Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Summer is officially coming to an end, and Leila Taylor wants to take Sam Wilson to a nightclub. 

Leila’s and Sam's apartment felt more and more suffocating each day as summer came to a close. Leila has his feet on her lap, tapping away some beat on his calves. The night is young, and utterly boring. 

“Come on! Might I remind you that school starts next week, baby. And you, my friend, need to get laid. Can't have you moping around the apartment talking about not getting dick in 50 years,” says Leila. 

“I do not mope,” Sam replies disgustedly, “And it has not been 50 years…” 

“Yes, you do! I know, Sammy, you have that rule now that you don't date during the school semester,” they both say the rule in unison, “but please! For me!” Leila frowns and bats her eyelashes at him as he glares at her from over his book. He shuts the book and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“... I don't even have anything to wear,” Sam mumbles. 

“You could always wear mine! We’re kind of about the same size,” she says while squinting, picking up different shirts from her hamper where she was doing laundry in his room and holding them in front of Sam to see how they would look. 

“Alright, alright, get outta here,” he says as he pushes her off the bed, “Let me get dressed.” 

Leila squeals and hugs Sam tightly, throwing his body around like a ragdoll before running out of the room. 

Sam decides to go with a simple look, a too-tight black tank and pants that hug his ass and thighs perfectly. 

Leila has on her favorite green halter top and low-rise jeans. Her usual heavy eyeliner paired with a red lip. She looks as beautiful as ever. 

“Oh, you little minx! Those guys are gonna be crawling for it,” she says, kissing his cheek loudly. “Let's go!” 

The speakers drift from song to song, a mix of 90s and 2000s with some new stuff nobody really cares about.  

The air tastes of sweat and a thousand different colognes, bodies pressed together without a care in the world. Sam doesn't know the last time he's felt so free, like he's flying. 

“Lei,” he shouts, “I'm gonna go get a drink. You want somethin’?” 

“No, I'm good. You go ahead,” Leila practically pants. They kiss each other on the cheek before he makes his way through the crowd of people. 

Sam knows he looks good, clothes hugging him in all the right places. He can feel everybody’s eyes on him, heavy stares roaming his body. Lingering as he makes his way to the bar. 

He feels a warm hand on his lower back before moving away quickly. 

“Two rum and cokes,” the man tells the bartender. 

“Right on it.” 

Sam turns and sees him. He's obviously older. His hair stopping just above his shoulders, and neatly trimmed beard going slightly grey. Insanely hot. 

“I’m Bucky,” the older man introduces himself, reaching out to shake his hand. Sam meets him halfway and instead of shaking it, Bucky kisses his hand lightly. Like a knight in a fairytale. 

“You're beautiful,” he says, awed. 

“It's Sam actually,” Sam says sarcastically, and Bucky laughs as if it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. 

The bartender comes back with both of their drinks and Bucky slides him a generous tip, making Sam’s and the bartender's eyes go wide but going unnoticed by Bucky himself. 

He and Sam both take a sip of their drinks, eyes never leaving the other over the rim of the glass.   

Bucky nods toward Leila who's still on the dance floor, now dancing with some girl she just met. “I saw you come in. Moves weren't half bad.” 

Who the fuck is this guy? 

“Oh, like you can do any better? Sure you won’t break a hip?” 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky leans in close, his low, smoky voice making Sam shiver, “you have no idea what these hips can do.” 

It's corny but Sam giggles. “Was that a line?” 

“I was trying something out,” he shrugs. 

“You can do better than that. I know you can,” Sam places his palm on Bucky's broad shoulder, slowly tracing down to his hand and grips it, the size difference making Sam dizzy with want. He looks up at the man, who's already staring back breathless, and bites his lip. 

Bucky's eyes, oceans upon oceans, trace the lines across Sam's face, his jaw, his lips. The kaleidoscopic lights creating such intense shadows on his face he has to look away. He looks like a god. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, a torturous gesture that sent electricity all the way to Sam's core, making him press his thighs together.  

Bucky takes a step closer, fully invading his personal space now. Sam has to look up just to maintain eye contact. The air is thick and primal, heady. Bucky places his hand along Sam's jaw, touching his bottom lip with his thumb, just rubbing it back and forth. Sam can't help himself; he takes the finger in his mouth and sucks. 

A groan erupts out of Bucky that sounds like Fuck , ducking his head closer to Sam's neck. The stubble on his cheek is rough. He needs it everywhere.  

“Do you wanna-” Bucky doesn’t get to finish. 

“Yeah.” Yeah. 

Bucky pins Sam to the stall door before they even have the chance to lock it. Rough lips parting to make way for tongue, no idea telling who started it. The bass of the loud music pumping through the walls into their veins and staying there, making them feel warm all over. It's intoxicating. 

The older man gets a thigh in between Sam's legs and he whines. The throbbing between his legs turned to a needing ache. Sam hasn't felt this good in what feels like a lifetime. After his breakup with Riley 3 years ago, he hasn't been with anybody since, dedicating his time fully to school instead. 

Bucky gropes Sam's ass in one hand, grinding him forward on his thigh. He spits in the other and unbuttons Sam's pants just enough to get his hand inside, eliciting a moan out of the younger man. His fingers are gentle but strong, searching. 

“You're so wet,” Bucky says, stunned. 

He slides in two fingers easily, massaging his clit with his thumb, making Sam gasp and clutch his shoulders. 

Bucky grabs a condom out of his pocket, rips it open with his teeth as he unzips his pants just enough to get his cock out. 

“Oh God.”

It's the biggest dick Sam has ever seen. So big that he gasps at the sight. Thick and heavy. It's perfect. 

“Think you can take it?” Bucky says cockily, smirking as he strokes himself. 

“You're so big,” Sam whispers. 

“Turn around for me sweetheart,” Bucky drawls. 

Sam is pliant in Bucky’s hands, turning around and holding himself open. 

Bucky slips his cock between Sam's cheeks, dragging along his folds, teasing. Fucking in and out. Up and down. 

“Hurry up already.” 

He stops and removes Sam's hands from his ass, instead spreading his cheeks himself, tracing the rim with his thumb, dipping in slightly. 

“Fuck,” he moans. 

Sam fucks himself on his finger for a moment, distracted by how good this man is making him feel. The mix of the bass and Bucky’s fingers pumping in and out at such a quick pace is as if he's vibrating out of his skin. 

He looks over his shoulder and licks his lips. 

“I said hurry up.” 

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself. I didn't want to take that from you doll.”

Bucky looks like he genuinely means it when he says it, like this isn't a one-time thing, like he cares. It startles something in Sam. He feels exposed to this stranger, more so than the fact that he's naked in front of him.  

“Fuck… c’mon.” 

Bucky slides in and stays there for a moment, unmoving. Sam glances behind him and there the older man is, mouth agape and eyes screwed shut, flushed a deep red. 

“Sorry doll, just give me a second,” he pants. 

Sam tightens just to mess with him and Bucky thrusts in deep. 

“Oh my god,” he gasps, sure that everybody else in the bathroom can hear him. Both of them. 

Bucky's thrusts start out slow, his prosthetic arm covering Sam's mouth so as to not get caught. 

Sam mutters something that sounds like Daddy , Bucky's pace quickening immediately. 

Bucky slaps his ass, making Sam fuck himself back on his cock. 

“Harder,” Sam groans. 

Bucky slides his hand down from his mouth to his throat, applying just enough pressure to make Sam close. 

“Daddy,” he whimpers. 

“Yeah baby?” 

“ ‘m close.”

Bucky's thrusts were frantic, getting deeper and rougher, pounding so hard Sam knows he's gonna feel it for at least a week. His fingers slip back down to his cunt, rubbing his clit with precision. 

Sam feels himself well up, on the verge of tears with how deliciously overwhelming it all is, so hungeringly full he could burst. 

“You feel so fucking good. Like you were made to take cock,” Bucky practically growls in his ear. 

“Please,” Sam weeps.

He's drunk on it, unable to think or say anything that isn't Please . And to be honest, he doesn't want to. 

“So needy.” 

Sam and Bucky both were at a loss for words, just muttering nonsense that sounds like Daddy and So fucking tight . 

Bucky's thrusts became even more erratic, his hips slamming into Sam so hard the sound echoed throughout the room. Sam's eyes roll into the back of his head at the force. 

“Gonna cum for me?” 

Sam threw his head on Bucky's shoulder, arching his back and grabbing Bucky's hair, moaning loudly. 

“Yeah, good boy. Come on, cum for daddy.” His voice is low and deep and Sam is so so close the tears don’t stop coming. 

Bucky licks at his throat and bites . 

That’s what does it for Sam, a loud moan erupting from his chest, whole body feeling liquid. His cunt pulsates involuntarily, bringing Bucky right over the edge with him. 

Still silence. The two men pant in each other's ears, neither wanting to move away from this moment. 

Bucky slips out, kissing the spot where he just bit as Sam shudders from the loss. They both take turns washing their hands in the sink and making themselves look presentable again. He looks at Bucky in the mirror for a moment. God, he really is handsome. And kind. Fuck . Bucky smiles at Sam in the mirror, making him look away flushed. 

“Do you think I could get–” Bucky starts. 

Sam’s phone starts ringing in his pocket. 

Oh shit.  

“Shit I have to go. Sorry. This was really nice.” 

He smiles at him before running out of the bathroom back to Leila. Back home.

The week goes by in a daze. 

He can't get his mind off of the guy from the club even if he tried. And he’s tried. Bucky . If he tries hard enough, he can still feel his hands on him, in him. Gripping him so tight it felt like he should never leave. 

He's only talked about him to Leila a couple of times, but she's been of no use, telling him that that old man was the love of his life. 

But he's gone now. Sam never even learned anything about him. No job, no friends, no phone number. Just… Bucky. 

College starts again, same old same old. Campus is the same as ever; everybody is the same as ever. 

His history professor is late. 

He takes out his planner, which has his schedule stapled in there. James Barnes. It's the first day, where the hell is he?  

The door opens as Sam tries to stuff his planner back in the bag. 

“God, class I am so sorry I'm late; I was stuck in traffic,” the professor rushes out. 

That voice… 

Sam looks up and gasps softly. 

The professor – Mr. Barnes, or really Bucky – looks right at him. Caught like a deer in headlights. 

Shit.

Chapter Text

Bucky's smile faded as he looked among the crowd of faces of the lecture hall, instead turning into one of shock. 

Sam Wilson. 

The beautiful one from the club. 

His new student Sam Wilson. 

Fuck. 

Class goes by in a cacophony of sounds; Bucky barely even remembers teaching. Blah blah syllabus blah blah participation matters blah blah we start bright and early next class. The usual stuff. 

That night they were all at Steve and Nat’s place, the sun setting outside the living room window as they ate their takeout. Some classical music Bucky couldn't recognize played on their record player. It was all so nice. All Bucky can think about is getting his hands on Sam again.  

Tony and Steve were arguing about something, all sounding like a bunch of uninteresting muffles, before Bucky interrupted. 

“Do you guys remember the kid from the club the other night?” 

“The one you did? Ew, man, don't call him a kid,” said Tony.  

“He's my student,” Bucky blurted out. 

The room went quiet; you could hear a pin drop. Nat’s and Steve's jaws are practically on the floor, Tony looking proud. After a few seconds that feel like hours, Tony and Nat start cackling like lunatics. Steve at least tries to pretend like he doesn’t think it’s funny. 

“You're… joking?” asked Nat. 

“I fucking wish. Walked into class this morning, and there he was, sitting in the front of the room,” 

“Did he know you would um… be there?” Steve asked. 

“I don't think so. He looked just as embarrassed as I felt. Should I say something?”

“Yeah, ask him to come inside to your office one on one,” joked Tony, winking and wiggling his eyebrows.   

“You're disgusting,” he grumbled, sighing and putting his head in his hands. 

Steve got up to throw away his box, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “Come with me real quick.” 

When they made their way to the kitchen, Steve cornered him, crossing his arms. 

“Are you gonna say something to- sorry what’s the kids name?” 

“Sam, it’s Sam.” 

“Are you gonna talk to him? Establish boundaries and what not?” asked Steve. 

Bucky clenched his jaw, eyebrows furrowed. If anybody was to be worried about getting too attached, it’s Bucky, not Sam. 

“Yeah… yeah,” Bucky didn’t want to make eye contact, didn’t want to meet Steve’s empathetic gaze. He already felt pathetic enough. 

“I know you’re a… classical guy,” Steve laughs, “but it was just sex, Buck. And he’s in his 20s.” 

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be upset; everything Steve is saying is completely true. But he is. “I should go,” he pats him on the shoulder, “it’s getting late.” 

“Buck…” 

“It’s fine. See you tomorrow.” 

The week was even worse than last. Sam was clearly interested in the class, but he wouldn't participate. Just kept his head to his notebook whenever Bucky turned to ask the class questions. He wouldn't even look at him. 

“Class ends in ten minutes so I'll just let you all go early. Does anybody have any questions about today's lecture?” announced Bucky. 

Silence. Students looking around or packing their bags or even just plain on their phones. Sam won’t even look up. 

“Anybody?” Bucky projected even louder. 

Some kid Bucky hasn't bothered to learn the name of raises his hand. Of course. 

“Do we call you James or Professor Barnes?” 

Bucky sighs and massages his forehead, “Professor Barnes is fine.” 

The clock strikes 1:30. Thank God. 

“I'll see you all Monday!” He practically yells as everybody races out of the room. 

Sam looks at him over his shoulder for a moment, and then leaves the classroom. 

Bucky was in his office grading papers later in the day. Some introduction to history quiz. Impossible to fail, and yet some did. As he made his way through the stack, he reached him. 

Sam Wilson. 

Fuck, even his handwriting is beautiful. A neat cursive. 

Such pretty hands gripping a pencil the way he should be gripping-  

Fuck, this isn’t right. He hasn't been this horny in… since God knows when. 

He grabs himself through his slacks. He’s already hard. Shit. 

He unzips his pants just enough to take his cock out, spits on his hand, and grips it tight. His hand calloused against the skin.  

He closes his eyes and thinks, reminisces. About him. His pretty smile, his humor. That ass. 

“Oh Sir, I think I need some help with this work,” Sam is sitting in his lap; his voice is sweet and breathy. 

He looks up at him with those big doe eyes, batting his eyelashes so. He grips Bucky's strong bicep in his small hand, his ass grinding against Bucky's clothed crotch. 

“I know you do, baby. Let me help you.” 

Bucky stands and bends Sam over the desk and ruts against the younger man's ass. 

Sam moans. 

He wonders if this is how Sam would sound, all loud and unashamed, unafraid of being caught. 

“Daddy,” Sam whines. 

“Fuck. Yeah that's good.” 

Bucky pushes both of their pants down and pushes into Sam's cunt. Velvety and soaking wet. 

Bucky’s hand is rough and barely does the job, he needs to fuck Sam again, he has to fuck Sam again. 

The slide is rough but Sam is so loud and tight and wet and so so so good and-

A knock at the door startles Bucky from his daydream. Shit. He was so close. 

Bucky clears his throat and decides to just stay in his seat, covering his crotch with his coat jacket. 

“Come in,” he coughs out. 

“Um. Hi Professor Barnes,” Sam says nervously. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Sam is a vision, clad in a tight sweater and jeans that accentuate his thick thighs. The sweater looks so soft. Bucky wants to rip it off of him. 

“Hey Samuel. Hope you're finding everything okay,” he says, willing his voice to sound as normal as possible. 

“I am! Everything's been great actually. I just,” Sam shuts the door and sits slowly in the chair parallel to Bucky, “wanted to talk about last week.” 

Oh. 

“God I'm so sorry about that I-” 

“I don't really… do this sort of thing. One night stands. I don't even date during the school year. It’s kind of a rule that I have,” Sam interrupted. 

Bucky wants to die. He has to die. 

He puts on his normalest face when he says, “Oh. Hey, I understand of course. Thank you for letting me know. We can just go back to normal — well not back but — professional.” 

“But uh, just for the record, I don’t normally do this sort of thing either,” says Bucky in a more hushed tone. 

“Oh…” Sam whispers. 

“Yeah…” Bucky whispers back. He needs to change the subject, God, please change the subject. 

“So… now what?” Sam clears his throat, looking a little embarrassed. 

“We just go back to being professor and student. As if it never happened,” Sam frowns a little when Bucky says this, a blink and you'll miss it moment. But Bucky doesn't miss it. His heart hurts. 

“Don't expect any special treatment alright?” Bucky tries to joke, thankfully it puts a smile on his face. 

“Don't worry. You aren't even my favorite professor,” Sam jokes back. 

“Damn, I really thought we had something,” he teased. 

They laugh and settle into a calm silence. Sam had to go eventually. Bucky never wants to let him. 

“Thanks again Bu- Professor Barnes. I’ll see you Monday,” Sam smiles politely and then leaves the room. Bucky doesn't move until he hears the elevator doors open and close once more. 

Bucky throws his blazer on the ground next to him, fisting his cock once again

He thinks back to his laugh, the softness of it. How he wants to turn it into a moan. He arched his back as he came, breath hitching. 

Most of it got in his hand or on his shirt, some getting on the paper on his desk. Sam’s paper. 

He's so fucked.