Sunday Morning - Bucky
While the warm water washed over him, Bucky fisted himself, as he pictured Sam running, the sweat making that shirt cling impossibly more to his muscular shoulders, then Sam pausing and lifting the shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow. He leaned back on the cool tile of the shower. The post-release calm did not last long.
Are you offering to help?! Why would you ask that Barnes? What is wrong with you? Might as well go pack your bag now because he is definitely not letting you stay here after that. Probably thinks you’re a pervert which…yeah okay the things he was doing to you in your dream this morning were certainly…creative.
As he shut the water off, he stared down at his body. Part of him was mad at it, for betraying him like this, deciding to show interest in one of the few people he could call a friend in this world. The other part of him was slightly relieved. Until recently, he was beginning to think sexual arousal was just one more thing Hydra stole from him. He had reluctantly told Raynor, who couldn’t tell him whether it was permanent or temporary. They’d discussed him potentially taking medication but with the serum, the chances of any legal dosage working were minimal. Besides, Bucky never fully trusted how secure his medical records were. He could just see some government suits sitting around holding an entire file about his limp dick.
Then, a few weeks ago, he was sitting on the floor of his barren Brooklyn apartment. Ever since the first time he went down to Louisiana, he had Sam had kept in touch, mostly through text messages. He wasn’t stupid. He noticed the way his heartbeat picked up a bit every time he heard the chime of a new message from Sam. And yeah, he had always found Sam as hot as he did annoying. But now that he got to know Sam, and found him a lot less annoying, he found himself with his first crush since the 1940s. He didn’t think much of it. He doubted Sam would ever reciprocate. His phone chimed again and it was a 2 minute video. Sam must have propped his phone up somewhere in his backyard to capture himself practicing with the shield. He was wearing a tight navy blue tank top and tight black shorts that left little to the imagination. The way he moved was impressive. That’s when Bucky felt it. The undeniable feeling of blood rushing south. He was not proud of himself for playing the video over as he slid his hand below the waistband of his worn-in sweatpants and started lazily stroking himself. It was not long at all before he was a panting mess, his hand moving more frantically while he watched Sam twist, flip, throw, and catch the shield. He came before it finished playing, his vision blacking out. While he was still coming down, laying on his living room floor like a lifeless starfish, his phone started ringing. It was Sam.
Bucky fumbled with his phone, unsure if he should answer. As incredulous as it was, part of him felt like he’d somehow been caught and Sam was calling to rebuke him. He shook the thought from his mind because the threat of the flag smashers was still looming, he was worried this could be important. He must have sounded breathless when he answered, because Sam asked if he was okay. He made a stupid excuse about his elevator being out, and Sam made some quip about him being out of shape in his old age, then asked if he saw the video he sent and started seeking feedback on his technique. Bucky sighed a breath of relief and they were able to maintain an easy conversation.
And that’s how it started. Since then, Bucky found himself acting like a young teenager again, with his hand down his pants nearly every day, thinking about Sam. He tried to picture other people really. The cute girl at the coffee shop down the street. The hot aspiring actor that lived down the hall. Young men and women from his youth. But every time his mind drifted back to Sam.
When Sam invited him to spend some time in Delacroix, he was reluctant, but thought maybe it was what he needed. Maybe spending time with the real, living, breathing Sam would bring him back to reality, so he could stop thinking about the Sam he’d created to star in his fantasies. He was wrong. So very, extremely, absolutely, unequivocally, and painfully wrong. When Sam took his shirt off on the boat the day before, Bucky practically dove into the water, despite Sam’s repeated warnings about gators, grateful the water both hid the effect Sam’s shirtless form had on him and was cold enough to quell those thoughts. He climbed back up.
“That was refreshing,” he joked, shaking the water out of his head. The boys laughed while Sam questioned his sanity. “I could take a gator,” he shrugged, holding up his vibranium arm.
It wasn’t Sam’s undeniable physical attractiveness that proved to be the biggest problem though. It was the way Sam trusted him with his nephews, who were clearly so important to him. It was how great Sam was with them. It was Sam’s easy going laugh and quick wit. This Sam, the real Sam, was even better than one Bucky could dream up. And this morning, Bucky casually asked him for a hand job, like an idiot, and Sam clearly couldn’t get away fast enough. Bucky still had two more days before he was set to return to Brooklyn. He toweled off and put on clean clothes before taking a deep breath and stepping out of the bathroom. AJ and Cass were already sitting at the kitchen table, with an extra bowl of cereal waiting for him.
“Mom has a headache, so we made breakfast!” AJ yelled.
Sarah was leaning on the counter, and held her head. “Yes,” she said, “turns out Mom can’t even have two glasses of wine with dinner without suffering the consequences.”
Bucky smiled at her sympathetically as he poured milk into his cereal bowl. “Finish that glass of water, and maybe a second, then go get some more rest. We’ll be fine down here.”
Sarah took his advice. The second she started up the stairs, the boys were talking over one another loudly suggesting what they should do. Bucky glanced at the clock on the oven while the two bickered between going outside and seeing of Bucky could lift the truck and playing video games. Sam had been running for a while.