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John stopped paying attention to the mission briefing about ten minutes, fourteen seconds ago.
Funnily enough, Bob strolled into the meeting room with a Zyn in one hand, and a mug filled with Cocoa Pebbles in the other exactly ten minutes, seventeen seconds ago.
It was totally a coincidence.
A weird, warm, fizzy sensation is building low in John’s stomach and climbing its way up through his throat, making it hard to speak when Yelena or Bucky throws a question his way. It’s fine, though. He’s…handling it. Whatever it is.
His pale eyes slide back over to Bob, who’s sitting backwards in a roll-y chair across the table, swinging his lithe, muscular body back and forth, while taking massive bites of cereal. John’s been trying his best to avoid looking in his direction, for unrelated reasons, but he hasn’t had much luck so far.
For some reason, he just can not stop staring at the guy today. He’s starting to feel like a creep.
“What are you wearing?” It takes a second for him to realize the question came from his own mouth. John glances around, all eyes now on him, and clears his throat in embarrassment, before nodding in the smaller man’s direction. “I was just…curious. If it was for, you know, a special occasion. Or something.”
God, he sounds so awkward. What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Hmm?” Bob looks around, before pointing to himself for clarification. “Uh- me?”
John licks his lips and tries to keep his voice from coming out strangled. “Yes, you, Bobby.”
“Oh! Do you like it? Lena picked it out at the mall. Thought it was funny.” He shrugs and takes another bite of cereal, unbothered by all the attention. “We got it on discount, you know, since the holiday’s over now, and all.”
“Uh…” John blinks real fast and forces his eyes back to Bucky, who’s standing at the front of the room, impatiently waiting to finish giving out roles for this next assignment. “Yeah. It’s…cool, I guess.”
“Don’t be a dick, Walker.” Yelena says warningly, without looking up from the holo-file in front of her.
“What? I didn’t even say anything!” He huffs and crosses his arms.
“I think you look nice, Bob. Very festive.” Ava pipes in reassuringly.
Bob smiles awkwardly and rubs the back of his head, dragging the short material of his shirt even further up his chest than it had been before. “Thanks, Ava.”
John’s eyes stray to that wide expanse of tan skin on display, mouth feeling weirdly dry the longer he looks. Which just makes the hot feeling in his gut get even worse, and really, he’s about five seconds away from high-tailing it to the gym to try and work off whatever this is that’s happening to him, ‘cause the alternative is combusting on the spot.
The problem is, Bob had walked into the room with this…shirt on. If you could even call it that. It was bright red and short-sleeved, cutting off just below his pecs, with a little heart cut-out in the dead center of it that made John feel weirdly sweaty. But that wasn’t all. He also had on a pair of indecently low-slung grey sweatpants that rested below the vee of his hips that—oh, yeah—belonged to John. All that, plus the light stubble covering his jaw that the guy clearly hadn’t had the time to shave off this morning, was driving the soldier insane and he couldn’t figure out why.
“I didn’t say it wasn’t nice…” He’s totally not pouting. He’s not.
“It’s cool, Walker. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Bob turns that thin smile of his in John’s direction, and now he feels like an asshole for some reason, even though he hadn’t meant anything by it.
He was just…curious. About the outfit, not- not anything else. There’s absolutely nothing else to be curious about. Not these odd, fluttery feelings, not the flush he can feel creeping down his neck, not the tenseness of his muscles holding him back from doing something astronomically stupid, like trying to reach across the conference table to touch.
Holy shit, he has got to get a grip.
“...and then Alexei will come in from the main entrance on your six…”
But seriously, have Bob’s shoulders always looked like that?
“...you won’t have much time after the alarms go off…”
It’s kind of not fair how great the dude’s abs are, considering how often he skips out on his training sessions.
“...and if you leave the hard drive behind, the whole thing’s a bust, so remember to stay on target…”
The red of the shirt actually makes Bob’s eyes look blue for once, dark and glittering like…like something dark and glittering.
A finger snaps in front of his face and he jumps. “Jesus, what?”
“You aren’t listening!” Yelena accuses.
“Uh- are, too!” He shoots back with a scowl.
“You are not! You’ve got this crazy look in your eyes, like you’re-” She stops, stares at him for a long moment with a look of growing understanding, and then slowly turns to face the direction his eyes had just been pointing.
Which, yeah, was towards Pretty Boy Bob.
Pretty? John shoves down the panic and confusion threatening to spill out from the back of his throat, and lurches forward a little in his seat. “I’m going in from the East entrance for the hard drive, while Alexei joins me from the side. In and out, keep the comms clear, stay on-target, blah blah blah. I’ve got this, alright? So- when are we leaving?”
He desperately prays she drops it, and for one nerve racking second, it looks like she’s not going to let it go. But she eventually nods and turns back towards Bucky. “We leave in the next hour. That gives us time to suit up and prepare, without missing our opening.”
“Meet back up on the helipad?” Bucky asks with his hands on his hips.
The sound of John’s chair scraping across the floor is jarring in the quiet of the room, but he ignores it, too busy trying to get out of here as soon as humanly possible to worry about damaging the marble. “Sounds good. I gotta go- uh- grab something. In my room.”
He tosses a thumb over his shoulder, and nearly trips over the foot of his chair in his hurry to get away. Everyone’s looking at him like he’s insane, and for once, they might actually be right. Because this entire situation feels like a mix between a nightmare and a shame room, and he’s not really sure how to fight his way out of this one.
But he can run, and so he does, slamming the door of his bedroom closed with a little too much force once he makes it down the hallway. The feelings don’t go away, though. His heart still feel fast and gooey, and his lungs feel overworked, and his stomach feels drawn too tight, and he’s only felt this way once before, and-
-Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck, shit.
“No.” He groans and tugs both hands through his short hair in frustration. John’s 39 freaking years old—way too old to be having a crisis like this. But he can’t stop picturing the veins in Bob’s arm muscles, and that stupid little heart cut out over his tits, and the look of John’s clothes pooling around his hips.
Has he ever thought about Bob like this before? Searching back through his memory, he desperately tries to find some sort of evidence to help him figure this out; like the way Bob always gets those dimple things anytime John tries to explain football to him on game days, and how it always makes John smile to see them, even though smiling just ‘cause someone else is smiling is probably stupid. Or how Bob’ll sometimes make the team dinner the night after a mission, so that John doesn’t have to cook (even if it’s only ever frozen or boxed crap). There’s also how good it feels to have Bob warm and snug between his legs on the mat of the gym whenever they’re training. John will get him flat on his back and get this wild, dark thrill low in his gut just from keeping him held down, and that’s-
-yeah, that’s maybe a sign that he’s been having these thoughts for a while now.
Is he gay? He’d been married to a woman for twenty years, so probably not. He grew up flipping through Victoria Secret magazines with his friends at sleepovers, and lusting after Rachel Weisz in The Mummy, and taping Sports Illustrated posters to the back of his bedroom door. Before moving into the tower, John still would have considered himself a, you know, ally or whatever, seeing as he never had any issue with gay people, despite his parent’s more conservative views.
He just never felt that way himself.
Until he saw Bob Reynolds wearing a crop top, and then found himself half-hard in his jeans, nervous sweat pooling at the dip of his back.
“Uh- Hey, Walker, you okay in there?”
Fuck. John desperately tries to calm down, but just the sound of Bob’s voice right now is enough to make him both turned on and deeply panicked. “I’m a little busy in here, Bobby!”
“Oh…Okay, yeah- yeah, I can come back later, I was just- a little worried, I guess.” The other man lets out an awkward, huffing sort of laugh from the other side of the wood. “You ran out of that meeting room pretty fast.”
“Yeah, well, I had stuff to do, okay?” John bites out, wincing at the clipped tone he’d accidentally slipped into. It doesn’t help that there’s a long beat of silence from the other side of the door that feels distinctly hurt. Quickly trying to salvage things, he turns and reluctantly opens the door, apology on the tip of his tongue that’s immediately forgotten as he goes right back to staring at Bob like an idiot.
Hell, he just looks- he looks so cute. All pink skin and sculpted muscles. Even the dorky way he rocks back onto his heels, hands shoved deep into his pockets is doing it for John.
Maybe he’s that other type of gay, that one where you like both? He can’t really remember what that one’s called right now, but he can always look it up later, once he’s politely gotten rid of the confusing wet dream still lurking outside his doorframe.
Bob clears his throat, and tucks his hair behind his ears (which does not help him calm down, like, at all). “Sorry. I didn’t- I don’t want to bother you, or anything.”
“You’re not bothering me.” He says on instinct.
“Oh.” Bob blinks rapidly and smiles a little. “Cool. That’s- That’s cool.”
John continues to stare.
“So…uh- are you…are you sure you’re okay?”
John says nothing.
“You look a little warm…” Bob cocks his head to the side and leans forward to press the back of his hand to the other man’s forehead.
Walker, however, is faster, and he catches Bob’s wrist before it can make contact, keeping him from touching his face like it’ll somehow make this whole thing better. “...I’m fine.”
Bob swallows and stands frozen with his hand caught in John’s grip. “Right…no, of course. I just thought…”
“You thought what?” Christ, why does his voice sound so strained?
“I guess I thought maybe…maybe you were upset? About the girls accusing you of…I don’t know, being a dick to me, or whatever. Not that I think you were being a dick! Seriously, I- I know you don’t give a shit what kind of clothes I wear-”
“-I care.” He interrupts without thinking, instantly regretting it.
“You…do?” Bob’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. “So, wait…were you trying to be a dick back there? ‘Cause if so, that’s really not cool, man-”
Okay, well he can’t let the guy think he’s an asshole. It’s been hard enough as it is getting the team to trust him these past few months. “-I think it looks good. Your…shirt thing. It’s good.”
Maybe if he tries hard enough, he can make himself disappear through sheer force of will.
“...You think it looks good?” Bob repeats slowly, deep voice pitched even lower than usual.
“Uuuuuuh…” John’s mouth opens and closes a few times as he tries to figure out how to get out of this. So far, he’s come up with nothing. “Yes?”
Bob stares at him for a second and then scoffs, still not pulling away. “C’mon, man, no one’s forcing you to give me compliments, or anything. I get that crop tops probably aren’t your thing, or whatever, but-”
“-They are. My thing.” He says, brain struggling to come up with words. “Not on me! I don’t- I’m not- but on you-”
“-On me?” Bob raises both eyebrows, the same look of understanding Yelena had earlier growing across his beautiful face.
It’s nice that everyone else has got this figured out, now it’d be fucking great if he could have a turn. “Yeah. Yeah, on you it’s…uh.”
He’s never felt this lost in his entire life, but Bob doesn’t seem to mind much. Instead, he uses the hold still around his wrist to push John backwards into the room, following close behind. He shuts the door behind them with his free hand and then stares in the heavy silence of the bedroom. “...You like seein’ me in a crop top.”
It’s not a question.
“Maybe...” He shrugs helplessly, feeling warm, and silly, and out of his depth. “...Yes.”
“Oh.” Bob nods. “Okay.”
And then they’re kissing. Bob and John. Two dudes. They’re standing flush together, and Bob’s gently coaxing John’s mouth open, and he just lets him—just opens up for the smaller man’s tongue and enjoys the feeling of making out with someone for the first time in over a year. It’s different from kissing a girl, but still nice. Bob’s stubble scraps against the outside of John’s lips, making them tingle, and he seems to like it when John nips at his mouth, trying to mark up the pretty curve of his smile. All in all, it’s a little rougher than he’s used to, but it definitely clears some things up on the whole sort of gay thing he’d been struggling with.
‘Cause now that John’s tasted the unique combination of chocolate cereal and cinnamon Zyn on the back of Bob’s teeth, he has that same wild, dark need to feel his body beneath his, just like when they’re training. Only this time, he’d like there to be a little less clothes involved.
“Take your pants off and get on the bed.” John drags his mouth away to breathe the demand into Bob’s throat.
“Uh huh, yep.” Bob bobs his head up and down and stumbles over to the queen sized mattress pushed up against the far wall, kicking John’s sweats off his legs as he goes.
Only, Bob’s not wearing any underwear, so when he collapses back onto the soft grey comforter of John’s bed, his sweet pink cock is already on display, curving hard against the skin of his belly.
“Jesus Christ.” John feels winded. He takes a long look, letting his eyes trail down the miles of exposed skin laid out in his bed like a Christmas present, and then he stalks forward, dragging his t-shirt over his head as he goes, without turning away.
It’s really not as hard as he thought it would be to crawl into bed after another man, using his weight to press him down into the mattress. And any hang-ups he thought he’d have disappear at the feeling of Bob’s bare thighs between his legs. He’s a little too busy taking the opportunity to run a big hand up the length of Bob’s tight stomach, until his fingers slip beneath the loose material of that itty bitty top, brushing up against one of his nipples.
Bob lets out this soft, high noise at the touch that John’s kind of immediately obsessed with, and so he shoves the red fabric up past his pecs, and goes back to pinching and rubbing, until Bob’s nipples are all hard and rosy. Then he slides down on the bed, until he can suck one of them into his mouth, gently tugging with his teeth.
The other man chokes and writhes beneath him, pushing up into the feeling in awkward, jolting motions that make John grin. He pulls off with a wet noise and moves a hand to Bob’s hip, pinning him down. “Ssh, be still for me, baby.”
Bob whines, and John can feel the shiver that runs through him at the petname. “S- Sorry. It’s been a while.”
His voice sounds like syrup covered broken glass, thick and jagged.
John just moves back up and kisses him on the cheek, petting the warm skin of his waist as he hovers over him. “That’s fine. I’m- uh- not really used to this, to be honest. But…I really wanna make you feel good, if that’s- I mean, if that’s okay?”
Bob looks into his eyes with a mixture of caution and want, and nods, curls coming untucked as he does. “Okay. Yeah, whatever you want.”
John’s smile turns predatory, and the hand on Bob’s side starts to migrate towards his center, calloused fingers trailing across the sharp line of his hipbone. “...Whatever I want, huh?”
Bob’s eyes squeeze shut.
Psyching himself up with a sneaky deep breath, he curls a hand around Bob’s dick and testingly strokes up and down, a strange sort of delight filling him head-to-toe when it makes the other man moan. He adjusts his grip, tightening his hold ever so slightly, and then picks a lazy, rough sort of pace that has precum beading from Bob’s tip in no time. “Is that good, baby?”
“Uh huh.” Bob sighs, body shaking from holding himself still.
But it’s not enough. He wants to see him crack, wants to make Bob feel so good, he can’t help but give in and fall apart for him. For John Walker. So with a small frown of concentration, he pauses to bring the tips of three digits to Bob’s lips. “Open.”
Dark blue eyes blink open, a thin ring of gold around the edges. He’s- fuck, he’s so fucking beautiful, how could John have gone this long without noticing? When the brunette complies obediently, opening his mouth wide to suck on John’s fingers, the soldier can’t hold back a moan of his own, hot desire ripping through his stomach. He rubs his fingers back and forth against Bob’s tongue, getting them nice and wet, and then pulls them back out before he can get too close to cumming.
Bob makes a small noise of loss at that, but John just shushes him again, and brings his slick hand back down to the other man’s perfect cock, spit easing the way of his fist. He takes the time to memorize the feeling of hot skin, and the variety of broken noises spilling past Bob’s lips, and the blush spreading from the tops of his cheeks down to his thighs.
It’s all…a lot. New. But he really doesn’t want it to stop. Judging by the tremors jumping across Bob’s muscles, he’s not gonna have much of a choice, though. The brunette only lasts another minute, before his hips start rocking up again. “Please. Please, please, I need-”
His words get caught up in his throat, head tipping back as he groans.
“What do you need, baby?” John whispers back, bending his head to try and suck a hickey onto the skin of Bob’s throat.
The other man shivers, throat working. “...Faster. I- I need it faster.”
“Yeah?” His fist begins to blur over Bob’s flushed, wet dick. “Like that?”
Bob nods his head quickly and lets out a beautiful, wrecked sound, moisture clinging to the corners of his lashes as his stomach flexes, and he cums almost immediately, shooting thick and messy over John’s fingers.
And then he keeps cumming. For a while. It must be whatever specific form of super serum they pumped into him, ‘cause John’s pretty sure there’s no way his cock does that. He likes watching as it happens, though. Likes seeing Bob’s body start to unlock, settling back heavy into the sheets. Likes watching the rise and fall of his chest, and the twitching of his steadily softening dick still caught between John’s fingers. Likes the bashful, goofy way he looks up at the soldier above him and smiles.
“Thanks- Thank you. That was nice.” He sighs. And then he seems to remember something, propping himself up on his forearms. “Wait, you didn’t-”
“-Don’t worry about me.” John interrupts with a small shake of his head. It surprises him how little he cares about getting off; not when he’s got Bob laying all safe and secure between his arms.
Bob, however, ignores him. He whines, lays back down flat, and tugs on John’s hips to try and guide him up.
“Bobby, what-” John laughs.
“C’mere.” Bob mutters lowly. His eyes glow a bit more, and he seems to give up on waiting, choosing instead to tap into his Sentry strength to slide John high up his chest.
“I don’t- You don’t have to.” John stammers, cock so hard in his sweatpants that it hurts.
Bob just hums and tilts his head to the side to take him in. The usually quiet, nervous look on his face has been replaced with a dark intensity. “...I thought you said you liked it. You know…my outfit.”
John clears his throat and runs his clean hand through his hair. “I- well, yeah, of course, I like it.”
“Really...then why don’t you show me, Walker?” Bob reaches up, peels the waistband on John’s pants down a few inches, and angles John’s aching cock between his pecs, using the flat of his hand to rub him there in small, rocking motions that make the blonde’s eyes roll back in his head.
“O-h fuck.” He ruts forward, grinding down hard between the guy’s tits just once, before freezing again in uncertainty. “...You’re sure?”
“Mhm. I wanna see it.”
John groans and moves his clean hand to the headboard for leverage, grip tight enough to make wood creek, while forcing fingers still wet with cum passed Bob’s lip, sliding back into his mouth in a pantomime of what he’s doing to his chest. Meanwhile, his dick rubs across overheated skin, smearing precum against the rucked up material of that stupid, little crop top with every jerk of his hips. Bob’s hand continues to provide an extra layer of friction, creating a perfect, hot space for him to fuck into, and holy shit, it feels so good. “Holy shit, you feel so good.”
Bob chuckles breathlessly, and looks at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes, right before craning his neck forward, moving off of the soldier’s fingers to kitten lick at John’s tip. It’s like getting tased with Widow Bites, the way his whole body spasms on the other man’s chest. The wood of the headboard splinters beneath his hold, and he’s gasping, shoving his cock harder, messier towards Bob’s now open mouth. Bob seems pleased by his reaction, judging by all the eager noises he’s letting out now, and the hand that had been pressing against his shaft now guides him deeper, the first inch of his dick disappearing passed Bob’s lips.
Shit, no one’s given John a blowjob in two years, and this is close enough to make him whimper. And Bob’s tongue. He laps at the spot just below the head of John’s dick and it’s like every amazing feeling in the world times ten. John thinks, fuck it, and tangles his sticky fingers through Bob’s curls for support as he continues to chase more and more of that feeling. “God, you’re perfect. You’re perfect, Bobby, so good for me.”
Bob’s eyes are golden slits now and he hums, sending vibrations shooting up John’s cock. It’s too much. It’s spit, and heat, and more human touch than he’s had in a very long time, and before he can try and slow down, he’s jerking through an orgasm, cum spilling out of Bob’s mouth onto the curve of his chest, while John makes a really fucking embarrassing dying sound.
He has to take a second to breathe after that, still gasping and mindlessly rocking into the mess he’d made without giving it much thought, until Bob sighs. Then, John’s eyes flick towards the noise and finds the other man already staring back, all sweet and relaxed. He looks so comfortable like this, like being in John’s bed is exactly where he’s supposed to be.
And hey, maybe it is. John would like it to be. “Uh…hi.”
“Hey.” Bob grins back, curls sticking to his face.
Jesus, that smile goes to his head. He should probably be overthinking this by now, and he probably would be, if it weren’t for the tingly, post-orgasm chemicals flooding his body. As it is, he’s just too damn happy. And so he chooses to ignore the freak out he’s probably going to have about this later, and leans down for a (mostly) chaste kiss, before pulling back to keep smiling at Bob like a loon. “I- uh- had a nice time. You know, with you.”
Bob beams at him and scooches himself up into sitting to steal a kiss of his own (one that’s…less chaste). When he pulls away, he continues to have this easy air around him that makes the thought of cleaning them up, and curling together for a nap sound mighty tempting. Unfortunately, John has to leave for a mission in the next fifteen minutes or the others are going to come look for them, and that is not a conversation he wants to have any time soon. “I should- I should probably get suited up.”
“Oh…yeah.” Bob’s face falls, but he tries to hide it behind a weak smile. “Probably.”
“...I’d rather stay here with you, though.” John blurts out shyly. He feels all of sixteen again, asking out his first crush after a JV football game.
“You would?” Bob asks quietly, glancing away and back again, like he doesn’t quite believe him.
“Hmm…let’s see; spend the rest of my day with Alexei dodgin’ bullets ooor stay home with a beautiful guy in my bed…” John pretends to think about it, before rolling his eyes and raining a few more kisses across Bob’s cheeks, who chuckles in surprise. “Uh- yeah, of course, I’d rather stay here with you.”
Bob gently cups John’s jaw in a way that sends butterflies through his stomach and shoots him a crooked smile. “Well, I can...I can wait up for you. If you want?”
“You’d- uh…You’d really stay?” Now it’s his turn to glance away. The thought of Bob keeping his bed warm, while John’s off on some mission is…mindblowing. Overwhelming. Something he wants badly enough to start freaking out a little early.
“Yeah, well, I mean, I am pretty comfortable.” Bob gestures towards his ruined top half. “Although, I should- um- probably clean up soon.”
“Shit. Right, just- don’t move!” John stumbles out of bed and heads to the bathroom for a warm wash cloth, which he brings back to start carefully wiping Bob down. Once he’s got most of the dried cum off of his chest, he moves on to cleaning off his dick, trying to be mindful of how sensitive he probably is. Bob hisses, but doesn’t move away, and so John continues until he deems the job done enough. Then, he gently lifts the bunched up material of Bob’s shirt over his head, and pats around on the floor for a second, until he comes back with the balled up pair of sweatpants and one of his own work out hoodies in hand. The sweatpants slip back on easily, but the hoodie is sleeveless, so it won’t keep him very warm. Still, it’s clean, and Bob touches the fabric covering his chest with a wide-eyed look that makes John preen and sit back on his heels to admire a job well done. “Perfect.”
“Wow.” Bob blushes and plops backwards to burrow back into the blankets. “I never would’ve pegged you for such a sweet talker, Walker.”
“John.” He replies automatically.
Bob’s face crinkles a little in confusion, even as he continues to grin. “Uh…what?”
“Call me John.” Why does his chest feel so tight all of a sudden?
“Okay…” Bob nods slowly, face smoothing back out into that shy, pleased place it had been in before. ”John.”
He hides his dopey smile by turning around to clean himself up, and get dressed. “I really do have to go though, unless I want Yelena to come kick my ass.”
“Sounds about right.” Bob agrees from behind. “...Can you- uh- promise me something, though?”
The soldier stops fiddling with his utility belt to turn and face the other man again, eyebrows raised. “Uh…Sure, yeah, anything.”
Bob bites at the inside of his cheek, stops, and clears his throat. “...Try and be safe…okay?”
Oh. John blinks for a second and then walks back over to press a thumb to Bob’s lower lip. “You worried about me, Bobby?”
He shakes his curly head and shrugs playfully. “Nah. I just don’t really feel like making dinner tonight.”
“Smart ass.” John snorts and leans over the bed to snag another searing, open-mouthed kiss. And when he pulls away, looking down into fully blue eyes, he has three earth-shattering revelations;
1.) When he gets back from this mission, he’s gonna take Bob out on a date—a real one.
2.) He’s definitely at least a little bit gay, which is more gay than he thought he was before this morning meeting, but that’s maybe not such a bad thing.
3.) Someday in the near future he’s gonna thank Yelena for buying that shirt. It’s gonna be super uncomfortable for everyone involved, but he’s gonna do it, because it’s totally worth it. Bobby is worth it.
Bob thinks that John’s someone worth staying for. Now all that’s left to do is prove him right.