Work Text:
Steve slips into the house sometime after 2 AM. It's been a long night, made longer by the post-mission paperwork that he absolutely didn't take his time on to give his injuries a bit of extra time to heal. (Not that Steve isn't meticulously thorough about his paperwork anyway - most of the time - but thinking about Sam's look of disappointment whenever he sees bruises marking Steve's skin makes him linger.) His gaze strays longingly in the direction of the fridge, but mostly what he wants to do now is crawl into bed with Sam. He feels guilty; Sam's been texting throughout the night, asking when he'd be done with work, but Steve just assumes he's missed another homemade dinner. And, to be fair, Sam understands how work is, how things come up. It's not like it never happens to him, after all - it just happens to Steve more often. That's the life they chose, and neither of them would give it up for the world.
Except that when Steve eases the bedroom door open, he sees Sam and realizes that his plans had absolutely not been a simple dinner. Sam's splayed out naked on the bed, face planted in the pillow, and it's clear that he fell asleep waiting for Steve.
"Jesus," Steve whispers under his breath, thanking the serum for his enhanced night vision. There's not much light in the room, but what little there is gilds Sam's muscles in silver, gleams against the curve of his ass. Frankly, he thinks Sam deserves the title of America's Ass, because it's the finest thing he's ever seen - an opinion he's had ever since lapping it around the National Mall.
He spends a solid ten minutes just staring at Sam. Steve's fingers itch to sketch him - maybe later, he thinks, because it's not a sight he's likely to forget soon. (For some reason, every time he tries to draw Sam from life, they get distracted by other things.) Silently, he pulls his clothes off and folds them on the chair before stretching out next to Sam on the other side of the bed.
"I don't deserve you," Steve whispers as he buries his face in the nape of Sam's neck. He can tell by the way Sam's muscles tense that he's awake now, not that he expected him to stay asleep once the mattress dipped under Steve's weight.
"No, you don't," Sam agrees, his voice rough with sleep and muffled by the pillow. "But you're stuck with me anyway. Unless you smother me with your love, that is."
Steve grins sheepishly and rolls onto his side so Sam can breathe, though he keeps one hand on the small of Sam's back, tracing soft circles. "I didn't mean to get home so late, it's just- you know, work." He pauses. "You should've texted me a picture."
"It was supposed to be a surprise. Besides, that's kinda the definition of not safe for work." Which is hilarious coming from Sam, who's absolutely texted Steve pictures of himself jerking off for the sole purpose of getting him to break about ten traffic laws getting home in a hurry. Steve understands what Sam means, though. If he knows Sam, there's dinner waiting in the fridge, some movies left unwatched, and-
His hand drifts lower, and he finds the flared base of a buttplug in between Sam's thighs. Steve instantly goes from half-hard to hard enough to pound nails thinking about Sam waiting patiently for him, about how he'd opened himself up with his fingers first to be ready when Steve came home, then gently slid a buttplug inside once the arousal fizzing under his skin grew to be too much, when he needed something to fill himself up.
"God, I love you." Steve barely breathes the words as he presses close to Sam. His erection rubs against Sam's smooth skin, and he feels for the lube he knows Sam left under the pillow. "You good?"
"You mean apart from the blue balls I had earlier?" It seems like Sam isn't done needling him yet, but Steve's pretty sure he deserves it. He uncaps the lube and squirts some on his fingers. Sam might be stretched out, but Steve knows he needs to be slicked up again. He runs one finger around the base of the plug, where silicone meets skin, and Sam arches up against the touch. "Oh, Christ, Steve."
Steve hums softly as he pulls the toy out a bit, smears it with lube, and then slowly pushes it back in. "Roll onto your side? I need to start apologizing properly." He waits for Sam to obey before he scoots down on the bed.
Sam's still mostly soft, but Steve expects that; he's not a super-soldier who gets hard at the drop of a hat (or the drop of Sam's pants). He kisses the hollow of Sam's hip, the dusting of hair on his stomach. He loves Sam so much that it's almost a physical ache in his heart, and he worries sometimes that he's not good enough for him, that Sam will get tired of the long nights and the near-death experiences and find someone safer.
Sam's hand cards through dark gold hair as Steve licks a stripe up his cock. Steve's hands are still busy with the buttplug, slowly easing it out and in, adding a little more lube every time. It's smaller than Steve - all of their toys are smaller than him - but Sam likes it that way, says he wants to work up to being filled up by him, not replace him. He could have jerked off while Steve was gone, before he fell asleep, but he didn't. Sam didn't do this because he was horny, he did it because he wanted Steve. The thought sends arousal thrumming through Steve's veins as he sucks Sam into his mouth, as his cheeks hollow around him. He can taste precum on the tip of Sam's cock, and he thinks about how hard Sam must have been earlier, dripping and waiting so patiently for Steve to come home and fuck him. In Sam's place, Steve would've had to come four or five times just to take the edge off while waiting, but Steve's sex drive is fucking obscene.
Case in point: he whimpers around Sam's dick while rubbing against his leg, wishing desperately he'd thought this through a little more and put his erection somewhere where Sam could reach it. As much as he wants to lavish Sam with all the attention he deserves, Steve has to drop one hand down to stroke himself. They've learned over time that Steve lasts longer if he gets off at least once before the main event - even so, it feels a little selfish to focus on himself.
"Ohhh," Sam breathes when he realizes what Steve's doing, and he tugs Steve's head back and off him. Sam always loves watching this part, and that knowledge eases Steve's guilt a little. "C'mon, sweetheart, let me see." He leans back to click on the lamp next to their bed and shudders as the plug shifts inside him.
Steve moves the other way, giving Sam space to watch. His hand is still slick from the lube he'd been using on Sam, and it glides up and down his cock easily. He licks his lips as he stares up at Sam. "Were you thinking about riding me?" he manages to get out between gritted teeth. Steve doesn't really need any encouragement, but he loves getting Sam to talk dirty to him, loves hearing the raw desire in Sam's voice. He still can't believe it's directed at him.
"Nah." Sam's Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. "I wanted you to fuck me into the bed. Still want you to. I wanna be able to feel it tomorrow when I sit down. God, I- I want you to fill me up, Steve. I want every inch of you, I want to know you're in me. I want you to come inside me and keep fucking me till you come again." His eyes shine in the dim light, dark and liquid, and Steve holds Sam's gaze as he spills over his fist and onto Sam's calves, as he keeps stroking himself until he's too sensitive to keep going any longer.
Once he catches his breath, Steve pushes Sam flat on his back and sucks his cock into his mouth again. Now it's satisfyingly hard, and god, Steve wishes he could just suck Sam off, enjoy the feeling of him coming in his mouth. He could - it's not like that would prevent him from fucking Sam - but he knows what Sam wants. He just wants to make sure he has a good time first, that's all.
Sam's fingers twist in the sheets as Steve works him over with his mouth, and Steve can feel the muscles in his thighs starting to tense when he pulls off. "Sorry for making you wait so long," he apologizes, and he leans up to kiss Sam. Sam returns it hungrily, like he's been waiting hours to do this, like he'd wanted to be able to do it the moment Steve walked in the door at a normal time. Steve can taste the longing in his kiss; it's not like they don't have a very healthy sex life, but for some reason, Sam had just had this particular need tonight.
Maybe, Steve thinks, he'll return the favor next week. Maybe he'll let Sam come home to find him already a mess and desperate to ride him, to fuck himself silly on Sam's cock. He can touch himself while Sam watches, come all over Sam's stomach-
But first, he has something else to do. Steve pulls away from Sam reluctantly. "Mm, okay, roll over again."
"You got it." Steve's gaze is drawn to Sam's ass again, especially when Sam pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. He runs a hand over Sam's skin, cups a palmful of it. Sometimes, he still can't believe that he can touch Sam as much as he wants, wherever he wants. Steve's own body is a product of science, but Sam's beauty is completely natural, and it shows in the way he's comfortable in his skin, the ease with which he texts Steve pictures in varying stages of undress, even how he moves. Steve wishes he had Sam's self-confidence.
But what he does have is Sam's confidence in him, Sam's desire for him as a person - not some superhero on a pedestal, not some marble statue come to life. Sam wants him, Steve Rogers. He sees past the muscles and the legend to the man underneath - the scrawny kid from Brooklyn - and he loves that.
"Take a picture," Sam drawls, "it'll last longer."
"I think I already have plenty of pictures on my phone." Steve pulls himself out of his reverie and reaches for the lube again, gently easing the buttplug out with his other hand. "Too many if Tony ever decides to hack it."
"But on the bright side, he won't hack it twice." Sam grins back over his shoulder at Steve. "You gonna fuck me or talk about Tony Stark? 'Cause only one of those things is gonna help me keep it up."
"Why, Sam, I didn't know you were into Tony," Steve deadpans, earning an eyeroll from Sam. Steve's hard again - if not as hard as he was earlier - and he slicks his cock with plenty of lube. As much as he loves working Sam open with his fingers, there's definitely something to be said for when he's already stretched out - he can imagine how convenient it might have been earlier to just thrust into Sam, knowing he'd been waiting for him. It's still incredibly hot to think about, and Steve shudders as he presses in, his fingers digging into Sam's hip.
"Fuck," Sam swears when Steve bottoms out, rocking back against him, and Steve knows from his voice that this is just what he wanted, that it was absolutely worth the wait for him. "Steve, sweetheart, you feel fucking amazing like this. I love having you inside me, it's just-"
Steve pulls out slowly, almost to the tip of his cock, then slams into Sam so hard that his balls slap against Sam's skin with an audible smack. Whatever Sam had been planning on saying is lost in the strangled cry that falls from his lips instead. As Steve keeps pumping into Sam, Sam moans, and then the moans transmute into curses and pleas. Steve's hips stutter during one particularly filthy moment, and Sam redoubles his efforts, his words a barely coherent stream of profanity. Steve stumbles over the edge again, pulling Sam back against him as he pulses inside him, and then keeps going. His dick starts to soften, but he doesn't give it the chance; instead, he reaches down to wrap his hand around Sam's erection.
Sam clenches down around Steve, and that's enough to get him fully hard again, thanks to the serum. He slows down now, and his thrusts are still powerful, but now they're aimed with precision. Steve angles himself so he's skimming over Sam's prostate with every stroke, and before long, Sam squirms beneath him, desperate for his long-denied orgasm.
"Fuck, Steve, please," Sam gasps. "I'm gonna-" His back arches, his muscles go taut, and then he's tightening around Steve's cock. Steve feels Sam pulse in his hand, warmth spilling out over him, and now he's thrusting fast and hard, milking the tail end of Sam's orgasm for all he can, trying to race to the finish before Sam hits that too-sensitive point.
And then he hits orgasm number three, and his brain stops for a moment as it's short-circuited by pleasure. A few more erratic thrusts, and then he buries himself to the hilt, crying out Sam's name as fireworks burst behind his eyelids.
Steve pulls out with a groan and makes a face at the mess that follows. "My turn for cleanup?"
Sam has collapsed in a position that's similar to the one Steve found him in earlier. "Mmhm. You owe me, remember?"
"Yeah, yeah, I remember." Steve lingers for a moment to stare at Sam's ass once more before heading off to the bathroom. It really is a goddamn piece of art.