Sam sighed as he tucked the key into the lock, Sterns' words still echoing in his head like a persistent.
"You'll see what happens when you have to protect this world... from others."
He closed the door behind him, fatigue weighing down his movements. His coat slid limply over the back of the sofa before he dropped onto it, the cold leather against the back of his neck sending a shiver down his spine. Another sigh escaped him, deeper, more weary.
What did Sterns mean by that ? Was he talking about the existence of other worlds, other parallel realities? The idea seemed crazy, but he'd learned not to dismiss the impossible out of hand.
Sam ran a hand over his face, his fingers sliding over his rough skin, betraying his lack of sleep. He grabbed his phone out of his jeans pocket and began tapping frantically on the screen, searching for anything he could find on parallel universes and the multiverse. From scientific articles to conspiracy theories, he read everything, absorbing information like a castaway clinging to a buoy. He watched video after video, the bluish images on the screen reflected in his tired eyes. Time passed unnoticed, until the room was plunged into darkness.
A thump brought him back to reality. Someone was knocking at his door.
Blinking several times, he rubbed his eyes to get rid of the burning caused by hours spent in front of the screen. He frowned, suspicious. He wasn't expecting anyone. Rising with a grunt, he turned on the light. The sudden brightness drew a grimace from him as he opened the door cautiously.
“Bucky ?”
Sam stood frozen on the threshold, perplexed. His friend stood before him, looking both tired and amused, a bottle of champagne in his hand.
“God, you look like shit,” Bucky said, scrutinizing him.
"Nice, thanks. You look good, too."
A smile lit up the former soldier's face, promptly imitated by Sam. He stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him. His gaze fell on the bottle and his curiosity grew.
“And what's the champagne for ?” he asked, pointing with his chin at the suspicious object.
“To celebrate your victory over Ross,” Bucky replied with a shrug.
“You're three months late,” Sam squinted his eyes.
“Yeah, I know, but better late than never.”
Bucky smirked at him, and Sam, unable to resist his good humor, returned his expression with a shake of the head. Together, they headed for the kitchen, where Sam took out two glasses while Bucky uncorked the bottle with a sonorous pop. The fruity scent of champagne wafted through the air.
They toasted.
“I'm sorry, I should have come sooner,” Bucky said, lowering his eyes to his glass.
"Don't worry, I know you're busy... Congressman," Sam added, nudging him with a knowing wink.
“Stop it,” grumbled Bucky, amused. “It's just... shit.”
He scratched the back of his neck, obviously a little embarrassed.
"I don't agree. You're one of the few politicians who manages to get everyone to agree. That's no mean feat."
“You're following my campaign ?” asked Bucky, smiling softly.
"Of course I am. We need to know who's going to run our country, so we know what to expect."
“Like Ross ?” dropped Bucky sneakily, raising an eyebrow.
A chuckle escaped Sam before he nodded. They laughed together, savoring this welcome break from responsibilities and doubts.
Sam absent-mindedly twirled his glass between his fingers, then lifted another sip to his lips. The champagne was surprisingly good - a delicate bouquet of white flowers, mingled with notes of ripe apricot and bright citrus fruit that awakened his taste buds, leaving a fresh, elegant imprint on the palate.
Intrigued, he put down his glass and picked up the bottle to examine the label.
A French wine, vintage 2008. Judging by its neat appearance and the grain of the paper, this was clearly not a bottle bought in a hurry on a street corner. He had no doubt: it must have cost a small fortune.
“How much did you pay for that, Buck ?” he asked, squinting skeptically.
“You don't want to know,” replied Bucky, taking a sip.
“Seriously, where's the taxpayer's money going ?” muttered Sam in a falsely indignant tone.
“In Captain America's stomach.”
They giggled in unison, accomplices in this simple yet precious moment. Their eyes met, charged with a silent tenderness, a discreet wonder, and at that moment, they were happy. Perhaps even grateful. For being there. Together. Alive.
But Sam's ringing phone broke the harmony of the moment. He gasped slightly, unhooked from the moment, before frowning as he grabbed his phone from the counter.
Sobra.
He sighed and picked up.
While Sam talked on the phone, pacing the room, Bucky watched him. He listened to the low, melodious timbre of his voice while detailing the features of his face. He didn't need to, he already knew Sam by heart, but it was a habit he'd developed over decades of brainwashing and trauma.
His gaze glided over the curve of his cheeks, the defined line of his jaw, the shape of his lips that moved with fluidity. He noted the texture of his hair, the depth of his eyes, the quiet strength that emanated from him.
Bucky had always done this. With Steve, Natasha, Ayo, Shuri, and T'Challa... He captured every detail, every nuance, but with Sam, he noticed that, in recent years, his gaze drifted lower and lower. He unconsciously traced the length of his neck, the build of his shoulders, the definition of his powerful arms, his sculpted torso... right down to the curve of his powerful buttocks and thighs.
He looked away, running his tongue over his suddenly dry lips as he watched the carbonated liquid in his glass.
He knew Sam was a handsome man in many ways, but he always found it odd when his gaze lingered too long on his friend's body. Looking at him furtively or simply following his movements was one thing, but it was as if he was captivated by his presence. As if sometimes he was the only one in the room.
Feeling his throat go dry again, he raised his glass to his lips and drank it down. Too fast. Too quickly. As he placed the glass back on the counter, a cracking sound was heard. The stem of the glass had broken under his tight grip.
“Shit,” he muttered, observing the damage.
He picked up the pieces and tossed them in the trash, before realizing that Sam was handing him a new cup, without even interrupting his conversation.
When did he have time to do that ?
He took the glass with a nod, silently thanking him, then Sam finally hung up, stowing his phone in his pocket with a weary sigh.
“Who was it ?” asked Bucky, feigning indifference.
“Nobody, it wasn't important.”
“Your girlfriend ?” chuckled Bucky, a mischievous grin on his face.
“Certainly not,” Sam replied with a disgusted grimace.
Bucky laughed, a light, sincere laugh - almost unexpected. Then silence fell between them, laden with a slight unease. The words he'd spoken looped in his mind, insistent, heavy with meaning. A question lingered in the back of his mind, but he still hesitated to formulate it.
He raised his glass to his lips and took a sip of champagne, as if the alcohol could dissolve his thoughts or anesthetize his hesitation.
His eyes were lost for a moment in the bubbles lazily rising in the golden liquid, and without even realizing it, he absentmindedly bit the inside of his lip.
“Would you like to ?” he finally asked after his long hesitation.
Sam gave him a puzzled look, not understanding what he was getting at.
“To have someone in your life ?”
“I don't know... with the job I've got, it's complicated,” Sam admitted. “But yeah, I'd like to...”
A shadow of sadness crossed Sam's eyes as he remembered something.
“I think the last time I had anyone in my life was when I was in the army.”
He paused before realizing the obvious.
“Woah, it's been ages, actually !”
“Not even after the eclipse?” asked Bucky, finding it hard to believe that his friend hadn't dated anyone for so long.
“No,” he admitted with a sad smile, his gaze lost for a moment in the void. "When I left the army, I was in such a bad way because of Riley's death that my head wasn't in it. Then Steve came along and I became an Avenger, not exactly the ideal context for having someone, let alone when you were on the run. Then I became Captain America and it got even more complicated."
Sam suddenly realized how much he'd been through. He'd never realized how much his life had changed, toppling from one war to the next, responsibilities piling up year after year, never giving him time to breathe... A bit like Bucky.
He'll never have a normal life again. A life spent helping war veterans deal with their traumas, living a quiet family life. Because normality isn't part of superhero life. Nostalgia gripped him, squeezing his heart at this realization.
He glanced at Bucky, who had been watching him the whole time, understanding better than anyone the internal dilemma he was living through.
“What about you ?” he asked softly. “Would you like to ?”
Bucky shrugged slightly, a melancholy glint crossing his blue eyes.
“I don't know,” he breathed, staring at his glass as his index finger absentmindedly traced the rim of his glass. As if hesitating to dive deeper into his thoughts. “There was a time when that's what I would have liked, but now it's complicated...”
Sam nodded slowly before placing a hand on his shoulder. A simple touch, but one that spoke volumes. Bucky looked up at him, seeking an ounce of comfort, which Sam gave him without hesitation.
His gaze was charged with such empathy and tenderness, it caught him off guard, taking his breath away for a moment. It was strange how these simple exchanges with Sam could crack his defenses, the ones he'd forced himself to erect over the years, and it was at moments like this that he felt a visceral urge to surrender to Sam, to confide in him everything that haunted him.
So, with a trembling breath, he confessed to him.
"With everything I've been through, I don't know if I'll have the patience or strength to commit to a relationship. And even if I wanted to, who'd want a guy as damaged as me..." he admitted his voice breaking with emotion as a bitter smile twisted his lips.
Sam felt his stomach knot. He hated it when Bucky only saw himself as a broken vase, impossible to repair. As if he was a lost cause and deserved no good, when he was one of the most loving, caring people he knew.
“You'd be surprised...” he breathed simply, a sincere twinkle in his eyes.
“That's sweet, but you're only saying that to make me feel better,” he let out in a whisper, his voice tinged with dejection, before lowering his gaze, staring at his hands as if they held something. “If they knew what I've done, they'd run...”
Bucky's words hit Sam like a slap, squeezing his heart. He hated seeing him like this. He felt a wave of sadness rise up inside him, but he didn't hesitate for a second. He slid his hand up Bucky's back, the reassuring touch of his palm against the softness of his suit. He gently leaned forward to rest his chin on his shoulder, embracing him in a comforting hug. He perceived the other man's tension, like an overstretched rope, loosen under his touch.
“No, that's not true.” whispered Sam, his voice soft, but firm, as if he wanted to root the truth in his friend's mind. “I didn't run away.”
A trembling sigh escaped Bucky's lips, like a breath held too long, as he leaned in slightly, wordlessly accepting this closeness. He let his head rest gently on Sam's, his hair tickling his cheek.
They stayed there, in that heavy but soothing calm, just listening to each other's breathing. Every breath, every heartbeat seemed to bring them even closer together. Bucky's tension gradually dissipated, drowned out by his friend's silent presence.
Time seemed to stretch, suspended in this quiet moment when words were no longer necessary, but Sam finally broke the silence, his voice weak but imbued with gentleness.
“Do you want to stay over ?”
Bucky bit his lip, pondering the proposal. He didn't want to disturb. He'd already dropped in unannounced, so he wanted to intrude even less, but the thought of returning to an empty house, of lying in bed alone, sent a chill down his spine.
“If you don't mind.”
Sam smiled as he lifted his head, his gaze boring into his, a reassuring smile that seemed to erase the shadow in his blue eyes.
“I wouldn't offer it to you, otherwise.”
Bucky sketched a slight smile, feeling his friend's hand rub his back with silent tenderness before pulling away, returning to his owner, and he felt an emptiness. As if he already missed his touch, a bittersweet sensation he couldn't explain.
“Have you eaten ?” asked Sam, breaking the slight tension that had fallen back into the air.
Dressed in shorts and a tank top, Sam carefully placed the tray on the bedside table in his room, the tantalizing smell of dinner wafting through the air. Behind him, Bucky slipped on a T-shirt his friend had lent him, before dropping onto the bed, the thick comforter sinking under his weight.
Sam grabbed the remote control and turned on the TV opposite the bed, quickly navigating to Netflix. The screen diffused a bluish glow in the dimly lit room, casting moving shadows on the walls. Bucky, already settled, grabbed his tray and took a first bite, savoring the comforting warmth of the dish.
“What do you want to watch ?” asked Sam, turning back to him with a curious look.
Bucky shrugged slightly as he chewed, taking a few seconds to think. He wasn't in the mood for an overly complex film, something with too many details to remember. Just a light, simple moment, and judging by Sam's tired expression, he wouldn't say no to a bit of easy entertainment either.
“A comedy movie.”
Sam nodded, finding the idea perfect. He took his turn on the bed, leaning back comfortably against the pillow before grabbing his own tray, which he placed on his legs. He scrolled through the various categories on the screen, searching among the comedies.
“Is there one you're interested in ?” he asked, glancing at Bucky.
The former soldier shrugged, slightly overwhelmed by the choice. He liked watching movies, but with all the pop culture backwardness he'd accumulated, he never really knew what to choose. His gaze wandered over the colorful posters, but none of them rang a bell.
Suddenly, Sam exclaimed, his face lighting up as if he'd just had a revelation.
“Oh my God, that movie!” he blurted, almost overexcited, as he clicked on the White Chicks thumbnail.
“But you've already seen it?” said Bucky, arching an eyebrow as he looked at it.
“Yes, but that was years ago,” Sam admitted with a shrug, an amused smile on his lips. “I just remember a few passages.”
Bucky watched his friend for a moment before sighing with a smirk.
“Okay, go ahead.”
Sam pressed play, and the movie started, lighting up the room with a warmer glow. The first notes of the soundtrack echoed softly as the story came to life before their eyes. Sam took a bite of his meal, savoring the warmth and spices that mingled with each mouthful.
The subdued lighting accentuated the cozy ambience of the moment, and the soft rustle of cutlery against plates mingled with the film's dialogue. A feeling of tranquility settled in between them, like a timeless interlude away from responsibilities.
After twenty minutes or so, they placed their now empty trays on the bedside table and settled more comfortably into bed. The room was softly lit by the TV screen, casting changing reflections on their relaxed faces. They snuggled into the soft sheets, instinctively seeking a little more warmth in the peaceful atmosphere that enveloped the room.
Sam glanced at Bucky and smiled as he chuckled, his muffled laughter shaking his shoulders slightly. He loved that sound, that sincere little twinkle that always lit up his face, momentarily erasing the shadows of the past.
"You mother's so old, that her breast milk is powdered ! You breast-feed like this."
Their laughter echoed through the room, mingling with the film's dialogue. Sam let himself sink back against the mattress, his body leaning naturally against Bucky's. He felt the familiar coldness of the metal against the bare skin of his arm, a surprising contrast at first contact, but he didn't pull back. The warmth he radiated slowly diffused into the vibranium, and soon the chill faded.
A smile stretched his lips as he noticed that Bucky had relaxed slightly under this proximity, his muscles releasing a tension he might not even have noticed.
The film went on, and they stayed there, glued together, absorbed in the screen. When Kevin had his bag stolen by a pickpocket, Bucky smiled mockingly at the stupidity of the scene.
"I think she's bionic, dude."
At this retort, Sam slowly turned his head towards Bucky before nudging his metal arm with his shoulder, his mischievous grin betraying his innuendo. Bucky understood immediately and, raising an amused eyebrow, returned the blow. Like two kids, they continued this little game several times throughout the film, exchanging teasing gestures with obvious complicity.
As the cult scene approached, Sam straightened up slightly, a smile on his face. Remembering the perfect moment, he cast a furtive glance at Bucky, making sure he had his attention before taking a breath.
"How did you know ? I love this song !" he exclaimed, mimicking the actor's words with theatrical enthusiasm.
A surprised Bucky slowly turned his eyes towards him, eyebrows slightly furrowed, not immediately understanding what Sam was getting at, but Sam didn't give him time to think. He immediately broke into song, his vibrant voice mingling with the actor's, filling the room :
"Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I'm homebound."
An amused smile played on Bucky's lips as he watched his friend make a spectacle of himself. Sam not only echoed the words, but also imitated the character's gestures, exaggerating every move with infectious energy.
"And I need you... And I miss you... And now I wonder."
Sam sat up straight in bed, never taking his eyes off Bucky. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued his imitation, adding little dramatic gestures that drew a frank, sincere laugh from Bucky.
“If I could fall, into the sky. Do you think time, would pass me by? Cause you know I'd walk a thousand miles, if I could just see you. Tonight."
As he finished, Sam shrugged his right shoulder in a mischievous gesture, as if he wanted to hide behind it, while giving Bucky a look that was both playful and charming.
Bucky burst out laughing, shaking his head slightly, amused by this sudden performance. Sam's energy was so infectious, so bright, that he felt his own laughter escape effortlessly, letting himself be carried away by the moment. Sam laughed back, and their voices mingled in sweet harmony, filling the room with a comforting warmth.
Without even thinking about it, he let himself go against Bucky, his body instinctively seeking a source of warmth, an anchor. He hadn't planned to get so close, but when he felt the metal shoulder against his temple, he made no effort to pull away. Instead, he curled up slightly, bringing his legs close to Bucky's, their thighs eventually touching in a silent exchange of warmth.
Bucky, for his part, didn't move. He slowly melted under the contact, welcoming it like a castaway clinging to a buoy. He didn't know if he wanted or needed it, but his body left no doubt. The tension in his neck eased under Sam's weight, and with an almost imperceptible gasp, he let his head rest against his. The familiar scent of the other man embalmed his mind, and he gave in to the warmth he was disgorging.
Without even being aware of it, he distractedly began to play with the fabric of the sheet with his fingers, tracing slow, scented circles, triturating the fabric. At least, that's what he thought, and Sam said nothing when he felt the crotch of his shorts slip under the tugging.
He knew very well that with his prosthetic arm Bucky didn't feel touch, at least not like normal. He couldn't feel textures, or even temperatures, the only thing he could "feel" was the touch of others. Sensors were placed in his arm, and when someone touched him, or he touched someone, he felt a tiny heat or pressure was applied. It wasn't much, but it was something.
So Sam didn't say anything either when the hand unconsciously slid a little closer to his thigh, and he still made no remark when the metallic fingers caressed, unconsciously tickled his skin. Perhaps he should have said something, but he didn't, he accepted this involuntary contact.
After a moment, the latter seemed to notice that his fingers weren't playing with the blankets but coaxing Sam's thigh. He glanced at his friend, but the latter was watching the film, saying nothing about the presence of his hand on her body. So he continued his caresses, wanting to continue to feel that slight warmth he felt in his fingers, and Sam contented himself with breathing a little more deeply under Bucky's presence.
They remained like this for a long moment, lulled by each other's warmth, letting silence speak for them.
Then, when Kevin and Marcus arrived at the fashion show in the film, Bucky moved slightly, seeking more contact, more closeness. Repositioning himself, he slid a little lower, his torso leaning naturally against Sam's side, his head resting on his chest. Sam didn't hesitate for a second before putting an arm around his shoulders, a natural, protective gesture.
Bucky felt his muscles relax even more under this discreet embrace, and his hand found refuge on Sam's belly. His fingers slowly brushed the fabric of her T-shirt, finally feeling the texture. He traced indistinct shapes, as he inhaled deeply the scent of his friend, imbuing himself with him as if to engrave this moment in his memory.
His caresses resumed, light, distracted, and Sam slowly slid his hand through the brown hair, gently massaging his scalp with his fingertips, seeking to chase away the tension he still perceived within him.
Bucky let out a sigh of pure contentment, his eyelids closing under the unexpected pleasure of this gesture. He pressed himself a little closer against Sam, still trying to get closer, until he slipped a leg over his, reducing the distance between them to almost nothing.
And so they remained, in this intimate bubble, as the film drew to a close. Marcus confessed to his wife how much he loved her, and Bucky smiled fondly at the scene.
"That's sweet," he murmured in a soft, almost dreamy voice.
Sam looked down at him, observing his relaxed face, his peaceful body against his, and thought that yes, it really was cute.
"Yeah..." he breathed in a quiet whisper that the other heard perfectly.
The credits rolled before their eyes, but neither of them moved. It was as if, until now, the film had served as a fragile barrier between them. Now that it was over, there were no distractions, nothing to contain the silent momentum that was inexorably driving them together.
Sam deepened his caresses in Bucky's brown hair, his fingers sliding slowly between the silky strands, brushing them with the tips of his fingernails. A sigh of satisfaction escaped the other man's lips, a warm breath against the fabric of Sam's t-shirt, which sent a shiver down his spine. Bucky let himself go a little more against him, instinctively seeking more contact, and let his right leg pass entirely over Sam, encircling him in an implicit embrace.
His hand, until now resting on his belly, slowly moved up, his fingers brushing his ribs in a hesitant caress, as if he were rediscovering the sensation of touch, as if he wanted to soak up every bit of skin beneath his fingers.
Sam felt Bucky's irregular breathing brush against his skin, the diffused warmth of his breath breaking through the thin barrier of his garment. Every caress of his thumb against his ribs was a silent whisper, a restrained shudder... and he felt his own body react before his mind even realized what was happening. His friend was there, pressed against him, so close that they shared the same warmth.
And then there was that touch. Tiny. Almost accidental. Bucky had moved his leg, and under the contact, Sam felt his breathing freeze for a moment, his belly contract under the sudden wave of heat that invaded him. A shuddering breath, almost a groan, which he barely stifled as he realized... that he wasn't the only one to react this way.
He felt it, hard, against his leg, and the air seemed to thicken around them, charged with something raw, unspoken.
They knew they'd have to back off. Find a way to ease the tension, laugh at the situation, divert attention, but neither moved. Because they were enjoying the tenderness of their exchange, the sensuality of it. They craved it. They needed this feeling, this affection.
So Sam made the only gesture that seemed natural to him.
He unconsciously tightened his grip on Bucky's hair, exerting imperceptible pressure, as if to make it clear that he had no intention of pushing him away. Then, in a gesture that was anything but innocent, his own leg moved in turn, pressing lightly, delicately, against the tension between them.
Bucky blew out a shaky exhale, his hand on Sam's ribs gripping the fabric for a moment before resuming his hypnotic caress. The electricity between them was unbearable, an exquisite tension that tipped them into a second state, and beginning to become a dangerous game.
As if drawn irresistibly by the heat burning from the body beneath him, he placed a kiss through the fabric. Just one. A test... He stood still for a moment, waiting for a reaction, a refusal, a sign to stop, but Sam did nothing. Except waiting.
So Bucky began again.
His lips settled on the fabric, slowly kissing the skin beneath. Moist heat diffused through the cotton, seeping down to Sam's skin, and he felt his belly contract under the contact. The pressure was barely perceptible, but so intense that it left an invisible imprint, and each kiss seemed to fan the heat between them, eroding a little more of the last resistance.
Sam felt his breathing quicken, his body relax under the unsuspected tenderness of each contact. A delicious shiver ran down his spine as Bucky's hand, until now resting on his ribs, slid lower in a sensual caress, reaching the hem of his t-shirt.
He lifted it slightly, slowly sliding Sam's shirt off. Inch by inch, up over his pecs, revealing the warm, firm skin of his torso. His hands settled on his waist, following the curve of his body as he dotted his belly with fleeting kisses, grazing his skin with exquisite softness. He descended slowly, his lips tracing an invisible path that his hands followed in a searing caress.
Sam's breath caught, irregular under this avalanche of sensations. When Bucky's lips reached the elastic of his shorts, he paused, looking up to catch his agreement.
Sam knew that what they were about to do could upset everything. It could make things strange, create a distance he didn't want between them. Yet when he met Bucky's gaze - that incandescent blue, charged with an almost all-consuming intensity - something inside him flickered.
A shiver of envy ran through him. He nodded, breathless.
In a slow, controlled gesture, Bucky grabbed the fabric and slid it down his hips. Sam lifted his basin to help him, letting the other man easily rid him of his shorts, which he placed on the bed.
Bucky stepped back slightly at the end of the mattress, and looked at him with an almost unreal intensity, as if contemplating absolute temptation. For a moment, Sam felt captive under that gaze, vulnerable, like prey facing its predator.
Slowly, Bucky moved closer, his hands settling on his knees to spread them with calculated gentleness. When he found the space he needed, he reached down between his legs, brushing his fingertips against his skin before slipping them under his thighs to lift them slightly.
Unabashedly offering his inner thighs, Sam shivered under the hot kisses that grazed his skin. Bucky's tongue traced invisible lines across his flesh, alternating between teasing licks and light bites that made his muscles twitch with pleasure.
He'd never realized how sensitive this area could be... or maybe it was just the way Bucky lingered there, the succulent softness of his lips against his skin.
Their eyes met again.
Bucky had been staring at him all along, his eyes shining feverishly in the dim light. The intensity of this attention made Sam's heart beat wildly. It was too much. Too much to bear, too mesmerizing... and yet, he didn't want it to stop. Unable to bear the burning gaze, he tipped his head back, abandoning his neck to the cushions with a shuddering breath.
Then the kisses moved upwards, lingering on his groin, and a metallic hand came to catch him with disconcerting tenderness, straightening him slightly before lips landed on him in an exquisite touch.
Sam pressed his hand to his face, letting it slide slowly down his jaw, grazing his throat with his fingertips before stopping on his chest. He shivered under his own caress, and Bucky, fascinated, lost nothing of the spectacle. He watched every twitch, every muscle contraction, savoring the slightest thrill running through his body.
A visceral urge seized the super-soldier. He wanted to see more.
Slowly, he opened his lips and delicately grasped the tip of Sam's member, barely sucking before releasing, placing a tiny kiss on the top.
Sam let out a moan, her back arching slightly under the wave of pleasure.
Bucky seemed to appreciate the reaction and began again, each movement gaining in depth, languor, making the ecstasy last.
Sam arched her back again, her head buried in the cushions, her fingers clenched on the sheets as Bucky's expert mouth took her into a divine whirlpool.
The super-soldier's hands slid under his thighs, lifting them up and folding them towards him, accentuating the delicious tension in his body. Sam trembled, lost under the intensity of the pleasure, unable to hold back the moans that escaped his lips.
Bucky felt him quiver against his tongue, absorbing him completely, his hot breath caressing his skin and causing instant goose bumps. He stood there for a moment, soaking up the sensation, Sam's electric shudder vibrating against him.
His thumbs caressed the back of her thighs with an almost adoring gentleness, as if waiting for him to calm down before continuing.
A few seconds passed, and Sam's muscles finally relaxed slightly. He finally dared to look down... and his heart missed a beat.
Bucky was still watching him. That burning gleam in his eyes hadn't faded - if anything, it was even more fiery.
Sam lost himself in this ocean of azure, completely absorbed, and Bucky took the opportunity to resume his comings and goings, immediately plunging him back into the torment of pleasure.
He accelerated slightly, keeping up his deep, languorous rhythm. Each movement sent a wave of heat through Sam's body, making it quiver beneath him. His thighs throbbed under the intensity of the sensation, his pelvis instinctively seeking more contact, more friction.
His breath broke into a series of shuddering moans as he arched his back under the tension that invaded him. Everything electrified him : the pressure of the hands that held him firmly in place, the expert softness of the lips that enveloped him, and above all that intoxicating gaze from which he was unable to escape.
Then Bucky swallowed him again, all the way to the root, triggering an uncontrolled spasm in his stomach. Sam brought a hand to his hair, burying his fingers in the silky brown strands, stroking them absentmindedly as a shiver ran down his spine.
When Bucky began a slow ascent, the hollow of his cheeks accentuating the suction, Sam let out a louder moan and, almost instinctively, pressed lightly against his head. A silent message. A silent request.
Continue.
Bucky understood at once and responded with a soft moan, a warm vibration that resonated all around him, sending a jolt of pleasure that made him gasp.
The super-soldier's hands slid under his thighs, up to his hips, which he grasped firmly to better control their movements. This time, he adapted to Sam's cadence, following the hesitant but increasingly assertive rocking of his basin.
A sensual rhythm settled between them.
Slow. Devouring.
Sam clung to the sheets, his back arching more with each thrust. The wet, burning friction, the exquisite feel of Bucky's tongue against him, the way he welcomed him so perfectly into his mouth... It was almost too much.
The rest of the world seemed to have faded away.
The television, playing a program in the background, had finally faded out, leaving them in the subdued darkness of the room. Now, only their erratic breathing, their muffled moans and Bucky's deep, guttural noises filled the silence of the room.
Then, between gasping breaths, Sam saw movement beneath him. It took him a few seconds to realize that Bucky was moving his pelvis, unconsciously rubbing his own desire against the mattress.
Still dressed.
All along, he'd focused entirely on him, ignoring his own pleasure, devoting himself solely to satisfying Sam. He hadn't even stopped to catch his breath properly, had shown no sign of discomfort, giving himself entirely to him.
The image hit him hard, triggering a wave of emotions that intertwined with pleasure.
This was too much.
“B-Bucky... w-wait, wait !”
His voice trembled as much as his body under the intensity of the moment.
Bucky stopped immediately, straightening his head, breathless and confused. His moist red lips gleamed in the dim light of the room. He passed the back of his hand over his mouth before looking up at Sam, searching for an answer.
“W-What is it ?” asked the super-soldier holding his breath, as if he feared he'd ruined everything.
Sam straightened up slightly, trying to put some semblance of order back into his thoughts as he still struggled to regain his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He swallowed hard before reaching out a hand, gently grasping Bucky's arm, and pulling towards him.
The other man allowed himself to be drawn in, sliding down to his full height, his gaze still uncertain, as if he expected to hear an apology or a request to stop.
His hands rested on either side of Sam, seeking support, seeking an answer.
Then Sam plunged his eyes into his.
Slowly, almost sensuously, he slid his fingers against the hem of Bucky's t-shirt, playing absentmindedly with the fabric before pulling it up slightly.
Then he gave him a burning look, a smirk stretching his lips.
“Take off your clothes...” he murmured in a soft, almost coaxing voice.
Bucky froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, but it was quickly swept away by something else. Slowly, a tender smile stretched his lips, and he obeyed.
He straightened up and grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt with a fluid movement before removing it in a single movement, only to be tossed carelessly to the side. A faint clink echoed in the air as his dogtag, freed from the fabric, clattered together, swaying gently.
Sam swallowed silently, his gaze drifting immediately to the super-soldier's sculpted torso. Every line of his muscles showed under the subdued light, highlighting the hardness of his body, the softness of his skin, but Bucky didn't give him time to admire for long. His hands, still burning from their earlier contact, slid against Sam's skin to grab his own t-shirt.
With a slow, confident movement, he pulled off his clothes, tossing it beside his own.
Sam's gaze lit up slightly.
He took immediate advantage of this, straightening up on one elbow before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin of Bucky's belly. His lips, warm and tempting, grazed the taut surface of his abs in a searing caress.
Bucky inhaled sharply under the sudden onslaught, his fingers instinctively finding the nape of Sam's neck to hold against him. His breath became deeper, more jerky, as the other man's mouth slowly descended, kissing and tasting every bit of skin he could reach.
Then, without breaking contact, Sam grabbed the bottom of Bucky's jogging bottoms and began to pull them down, with an almost torturous slowness. The fabric slid inch by inch over his hips, then over his thighs, until it was locked around his still-spread legs, but Sam wasn't about to let such an insignificant detail stop him.
With a certain agility, he firmly grasped the super-soldier's thighs and, in one fluid movement, flipped him onto his back.
The mattress creaked under the weight of the sudden change, a faint, almost imperceptible sound that was lost in the warmth of the moment.
Bucky let out a surprised breath, before a smile slowly stretched his lips.
Sam returned the smile, a teasing twinkle in his eyes, before running his hands down his legs. He firmly grabbed the still trapped jogging suit and slid it off completely this time, pulling it off in one swift motion before tossing it carelessly onto the bed.
They were finally naked, and Sam didn't miss a moment of it.
His gaze traveled over the body beneath him, detailing every line sculpted, every scar witness to a tumultuous past. The warm light of the room made the metal surface of Bucky's left arm gleam, accentuating the golden reflections shining through.
Then, as his gaze drifted lower, his eyes widened slightly.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out immediately. He had to regain his composure before murmuring, slightly incredulous :
“Tell me it was the serum that gave you that size,” he said, bringing his gaze up to his.
Bucky arched an eyebrow, surprised at first, before a low, raucous laugh escaped him. His eyes sparkled with amusement as a smirk played across his lips.
“Why ? It bother you ?”
Sam rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Bucky had already straightened up. With a precise gesture, he grabbed Sam by the thighs and pulled sharply toward him.
A surprised hiccup escaped the other man as he found himself pressed against the super-soldier's burning body. The ease with which Bucky had handled him sent a shiver down his spine.
“Don't be embarrassed, yours isn't bad either,” Bucky added in a deeper voice, before lowering his head to kiss the quivering skin of his belly.
The warmth of his mouth, the contrast between the cold of his arm and the fever of his breath, all had the effect of an electric wave that ran through Sam from head to toe.
The kisses descended slowly, dangerously, and the intoxication of pleasure overtook him, but he pulled himself together.
In one swift movement, he put a hand on Bucky's shoulder and pushed him back against the mattress.
Surprised by the gesture, the super-soldier raised a questioning eyebrow, but Sam gave him no time to protest. His fingers slid down his chest, grazing every muscle with a barely perceptible touch.
He straddled him, sitting right on his hips. Sam didn't move immediately, savoring the tension, the anticipation, before slowly beginning to undulate his basin.
The friction of their naked skin against each other triggered a ragged sigh from Bucky. His hands immediately found their way to Sam's waist, clutching with barely contained strength, before accelerating the pace. Wanting more closeness.
Sam bit his lower lip, a groan escaping him as he felt the vibranium plates vibrate lightly against his skin.
He let his hands explore the body beneath him, gliding over milky skin, tracing the curve of muscles beneath his burning palms, and accelerated the pace.
Their breaths mingled in the oppressive heat of the room. Their bodies, glistening under the subdued light, slid against each other in a lascivious, bewitching dance.
Bucky watched, fascinated, hypnotized. He followed every undulation, every contraction of his muscles, his burning gaze following his every move. As if entranced, he let his hands slide down Sam's torso, following the line of her curves before firmly grasping his pecs, kneading them with barely contained greed.
Then Bucky straightened slightly, his gaze riveted on Sam's chest, uncontrollable hunger shining in his feverish eyes. Slowly, he leaned over, replacing the pressure of his metal hand with the moist warmth of his lips.
He attacked his skin with barely contained need, sucking, nibbling, savoring every quiver he provoked. Sam exhaled a shuddering sigh, his body reacting instinctively to the onslaught of his lips. His hips wobbled, seeking a foothold in the growing pleasure that enveloped him.
Bucky slid his metallic hand down his side, exploring with his fingertips every hollow, every tension in his muscles taut with excitement. His path grew bolder as he reached his butt, capturing a firm muscle in his palm. He kneaded it possessively, accentuating the burning friction between their bodies.
Sam arched his back under the growing intensity. In a fit of uncontrollable need, he grabbed the back of the super-soldier's neck, his fingers tangling in the brown strand, pulling them gently to anchor the man against him, as his body moved against his in a lascivious dance.
Then, without warning, Bucky closed his mouth on his nipple, sucking it in so greedily that Sam arched violently under the electric shock that shot through him. An uncontrolled groan escaped him, his ragged breathing quickening under the insatiable suction. He desperately sought more of this contact, more of this sensation that invaded his whole being.
But suddenly he regained control in a visceral impulse, pushing Bucky back with a force imbued with urgency. In an instant, he slammed him against the mattress, throwing himself on top of him hungrily.
His lips kissed the pale skin of his neck, exploring with devouring languor. He traced a line of wet kisses, nibbling, sucking, savoring every shudder he unleashed in his path. Bucky moaned, his fingers coming to grip the other man's hips as if he wanted to anchor him more firmly against him, as if he refused to let him pull away.
“Sam...” whispered Bucky in his ear.
A smile grazed Sam's lips under the rough call of his name, the simple sound triggering an electric shiver down his spine. He resumed his kisses, moving slowly down, tracing the marked line of his throat with the tip of his lips. He paused for a moment on his Adam's apple, kissing it, titillating it with his tongue, savoring the slight shudder this triggered in Bucky.
The latter, in an instinctive rush, grabbed his butt again, his fingers digging into his flesh with possessive force. His hands guided Sam's movement, urging him to accelerate the friction between their pelvises, and the latter let himself be carried, following his rhythm while firming his own grip, pulling, pressing, no doubt leaving marks on the super-soldier's skin.
“Sam...” begged Bucky, his voice broken with pleasure, interspersed with ardent sighs.
Sam slowly raises his head to plunge into the feverish blue of her gaze. The raw, savage tension burning there almost took his breath away. They were so close, their lips barely parted, their breaths melting into one. In a slow, almost intimate gesture, Sam rubbed his nose against Bucky's, triggering a need-laden sigh.
He understood immediately.
So he closed the little distance between them, sealing their lips in a kiss of disconcerting tenderness, slow and delicate, contrasting with the intoxicating intensity of their hips as they continued their hungry dance. He placed his hands on Bucky's chest, his fingers sliding absent-mindedly against the border between flesh and metal, following the rough contours of the scars.
The super-soldier tensed, a groan escaping him - not of pleasure, but of embarrassment.
“Sorry...” breathed Sam, pulling his hand back so as not to rush him.
Bucky grunted, a raw protest at the back of his throat, refusing to let him hold back. He ran his tongue over his lips before capturing Sam's in a new kiss, deeper, more demanding. The exchange intensified immediately, their breaths mingling in a silent battle for control.
Sam, determined not to lose, caught Bucky's lower lip between his teeth, nibbling gently before tugging lightly, seeking to destabilize him, but his opponent wasn't about to let himself be dominated so easily.
Without warning, Bucky's metallic hand slammed down on his butt, triggering a muffled groan from Sam's mouth. An exquisite mixture of surprise and pleasure passed through him, forcing him to release his grip on Bucky's lip.
A smile grazed the super-soldier's lips, and he did it again.
A new, more assertive slap made Sam flinch, a burning shiver running up his spine. His hips quivered under the impact, amplifying the pressure against Bucky, and the moan that escaped his lips was lost in their feverish kiss.
Sam, eager, slid his hand from the super-soldier's torso down, slowly, brushing the burning skin until he found their member pressed together. He closed his fingers around them in a firm grip, matching the rhythm of their basin.
Bucky tilted his head back, his throat exposed, lips parted in a hoarse moan, while Sam buried his forehead against his chest. The pleasure climbed in intensity, spreading through every muscle, every nerve.
Bucky's hands left their places, to Sam's great displeasure. He was about to protest, but the flesh hand came to wrap itself around his, following his movement, amplifying the sensation. The other, gentler, more attentive, slid up to his face, grazing his cheek before drawing him back into a kiss.
Their movements became more erratic, more desperate, as their muscles tensed under the surge of pleasure. Breaths quickened, breaking under the weight of rising pleasure, wrapping their bodies in an almost suffocating heat. Sam felt every muscle beneath his fingers twitch under his caresses, every sigh from Bucky escaping his lips like an offering.
There was nothing but the burning contact of their skin, their hands sliding in sync, one on top of the other, one with the other. Sam could feel his stomach contracting under the tension, his thighs trembling slightly as Bucky's grip tightened on him, as if to guide him towards that inevitable fall.
The super-soldier was all sighs and groans, head buried in the pillow, eyebrows furrowed under the intensity of the moment. His fingers gripped Sam as if he were his only anchor, his only landmark amid the chaos of sensations threatening to engulf him.
Then, with a gasp, Bucky closed his eyes in silent torment.
“Sam... ” he breathed, and his hoarse voice was the last thing Sam heard before the wave took him by storm.
He tensed, his muscles contracting sharply as a hoarse moan escaped him, muffled in the warmth of Bucky's neck. His hand instinctively clenched him, his forehead crashing against his shoulder, as he let himself be swept away by the pleasure that burst through every nerve, every fiber of his being.
Bucky followed close behind, his body arching beneath him, his half-open mouth letting out a hoarse, broken sound. His fingers tightened in the nape of Sam's neck, his legs contracting beneath him, as if seeking him, to keep him close even in abandonment.
Then silence settled in, thick and saturated, disturbed only by their erratic breathing and the frantic beating of their hearts echoing in unison. The air was still charged with the warmth of their embrace, that intoxicating mixture of sweat and desire clinging to their skins.
Lying on his back, Bucky stared at the ceiling without really seeing it. His chest was rising slowly, in step with Sam's, snuggled against him, one hand still resting on his chest. His palm was warm, reassuring, as if it could still contain the vestiges of what they'd just shared, but as the temperature of the moment faded, a wave of lucidity seeped into his mind, relentless.
His throat tightened, his stomach contracted, and suddenly, reality caught up with him : he'd just slept with Sam.
The weight of this thought sent a shiver down his spine, a diffuse, insidious panic. Sam moved slightly, pulling away from him to roll onto his side, and this simple movement shattered what remained of the cocoon they'd forged for themselves. Anguish crept into the breach, dull and icy.
Bucky bit the inside of his cheek, trying to stop the panic that made his heart beat at a painful rate.
What had they just done ?
He'd ruined everything. His friendship with Sam was one of the only stable things in his life. A precious anchor to which he clung desperately, and he'd perhaps just pulverized it for... what ? An uncontrolled impulse ? A visceral need to feel alive, desired, loved ?
But damn it, he'd wanted to. He'd wanted it so badly. It had been so long since he'd felt such warmth against his skin, a touch that wasn't abrupt or calculated. Sam had touched him as if he mattered, as if he were real, and Bucky had surrendered to it, unable to resist this sensation he'd thought forgotten.
He loved Sam. He didn't doubt it, but a deep, unshakeable friendship... at least that's what he thought. Yet he couldn't deny the obvious : Sam was handsome, incredibly attractive. He'd always found him charismatic, fascinating, funny, but until now he'd never let his mind dig deeper, and now he didn't know what to think, either of him or of Sam.
“You're doing your thing.”
Sam's familiar voice broke the tumult in his head. He turned his head toward him, eyebrows slightly furrowed, not understanding what he meant by that.
“Your staring problem.” replied Sam, sketching a smirk, looking amused.
Bucky looked away with a half-amused, half-exasperated sigh. He should have known Sam would notice.
“You regret it ?” asked Sam in a more serious tone, more hesitant, as if he feared the answer.
Bucky stared at the ceiling again, feeling his throat go dry.
“I don't know...”
He did know. He knew he didn't regret it. He knew that every moment had been as burning as necessary, as instinctive as obvious. What terrified him was the idea that Sam might regret it. Because if it turned out that his friend did regret, then he'd never forgive himself. He'd feel like he'd abused a moment of weakness, crossed a line he should never have approached.
He finally turned his head, planting his gaze in his, his voice rough than he would have liked.
“Only if, you, you regret it...”
A smile, discreet but sincere, stretched Sam's lips, his features softening at her admission.
“No,” he murmured, staring at him for a moment, and in his dark eyes, Bucky saw neither doubt or hesitation. Just raw, obvious tenderness. “I don't regret it.”
Their eyes met, locked, then lost in each other, drowned in the truth of their confession. A dense silence enveloped them, charged with what had just been said... and done.
Then, gently, Sam broke eye contact. He turned away, opened the bedside table drawer and took out a tissue. When he turned around, he handed it to Bucky, whose face expressed incomprehension.
With a flick of his eyes, Sam pointed to his lower stomach - a discreet but unequivocal reminder of all that had happened.
“Thanks,” Bucky breathed as he took the handkerchief, a burst of laughter hanging at the edge of his lips.
They wiped each other dry, the silence settling again, less heavy this time, almost complicit. Then Bucky got up, picked up the tissues and headed for the bathroom. Sam followed him with his eyes, unable not to detail him.
The back of his neck, partially concealed by his messy hair. His broad shoulders, marked by the metal line of his prosthesis. His back, powerful, sculpted by years of combat, descending in an elegant line to his kidneys... to that little ass. That little white ass.
Sam was devouring him with his eyes, much more than he would have liked to admit, and Bucky felt it. That gaze gliding over him, brushing his skin like a silent, attentive, almost tender caress. And as he crossed the threshold into the bathroom, a thin, barely faint smile appeared on his lips - discreet, fleeting... but very real.
When Bucky returned to the bedroom, he found Sam already tucked under the covers, with his back to him. Penumbra filtered the room's contours, enveloping everything in a hushed softness. A steady murmur escaped from Sam, too perfectly paced to be entirely sincere.
Bucky let a smile graze his lips. He picked up his clothes from the floor and slipped them on slowly. Then, without a word, he lifted a flap of the blanket and settled down beside him, the warmth still present between the sheets enveloping him at once.
He moved closer, just enough so that his mouth almost brushed his ear as he murmured, his voice tinged with a certain amusement :
“Be more discreet next time.”
Sam turned to look at him, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Next time ?” he asked, raising an enigmatic eyebrow.
Bucky realized the significance of his words and anxiety returned to hit him hard.
Did he want a next time ?
He didn't know. He'd enjoyed it, very much even, but he didn't want to make things even weirder. Certainly neither of them regretted what had just happened, but wasn't it worth putting that aside ?
Wasn't it just a one-night stand ?
Hadn't they just let themselves go for one night ?
Completely lost in thought, he was startled when he was abruptly slammed onto the mattress, one hand resting on his torso, Sam's body half lying on top of his, his face a few inches from his.
“Tell me what you're thinking, instead of getting lost in your head,” Sam murmured tenderly.
The latter's gaze was so warm, filled with benevolence, that Bucky looked away, not wanting to face them, but Sam sought his gaze with his own, and he finally broke down.
“I don't want to lose you...” he confessed, his eyes closing under the weight of his words.
Sam's heart squeezed at his friend's vulnerability.
“You won't lose...” he confessed, his fingers catching the fabric of Bucky's t-shirt. “And there's no way you'll end your life without me.” added Sam in a more playful tone, trying to lighten the mood.
Bucky's lips stretched into a small smile, halfway between amusement and exasperation.
“I'm serious, Sam.”
“So am I.”
Bucky finally met his gaze. Sam was staring at him with an almost suffocating tenderness.
“Look, I really liked what happened,” Sam said in a calm but firm voice, trying to anchor his words. "But if, for you, it was just a one-night stand... if you don’t want something more concrete, then I need you to tell me. So we can work this out... Because there's no way what happened spoils our friendship."
Bucky remained silent for a moment, ruminating on Sam's words, weighing up the pros and cons. But as he looked into his eyes, he realized he had to stop beating about the bush.
He simply had to tell him the truth.
“I don't know how I feel about you,” he admitted, eyebrows slightly furrowed. "I know I love you, love our friendship. You're one of the best things that's happened to me since I was freed." A tender smile slid across his lips. "And I loved what happened, I really did... I didn't think I'd missed it so much. That contact, that warmth. But if we keep going, if it becomes regular... what would that mean ? That we're a couple ? Am I ready for that ? I'm not sure. What if it goes wrong ? What if I lose you ? I couldn't... I don't even think I know if I have feelings for you. I mean, maybe I do. But I don't know what that means, I liked sleeping with you, I liked touching you, feeling you against me, but does that mean I have feelings ? Or just that I needed this ? A moment like that ? What if-"
“Hey, calm down,” Sam cut in gently, putting a hand on his chest to feel that heart that was drumming too hard. "Okay, I get it. You're lost. And if it makes you feel any better... so am I," Sam shrugged gently. "But just because it's becoming regular doesn't necessarily mean anything. “
”And what would that mean, then? That we're just booty calls?" asked Bucky, his tone more bitter than he would have liked.
“You can have sex with a friend without it changing anything,” Sam replied calmly. "Share that... without it being more. But sometimes, yeah, it can mean something else. And there's nothing wrong with that either. The only way to know is to wait. See where it goes."
Bucky sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling, his tongue licking his dry lips.
“So... what do we do?” he finally asked, turning his head back to Sam.
“It's up to you.”
“Why me?”
"Because I've already made my decision.. Now it's up to you whether you want it to continue... or not. "
Bucky frowned. He was thinking, seriously.
He didn't want to ruin what they had - not this precious friendship, not this rare stability. But he couldn't deny how he felt physically for Sam. He was attracted to him. His warmth, his smell, the way his body reacted to him. He'd loved touching him. To kiss him. To smell him. And deep down, he knew that if it had happened once, it could very well happen again. Because he was already losing himself again. Letting himself be drawn in, gently, by this presence he knew by heart... and was discovering in a different way.
He had needed to be loved, desired, touched affectionately and not brutally for once, and Sam had given it to him. He gave it to him again and again. Through those simple gestures, like when he'd taken him in his arms earlier that evening, when his hand had rested on his shoulder to comfort him. Sam loved him for who he was. He had nothing to prove with him. Just exist, just be himself... and that was enough.
He'd craved him, and he knew he'd crave him again.
So he looked at him, there, lying against his chest, still silent, patient. Sam was giving him all the time he needed, and Bucky told himself he was really lucky to have him in his life.
“I'd love to,” he confessed sincerely, even if a hint of apprehension tinged his voice. “A next time, with you... several even,” he added, lower, almost to himself, but given the proximity between them, Sam heard him very well.
“I'd like that too...” he murmured with a small smile that relaxed his features.
A weight immediately lifted from Bucky's shoulders. They looked at each other, a little foolishly, a little too long, a smile on their lips, as if they were the two happiest men in the world, and, maybe they were.