”. The government, the fucking government, didn't give a shit about any of them in the end. The VA was understaffed and overwhelmed, so they did what they could for each other instead–borrowed rooms, donuts and coffee, and the quiet assurance that they weren't alone.
Still, though, the bar was an unknown. Even though it was a popular spot for vets, that didn't mean John would be welcome there. Now that he was… an Avenger, his past was more public than ever. He could feel the microscope pressing down on him and it was not pleasant.
It took him fifteen minutes to psych himself up enough to walk down the stairs. He still almost lost his nerve at the door. Doubts dripped down his spine like molasses. But ultimately, he pushed it open. Feigning far more confidence than he felt, he walked inside.
The bar was loud. It was jam-packed with people. Tension threaded tight under John’s skin. The noise pierced his ears like rebar, but the smell was worse. It was totally and completely overwhelming. Alcohol and sweat assaulted his super senses before he shook the sensation off.
Nobody ever mentioned that about the serum. It was all “super strength” and “super healing”. Never: you’ll be super overwhelmed and oh, by the way, a stiff breeze can get you horny.
John scoffed to himself. Thankfully, that last thing wasn’t going to be a problem.
He navigated his way through a series of packed tables. The groups striated by age and service branch. It wasn’t fully intentional, but they did it anyway. They were just like that. Different battlefields, same shit, but sometimes you needed to be with your people. John’s were off on the right. Afghanistan. Army. Their scars were recent.
A laugh on the left startled him. He nearly tripped. What was that table…? The guys sitting there were weathered, to put it mildly. Their jackets hung loose over their bony shoulders. They weren’t quite shriveled, but they were getting there. He spotted more than a few hats. Hats, and–
Bucky.
They locked eyes.
John waited for the smile to drop off Bucky’s face, but it didn’t happen. Instead, his expression softened. He nodded, then he went back to whatever story he was telling. It wasn’t a dismissal, and it wasn’t disdain. It was acknowledgment, plain and simple. We’re both here, Bucky’s gaze seemed to say. I see you.
Feeling more than a little lost, John turned away. He bumped over to his group.
Since when could Bucky Barnes smile like that?
Travis and the rest greeted him animatedly. They’d been trying to get John out for drinks for a long time. Now that he was there, he had to admit, the mood was infectious. It wasn’t like their usual sessions. They didn’t talk about ex-wives or dead friends. Instead, conversation came easy. It was mundane. They argued about football. They teased. They drank.
“Hey, Walker,” Travis jostled his arm. “You joining or what?”
“Ha, ha,” John feigned a laugh.
They all knew he couldn’t get drunk, but they wanted him to join anyway. The thought was oddly warm. He considered it for a moment, then nodded. It would be nice to participate in whatever random toast they got going next. The last one was to barbecue. Not even a specific kind. Just barbecue in general. It was the sort of thing you couldn’t get overseas–the sort of thing they’d all missed.
He stood up to get a beer. He made it a few solid steps before tension zinged down his spine. Lacking the warmth of his friends, the atmosphere of the bar hit him like a freight train. God, why was everyone so loud? John wrinkled his nose. He had to shoulder his way through a knot of forty-somethings. To his horror, recognition flashed in their eyes. He tensed, expecting a fight. But nothing happened. He got a couple of pats on the back and one:
“Attaboy.”
Huh.
Maybe he was welcome there. The thought was foreign, but he couldn’t shake it. It buoyed him all the way across the room. It almost buoyed him to the bar, but then he had to finagle his way through the crowd. If the tables were packed, then the actual drink distribution center was a stampede. Someone bumped his shoulder, and he turned with a scowl–
“Hey,” Bucky said.
“...Hey.”
John had no idea how to handle his current situation, much less his current situation with the addition of Bucky and a shirt that was obscenely tight across his pecs–
Okay, Walker, eyes up front.
He chastised himself silently, then tried to put on his very best “we’re coworkers and I definitely don’t hate you” expression. Unfortunately, someone chose that exact moment to squeeze next to Bucky. Consequently, Bucky pushed into John. Their arms squished together. Barnes radiated heat like a god damn furnace–another side effect of the serum carefully left off the warning label. Immediately, John started sweating.
The bartender swooped by in a flurry of movement. He caught Bucky’s eye first.
“Well whiskey, neat,” Bucky said. Then: “And a Coors Light.”
John opened his mouth to argue, even if yes, he’d been about to order exactly that. There was no point in wasting expensive alcohol on a busted metabolism. But before could protest–
“This round’s on me,” Bucky whispered in his ear. His voice folded around John like velvet.
A sudden wave of heat slammed into John’s groin. He gripped the bar top like a lifeline, squeezing it hard enough to dent.
Fuck.
He tried to rationalize the feeling. It couldn’t be what he thought it was. Surely not. It wasn’t related to Bucky. Surely not. He was just overheated and overstimulated and wow, he really should be going–
“Didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Bucky’s mouth was way, way too close to his ear.
John aimed for nonchalance. He shrugged. His knuckles flexed white on the bar top, and he forced himself to pry his fingers loose. Next to him, Bucky turned to reveal the expanse of his face. He looked soft under the bar lights– The lights. That was it. That was all it was. Because sure, John had the occasional provocative dream. He could admit that Barnes was attractive in a gruff, repressed sort of way, but that was it. There was nothing else going on. How could there be? They didn’t interact except on missions, mission prep, or mission debrief. They certainly weren’t friends, although things between them had softened to a mellow detente. In the field, they worked together seamlessly.
This wasn’t the field, though. This was a random bar. This was different. Bucky was dressed different. Bucky smelled different. His musky scent sliced straight through the rest of the patrons, probably because he was deep in John’s personal space.
John resisted the urge to inhale.
“Who dragged you out here? Travis?” Bucky asked a little too casually.
John glanced over his shoulder. Through the knot of patrons, he could just see Travis and the rest. He thought maybe Travis was looking back at him, but he couldn't be sure.
“Who says I'm here with someone?”
Bucky laughed, warm and light.
“What?” John sounded indignant even as the sound did something funny to his stomach.
Bucky shook his head, placating.
“I'm glad, that's all,” he jerked his chin in Travis’ direction. “He’s one of the good ones.”
“I didn't know there were bad ones.”
Someone attempted to squeeze in next to John. He couldn't blame them, the bar was extremely cramped. But their appearance meant his only options were to stand his ground and feel like an asshole, or make a little space and sidle closer to Bucky.
He took the second option.
It was a mistake.
Bucky’s heat was overwhelming. It was all-encompassing. John’s body reacted entirely of its own accord. Stupid serum. His breath came shallower in his chest. His blood pumped south. He angled his hips away in a desperate attempt to recapture some dignity. Bucky didn’t look like he’d noticed anything, but then again, when did Bucky ever tip his hand?
“First time?” Bucky asked.
No, it was not his first time–
Oh. At the bar.
“First time here,” John nodded, then answered the actual question. “First time finding a group, too.”
Bucky paused for a millisecond. Something unreadable crossed this face. Then he smiled and nodded like he understood perfectly. Like he understood John’s reluctance. Like he understood how hard it was to admit that: “Hey, maybe I do need some support”.
The bartender set down their drinks. John reached for his Coors, but Bucky was faster. He snatched the bottle, bringing it to his lips in a showy display of dexterity. John’s mouth flapped uselessly. The absolute nerve. He didn’t know if he should be pissed or bewildered or something… else.
Bucky swallowed a mouthful of light beer. His Adam’s apple bobbed. With a satisfied exhale, he set the bottle down.
He’d never looked more appealing.
“Checking for poison,” Bucky winked.
Suddenly, John had a problem. To be fair, he’d had a problem for about two minutes. But now it was more than a problem, it was a problem. He closed his eyes and tried to will it away.
It didn’t go away.
“You good?” Bucky leaned even closer. His hand landed on John’s lower back.
Oh, God.
The problem was now so much worse.
John shifted, but that pressed the seam of his pants against his crotch. His crotch, and his aching erection. Fucking serum. He tried to school himself, but it was impossible. There was no wresting back control of the wheel. He sucked in a desperate breath, only to taste Bucky’s cologne. He smelled insanely good. Better than good. What was up with that? And why did he look so damn attractive? Maybe it was the way the lights shimmered over his face. Maybe it was his soft, comfortable-looking clothes. Whatever the case, John knew with absolute certainty now: he was doomed.
“John?”
Right, he’d been silent way too long. He scrambled to grab his Coors–to do something, anything to act casual.
“I’m fine!” he said.
Bucky tried to steer him away from the bar. It was a nice gesture, but if John left the relative safety of the bar top, his problem was going to be really, really obvious. So he dug his heels in and resisted.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Carefully, Bucky reached up and turned his head. He forced John to look at him. It was just a finger on the chin, but it lit a fire in John’s nervous system. His knees wobbled. His cheeks flushed. He felt completely out of his depth, but it wasn’t like drowning. If anything, it was like sinking into bed after a long day. He couldn’t get enough.
Keep it together, he chanted silently.
Patently speaking, this couldn’t be happening.
Patently speaking, he was in deep shit.
Bucky’s palm brushed over his forehead. John bit his lip to contain a moan.
“You’re burning up.”
John cleared his throat.
“Yeah,” he said, but he didn’t move.
His body teetered on a precipice. The serum put him on a knife’s edge at the best of times, and now he was about to tumble over. It was humiliating. It was deeply, concerningly arousing. John was pretty sure he’d never been so hard before in his life, and that was saying something. It was like Bucky’s voice was worming past his common sense, and now he was helpless to resist its siren song.
“Here, let me–” Bucky reached for John’s beer bottle.
“No, it’s fine–” John tried to head him off, but all he succeeded in doing was brushing his hips against Bucky’s leg.
“John–”
A couple of things happened at the exact same time.
The crowd pushed in close. Bucky’s thigh dragged over John’s crotch.
The beer fell onto the bar top, spilling its contents.
And John Walker orgasmed.
He didn’t mean to orgasm. He didn’t intend to. But it happened because the serum happened and Bucky was like a human furnace with really, really nice thighs and–
John bit his lip to muffle himself. His hips jerked once, twice. He came inside his underwear, which was both too much friction and not enough friction at the same time. The sensation was stifled. It was barely there, but it fried him just the same. The novelty was exciting, but it also had his stomach clenching. He almost couldn’t believe it, even as a surge of monumental pleasure sent him hurtling into outer space.
He closed his eyes. His fingers curled against Bucky’s soft shirt. He made a sound in the back of his throat, a garbled “ah”. Every single muscle in his body pulled tight, then relaxed in the space of a second.
By the time he opened his eyes again, his cheeks were scorching and he was avoiding Bucky’s gaze with religious fervor.
“John,” Bucky growled.
John didn’t move. He stood still and he didn’t breathe and he prayed to God that he was dreaming.
Bucky’s thigh nudged against his softening cock. Pleasure spiraled across his oversensitive nerves. He dropped his head to Bucky’s shoulder, unable to hide a shiver. In the back of his head, a part of him wondered if he could pass it off as a drunken mistake. Sure, he couldn’t get drunk, but when had that ever stopped a mistake?
“You guys okay over here?”
Travis sounded worried. That was nice of him, but John really didn’t need more spectators to this particular fuck up. He tried to say something, but Bucky beat him to it:
“I think he’s coming down with something.”
“He’s–” Travis paused. “Bucky Barnes?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
Bucky’s voice was doing horrible, terrible things to John’s groin. Namely, getting him hard again. Between his damp underwear and the way his cock was betraying everything he held dear, it was extremely difficult to think. Conversation buzzed around him, but the words were smeared and fuzzy.
“I’m gonna take him home,” Bucky said gruffly.
“Uh… yeah, sure,” Travis acquiesced. Then, to John directly: “See you next time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” John managed to wheeze. “Yep.”
He didn’t notice the way Bucky’s eyes darkened.
****
They didn’t make it home.
They didn’t make it any farther than an alleyway two blocks east.
Bucky shoved John against a wall. It was dark out, and darker still where they were folded between the buildings. Shadows painted over everything except Bucky’s eyes. They were blazing blue and already threatening to pierce through John’s carefully crafted defenses.
“I’m sorry–” John started.
Bucky snapped John’s belt buckle. His eyes went wide. Was this real life? Was this really happening? Bucky was a little gentler with his zipper, pulling it down rather than ripping it in two. John’s cock surged into the newly available space, eager and more than willing. John chewed on the inside of his cheek. His nerves prickled. He still hadn’t recovered from the first orgasm, but stopping now was out of the question.
If there was even a chance Bucky wanted him, he was going to take it.
Oh, so now you’re being honest with yourself?
Shut up! John told his unruly thoughts.
“Can’t fuckin’ believe it,” Bucky said under his breath.
John was the one who couldn’t believe it, and doubly so when Bucky sank down to his knees.
“Sorry,” John whispered. His cock oozed a bead of precum.
“Don’t apologize, sugar,” Bucky exhaled over his erection.
He looked up, pinning John with a look hot enough to melt steel. The world stopped turning around them. There was only cold stone against his back and Bucky’s hands on his waist. John curled his fingers, trying and failing to ground himself.
“Can I?” Bucky’s tongue swiped over his bottom lip.
“Yes,” John didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t hesitate. “Please.”
Bucky’s smile broke out like the sun. He lapped at John’s sticky slit, cleaning away some of his come. John wobbled against the wall. He threw his head back, only to drop it just as quickly. He couldn’t look away now, not when he was getting something straight out of his wet dreams.
He’d never been sucked off by a guy before, and he couldn’t tell if it was just that good or if Bucky was just that exceptionally good at it. But from the moment Bucky’s lips closed around his cock, to the moment Bucky’s nose hit his pubes, John had a feeling this was it. This was everything. He was seeing stars. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Pleasure sang through his body, humming through him like a bowstring pulled tight.
Bucky’s mouth was warm and oh so wet. His tongue swirled around John’s shaft. He sucked cock like he was starving for it. Like he was dying for it.
Suddenly, he dragged John’s hand toward his hair. John’s fingers tangled in the strands, but he couldn’t even clench because he was–
Coming–
Bucky swallowed it.
“Oh, God. Bucky–”
Blue eyes caught his. They were surprisingly hazy. It was like staring into the mirror of his own arousal. A second wave of orgasmic bliss slammed into John from behind, and he sprayed another load down Bucky’s throat.
John was pretty sure he whimpered. He’d come twice in less than two minutes. The serum was reluctant to relinquish its grip. Nothing was normal about him now. Not his stamina. Not the way he felt when Bucky touched him. It was too much. No, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Harder. Faster. Please. He wanted to beg. He was going to beg.
Bucky stood up. He wiped his mouth dry on the back of his hand. His eyes were half-lidded and lazy. There was a certain aura of satisfaction around him.
John yanked him in for a kiss. He couldn’t help it. His fingers were still carded through Bucky’s hair. They snapped together like magnets. Like planets. Bucky tasted like cheap beer. He tasted like citrus and a whole lot like something else John refused to acknowledge. There was an unmistakable gravity in the way he moved. His hands squeezed John’s waist. His body pressed John against the wall.
It was–
Wait.
John frowned.
Was Bucky not… enjoying this? There was no bulge in his pants, no erection to match his desperation. John deflated. His hip brushed against Bucky’s groin.
Suddenly, Bucky shivered.
The kiss broke.
“Sorry, sugar,” Bucky pressed their foreheads together. “Couldn’t last.”
John laughed. It was a real laugh. It started in his chest and vibrated through his throat. His cock pulsed against Bucky’s stomach.
“Guess we match,” he thought about Bucky coming in his jeans and nearly chewed through his lip.
“Guess we do.”
And they did.