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Bucky inhales a long, deep breath of the stale air and brings his hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes with his fingers for a few good seconds. He suppresses a yawn, surprised it’s even possible to feel tired while simultaneously being so damn uncomfortable.
Of course, as the Winter Soldier, he’d been in various tight spots and less than ideal conditions for long periods of time in order to take down targets, but this is a whole different kind of torture, and this time he’s actually allowed to be unhappy about it.
The relentless strobe lights that Bucky sees clearly even when he squeezes his eyes shut, the music blaring in his ears, worse for him than anyone else because of his slightly enhanced senses, the hot air that reeks of sweat and alcohol. Zemo couldn’t have picked a worse place to meet their guy.
Bucky supposed he did warn them, though. “It might take a while for me to get him out of his den,” he’d said. “There's a chance you’ll have to wait for quite some time, but the information he can give us on the super-soldier serum is priceless, so it’ll be worth it.”
So, here he is, lying on his stomach on an empty balcony overlooking the lively club below, prepared to jump down and chase someone if things go south.
With Sam.
Bucky shuffles back slightly and tilts his head, his eyes locking onto his...partner? Co-worker? He’s not quite sure what the two of them are. He’s not even sure if Sam sees him as a friend. Are they there yet? Well, Bucky wants them to be there, wants them to be past that, really, but Sam’s never made it clear what his opinion of Bucky is.
He can’t help the smile that comes to his lips as he inspects Sam; the way he’s carefully scanning the room, the way his eyes narrow the tiniest bit every so often, the way the muscles in his jaw clench now and then.
His mind wanders off, as it has countless times in the past. It travels down its own path, thinking about trailing light kisses along Sam’s jawline, nipping gently at his earlobe, maybe even hearing his breathy moan in his ear as Bucky sucks the skin of Sam’s neck into his mouth.
These thoughts are probably less than appropriate to have about Sam, but here he is, nearly drooling over someone that he’s not supposed to drool over. It’s not like he chose to fall in love with the man. And, to be fair, Sam hasn’t made it exactly easy to let go of this infatuation. No, Sam’s only fueling the fuck out of it, and Bucky’s more than one hundred percent sure Sam knows exactly what he’s doing.
It’s entirely like Sam to constantly tease, but there are moments when Bucky’s positive he’s doing more than that, doing it for reasons other than to just gain satisfaction at the way Bucky gets so obviously flustered. Or maybe it’s all a joke, and Bucky’s feelings are clouding everything.
There was the time when Bucky accidentally walked backward into Sam and suddenly his hands were on his waist, steadying him. It was all fine and well, except for the fact that Sam’s hands lingered for a few extra seconds, way too long for it to be unintentional. Bucky had just tried to ignore it and continued on with what he was doing, bowing his head so Sam wouldn’t catch a glimpse of his surely scarlet face.
The time when they spent hours on a plane and all they did was talk to each other. Sam had asked at one point about love interests in his past, and when Bucky broke eye contact and started gaping at the floor, Sam took Bucky’s chin in his hand and raised his head back up to look at him again. They stayed in that position for what had to be at least a couple of minutes, Bucky’s heart rate accelerating and Sam just staring at him, searching or admiring, or...whatever the fuck he was doing.
Bucky can still recall the churning of his stomach when Sam touched him so tenderly, in such a way that strayed so far from how they usually treated each other.
Then, of course, there was earlier today, when Bucky, for the first time since the 1940s, was fussing about his hair.
For some reason, he just couldn’t feel satisfied with the way it looked. Bucky kept adjusting loose strands, folding them this way and that way, messing everything up and then trying to contain it all over again.
He didn’t even notice when Sam walked up to the door, holding Redwing in his hands. “Whatcha doin’?” he asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.
Bucky jumped, the words cutting brutally through the silence. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Answer my question.”
“I’m...getting ready to go out,” Bucky said with a shrug, trying to maintain a straight face and not one of someone who was just caught for seemingly getting ready for a date. Bucky had no doubt in mind that’s exactly what Sam was thinking. “We have a mission, remember?”
“Well, obviously. I’m giving Redwing one last check-over before we head out. You, though, seem to be really preoccupied with fixing your hair.”
Bucky swallowed nervously and shook his head. “I’m not-I’m not preoccupied with that. I was just adjusting it slightly.”
Sam grinned and said in a sly voice, “You trying to look all pretty for me?”
As I thought.
Oh, God. Sam Wilson. If only you knew the fucking things you do to me.
Hell, actually, I think you do.
Does that make it better or worse? He really doesn’t know.
“Yes, Sam. That’s exactly what I’m doing. Now, come on. Zemo’s waiting.”
“Hold on a second,” Sam piped up suddenly, grabbing Bucky’s arm and pulling him back when he passed.
Bucky stopped in his tracks and faced Sam, hoping the raging river inside of him wasn’t visible on the surface in any way. They stood there silently for a moment, and then Sam raised a hand to Bucky’s hairline and began to move locks around, tucking some behind the ear, moving some to this side and that side.
Stay still and calm, Bucky had told himself. Just stay still and fucking calm.
It felt like an eternity had passed when Sam finally finished, dragging the back of his knuckles down Bucky’s cheek and stepping back, admiring his work. “There you go. I like it that way.”
Then I’ll wear it like this forever.
So many examples like this, and all in the short time they’ve been together. Bucky has been interested in Sam for a while but now he’s actually sure it’s real and Sam’s doing absolutely nothing but letting it swell.
And how can Bucky know what Sam’s true intentions are? He rarely says anything when they have these confusing but utterly intoxicating isolated moments together. All he does is look at Bucky with a gaze he can't decipher and makes his knees go weak. They never discuss it afterward, either. They just let the tension float between the two of them until it fades away, waiting for its next cue to reappear.
He’s sure that playing around like this without knowing what the fuck is actually going on will crush him soon.
Bucky scoffs to himself. He’s supposed to be a super-soldier, a fighter, and here he is on the brink of collapsing for someone who probably doesn’t even think of him as a friend. How pathetic is that?
Even if, even if Sam can reciprocate some of these feelings, Bucky can never tell Sam how he feels. Not a chance. At least, not until they’re no longer distracted by the Flag Smashers. Right now, all their focus has to be on apprehending these people.
But, God, Sam makes it so damn difficult . He’s attractive without even fucking trying and it’s nothing short of unfair.
All of a sudden, Bucky realizes he hasn’t been looking at the floor of the club for way too long, and he tears his gaze away from Sam to peer through the metal railing once again. One quick scan of the crowd confirms that there’s nothing out of the ordinary, but he continues to watch, flipping over thoughts and possibilities in his head until he hears Sam’s comm beep.
“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” Sam asks, moving closer so Bucky can hear. He tries to ignore the way their thighs are barely touching each other right now.
“Things are taking longer than I expected. He has information on the serum locked up tight, so I am going to need more time to get it out of him.”
Sam sighs, head dropping a little to rest on Bucky’s shoulder. It’s for a second, maybe even less, but it still feels like a sharp yet warm zap of electricity passes through Bucky’s whole body. He very narrowly escapes a violent flinch.
"Are you sure this guy's worth it? It seems like we're wasting our time here."
"Trust me, Sam. This will get us closer than anything else."
“Alright, fine. We’ll keep waiting. Comm whenever anything changes.”
“Copy that.”
“Why couldn’t he have picked some abandoned warehouse or something?” Bucky wonders aloud.
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s pretty bad.”
"What, you've never been to a club before?"
"Not in this decade. Or in any recent ones, really."
“Maybe he did it to purposefully torture you. You should go down there and dance, actually. You know, shrug off some stress.”
Bucky actually laughs. “Yeah, as if. I haven’t danced since the ’40s, okay? And this isn’t...this isn’t my style, anyway.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam says, and Bucky can hear the playful grin in his words. “Then what is your style?”
“My style is not letting something distract me from a mission.”
Sam shakes his head. “Man, you really need to relax a little bit. Thank God you have me to look after you.”
Before Bucky can say anything, Sam’s getting up and walking down the balcony, towards the stairwell they used earlier to get up here.
“Hey, where the Hell are you going?” Bucky yells after him, but his words probably get lost in all the noise. He curses under his breath and debates going after him, but not thirty seconds later does he spot Sam in the crowd downstairs, slinking between drunk humans who peer at him curiously but don’t hesitate to touch him quite sensually as he passes by. Bucky clenches his jaw - it’s a little hard not to be jealous, even if they are strangers.
Sam walks all the way up to the front and waves to the DJ, getting his attention.
“What is he doing?” Bucky mutters to himself, watching as words he can’t hear get exchanged between the two, and then Sam passes a bill to the guy. Bucky can’t tell how much money it is, but by the slightly taken aback expression on the DJ’s face, he knows it must be worth a bit more than a dollar.
When Sam comes back, he’s wearing a lopsided smile and his eyes are alight with something that’s definitely worrisome. He gets back down and waits, ignoring every question Bucky throws at him.
Eventually, Bucky gives up and rests his forehead on two metal bars of the railing, staring blankly down at the horde of people jumping up and down.
And then, after a minute or two -
“Hey, everyone, listen up for a second,” the DJ says into a microphone, his voice sounding throughout the entire space. The music goes quiet as well, and the strange silence creates a sense of a heavy emptiness. “We got a special request for a song. We’ll play this one a few times and then go back to the usual stuff, alright? Party on, everyone.”
The complaints and murmurs of confusion are quickly drowned out by the sound of saxophones.
Saxophones.
In a modern nightclub.
Bucky frowns and sits back, listening as the abrupt change fills his whole body in a much more pleasant way than the other music did. A piano quickly joins in, and then a bit of bass - it all flows together magically.
A smile grows on Bucky’s face without him realizing it, the music instantly transporting him back to a time that no longer exists anywhere but in his memory, a time he doesn’t go a day without missing like he would a person.
People sitting around small tables with their partners, watching a group dance onstage or a band or someone doing a gorgeous solo number to a jazz tune.
People excitedly getting up, dragging their lovers to empty spots on the dance floor and moving like there’s not a care in the world.
Laughter.
Joyful smiles.
Bright camera flashes.
And it didn’t stop until you wanted it to.
He gets lost in the beautiful harmony and memories, only remembering where he actually is when Sam locks his hand with Bucky’s real one.
“Stand up, let’s dance.”
The warm feeling burns away as quickly as a piece of paper in a raging flame, replaced with furious nerves. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Sam starts to pull Bucky up, but the man wriggles his hand out of Sam’s grip - I was holding Sam Wilson’s fucking hand - and scooches back a little bit. “I’m not dancing with you, Sam.”
“Why not?”
Bucky laughs humorlessly, an expression of awe crossing his face. “What do you mean, ‘Why not'? We’re on a mission if you haven’t noticed.”
“We’re not doing anything currently if you haven’t noticed.”
“No,” Bucky states with a shake of his head. “We’re supposed to be watching.”
Sam groans in frustration. “You are so...look, Zemo said himself he’s gonna be a while. We have time.”
“He-he can comm at any moment and we have to be prepared. We can’t be prepared if we’re...if we’re dancing.”
There’s a moment of silence, where neither of them moves and Bucky’s wringing his fingers and refusing to meet Sam’s eyes, which he can feel digging into the top of his head.
And then -
It all happens so fast.
Sam takes a single second to crouch down to Bucky’s level...and grab his jaw. Not just grab his jaw, but also forcefully turn Bucky’s head so the man has no choice but to look at him, and oh, God…
Bucky swears he would crumble under Sam’s gaze if there wasn’t super-soldier serum coursing through his veins.
“Dance with me,” Sam orders. He orders, he doesn’t request, and well, how the fuck is Bucky supposed to say no to that? Even more so when Sam adds, “I asked the dude to loop it three times. Just indulge for five minutes. Please.”
Part of him wants to defy Sam, both to see what happens and also because he’s too fucking scared to actually dance with him, but another part is willing to do whatever the fuck Sam asks him to do. He doesn’t want to disappoint him, if dancing with Bucky is what he really wants.
So…
“Okay, fine,” Bucky manages through the tightness in his throat. “But...I’m not-don’t expect me to be good. I haven’t done this in a while.”
“I don’t want to do anything fancy, dude,” he says as he pulls the man up. “We’re not at a royal ball. I just want…I want you to enjoy yourself.”
Bucky’s breath catches in his throat and he swears he’ll pass out from all of this eventually. He tries to stabilize his rapid breaths as Sam places his hands on Bucky’s waist, gripping him gently, all the while looking him in the eye. Bucky’s hands float awkwardly on the sides until he gingerly starts to wind them around Sam’s neck. He links them together and then finally meets Sam’s eyes, and the man is fucking amused.
“You really need to relax. I’m not going to bite you.”
What if I want you to?
God, James, get a hold of yourself.
“Sorry, I just…”
“You just what?”
Bucky doesn’t answer, instead focuses on moving slowly from side to side with Sam to the music, on simply attempting to get comfortable in Sam’s hold like this. He’s sure his heart would have flown out of his chest a long time ago if it weren’t for his rib cage preventing it from doing so.
It becomes natural surprisingly quickly, and soon enough, he’s moving without even having to think about it.
Now there’s the issue of actually looking Sam in the eye for more than a few seconds at a time.
And also the issue of Sam’s mouth just a few inches from his own.
And also Sam pulling him closer, which he has to know Bucky notices. How can he not, with Sam’s front gently but so obviously pressing into him? It’s another one of Sam’s teasing gestures, ones that get Bucky so confused and unnerved that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Bucky chews his bottom lip as he flicks his eyes to the far wall yet again, and Sam chuckles. It’s quite loud, what with Sam being so goddamn close.
“You afraid to look at me?”
“Sam.”
“What? Answer the question, man. I know you're bad at doing that, but I need you to do your best here."
How can you be so infuriating and yet so irresistible at the same time?
Bucky takes a deep breath and clears his throat, nails digging into his palms behind Sam’s neck. “You’re kind of standing very close to me.”
“And?”
He’s about to respond when Sam tightens his grip on Bucky’s waist for a fraction of a second, enough to startle him and interrupt his response. Bucky’s glad it’s relatively dark where they are because his face must be embarrassingly red right now and Sam’s knowing smirk is already humiliating enough.
“You-you really have to stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
Bucky rolls his eyes. Of course Sam’s going to play dumb. “You know what I mean.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Bucky. ”
The stern tone shoots a chill through him. He wonders if Sam knows exactly the kind of power he has over him. “I just...you do these things, sometimes...these-these small things that don’t...they’re not...I don’t understand why you do them.”
Sam smiles softly and leans in, bringing his mouth to Bucky’s ear. “And what things are those?”
Breathebreathebreathe -
Please fucking breathe -
“You know, uh…” Bucky halts as Sam’s hands start roaming upwards, then back down just to stop at his hips. “Like-like that.”
Sam clicks his tongue in what seems like a disapproving manner. “You can’t tell me you don’t like it, Buck.”
Bucky straightens up and looks ahead, focusing all his attention on moving to the music - which just started again for the third time - instead of on the way Sam’s lips just grazed the skin under his ear and the shiver that shot through him.
“I just-I just don’t know what to make of it.”
Air hits Bucky’s neck in a rush as Sam laughs, causing everything to fucking tingle and goosebumps to rise up.
“You’re not exactly subtle in your reactions. I can tell it makes you all flustered when I touch you, even when I look at you a certain way, doesn’t it? I can tell you’d get on your knees for me in a split second if I asked you to.”
I mean, you're not wrong, you're actually spot on, but are you really saying all of this? Is this really happening? Oh, God, is this really fucking happening, or am I dreaming again?
Bucky takes in a shaky breath. “Thought you just wanted to dance.”
Sam returns to his original position, eyes skipping down to Bucky’s mouth. “I did, and we are, aren’t we?”
Bucky swallows a lump in his throat as he debates asking the question that’s been sitting in his mind ever since Sam asked him to dance, one that he’s been turning over and worrying about in the shadows of his messy thoughts. This can either go two ways: the good way - he thinks - or the really not so good way that is probably going to hurt. A lot.
He’s not really sure he’s prepared for the merciless surge of various emotions that will be sure to hit him, but...he has to know. It’s better to know than live in uncertainty, he figures. For once, he has a real chance to ask and figure it out once and for all.
“Can I ask you something?” Bucky asks tentatively, stomach twisting.
“Anything.”
“Are you...are you doing this just because…I don’t know, you want to get a reaction out of me for fun, or...or because...because you’re, I don’t know-,” Bucky lets out an awkward laugh and looks down, “-you, uh, you’re actually...interested?”
He clenches his jaw as he waits through the silence - well, “silence” - that follows. It’s absolutely one of the most frightening experiences of his life, and that’s saying something.
“Are you talking about dancing with you or the other stuff?”
“Uh, both, I guess.”
“Well, I already told you we’re doing this because I want you to have a little fun and chill out for once. As for the other stuff...I mean, why do you think I tease you, Buck?”
Bucky shrugs, hoping to God Sam isn’t angry with him for suggesting that he has feelings for him. “Like I said, to get a reaction. I thought you found it, I don’t know...amusing.”
“Well, there’s no arguing there, but that’s not…” Sam halts and takes a deep breath through his nose, the casual composure he’s been maintaining the whole night falling away for a moment as he tenses.
It takes him a while, so long that Bucky’s sure he’s given up on trying to find an answer. He doesn’t know what Sam was going to say, but it clearly wasn’t something good if Sam completely abandoned it, right? He must be sparing Bucky’s feelings, and that’s a kind thing, he supposes, but he can still feel the disappointment and shame quickly roll in and permeate every crevice of his soul just as the song reaches its final stretch.
Bucky should have figured Sam doesn’t like him in the way he wants him to. What’s there to like? He’s 106 years old, he’s been used for most of his life to kill people, many of them innocent, he’s haunted by nightmares and can’t go a week without sinking to his knees and burying his face in his hands as a panic attack overwhelms him. The list of things wrong with him just goes on, and Bucky knows he should have braced himself for this possibility a lot better.
He just got carried away with his damn dreams and thought that maybe…
Maybe there was a way it could really happen.
StupidstupidSTUPID-
As the song begins to go through its last-minute - maybe even less - Bucky takes in the exact position they’re in and tries to take note of every single thing he can, because he’s probably never going to be able to do this ever again.
Not with Sam.
He observes the pattern on Sam’s suit, noticing the little details in the thread and the scratch marks on the metal, some larger and longer than others. He dares to look up a little and examines the tendons and veins below the skin of Sam’s neck, barely moving but visible when Sam shifts or swallows. He closes his eyes for a moment and focuses on the pressure and comforting feeling of Sam’s hands on him, very much unbelievably real.
“Bucky?”
The man falters in his step, interrupting the smooth rhythm he and Sam were able to fall into.
Last thirty seconds or so. Bucky knows these few minutes are ones he’s going to remember for the rest of his life, ones he’s going to treasure and think about endlessly whether he’ll want to or not. He doesn’t need Sam suffocating this moment with apologies and explanations about why they don’t work together or why Sam doesn’t like him. He just wants to remember this moment for what it is.
Just block it out.
“Bucky,” Sam repeats, softer, but Bucky can still hear it perfectly well. He bites the inside of his cheek as he feels tears gather in his closed eyes.
No, no, no. Don’t cry in front of him. It’s bad enough already that he knows you’re pretty much hopelessly in love.
But he can’t help it, can he? No matter how hard he bites his skin, Bucky can’t stop the slight shaking of his bottom lip, the way his eyebrows move in gently and create a crease in between, the way his breath starts to shake.
Sam brings his index finger to Bucky’s chin and uses the side to tip his head up. Bucky turns away just enough to hopefully hide the overwhelming flood of feelings of regret and loss surging through him, but he knows Sam can see right through him. Sam’s always been able to read him better than anyone else.
“I -”
“No, it’s okay, Sam,” Bucky interrupts, shaking his head a little too eagerly. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
And -
Well...
There’s really no warning.
There’s nothing in the world that can properly prepare Bucky for what Sam does.
In all the times that Bucky has pictured this very moment, in all the possibilities that he ever came up with for how this very thing can happen, he never thought he’d be the one to not see it coming.
But, the universe plays by its own rules, and it doesn’t bother explaining them to anyone.
Bucky doesn’t even get the chance to meet Sam’s eyes before the man’s lips are on his, delicate and delivering a kiss full of nothing but genuine tenderness.
He stays absolutely still for a second, body freezing all on its own and mind coming to a screeching halt.
Sam Wilson is kissing me.
Why is Sam Wilson kissing me?
Should I care why?
Oh, mother of God, Sam Wilson is fucking kissing me…
In a moment that ends way too soon as much as it also takes a millennium to pass, Sam pulls away slowly, dragging his lips off Bucky’s.
Bucky gapes at him with an expression of pure confusion, awe, and absolute astonishment at the way Sam kisses. It’s nothing like he imagined; it’s one thousand times better.
“Was that...was that okay?” Sam asks, concern laced with his words.
A smile breaks out on Bucky’s face that he can’t control, nor does he want to. He nods, eyes filling up with tears all over again, but this time it’s so damn different. “Yes. God, please do that again.”
Does that send a wave of shame though Bucky? Yes, definitely. Does he care? No, no he doesn’t, because the man that he’s been thinking about for way too long to be healthy is kissing him by his own choice, his hands holding Bucky against his body, and it’s fucking wonderful. This is a drug he wouldn’t mind getting addicted to.
Sam’s kiss is more passionate the second time around, and Bucky manages to not only kiss back but process the whole thing more successfully, feeling the warmth and pleasant tingle all over his body. It’s foreign, something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time, but it’s here and he’s not complaining. Not one fucking bit.
Soon enough, one of Sam’s hands travels upwards and finds Bucky’s hair, fingers tangling with it and gripping lightly. The other one finds a comfortable spot around Bucky’s throat. He doesn’t apply pressure, but Bucky knows Sam’s aware of what simply the presence of his hand is doing, what kind of a tease it is for him.
Tease. Always with the teasing.
Except, a lot of this is true now. It’s not just for fun. Sam wouldn’t be kissing him if it was for fun, right?
He has to actually like you to do this.
Someone likes you.
Sam likes you.
Sam. You.
Wow.
Neither of them notices when the old song ends and the electronic music comes back. They don’t even pull away from each other unless it’s for breath, and that doesn’t take longer than a couple of seconds each time.
Sam pushes Bucky against the wall, seemingly taking pleasure in the way the man lets out a soft gasp. Bucky allows his own hands to roam, touching Sam’s arms and the back of his neck and sliding around his waist, heat swarming every inch of him.
He can’t believe he’s doing this, even after what has to be at least another five minutes of it. He can’t believe he’s here in some random club, kissing Sam fucking Wilson. He can’t believe Sam fucking Wilson’s tongue is sliding into his mouth, finding no resistance to his entry whatsoever.
Bucky always assumed all of this was going to stay a fantasy. He thought, even if something were to ever happen, it would take years to have Sam find something to admire in him, and even longer to get to a first kiss. He always assumed Sam would find someone else before Bucky could fix himself and it would all be over.
It’s what’s pushing Bucky to kiss Sam so eagerly right now, fueled by the thought of this being their first and only time, the fear of Sam doing this just to fuck with him. He just wants the most out of it, regardless of what this is exactly.
Sam doesn’t seem to mind the enthusiasm, though. He responds with the same energy, pushing against Bucky and biting his lip - didn’t you say you weren’t going to bite me? - and tightening his tugs on Bucky’s hair, which makes him feel as though he’s going to melt right into the floor.
When Sam pulls away the next time, he doesn’t move back in, just stares at Bucky while trying to catch his breath.
“Is this a joke? Bucky asks out of the blue through pants, wanting to be sure just in case Sam’s only trying to see how far he can push Bucky. It would be cruel, and Bucky might just never forgive Sam if it's the case, but it's much better than being led on further.
The man laughs, shaking his head slightly. “No, Buck. This isn’t a joke.”
“Okay,” Bucky whispers, nodding his head. “Okay, that’s-that’s good.”
“Now do you get why I’ve been teasing you?”
“I just...I didn’t think you were interested in me in that way.”
Sam cups Bucky’s left cheek in his hand - the other still in his hair - and runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “I hate you, but not that much.”
Bucky lets out something between a sigh and a laugh and pulls Sam back to him, smashing their mouths together. He wishes he could slip all of Sam’s clothes off but this is hardly the appropriate place. Besides, this is only their first kiss. It’s too soon for...anything else.
But are other opportunities guaranteed? Is Sam willing to keep doing this or is this just a one-time thing? What if he’s disappointed with you right now and just doesn’t want to show it? What if you seem too desperate? What if...what if he changes his mind?
Oh, God, what if he never speaks to me after this? What if he decides it’s strange, or what if he becomes ashamed?
What if -
What if -
What if -
Bucky takes a deep breath through his nose and attempts to calm down - even as Sam begins to place goddamn kisses on his neck. His therapist talked to him about this before, and as much as he hates those sessions, there was one thing he couldn’t disagree with.
He gets anxious too easily and too quickly, resulting in unnecessary panic and a rush of irrational, negative thoughts. He just has to relax, think about happy things, ground himself in the moment instead of letting his out-of-control mind take him away. So, that’s what he does; zeroes in on Sam’s lips on his neck, the music in his ears, the dust particles in the air, the way the wall feels against his back. Within a few minutes, he feels somewhat less stressed, decides to revel in this moment with Sam and just enjoy it. Whether or not this will happen again will be known later.
Which it has to, right?
But what if it doesn’t?
Oh, for fuck’s sake, just -
"Wilson, Barnes, he’s on the move! He’ll be on the floor in a few seconds!”
Sam jumps back in a fraction of a moment, leaving Bucky slightly disoriented and dizzy against the wall. He blinks a few times and shakes his head, joining Sam’s side at the railing only a few seconds later. Bucky swallows and clears his throat, trying his best to somehow shove aside everything that just occurred - which he isn’t entirely convinced wasn’t his imagination - and focus on what they actually came here for.
The gargantuan butterflies in his stomach don’t fly away for the rest of their mission. They chase after their guy with the information on super-soldier serum, they get shot at by his goons, and all the while, all Bucky can think about is the feel of Sam’s lips - softer than he could have ever imagined - on his own and his hands traveling all over his body and his fingers pulling his hair and -
The string of thoughts doesn’t stop, just keeps going and gets more tangled up the longer it becomes.
When the target is safely in their hands and it’s time to take him back to Sharon’s apartment, Sam and Bucky seem to silently agree to not look at each other. Bucky expects himself to be shy as fuck, but Sam? His usual confidence and cheery attitude are gone, replaced by something much more complicated that he's pretty sure Sam himself doesn't understand.
Zemo notices this, apparently, because on the car ride home, he can’t stop eyeing the two of them with an amused glint in his eyes, like he’s aware of everything somehow.
“If you weren’t driving right now, I’d gouge your eyes out,” Bucky mutters eventually, keeping his eyes on the buildings and people zooming by outside.
“You can still do it,” Sam adds from the back.
“I apologize for staring, I just couldn’t help but detect some, uh...tension between the two of you. Is that the right word for it?”
That’s exactly the right word.
“We’re just tired, man.”
“If you say so.”
Bucky sighs, a whole new round of humiliation winding its way through him. The last thing he needs is Zemo prying about what happened, even just knowing the general reason for why he and Sam are so...not themselves right now. Well, Bucky’s exactly as he always is. It’s Sam that’s out of character. No quips, no chatter to pass the time, no attempts to search for updates on the whereabouts of the Flag Smashers.
Bucky doesn’t regret it, though. Not even close. In fact, he can’t stop hoping that it’ll happen again as much as he can’t stop praying to whatever God is listening to him that Sam feels the same way.
- - -
Three hours later, Bucky’s sitting on the windowsill of his room, window wide open. The streets far below him are bustling with activity even though it’s the dead of night. This city never seems to sleep, and that actually comforts him. It reminds him of New York City.
He closes his eyes as a light breeze hits his face, rustling his short hair. He’s been out here for at least two hours, thinking and thinking and thinking about what happened earlier and what all of this means. He thought that maybe sitting here for a while would clear his mind and help him relax, and it did a little, but honestly, nothing can probably calm the storm raging inside of him right now.
Sam hasn’t talked to him since they returned, which Bucky wasn’t surprised by but it hit him anyways. Ever since, he’s been worrying that what he suspected is true, that Sam’s ashamed and doesn’t know how to break it to Bucky that it was all a mistake, that Sam just got excited and carried away due to the boredom and mood of the club. Bucky has been waiting for Sam to come and tell him those exact things all night, but it’s nearly two in the morning and he’s damn sure Sam’s asleep by now.
Maybe it’s better to sit in this for a while and let it settle. Maybe it’s smart of Sam to make Bucky wait. That way, it won’t be as heartbreaking for him when Sam tells him it was meaningless and he should forget.
Like that will ever happen.
Bucky’s already made a plan for what will happen once their business with the Flag Smashers is over. He’s going to not only get as far away from Sam as possible geographically, but he’ll also make sure there’s no way for the man to make contact with him. He can’t keep seeing Sam with the knowledge that Sam knows what Bucky feels for him. It’s too uncomfortable, too embarrassing. And, when Sam finally meets somebody he actually, genuinely loves, he knows he won’t be able to take the pain that will come with it.
It’s selfish, he’s well aware, but as much as he can pretend to be happy for Sam - he will be anyways, he knows - there will be a very prominent part of him that will feel nothing but disappointment and torment at seeing Sam with someone else.
So, he’s just going to leave. Spare himself the torture and Sam the constant reminder of that one mistake he made with his...co-worker.
Bucky takes a deep breath and leans his head back against the wall, staring out at the bright city skyline. He kind of wishes he can just stay here forever, listening to the people and honking cars below and watch the glittering of all the lights in the skyscrapers. Free of all worry, free of anything but peace.
Peace.
That sounds nice.
- - -
37 minutes later, Bucky hears a knock on his door.
He turns his head, eyeing it from across the room. Who the hell is still awake so late?
He gingerly gets off the windowsill and retrieves his gun from under the overly lavish bed, wrapping his fingers around the handle.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and then a head peeks in.
And it’s -
“Hey, man,” Sam says, walking inside fully and closing the door behind him once he sees that Bucky’s not sleeping.
Bucky breathes a small sigh of relief and tucks the gun back under the bed, although he kind of wishes it was someone trying to kill him instead of Sam. That would have been less stressful.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Sam asks, playing with the hem of his shirt. He only does that when he’s nervous.
Shit.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Couldn’t.”
“Me neither.”
“Well, that, and…” Sam trails off as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. Bucky returns to the windowsill and his eyes to the city outside, his heart beating a mile a minute. Please don’t be hard on me, he thinks. Please go easy on me, Sam.
He knows Sam will, but he also knows this will hurt no matter how polite he’ll be.
Bucky keeps waiting for the words to come, to hit him like a hurled brick in the head, but instead, there’s silence.
Silence, until -
Saxophones. Again.
But not just any saxophones.
No, they’re -
Bucky narrows his eyes at Sam, who’s now wearing a small smile. He sets his phone down on the table next to the door, the volume all the way up.
“That’s...that’s the same song from the-from the club.”
“Yup. Took me fucking ages to find it.”
“You were...all that time you were looking for the song?”
“That, plus praying you were still awake by the time I finished. And, also...I was processing everything. You know.”
Here it is. “Me, too,” Bucky says softly with a nod.
"So...what do you think?"
"What do you think?"
Sam wrings his fingers for another moment before reaching out to him with both hands and saying, “Come here.”
“What?” Bucky asks with a frown. Of all the things he can lead with...
“Our song’s on.”
“Our song?”
Sam gestures with his outstretched arms, and Bucky slowly slides off the windowsill, making his way to Sam hesitantly. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just he doesn’t exactly understand why Sam’s asking him to do this again…
They move into the same position as last time wordlessly, Bucky’s arms around Sam’s neck and Sam’s hands on the other’s waist. They fall into the rhythm easily, and then it’s like they were never interrupted, except this time it’s a little better due to the lack of all the unnecessary noise of the club. It’s nice, Bucky has to admit. It’s so nice to be doing this again. He purses his lips in irritation as they move, though, the sound part of him hating Sam for stretching this out.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asks eventually, noticing the discourse in Bucky’s eyes, in his slight stiffness.
“You going to sugarcoat this or get straight to the point?” Bucky asks, his tone a little harsher than what he intended.
“What do you mean?”
Bucky scoffs. “Come on, Sam. Didn’t you come in here to tell me that you regret what happened? That you don’t want me in that way?”
Sam looks genuinely offended by Bucky’s questions, and it nearly scares Bucky enough to let go of the man and run out of this building. Hell, run away from the damn city.
“You fucking serious?” Sam asks, dumbfounded.
“You-you didn’t talk to me afterward and you avoided me all evening, and I just...I figured you wanted to get away from me and think about how to reject me and tell me it was a mistake.”
“Why the hell would I think it was a mistake?”
“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know, I just thought that-that maybe it was just in the heat of the moment, what-what happened, and you didn’t actually mean anything.”
Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Oh, my God. What did I tell you back there? Hm?” Bucky shrugs. “I told you that it wasn’t a joke. Did you clock out and not hear me or something?"
“Like I said. Heat of the moment.”
“No. No, Buck, it wasn’t the fucking heat of the moment. Jesus, you still don't understand, do you? I kissed you because I...I like you, okay? And I avoided you because I was overwhelmed by everything that happened, as anybody would be. I mean, I’ve been thinking about you for such a long fucking time and I finally got what I wanted, and it was just…a lot to process. Okay?”
Am I hearing things right?
“You’ve been thinking about me?” Bucky asks in complete disbelief.
“Yes, man. Yes. I didn’t say all that in the club ‘cause it’s, you know, a little embarrassing, but I thought the kiss kind of got the message across. Apparently, I was wrong.”
Bucky laughs, turning his head down for a moment. He doesn’t regret it. He likes you. Oh, God, he really does like you. He wants you.
He wants you.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For...for being like this. I can’t help it, I just...I don’t have anything or anyone left but you, and I...I never believed this would happen, and then it did, and I...I guess I got really scared that you’d leave me, too.”
Little droplets squeeze out from the corners of Bucky’s eyes and slide down his cheeks. He really needs to learn to control his stupid emotions. Crying in front of Sam twice in the span of four hours is not something he'll ever forgive himself for.
Sam lifts his hands from Bucky's waist and instead cups his face, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.
“Look at me.” It takes a few seconds of willing himself to calm down before he does, and more so than ever, he thinks about how fucking wonderful Sam Wilson is in every way. “I’m not leaving you. Okay? Not even if you try to get rid of me.”
“Never.”
“That better be true.”
“It is. You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting you to -”
“Oh, trust me. I know. As I said, you’re not subtle. At all. I knew everything since the first time I touched you.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Everything, huh?”
“Well, I’d still like to know what side of the bed you prefer, what kind of...things you enjoy.”
The heat that rushes through Bucky’s body and to his face is startling, but he keeps his eyes on Sam all the same. “Why would those things be important?”
“Oh. You know. Reasons.” And there’s that mischievous smile again, and then he’s pulling Bucky in for a kiss and it’s even better than the first time. Bucky lets himself sink into it, relieved beyond belief and sure that he’s never been as happy as he is right now.
The two of them listen to the song on loop countless times, neither of them getting tired from hearing the same melody, from moving to the same beat. They end up dancing while wrapped up in a hug, Bucky’s chin resting on Sam’s shoulder as Sam holds him against his body. It’s absolutely fucking perfect.
Nothing can ever touch this moment, this isolated little bubble in the history of everything that no one will ever know about but Bucky and Sam. No one can ruin it, nothing can change it. It’s just them, just them and the music and the cloud of serenity surrounding them.
“Last chance to back out,” Bucky says at one point. He knows he shouldn’t, he knows it has the potential to ruin everything, but he can’t help it. “If you’re unsure about this, or if you...were kidding and don’t actually want me, please tell me now.”
Sam actually laughs. “I’m gonna talk to your therapist about some anxiety medication.”
“I don’t need medication, Sam. I just need...assurance.”
Sam pulls back and stares at Bucky straight on. “I want this. I’m sure. I want you. I promise."
"And here I was all this time, thinking you didn't even consider me a friend."
"You need serious professional help."
Bucky snorts, resting his forehead on Sam's shoulder again. "Tried it. Doesn't work."
"I need you to tell me that you understand what I just told you, Buck. About wanting you. I mean it and you deserve to wholeheartedly believe it. Okay?”
I love you. I fucking love you. I'm not going to tell you that yet, but I love you.
Bucky nods. “Okay. I understand.”
“Okay.”
- - -
They don’t let go of each other for a long time.
When fatigue finally catches up with them and begins to pull them down, Sam goes into a fit about Bucky wanting to sleep on the floor, and then eventually gives up trying to convince him to take the bed and settles down on a thin blanket next to him. He complains at first but shuts up the moment Bucky slides a hand around his middle and rests his head on Sam’s shoulder.
They fall asleep shortly after, the first hints of sunrise in sight outside.
- - -
For the first time in as long as he can remember, James Bucky Barnes does not wake up alone.