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“If he can’t turn into Sentry he’s kind of fucking useless,” John says, not even trying to get out of earshot of Bob. Bob glares at him, though that is the intended purpose, rile him up, make him try to be more than he is.
Yelena doesn’t like that. “He’s a part of the team whether he turns into Sentry or not,” she says.
“Lookin’ like the or not part of that statement,” John says, turning to look Bob up and down. He doesn’t like what he sees. He’s a long haired weirdo, and he’s not even like Bucky where he has to power to back up his dumb choices. He’s just some guy. Some guy with a penance for ugly clothes that are too big for him. Like he’s hiding something. John doesn’t like him. Well, not liking him isn’t fair. He would like him fine if he were an active member of the team, but he isn't; he's just some useless guy they drag around.
“You’re an asshole,” Yelena says.
“I had to watch my best friend die again to save this guy,” John says. Which is not totally fair and using his emotions to win the argument, but when has John ever given a fuck about throwing a temper tantrum to get what he wants. “The least he could do is learn some practical skills. I fought in-”
“If you want to teach him how to fight, by all means, go ahead,” Yelena says.
“I don’t want him-” Bob starts to say.
“So you want to be useless?” Yelena asks.
Bob shuts up after that. Then he shows up at the gym with John the next day. John decides not to punish him with an ass whooping like he wants to and just sets him onto the machines, which proves to be a wash because the guy can’t lift anything. John really doesn’t understand why he’s here.
“I know I helped save you, but you’re really pathetic,” John says.
“Shut up,” Bob groans, trying so hard to lift sixty pounds. It creeps down to his throat.
John lifts the weight out of his hands. It’s a bit like lifting a thin branch out of the way. He puts it on the rack and lets Bob up just as his phone rings. It’s Olivia, so he steps out to take the call.
“Hey, baby,” John says on instinct and then kicks himself for saying it. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… It’s a habit.”
“It’s fine.” She’s cold. That’s fine.
“What’s up?” John asks. He’s sweating a bit.
“I have to go out of town for a few days, and I was wondering if you could watch our son,” she says.
“Yeah, yeah, for sure I can,” John says, then he remembers… Well, actually, he can’t. “Actually, um, no. Cuz I’m on the Avengers…”
“Of course,” Olivia says, “I shouldn’t have asked. I just thought. I don’t know, maybe you’d want to spend time with your son.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to-” John tries to say. He gets interrupted by her saying it’s fine. He can feel anger rising up inside his core, “I want to, but I have responsibilities.”
“And I don’t?” Olivia asks. He’s not really sure why she’s getting mad at him for saying that, since he never said she didn’t, just that he does.
“Is it not enough that I give you half my fucking check to raise our son?” John asks. He’s definitely flying a bit off the handle. Too late to stop that.
“That’s not a good enough replacement for a parent,” Olivia says.
“Well, I didn’t get much of a say on whether or not I wanted to be a parent now, did I?” John asks.
“You did when you ignored him,” Olivia says.
“I watched Lemar die!” John shouts. Then quieter, “I watched Lemar die, and then you got pregnant. Was I just supposed to be okay?”
“Shut up, John,” Olivia says, “You always bring that up. Lemar died. Don’t you think I know that? He was my friend too.”
“Not like me,” John says.
“I’m not having this conversation with you. Look, if you can. Call me, text me, I don’t care. If not, I’ll just ask some of my family members,” Olivia says.
“Okay. Bye, Olivia,” John says. He presses his thumb into the red phone symbol when he hangs up and shatters his screen. He cusses under his breath and shoves his phone into his pocket before going back into the gym. Bob’s sitting on the mat, stretching. He took his shirt off, which for some reason pisses John off more.
“Put your damn clothes back on,” John barks before heading to a punching bag and starting to hit it. He punches hard over and over until sand starts pouring out of it, then he hits it one time very solidly, and it flies into the mirror-covered wall.
Bob watches this, without putting his shirt on. He doesn’t move from where he’s seated on the ground. He does lay his hands on his lap which would be suspicious if John weren’t so astronomically pissed.
“You okay?” Bob asks.
John looks at him, shoots him some daggers. “I’m fine,” he says.
“Was that your ex-wife?” Bob asks.
John grunts. He’s onto another punching bag.
“You know, talking about it might help,” Bob says.
“I don’t need some long haired fag telling me how to deal with my emotions,” John snaps. His hand penetrates the punching bag, and he pulls it out.
“Who’s Lemar?” Bob asks.
“Don’t fucking say his name,” John says, whipping around.
“Oh, best friend that died, right,” Bob says, as if that confirms anything.
John charges him, picks him up by the collar, and lifts him up the wall. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” John growls.
Bob swallows, but a smile creeps onto his lips as he thinks he’s won something. Yelena isn’t here to save him, though. “Touchy subject.”
John presses into him. His face is so close that Bob can smell the coffee on his breath. He can smell his cologne. He can smell his sweat. Bob has sweat beading on his forehead from his workout. He swallows when he realizes that he may have gone too far. That doesn’t stop him from poking the bear again.
“Seems you and your wife broke up pretty quickly after your best friend died,” Bob says. Not a good move. Especially when John Walker’s brain fills in the reasons why Bob would say that.
“I’m not a fucking queer like you,” John spits and pushes Bob over.
Bob lands on the floor. His brow furrows as he wonders why that was the first thing John assumed he meant. “I was gonna imply that your wife was fucking your best friend on the side, but the way you jumped to me thinking you fucked Lemar is much more compelling to me,” Bob says. Another thing that Bob shouldn’t have said, but John’s already heading out the door.
Bob follows after him because pissing off John seems to have become his new favorite hobby. “You and Lemar ever do anything in the field when there weren’t women around?” Bob asks.
John turns a corner, which is not to his room, and Bob follows because he’s stupid. John grabs him by the collar again. “Do you get off on me shoving you into things?” John asks.
Bob realizes he can take things up a notch and takes his hand and runs it up John’s chest, up his t-shirt, up the hard planes of his abs. John grabs it before it can go anywhere else.
“You’re a freak,” John spits.
Bob can’t look down, but he has a sneaking suspicion that something is stirring in John. He lifts his knee and drags it up John’s thigh and to his groin. His suspicion is right. “You’re getting hard,” Bob says.
“Shut the fuck up,” John says, his hand fully enclosing around Bob’s throat.
“Put Bob down.” It’s Yelena.
John’s actually shaking in rage when Bob slips away and hides behind her. He doesn’t turn around. Just stands there in anger. “He started it,” John says, before walking down the hall.
“I don’t care who-”
“Keep your whiney little dog on a leash,” John shouts.
Bob’s stomach swirls at getting called a dog. He looks at Yelena, who is also shaking in anger. He tries to look pathetic and like he was hurt, but she turns to him.
“Next time I’m letting him pound you,” she says.
Bob doesn’t think he’d be against that.
John has to take a stupid backwards way to get back to his room, and he’s hard. Bob got him hard. That long haired faggot got him hard. The only man who had ever done that before was Lemar. John blames it on the memory of Lemar being fresh in his mind. He tumbles into his bed, still thinking about Lemar.
John rips his shirt off and tugs on his shorts. He has to deal with this. Tries to be clinical about it. Just rub one out, John Walker, but he finds himself thinking about Lemar. The last time they kissed. He’d just gotten the serum and was hyped up and invincible. He’d picked Lemar up like he weighed nothing. He really didn’t, not like before where he took great pride in being able to toss Lemar a bit. Him getting stronger didn’t stop Lemar from bending him over and fucking him though. Their last time burns in his memory. Lemar’s hands. The way he tried to leave a mark, but watched in amazement as they went away as fast as he could leave him. He remembers the comment Lemar made about how it would make sneaking around behind Olivia’s back easier. John wishes that Lemar had gotten the chance to test that theory.
Getting caught cheating, even if it were with another man, would have been better than being a failure of a father. John moans Lemar’s name as he spills into his hand.
Then John’s back in a bad mood because Lemar’s not here anymore. Just John, his hand, and fucking Bob Reynolds to get him all riled up. John pulls his shorts back up. As he does, there’s a knock on the door.
It’s Bob. Like he can read his fucking mind. Maybe he can. John doesn’t know what all he can do.
“What do you want?” John asks.
“I went too far, sorry,” Bob replies.
“What part was too far, Reynolds?” John asks, venomously.
“Not Bobby?” Bob asks.
“Not when you’re being an asshole,” John says.
“I shouldn’t have made that comment about your wife leaving you,” Bob says, “and I definitely shouldn’t have kept on with the Lemar stuff. I don’t think you fucked him. I was just… I don’t know.”
“Damn right, I didn’t fuck Lemar,” John says, “I’m not a fag.”
“Okay, well, I apologized for all that. Are you going to apologize for calling me slurs?” Bob asks.
“No,” John says, trying to slam his door, but Bob slips in before he can. John’s stomach drops.
Bob’s eyes widen as he realizes that there’s come on John’s sheets. He looks at John with a bit of surprise on his face. “Did you come back in here and jack off?” he asks.
“Having a hard on fucking sucks,” John barks.
“How did you even get a boner from shoving me around?” Bob asks.
“I don’t fucking know,” John says, “Adrenaline?”
“From shoving me around?”
“Can you get out of here?” John asks, “I’ve had it up to here with you.” He raises his hand above his head.
“Why are you in such a bad mood? Didn’t you just get off?” Bob asks.
“Fuck you,” John asks.
“If you’re offering,” Bob says.
“You have a death wish,” John says.
Bob’s face changes a bit, like someone hit a switch in him. He puts his hand up on John’s throat and cocks his head. He doesn’t squeeze or anything. Just holds him.
“Maybe, do you think you could do it?”
John swallows. Bob’s thumb rubs up and down John’s Adam's apple.
“If you fuck me, you can’t fucking mention it to anyone,” John says. His voice is way deeper than he thinks he’s ever heard it. He feels a bit possessed. Can Bob do that?
Bob smiles, and it’s a bit unnerving. He shoves John back, and John backs up to bed. He falls back, and Bob tries to climb on top of him.
“No, fuck you. I don’t want to look at you,” John says, climbing onto his hands and knees.
“You got lube?” Bob asks.
“No, I’m not a fag,” John insists.
“This is gonna hurt,” Bob says, “I figure you’ve got a condom at least.”
“Nightstand.”
While Bob gets a condom, John pulls his shorts off. John stares at the sheets in front of him. His come is right in front of his eyes. He wishes he had cleaned it up. Hadn’t really had a chance to, did he? Everything’s moving way too fast. John‘s head spins.
John doesn’t dare turn around. Not when he hears Bob grunt. Not when he hears Bob tear the condom. Not when he feels Bob press a finger inside him. John closes his eyes and breathes out of his nose to try and relax. In through his nose, out through his mouth. Calming breathes.
Bob spits in his hand. It doesn’t seem like enough, so he spits again.
“Get on with it,” John says.
“Okay, okay.”
John shudders when he feels the head of Bob’s cock tease at his hole. Bob’s slow as he pushes in, slow as he drags himself out, and slow as he pushes in again.
“For a guy who’s supposedly never had gay sex, you’re taking my cock really well,” Bob says.
“Just fuck me. Don’t talk to me,” John says, closing his eyes. It feels good enough, real enough. It hurts. Bob’s too slow, but John just wants this to happen. He misses the way that Lemar seemed to know what he needed, or maybe he just wanted Lemar in any way he’d give it to him.
When his mind drifts to Lemar, he gets stuck there. He squeezes his eyes shut and pretends. Pretends they’re in the field. No one’s around. Lemar’s horny and he lets John to know it. Pretends that it’s Lemar behind him fucking him. It’s close enough when John doesn’t think about their differences. Bob doesn’t fuck into him as hard or fast. Bob doesn’t touching him during the act like Lemar did.
But John can pretend, or he could before Bob starts grunting. His voice is too high, too whiney. John wishes he could cover his ears and go back to his perfect fantasy. He thinks hard about what Lemar sounded like when he fucked. Imagines him saying his name, telling him how good he feels. Telling him how pretty he is. No one ever described him as pretty except Lemar. John would make sure to tell him that’s some gay shit, and Lemar would laugh. John feels his orgasm build up. He imagines Lemar telling him to let go, that he’ll take care of him. Just let go.
“Fuck, Lemar,” John says as his orgasm hits him. Then the fantasy is over.
Bob’s rhythm stutters. “Did you just moan a different guy’s name while I fucked you?” he asks.
“Just hurry up, Bobby,” John says, his voice a bit raw.
“‘Kay,” Bob says. Bob thrusts into him faster. His grunting gets louder. John wants to cover his ears. Wants this to be over. He feels him twitch through the condom and cum inside him. He keeps thrusting a few more times and makes the most whiney fucking moans that John’s ever heard until he starts growing soft inside John.
John rolls away from him and grabs his shorts. He barricades himself inside his bathroom and sinks down on the cool tile as tears form in his eyes. This was wrong. He presses his forehead to his knees and breathes in.
“God, Lemar, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know why… Lord, forgive me for what I’ve done. Lemar… I shouldn’t have. God, forgive me,” John rambles.
Bob raps his knuckles gently against the door. “You okay?” he asks.
“Go away,” John shouts.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Bob asks.
“Go the fuck away!” John yells as loudly as he can.
Bob doesn’t say anything after that, and John doesn’t leave the bathroom for another hour. He forces himself to take a shower, feeling dirty. He forces himself to brush his teeth. He strips his bed, and he wants to burn the evidence. Instead, he puts it in his laundry hamper. He empties the trash out with the condom and puts it in two bags as if somehow the others will know what was done if it isn’t carefully hidden.
John remakes his bed with fresh sheets. Sprays the room with air freshener. When all that’s done, he collapses and falls asleep.