There's more of that wolfish laughter, with Bucky leaning in to sniff behind Sam's ear before he licks a stripe up between Sam's shoulder blades. He shifts his hips upward and moves a leg behind one of Sam's, forcing it to bend up onto the desk; a new position that allows him to get even deeper inside and keep Sam more or less suspended between his hips and the furniture.

Bucky has decided he will keep Sam company all night, instead. Fuck him senseless, call in sick for him, drive him home and make him breakfast.

In, you know. Eight to eleven hours from now.

The pace he sets for them is rougher this time, unforgiving in the fact that Sam is not afforded much purchase with which to fight back, now.