(Captain America) Southpaw
Title: Southpaw
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Sam/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Words: 975
Notes: Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier. For avengers_tables, prompt "fairness".
Summary: Revenge begets revenge.
“On your left,” Sam barks, voice purposefully too loud for such an early hour of the morning. Not that Steve isn’t already awake and alert. Steve doesn’t really do groggy, and Sam’s seen him go from sleep to sit-rep in a matter of seconds.
Sam, on the other hand, has gotten used to waking up with the luxury of a good cup of coffee. So while Steve isn’t going to be startled by loud noises first thing in the morning, he is going to be startled by those noises coming from Sam.
All of which means Steve blinks at him in surprise, brow creased in confusion, giving Sam the perfect opportunity to reach around Steve’s left shoulder and snatch the freshly buttered piece of toast from his fingers, leaving a teasing kiss on the corner of Steve’s lips.
By the time Steve opens his mouth to complain, Sam’s mouth is already stuffed with warm bread.
Of course, he knows there’s going to be revenge for that. Some people might be fool enough to think Steve’s above petty ideas such as vengeance, which is pretty dumb considering he hangs with a group of people who literally call themselves the Avengers.
Steve’s not as squeaky clean as all those newsreels and museum exhibits like to boast.
So, revenge happens, although it’s not until later that evening. Just enough time that Sam’s guard is starting to drop, stood in the lounge, flicking through the channels looking for something to watch. And then there’s a strong, thick arm wrapping around his waist, Steve’s weight pressed against him and, oh yeah, that’s Steve’s tongue in his left ear. Wet and rippling against him, licking around the shell of his ear before pushing deep. Hot breath washing over damp skin making him shiver, and Steve’s teeth dig into the flesh of his earlobe, tug lightly.
“On your left,” Steve whispers, and his voice feels like it’s vibrating right into Sam’s brain. So it takes him a moment to register the words, by which time Steve has already snagged the remote from him. Putting one hand on the back of the couch and vaulting over it easily, flopping back against the cushions as the television flicks to the night’s baseball game.
Okay, so turnabout is fair play. Sam might even be willing to let it go.
But then Steve flashes him that perfect golden-boy grin, and it’s back on.
Sam sits back against the couch cushions, on Steve’s left, of course. Not even being subtle, not even waiting until Steve starts to relax. Reaching out to wrap his hand around Steve’s leg, squeezing hard as he can because Steve can take it, because Steve likes it just that little bit rough. Hand pushing up, sliding over denim and solid muscle, until his fingers are digging into Steve’s inner thigh, knuckles nudging up against the heavy outline of his cock.
“On your left,” Sam murmurs, smirking as he watches the bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“The game’s on,” Steve says quietly, although his hips are already twitching, focus clearly not on the television screen.
“Do you care?” Sam counters, and Steve exhales a quiet laugh, screen going dark as he hits the remote’s power button.
“My win,” Sam informs him, hand twisting to cup Steve through his jeans, heel of his palm rubbing him slow.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, eyes already hooded, head turned to watch Sam’s face. “Gotta let you win sometimes, it’s only fair.” Words kind of getting lost at the end as Steve moans softly, rocking up into Sam’s grip, lips parted and cheeks starting to flush.
“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” Sam growls playfully, fingers working deftly over Steve’s fly, popping the buttons with practiced ease. Hand sliding beneath the waistband of Steve’s shorts, fingertips brushing over the head of his cock, thumb rubbing over the slit in that way that always makes Steve’s eyes go a little hazy. “When I’m being such a gracious winner?”
Getting his right hand wrapped around Steve’s cock and giving a long, firm stroke, and Steve’s head falls back against the cushions, a grunt forced from his throat as he rocks up into the touch. “Call that gracious?” he snorts, and Sam grins and starts to jerk him off with the kind of leisurely pace that’s going to have Steve fidgeting in a matter of minutes and aching for more.
“Yeah, I do,” Sam smirks, giving a pointed squeeze of his fingers, right at the base of Steve’s cock, which earns him a low, filthy sound. “Of course, I don’t have to be gracious at all.” This time, the noise Steve lets out is more like a whine, as Sam swaps his right hand for his left, letting himself be a little clumsy, nudging up against Steve’s balls. “I should warn you, I’m slower with my left.”
“You’re an evil bastard,” Steve manages, voice raspy, hips moving in these tight little circles as he tries to fuck up into Sam’s palm.
“We can’t all be Captain America,” Sam shoots back playfully, hand moving slow and steady. Grinning wide, determined to drag his revenge out, never mind that he was the one who started it. Eyes narrowing as he watches the rise and fall of Steve’s chest, the flush creeping down his neck, keeping his grip looser than he knows Steve wants it. Being completely unfair and not caring in the slightest, because it’s not going to be long until Steve gets impatient, until he starts pushing for more. Starts begging for it, with the buck of his hips, the lilt of his voice, the heat in his eyes.
Because that’s the real victory, Steve Rogers fucked-out for him, spread and wanting everything Sam gives him, and Sam smiles, showing all his teeth, and keeps the pace nice and slow.
Fandom: Captain America (Movieverse)
Pairing: Sam/Steve
Rating: NC-17
Words: 975
Notes: Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier. For avengers_tables, prompt "fairness".
Summary: Revenge begets revenge.
“On your left,” Sam barks, voice purposefully too loud for such an early hour of the morning. Not that Steve isn’t already awake and alert. Steve doesn’t really do groggy, and Sam’s seen him go from sleep to sit-rep in a matter of seconds.
Sam, on the other hand, has gotten used to waking up with the luxury of a good cup of coffee. So while Steve isn’t going to be startled by loud noises first thing in the morning, he is going to be startled by those noises coming from Sam.
All of which means Steve blinks at him in surprise, brow creased in confusion, giving Sam the perfect opportunity to reach around Steve’s left shoulder and snatch the freshly buttered piece of toast from his fingers, leaving a teasing kiss on the corner of Steve’s lips.
By the time Steve opens his mouth to complain, Sam’s mouth is already stuffed with warm bread.
Of course, he knows there’s going to be revenge for that. Some people might be fool enough to think Steve’s above petty ideas such as vengeance, which is pretty dumb considering he hangs with a group of people who literally call themselves the Avengers.
Steve’s not as squeaky clean as all those newsreels and museum exhibits like to boast.
So, revenge happens, although it’s not until later that evening. Just enough time that Sam’s guard is starting to drop, stood in the lounge, flicking through the channels looking for something to watch. And then there’s a strong, thick arm wrapping around his waist, Steve’s weight pressed against him and, oh yeah, that’s Steve’s tongue in his left ear. Wet and rippling against him, licking around the shell of his ear before pushing deep. Hot breath washing over damp skin making him shiver, and Steve’s teeth dig into the flesh of his earlobe, tug lightly.
“On your left,” Steve whispers, and his voice feels like it’s vibrating right into Sam’s brain. So it takes him a moment to register the words, by which time Steve has already snagged the remote from him. Putting one hand on the back of the couch and vaulting over it easily, flopping back against the cushions as the television flicks to the night’s baseball game.
Okay, so turnabout is fair play. Sam might even be willing to let it go.
But then Steve flashes him that perfect golden-boy grin, and it’s back on.
Sam sits back against the couch cushions, on Steve’s left, of course. Not even being subtle, not even waiting until Steve starts to relax. Reaching out to wrap his hand around Steve’s leg, squeezing hard as he can because Steve can take it, because Steve likes it just that little bit rough. Hand pushing up, sliding over denim and solid muscle, until his fingers are digging into Steve’s inner thigh, knuckles nudging up against the heavy outline of his cock.
“On your left,” Sam murmurs, smirking as he watches the bob of Steve’s Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“The game’s on,” Steve says quietly, although his hips are already twitching, focus clearly not on the television screen.
“Do you care?” Sam counters, and Steve exhales a quiet laugh, screen going dark as he hits the remote’s power button.
“My win,” Sam informs him, hand twisting to cup Steve through his jeans, heel of his palm rubbing him slow.
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve replies, eyes already hooded, head turned to watch Sam’s face. “Gotta let you win sometimes, it’s only fair.” Words kind of getting lost at the end as Steve moans softly, rocking up into Sam’s grip, lips parted and cheeks starting to flush.
“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” Sam growls playfully, fingers working deftly over Steve’s fly, popping the buttons with practiced ease. Hand sliding beneath the waistband of Steve’s shorts, fingertips brushing over the head of his cock, thumb rubbing over the slit in that way that always makes Steve’s eyes go a little hazy. “When I’m being such a gracious winner?”
Getting his right hand wrapped around Steve’s cock and giving a long, firm stroke, and Steve’s head falls back against the cushions, a grunt forced from his throat as he rocks up into the touch. “Call that gracious?” he snorts, and Sam grins and starts to jerk him off with the kind of leisurely pace that’s going to have Steve fidgeting in a matter of minutes and aching for more.
“Yeah, I do,” Sam smirks, giving a pointed squeeze of his fingers, right at the base of Steve’s cock, which earns him a low, filthy sound. “Of course, I don’t have to be gracious at all.” This time, the noise Steve lets out is more like a whine, as Sam swaps his right hand for his left, letting himself be a little clumsy, nudging up against Steve’s balls. “I should warn you, I’m slower with my left.”
“You’re an evil bastard,” Steve manages, voice raspy, hips moving in these tight little circles as he tries to fuck up into Sam’s palm.
“We can’t all be Captain America,” Sam shoots back playfully, hand moving slow and steady. Grinning wide, determined to drag his revenge out, never mind that he was the one who started it. Eyes narrowing as he watches the rise and fall of Steve’s chest, the flush creeping down his neck, keeping his grip looser than he knows Steve wants it. Being completely unfair and not caring in the slightest, because it’s not going to be long until Steve gets impatient, until he starts pushing for more. Starts begging for it, with the buck of his hips, the lilt of his voice, the heat in his eyes.
Because that’s the real victory, Steve Rogers fucked-out for him, spread and wanting everything Sam gives him, and Sam smiles, showing all his teeth, and keeps the pace nice and slow.