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The gym had been brutal tonight. Walker’s muscles were still burning as he pushed open the door to their shared apartment, the cool air hitting his overheated skin like a reward. His gray tank top clung to his broad chest and abs, soaked through with sweat. Veins stood out along his thick biceps and forearms, and his shorts rode tight against powerful thighs that still twitched from heavy squats. The pump was insane — every inch of him felt swollen, wired, and restless.
He dropped his gym bag by the door with a heavy thud and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. The place was dim, only a single lamp in the corner casting long shadows across the living room. Quiet. Peaceful. Exactly the kind of stillness that made John’s blood run hotter.
And there he was.
Bucky was sprawled out on the large couch like he’d been pulled under by exhaustion the second he sat down. He was lying on his stomach, face turned toward the back cushions, one metal arm dangling off the edge while the other was tucked beneath his head. His dark hair was messy, a few strands sticking to his forehead. The black tank top he wore had ridden up, exposing the strong, scarred line of his lower back and the top curve of his ass. His gray sweatpants sat dangerously low on his hips, the waistband stretched across the firm swell of his cheeks.
John stopped in the doorway, eyes dragging slowly over the sight. Bucky’s breathing was deep and slow — the kind of heavy sleep only a super soldier could fall into after pushing his body to the limit. His face looked softer in sleep, the usual tension gone from his jaw, lips slightly parted. Completely vulnerable.
John’s cock gave a heavy throb in his shorts. They’d had the conversation weeks ago. A late-night talk after too much whiskey, Bucky’s voice low and steady as he looked him right in the eyes:
“If I’m sleeping… and you want me… you can take me. I mean it, Walker. Don’t hold back.”
John had made him repeat it. Made sure it was real. Bucky had even smirked and added, “Just wake me up when you’re done if I’m still out.”
Permission granted. Explicit. Consensual. Still, John stood there a moment longer, chest rising and falling as he drank in the image of the Winter Soldier — deadly, unbreakable Bucky Barnes — laid out and oblivious on their couch, ass up and waiting to be used.
A slow, hungry smirk tugged at John’s mouth. He was going to enjoy this. He stood there in the doorway for a long moment, unable to look away.
The lamp’s warm light painted soft shadows over Bucky’s body. His broad back rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, the muscles relaxed in a way John rarely got to see. The super soldier was always wound so tight — hyper-aware, guarded, dangerous. But right now? He looked almost peaceful. His stubble was a little longer than usual, lips slack, lashes dark against his cheeks. One leg was bent slightly, the other stretched out, making his ass sit higher, the thin gray fabric of his sweatpants stretched tight across it.
John’s mouth went dry. He could already imagine how warm Bucky would feel around him. How tight. How fucking perfect.
His cock was fully hard now, straining painfully against the front of his damp gym shorts. He reached down and palmed himself once, slowly, eyes never leaving the man on the couch. Then, quietly, he peeled his soaked tank top up and over his head, tossing it onto the armchair. His shoes were kicked off next, landing softly on the rug. He moved with deliberate care, not wanting to wake Bucky yet.
As he stepped closer, the memory flashed through his mind.
Two months ago. Both of them on this same couch after a mission, half-drunk and honest in the dark.
“You don’t have to ask every time,” Bucky had muttered, voice rough. “If I’m sleeping… and you need it… just do it. I trust you.” He’d looked John dead in the eyes, serious. “I want you to.”
John had tested him that night, asking again and again until Bucky got annoyed and snapped, “Jesus, Walker. I’m telling you it’s okay. Fuck me while I’m sleeping if you want. I’ll probably even like waking up to it.”
That had sealed it.
Now John stood right beside the couch, looking down at the sleeping soldier like he was something to be claimed. His breathing was still deep and even. Completely unaware.
John reached over to the side table drawer and pulled out the small bottle of lube they kept there. The cap clicked open quietly. He squeezed a generous amount into his palm, then pushed his shorts and briefs down just enough to free his thick, aching cock. It slapped heavily against his abs, already leaking at the tip.
He stroked himself slowly, coating every inch with slick, shiny lube while his eyes roamed over Bucky’s exposed lower back and the perfect curve of his ass.
This was really happening.
John set the bottle of lube on the coffee table and leaned over Bucky’s sleeping form. His hands moved with surprising care for how badly he wanted this. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Bucky’s gray sweatpants and the black briefs underneath, slowly dragging them down over the swell of his ass.
The fabric caught for a second on the thick muscle before sliding free. John’s breath hitched.
Bucky’s ass was perfect — firm, round, and pale compared to the rest of his battle-scarred body. A light dusting of dark hair trailed down from his lower back, disappearing between those powerful cheeks. Even completely relaxed in sleep, the muscle looked strong and tight. John’s cock throbbed hard at the sight.
He took his time, pulling the pants down just past the middle of Bucky’s thighs, far enough to give himself full access but not enough to risk waking him by moving him too much. Bucky didn’t stir. His breathing remained deep and slow, face still slack against the couch cushion.
John poured more lube onto his fingers, warming it slightly between them. He spread Bucky’s cheeks with one big hand, exposing the tight, pink hole that was now his to use. Leaning in, he pressed the pad of one slick finger against it and rubbed slow circles, coating the rim generously.
Bucky let out a tiny, unconscious sigh.
John smiled darkly and pushed the first finger in.
It was tight. So fucking tight. Even asleep, Bucky’s body resisted at first before the slick heat gave way and swallowed his finger to the knuckle. The silky inner walls clenched softly around the intrusion. John groaned under his breath and started moving his finger in and out, slow and careful, working the lube deeper.
After a minute, he added a second finger.
This time Bucky shifted slightly — just a small twitch of his hips, a faint furrow appearing between his brows for half a second before smoothing out again. A soft, sleepy exhale left his parted lips. His hole fluttered around John’s thick fingers as they scissored gently, stretching him open.
John kept pumping them steadily, curling them slightly, searching for that spot. When he found it, Bucky’s breath hitched again, a barely audible sound that made John’s cock leak steadily onto the couch.
He worked Bucky open for several long minutes — patient, thorough, watching every tiny unconscious reaction. The wet, obscene sound of his fingers moving in and out filled the quiet room. Bucky’s body was slowly relaxing around him, growing hotter and more pliant with every stroke.
John finally pulled his fingers free, breathing hard. His cock was aching, flushed dark red and glistening with lube.
He was ready.
John wiped his slick fingers on his thigh and gripped the base of his thick cock, lining himself up. The fat head pressed against Bucky’s now-shiny, loosened hole. He took a slow breath, then pushed forward.
The first inch slid in with a wet pop.
“Fuck…” John hissed through his teeth.
Bucky was scorching hot inside, the pressure incredible even after fingering him. John watched, mesmerized, as his cock sank deeper, stretching Bucky open around his girth. Inch by inch he pressed in until his hips were flush against that firm, perfect ass — buried to the hilt.
Bucky didn’t wake. His breathing stayed deep and even, face relaxed against the cushion. Only the faintest twitch of his metal fingers gave any sign that his body registered the intrusion.
John stayed still for a long moment, just savoring the tight, velvety heat gripping his cock. Then he started to move.
Slow, long strokes at first. Pulling out until just the head remained inside, then sliding back in deep. The couch creaked softly under them with every thrust. The wet, filthy sound of lube and skin filled the room as John fucked into the sleeping soldier with controlled power.
“Goddamn, Barnes,” he whispered, voice rough with lust. “Look at you. Taking my cock so well even while you’re out cold.”
He picked up the pace gradually, hips rolling in a steady rhythm. Each thrust pushed Bucky’s body forward slightly on the couch before John pulled him back by the hips. The sight of his thick cock disappearing between those muscular cheeks was driving him wild.
Bucky’s body started reacting on instinct — his hole clenching rhythmically around John’s cock, a soft, unconscious push back meeting one particularly deep thrust. A quiet, breathy sound escaped Bucky’s lips, almost a moan, but he remained deeply asleep.
John leaned over him, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other gripping Bucky’s waist. He fucked him harder now, deeper, letting his hips snap forward with more force. Sweat dripped from his chest onto Bucky’s back. The slap of skin on skin grew louder, more obscene.
Every thrust dragged along Bucky’s prostate, causing his soft cock — trapped between his body and the couch — to slowly fill out beneath him. Bucky’s breathing was still heavy with sleep, but his body was responding beautifully, opening up and taking everything John gave him.
John kept going, lost in the tight heat, the power, and the sheer wrongness of fucking his teammate while he slept so peacefully. John was driving into him harder now, chasing that building pleasure, when Bucky finally stirred.
It started with a low, confused groan — rough and thick with sleep. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered, his metal arm twitching hard against the couch. His body tensed for a split second as awareness slowly crept in.
“...John?” The name came out slurred, barely audible, voice gravelly and disoriented.
“Yeah, it’s me,” John growled low against the back of Bucky’s neck, not slowing his thrusts. “Just relax. You’re okay.”
Another deep, heavy thrust punched the air out of Bucky’s lungs. His eyes opened halfway, hazy and unfocused, lashes low. He was still mostly gone — floating in that hazy space between sleep and waking — but he could clearly feel every thick inch of John’s cock stretching him open.
“Fuck… what’re you—” Bucky’s words dissolved into a broken moan as John ground against his prostate. His head dropped back down onto the cushion, eyes slipping shut again even as his body started reacting more actively. His hips gave a weak, instinctive roll back to meet the next thrust.
“That’s it,” John praised, voice dark and satisfied. “Told you you could sleep through it if you wanted. But you feel so fucking good waking up on my cock.”
Bucky let out a soft, helpless sound — half moan, half whimper. He was still so out of it, movements sluggish and heavy. His flesh hand weakly gripped the edge of the couch as John kept fucking him with long, powerful strokes, the wet slap of their bodies growing louder.
Every thrust dragged a drowsy, pleasured noise out of Bucky’s throat. His eyes would flutter open for a few seconds — bleary, pupils blown — before sliding shut again as pleasure overwhelmed his half-awake brain. His cock was fully hard now, trapped beneath him and leaking against the couch with every deep grind.
John reached around, wrapping a big hand around Bucky’s cock and giving it a slow stroke in time with his thrusts.
“John…” Bucky breathed again, voice wrecked and sleepy. He sounded completely fucked-out already, barely coherent, body pliant and trembling under the steady assault.
“You’re allowed to go back to sleep, sweetheart,” John murmured against his ear, hips snapping harder. “Or you can stay right here and feel me wreck you. Your choice.”
Bucky’s only response was another low, shaky moan as his body clenched tight around John’s cock, caught between exhaustion and overwhelming pleasure.
John’s pace turned rougher, more desperate. He fucked Bucky with deep, punishing strokes, the couch creaking loudly beneath them now. One hand stayed wrapped around Bucky’s cock, stroking him firmly, while the other gripped his hip hard enough to bruise.
Bucky was moaning openly — soft, broken, sleepy sounds that went straight to John’s cock. His eyes were barely open, face flushed and slack with pleasure, caught in that dreamy half-awake state. Every thrust dragged another helpless noise out of him.
“Close,” John growled against Bucky’s shoulder. “Gonna fill you up.”
Bucky’s only reply was a weak, shuddering whimper. His body tightened hard around John’s cock as his own orgasm hit him first — slow and rolling, dragged out by the thick cock still pounding into him. He came with a quiet, wrecked groan, spilling over John’s fist and onto the couch cushions, his hole clenching rhythmically.
The feeling pushed John over the edge.
With a low, guttural groan, John slammed in deep and came hard, pulsing thick ropes of cum inside Bucky’s tight heat. He kept grinding through it, fucking his release deeper, claiming him completely. The pleasure was intense, white-hot, and it seemed to last forever.
When it finally ebbed, John stayed buried inside him, chest pressed to Bucky’s back, both of them breathing hard. He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck, then another to his shoulder.
“You still with me?” John murmured, voice low and rough.
Bucky made a small, exhausted sound — something between a hum and a sigh. His eyes were already drifting shut again, body heavy and boneless beneath John.
“Yeah…” he slurred, barely awake. “Felt good.”
John chuckled softly, pressing another kiss to his skin. He stayed inside him for a long moment, savoring the warmth, before finally easing out. A thick trickle of cum leaked from Bucky’s used hole. John gently pulled his sweatpants back up, then grabbed a throw blanket from the chair and draped it over Bucky’s body.
He brushed the messy hair out of Bucky’s face, thumb lingering on his cheek.
“Get some more sleep, Barnes,” he whispered.
Bucky was already slipping back under, a faint, satisfied expression on his face as he drifted off again, body still humming from being used so thoroughly.
John stayed seated on the edge of the couch for a few minutes, just watching Bucky breathe. The soldier had slipped back into a deep sleep almost immediately after he came, body limp and utterly spent. His face looked softer now — flushed cheeks, slightly swollen lips, a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead.
Carefully, John stood up and went to the bathroom. He returned with a warm, damp cloth and a bottle of water. He knelt beside the couch and gently tugged Bucky’s sweatpants down again, just enough to clean him up. With slow, tender strokes, he wiped away the mess of lube and cum leaking from Bucky’s hole, being extra careful around the slightly puffy rim.
Bucky stirred a little at the touch, letting out a soft, sleepy grumble.
“Easy,” John murmured. “Just cleaning you up.”
Once he was satisfied, John pulled Bucky’s clothes back into place and gently rolled him onto his side. He slid onto the couch behind him, pulling the throw blanket over both of them. His larger body curled protectively around Bucky’s, one arm draped over his waist, palm resting flat against his stomach.
Bucky shifted back into the warmth with a quiet sigh, instinctively seeking contact even in his sleep. His metal arm tucked against his own chest while his flesh hand found John’s forearm and loosely held on.
John pressed his lips to the back of Bucky’s neck, then to the sensitive spot just below his ear.
“You did so good for me,” he whispered, voice low and warm. He reached for the water bottle, cracked it open, and held it to Bucky’s lips. Bucky drank a few sleepy sips without fully waking, some water slipping down his chin. John wiped it away with his thumb.
After setting the bottle aside, John’s hand slipped under Bucky’s tank top, rubbing slow, soothing circles over his abdomen and ribs — gentle strokes meant to ground him. He could feel the faint tremors still running through Bucky’s body from the intense orgasm.
“Still feeling okay?” John asked softly, even though he knew Bucky was barely conscious.
A tiny, affirmative hum was all he got in return. Bucky pressed back against him more firmly, seeking more contact. John tightened his arm around him and hooked one leg over Bucky’s, cocooning him completely.
They stayed like that for a long time — John’s bigger, warmer body wrapped around Bucky’s, holding him safe while the soldier drifted in and out of light sleep. Every now and then John would press another soft kiss to his shoulder or neck, murmuring quiet praise.
“You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Bucky’s breathing eventually evened out into deep, peaceful sleep once more, his body fully relaxed and trusting in John’s arms.
John stayed awake a little longer, content to hold him, a rare softness in his expression as he watched over the man who had willingly given himself like this.