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sunriseverse · 4 years

Note

rec listtttttttttttttttttttttttttttt

fair warning there’s a lot of different fandoms here—i have, uh. twenty-two pages of bookmarks. lots of newmann though, i promise. in no particular order, i give you a fic rec list

the future’s owned by you and me by kaiyen (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Not Rated)

Years after they stopped writing each other, Newt and Hermann run into each other on the steps of Cambridge University Library. Quite literally.

Newt stares at him, expecting more. He doesn’t get any. “Come on, man, who are you? Maybe I’ve read something.”

I doubt it, Hermann barely catches himself from saying. “Gottlieb. Hermann Gottlieb.”

And Newt looks like he’s struck oil. “Oh my god,” he says, and something flickers behind his eyes, like there’s more than just recognition there, and before he can wonder any more about what it is, Newt blurts, “Oh my god!” and Hermann flinches and makes a face like a disgruntled frog.

What you can expect: emotions, opprotunities missed, and opprotunities taken. I absolutely adore this fic, though I might be biased by the fact that it has Newt as bipolar, and that’s something I always crave (more bipolar Newt fic when???).

Survival is for Nerds by Annabeelee (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 46k, Teen and Up)

It's three hundred and two years after humanity lost to the Kaiju and two hundred and twenty one since the Kaiju left. Not that it matters to Hermann. In relation to following a neurotic genetic experiment across whats left of the Northern American continent while dodging alien predators and hostile subgroups of humans, its possibly the least helpful thing to keep in mind.

What you can expect: scifi, tension, and a very intersting world. Post-apocalyptic, technically, but the way it’s written makes it almost hopeful. I love how the setting and writing makes it feel like a blend between victorian steampunk and futuristic in tone.

people can surprise you (or not) by pdameron (James Bond, James Bond/Q, 10k, Teen and Up)

“I’m not you, Bond. I don’t exactly have a technique for getting rich strangers to like me.”

“Just do your naive cute puppy thing, and they’ll be doting on you in no time,” Bond replies as he pulls up to the grand estate.

“My what?” Q asks incredulously. Bond doesn’t answer, simply giving him an indulgent smile. The fucker.

(or: 00q meets Gosford Park. Except not really.)

What you can expect: humour, murder, and some light espionage. Also, fake dating.

Infinite Distance by lachatblanche (X-Men, Erik Lensherr/Charles Xavier, 7k, Teen and Up)

When they encounter an unfamiliar and seemingly-abandoned ship in the middle of nowhere in space, Captain Charles Xavier of the spaceship Graymalkin heads out to investigate.

What you can expect: drama! Intruige! It’s set in space! I read this a while ago but I have memories of it being rather riveting despite the relatively short length.

Gertrude’s Goulash by lollzie (Gotham, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot, 7k, General Audiences)

Ed needs a new roommate. Oswald needs a room. Oswald may just be the most amazing person Ed has ever met. Shame he's not single. Cue wooing via the medium of cooking.

What you can expect: pining, misunderstandings, obliviousness, and a lot of goulash as a method of romancing.

Death Of The Author by happygolovely (Gotham, Edward Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot, 9k, Mature)

Edward Nygma was never intended to be anything more than a secondary character.

The Riddler demands otherwise.

What you can expect: a story within a story within a story. You think you have it figured out, and the next moment the carpet is yanked out from beneath you. Fairly dark, possibly disturbing, but my goodness if it’s not engaging.

we make our friends, we make our enemies by ORiley42 (Mission: Impossible, Benji Dunn/Ethan Hunt, 52k, Teen and Up)

Benji finds out he has a new neighbor. This new neighbor happens to be off-the-charts hot. Hijinks, friendship, more-than-friendship, and secret agent drama ensue.

What you can expect: pining. There’s spy stuff going on too, and it eventually gets brought up, but my gods, the pining. Also, it’s fucking hilarious, and, at just over fifty thousand words, the perfect read when you’ve got an hour or two and you want something that’ll make you both laugh and cry.

Self-Sabotage by EmilyweepsforPilfrey (James Bond, James Bond/Q, 2k, Teen and Up)

For some reason, whenever he's alone with Bond, the most ridiculous things come out of Q's mouth.

Or 'the one where Q accidentally invents a girlfriend'.

What you can expect: Q being an utter idiot. It’s hilarious. Nice quick bite of humour if you fancy it.

The Long Con by harleygirl2648 (Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, 19k, Teen and Up)

There are two kinds of cons: long and short. Short cons mean short-term gain, with smaller rewards, mostly just everything you have in your pocket at that moment. Long cons mean lots of time, effort, costumes, masks, props, sets, and other characters all looking to set up the downfall of the mark and take them for all that they've got.

Con Artist/Thieves AU: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are both interested in acquiring a Botticelli, but both of them are quite fond of each other's short games. For both of them, it's the deception and thrill of the game that's worth more than the payout.

And well, after all, aren't the easiest people to scam are those who think they are smart enough to not get scammed?

What you can expect: no cannibalism, a lot of banter, and, of course, con artistry. Quite delightful if I do say so myself.

deus ex machina by coloredink (Hannibal, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, 26k, Teen and Up)

"What the hell?" said Katz. "Is that--"

"Yeah, I know, it's kinda flashy." Will shut the car door behind him and patted his pockets for the little fob to lock the car.

"Isn't that Hannibal Lecter's car?"

The car beeped to indicate it was locked. "Yeah, I guess so." Will walked away, toward the field, Katz on his heels. "I needed a new car."

"So you bought the cannibal car?"

-----

You asked for it: the one where Hannibal is a murderous self-driving car.

What you can expect: what it says on the tin. Quite funny, especially with the element of magical realism meaning Hanni-car is sentient. The Hannigram is more vaguely implied than an actual thing, owing, probably, to the fact that Hannibal is, well, a car.

adapt, evolve, become. by peupeugunn (Alex Rider, Gen, 3k, Not Rated)

“This is how you get out. You're slowly moving towards a desk job.” A pause, then, “you know, most people do it the other way around.” Alex chuckles softly and and shuffles towards him to lean against his shoulder, burrowing into the crook of his neck. Ben’s arm winds around him, shields him from the world, a solid weight on his back. “You're going to miss the adrenaline rushes, kid.” There's something almost sad in his voice. Alex doesn't want to understand why. Down that road lies madness.

What you can expect: a character study, in a bit of a roundabout way.

A Sharp Dressed Man by Avelera (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 12k, Teen and Up)

Hermann's latest book needs an author photo. However, when he's given a makeover and a suit that actually fits for the photo shoot, his appearance is so transformed that Newt mistakes him for his (much hotter) older brother, Dietrich.

Hermann decides to play along.

What you can expect: gods this fic is so good. It’s the first Newmann fic I ever read, and I’ve reread it a good six times since 2018. I would say more, but I think the fic speaks for itself.

Gestures by Actually_Crowley (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Teen and Up)

Newton finds out what Hermann does with his rare free time, but the discovery leads him to believe that Hermann honestly and unequivocally hates him.

What you can expect: the rituals are fucking intricate. I love this fic so so so much. And the eventual reveal/confession...scream.

Fate’s Horrifying Ways (also known as: CHRISTMAS GODZILLA) by linearoundmythoughts (Pacific Rim, Newton Geislzer/Hermann Gottlieb, 4k, Teen and Up)

Your name is Newton Geiszler and you’re going to have to break things off with your sort-of online boyfriend because you’re cheating on him. Sort of. [AKA the most dramatic summary of a humorous crackfic ever ok]

Originally written for the Pacrim Secret Santa back in 2014.

What you can expect: first off, it’s not second person, I promise. It is, though, really fucking funny, owing to the misunderstandings that ensue. There’s much pining, some angsting, and, of course, humour.

Letters From Berlin by spenshi (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 12k, Teen and Up)

Newton keeps in touch with his family when he's shipped off to the Shatterdome. Jacob and Illia send care packages to the K-Science Lab.

What you can expect: Geiszler-family feels. A lot of them. Also, Newt and Hermann slowly growing closer to until they can finally admit they’re into each other.

Wishbone by cypress_tree (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 8k, Teen and Up)

Hermann doesn't have anywhere to go for Thanksgiving, so Newt invites him over for food, family, and a little bit of flirting. Just a warm, fuzzy college AU to get you through the holidays.

What you can expect: fluff, softness, general feel-good fic. It’s really good, and it has Geiszler-family feels. Reading this fic is a bit like drinking hot cocoa on a cold day.

next days by catbeans (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 5k, Teen and Up)

Hermann had never felt an ache quite like this one, and he had felt plenty. He had been running on adrenaline first, and then on the necessity to keep running, pain and bone-deep exhaustion falling to such a low priority that he couldn't even consider it one anymore, and then it had stopped.

(the 18 hour nap date these guys deserve)

What you can expect: Newt and Hermann cuddling. A lot. That’s really it, that’s the fic. It’s 100% indulgent and I love it for that.

Tebori by SkysongMA (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 7k, Not Rated)

Newt squints. "It's really not a sex thing? 'Cause I'm not opposed to it being a sex thing, mind you. I just don't want to come in the lab tomorrow and not get to throw things at your stupid face."

Hermann lets out an endless, long-suffering sigh. "It's really not a sex thing, Newton, honestly. We hate each other. That's worked out very well for us so far, and it will continue to work out for us in the future." He doesn't mention that they haven't always hated each other and that, at one point in their long relationship, showing up unannounced at Newton's door for the purpose of sexual favors would not have been so far out of the realm of possibility. Had been, in fact, one of those things Hermann had considered late at night long ago, when he couldn't go a week without a fat envelope in the mail full of Newt's ramblings.

But that was quite some time ago, and he means it. They each get more work done than they would ever have separately, even if only because they like to rub their progress in the other's face.

Anyway, admitting anything different would just give Newt ammunition

What you can expect: Newt gives Hermann a tattoo. There’s a lot of feels.

Newt Inherits a Bar by orphan (Pacific Rim and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 11k, Not Rated)

The scary part is the bar looks exactly like Newt remembers.

What you can expect: you’ll probably tear up a bit. This one hits pretty hard, honestly, but it’s so, so, so good.

First a Darling, Then a Marvel by isozyme (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 20k, Mature)

Newt runs a simulation given three constraints:

1: Newt wants to clone a kaiju 2: Hermann does not want Newt to clone a kaiju 3: Newt is going to clone a kaiju anyway

What you can expect: a lot of sciencing, a lot of feels, and two repressed idiots. There’s like, a paragraph or two of smut but it’s pretty clear when it’s going to happen so it’s easy to skip, which is great. The tl;dr of this fic is Newt clones some kaiju, Hermann reminds him how fucking horrible of an idea that is, and everything more or less works out in the end.

Tea and Sympathy by osprey_archer (Torchwood, Owen Harper/Ianto Jones, 13k, Teen and Up)

Soon after Jack's disappearance, Owen takes sick. Ianto goes to check on him.

What you can expect: crabby doctors, put-upon Welshmen, and a fuckton of emotions that everyone is trying to ignore. Not particularly happy, but then, when is Torchwood ever? It’s good while it lasts, though.

Pareidolia by hal_incandenza (Pacific Rim and The Black Tapes Podcast, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 102k, Mature)

It starts as a profile of paranormal investigator and professional skeptic Dr. Hermann Gottlieb. But it seems the further journalist Newt Geiszler delves into his cases, the more mysterious Dr. Gottlieb becomes. What is he hiding? What is he looking for? What is the truth? What is the difference between a journalist's idea of truth, and a scientist's?

Seeing is not believing. Believing is believing.

What you can expect: suspense, mystery, horror, pining, and apocalypse cults, with a dash of an ambiguous ending. I love this fic so much. I literally would stop what I was doing to read it when I got an alert that there was an update when it was still a work in progress.

Meet Me There Across The Water, And We’ll Start An Endless Storm by Skepticamoeba (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 35k, Teen and Up)

Hermann, an honorably discharged veteran has retired to continue working as a Keeper at a Lighthouse. It is perfectly solitary, and with little in the way for incidents. Newton is the sailor that washes up on the seashore after a summer storm.

[Late 19th century Lighthouse Keeper AU--or the one where Hermann was an aspiring artist whose dreams got a bit derailed, and Newt is the sailor that needs to learn to take his time with things.]

What you can expect: the pining........the intricate rituals............the denial.........*chef’s kiss*

and I couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted by Lvslie (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 24k, Teen and Up)

He still smells like Newt; bears traces of his recent nearness. Clothes sleep-wrinkled from the proximity, from the way Newt’s ankle has during the night hooked around the calf of Hermann’s good leg and dragged his whole body seamlessly closer. Cheek half-flushed from the face unconsciously nuzzled his into the side of Hermann’s neck—evidence of his presence, fast asleep, as Hermann lay still and fretful for hours an end, staring at the ceiling and feeling sick with wanting.

[An early 20th century AU inspired loosely by Maurice and Age of Innocence.]

What you can expect: wistfulness, pining, repression, denial, lots of feelings. You’ll probably tear up. There’s an achingly happy ending for both of them. This is one of the fics I want a hard copy of so I can mark it up because, fuck, I love it so much.

leave the car running by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 1k, Teen and Up)

It is clear that, after everything, Newt doesn't like to be touched.

What you can expect: touch starvation, mutual pining, Newt finally getting the human contact he deserves. I wrote my own version of this since it was initially a prompt, but quite frankly, I like Newton’s version better because it hits.

The Man Who Invented Sherlock Holmes by Calais_Reno (Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, 15k, Teen and Up)

John Watson, struggling young doctor, doomed to live an ordinary life, dreams of writing detective fiction. If he can just figure out his hero's name, the story will practically write itself.

What you can expect: Watson sort of, kind of, maybe invents a man into being. Oops. I haven’t read this one in a while but I remember it being quite a lot of fun. There’s elements of what I would say is probably magical realism, but it’s never quite clear.

Newton Isn’t Dead by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb and Vanessa Gottlieb/Karla Gottlieb, 32k, Mature)

Newton Geiszler is currently being possessed by a genocidal alien race known as the Precursors. They’ve taken over his body, leaving him a prisoner in his own mind. However, Newt has a totally awesome plan. He’s going to make a deal with them: let him prove that Earth is worth saving, and if he can’t do that, they can have his body. But convincing a hivemind full of mega-colonizers that one blue planet can be wonderful isn’t going to be easy. He’s going to need the help of his kind-of-ex Hermann, his best friend Vanessa, and one awesome Footloose remake to pull this off.

So, naturally, they go on a road trip.

What you can expect: pining, world-saving, eventual confessions and happy endings. I had the great honour of reading the chapters before they were published, and this fic is one of my top five favourite fics. There were multiple points where I yelled, both literally (quietly) and through text (slightly less quietly).

it takes time, but time moves slow by prettydizzeed (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 2k, Teen and Up)

Hermann conducts a cost-benefit analysis every class period of sitting in the back of the lecture hall versus walking down the stairs to the front. He wishes he had hard data for this, to get some actual statistics, and perhaps after a while, if he records his pain level and his ability to read the board and pay attention after each class, he will be able to predict the outcomes given either choice on a particular day.

Two curves, traveling in opposite directions, inversely proportional: pain goes up, concentration goes down. It’s comforting, somewhat, to make it a numbers game. Impersonal. Absolute. Not a tragedy, and not his doing, only his to interpret, a smudged scrawl across his left knee in an unfamiliar handwriting, his to analyze, to decrypt.

What you can expect: the fic may only be 2k, but it will leave you feeling like you were punched. It’s fantastic.

I Could Be Jew-ish For You by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 10k, Teen and Up)

When Hermann agrees to spend Chanukah with his family in an attempt to wheedle some desperately-needed funding out of his father, Newt insists that he shouldn’t face Lars alone and tags along as his “emotional support family rage distraction”. What they fail to realize are two things: 1. When Hermann brings Newt with him to the festivities, assumptions will be made, and 2. Newt may be half-Jewish, but he sure wasn’t raised as one.

What to expect: fake dating fake dating fake dating— (can you tell I have a favourite trope?) In which Newt is Jew-ish, Hermann is both exasperated and pining, Lars is disliked, and we all get the Jewish romcom we deserve.

It Was Love At Second Sight by rednights (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 35k, Teen and Up)

Hermann receives the first letter when he is eighteen years old.

or: Kaiju don't attack the Earth, but Hermann and Newt still write letters, botch their first meeting, and fall in love, not necessarily in that order.

What you can expect: feels. So many fucking feels. There’s no kaiju but that doesn’t mean you won’t be on the edge of your seat.

hello my old heart by firebirdsuite (The Magnus Archives, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, 15k, Teen and Up)

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

What you can expect: tenderness, domesticity, and love. The perfect trifecta.

the truth about me (and the truth about me) by danimagus (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 11k, Teen and Up)

Newton suffers from a bout of memory loss and is told Hermann is his fiancé.

Hermann plays along, to his endless shame.

What you can expect: two words: fake dating. Gods, I love this fic, as Mary can attest from how I unceremoniously started screaming at her about it in her tumblr messages the day of/after it was published. This fic is great because it subverts the trope a bit, and thus avoids issues of consent that may otherwise have occured.

speak right to my heart without saying a word by thekaidonovskys (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 13k, General Audiences)

“Your eyes. Your expression. Your smile. I’ve worked with you for ten years, Hermann, and words have never been our primary method of communication.”

What you can expect: to be knocked the fuck out emotionally. This one hits pretty hard, and that’s what makes it so good.

Transducer by hal_incandenza (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 85k, Teen and Up)

“I need you to hide something for me.”

“Oh, excellent. Of course, Newton, please allow me to jeopardize my career. And yours as well. My pleasure. Do go on.”

“Yeesh, relax,” said Newton. “It’s a personal thing, not a work thing.”

“As if there is any division between the two,” Hermann snapped.

If only you knew, Newt thought.

What you can expect: intruigue, alien tech, light espionage. This fic will have your little nerd heart beating double-time. It’s very very good.

A Really Private Person by astolat (Person of Interest, Harold Finch/John Reese, 18k, Mature)

The end of the world started on a Wednesday in March.

What you can expect: badassery on Finch’s part. One of the few fics I have bookmarked for this fandom, and it’s bookmarked for good reason.

Party For Two by ProblemWithTrouble (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 18k, General Audiences)

“My mother’s parents have a home in the Black Forest that has a guest house. They’ve often allowed me to stay there when I could spare the time.” Hermann looked distant as if he were remembering something; the warmth of a fire and a nice book and the smell of freshly made tea. “It will be quiet, and possibly too boring for you-”

“It won’t be. I could use some quiet after the decade we’ve had. I could actually compile my research. And sleep. It sounds amazing.”

After the world doesn't end Newt and Hermann take a vacation together to live in a cabin and finally relax, as friends. Cue the pining, the longing, and the living together as best friends.

What you can expect: a fic that will wrap you up like a warm blanket. Mutual pining, vacationing together in a cabin, lots of feels—what more can you want?

Dream Drifting by MooseLane (Pacific Rim and Inception, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 5k, General Audiences)

"You're running an extraction on that spastic PPDC biologist, is what I hear." Chau fixes him with a side-eye. "I know I wouldn't want to go poking around in that little bastard's head."

(There are not enough Inception x Pacific Rim crossover fics, so I decided to change that.)

What you can expect: Inception meets Pacific Rim. There’s no other way to say it, really.

I’ve Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy In New York) by gyzym (Inception, Arthur/Eames, 19k, Teen and Up)

Arthur's a corporate lawyer, Eames owns the coffee shop across the street, and all good love stories start with a quadruple shot latte.

What to expect: Arthur is stressed, Eames runs a coffee shop, and, through the power of friendship and a lot of stress-baking, everything works out happily for our intrepid protagonist.

Kalimat/كلمات by rainbowagnes (The Old Guard, Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicolò di Genova, 3k, Teen and Up)

Yusuf translates medical texts for Niccolò from Greek and Persian into Arabic, and Niccolò spots the substratum of the ideas of the classical authors that he had once believed the basis of his own civilisation that he would go to the sword to defend, translated and passed down and sewn into a no longer foreign script. There are words Yusuf does not know how to translate. They will never, ever know all of the words. The prospect is thrilling. --- It takes Niccolò lifetimes to learn Arabic.

What you can expect: if you, like me, are, especially natively, multilingual, this might hit the sweet spot of Language Feels. It did for me. Also, Joe calling Nicky hayati? Yeah.

i never liked that ending either by Macremae (Pacific Rim, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb, 15k, Mature)

You want a better story. Who wouldn’t? - Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out

Once upon a time Dr. Flick Tucker, K-Sci head of Biology, fought a bunch of highly scientific dragons to save the world. Then, they took over her life. It didn’t end well.

Once upon our time Dr. Newt Geiszler, marine biologist, sci-fi aficionado, and accidental discoverer of dimensional travel, got a chance to take her place. He has a couple of ideas.

In which Uprising is still a bad movie, musings on the nature of choice and personal autonomy are made, and somewhere, probably, a coin is showing heads every time.

What you can expect: everything’s fine this is a perfectly normal fic come here i want to cause you as much emotional damage as I can

Not Allowed by acedott (BBC Merlin, Gwen/Morgana, 1k, General Audiences)

Gwen has been dealing with self-imposed touch starvation since she was a child. Morgana sets out to challenge this.

What you can expect: gays. Pining. Touch starvation. Need I say more?

Rocky Horror Pancake Show by ChuckleVoodoos (Daredevil, Matt Murdock/Franklin “Foggy” Nelson, 19k, Teen and Up)

Foggy falls asleep at exactly 12:00 AM, and he’s making a wish. He wakes up at 12:00 AM too—twenty-four hours before he fell asleep.

"Let's do the time warp again!"

What you can expect: Ground-hog Day style time-loop, lots of fluff, and a happy ending.

Ain’t No Nancy Kerrigan by cleverqueen (DC’s Legends of Tomorrow, Leonard Snart/Mick Rory, 13k, Teen and Up)

It's 1994, and young Lisa Snart's jumps aren't strong enough for an Olympic singles skater. Thankfully, her older brother has an athletic friend who can match her in pairs.

Mick Rory is hopelessly in love with Leonard Snart, though he'd never say anything about it, so he jumps at a chance to do Len's little sister a favor. If he's patient and works hard, maybe he'll even get to skate with her older brother.

What you can expect: pining, ice-skating, and general goodness. It’s fun, it’s funny, and it has a happy ending.

#rec list #ask #a good 40% of these are mutual pining but really who's surprised. i love a good mutual pining fic #hopefully all these links work because i spent. an inordinate amount of time compiling this.#let me know if any of the links need to be changed #c.txt

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elizabear · 3 years

Text

body language will do the trick

OK, so I know this is going to be fully AU in about five seconds when The Falcon and the Winter Soldier airs, but those couples counseling scenes in the trailer got me WAY TOO EXCITED and I really couldn't help myself.

Title: body language will do the trick

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes (background Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff)

Additional tags: frenemies to lovers, coworkers to lovers, couples counseling, because sam and bucky can’t stop flirting at work, post-avengers endgame, but it’s au because, steve rogers isn’t old, and natasha romanoff lives, captain america sam wilson, shield agent bucky barnes, past steve rogers/bucky barnes, but it’s minor, bucky and sam fall in love, but COMPETITIVELY, oral sex, anal sex, tender railing, idiots in love, praise kink

Words: 12,598

Link to AO3: here

Summary:

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

Bucky Barnes is pretty sure that these counseling sessions—supposedly for Bucky and Sam’s “interpersonal issues”—are Director Fury’s revenge for that whole fake assassination situation. Which, to be fair to Fury, came about as the result of Bucky’s very real assassination attempt, even if the subsequent “assassination” was fake, so Bucky can’t exactly blame Fury there. What Bucky doesn’t understand is why their possibly-fake counselor—is she a real counselor, or just another one of Fury’s spies?—chooses to conduct her “therapy” sessions in the unlikely and frankly suspicious location of an underground bunker.

Dr. Carson’s therapy bunker is probably just a temporary location, since usable office facilities with running water and electricity are still pretty limited after the Blip, but Bucky was definitely under the impression that modern American therapists’ offices were supposed to be more soothing than this. He’d expected a bland but tasteful space filled with a cushy sofa and watercolor paintings and the calming sounds of nature recordings. Instead, Bucky and Sam are sitting in uncomfortable chairs in a dim room with bare cement walls and unflattering fluorescent lighting. Is Fury even trying to sell this fake counseling op?

Bucky and Sam’s counselor/interrogator is most definitely hostile. Although Dr. Carson looks lovely in her delicate green silk blouse and expensive silk scarf, her expression is stern and sour. She’s styled her glossy dark hair neatly, in gentle waves that summon a distant memory of the way women used to wear their hair in the 1940s, and Bucky wonders if this is Dr. Carson’s authentic style or if it’s just part of another SHIELD spy game, meant to trick or manipulate Bucky into confiding in Dr. Carson because she looks familiar and nonthreatening.

Bucky considers it an insult to the memory of Peggy Carter if Fury thinks he could’ve worked with Carter for two years in the SSR and still underestimate a woman just because she has nice hair and a pretty outfit.

Also, if Dr. Carson’s trying to lull Bucky into a false sense of security, why is she doing it in this weird basement?

Honestly this whole counseling thing really does seem like it’s secretly just a poorly planned interrogation.

Like right now. Dr. Carson asks, “Are you having a staring contest?” and Bucky isn’t going to disclose valuable intel by admitting that while Sam is definitely having a staring contest with him, Bucky is just using this as an excuse to look into Sam’s eyes, which are warm and brown and make Bucky feel all sorts of confusing things. Bucky is trained to resist interrogation, and that piece of information definitely falls under the category of “unexpected and alarming potential weaknesses.”

Also Bucky’s still sort of figuring out how he feels about Sam’s whole eye and face and shoulder situation, so the staring contest is actually a pretty great cover for whatever the fuck is really going on with him. Half of successfully surviving an interrogation is letting your captors fill in the blanks themselves and then pretending like their waterboarding is the worst thing you’ve ever endured.

Unfortunately, while Bucky is congratulating himself on successfully maintaining operations security—and winning their staring contest, no reason he can’t do both at once—Dr. Carson seems to reach her limit for the amount of shit she’s willing to endure from them today.

“You’re not taking this seriously.” Dr. Carson shoots them with a hard glare. “I’m giving you a five minute break, and if you’re not ready to open up and work on your communication and compatibility issues, I’m going to have to advise Fury to put you both on leave.”

Bucky’s fine with being put on leave, and he’s fully prepared to wait out SHIELD, Fury, and Dr. Carson. It took HYDRA fifteen years to break him down enough to send him out on missions, and no matter how much they tortured him Bucky didn’t shed so much as a single tear until they showed him newspaper headlines about what a bad pilot Steve turned out to be.

Also, Bucky’s not entirely sure that he’s not actually immortal, so he figures his patience will probably far outlast Fury’s determination to punish him for shooting him a few times when he didn’t even die. Actually, now that Bucky thinks about it, Fury’s probably less mad about the whole fake assassination thing than he is about Steve forcing him to offer Bucky a job and then grit out the most begrudging apology Bucky has ever heard in his life for SHIELDRA holding Bucky hostage as a brainwashed assassin while Fury was the Director of SHIELD. Right in front of Captain Marvel, too, Fury’s favorite Avenger, who had looked very disappointed in him. Apparently Danvers had her own history as a superpowered amnesiac brainwashed into working for the bad guys? Bucky’s unclear on the details, but when Danvers’s mouth tightened and her head shook in dismay, Nick Fury’s shoulders had slumped like a chastened schoolboy.

God, Steve is such a dick sometimes. Bucky loves him so much.

Dr. Carson’s high heels make clipped little clicking noises that speak volumes about her frustration with them as she strides purposefully out of the room. As soon as she closes the door, so firmly that Bucky can just tell that she had to have put conscious, controlled effort into not slamming it behind her, Bucky turns to Sam with a satisfied grin.

“Well, I think we’re doing great,” Bucky says. “SHIELD’s going to have to work a lot harder to get any real intel out of us, and I was definitely promised that they wouldn’t be using any drugs or brainwashing techniques this time so I think we’re going to nail this whole interrogation.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “This is therapy, man, not an interrogation. We’re supposed to be, like, opening up and becoming a better team.”

“Yeah, well, if this is real therapy then where are the goats?” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow toward the most likely location of the nearest camera as if to say gotcha, Fury, your goatless fake therapy interrogation tactic isn’t fooling me.

“I’m sorry, goats? Why would there be goats?”

Bucky leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. “I’m just saying, in Wakanda I always got to hang out with animals when I did therapy. And look how great that turned out! I hardly ever kill anyone anymore, and when I do it’s on purpose because I decided to. Anyway, I really feel like this is all just a plot by SHIELD to find out why we—”

Bucky and Sam bicker for a while about whether or not this is real therapy until they’re interrupted by Dr. Carson’s return, her face looking a little damp now, like maybe she spent her time away from them splashing water on it and doing some deep breathing exercises in the bathroom.

“OK,” says Dr. Carson, visibly relaxing her spine. “We’re going to take a new approach. Have you heard of the five love languages?”

Sam’s eyes widen in horror. “No, we are not doing the five love languages.”

Bucky hasn’t heard of the five love languages, but he can tell from the look on Sam’s face that they definitely don’t want to do this, and Bucky’s pretty good at improvising when he needs to. “Oh, you know, I think HYDRA already implanted the five love languages in my brain when they were doing the rest of the Romance languages. So we can just skip those, I already know them.”

Bucky offers Dr. Carson his blandest and most innocent smile, the same one that sometimes worked on Sister Mary Angela back at old St. Charles Borromeo, but Dr. Carson’s face remains as stony and unmoved as the church itself, still standing in Brooklyn Heights in the year of our Lord 2023. Instead she says, “I think we need to take a couples therapy approach.”

“Couples therapy,” Sam repeats, sinking lower in his chair. Bucky winces as Sam’s knee starts to crush his balls.

“According to this file,” Dr. Carson says, opening it up to read aloud, “the two of you are here because your colleagues have complained about your, quote, romantically-charged bickering, your constant flirting, and your unnecessarily sexual sparring.”

Dr. Carson punctuates these damning statements with some truly savage air quotes.

“Listen, when I slap Sam’s bare ass in the locker room after a good sparring session it’s with purely collegial respect for a worthy opponent,” Bucky says, folding his arms across his chest. “I only ever treat Sam with the same level of professional respect I give Steve and Natasha.”

Sam nods in support. “Steve and Natasha never have a problem getting sweaty and physical with us, and I’ve personally witnessed Steve and Natasha slap Bucky’s ass dozens of times.”

Dr. Carson raises a single judgmental eyebrow. “Don’t you think there might be a reason why Fury’s banned the four of you from using the gym at the same time?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes. “The other SHIELD agents get intimidated by Sam’s shredded abs and Steve’s and my super strength. Plus everyone’s scared of Natasha.”

Dr. Carson closes her eyes and visibly counts to ten. Bucky can see her mouth forming the words.

“All right, we’re just going to move on here, because I’m really only able to deal with just the one dysfunctional relationship at a time.” Dr. Carson passes them some worksheets and pencils. “I want you to fill these out, honestly, and then hand them back to me when you’re done.”

Bucky reads over the worksheets, which are filled with questions like, “Do you like it more when your partner reacts positively to something you’ve accomplished or when they do something for you that you know they don’t particularly enjoy?” There are a lot of questions about hugging, and holding hands, and Bucky gets distracted trying to picture holding hands with Sam, who has big hands, strong and capable and—

“Stop trying to copy my answers,” Sam says, when he notices Bucky glancing over at the way Sam grips his pen as he fills out his worksheet. Sam shoves his knee harder into Bucky’s crotch and Bucky stifles a gasp.

“I’m not!”

“Bucky, stop cheating.” Dr. Carson presses her lips together in a severe frown.

Bucky scowls and scooches his chair back several inches. It makes a loud scraping sound as it drags against the cement floor. But before going back to filling out his form, Bucky gives Sam’s ankle a sharp kick for getting him in trouble with Dr. Carson, and the two of them engage in a brief but brutal silent kicking war below the front of the desk where Dr. Carson can’t see.

When Bucky and Sam finish their kicking war and their quizzes, they hand their worksheets back to Dr. Carson for grading and rub their shins as they wait.

“Bucky, your primary love language is words of affirmation, and your secondary love language is physical touch,” Dr. Carson announces. “And Sam, your primary love language is acts of service, while your secondary love language is quality time.”

Bucky frowns. On the one hand, he feels like he’s received some pretty valuable intel about Sam that he could use to his benefit. But on the other hand, he’s probably given up some valuable intel of his own. He wishes there hadn’t been so many questions that made him think about hugging and touching Sam—somehow those made him so distracted that he forgot to respond with lies.

Bucky’s stomach knots up a bit at the thought of Sam learning his potential weaknesses, but really, how much of a psyop could Sam possibly launch with the results from a couples counseling questionnaire? (Natasha could probably execute a successful psyop based on the information from a Buzzfeed quiz meant to reveal your “celebrity mom,” so Bucky really hopes Sam doesn’t talk to Natasha about this.)

“Your homework is to try to learn to speak each other’s language.” Dr. Carson stands up and walks around the desk to touch Bucky’s shoulder. “Good job today, Bucky.”

Bucky smiles, and the knot in his stomach releases a bit. He is so nailing this therapy thing, he knew he’d be better at it than Sam.

Dr. Carson helps Sam back into his coat as she ushers them toward the door, and Bucky’s pretty sure she’s meant to be modeling an act of service except that mostly it seems like she’s just trying to rush them out of the office.

“See you next week.” Dr. Carson smiles stiffly, like she is not at all looking forward to seeing them next week. Her expression is full of determined professionalism right up until the click of the door latch, and then Bucky hears a dull thudding noise that is pretty unmistakably the sound of Dr. Carson hitting her head against the doorframe.

“There’s no way you’re going to win this,” Bucky tells Sam. “I am going to love language the shit out of you.”

Sam gives him a considering look. “You do seem like you’d be really good at that.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush with heat. “Thanks, pal, I—”

Sam smirks, and Bucky’s eyes narrow. He shoves his elbow into Sam’s side and stalks off, leaving Sam cackling behind him.

“Your ass looks great today!” Sam yells.

Bucky reaches up to flip Sam the bird, and he definitely does not feel grateful that he wore his good jeans today. Bucky’s ass looks great every day.

***

They’re on a mission together the next day, battling some Doombots in New Jersey, and wow is Sam committed to this whole words of affirmation thing.

When Bucky deflects a punch aimed straight for Sam’s head with his vibranium arm, Sam whistles and says, “Nice save, man, you’re killing it today.” Warmth rises up in Bucky’s chest at Sam’s praise, and Bucky is filled with panic and dismay when he realizes that the fight to squash it back down is honestly more taxing than their battle against Doombots. There’s absolutely no reason Bucky should be having such a physical reaction to basic battle camaraderie.

When Bucky stretches his leg up above his head to nail one of the bots with a vicious kick, Sam smirks and gives him a distinct how-you-doing sort of nod. “That was—seriously hot, man. Have you been doing yoga or something?”

So apparently Sam is choosing to interpret words of affirmation as “wild flirtation,” and Bucky’s cheeks are choosing to betray him by radiating at Sam’s attention. Bucky knows there’s a flush spreading down his neck, and he’s hoping Sam will attribute it to exertion from the fight, because there’s no way Bucky can let Sam know that Sam’s sort of winning at their therapy homework—not when Bucky’s entire mental health journey and, like, the honor of the Wakandan animal-assisted therapy program is at stake.

But after they board the Quinjet and set the autopilot on a course back to New York, Sam gives Bucky a slow up-and-down perusal with his eyes, and Bucky feels Sam’s gaze like a physical touch. “You look really good after a fight, Buck. That messed up hair and pretty pink blush are giving me all kinds of ideas.”

Bucky’s cock twitches at that, and huh. Bucky blinks and looks down at his crotch.

So that’s working again.

A dirty smirk spreads across Sam’s face, like maybe Sam knows exactly what just happened inside Bucky’s pants, and fuck, this whole situation is spiraling rapidly out of Bucky’s control. Like, yeah, Bucky kept Sam from getting a pretty gnarly concussion, and that was probably an act of service, right? But it’s pretty clear, to both of them, that Sam is winning this competition, and Bucky is not about to go down without a fight.

Which is—an idea.

Bucky drops to his knees in front of Sam and bites his lip in a way that he knows, instinctively, will make him look hot. Sam inhales sharply in response, and Bucky reaches up to grasp Sam by the hips before he can take a step backwards. The material of Sam’s uniform bunches up and shifts under Bucky’s hands, and fuck, Bucky’s cock is aching now, throbbing and filling up in his tight uniform pants. Bucky forgot he could feel so good.

“What are you doing,” Sam protests in a half-assed sort of way.

“Servicing you,” Bucky replies with a wicked grin, sliding Sam’s zipper down slowly over his thickening cock. Bucky can’t remember if he’s done this before, but the way his mouth waters and his throat aches in anticipation makes him feel pretty fucking confident about how this is going to go down.

But before Bucky can pull Sam’s cock out of his briefs, Sam slides his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tips his head gently backward, using his other hand to tilt Bucky’s chin up to look into Sam’s face. Sam’s pretty brown eyes are already darkening with arousal, but his expression is serious.

“You don’t have to suck my dick for therapy, man.”

Bucky huffs. “Sam, this is the first time my dick’s been hard since 1945. Do you know how many times Steve’s let me watch him jerk off trying to heIp me get hard again? I am definitely not doing this only to win at therapy, pal.”

Sam’s hands freeze in Bucky’s hair and his cock swells visibly in his briefs. “I’m sorry, Steve let you do what now? Dude, I thought Steve was straight.”

“Oh, he’s definitely, like, straight-ish,” Bucky assures Sam, with a little so-so wave of his hand that hopefully conveys the correct amount of ambiguity there. “He’s mostly just a really great friend.”

Sam’s eyes close for a long moment, and then Bucky’s scalp stings when Sam clenches his fist in Bucky’s hair and pulls. “Jesus,” mutters Sam, his voice gruff and husky. “Yeah, OK, baby. Go ahead and suck my dick.”

Bucky’s heart pounds as he pulls Sam’s cock out of his briefs and licks a wet stripe up the length of it, groaning at the feel of Sam’s skin under his tongue. Sam tastes salty with sweat, and his scent is musky and thick after their fight with the Doombots. Bucky teases him for a while, the way he’s seen people do in porn, trailing wet kisses along the shaft and mouthing at the head, and Sam lets out a ragged moan when Bucky’s mouth finally engulfs him. Bucky’s feeling pretty cocky about this, loves the rush of power he feels as Sam’s hips twitch and jerk to keep from thrusting into Bucky’s mouth—but then Sam fucking escalates shit, because Sam is an asshole.

“Christ, you feel good,” Sam murmurs, reaching down to rub his thumb against Bucky’s mouth, stretched wide around Sam’s cock. “You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth.”

And then Bucky’s the one moaning, eyelids fluttering shut and heat coursing down his spine at the sound of Sam’s husky voice. Bucky should have expected Sam to counter his act of service with more words of affirmation, but somehow he wasn’t prepared for the unbearable ache he’d feel at Sam’s dirty talk. Bucky feels inexperienced, outclassed at this sort of sexual warfare, and the only way he can retaliate is by sinking as far down on Sam’s cock as his throat will allow him. He reaches up to grab Sam’s hips, urging him to fuck his mouth, and then he hums a little inside his head to try to tune out the sound of Sam’s praise.

“Fuck,” says Sam. “God, that’s it, baby. You take it so well, Buck. So fucking good for me.”

Bucky whines, his jaw aching, eyes filling with tears as Sam’s cock stretches his mouth open. Sam keeps offering him filthy praise as he slides his mouth up and down Sam’s thick cock, and Bucky doesn’t know why this is doing it for him when all of Steve’s pale skin and strong thighs and big dick couldn’t, but maybe seventy years of torture and captivity have left Bucky with a few new kinks. Or maybe Bucky’s just healing or whatever. Bucky honestly doesn’t care, as long as Sam keeps letting him fill his throat with Sam’s dick.

Sam’s voice is rough when he says, “God, you fucking love it, don’t you,” and Bucky pulls off Sam’s cock just long enough to nod eagerly and gasp for air before diving back in. “Take your dick out, baby. I want you to come sucking my cock.”

Bucky’s rhythm stutters at that, his hand reaching down to pull his cock out of his uniform pants. He wants to be so fucking good for Sam, wants to come just how Sam says, wants Sam to keep telling him how good he looks, how much he loves fucking Bucky’s mouth, how much he likes giving it to him.

Sam’s praise grows hotter and filthier as he gets closer, and Bucky whimpers as he feels his own orgasm approaching. God, he hasn’t come in so long, hasn’t felt that hot rush and that familiar ache in his balls in forever and he wants it, wants to come, he just needs—

“Come on, baby, come for me, I know you can do it, just keep sucking my cock, God, you look so good, baby, don’t stop, don’t stop—”

And Bucky spirals over the edge, cock pulsing and spilling over his fist. He lets out a choked moan around Sam’s dick before his mouth is flooded with bitter, salty fluid. And then Bucky feels so fucking full, like he could drown happily in Sam’s smell and his taste and his fucking words of affirmation.

Fuck.

Bucky definitely did not win that round.

***

The whole blow job thing was an outstanding idea, really, one of Bucky’s best. But fuck, he did not anticipate Sam using that as an opportunity to completely turn the tables and affirm the shit out of him. Bucky can’t help but privately acknowledge to himself that Sam is completely winning at love languages so far.

They’re in counseling the next week, still in Dr. Carson’s depressing therapy bunker, and honestly, Bucky can’t imagine that this setting is good for, like, anybody’s mental health. His therapy in Wakanda always took place outdoors, under the warm African sun, surrounded by the wild, earthy smells of mud and animals and Lake Turkana. It made him feel open and free and connected to nature or whatever. It was peaceful.

Therapy at SHIELD is not very peaceful, especially because Dr. Carson clearly hates them, and she isn’t at all impressed by what Bucky considers some very impressive progress by them. Bucky and Sam are getting along.

“So,” Dr. Carson begins, apparently deciding to just start right off with more hurtful accusations from their colleagues, “according to Carl from the gun range, the two of you have been subjecting your coworkers to your, quote, uncomfortable bickering-slash-foreplay, and Maria Hill reports that you’re still, quote, cluttering up comms during missions with the most embarrassing flirting I have ever heard, I hate it so much.”

Dr. Carson’s air quotes are fucking vicious.

Despite the fact that they’ve only just started their session, Dr. Carson looks tense and aggravated already. She’s wearing another pretty silk blouse today, but her earrings don’t seem to match and it looks like she didn’t bother to curl her hair today. Maybe she just realized that Bucky wasn’t fooled by those forties waves?

Also, even though it’s Friday, Dr. Carson’s giving off a very Monday sort of vibe.

“Sam and I are working on it, OK?” Bucky says, with a mulish set to his jaw. “Obviously I’m doing my best here, but it’s hard to do therapy in a cement basement that gives me flashbacks to 1970s HYDRA facilities where I was tortured. And there aren’t even any pets at all to comfort me. Didn’t you receive the note from my Wakandan therapist stating that I require animals during therapy?”

A blood vessel in Dr. Carson’s forehead throbs, and she raises her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I’ll see if I can get us a room upstairs for our next session, but I’m telling you for the last time that we don’t have any therapy goats.”

“Well, I don’t have any issues doing therapy without goats,” Sam says, like the worst sort of teacher’s pet. God, Sam’s teachers probably loved his charming smile and his quick wit and his stupid handsome face. “Maybe Bucky is using the goats as an emotional crutch.”

“Listen, goat therapy works, OK?” Bucky counts out on his fingers as he lists the many examples of real progress he’s made since his time as a goat farmer in Wakanda. “I started off as an amnesiac brainwashed assassin, and now I have a steady job, a haircut, an apartment leased under my own shell companies, and I only kill people when I want to kill people now. And I wash my hair regularly. And if I don’t wash my hair, I use dry shampoo. And I don’t turn into a mindless killing machine when people speak Russian at me.”

“Dude,” Sam says.

“Anyway, it’s fine if you’re not as good at therapy as me.”

“Not as—not as good at therapy as you? Man, I am a certified peer specialist. I was so good at my own therapy that they let me give other people therapy,” Sam says, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Yeah, in America, where they’re not even familiar with things like advanced goat therapy.” Bucky clucks his tongue and shakes his head. “Did you even keep up with your continuing education requirements while you were fugitives with Steve?”

Sam sinks lower in his seat and frowns. “No. But speaking of Steve,” Sam says, perking up a bit as he follows a new thread of argument. “Whose PTSD recovery was so complete and inspirational that Steve Rogers trusted them with the responsibility of carrying the Captain America shield, hm?”

“Listen, Steve is reckless as shit and he’s so irresponsible with that shield that he’s constantly losing it in rivers and getting it broken by alien supervillains,” Bucky points out. “I’m so recovered that the king of an entire country, a man so responsible that they put him in charge of running literally everything in the most advanced nation on the planet, trusted me with a prosthetic arm powerful enough to crush the skull of an ordinary man with a single blow. Probably even his skull, and he’s been enhanced by some weird plant that makes him even stronger than Steve.”

“Yeah, well, I’m so recovered that—”

Dr. Carson interrupts them here, pinching the bridge of her nose. “OK, listen, I think there’s actually something pretty interesting here in how you each relate your recovery to your ability to wield weapons. Why don’t we stop bickering and discuss that a little further?”

“Yeah, OK,” Bucky mumbles.

Sam sighs heavily. “Fine.”

***

So the blow job thing is working perfectly—like, so perfectly, God, Sam’s dick is amazing—except for the fact that Sam is able to talk the entire time. Words of affirmation spill from Sam’s pretty lips every time Bucky swallows his cock, and Bucky is still fucking losing the love languages competition.

It’s time to create a Pinterest strategy board to figure this thing out.

Bucky is a visual planner, and he believes in tactical flexibility. He might not remember a lot about sex, but there’s tons of porn on the Internet. He just needs to find a couple of ways to service Sam while Sam’s mouth is otherwise occupied. How hard could that be?

After a lot of research and the creation of several Pinterest mood boards, Bucky calls Steve down the hall to his apartment to help him out. They all live in the same building since it has the best security in the city—and Bucky and Natasha are very particular about security—and it makes sense for the four of them to basically live together when they already spend all their time together. When Steve arrives, they head right to Bucky’s bedroom, get undressed, and survey the porn board on Bucky’s laptop.

“OK, so what about sixty-nine,” Steve suggests. “Let’s try that.”

They get themselves into position, mouths hovering over each other’s flaccid dicks like totally normal best friends.

“See, I feel like this works, but is it really servicing Sam if he’s, like, servicing me at the same time?” Bucky flops over onto his back in frustration and worries at his lower lip with his teeth.

Steve nods and tilts his head in thought. “Yeah, I see what you mean. Depending on the grading rubric, the two acts might cancel each other out. How about rimming?”

“I feel like rimming is a great idea, and I definitely want to do that, but how do I shut him up while I do it?”

Steve frowns. “Can you reach up and cover his mouth with your hand? Hold on, let me bend over and we’ll see.” Steve gets on his hands and knees, tilting his ass up for Bucky to simulate a rim job.

“You know, your ass really is kind of amazing.” Bucky takes a moment to admire the jewel of Howard Stark’s empire. “I mean, it was cute as hell when you were little too, but Scott Lang definitely wasn’t wrong in that podcast episode about which superhero has America’s ass. Don’t tell Sam I said that, by the way.”

“Thanks, pal,” Steve says, flashing Bucky a quick grin. “Your ass is great too, Sam’s a lucky guy. Now bend over and pretend to rim me.”

Bucky leans down and uses his hand to cover Steve’s exposed hole, then presses his mouth against the back of his hand to simulate a rim job. He reaches forward with his other arm to see if he can put his vibranium hand over Steve’s mouth. He could—maybe? If he releases the catch on his shoulder?

“I don’t think this is going to work,” Bucky says with a frown. “Here, maybe try getting on your back and holding onto your legs?”

“Like this?” Steve asks, shifting gamely into position. Bucky folds him over and pretends to rim him while covering Steve’s mouth, which—works, actually. And this is probably the most erotic scene Bucky’s ever been a part of—Steve really does look incredible like this—so it’s kind of a shame that it does absolutely nothing whatsoever for Bucky’s dick.

Except then Bucky pictures Sam in Steve’s position, bent over and whining under Bucky’s vibranium hand, and Bucky’s cock gives a little twitch. Fuck.

Bucky sighs and releases Steve with a short nod. “Not bad, pal. I think this one’s gonna work. Let’s write it down.”

They test out a few more positions, taking careful notes on the comfort and degree of mouth coverage of each one. Bucky finds a few more pictures to add to his Pinterest board, and they sort through every image and assign them to the correct position number. Then Bucky and Steve print off their pictures and tape them to Bucky’s wall for inspiration, mapping out a sequence of actions that will lead to orgasms for both Sam and Bucky with a minimum amount of talking on Sam’s part.

Which is a shame, really. Sam’s dirty talk really does it for Bucky.

Still nude, Bucky and Steve stand in front of the vision board and assess the plan.

“I think position two is really going to work,” Steve says, stroking his chin, and Bucky’s brain flashes back to an image of Steve in pretty much this exact pose, assessing a map of HYDRA facilities in Western Europe with no less gravity and passion. God, Steve Rogers is a great fucking friend. “And if you really want to service the guy, I mean, you’ve already got him all loose and open. You might as well give him your dick too, right?”

Bucky nods in agreement. “Yeah, I mean, as long as I keep kissing him, he won’t be able to affirm me too much. I think this really is the winning scenario.”

“Great teamwork, pal,” Steve says, slapping Bucky’s bare ass. “This was fun! Just like the old days.”

Bucky smiles wistfully. “Yeah, there’s nothing like planning an op with The Man With the Plan. Hey, you want to grab dinner after this?”

“Nah,” Steve says, too-casually, angling his pelvis away from Bucky as he pulls his pants back on. “I think I’m gonna go see if Natasha’s busy.”

Bucky grins. “Give her my best.”

“Will do. Love you, pal,” Steve says, giving Bucky a quick kiss before he leaves.

Steve doesn’t bother putting a shirt on before he goes, and Bucky can hear him whistling cheerfully all the way down to Nat’s apartment.

***

Steve and Bucky’s plan was great, so naturally it goes to shit as soon as Sam gets involved.

Bucky’s sucking Sam’s dick, which OK, yeah, wasn’t technically in the plan, but God, Sam’s got such a great dick. How far behind can Bucky really fall in the standings from just one blow job?

“Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby,” Sam says, sliding his long fingers through Bucky’s hair—which Bucky washed before he came over, because he is killing it as a recovered assassin and also because this afternoon Sam grabbed his hips and leaned in, breath hot against Bucky’s ear, and murmured how much he wants to smell Bucky’s shampoo on his pillows tomorrow morning.

Which was both smooth as hell and very convincing. Bucky immediately bought like three more bottles of that shit and accepted Sam’s invitation over to his apartment that night.

So now they’re in Sam’s apartment, and Bucky’s sliding his mouth along Sam’s cock, and Sam’s telling him how much he loves the way Bucky sucks him, loves the way Bucky’s pretty face looks with Sam’s cock in his mouth, lips slick with spit and tears leaking out of his eyes. And then Sam says—

“Are you gonna let me fuck you tonight, baby? Gonna let me see how well you take it?”

And before Bucky knows it, he’s moaning around Sam’s cock and nodding his head, and Sam’s pulling a condom and lube out of the side drawer, and then Bucky’s face down on Sam’s bed, gasping and clenching around Sam’s long fingers.

When Sam finally turns him over and pushes inside him, Bucky feels his brain just—fully vacate his skull. Pleasure buzzes up and down Bucky’s spine like an electric current, and he’s only barely conscious of the wet-sounding gasp that comes out of his mouth when Sam finally slides all the way home.

Sam gives it to him slow and sweet, fucking into him at a dreamy, leisurely pace as Bucky grabs fistfuls of Sam’s sheets and scrabbles at any leverage he can get to try and push back against Sam’s cock. Bucky wants Sam to grab his hips and pound him hard, overwhelm him with stimulation and keep him from sinking under the gentle wave of that languid rhythm. It’s too intimate, too vulnerable, and Bucky’s chest is cracking wide open for Sam to look inside. He’s a little afraid of what Sam might see within him, but instead Sam’s expression is full of awe, his face open and tender as he runs a thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone.

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous, so fucking sweet for me.”

There’s a lot of eye contact after that, and romantic face touching, and Sam telling Bucky how much he loves the way he feels, loves the way he looks and smells and tastes. Warmth pools deep in Bucky’s gut, spreading through his veins like the burn of whiskey, until Bucky feels like he’s going to burst into flames around Sam’s cock. Instead he comes, long and hard and messy, all over his stomach.

Sam’s eyes are hot as he looks down at the sight of Bucky’s abs covered in pearly fluid, and then he slams his hips into Bucky three more times, hard, before groaning and collapsing on top of him.

Fuck, Bucky thinks.

He takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then suppresses a half-hearted sigh when he realizes that he completely blew the plan. Like, yes, that was some fucking amazing sex, Sam gave him the dicking of a lifetime, but somehow Bucky ended up even further behind in the love language competition. How does Sam keep winning?

It’s too late now to offer another act of service. Even if Bucky could get it up again, Sam definitely couldn’t.

Shit.

But wait, what was Sam’s secondary love language? Quality time? Perfect.

Bucky rolls over to give Sam a few open-mouthed kisses on his shoulder. Sam is sweaty from exertion, and he tastes salty and amazing. God, Sam is the best.

“You mind if I stay the night, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs.

Sam’s lips curve up in a soft and pleased smile. “Yeah, baby, I was hoping you would.”

“C’mere, you can be the little spoon,” Bucky says, reaching around Sam’s waist to reel him in, and Sam huffs out a surprised grunt and then a happy sigh when Bucky wraps his arms and leg around him.

They fall asleep within minutes, and it turns out Sam really was into the smell of Bucky on his pillows because they fuck again in the morning, and this time Bucky forgets to keep track of who’s winning at therapy homework.

***

They fuck constantly after that, which is amazing, but unfortunately Bucky is still staying in this game only by the skin of his teeth. Like, yes, Bucky is performing acts of service for Sam on the regular, but somehow Bucky finds his self-control dissolving like sugar melting into caramel when Sam spreads him out under his dirty mouth and his clever hands.

So now when Sam collapses on top of him at night, fucked out and shaking, Bucky nuzzles his face into the back of Sam’s neck and wraps his arm around him to pull him close. Bucky stays the night, every night, and at work he sticks to Sam more tightly than one of Steve Rogers’s t-shirts. But the more quality time Bucky offers Sam, the more acts of service Bucky ends up performing—which, sure, sounds like a plan that would put Bucky pretty solidly in the lead, except for how Bucky always ends up a sobbing, needy mess dripping onto Sam’s sheets while Sam smirks and tells him how good Bucky is for him.

They fight together even better now, in sync in a way that Bucky hasn’t felt since he worked with the Howling Commandos, and when they finish a skirmish they turn to each other, flushed and grinning, flying high on adrenaline and oxytocin and arousal. They kiss savagely, mouths wet and open, and they don’t care who hears them pant and groan over the comms.

“God, you were so fucking hot—”

“Sam, yes, god, please—”

Bucky and Sam have died and come back to life already this year and somehow they’re still bringing each other back to life. Bucky swaggers through SHIELD headquarters with champagne flowing through his veins, bright and bubbly, and Fury yells at them twice for passing dirty notes to each other during briefings. They’re obnoxious about it, obvious and messy and shameless, and Bucky’s pretty sure that Maria Hill is going to resign in protest if she has to work surveillance for even one more of their ops.

Somehow they’re generating even more complaints to HR than before.

***

Dr. Carson has finally managed to find them a room with a window for their counseling sessions. They’re on the fifth floor, and there’s not much of a view—just the brick wall of the building next to them—but sunlight streams in through the sheer curtains and highlights the cut ridges of Sam’s frankly incredible cheekbones. God, Sam’s so fucking handsome.

Bucky and Sam are grinning broadly, but Dr. Carson looks stressed out and irritated today, even though they just started the appointment. Her hair is stringy and a little greasy at the roots, and Bucky wonders if Dr. Carson knows about dry shampoo. He isn’t sure how to ask, or if it would be rude to offer her a few sprays from the travel bottle he keeps in one of the pockets of his tactical pants? She’s still wearing a nice silk blouse, but it looks like she’s buttoned it incorrectly, and the tail is hanging out of the top of her slacks.

Are those even slacks? They kind of look like yoga pants.

Privately, Bucky thinks that an outsider might be hard pressed to figure out which of them was supposed to be the mental patient here. Are Bucky and Sam actually driving this woman insane?

“So you’re sleeping together.” Dr. Carson’s tone is flat and dismayed. “You know this is against SHIELD employee regulations, don’t you?”

She taps her pen against their folders in agitation, and Bucky wonders if those folders are their actual permanent records. Does Bucky’s folder still have all of the notes from Sister Mary Angela about his “distracting” and “unnaturally close” relationship with Steve? God, Sister Mary Angela hated Steve.

Sam waves a careless hand and props his ankle up on his other knee. “We’re independent contractors, and Steve and Natasha made sure that our contracts didn’t include any kind of anti-fraternization policies. They were extremely thorough about it.”

Dr. Carson sighs heavily, and it looks like she’s doing literally everything in her power not to roll her eyes. Instead, she tips her head back and looks at the ceiling, probably hoping to roll her eyes where Bucky and Sam can’t see them. “Nevertheless, the two of you are still required to be discreet and professional when you’re at work. We’ve received complaints from several of your coworkers about your behavior in the last week. According to Carl, you’ve been bringing, quote, unwanted and uncomfortable sexual energy to the workplace.”

Bucky scoffs. He knows how to handle this sort of situation. “Listen, I didn’t lose my life fighting Nazis so that a little homoerotic banter and ass grabbing would get me in trouble at work. And anyway, this is how Captain America and I behaved at work back when we were fighting fascism and defending the free world—in the 1940s, even!—so I can’t imagine that somehow you’re just not allowed to give each other friendly hand jobs in closets in 2023. If anything, I should be able to give Sam a friendly hand job outside of a closet. Those are exactly the kinds of freedoms I fought and died for.”

Sam nods in support and says, “That’s a great point, Buck,” and Bucky feels warmth curling in his belly before he realizes, fuck, Sam’s doing it again, and right in front of Dr. Carson too. Jesus, Sam is so good at therapy. “And it sounds like Carl might be just a tad bit homophobic. Maybe we should be complaining to HR about him. You know, I didn’t serve during the long years of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell just to hear—”

“Carl is happily married to his male partner of thirty-seven years,” Dr. Carson states, clenching her jaw. Bucky has literally fought people to the death who look less bothered by his general existence. “Also, you didn’t actually die fighting Nazis, Agent Barnes.”

“It was a metaphorical death,” Bucky defends, because this is important to him. “The old Bucky Barnes died in that ravine. We went over it all in my therapy in Wakanda, the most scientifically advanced country in the world. What even are your credentials and where are your goats?”

“I have a Bachelor’s degree in psychology from Harvard and doctorates in clinical psychology and neuroscience from Oxford. I was a Rhodes scholar, I’ve received a MacArthur Fellowship for my work in PTSD and polytrauma in returning veterans, and I literally wrote the textbook for most Introduction to Psychology courses.”

Bucky waves his dismissive hand at this. “Yeah, well, Sam did eighty hours of coursework and an eighty hour practicum to become a certified peer counselor. Plus he has experiential knowledge, which is more important than book learning. Also, Sam isn’t HYDRA. Are you HYDRA?”

The wood in Dr. Carson’s pencil cracks a bit under her hand. “I’m not HYDRA.”

“But, like, would Nick Fury know if you were HYDRA?” Bucky presses.

“That’s an excellent point, baby, you’re killing it in therapy today.” Sam pats Bucky on the thigh and then leaves his hand there, bare inches away from Bucky’s cock, and Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moving his hips or making any noises. “Nick Fury would definitely not know if Dr. Carson were HYDRA, his Nazi-finding track record is, like, dismal at best. I vote that we suspend therapy until there’s been an independent investigation into whether or not Dr. Carson is HYDRA.”

“You can’t suspend therapy,” Dr. Carson says, her expression pinched. “These counseling sessions are mandatory.”

“Look, we’ll keep doing the love languages thing as a show of good faith, and once the investigation’s concluded we’ll come back so you can decide which one of us is winning at therapy,” Bucky says. “In the meantime just, like, prepare to have all of your secrets uncovered and all of your loved ones and ex-boyfriends questioned extensively about your most private and intimate memories.”

Dr. Carson covers her face with her hands. Is she trying to muffle a scream?

“For the last time, no one wins at therapy,” she grits out.

“I mean, I think I’m pretty obviously winning,” Sam says. Bucky tips his head in reluctant agreement. “Anyway, we’ll talk to Natasha and Steve about the HYDRA thing since they actually know how to find Nazis. If Steve and Nat clear you, then Bucky and I will agree to let you judge which one of us is winning the love languages competition. In the meantime, it would be nice if you could get some therapy pets for Bucky. He likes animals. Goats might be a bit unreasonable for downtown D.C., but I’m sure you could rustle up some cats or something, right?”

Bucky hums. “I like dogs better.’

“All right, cool. Dr. C, get us some dogs.” Sam raps two knuckles against the desk. “Bucky and I are going to go to the gym to work out a bit. Bucky’s shoulders are looking really good lately.”

“Sam!” Bucky hisses, squirming a bit in his seat. “Not in front of Dr. Carson!”

“Sorry, baby,” Sam says, holding out a hand to pull Bucky up out of his chair. “See you next week, Dr. C!”

***

It hasn’t exactly escaped Bucky’s notice that Natasha has been avoiding him ever since Bucky and Sam started their love languages competition, so when Bucky sees Steve walking alone down the hallway toward his office, he reaches out from the broom closet where he’s hiding and yanks Steve inside.

“Is Natasha helping Sam win the love languages competition?” Bucky hisses.

There’s no real reason that they need to have this conversation in a broom closet instead of Steve’s office, but Bucky’s feeling nostalgic today, and Steve doesn’t seem at all bothered to suddenly find himself in a broom closet with Bucky.

“I mean, probably?” Steve says with a shrug. “It seems only fair, since I’m helping you. Also her dirty talk has really leveled up lately, and that’s probably not a coincidence. Why, what’s Sam doing?”

“He’s, like, constantly flirting with me. And the touching! God, Steve, I’m horny all the time now. And you wouldn’t believe the things he says to me in bed! Do you know how hard it is to concentrate on all the sex routines you and I’ve choreographed when Sam’s telling me how pretty I look with his cock in my mouth?”

“Natasha is definitely helping him then—she says that to me all the time when she’s using her strap on,” Steve says, chewing his lip thoughtfully. “Are you sure you can’t keep it together enough to service him without getting distracted by his words of affirmation?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, his cheeks growing hot. “You have no idea, Steve, like Sam just gets so filthy. I know my brain’s been fried like an egg and I don’t actually remember a lot about sex, but I don’t think people talked like this in the ‘40s, right?”

“I mean, you and I shared a bedroom in an apartment with paper thin walls and then spent a few years in a warzone. There’s not much opportunity for dirty talk when you’re just doing your best to get off without waking anybody up,” Steve says. “But that does give me an idea. Sam’s secondary love language is quality time, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So date him! You may not have the sexual repertoire of someone who’s watched hundreds of hours of modern porn or even someone who remembers much about having sex before like three weeks ago, but you do know how to pull off a good old-fashioned wooing.”

Bucky’s forehead wrinkles. “Do I, though? Do I still know how to pull off a good old-fashioned wooing?”

“I believe in you, pal.” Steve claps him on the shoulder and then looks around the broom closet thoughtfully, taking in the dirty mop and the shelves of cleaning supplies and filthy rags. “You’re honestly not even doing a bad job of wooing me right now. Want to trade hand jobs for old time’s sake?”

Bucky shoots Steve a withering look. “I’m not wooing you right now, Steve, you’re just easy. Go find Natasha if you’re horny.”

Steve shrugs. “Eh, it was worth a shot.”

***

Two months later, once Steve and Natasha have completed Dr. Carson’s background check and confirmed that she isn’t HYDRA, Sam and Bucky return to therapy. Even though Dr. Carson hasn’t seen them in months, she looks pinched and irritated, and the deep wrinkles in her forehead and the sudden explosion of gray in her hair make her look as though she’s aged five years since she started giving them therapy.

Bucky frowns and squints in suspicion. “We haven’t gotten Blipped again, have we?”

“What?”

“You just look—” Bucky gestures toward her hair and the bags under her eyes.

Dr. Carson’s expression shifts from exhausted indifference to polite fury, and Bucky’s just about to apologize when Sam gestures toward the floor under the window and says, “Hey, look at that! It’s about time you got Bucky a therapy puppy, you know that his doctors in Wakanda strongly encouraged it.”

When Bucky follows the line of Sam’s arm, he sees the cutest puppy in the world sitting in a fuzzy little dog bed with pictures of bones on it. Bucky gasps in delight. “He’s so cute, Sam, look at his little face!”

The puppy’s face is perfect, with big brown eyes and a short little snout with a tiny black nose. When he wags his tail, his little butt wiggles and Bucky wants to die about it. He loves this puppy so much.

“I’m naming him Paddington after my favorite movie,” Bucky declares.

“I love it,” Sam says immediately, pulling out his phone. “Put him in your lap so I can get some pictures for Steve and Natasha. They’re going to be so jealous when they find out that we got to have a dog in our therapy.”

Sam and Bucky spend the next ten minutes playing with Paddington and taking photos of the two of them with their adorable new therapy dog while Dr. Carson rubs her forehead like she just fucking knew this puppy would be a distraction.

“I think we should get started,” Dr. Carson interrupts, glancing pointedly at her watch.

“Yes, perfect!” Bucky pulls a small notebook out of his back pocket. “OK, so let me catch you up on everything we’ve done to each other since our last meeting, and I especially want your input on the scoring system that Sam and I have developed—”

Bucky and Sam spend the next half hour recounting their every interaction over the past couple of months in explicit, pornographic detail while Dr. Carson repeatedly clenches and unclenches her fists. When they spend ten full minutes alone on the rim job Bucky gave Sam last Saturday, Dr. Carson’s eyes go distant and glassy like a shell shocked veteran of the Great War or something. Bucky has literally seen torture victims make less of an effort to dissociate from their surroundings than Dr. Carson right now.

Honestly, who would have expected a therapist with thirty years’ experience to be so faint of heart? It’s absolutely critical to Bucky and Sam’s scoring system to determine whether Sam let out a “choked moan” or a “strangled gasp” while Bucky ate him out, and Bucky doesn’t appreciate Dr. Carson’s frankly lackluster participation when they stage a reenactment of events to try and settle the matter. She doesn’t even seem very decisive when she finally renders her judgment, like maybe she just doesn’t care what kind of sound Sam made, even though it was the most erotic noise Bucky’s ever heard in a hundred years.

When Sam concludes his argument for why words of affirmation during sex should count for more points than praise at work, Dr. Carson sighs heavily, looks off into the distance for exactly ten seconds, and then states, “I think we should discuss how you two can erect boundaries between your work relationship and your sexual relationship.”

Sam raises a skeptical eyebrow at Dr. Carson’s audacity. “Do you really feel like you’re qualified to counsel us on that particular issue?”

Dr. Carson’s jaw clenches. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, after everything that went down between you and Dr. Fitzgerald back in Philadelphia, I hardly think—”

Dr. Carson’s face whitens like curdled milk. “How did you find out about that?”

“Remember Natasha’s background check? Anyway, I’m just saying that it’s a tad bit hypocritical of you to suggest that Bucky and I shouldn’t be fucking during work hours, I mean, Bucky isn’t even married—”

Dr. Carson bites her lip so ferociously that she draws blood. “Bucky may not be married, but he is technically your subordinate, and that means there’s an uneven power dynamic to consider here—”

Sam smirks like he’s fucking Benjamin Matlock and he knows he’s just one pointed question away from making the guilty party break down and confess right there on the witness stand. (Bucky makes a mental note to ask Sam later why he and Natasha always snicker when Bucky and Steve get together to play cribbage and watch Matlock on Sunday afternoons.) “You mean like the uneven power dynamic at play between you and that doctoral student whose dissertation committee you chaired at UPenn?”

Dr. Carson gasps, and her face turns as red and furious as Sister Mary Angela’s that time she caught Steve’s skinny arms nailing a copy of Martin Luther’s Ninety-five Theses to the heavy wooden door of St. Charles Borromeo.

Bucky’s mind wanders a bit at that memory. God, Steve Rogers really was such a bad influence—maybe Sister Mary Angela was right about their distracting and unnaturally close relationship. Because of course Bucky couldn’t leave that stubborn asshole to face Sister Mary Angela’s wrath alone, so Bucky had ended up confessing to abusing his powers as editor of the student newspaper to let Steve use the school’s small printing press. Bucky emerged from the experience with an ass that burned for a week and a few uncomfortable new kinks.

Now, Bucky looks speculatively over at Sam’s strong hands and shifts in his chair.

“I just remembered, Sam and I have something really important to do,” Bucky announces. “So we’ll see you next week, right? OK, cool. C’mon, Paddington!”

Bucky grabs Paddington’s cute little dog bed and Paddington hops down from Sam’s lap to follow them out of the office, his tail wagging happily as he trots along beside them. God, Paddington is so fucking cute, Bucky cannot believe what a great dog he is.

Dr. Carson calls out after them through gritted teeth. “You’re not supposed to take the therapy dog with you!”

“Sorry, what?” Sam shouts back, cupping his hand around his ear. “I can’t hear you!”

“Bucky, I know you have super hearing!”.

“Sorry, I’m a hundred and six years old and I left my ear trumpet at home!” Bucky raises his hands in an exaggerated shrug to convey the hopelessness of trying to communicate at this great distance of about forty feet.

“God, I need a fucking vacation forever,” Dr. Carson mutters.

***

Later, after Bucky and Sam collapse against Sam’s sheets in sweaty exhaustion, Bucky mentally tallies their points and comes to the frustrating conclusion that Sam is still absolutely wiping the floor with him in this love languages competition. God, how is Sam so good at everything? He’s so fucking handsome and charming and athletic and just, like, absolute dynamite in the sack—

God, no wonder Bucky’s losing. There’s no way he can win this competition with his dick alone. Time to channel Tommy Dorsey and play it from the heart.

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky murmurs, leaning up to nuzzle his nose against Sam’s jaw. “Let me cook you dinner tonight, doll. Wanna treat you right.”

“‘M not your doll,” Sam grumbles. “But yeah, OK.”

Bucky kisses Sam’s shoulder and plots.

Three hours later, Bucky and Steve survey Bucky’s dining room with the smug satisfaction of Scarlett O’Hara stealing her sister’s fiancé to get her greedy hands on his general store and sawmill.

“I think we nailed it, pal,” Steve boasts. “This looks just like your date night mood board.”

“I mean, I feel like half the credit should go to Pinterest user donkeydick2004—who would’ve guessed that he’d have such a sensitive soul.”

Bucky’s dining room table is covered with rose petals sprinkled over Bucky’s mother’s best lace tablecloth, liberated from the archives of the Smithsonian along with the rest of the contents of Steve and Bucky’s old Brooklyn Heights apartment. Two lit candles rise proudly from the gleaming silver of Sarah Rogers’s candleholders—the only wedding gift she’d managed to save from the pawnbroker during those lean years of Steve’s childhood—and the Victrola crackles with the smooth tenor of Enrico Caruso singing an aria so romantic it once brought a tear to the clear, flinty eye of Bucky’s father. Bucky’s grateful now that the Barneses were a Victor Talking Machine Company family—those Edison wax cylinders decayed faster than American democracy after the invention of Facebook.

The first time Bucky saw the familiar red logo of that Caruso record again—faithful Nipper the dog, his head tipped toward the horn of a gramophone playing the sound of his dead master’s voice—Bucky drove straight out into the desert and screamed until he was hoarse.

And now tonight Bucky’s using that very record to romance the shit out of Sam Wilson, so Nick Fury and Dr. Carson can fuck off with their so-called “therapy” because Bucky Barnes is doing great.

Steve clears his throat and gives Bucky a meaningful look. “You know, if this is all just some competition between you and Sam, you didn’t have to drive out to Maryland to dig all of our most personal and intimate memories out of storage for this dinner.”

Flustered, Bucky replies, “You have no idea what a canny opponent Sam is! Every time that man talks, my heart flutters and my stomach’s all full of butterflies. Besides,” Bucky says, “my grandfather paid fifty extra dollars to get the Circassian walnut veneer put on that old Victrola—he would haunt me if I didn’t ever use it, Steve.”

“You know your Aunt Margaret spit on her own father’s grave when your grandfather left that Victrola to your dad instead of her?”

Bucky laughs. “Is that why they had that big falling out? I couldn’t remember.”

“Peggy said that your Aunt Margaret wrote Howard Stark a letter every month until the day she died demanding the return of that Victrola.”

“Well, I hope that greedy old hag is looking down at me right now,” Bucky says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She deserves to watch me seduce my gay lover with that Victrola, it serves her right. You know she called you a fairy once?”

Steve gestures toward the intimate tableau featuring all of Bucky’s most precious memories and dryly states, “Well, as long as you’re clear on spite as your motivation for all of this.”

Bucky bites his lip as a sudden fear strikes him. “Do you think Sam’s going to like the chicken? People still roast chicken, right? It’s not just, like, sushi and gluten free vegan desserts nowadays?”

Steve opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by a knock at the door. Paddington dives off the sofa like he’s responding to an Avengers Assemble alarm—which, oh my god, could Paddington wear a little outfit and come with the Avengers on ops? Bucky needs to look into this immediately—and dances around in elation when Bucky opens the door to reveal Sam, who is looking fine as hell in a lavender button-down and navy trousers.

And Bucky’s heart is—honestly not reacting much differently than Paddington right now.

“Aw, hi, baby!” Sam says, leaning down to pet Paddington and scratch him behind the ears. When Sam’s finished giving Paddington the attention he so richly deserves, Bucky’s pulled in for a long, heartbreakingly tender kiss that sends a shiver of want down the entire length of his spine. Sam and Steve exchange their own greetings while Bucky surreptitiously reaches up to rub at the goosebumps prickling at the sensitive skin at the back of his neck.

“Steve, you’re going to be OK watching Paddington tonight, right?” Bucky’s voice is threaded with the justifiable suspicion of someone who has known Steve Rogers for a lifetime.

Steve’s mouth drops open in offense. “Yes! Bucky, I know how to watch a dog.”

Bucky lifts Paddington’s tiny body and curls his arms protectively around him. “OK, well, Paddington is the most important thing in the world to me, and you are literally the least responsible person I know, so.”

“What? Bucky, I’m—that’s—I’m Captain America. I’m famously responsible.”

“Sam is Captain America, Steve. I feel like you’re not moving on. Also my brain might be a giant lump of small curd cottage cheese now, but I still remember that you’re a reckless idiot.”

Sam gives Steve a sharp look of his own and says, “Steve, Paddington is very important to Bucky’s therapy and also to our therapy as a couple—” Sam pauses, then adds, “of coworkers. So make sure you give him his favorite treats, but don’t give him too many treats, and make sure he doesn’t pull the squeaker out of his stuffed alligator—”

Bucky and Sam lead Steve to the door while Sam continues to debrief Steve on all of Paddington’s most important feelings and preferences. “You should really be writing all of this down, Steve,” Sam says with a frown.

Steve sighs. “I have an eidetic memory.”

“All right, well, if we pick him up in the morning and he has an upset tummy, I will literally kill you, and Sam—the trustworthy Captain America—will be my alibi,” Bucky says.

Sam nods in solemn agreement.

Bucky and Sam part from Paddington with identical expressions of worry as Steve walks him down the hall to his apartment.

As soon as Steve’s door closes, Bucky is all over Sam, pressing him against the wall and skimming his lips over the warm skin of Sam’s neck. God, Sam smells incredible, like tobacco and vanilla and oiled leather, and somehow the masculine scent of him travels down Bucky’s windpipe and directly to his cock.

“Hi,” Bucky breathes.

“Hey, baby,” Sam murmurs, tipping his head back to let Bucky’s lips trail along his throat to his jawline. Bucky’s just getting really into it, his hips pressing insistently against Sam’s, when the timer for the oven goes off.

Over dinner, Bucky and Sam talk and laugh about their coworkers as the candlelight does frankly amazing things for Sam’s bone structure. Bucky squirms in his chair and tries to will away the flush he can feel spreading up his neck when Sam compliments Bucky on the romantic lighting and the beautiful place settings. Fuck, he’s supposed to be giving Sam quality time here, and instead Sam’s using that quality time to offer Bucky more words of affirmation. Bucky’s not really ready to concede this battle just yet, but he’s definitely starting to craft a defeat narrative for himself about the lack of shame in being beaten by the best.

And Sam is definitely the best.

“That chicken was incredible.” Sam pats his stomach and groans in satisfaction. “You know that’s just how my mama always makes it?”

Bucky wonders if it would be weird to divulge that he actually broke into Sam’s mother’s house to sneak a look at her recipe cards. That’s normal intelligence gathering, right? Bucky made sure Sam’s mom was out of the house when he entered, and afterward he sent a team of security specialists to give her a better alarm system setup—”compliments of SHIELD, ma’am”—when he realized that her house was way too easy to break into. And Bucky’s dad always said to leave things better than you found them, so if anything Sam’s mom is probably safer now than she was before the world’s most legendary assassin crept into her house to rifle through her personal belongings.

He feels like Natasha would agree with him but he also feels like Natasha is probably just as batshit insane as Bucky and Steve are. Bucky has literally no normal friends and he should probably start spending more time with Sharon Carter.

After dinner, Sam looks relaxed and sated, his eyes warm and heavy-lidded as he watches Bucky shiver under his praise. “You know you have a praise kink, right?”

“Yes, Sam,” Bucky says, and tries to refrain from rolling his eyes. “Steve and I did a ton of research and watched, like, hours of porn together. We figured it out.”

“You and Steve have some serious boundary issues.” Sam shakes his head and grins in amusement. “But seriously, though, you’re not just hooking up with me because you imprinted on me after I made your dick hard or something, right? I mean, I remember the first time I got a boner after being deployed. I cried like a baby, so I get it, man, but—”

“Actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you about that,” Bucky says, his stomach swimming with nerves. This is the moment he’s been anticipating and dreading since he planned this whole date night op. “I was thinking—how would you feel about taking this competition to the next level?”

Sam’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I just think we’d both have more time and energy to devote to this competition if we were competing, you know, exclusively.”

“Ah.” Sam’s expression clears and a slow smile spreads across his handsome face. “You want to be boyfriends.”

“I want to be boyfriends,” Bucky confirms with a decisive nod.

He may be losing this love language competition by about a hundred and fifty points, but Bucky still has some fight in him yet. And between work and sex and co-ownership of Paddington, Bucky’s already spending so much time with Sam that there’s no real way to increase the amount of time in “quality time”—but he can improve the quality of that time. If Bucky and Sam are boyfriends, Bucky figures, all that quality time should automatically count for more points than the quality time they spend together as coworkers with confusing feelings for each other, right?

Bucky’s lungs burn as he holds his breath held in anticipation of Sam’s response.

“Yeah, let’s be boyfriends,” Sam says, with a grin tugging at his lips.

Bucky’s heart soars in victory.

***

Bucky and Sam have decided not to bring Paddington with them to any future therapy appointments just in case Dr. Carson tries to take him away like Cruella de Vil.

This week, however, Dr. Carson shows up their session with a whole new vibe. Instead of striding imperiously into her office in her usual stern fashion, Dr. Carson blows in fifteen minutes late with the casual energy of a high school senior during the last week of school. She walks over to her desk, flip-flops slapping against her feet, and reclines back in her chair to prop her feet up onto the polished surface of her solid oak desk. She’s dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie like a suburban mom in an airport waiting to fly down to Miami for a Caribbean cruise.

“So how’s it going this week, boys?” Dr. Carson asks, slurping from the straw of her Big Gulp soda.

“Um, great.” Sam eyes her cautiously. “Bucky and I are boyfriends now.”

“No shit!” Dr. Carson says, and tilts her head back to squint down at them. “Huh. What do you know about that.” Then she shrugs. “Tell me how it happened.”

So Bucky and Sam tell her every detail of the last week, including the way they tenderly made love after Sam agreed to be Bucky’s boyfriend. Dr. Carson is clear-eyed and engaged the entire time, even during the five full minutes Sam devotes to the ripple of Bucky’s abdominal muscles as he strains toward orgasm, and Bucky’s just starting to think that maybe they can get some real therapy out of Dr. Carson when she says—

“So Fury’s transferring me to Hawaii.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. “What?”

“Yup.” Dr. Carson burrows deeper into her chair and lets out a relaxed sigh before taking another loud sip of her soda. “This is our last session!”

“So do we have a new therapist after this, or?” Sam waves his hand uncertainly.

“Nah, I’m just gonna go ahead and tell Fury that you guys are doing great. You’ve officially graduated therapy.”

Bucky chokes on air. “Excuse me, what? We graduated therapy?”

“Sure, why not?” Dr. Carson says with a lazy shrug. “Despite literally all of my expectations to the contrary, it seems like you guys have actually formed a stable partnership. Just, you know, maybe stop fucking so much at work.”

Bucky scoffs. “Listen, I didn’t give my life fighting Nazis in World War II—” he begins.

***

After Bucky and Sam’s appointment with Dr. Carson, Sam receives a text asking him to meet Fury in his executive suite.

Bucky heads back to his own office—his real one, buried deep within the bowels of SHIELD in a secret interrogation room someone bricked up the entrance to and then forgot about years ago. Bucky discovered it while crawling through the air ducts to place surveillance equipment in the offices of Nick Fury and the major SHIELD department heads. Once Bucky disposed of the mummified body he found inside—which, wow, super gross—it made the perfect private office space and server room.

Bucky opens his surveillance software just in time to hear Fury tell Sam that Bucky broke his best therapist.

“Dr. Carson is a highly trained professional at the top of her field,” Fury says, his voice stern. “I had to offer her a fifty percent raise to lure her away from private practice, and now I’m sending her away from D.C., where all of my elite agents reside, to Honolulu, which is where I send all the useless nepotism agents I’m forced to hire by the World Security Council. I don’t know what Barnes did to that woman but he just cost me a very experienced and expensive mental health professional.”

“And what makes you think Agent Barnes is at fault?”

“Dr. Carson is obviously not at liberty to divulge any specifics about what was said during your therapy sessions, but she did note that your bickering was ‘maddening’ and that she, quote, hadn’t even realized it was possible to overshare during therapy. She also indicated that Barnes instigated an invasive and traumatizing background check that caused her a great deal of personal distress.’”

“Given Agent Barnes’s history with SHIELD, I think it’s perfectly understandable that he may have sought reassurance that Dr. Carson wasn’t an agent of HYDRA.” Sam’s voice is bland and pleasant. “It’s hardly Agent Barnes’s fault that Dr. Carson turned out to have a surprisingly messy personal life.”

“Be that as it may, I’m suspending Barnes from active duty until he passes a second psych eval from another therapist.”

“With all due respect, sir, Agent Barnes has been nothing but cooperative in this retaliatory investigation into his mental state. He’s a skilled and creative fighter, a selfless and generous partner, and a brilliant tactician. He deserves to be treated with the same respect as any other SHIELD agent who hasn’t shot you.”

Jesus Christ, is Sam offering Bucky words of affirmation even when he’s not there to hear them? What kind of love language master is Sam? God, how can Bucky possibly compete with this?

Fury’s voice is strangled. “Retaliatory?”

“Yes,” Sam says firmly. “As far as I’m aware, Agent Barnes has cleared all mandatory psychological evaluations and then some. If you have a problem with his—or my—behavior in the workplace, I suggest you carefully review our employment contracts and initiate the appropriate disciplinary proceedings. In the meantime, I will be continuing with Agent Barnes as my partner. There will be no suspension.”

The sound of Fury’s office door slamming shut is unexpectedly erotic.

By the time Sam slides through the secret passageway into Bucky’s office, Sam looks calm and collected, like he hasn’t just returned from facing down a man with the power and authority to send him to one of a half-dozen black sites so secret they probably exist on other planets.

“So how’d the meeting go?” Bucky asks, suppressing a grin.

“Oh, it was fine,” Sam says with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “We don’t have to do therapy anymore.”

Bucky lets his smile spread across his face. “Oh, yeah? No more retaliatory investigations into my mental state?”

When Sam realizes how Bucky must have overheard that remark, his eyes widen in delight. “I’m sorry, did you bug Fury’s office? Bucky Barnes, you crazy asshole, I love you so fucking much.”

Bucky freezes. Sam loves him? Adrenaline and exhilaration race through Bucky’s veins, spreading through his entire circulatory system until he feels like he’s going to buzz right out of his skin. For the second time in Bucky’s life, he’s been flung straight over the side of a cliff, except this time Sam has wings to catch him. God, this is why they call it falling, isn’t it?

Bucky is feeling so fucking affirmed right now. He has never felt so affirmed in his entire life.

And Bucky’s lost that stupid competition now, hasn’t he. There’s no way Bucky can compete with that declaration, no way he can pull off a victory after Sam just earned himself, like, fifty million points—but when Bucky looks at Sam’s gap-toothed grin, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s secretly won after all.

And he does have one last, best card to play.

“Hey, Sam,” Bucky says, with a wide grin, “how do you feel about moving in together?”

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