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Sam grabs Bucky by the lapels of his crisp navy suit and shoves him into the first stall he can find, their footsteps echoing in the empty congressional bathroom. Bucky takes a breath, as if to say something, before he’s cut off by Sam slamming their lips together. He hooks his fingers into Bucky’s belt loops to pull him in, walking himself backwards to lean against the stall wall.
“Fuck,” Sam swears into Bucky’s mouth, Bucky’s desperate roaming hands warming something deep inside his groin.
“Let me take care of you,” Bucky murmurs, cupping Sam’s hardening length through his dress pants. They’re both in the Capitol on official business, goddamnit, but Sam knows that Bucky’s more than capable of keeping the mess off of Sam’s suit.
At Sam’s minute nod, Bucky keeps palming Sam through the stuffy wool of his pants as he licks and kisses his way down Sam’s neck, little whimpers escaping the back of Bucky’s throat on the way down. Sam strokes the back of Bucky’s grown-out hair, gripping it occasionally when Bucky presses against him particularly hard.
“Get on with it,” Sam whispers, hoping Leila won’t think too much of his extended bathroom trip. A quick glance at his watch shows that he has at least fifteen more minutes before his meeting with the president, though, so he lets Bucky continue.
Bucky continues to mouth at his chest, then down to his stomach and finally deciding to unbutton Sam’s fly, baby blue eyes wide and eager as they look up at him. “Please?” Bucky whines, “I’ll make it so good for you.”
Fuck, Sam thinks again. I’m so fucking screwed. He palms his face with his free hand, rubbing at his eyes before giving Bucky another nod.
Bucky properly drops to his knees this time, unzipping Sam’s pants and pulling down his briefs with one smooth motion. He’s creasing the toes of his fancy leather dress shoes, Sam notices in a daze. He usually throws a fit over stuff like that.
His train of thought is abruptly cut off by a wet warmth wrapping around his half-hard cock, and Sam snaps his attention back to Bucky’s lips stretched all the way around his length. Sam’s hand is still wrapped in the roots of his hair, and he tightens his grip as he fights to stay quiet.
Bucky’s throat vibrates as he moans around Sam hardening in his mouth, his tongue flicking at the tip to swipe away the forming beads of precome. He makes quick work of it, and it’s not long before Sam is thrusting into his throat, no longer able to resist chasing his pleasure, even as he vaguely registers the door of the bathroom opening and closing behind them. His other hand is still firmly clamped over his mouth, his teeth worrying at his bottom lip to muffle his moans.
Bucky reaches behind his balls to press at the space on his perineum that just perfectly stimulates his prostate, and that’s it for him. Sam’s vision whites out and he comes harder than he has in a while, Bucky dutifully swallowing every drop down deep into his throat.
Sam runs his hand down his face, breathing hard to catch his breath and being cognizant of others walking up and down the bathroom right outside their stall. He glances down at Bucky’s dazed expression, realizing that his fingers are still tangled tightly in his hair. He loosens his grip with a jolt, and catches a glimpse of silver underneath Bucky’s collar as he tries to comb his hair back into an acceptable shape.
Sam frowns and pulls Bucky’s shirt collar to the side, and Bucky’s wide eyes gaze up at him knowingly.
Around Bucky’s neck is a chunky silver chain, about a centimeter in diameter and with no clasp or connector in sight. Sam knows that on one of those chain links, on the inside where no one would know to look, is engraved “S.T.W.” The stainless steel is lightweight and durable, only removable with a bolt cutter (or Bucky’s vibranium hand in an emergency), and not thick enough to accidentally choke or harm Bucky if it gets caught during battle.
Sam would recognize the weight and feel of it in his sleep. He knows how it looks covered in sweat, how it looks in the dark and in the light of early morning, how it feels against his chest or his back or his cheek. He runs his fingers across it now, thumbing across the thin soldering mark on one of the links from when they first had it installed. Sam had picked up a metalworking skill or two from fixing the boat, so they had done it in the peace of Sam’s apartment and consummated it in a mess of desire immediately after.
“You kept it,”Sam says softly, overcome by the sudden influx of loss and longing flooding his system. It had been months since they’d last spoken, and he’d assumed that Bucky had torn it off by now. Sam certainly didn’t deserve any more than that.
Bucky just blinks a couple times up at Sam, still on his knees on the tiled bathroom floor, his navy dress pants undoubtedly wrinkled beyond rescue at this point. “Of course I did,” Bucky says softly, and Sam could get lost in the depth of his eyes forever. “I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”
Sam strokes Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky nuzzles into his palm like a man starved of food for weeks.
Sam shifts on his feet and notices that Bucky’s still at half-mast in his slacks, and nudges his bulge with the toe of his dress shoes. Sam starts softly, “Now what’s this? We’ve gotta to take care of you, don’t we?”
Bucky is already shaking his head dazedly, insisting, “No, it’s okay, Sam, I wanted to do this for you-“
“Now, now,” Sam chides gently, hand running through the soft locks of his hair again. “I take good care of my baby boy, don’t I?”
Sam feels a pang of guilt at how untrue that’s been for the past few months, but his words have the intended effect. Bucky immediately seals his lips shut and whimpers needily from the back of his throat. Sam listens carefully for any others in the bathroom, and decides that it’s empty enough for him. And he really, really doesn’t give a fuck otherwise.
Sam hauls Bucky up to his feet by his hair, and flips them around so Bucky’s back is to the stall divider. Bucky goes along with it beautifully, limp and relaxed against Sam’s overheating body. Sam licks into his warm mouth, tasting himself on Bucky’s tongue, and shoves his hand into Bucky’s waistband to give his length long, solid strokes. Bucky lets out a sound close to a sob, and he squeezes his eyes shut in pleasure.
Bucky’s hands lift up, hovering inches away from Sam’s waist in hesitation. Sam’s heart melts as he grabs one of Bucky’s wrists to gently guide it under his suit jacket, and Bucky wastes no time in desperately grasping at everywhere he can reach.
He removes his hand from Bucky’s cock to wide, alarmed eyes and a sound of indignation from the other man, but Sam shushes him with a brush of his thumb across his lips as he cups his cheek softly. “I’ve got you,” Sam breathes before dripping a thick glob of spit into his palm, then holding his hand up to Bucky’s lips.
It’s muscle memory for them both at this point, and only milliseconds pass before Bucky is pushing his own spit onto Sam’s warm palm, lips still wet and shiny from sucking Sam down only moments before.
Sam reaches into Bucky’s pants to smear the wetness onto his length, now fully hard and threatening to burst the threads at his crotch. Bucky tilts his head back sharply, lightly smacking it against the stall wall and biting his bottom lip to suppress his whines and moans. His hands are still gripped tightly into Sam’s dress shirt—Sam’s gonna have to spend some time straightening that out in a second—and his eyes have rolled into the back of his head with pleasure. It’s clearly taking all his energy not to just thrust unabashedly into Sam’s hand, if the occasional wayward twitch of his hips is saying anything. He lets Sam take it at his own pace, and his chests rises and falls faster and faster as he nears his climax.
“Sam,” Bucky breathes, thrashing his head from side to side. “Sam-“
Sam threads his fingers into Bucky’s hair again and uses the leverage to pull his head forward to rest his forehead on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re okay, love. We’re almost there. You’re okay,” Sam soothes lowly into his ear.
-and Bucky comes with a full-body shudder and a sob, most of his spend getting on Sam’s hand but a couple drops staining the front of his underwear. Sam pulls his hand out of Bucky’s pants and holds his fingers in front of his mouth, a tentative offer. Bucky immediately sucks them down, even as his eyes droop closed with the tension leaving his body, and he works his tongue over the streaks of his come dripping down Sam’s palm as well.
They stand there for a couple minutes, Sam holding Bucky up as Bucky’s face is buried in Sam’s collarbone, breathing into each other’s space like nothing had changed at all. Sam feels the guilt return, but there’s hurt and betrayal in the same places, too. So he just stays silent, and lets Bucky breathe life into him for a few moments more.
Finally, Sam nudges Bucky and checks his watch. “Buck,” he murmurs gently, “I‘ve gotta to go.”
Bucky wraps his arms around him tighter for a moment, but reluctantly releases him and straightens up, readjusting his tie and his belt and refusing to meet Sam’s eyes.
“I’ll… I’ll call you,” Sam affirms, and Bucky’s eyes snap to his with so much hope and joy in them it almost makes Sam sick. “After. After my meeting today. Alright? We’ll figure something out.”
Bucky rubs the back of his neck, a nervous tick of his that would take more than a few months for Sam to forget. “I’ll do anything, Sam,” Bucky breathes, his eyes searching for something similar in Sam’s. “I need you. I’m sorry. I can’t survive without you.”
“I’ll call you,” Sam says firmly, “We’ll find something we can do. I can’t promise anything, Buck, but I can try.”
Bucky beams at him brightly, and Sam suddenly recalls the feeling of being warmed by the afternoon sun. “That’s more than enough for me, Sam. You’ll always be enough for me.”
Sam can only give a quick nod and a heavy swallow, and he tucks himself back into his boxers and slacks and pushes his way out of the stall.