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The Beautiful Game

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The ball comes hurtling past both defenders, who have been sleepwalking their way through the match so far, and Bucky throws himself on it at the expense of all the air in his lungs. The opposing striker almost runs him over in his haste to follow, but by then the ball is firmly in his gloves and not going anywhere he doesn't throw it.

"What the fuck was that?!" He's on his feet in a moment, hair coming out of the bun he'd scraped it into before kick-off as he screams at Rogers. The big blond is solid and usually stellar as a defender, but today between him and Wilson they might as well be sitting back and inviting the Snakes to score. "Open your fuckin' eyes you moron!"

"Suck my dick!" Rogers gives him the finger as he jogs backwards, because they're two-nil down and the entire team is starting to flag with the lack of morale. It's not even half time yet. "Just do your fuckin' job."

"I wouldn't have to if you fuckin' did yours!" He kicks the ball as far away from Steve as possible, just out of spite. Whatever he does, it's not like he could make this shitshow worse.

The Commandos and the Snakes have a rivalry going all the way back to the forties, and every time they play each other the pressure from the fans and management alike is enormous. They have serious sponsorship money that gets given and taken away based on the results of these matches, and today the Commandos are floundering like they're complete amateurs. Bucky doesn't even know what the hell most of the team is doing, but the ball keeps getting way too close to the penalty box for his liking.

Rogers and Wilson are the last line of defence before Bucky, and the ball is never supposed to get as far as him if they're doing their jobs. Today they're seriously, seriously not, and Bucky knows he's going to be the one who gets shit from their manager over the two goals he's let in so far. Pierce is a calculating manager and a certified creep who's notorious for his explosive temper when his team don't play how he expects them to. Bucky's been slapped across the face by the guy before and he's in no hurry to be humiliated by the old man again. It's better than being felt up in the office, he figures, but he'd rather fly under the radar and not have to deal with any of it.

If his team would do their fucking jobs, then he might not have to.

By the time half time mercifully rolls around, the Commandos are four-nil down and Bucky might as well bend over for the reaming he's going to get from management over it. The prospect of more late-night 'tactic talks' with Pierce in his near future doesn't put him in the best mood, to put it lightly. He kicks a locker as soon as he gets into the locker room, leaving stud marks in the metal from his boot and barely drawing a glance from most of the disheartened team.

"Yeah, break your foot. That'll help." Barton, striker and the only player who's actually made an attempt on the opposing goal this half, deadpans as he towels sweat out of his hair.

"Might help you fuckin' play better." It's only muttered in passing, but Bucky hears Rogers running his smart mouth anyway. His hands are still sweaty from his gloves when he grabs Steve's shirt and shoves him up against the locker he's just assaulted, which actually does draw the attention of the rest of the team.

"I've been playing fuckin' fine, I've saved almost every shot that's come at me." He's close enough to feel Steve's breath on his lips, smell his sweat and feel his body heat, and it doesn't do a thing to get him less riled up. "Where the fuck were you?"

"Yeah, every shot but four." Steve sneers back, clearly just as pissed about the game as Bucky with spots of colour high on his cheeks. "Seems like you should be playing for the Snakes from where I'm standing."

"Where's that? Staring in the other direction when the ball sails past your fuckin' head?!" Bucky shoves him into the locker again with a heavy rattle. He's this close to punching Steve or kissing him, he can't tell which with all the adrenaline and anger singing through his veins.

He's half-hard. It's not unusual during a match, but he's not usually close enough to any of his teammates for them to feel it. And Steve can clearly feel it, because he's not pushing Bucky away or swinging for him. Rogers is a fighty son of a bitch and his quick temper makes him a liability for yellow cards even during friendlies, but with Bucky pressed up against him he's suddenly not fighting back, just staring him down like he can't tear his eyes away.

They're both livid, both still breathless from exertion and ready to pound on each other to relieve the tension. Although probably not in a way they've ever done before.

"Alright, break it up." Pietro, zippy little European midfielder who's still young enough that he thinks locker-room brawls mean anything but pent-up aggression, is pulling them apart before they can do something they might regret in front of a room full of the rest of their team. "Go for a walk, Bucky. Get it together."

Bucky doesn't argue, but he keeps eye contact with Steve for a long moment before he lets him go and pushes away from him. He stalks out of the room, still half-hard and only more pissed off by the irritating tension in his body, and ends up in the equipment room that's more like a closet. He punches a stack of mats pushed into a corner a few times, trying to drive the anger from his brain and get the red mist out of his vision. He's not going to be any good in the second half if he's fighting with his own team, and he's already got so much to make up for.

Four goals past him is too much. It's a disgrace. He's on the edge of breaking down and he needs to get his shit together. Pierce is going to kill him as it is.

"Gonna break your fuckin' hand? Make yourself really useless?" The sarcastic questions come from behind him, and the door clicks closed as Bucky whips around to see Steve standing leaning back against the door even as he stares him down all over again.

"You'd know all about being useless, you fucki—" He doesn't finish his insult, because Steve strides across the room and cuts him off mid-sentence to crush their lips together.

He backs Bucky up against the mats that had just made his knuckles ache, kissing him like he wants to kill him. It's the explosion that their increasingly-tense headbutting over the season has been begging for, and Bucky struggles against Steve for a moment like he wants to fight him instead of fuck him. Steve just keeps him pinned, holds him down until Bucky gives in and stops fighting, bites his bottom lip with a strangled, annoyed sound instead of a moan.

There's nothing tender in their kiss, it's all tongues and teeth and anger as Steve pushes and Bucky just pushes right back. They're both hard in their shorts now, rutting against each other like teenagers who are too desperate to take their clothes off or slow down. This has been building for a long time, ever since they got hideously drunk after their New Year's Day match and would've hooked up if Sam hadn't walked into the bathroom at a seriously inopportune moment, and now the dam is broken it's like they can't hold back.

"Sassy fuckin' bitch." Steve breaks the bruising kiss to bite Bucky's neck, only just avoiding leaving bruises and really marking him up. Bucky groans low in his chest and tries to buck Steve off him again, but it's only a token gesture at this point. "Call me out on the field, yell at me in front of the cameras. You just need to get laid."

"Fuckin' asshole." Bucky grunts, shoving his thigh higher for Steve to rub off against and half hoping it hurts. "Pain in my ass."

"Can arrange that." Steve squeezes his ass through his shorts and Bucky swallows the embarrassing moan that tries to slip out. The aborted sound makes his teammate smirk, and Bucky could seriously punch him in the face right now. "S'what I thought. You need a dick in you, that's why you're all over the fuckin' place. Slut."

"I hate you." There's heat in his cheeks and Bucky tries to channel his embarrassment into anger because Steve is taking him apart just by rubbing off against him and it's humiliating. He can only pretend he doesn't like it for so long, and just the right amount of friction as Steve rolls their hips together is the point at which he can't deny it anymore and closes his eyes tightly against the feeling. "God, I fuckin' hate you."

"Tell me that when you're riding my dick, sweetheart." Steve smirks, groping Bucky's ass again and forcing an embarrassing, thready sound out of him. Bucky sort of wants to shut him up but he'd settle for just holding Steve down and riding him like he stole him at this point. "You let another goal in and I'm not gonna fuck you."

"Bullshit." Bucky tries to reach for Steve's dick, but he finds himself pinned to the mats by his wrists and thrashes against the restraint uselessly. It only spurs Steve on, tightening his grip on Bucky's wrists and thrusting against him in a way that would be so sweet if he would just turn Bucky around and get inside him like he needs. "Steve, c'mon. I'm not gonna beg."

"No time." He lets go of one of Bucky's wrists to get a hand around his throat, and the sudden pressure makes Bucky's legs turn to jelly in a way he'd never admit to if Steve couldn't see it all over his face. "Listen, you be a good boy and do your job, and I'll let you take this dick however you want it."

"How about you do your fuckin—" The retort is cut off by Steve's big hand tightening around his throat, and Bucky can't even hide the way it makes his dick twitch with how they're pressed together.

"We're gonna go out there, we're both gonna do our jobs, and then we're gonna come back in here and I'm gonna fuck you until you don't know your own name." Steve lays it all out quietly, roughly, next to Bucky's ear like he's in charge of everything here. The authority does strange things to Bucky's insides, makes him buck helplessly against Steve's bulk pressing him down. "Can you handle that? Can you keep your shit together without getting fucked for another hour?"

Their eyes meet when Steve pulls back, hand still tight around Bucky's throat, and he twitches a nod as he struggles for breath. Steve eases up on the pressure and it makes Bucky dizzy, and he feels like he's nothing but an exposed nerve of rage and need and want. He hates Steve's guts and he wants to punch him and drop to his knees and suck him off and have Steve split him open on the obviously massive cock he's rutting against, all at the same time. Then Steve is surging forward and kissing him hard again and Bucky can't think about anything except that he wants to be good, he wants to do whatever it takes to get this itch out from under his skin and fuck.

An intrusive banging on the door cuts into their intense moment, and they freeze with nothing moving but their chests as they pant for breath and wait for whatever interruption is coming.

"Second half, put your dicks away." Sam sounds totally done with whatever he might have overheard or probably just unwillingly pictured in his head, and thankfully he doesn't open the unlocked door. "Two minutes, assholes."

Steve could make him come in less than two minutes, with how riled up Bucky is right now. He's flushed pink all over and Steve isn't in a much better state, both hard and desperate and just as breathless and angry as they were when they left the field. Bucky can tell from the look on Steve's face that he has no intention of making him come, wants to keep Bucky pent-up and sharp until after the game ends and he can afford to fuck him senseless.

Fuck getting chewed out by Pierce, Bucky thinks he could handle it if he had the promise of getting a good, hard fuck first.

"Be good." Steve warns him, reaching down to squeeze Bucky's dick and make him let out an extremely undignified ah of surprise. "And I'll fuck you. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

"I fuckin' hate you." Bucky grits out angrily, which only makes Steve smirk and finally back off, letting Bucky go to catch himself against the wall unsteadily. He feels like all the blood in his body has ended up in his dick, and it makes it hard to think straight. "You'd better fuck me after, or I'm gonna flip you over and go to town, Rogers."

"Better get your shit together and play then, Barnes." Steve adjusts his dick (and his boner had better die fast because that thing is way too visible through his shorts, it kind of makes Bucky's mouth water in a way he'll never, ever admit to) and winks at Bucky in an extremely cheesy manner before he slips out of the equipment room to make his way back to the pitch.

It takes Bucky a minute to get his shit together, to get his heart rate slowing down and for him to stop thinking about the filthy things Steve whispered in his ear enough to get his cock to start deflating a little. He's about to go out there and play the most determined game of his damn career, because there's no way he's going to miss out of the dicking of a lifetime just because the Snakes happen to be destroying them this time around.

They end up drawing the game at four-four, and no shot even comes close to getting past Bucky in the second half. It's the best outcome they could hope for, and Steve catches Bucky's eye with a grin that almost looks proud as they leave the field at the end of the game. It does things to Bucky's guts, that proud look, and he'll never admit to being the first one in the equipment room waiting for Steve as he takes his sweet time packing up his shit. He'd been made a promise, and he's damn well going to make sure it's delivered on.

The Commandos' season might drastically improve after the defence work out a new method of team bonding. It works well enough that the rest of the team pretend not to hear Rogers and Barnes fucking each other silly at inopportune moments and in unfortunately public places, anyway. They might invest in earplugs, sure, but there's a lot of ugly shit that goes into playing the beautiful game and hearing Bucky and Steve talk dirty to each other is just another necessary evil.

It's not possible to buy team shares in brain bleach, Sam checked. Maybe next season they'll pick up enough sponsorship to invest in some soundproofing.