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John hates attending charity events.
Don’t get him wrong! He’s glad to see rich people funneling their money into something that actually helps people, or whatever (this one’s for building outdoor protective overhangs in Manhattan, which makes sense after all the alien attacks, and property damage, and unexplainable interconnected shame rooms), instead of their usual super-yacht bullshit. He likes eating his body weight in appetizers, and people watching, and riling Val up by ignoring her when she tries to get him to pose for her like a freaking Ken doll.
But what he doesn’t like—seriously, it should be re-classified as psychological warfare—is Bob Reynolds.
Bob, forced out of his bathrobe and sweats by Mel’s army of interns, dolled up all nice and neat for the cameras surrounding the entrance to the Met. Bob, with his ducked head and small, bashful smiles. Bob with a newly grown-out beard, and curls that have been cut shorter on the sides, and a suit the color of a Hershey’s bar that his strong body looks fucking poured into.
Even just thinking about the guy in formal wear is enough to make John twitchy.
He can handle the version of Bob that exists at the Watchtower! So maybe he still gets all red when Bob compliments his cooking, and yeah, maybe the warmth in his guts gets particularly bad anytime Bob’s thigh touches his when they sit together on the couch, and maybe he’s already had more dreams than he’d liked to admit starring a certain overpowered, curly-haired superhuman fucking him into a mattress—but he can handle it, alright? He can always just scurry away to his room or one of the other hundred floors of the tower, until the burning in his blood cools down a little.
But when they’re out in public? There’s nowhere to run to. Not unless he wants Bucky to send Yelena to come drag him out of a coat closet by the scruff of his neck (again).
Which is why he’s currently scowling next to a champagne tower and cramming pigs in a blanket in his mouth at the speed of light, while Bob awkwardly shakes hands with politicians, and glows handsome and golden beneath the light of a dozen chandeliers. Distantly, John wonders if some evil makeup and hair department employee is out to get him personally, ‘cause someone’s artfully ruffled Bob’s gel-slicked curls, and turned him into a real life freaking Disney prince.
His life totally sucks.
“Care to tell me why you’re hiding?” Ava teases from where she’s suddenly appeared beside him with an Aperol spritz held up in one hand, and a plate stacked high with teeny tiny sandwiches in the other. “Aren’t you the only one of us besides Bucky with any sort of media training? You should be out there saving the rest of us from a mob of reporters.”
“Jesus, Starr, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” He bitches, abandoning his now empty stolen tray of puff pastry on the table behind them.
She gives him a vaguely disgusted look and rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“‘M not a baby.” He whines, searching for something to do with his hands now. Without thinking too hard about it, he grabs one of the full champagne glasses behind him, and downs it in one go, before grabbing a second to sip at a slower pace.
“Hmm…” Ava studies him with a knowing tilt of her head. “Is this about your Bob thing?”
John chokes, nearly spilling his drink down the front of his suit. “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Riiight. Okay then. I’ll just- leave you to your not-pining then, shall I?” She smirks, takes a sip of her own drink, and then phases away, leaving him red-faced and alone.
“I’m not pining.” He lies to empty air. And himself.
…Jesus, is he really that obvious? If Starr knows about his stupid crush, who else on the team might have figured it out? Bucky? Alexei? Fuck, he prays to God Yelena never catches on, otherwise, he’s done for. She’ll string up from the roof of the Watchtower before he can get a word in to defend himself.
And don’t get him even started on what would happen if Bob ever found out.
Shuddering, he protectively clutches his second champagne flute to his chest, and has just taken a step forward to go hunt down another waiter to steal bacon-wrapped scallops from when someone bumps into him hard enough to actually send him stumbling. Whipping his head around, he just barely catches sight of long red hair, and an indecently low-backed green dress, before the person is gone, disappeared into the crowd without an apology.
“Wow. Real nice.” He scoffs, rolls his eyes, and continues forward on his mission to bury his feelings in free food.
Eventually, he manages to snag another tray, right around the time he’s finished downing his drink. With stolen goods in hand, he dejectedly threads his way around the outskirts of the crowd, hoping to avoid any more emotionally revealing conversations. And he actually manages pretty well, until a weird little shiver shoots through him, freezing him in place.
It feels sort of like right after you have to tear yourself from a warm bed on a winter morning, when your whole body erupts into goosebumps at the first kiss of cold air against your skin.
“Jesus, who turned up the A/C in this place?” He mutters to himself, while shaking his shoulders out.
“Oh, hey, Walker!” A painfully familiar voice rumbles from behind.
John silently groans, before forcing himself to turn with a tight smile, and a nod. “Bobby.”
The brunette smiles, expression soft and flushed from the heat of the packed room, paired with the two or three glasses of wine he’d been sipping on throughout the night (not that John had been paying attention, or anything). “Seems like you’re having fun.”
“Huh?” John says dumbly, before Bob nods in the direction of his stolen apps. “Oh. Well, yeah, I mean…say whatever you want about Valentina, but at least she knows how to get a good caterer, am I right?”
Bob chuckles tipsily. “Mhm. Have you tried the shrimp bruschetta yet? I swear I’ve eaten, like, ten of those things already.”
John perks up at that, weird shivers returning in full force. “Oh dude, I fucking love shrimp. One time, when I was, like…nine or ten, maybe? I ate so much shrimp at a family seafood boil that I spent the rest of the night puking up on the dock next to a pod of baby alligators. Lookin’ up and seeing all those bubbles in the water nearby damn near gave me a freaking heart attack.”
He laughs, even as Bob’s eyebrows scrunch together in pity. “...‘M sorry, man. That- That sounds pretty rough.”
“Nah, don’t sweat it.” He shrugs, brushing off the other man’s concern. “Lemar walked a mile down the road to get a ginger ale for my stomach from his dad’s garage, and I still had a huge crush on him at the time, so the whole thing was mostly just sort of nice, you know?”
Bob’s mouth drops open for some reason, dark eyes going wide, as he jerks his head up and down. “Oh. I didn’t- I didn’t know you- that’s- uh-”
“-Hey. Has anyone ever told you that you stutter when you’re nervous?” John picks up a scallop and crams it into his mouth. “It’s cute.”
The shorter man sucks in a sharp breath, and wheezes, while looking over his shoulders furtively. “What- What’s happening right now?”
“I missed lunch getting forced into this freaking monkey suit by Mel’s interns.” John polishes off another two scallops and sets the tray down on a nearby table.
“That’s not what-”
“-You wanna dance?” John interrupts, suddenly desperate to get his hands on the silky brown fabric hugging Bob’s body.
“...With you?” The guy manages to cough out.
“Sure, why not?”
Bob searches his expression for a long, drawn out moment, concern still lingering around the crinkles of his eyes, before he finally licks his lips, and steps backwards towards the dance floor. “...Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Relief floods his body, and he can’t help the huge, cheesy grin that stretches across his face as he follows close behind. “Did you know that I haven’t danced with anyone since my wedding?”
Bob lets out a pained noise. “...Are you- um…Are you feeling okay, Walker?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He blinks in confusion and rests his hands on the brunette’s broad shoulders.
The other man’s flush deepens at the contact, and his movements are jerky, as he takes John by the waist. The touch feels like a brand burning straight through his own maroon suit jacket, but he’s happy enough to ignore it for the time being if it means the two of them can stay here gently swaying in a circle like they’re at a middle school dance.
“You just…more talkative than ‘m used to, I guess.” Bob laughs awkwardly and tightens his grip on John’s hips.
“Must be the champagne.” He shrugs.
Bob doesn’t reply. He just bites the inside of his cheek thoughtfully, and stares as music, and the overlapping conversations happening around them wrap them up in a bubble of warm sound.
After another long moment of silence passes between them, though, John clears his throat, and decides to say the first thing that pops into his head to try and coax out a little more conversation from the man currently holding him like he’s a bomb that’s about to go off. “Your new haircut looks good.”
Bob blinks at him slowly, before finally giving him a weak smile. “...Thanks.”
“Sometimes you fall asleep on my shoulder during movie night and I have to stop myself from runnin’ my fingers through it.” He admits earnestly, still rocking back and forth to a song he doesn’t recognize.
The curly-haired man swallows with a dry-click and lurches to a stop. “Oh. Uh...Really?”
“Oh yeah. I was kind of bummed with the whole- blonde hair thing for a second there. Don’t get me wrong, the Sentry suit is totally hot, but your hair is way better like this. More you.” He stops swaying, too.
“You think the suit’s hot?” Bob croaks, fingers twitching.
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, I mean, I’ve had, like, at least a dozen wet dreams about riding you in that thing.” He chuckles, and shakes his head, enhanced hearing picking up on the heartbeat thundering three inches from his chest. “Although, this suit’s nice, too. Honestly, I like pretty much everything on you—I’d probably like everything off of you, too.”
Bob whimpers.
John glances down between them and raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. “You’re hard.”
Something in Bob seems to snap at that. Dropping his hands from John’s waist, he takes the blonde by his wrist, and pulls him through the crowd towards a hallway across the room. Then, he marches them down the plush blue carpet, opening and closing passing doors in search of…something. Eventually, he peers into a cramped, dark space, and drags them both inside, locking the door behind them, before flicking on a nearby lightswitch.
They’re in a cleaning closet.
“Alright. What the hell is going on, man?” Bob crosses his arms defensively, shoulders curling in.
“I…don’t know what you mean?” He says slowly, while cocking his head to the side like a confused puppy.
“You’ve been acting totally strange all night! Saying all kinds of…you know…stuff! And telling me all these things about growing up, when I- I usually have to beg for details about your life growing up as a kid, so c’mon, tell me what’s going on. Are you sick? Did somebody- Did somebody do something to you?” Bob’s breathing hard at this point and it makes him look like the Frederic James Shields’ sketch his momma keeps magnetized to her refrigerator.
He looks beautiful. “You’re worried about me.”
Bob drags both hands up through his hair. “Yes! Yes, I’m worried about you!”
A shiver works its way down his spine again and he struggles to cover it up. “Can I blow you?”
The noise that crawls its way out of Bob’s throat in response is high-pitched and ragged. “What?”
John drops to his knees and lightly presses the pads of his fingers against Bob’s thighs. “I really want to suck your dick, man.”
Bob licks his lips again, hair falling into his eyes, and peers down at John with a hungry, conflicted stare. “...How many drinks have you had?”
“Just the two.” John reassures him quickly.
The guy groans and squeezes his eyes shut, before they flutter open once more, and he starts shakily undoing the front of his pants. “You’re sure about this?”
His heart speeds up as he realizes what’s happening. Without waiting for Bob to finish getting his pants pulled down enough to start working on his boxers, John leans forward to mouth at the straining cotton of the other man’s underwear, tongue flicking just below the head of his cock. Bob hisses, hips jerking forward, and the soldier sighs happily, while sucking on the patch of precum already seeping through the dark fabric.
“Holy shit, Walker.” Bob whines and scrambles to drag his waistband down, while John does nothing to help, too busy licking and sucking at every inch of the smaller man’s throbbing dick that he can reach.
Once Bob’s underwear has been shoved down, though, things get a whole hell of a lot easier. Now, he can lean back, and stare at the guy’s uncovered, pink cock as it drips obscenely under the fluorescent lights of the closet. “...You have no idea how long I’ve thought about getting my mouth on you.”
Bob gasps like he’s drowning and drops both hands to tangle in John’s short, strawberry blonde hair. “This is- This is crazy.”
John hums noncommittally and dives back in to take the first inch of Bob’s cock passed his lips. Then, he just stays there for a second, letting the weight sit on his tongue, as he gently sucks.
Despite how fucking eager he is, he’s never actually done this before, although he really has thought about it a lot;
After returning home to the tower after a particularly long mission, when weeks had gone by without the sound of Bob laughing, or chatting, or playing video games in the background, he’d stumble through the doors of the elevator, and spy the lanky Florida man sprawled out across the couch in low-slung sweatpants, and that’s all it would take to get him hard in his suit thinking about slipping between the man’s legs to taste the salt on his skin just like he is right now.
Bob blows out a hard puff of air, and thrusts testingly—just a little—just another few inches sliding across John’s tongue to nudge at the back of his throat. The feeling of being filled like this, by him, is so fucking perfect that he groans around the cock in his mouth, sending vibrations shooting through Bob’s length. The brunette whines at the sensation and jerks forward the last few inches needed to bury John’s face against the short hair at his pelvis.
There, the soldier breathes in the musky, masculine scent of him, and then slides all the way back off to kitten-lick at his slit, before messily sucking him all the way down again. He falls into a pattern after that of sliding all the way off, all the way back down, teasing him again and again, going too slow to give him the friction he clearly wants.
Bob only manages another few minutes of this, before he gives up, and makes a dark, desperate noise, while tightening his hold on John's hair (the rough treatment just makes the blonde’s cock twitch inside his slacks). “Christ, you’re such a little tease, Walker.”
And then he starts fucking the soldier’s mouth for real, pistoning his hips forward to slide his wet cock into the tight heat being happily provided by John, who goes limp in his hold. Happy to take what he's being given, John breathes in hard through his nose, and allows himself to be guided on and off of Bob's dick, while he struggles to figure out how to do this without gagging too much.
Thankfully, Bob seems happy enough with pretty much everything he's doing, moaning as John laps at the underside of his cock on every upstroke.
Spit starts to slide down his chin, turning his face slick and red, and honestly? It’s pretty fucking awesome. He wishes it could go on forever. Reaching between his own legs, he palms at his aching cock, and shivers as pleasure shoots through him head-to-toe. It makes him have to break Bob's hold on him in order to pull off and gasp, “Fuck, you taste so good.”
Bob huffs out a manic laugh and moves his hands to cup John's cheeks. “I- I think this is the best one of these stupid events I’ve ever been to.”
He chuckles, staring up at the other man with glassy, adoring eyes, before slowly licking a long line from Bob’s base-to-tip. When he pulls back, a line of spit follows him, before breaking off, and sticking to his chin. “You should cum on my face.”
Bob makes a soft, deep, wobbly noise that seems to blow right through him, and then returns his hands to John’s hair. He nods his head up and down quickly. “...Open your mouth.”
John does. Dropping his mouth open, he sits back on his calves, and tips his head back, putting himself on display for the wild-eyed science experiment now jerking off above him.
When Bob finishes, he stops breathing, whole body going taut and trembling, as warm, wet cum streaks across John’s face, catching on his cheeks, and tongue, and beard. The amount that actually does manage to land in his mouth is salty and thick, and he swallows it down, even though it’s kinda gross, because it’s still Bob, and that’s enough to also make it really fucking hot.
So. You know. Totally worth it.
Afterwards, Bob stares down at him in wonder for a long time…like, kind of a crazy long time, all while breathing like he just ran a marathon. Finally, though, he hauls John to his feet, and kisses him tongue-first, unbothered by the cum spreading between their faces.
John gasps into it and licks up some of the lingering salt on Bob's lips, hips jumping forward to grind his cock against the other man’s bare waist, which only encourages the guy to grab the soldier by the ass and rock him forward, and that feels fucking incredible, so he thinks fuck it, and starts humping Bob’s side like a dog in heat.
The whole time, the shorter man just keeps on noisily sucking in air through his nose, desperately lapping up the taste of maple and cum from John’s mouth. He rubs circles with his tongue over the blonde’s bottom lip, before sucking it into his mouth, and tugging a little.
Everything is hot, and slick, and perfect, and he wants to cum so freaking bad that it hurts. “Bob- Bobby, please.”
“Yeah- fuck, John. Whatever you want, baby.” Bob’s still out of breath, even as he fumbles for John’s belt. Once he gets it undone, long fingers push John’s pants down to his knees—along with his best forest green briefs—before taking his hard cock out and squeezing.
John grunts and thrusts forward without even giving Bob time to do anything. Instead, he fucks Bob’s fist fast, and hard, and the other guy just lets him—just watches as John chases his own release, grip tight, but unmoving. Bob then uses his free hand to push John up against a nearby floor-to-cieling shelf, while hiking one of the soldier’s thick thighs up and around his waist. Random cleaning supplies clatter behind him with the strength in which he’s grinding against Bob’s hand, but he doesn’t fucking care, ‘cause he’s too busy cumming with a force that’s frankly concerning.
He honestly might black out a little for a minute there. Spots dance around the edges of his vision, and his body gets all warm and floaty, right before one last shiver spasms through his ribcage. “I think I’m…I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”
Both of them freeze. Bob, because he’s busy staring at John like he’s grown a second head, and John, because the totally chill, rose-tinted film covering everything for the past hour has suddenly been ripped away, leaving him half-blinded by the sudden brightness of the world around him.
“You love me?”
John blinks rapidly, struggling to get his thoughts in order, as the weight of everything he’s said and done sends panic shooting through his blood. “I’m- Fuck, I-”
Bob uses the hand not digging into John’s thigh to cup the soldier’s jaw, and pull him into another kiss—although, to be fair, this one is a whole hell of a lot more chaste than their first one.
And holy shit. They had a first kiss. They’re kissing right now. Technically, John’s pretty sure what they did counts as sex.
While the panic is still there, it’s hard to be too freaked out when he’s got Bob’s tongue down his throat, frantic groans spilling into the air between them. Yeah, his instincts are still screaming at him to run. To fight…something. Someone. To do anything to gain back some of the control he’d lost at some point in the night. But he fucking can’t.
He can’t, because despite clearly having his brain tampered with, he’s wanted this for a really long time. Probably since the vault, if he’s being honest with himself. And now that he’s finally getting it, he’s scared of fucking it up.
But the smaller man doesn’t seem worried. He’s too busy happily breaking away from their kiss, in order to nuzzle up against John’s neck, and suck.
John whines without thinking and Bob presses a kiss below his ear. “I…I love you, too. God- fuck, I never thought you’d give me a shot, and now I’ve got you here in this- this fucking suit-”
“My suit?” John scoffs, trying to hide the blush spreading across his cheekbones at the word love coming from Bob’s lips. “Jesus, have you seen yourself in this thing? I thought I was gonna blow a freaking gasket out there.”
Bob laughs and some of the tension bleeds out of John’s body. The smaller man pets at the exposed skin of his thigh and shrugs. “...I noticed you staring. Guess I just thought- I don’t know, maybe you were pissed? Or- Or something like that?”
Pissed? He’s pissed about being drugged, and about waiting so freaking long to do something about his crush, and about all of the heckling he’s gonna have to put up with from the rest of the team once they find out about this. He’s pissed about Val forcing them to come here and the little bit of maple syrup he’d spilled on his cool rabbit tie.
But pissed about being here with Bob? Having…anything like this again, after all he’s said and done?
Not a chance in hell.
Shoving down his embarrassment, Walker bravely leans forward to brush a kiss of his own against Bob’s temple. And when he pulls back, warmth fizzling in his guts, he doesn’t shiver once. “Nah. I was just…pining, I guess.”