The night breeze is pleasing on his skin. He looks down at the city lights and closes his eyes when the glow of it gets too bright.
“You’re not gonna jump, right?”
The voice doesn’t exactly startle him. He heard the footsteps approaching a couple of seconds ago.
“Are you going to annoy me enough to jump?” he claps back, and he’s met by a genuine chuckle. He doesn’t turn around, but a moment later Sam sits down next to him, his legs swaying over the city.
Bucky’s sitting on the rooftop of the city-hall in Tallinn. They were called that very morning to thwart an arms dealing agreement. No casualties. Sam seemed very happy with the outcome.
Bucky is too, but he can’t find the energy in him to celebrate. He goes back looking at the way the artificial lights of the houses flicker beneath his feet.
“Good job today” Sam congratulates him. Bucky finally looks at him and finds him smiling. He smiles back.
“We got a good leader” he claps back. Part of him wants to say something nice to Sam. Without his lead Bucky would be lost. Despite allegedly regaining his agency, he’s glad there is someone giving him orders. Not someone. Sam. Funny enough, he blindly trusts the guy. Sam is candid and honourable. And mostly, Steve trusted him, so Bucky is not in the place to question such decision.
Sam makes a bashful smile at his words, and Bucky finds it endearing. He likes it when they’re like this. Just two guys. Friends even, if he makes an effort.
Bucky looks down again. Tallinn is a beautiful city. He vaguely recollects fragments of memories: he’s been here already, he just doesn’t distinctly remember it.
Sam looks for his eyes. He’s a tad worried. “Hey, man. You alright?”
Bucky lets out a small laugh. “I’m not jumping, I promise” he reassures. Even if he did jump, he would almost surely land on his feet. The building is tall, but he survived highest falls.
Sam keeps quiet, but Bucky feels his eyes on him. The stare prickles him, and for a moment he ponders whether actually jumping just to spite him.
“If you want to talk-“ Sam starts and Bucky snorts.
“Alright doctor Wilson, got it.”
Sam doesn’t laugh at that, contrarily to Bucky’s expectations.
“I’m just enjoying the night breeze” Bucky confesses. “It feels like I’ve seen this place before. I’m just trying to chase a memory.”
Sam’s face softens at that but he doesn’t say anything. They both stay silent and look at the sky. Then, Sam suddenly points up. “A shooting star!” he exclaims. “There! Did you see it?”
Bucky’s fast reflex has him immediately looking up and he sees the star right as it flies above them. He grins without even noticing.
“Make a wish” Sam says, bumping his shoulder into Bucky’s.
Bucky thinks: what does he wish for? He stares at the sky as he comes to terms with the fact he barely has the desire to wish for anything anymore.
He turns to Sam and Sam brings a finger to his own lips. “Don’t say it! Or it won’t come true.”
Bucky laughs a small laugh and shakes his head. “I’m not talking.”
Sam stands up after that. He cleans the dirt off his pants. “Come on, man. You know what they say. If you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
He hints a smile and then offers Bucky a hand. Bucky stares at it for a moment, at last he grabs it.
*
He’s starting to get better at communicating. Not the best yet, but there has definitely been some progress. He goes to therapy like the government required. He makes amends with the people he hurt. Whatever he needs to gain the reputation of a respectable man.
It’s not that Bucky doesn’t think it’s helpful. He just struggles to see the results: he dreads the night, he still has nightmares, and despite him hinting at it to the doctor, she refused to prescribe him any sort of sleeping pills.
When it’s the third night in a row he awakens in cold sweat, he gets up from the floor and drags himself to the bathroom. He forces himself to look at his reflection in the mirror, and he pretends he doesn’t notice his own lip trembling. That’s when he decides for a change.
He opens the cabinet above the sink and grabs a big pair of scissors. He doesn’t waver, he starts cutting strands of hair with no hesitation. He ignores the fluffy dark heap of hairs that settles at his feet. Despite being committed on ignoring his own reflection, he looks up in a frenzy and is met by his own blue eyes.
His hair is a mess. It’s short but not regular, still the look of it gives Bucky a weird feeling. It’s like a lump in his throat he finally managed to swallow. A weight on his shoulders being lifted after years and years of pressing down his back.
The face of a young boy full of hopes and dreams looks back at him, he can almost see a cocky grin, a wishful glint in his eyes. It’s soon replaced by Bucky’s forlorn expression, and he finds himself crying silently in the flickering light of the small bathroom.
*
“You- what did you do to your hair?” Sam blinks at him.
Bucky walks inside the diner ignoring Sam, who’s still holding the door open. Sam runs after him and they sit down inside a booth.
“You like it?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t feel like giving explanations, so he chooses to make it seem like a fashion statement.
Sam stares at him intently. After a while Bucky gets nervous, he’s used to be the one staring, not being stared at.
“You look good” Sam states at last.
Bucky is kind of pleased with it. Not that he needed Sam’s approval or anything, but for a moment he forgets his new haircut has to do with his inner demons and makes a small smile at the compliment.
“Thanks” he says. He grabs the menu and skims it, before adding. “It’s how I used to keep it. You know, when- well. Back then.”
Somehow he managed to walk right into what he wanted to avoid: talking about his past. He pretends to read the ingredients of the main dishes but he knows Sam is staring.
Bucky’s half expecting him to ask something personal, instead Sam lets out a low whistle.
“Makes sense now. Why you got all those girls” he says.
Bucky looks up and raises an eyebrow, while Sam is chuckling at his own remark.
“Steve spilled all your secrets, man. But I thought he was exaggerating, that long messy hair was a bit scary, to be honest” Sam goes on.
Bucky ponders his words for a moment, then he laughs as well. “You really thought I was sporting that haircut back in the 40’s?” he asks.
Sam shakes his head. “Nah, I’m messing with you. I saw the pictures.”
Sam’s still laughing, yet mentioning the pictures seems to trigger something in Bucky’s head and he doesn’t exactly sadden at the thought, but his smile fades a bit. He clears his throat and goes back to reading the menu.
Sam gets the hint and ponders what ordering as well.
When they’re eating, they easily slip in and out of conversation. Bucky almost forgot how pleasant talking with Sam is. Before Steve went back in time, he and Sam would chat sometimes, but Bucky never really felt like delving deep into conversation. Then, when Steve left, there was a void in between him and Sam. And Bucky didn’t really tried to fill it, it was Sam who took it upon himself to reach out.
Bucky often slipped away. He could cope by himself, he could shut everyone out, every emotion or any kind of grief. It took him a while to understand that maybe it was Sam who needed someone by his side, someone to share his loss with. So Bucky took a step back and showed up. And along the road something happened between him and Wilson, and he grew fond of their stolen moments here and there.
He likes Sam. He’s a good man. He’s fun but also knows boundaries. And most importantly, he doesn’t expect anything of Bucky. He probably wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky disappeared out of nowhere, and this is comforting enough to him. He can make his own choices without being afraid of disappointing anyone.
“You know, they got a lead for that organisation in Minsk. They said we’re leaving in a week or so” Sam bites the hamburger voraciously, and Bucky looks at him.
“Minsk?” he repeats.
Sam nods. “Yep. Or at least that’s where they think the organisation is meeting. Could be a red herring, though. We’ll see.”
Bucky keeps quiet and Sam turns his head up. “You good?”
He looks at Sam and feels the sudden urge to cry. Which is weird. He’s crying a lot lately.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
Sam laughs. “You should give a break to that poor head of yours. I can see the gears turning behind your eyes.” He smiles at Bucky, and his voice is sweet despite the mocking tone.
Bucky smiles back but he bows his head.
“Whatever. Minsk it is then” he bites his sandwich and hopes for Sam to turn his eyes away.
Sam stares a moment longer but like he probably learnt by now, he doesn’t comment any further.
When they’re leaving the diner, Sam places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes it.
“I’m proud of you, buddy” he says.
Sam’s touch is burning on his skin, despite the light jacket Bucky’s wearing. Bucky frowns.
Sam points at his head. “The hair.”
Bucky stares back at him, his mouth suddenly dry. Sam makes a small smile and then retreats his hand. The absence of his touch burns even more than the presence of it.
Bucky nods, but doesn’t say anything.
*
And he’s awake in the middle of the night, again. There are still traces of the nightmare behind his eyelids, but as he blinks in the darkness of the room they fade away. It’s never something clear. It’s a sequence of screams and people running at the sight of him, and snow that covers everything but his hands. His hands are always covered in blood.
He pants and tries to get his breath back to normal. He touches the floor under him, the solid concrete hard beneath his fingers. He’s shivering, and as cold sweat settles in his bones he’s suddenly freezing. The light blanket over his legs is not warm enough, and Bucky shudders.
He starts crying before he even realises it. The tears stream silently down his face and shame pools in his chest at the thought of it. What he does next is not rational, he just needs to feel something other than the piercing pain in his heart. He leans his head on the wall and slowly bumps it against it. The movement is weirdly soothing. He feels the bruise burning his temple but he keeps going. Then the bumping gets faster and harder and at last he stays there, his forehead pressed to the wall, the hit is a ringing noise that hurts him but helps the memory of his nightmare subside.
He keeps crying for a moment longer, but eventually his sobs are silent and his mind shuts off as he falls back asleep.
*
None of them is talking, and Bucky wonders if it’s deliberate. He’s not talking because he has nothing to say, but Sam always has something to say, so Bucky suspects he’s just waiting for him to speak first.
They stare at each other and he’s confused by the way Sam reciprocates without even blinking. He usually loses right away, be it because of a suppressed chuckle or because he gets bored real soon. This time Sam seems resolute about not letting him win, though.
They’re sitting on a private jet, their seats face each other, and it’s dead quiet all around. They’re flying alone.
As Bucky stares at the man in front of him he slowly realises it’s not really about staring but more about observing. He knows how Sam looks like by now. His jawline is sharp, his eyes are unyielding.
If Bucky closed his eyes, he could trace the outline of Sam’s face in his mind. For a brief moment his fingers twitch: he thinks about outlining that face with his own fingers. The thought flusters him and he blinks.
“Ah!” Sam exclaims and he laughs loudly. “I win.”
Bucky laughs as well, unable to keep his composure. “It wasn’t a competition.”
“You’re only saying it cause you lost!” Sam teases him.
Bucky shakes his head but keeps smiling. His mood immediately changes, and he lets out another chuckle. “You’re unbelievable” he mutters. The truth is Sam’s humour is one of the few things that keep him going lately. At least he still manages to have a good laugh here and there.
Sam sighs. “Oh, man. You’re one of a kind. What’s bugging you right now, uh? We’re literally on a private jet, just order some champagne and smile, baby.”
He knows the pet name is for dramatic effect, still the sweetness of it is endearing. Bucky relaxes in his seat. He taps his fingers on the leather covered armrest and he looks around the plane.
He doesn’t exactly love flying. But this is different, and he’s not alone.
“This is fun” he concedes and Sam grins widely.
“You bet your ass it is.” He keeps smiling at him, and once again Bucky fails to hold Sam’s gaze. There is a part of him that’s scared Sam’s soft and just eyes will read into his sinful soul if he stares at him long enough.
“I was getting tired of flying in helicarriers. It’s too uncomfortable” Sam comments. It’s small talk. He waits for Bucky’s answer but he genuinely doesn’t know what to say.
He feels bad. He knows Sam is trying. Trying to include him, to make him talk, to let him feel wanted and normal. And he knows he’s being so hard to help.
He would like to flee that very moment. Fly off the plane and run away. That’s what he does when it comes to facing uncomfortable situations: he avoids it.
Bucky nods and looks out of the window. They’re flying over Minsk. The sky is clear and the sun gets in through the windows. He closes his eyes and basks in the sun. He feels calm, the background noise of the jet’s engines is repetitive but comforting.
He ponders on catching up on some sleep.
He opens his eyes and finds Sam intently looking at him. Bucky stares back.
“You said you didn’t like the staring thing” he remarks.
Sam hints a smile. “Only when you’re the one doing it” he shrugs.
“Fair enough.” Bucky makes a small laugh. He likes Sam’s bluntness, he mostly believes Sam is trying to match his attitude.
“What are you staring at?” he asks shifting in his seat.
“You.” Sam holds his stare and Bucky’s heart sinks. Now he gets why Sam doesn’t like him staring: it’s pretty uncomfortable to be on the receiving end. And Sam’s piercing eyes are burning on him.
“And?” Bucky presses on.
Sam squints at him. His eyes set all over Bucky and he feels self-conscious. He would like to tell him to stop, but he’s too proud to do it. Instead he crosses his arms and squares his shoulders.
Sam snorts. “Okay, I feel like I just earned myself a death sentence” he laughs.
Bucky laughs as well. “I killed for way less.” He’s joking, Sam laughs again, and Bucky wonders if this is something he’s allowed to do: making jokes about his past; mocking his own trauma; downplaying his pain.
Hearing Sam’s laugh is like getting fresh air.
Sam looks out of the window. “We’re almost there” he warns, putting an end to their shared laughter.
*
When they get off the jet the sun is even more blinding. There is a group of agents that escorts them to a luxury hotel. Excessive opulence feels to Bucky more alienating than cheapness, but he doesn’t complain. He keeps quiet and lets Sam speak.
He has the reputation of being brooding and slightly off-putting, so he takes advantage of it.
When they’re finally alone, Sam sighs loudly as he sits in the armchair of the hotel lounge.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to participate” Sam scolds him.
Bucky stands still. “Yeah, I just don’t care” he claps back.
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Apparently you care enough to be here.”
The remark hits him. Once again Sam is able to cut through his bullshit. Bucky tries to hide his embarrassment at being called out. He looks around the room. “So- what are we doing now?”
Sam relaxes in the armchair. “You didn’t listen, did you?”
Bucky looks blankly at him and Sam rolls his eyes. “We have a meeting in an hour, then we set up the plan. The hunt is scheduled for tonight.”
“Cool” Bucky comments with no interest. Sam fails to suppress a chuckle.
“You’re lucky you got that pretty face because you’re not exactly the sharpest tool.”
Instead of getting mad at the insult, Bucky feels his cheeks colouring. He pretends to get offended. “Wow, no need to be rude” he pouts.
A lady comes up to them in that very moment and exhorts them to follow her to their rooms. She stops in a hallway and gives each of them a magnetic card.
“If you need anything you’ll find me at the front desk” she says, then walks away.
“Okay, Buck” Sam says opening the door to his room. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
He closes the door behind his back and Bucky stands still in the middle of the hallway. He fidgets with the magnetic card and looks at the door to his room. Not that he expected to share a room with Sam. He probably would have been annoyed by it. Still he feels uneasy at the realisation he’s once again all by himself.
He walks into the room and stares at the cold layout: the walls are blank, the space is mainly empty. The luxury of it all is almost suffocating in its minimalism. He inhales deeply and sets his backpack at the end of the bed. He then sits on the floor.
It’s a silly habit. He could use the very comfy looking armrest in the corner of the room. But somehow the floor feels more comfortable in that moment. He takes a book out of his backpack and starts reading.
An hour later someone knocks at the door.
Bucky looks up. “Come in. It’s open.”
Sam sticks his head in the room. “Hey” he greets.
“Hey.”
Sam walks in. “You’re reading your nerdy book?” he teases.
Bucky snorts. Sam comes closer and looks at him from above, and Bucky looks up. They lock eyes, and Sam’s face has a sudden shift but Bucky can’t pinpoint what it is about. Sam clears his throat. “You coming?”
*
The meeting is boring. Bucky dozes off and he’s even more annoyed once the stakeout turns out to actually be a red herring. They get sent back to the hotel around midnight without any progress.
If Sam is annoyed, Bucky can’t tell. He’s strangely quiet. As they walk to their room Bucky steals glances at him. He doesn’t like it when Sam is like this, he ponders if he did something to upset him.
Bucky could voice his worries out loud, he knows it. Sam would probably be happy to talk things out. But he’s not there yet, therefore he looks at Sam when they get in front of their rooms and waits for him to say something.
“Alright. Good night, Buck” Sam says without looking him in the eye. He pats his back and steps foot in his room.
“Night” Bucky replies. The sight of the door closing in front of him is a bit painful, so he turns around and hides in his own room before he can dwell on it.
He lies down on the king size bed. He faces the ceiling and breathes in and out. He lasts a total of twelve minutes, then he gets up, lays a blanket on the floor and lies on it instead. The floor is very much uncomfortable but it’s safe. The concrete feels like a certainty. He can’t drown in it, he can’t be swallowed by it.
He feels his breath regulating and he falls asleep.
Soon enough he’s in a snowfield. His bones are filled with ice, his lungs are crushed by the cold of it. Yet he feels like he’s submerged by water, and when he looks down it’s not water at all, but thick blood.
Bucky wakes up with the thump of his heart ringing in his ears. He looks around terrified and it takes him some seconds to remember where he is. He’s not in his small flat, he’s in a hotel room in Minsk.
His breath is shaky, he feels like crying but he’s too tired to even do that. He holds his head in his hands until he’s back to breathing normal. He looks at the time: it’s two in the morning.
He sighs and gets up. He wonders if anyone’s up at the front desk: maybe he can get a drink or something. Not that it’s going to be of any effect what with the serum. Still it may give him something else to think about.
He drags himself downstairs to the main hall. It’s quiet. The place is mainly in darkness but the dim light of the vintage lamps on the wall.
They spot each other at the same time, and although debating whether backtracking to his room, Bucky can’t deny the sudden sense of relief at the sight of Sam sitting in an armchair.
They lock eyes and neither says anything, but Bucky gets closer despite his initial wavering.
“Are you following me?” Sam asks as soon as Bucky is close enough.
Bucky doesn’t reply. He sits down next to him, and their knees brush against each other. Sam allows the touch without mentioning it.
“You okay?” Sam searches for his eyes, and Bucky lets him have it. He stares back at him, he’s open and vulnerable. He would like to say ‘look at me. Look inside of me. Tell me what to do.’ He keeps quiet instead.
Sam gets the question anyway. He sighs. “You should sleep, Buck. Even if it’s hard.”
Bucky keeps staring. He would like to stop doing it, but he can’t say a word, and he doesn’t want Sam to leave or to think he’s not listening. Where does he begin to explain the hollowness of his heart?
Bucky swallows a lump in his throat. “Why are you here this late?” he flips the question over.
Sam laughs with no joy. “You’re not the only one with a past, y’know.”
The honesty of it makes Bucky feel guilty. He ponders whether asking about it, but he’s afraid Sam would get annoyed. He realises he doesn’t know much about Sam’s past. Is it because he never asked? Or is Sam just a private person?
Bucky clears his throat. “You wanna talk about it?” he tries hesitantly.
“I don’t think it would be of any good” Sam replies.
“Why?” He looks at Sam’s exhausted face. They’re very close, Bucky has to divert his eyes because heat is starting to creep on his neck.
Sam stares back with no shame, and Bucky gets annoyed. He used to be the one winning this game, now he needs to turn his head every time he catches Sam’s eye.
“Buck” Sam calls. Bucky looks up. “You should hold onto some good memory. I know it’s not all bad. That’s what I do too.”
Bucky thinks. He does have good memories here and there. They’re few. They’re confused and faded but they exist. He thinks about Steve. And then he thinks of his time in Wakanda and about T’Challa. Sam is right, it’s not all bad.
Sam stands up and Bucky looks up at him with a lost face.
“Sam” Bucky calls back. Sam stands still and looks at him with curiosity. His eyes are piercing. Bucky gathers up the courage. “If you have trouble sleeping again- my room is next door. Just- you know. Just call me.”
Sam makes a small smile. It’s bashful, and Bucky finds it sweet.
“Sure, buddy” Sam nods and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder. “See you in the morning.”
Bucky looks at him leaving. He wonders if he’ll ever be brave enough to ask someone to stay.
*
The mission goes well. Or at least, that’s what Bucky thinks of it. Sam, on the other hand, is silent and coy. The thing is, they managed to blow the traffickers’ plan up, but the felons fled the scene and didn’t get caught. Bucky knows how Sam is by now, it’s not a real success unless they achieved everything they set for. Bucky is just happy to leave Minsk
It’s late in the afternoon, their flight is set to take off in an hour. They still have some time to wander around town, to Bucky’s regret.
Sam is deep in thought. They walk side by side but don’t talk, and he realises this is how it must be with him all the time.
Bucky steals glances at Sam here and there. He doesn’t like being ignored, he wonders if he should say something to cheer him up. How do you cheer someone up? He used to be good at this type of things. He used to have empathy. Now the only appropriate thing that comes to his mind is patting Sam’s back, but he believes it would make things even more uncomfortable.
He clears his throat. At the sound, Sam looks up. “Mh?”
Bucky blinks at him.
“Did you say something?” Sam makes a confused face.
“You- want to stop for a minute?” Bucky proposes. They’re walking over a bridge. When Sam agrees, they lean on the barricade facing the body of water underneath.
Sam stares in front of him, back to ignoring Bucky.
“Hey” Bucky tries. “You did your best.” He smiles sheepishly.
Sam stares at him for a moment. “It wasn’t enough” he claps back and goes back at looking forward.
Bucky sighs. “Well- you’ll do better next time, then” he tries again.
Sam doesn’t even acknowledge him, and Bucky lets go of his pathetic attempt at comforting him.
“Sometimes things are bigger than you, you know” he says with a harsh tone. “This just means we have to train better. Work more. Change something in the way we operate. We did enough today and you should be proud of yourself.”
Sam looks at him now.
Bucky clears his throat. “I am. If you care about it.” It’s not hard being proud of Wilson. Sam is very much someone to look up to. Whenever Bucky wonders what the right thing to do is, he thinks of Sam. He has become his moral compass. But that is way too much information to share now.
“Okay” Sam says.
Bucky turns to look at him. He makes a questioning look.
Sam smiles but it’s brief. “You make compelling arguments, Barnes. I agree with the things you just said.”
Bucky nods and tries to hide a smile. He swells up at the idea of Sam complimenting him. He turns to look in front of him, once again ignoring Sam’s stare.
“Why are you so unsettled at being here?”
The unprompted question leaves him startled. He can’t help but look at Sam this time. Sam is reading into him, his eyes are not wavering, but they’re not cold.
Bucky shrugs. He looks at the water, where the setting sun casts its reddish light. It’s a nice view. He’s happy to be there with Sam, whatever that may mean.
“I’ve been here before. It’s just- memories coming back” he cuts off. “It happens sometimes. I’ll get flashbacks and suddenly remember big chunks of a life I have forgotten.”
He started thinking about it when Sam first mentioned the mission taking place in Minsk. At first it was an unpleasant feeling. Then when they landed he remembered some snippet. It’s only when he focuses on it and talks about it that the memories start connecting with each other.
Sam keeps quiet, but he comes closer. It’s subtle, still Bucky notices the movement. Their elbows touch and Bucky feels a lump in his throat.
“I was sent here for some oligarch, I reckon” he goes on. Sam’s closeness makes him feel brave. He can talk about it: if he falls, Sam’s there to catch him.
“Did you-“ Sam asks in a low tone. “Did you kill him?”
Bucky keeps quiet. “No. He was the one hiring me” he swallows. “He wanted some- company.”
He traces Sam’s realisation on his face in real time. He’s puzzled at first, then he seems to put the pieces together. “I didn’t know” he says.
Bucky looks at him. Despite being so vulnerable, he finally manages to stare back. Maybe it’s exactly because he’s being vulnerable. For a brief moment he’s sure he could confess all his darker secrets. He has the feeling Sam would listen to him and ask the right questions.
“You’re not anyone’s property anymore, Buck” Sam says. His voice falters when he says his name, and Bucky has the sudden desire to crawl inside of him. To become one with him. He takes a step back so that their elbows don’t touch anymore, and he finally can breathe again.
Bucky squares his shoulder. He clears his throat. “Well. Now you get why I might not be feeling that good” he tilts his head and lets out a small chuckle, mostly to mask his embarrassment. He greatly fails.
Sam seems confused at him suddenly drawing back, but he doesn’t mention it. He looks in front of him for a few moments more, then he turns around. “We should go. The flight is in less than fifteen minutes” he warns, and they both pretend their conversation never happened.
*
When he wakes up in the middle of the night some days later, Bucky tells himself his first instinct would be catastrophic if he acted upon it. He’s still shaking as he rests his forehead on the floor when his mind betrays him and he debates whether calling Sam.
The cold ground relieves him, but soon he’s shaking again. He grabs the blanket and tries wrapping himself in it but his hands won’t cooperate. His heart is thumping fast and loud. He wonders if his chest might explode. Eventually he grabs the phone.
Sam picks up on the second ring, and when he whispers “Bucky?”, Bucky feels his heart slow down, and silent tears run down his cheeks.
He stifles his sobs, fearing Sam will hear them.
“Bucky? You there?” Sam asks again.
Bucky inhales deeply. “Sam-?” he asks back.
Silence.
“You okay, buddy?” Sam asks after a while.
“Can you say something?” Bucky asks. He wonders if he sounds too desperate. He breathes in and out.
“What do you want me to say?” Sam’s voice is calculated. It’s like he’s talking to a feral animal that might run away if he spoke too loudly.
Bucky closes his eyes shut. “Anything” he murmurs.
“Anything?”
He nods. “Yeah. Anything.”
Another moment of silence passes by and he fears Sam might be annoyed. It’s the middle of the night and he most certainly woke him up.
Just as Bucky’s about to apologise and hang up, Sam talks. “I thought you were annoying, at first.”
Bucky opens his eyes. He’s taken aback by Sam’s words.
“When me and Steve found you- I wanted to get rid of you. I kept wondering why Steve was so keen on pardoning you. I couldn’t get it.”
Pause.
“Now I do” Sam says softly. “You’re still a pain in the ass, though.”
Bucky chuckles at that. He covers his face with an hand. He gets a warm feeling in his chest, where just a moment before he felt the piercing cold of his caged lungs. Sam’s voice helps him breathe again.
“Back at you, Wilson” he jokes with a low voice. He hears Sam’s small laugh at the other end of the line.
“You should pass by, you know” Sam says slowly after a moment. He sounds like he’s pondering his words. “In Louisiana. Sarah would be happy about it. The kids too.”
It’s Sam’s family. Sam’s words are like a punch in the face despite being good-intentioned. Of course Bucky would like to pass by. He enjoyed his time in Delacroix last time, but he wondered if he and Sam were on the same page.
He nods in the darkness of the room. “Sure” he says. “I will.”
“Okay.”
Bucky wraps himself in the blanket. He finally manages to feel a little warmer.
“Is this okay?” Sam talks again after a moment. “Is it better now?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Shame burns hot in his throat as Bucky asks the following question. “Can you- keep talking? Please? I just- It helps.”
He can’t see Sam’s face. He wonders if he’s rolling his eyes. No. Bucky knows he’s not doing that, and although being scared Sam might be annoyed with him, he’s a good man, so he would never mention it.
“Yeah, sure” Sam breathes into the phone.
Bucky holds onto the receiver. He closes his eyes, and he imagines Sam were there, next to him. For the first time he finds himself craving a touch. A hug, maybe. Some sort of embrace. The thought of it is humiliating but he tries not to think about it.
Sam talks again, he tells silly stories and anecdotes that don’t really mean anything. Bucky falls back asleep to the sound of his voice.
*
The drive is silent while Bucky speeds down Louisiana’s roads. He wonders what the hell he’s doing but a part of him knows that if he dwells on it he’ll turn around and drive all the way back home.
He tells himself he’s mostly accepted Sam’s invitation for a change of scenery. It’s not only that, but once again he doesn’t have the mental energy to put some order in his mind. Or chest.
He pulls up and squares his shoulders. He puts his hands in the pockets of the black leather jacket he’s wearing before taking a deep breath.
He takes two steps and he spots Sam coming out of his house and approaching him with a wide grin. “My man” he greets cheerfully.
Bucky’s mouth goes dry. He thinks about the last time he heard Sam’s voice, how desperate he was. And now Sam is here in front of him, and he radiates such a bright light that Bucky has to divert his eyes, blinded by the sight of it.
In his mind, he downplays the casualty with which Sam dropped that term of endearment. He’s just being polite.
“Sam” Bucky greets and although he’s standing still, Sam pats his shoulder and then squeezes it with a smile.
“You’re here” he points out.
They stay like that for a moment, Sam’s hand at the nape of his neck, and Bucky’s skin is burning despite being covered by the hem of his jacket.
“I didn’t think you’d actually show up” Sam confesses. He finally pulls his hand away. Bucky resists the urge to grab it and put it back on his neck. He makes a face at the thought of it, sickened by his own unexpected desire.
“You okay?” Sam looks at him with a wary look. “You’re awfully pale, buddy.”
Bucky shakes his head. “I’m good” he mutters. “It’s just- the drive. I need to sit down.”
Sam frowns at him but doesn’t ask anything further. He leads him back inside.
“Sarah!” he calls. “We have guests.”
Bucky stands awkwardly at the entryway, and looks around. He’s been here before, but he doesn’t want to intrude, not until he’s invited in.
Sarah shows up that very moment, she comes down the stairs and smiles at Bucky when she sees him.
“Bucky Barnes! You’ve come back.”
Bucky grins back at her. “I was missing this place” he says.
Sarah smiles fondly, and Sam nods at him to step forward. “He was missing your food, Sarah. And decent weather. And good company. Didn’t you, Buck?”
“Sarah’s good company, yeah” he nods surely.
Sam rolls his eyes as he hides a chuckle. “You smooth fucker” he mutters. Sarah laughs at that and shakes her head.
She turns to look at Bucky. “You’re always welcome here” she assures.
The silly banter puts him at ease. Bucky steals a glance at Sam, and he finds him already staring. He stares back, and it’s finally Sam who turns his head. Bucky gloats silently.
They have lunch together, and Sam’s nephews join as well. Bucky watches the kids jumping around the room excitedly at the thought that the Winter Soldier is eating at their table.
“They don’t give a single fuck I’m Captain America” Sam says, and Sarah glares at him.
“Captain America shouldn’t swear. Especially not around kids” she reproaches.
Sam looks at Bucky and makes a funny face.
Sarah rolls her eyes. “And that’s not true, Sammy. Cass is always asking about Captain America’s new missions and you know that.” She turns to look at Bucky and lowers her voice. “He let him take the shield to school for Dress Up as Your Hero Day. He’s just being modest.” She raises her voice now. “Am I right, Sammy?”
Bucky laughs a brief chuckle as he turns to look at Sam. “Yeah, Sammy, isn’t she right?”
That rewards him with a pissed off face from Sam, but it’s soon over because they end up staring at each other again, and this time it stretches on for what feels like eternity.
Sam’s stare is intoxicating. There are other people chatting around them, but it feels like there is just the two of them at that table.
Sam’s face is amused at first, then it gets serious, and his eyes are piercing and heavy. Bucky feels pinned. It’s visceral, Sam is looking into the depths of him, and Bucky’s strangely not intimidated by it. He’d like to pry his chest open, lay his sins on the table and allow Sam to judge him. To deem whether he’s worthy of redemption.
Bucky stares back intently and Sam doesn’t waver. And it hits him for the first time: Sam wants to be seen as well. He wants Bucky to see him.
“Is it true you fell off a moving train?” AJ asks shamelessly and the staring moment ends like this. Bucky doesn’t even know who turned away first, but this time he has the feeling whoever stared longer is actually the one who lost.
“AJ!” Sarah reproaches, her cheeks colouring with embarrassment. “That’s a rude question. Say you’re sorry right now.”
AJ bows his head down and Bucky smiles at the kid. “It’s okay” he says. “I don’t mind talking about it.”
He’s surprised by his own self when he starts telling the story of his fall, but somehow the audience listening to him is worth going through the pain of his memories.
*
He’s quiet as he watches the water in front of him. He’s sitting down on the dock.
A bird flies by and Bucky looks up. He’s at ease, Sam was right: coming to Delacroix could only be good to him. He tries to imagine a life like this, slow moments consisting of letting days pass by one at a time. Not worrying about anything but taking it lightly.
He hears Sam approaching and he smiles even before looking at him.
“You’ve come here to ponder about life?” Sam asks as he sits down next to him. He leaves some distance in between their thighs.
“Sure. Want to share existential dreads?” Bucky offers. Sam laughs.
Silence falls between them, but it’s not exactly uncomfortable. He’s starting to get used to Sam’s presence. He enjoys it. It’s nice to have someone to rely on. To finally have friends.
“Hey man” Sam calls in that moment. Bucky turns to look at him and is met by a soft smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
The late afternoon light spreads over Sam’s cheeks and he looks golden in the sunset. Bucky stares at him, and it’s not observing, it’s not scrutinising. He’s admiring him.
It’s breathtaking, Sam flashes him another smile and Bucky bows his head suddenly aware of his unexpected curiosity.
Sam chuckles lightly. “You’re unbelievable, buddy” he says. “You make these annoying staring moments your thing and then can’t even face a good competition.” Sam shakes his head.
Bucky snorts. “I don’t do it on purpose” he apologises. “What’s the problem anyway?”
Sam tilts his head in confusion. Bucky clears his throat. “What if I stare?” What if I stare at you, he thinks but doesn’t say. He looks at Sam now and he tries to lock eyes. Sam lets him.
“I like it” Sam claps back.
Bucky frowns. “You’re full of bullshit, Wilson. I know you hate it.”
Sam laughs. “I did. But I like you looking at me.”
The confession startles him, and Bucky hopes he’s not blushing because he’s surely flustered by Sam’s words. He snorts and rolls his eyes.
“What a jerk” he mumbles.
Sam bursts into laughter. He finally looks away. Bucky exhales and breathes again, but he hides his relief from Sam, making it a point not to show him how affected he is by his look.
Sam’s focus is now on the view in front of them. Although trying to keep his eyes on the sunset as well, Bucky steals glances at Sam from time to time, and he thinks about Sam’s confession.
Bucky ponders. He likes looking at Sam as well. He’s a good looking man, that’s it. The way his mind supplies such realisation scares him. He feels his heart thundering in his ears.
Still it shouldn’t be that surprising. He noticed Sam’s handsome the very first time they exchanged words to each other. But it was just a thought in the back of his mind. Now it comes to him in crashing waves, it drowns him. It’s maybe the actual reason why he’s so keen on letting their staring moments stretch on so long.
Bucky swallows thickly. He’s ashamed by his own repressed thoughts. He barely even registers the closeness of his own hand resting on the ground with Sam’s being in the proximity of it. Yet when he does notice it, he can’t resist the urge. And he’s suddenly a teen boy again, blushing at the sight of his crush, stuttering when a pretty girl looked at him a moment longer.
He’s a grown man now. The knowledge is not enough, though, and Bucky’s chest feels like exploding. He holds his breath and moves his hand a little bit, until it bumps into Sam’s and he leaves it there.
The touch is subtle enough to appear as casual. It’s not enough. He gently entwines their little fingers together, and it’s deliberate now, of course it is, and Bucky wonders why the hell is he acting like a schoolgirl, and he ponders about retreating his hand, clearing his throat and fleeing the scene, when Sam moves his hand as well, and his fingers rest on Bucky’s.
They’re not holding hands. It’s nothing like that. It’s just the acknowledgment of each other’s presence.
If Bucky wishes for more, he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it. He lingers on Sam’s soft touch and wonders if that’s all he’s ever going to have: the subtlety of fondness and the soul crushing suppression that comes with it.
*
Sam’s voice startles him awake. He looks around with a terrified face, his eyes wide with fear, as the memory of the nightmare washes over him. Bucky turns around to find Sam walking down the stairs.
It’s the middle of the night.
“Are you okay? I heard you screaming” Sam frowns.
The living room is in complete darkness, and confusion shows on Sam’s face when he looks at the couch, and finds Bucky lying on the floor instead.
“Buck-?” Sam comes closer. Bucky’s mouth is dry, his chest is still panting and his head is ringing.
He’s lost, and Sam approaching has him curling up like a wild animal.
Sam sits down next to him. “Hey” he whispers softly.
Bucky still can’t bring himself to talk. He wonders if he ever was able to speak, his mind doesn’t supply any word, he just looks at Sam with wide eyes.
When Sam is close to him there is a suffocating silence all around.
He feels like screaming, and Sam’s quiet is obnoxious. Talk to me, he would like to say.
Sam tilts his head and searches for his eyes.
“Come here” Sam whispers after a moment. Bucky complies and rests his forehead on Sam’s shoulder and when he finally gathers the courage to say something and opens his mouth, only sobs come out of it.
He cries silently over Sam’s arm, and Sam seems taken aback. He stays still for a moment, then eventually he puts a hand at the nape of Bucky’s neck and holds him.
It’s once again not really an embrace. Bucky wouldn’t know how to ask for more.
He’s still sobbing in the quiet of the night, and in the back of his mind he wonders if he’s making too much noise, if Sam came up to him only to make him shut up. The thought is painful and he presses his head on Sam’s shoulder even more. He breathes in the warmth of his skin. The hand on his neck is a pleasant weight, and when he slowly looks up Sam is already looking at him.
They’re very close. He can count Sam’s eyelashes, can see the soft curve of his nose, the depths of his dark eyes, his parted lips. He regrets it even before doing it, but he’s tired of taming his suffocating needs. He leans in and kisses Sam.
Sam doesn’t seem surprised, he gives in right away. He slightly puts more pressure on his grip on Bucky’s neck and pulls him closer.
It takes his breath away. Bucky opens his mouth and lets a soft moan get caught by Sam’s lips. His mind is elsewhere, he cups Sam’s face with his hands and Sam draws away all of a sudden.
Bucky stares at him, caught in the act. Sam shakes his head and closes his eyes shut.
“No, Buck” he murmurs.
The rejection stings as Bucky keeps quiet. Sam averts his eyes.
“You’re not doing okay, it’s not- it’s not right.” He swallows thickly. “I shouldn’t.” Sam finally looks at him and Bucky’s heart shatters.
He nods slowly. “Yeah” he says. He draws back as well.
Sam keeps staring and his eyes burn on him, but it’s okay. Sam is right. It makes no sense, he’s not in the right mental state at the moment. He’s still shaking and seeing visions and dark shadows all around. His eyes get watery again and he feels ashamed at the thought of starting crying again.
“Come here” Sam whispers and he pulls him in again and this time he holds him tightly.
It is an embrace. Bucky lets himself go. Sam’s arms are steady and Bucky feels like a kid again. He hides his face in Sam’s chest, he can feel Sam’s heartbeat like this, and it’s so fast Bucky fears it’ll implode.
He doesn’t mention it. Maybe Sam is still shaken by Bucky’s cries waking him up so abruptly.
“It’a long process, baby” Sam murmurs over his head. Bucky shudders in his embrace and he holds him tighter.
“It’ll take time” Sam goes on. “But you’ll get there.”
He wonders how he’ll be able to look at Sam in the eye when they’ll pull apart. He has the wild desire to stay like that until the end of his days. He’s looked around for something to fill the void of his chest, all along he’d always ever needed this moment.
He probably falls asleep like that, he doesn’t exactly remember. Still when the sun comes in through the window, he’s all alone, and Sam only says hi when Bucky leaves Sarah’s place.
*
So they’re avoiding each other. Not really on purpose, Bucky tells himself. More out of necessity. Bucky comes back to his apartment and it’s never been colder.
The shame that comes at the recollection of his desperation showed the night before stings and silently chokes him. He ignores the fear of having screwed up his bond with Sam. Everything was going so well.
He tries to keep himself busy. He goes on long runs, and trains even longer. When night falls upon his head he makes a point of not closing his eyes so not to fall asleep. He consistently fails, and every time he startles awake with lungs filled with ice, what hurts the most is being aware of what could help his pain subside, but still not bringing himself to call Sam.
Perhaps he could swallow his pride and reach out, but he mostly dreads the idea of Sam being fed up with him. To be fair, Sam hasn’t called either, so there is most certainly a reason why.
Fate decides for him instead, and a week later they’re both in Hamburg, following another lead to the organisation they failed to stop in Minsk.
It’s not exactly embarrassing, Bucky thinks. Yet when Sam walks toward him with his lips in a strict line, he has to make an effort to stare back at him.
“Hey Buck” Sam greets. Bucky stands still whit his hands in his pockets. He gets flashes of the rush he felt in his veins while kissing him, and clears his throat at the thought of it. He must stay focused.
They don’t do much talking. Bucky follows Sam’s lead and doesn’t question it. He mostly doesn’t know how to act, there is an elephant in the room, but he starts wondering if Sam actually thinks they’re good and everything is clear between them. After all, what else could they possibly speak about?
Sam rejected him. Any other talk about it would just be more humiliating for Bucky.
They get inside the targeted building and as Bucky walks a few steps behind, Sam surprises him with a question.
“Why are you so quiet?” he asks without turning around. Whether he’s just focused on his duty or wants to ignore Bucky, is not clear.
Bucky waits a moment to reply. “Just- a lot on my mind” he confesses.
Sam looks over his shoulder but turns around immediately. “Me too” he says.
Silence follows his words and they keep walking. Bucky fastens his pace to catch up and they’re now side by side.
Sam hides a small smile but avoids looking at him. “You sure know how to mess with a guy’s head” he chuckles then.
Bucky doesn’t know what to say, and when he finally brings himself to reply, Sam starts running.
“There!” he exhorts.
The man they were looking for is at the end of the hallway. He gets a look at them and then hurries away. Sam is immediately at his heels.
It takes Bucky a moment to get what’s going on, still deep in thought. He looks up just in time to lose sight of them when Sam and the man get on the upper floor. Bucky starts in pursuit as well.
They’re both chasing the man, despite Bucky being some steps behind. The targeted guy slips away, and when turning the corner Bucky catches sight of Sam climbing up the stairs, before he disappears again.
“Fuck” Bucky mutters. He sprints ahead, climbs the stairs as well and finds himself on the rooftop of the building. Up there he can’t see Sam anymore.
Right as he notices the man jumping off the roof, Bucky immediately jumps as well.
He hears Sam’s screaming but doesn’t really register what’s the reason behind it. Then Bucky is violently seized mid air and he looks up with an astonished face when he realises he’s in between Sam’s arms. He’s slammed to the ground a moment later.
“Ouch” he complains.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?!”
Bucky looks up dumbfounded, but immediately turns his head around when he hears the police siren. The man they were chasing got caught. Bucky smiles and turns around, expecting to celebrate. He’s met by Sam’s outraged face instead and his smile fades away.
“Wha-“ he tries.
“What was that?!” Sam yells cutting him off. He’s standing upright and looking at him from above, making him feel so little half-lying on the ground.
“What?” Bucky asks again.
“Why the fuck did you jump?” Sam looks bewildered.
Bucky blinks. “What are you talking about, Sam, what the hell, I was trying to help you!” he stands up. They stare at each other.
“You did not help, you sabotaged the whole thing and thankfully there was already someone waiting to cuff the guy otherwise it would have been your fault!”
Sam’s words cut deep. They’re harsh. He’s not even trying to sugarcoat his scolding.
“Well” Bucky talks back. He feels rage filling his chest. “Nobody asked you to come catch me!”
Sam chuckles with no amusement. “You really don’t give a fuck that people might care about you, don’t you.”
“This makes no sense” Bucky says, but his voice is lower now.
“It does” Sam points his finger at him. “You don’t go around being all sweet words and shit just to act like you’re too fucking upright to let people in.” Sam gets closer. “I don’t know what goes on in your head, but I’ve tried to be by your side and I don’t think I deserve this.”
He stays quiet but his eyes are aflame.
Bucky swallows thickly. “I’m-“
Sam shakes his head. He’s disappointed, the feeling of it burns in Bucky’s chest. He would like to reach out but Sam walks away and the brutality of his vulnerability is too much to allay in that moment.
*
He finds him on the rooftop of the hotel in Hamburg where they’re supposed to spend the night. Sam doesn’t turn around, although Bucky makes some noise approaching, mostly not to startle him.
Sam is looking ahead of him, his eyes are set on the night sky. Bucky gets closer. He leans on the balustrade and looks at Sam.
“I’m not gonna jump” Bucky murmurs attempting a joke.
Sam still doesn’t turn around. “Why are you here?” he asks instead. His voice is harsh. Bucky braces himself.
“I’m sorry” he lets out as a whisper. It’s hard to apologise but he knows he owes it to Sam.
Sam laughs with no fun. “You don’t even care” he points out. The way he speaks makes it clear that he’s hurt, despite him trying to hide it with blind rage.
“You’re right” Bucky admits. “I don’t care. I don’t care if I jump, okay? What do you want me to do about it?” his voice creaks. He turns his eyes away. “Why should I not jump, uh? Why should I care?”
Sam turns to look at him now. He stares intently. “Things are different now. Maybe I was too smug about it” he laughs softly while shaking his head. He looks at Bucky and there is a trace of something broken in his eyes. “Maybe I thought I was a good enough reason not to jump.”
They both keep quiet, and Bucky thinks. Sam is asking too much of him. He’s asking for a survival instinct that Bucky knows is not steady in his mind. Sure, he wouldn’t jump here, now, in this moment. But when the pain of his lost life and the anguish of his past take over his heart, he’s not always brave enough not to linger on some thoughts.
He doesn’t know what to say, and it comes to him as a child admitting his mischiefs when he finally says: “I’m trying.” His voice is barely a whisper and the truth that comes with it is overwhelming.
Sam stays silent. He doesn’t look away. “Are you?” he asks eventually, and it’s not snarky, it’s desperate. It sounds like a prayer.
Bucky nods slowly. He is. He’s trying, and perhaps Sam’s confession gives voice to something Bucky had never realised until now. That after everything, he’s starting to find a will to live thanks to Sam.
He finally looks away and stares at the sky instead. It’s a starry night.
“I found my wish” Bucky says after a while.
Sam looks up as well, but he’s confused. “There are no shooting stars tonight.”
Bucky nods quietly. “I know” he agrees. “But last time in Tallinn I had nothing to wish for.”
Sam tilts his head and turns toward him. “And what is it?” he asks.
Shrugging, Bucky looks straight into his eyes. “You were the one saying not to say that out loud” he recalls.
“Whatever” Sam says with a small laugh.
Bucky chuckles too. “Well, I wouldn’t want to risk it not coming true.” He bows his head and then gathers the courage to look to his side. Sam is staring already. His eyes are firm, and he’s close, so close Bucky can feel the warmth of him.
He remembers the way Sam pulled away that night at Sarah’s place. He would be a fool to play himself like that again. But he did take all the stupid with him after all, so he leans in and goes for a kiss.
Sam is not surprised by it, Bucky can tell by the way he immediately reciprocates. He leans in as well and crashes into Bucky’s chest. Bucky holds him in his arms, he puts his hands around his waist and pulls him in, kissing him like he’s drowning and the only air he needs is in Sam’s mouth.
Still it’s Sam who draws away again, although standing still in between his arms.
Bucky bows his head. “I’m sorry. I did it again, I’m-“
“Shut up, Barnes” Sam laughs. “It was never an ‘absolutely not’, just a ‘you’re too fucked up to fuck right now.’”
Bucky looks at him. Realisation dawns upon him and at last he smirks. “Oh, what about now?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re always fucked up.”
“Too much to fuck?”
Sam kisses him shut, and Bucky doesn’t object. “Yeah, obviously. But I’ll make an exception.”
Bucky nods and kisses him again, then he grabs Sam by the waist and drags him back inside.
They stumble in the hallway in a frenzy, Sam’s hands in Bucky’s hair as they keep kissing and holding onto each other.
Sam fumbles with the magnetic card and Bucky gently pushes him away.
“Here, let me try” he says with a panting voice. He shoulders the door open and Sam widens his eyes.
“What. Buck. You could do that?”
Bucky shrugs. “Saved us time” he explains.
Sam laughs but shuts his mouth when Bucky pulls him by the hand and gets in the room. He shuts the door closed with even less grace.
“You have no manners” Sam shakes his head. Bucky makes a crooked smile and Sam is on him again.
They kiss slower this time. Sam pulls him in by the hips, a firm movement that has Bucky melting in his arms. He deepens the kiss, tastes Sam on his lips, and Sam parts his mouth and lets him go even deeper.
None of them talk for a moment, they’re standing still, until Sam gently pushes him to the bed and makes him lie down. He gets on top of him, keeps kissing him with such dedication that Bucky arches up and he needs more, much more.
“Sam-“ he says with a breathy voice.
Sam nods. He lifts Bucky’s shirt up enough to look at his stomach. He bows down and kisses that stretch of skin, lightly enough to make Bucky grit his teeth at the thought of what’s coming next.
He goes on, unbuttons Bucky’s jeans and breathes on his crotch. He then pushes his briefs off and takes him in his hand.
At the rough touch of Sam’s fingers on his length Bucky lets out a muffled noise. It’s been so long. He craved it so much. Sam tightens his grip and watches as Bucky squirms silently. He moves his hand up and down, licks the tip and comes up again to kiss Bucky intently.
Bucky’s breath is ragged and Sam gives him a little smile.
“Wait-“ Bucky mutters.
Confusion shows on Sam’s face. “Is this not okay?” he asks worried.
“Yeah, just-“ Bucky arches up at Sam’s stroke and bites his tongue not to moan. “I want-“ he pants.
Sam draws back a little, and Bucky gets his hands on him. There is no way he’s gonna come right away with Sam still all dressed up.
He takes Sam’s shirt off, and Sam makes a face of realisation when he understands what Bucky is asking for. He takes off his pants as well, as Bucky touches his chest and arms and neck and he feels dizzy at the sight of Sam standing in front of him, bare and there just for him.
Bucky takes his own clothes off and Sam watches him. He touches himself to full length as Bucky strips naked. Lying down again with his back on the mattress, Bucky looks up: Sam is on his knees, stroking himself slowly.
Bucky lets out a small noise. It’s subtle, he wishes Sam didn’t notice that. “You’re killing me” he confesses.
Sam tilts his head. “Yeah?” he asks cockily. He gets closer and with a firm shove he opens Bucky’s legs wide.
Bucky feels his heart thumping in his ears. He looks up, keeps staring at Sam, and the want is suffocating. He arches up again, although there is nothing in him yet, but he needs it. He needs Sam’s touch, he needs to fill his lungs with fresh air, the desire is eating him alive.
Sam places a hand on Bucky’s knee to stop it from jerking. The movement is assertive. Bucky lets out a tiny whimper.
“I have no lube, babe, I fear this is gonna hurt” Sam murmurs.
Bucky doesn’t care. He nods frantically. “’s fine. I want it to hurt, please, Sam, just-“ he’s begging now, Sam is so close, and still so distant, and he has a feeling he’s going to shatter unless they touch soon.
“Okay” Sam says. He puts a condom on and puts one of Bucky’s legs on his shoulder. Pulling him in they crash against each other, and Bucky feels him and winces.
Sam bows his head and spits on his hole. The coldness of it makes him shudder, it’s a great sensation, but his mind goes completely blank when Sam starts sliding into him.
The movement is slow at first. Bucky opens his mouth wide but no sound gets out. He dreamed of it for so long, he didn’t even know he was allowed to have this again. Sam pushes forward with delicacy but firmness. He steadies himself and keeps hold of Bucky’s leg, who starts shaking under him.
He pushes in even further and he finally gets to the base and Bucky feels him deep inside of him, in his stomach, in his lungs, in his heart. He sighs.
“I’m gonna start moving if that’s okay” Sam whispers with a panting voice. Bucky looks up at him: Sam has a wild look on his face. He’s trying to stay still but Bucky knows he’d probably start pounding faster if he wasn’t so worried about him.
Bucky nods surely. “Go for it, baby” he breathes out. The pet-name rewards him with a low moan from Sam. Bucky arches up. “I want it.”
The immediate thrust has him stop breathing for a moment. It’s so good and painful at the same time he would like to cry.
Sam moans again. It’s a low noise, almost whispered in his ear, and Bucky presses down to feel him inside of him. “Come on” he exhorts with a husky tone.
It’s enough for Sam to finally start moving. He thrusts slower at first. He draws back and slides in with a rhythmic pace, and every time he pushes in, Bucky jolts on him.
He nods shakily. “Please” he murmurs. “Go faster, Sam. Please, please.” He’s seldom vocalising his needs, if ever. He doesn’t remember ever asking something so openly. Yet he feels the need of it burning under his skin, and if he has to beg and cry on his knees he’s ready to do it.
Sam moves faster after that, he lets out small grunting noises, and he pulls Bucky in grabbing his hips. Sam searches for his mouth and kisses him. It’s a sloppy kiss, Bucky slips his tongue in and swallows Sam’s moans.
At the sound of it he stifles a cry. He takes himself in his hand and starts stroking. Looking at Sam moving on top of him has him hardening painfully. He tries to give himself some relief. What he’s not expecting is Sam to bat his hand away.
“Can you come from me only?” he asks with short breath. He thrusts in deeper and Bucky’s eyes roll back at the sudden sweet feeling.
He nods. He can do it. Of course he can, who couldn’t? When Sam is rolling his hips so surely over him, drawing back to the tip and then pushing back inside with firmness.
“Yeah. Yes. Whatever you want” he promises.
Sam presses his hand on Bucky’s lower stomach to feel himself inside of him, and Bucky cries out. In the back of his mind he feels shame at his own needing moans, but it seems to do wonders for Sam as he thrusts faster.
“That’s it, baby. Let me hear you. You like it?” he grabs Bucky by the hips, crashes their hips together, and Bucky lets himself go. He whimpers loudly and moans in Sam’s ear as he takes him and takes him and he could spend the rest of eternity like this. It would be enough. It would be everything.
“I’m-“ Bucky groans. He has to resist the urge of stroking himself to an orgasm. He wouldn’t want to disappoint Sam. Still he’s so sure he’s going to lose his mind if they go on any longer.
Sam nods. “Yeah, come for me” he allows. He kisses Bucky deeply and pounds hard into him: he’s not being sweet anymore. He has a goal, Bucky sees it in his eyes.
They stare at each other, it’s scary being this naked. Bucky stares intently, he hopes his eyes will convey what he’s still not ready to say out loud. Sam is finally reading him, there is no need of explanations or footnotes. The truth is there, in between their crushing hips. It’s in Sam’s pelvis framed by Bucky’s open legs. It’s in the thrusts sealing promises. It’s in Sam’s hands around his hips, in the arch of Bucky’s back and in his metal hand wrapped around Sam’s bare neck. There is truth in their locked eyes, in Sam’s pupils widening to the point of encompassing the breadth of Bucky’s suffering, the shame that comes from his sins, the words he doesn’t know how to say out loud.
Bucky comes first, and Sam follows. They cry out silently against each other, plastered despite the uncomfortableness of it all. Bucky holds onto Sam’s shoulders, and his legs are about to crack open but he doesn’t care. He needs to inhale him in, to keep him inside his bones forever.
They lie down, Sam’s on top of him. After a moment he tries to pull away but Bucky stops him.
Sam chuckles on his neck. “Buck” he calls. “It’ll hurt like a bitch when I draw back.”
“I don’t mind” Bucky mumbles. He hugs Sam tight and Sam relaxes into his arms. “Just stay here. For a moment. Please.”
“If you ask it so nicely” Sam concedes.
Bucky breathes in Sam’s warmth. He’s calm. It’s a nice feeling. With Sam still filling him in, he realises he feels whole. What a sappy thought, it’s embarrassing to admit it. But the weight of Sam is easy on his chest, his lungs are pressed down but he can breathe just fine. Maybe this is what he was missing all along.
“Okay, it’s pretty sticky down here, buddy” Sam says eventually. “Let’s clean this mess. I feel bad for the cleaning staff.”
Bucky laughs lightly. “You’re so polite” he says.
Sam slips away and he was right, it does hurt. Bucky winces but it’s a great sensation in a way. He lies there and lets Sam wipe his chest with a damp cloth. When he’s done he lies down again next to him.
“What now?” Sam asks after a moment.
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Now? I was thinking about getting some sleep” he says. He deliberately ignores the true meaning behind Sam’s question and Sam laughs and shakes his head.
“Okay, got it” he says. He curls up next to him and Bucky pulls him in.
After a moment he clears his throat. “Thank you. You know, for- Just. Thank you.”
Sam keeps quiet. Then he leaves a kiss on his shoulder. They don’t need much talking.
Maybe that night Bucky’ll still have nightmares. Maybe he will always do. But when waking up with coldness in his heart, he just needs to look by his side to find the warmth he needs.