When you have a brainwashed assassin rip the steering wheel right out of your hands on a highway, the only sane response is to become a particularly cautionary driver in the aftermath. Unfortunately, being in the habit of checking the rearview mirror frequently is something akin to dangling catnip in front of a feline when it comes to dating smoking hot Russian spies, because every time Sam Wilson takes his boyfriend and girlfriend out someplace, said smoking hot Russian ends up in the backseat with coyly half-lidded eyes and a hand down the front of her pants.
Sam always, always pulls over.
Unfortunately, they often take Natasha’s corvette, which – while just as sleek and sexy as its owner – is absolute horseshit, because it barely fits Natasha with her legs spread wide, let alone Sam and his super soldier slash professional dorito boyfriend.
Still, Sam often finds himself awkwardly clamoring back there with Steve half on top of him, both of them trying to strangle Nat’s pleased croons with their mouths. Neither of them succeed.
Tonight, Sam shoves Steve onto the seat beside Natasha, shooting her a look when she smiles full-on caught-the-canary at him before turning and perching herself backwards on Steve’s lap. Steve groans and tries to palm her hips but Sam smacks his hands away, because one thing he’s learned from bedding superheroes is none of them know how to do anything without making it into an event, and he doesn’t have time for that shit right now. Nat rises enough to let him peel her jeans and thong off and throw them in the front seat; Steve’s jeans and briefs get yanked off much the same, pooling around his ankles.
Generally there’s a lot of bumped heads and elbows, and tonight’s no different. He has to stay half in the front seat to get his face all up in their business, contorted so uncomfortably he’s pretty sure he’s gonna have to call some favors and get in with a chiropractor pronto, but the groans that hit his ears when his tongue hits the jackpot makes it all worth it.
But his lovers tend to make everything worth it.
As Steve pushes his dick inside her, Sam mouths at her pussy, tongue laving briefly over her clit. Her short pubic hair is a constant tickle on his face as he nuzzles in closer, tasting sweat and come so thick he wonders if she didn’t bring herself off before they’d even stopped driving. The thought makes him moan, soft and hoarse, and he feels her whole body hitch.
“Spoiled, that’s what you are,” Sam chides against wet flesh before flattening out his tongue to work her clit with slow laps. It’s easier to just mostly keep pressed close and let her ride his face, her hips working to take Steve’s length with quick, eager grinds.
Nat gets a foot up on his back. “I’d be more spoiled if we had a bigger backseat,” she says, and Sam can see she has both arms up to grip Steve’s messy hair as he mouths at her neck. The big guy’s got his hands in her shirt, working her tits with all the enthusiasm of a man that has his dick in the hottest woman in the world at her behest.
“You said you wanted to ride in style,” Sam reminds her, muffled, “Style is usually the codeword for ‘not your car, Sam’.”
Natasha hums like she’s thinking about it, but judging from the noise Steve makes, she’s flexing all kinds of muscles that don’t involve thought. “You know what was stylish?” she asks musingly, dropping one hand to pull Sam’s face tighter against her crotch so he can’t answer. “That truck we had. Very middle America.”
“We didn’t have anything, we borrowed it,” Steve reminds her, managing a truly Captain America level of restraint in his stern tone. “And then,” he adds breathlessly, “If you’d remember, we got it blown up.”
“We should borrow another,” Natasha purrs, “Sam didn’t get to see you in action, Captain Carjack.”
“It was an emergency, Natasha,” says Steve firmly, but the reminder peters out into a somewhat strangled moan.
“We are not going to steal somebody’s car because it gets you hot,” Sam says even though his nose is halfway to flattened against Nat’s pubic bone and he’s almost drooling now with how wet she is. “One, it’s illegal, and two, I’ve got work in the morning.”
Natasha doesn’t take no for an answer, and the next thing Sam knows is he’s being dragged bodily into the backseat and Steve and Nat are both trying to lick her taste from his open mouth, three hands on his dick and the top of his head getting acquainted with how well-made Natasha’s car roof is.
But Sam’s a cautious driver. He’ll get them home safe tonight.
Even if it’s in somebody else’s ride.