“Where is everybody?” Bucky asked, in as subtle a voice as he could manage.
Going by the cheeky smiles AJ and Cas were throwing him, he wasn’t managing all that well.
“You mean Uncle Sam?” AJ asked.
Bucky turned bright red, and wished he hadn’t been so quick to take off his sunglasses. He couldn’t be one hundred percent positive what his face was saying to the boys, but he was pretty sure his expression had gone shifty at the question.
“No, I—
“Of course he means Uncle Sam,” Cass answered, cutting him off, and rolling his eyes at his brother. “He’s over there taking pictures with his fans.”
Cass pointed to where Sam was standing across the dock, accepting pats on the back and hugs from a crowd made up largely of what were clearly adoring (and attractive) women. Sam was grinning from ear to ear, obviously in his element, practically glowing under the attention he was receiving from his friends and neighbors, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he took in the scene.
Sam deserved all of it — the adoration, the praise. Sam deserved to look this happy all the time.
And, Bucky figured Sam deserved to enjoy the moment, his moment, without having to babysit his infatuated partner all afternoon. So, he tore his gaze away, and turned to follow after the boys, who’d just gone racing in the opposite direction after another kid had run past them, tapped AJ’s shoulder, and yelled out “tag.” If Bucky couldn’t hang around Sam, he could at least go grab some of the delicious looking food he’d been smelling since he pulled up.
Bucky didn’t make it two good steps though, before he felt an arm being thrown around his neck.
“Don’t tell me you’re running off already?” Sam whispered near his ear, then pulled him into a hug.
And thank God for that. It gave Bucky a few precious seconds to wipe off the lovesick expression that had appeared the moment he’d felt Sam’s lips practically brushing against his ear.
“No, not running off,” Bucky managed to answer, with an impressive amount of chill, when Sam leaned back from the hug. “Just dropping off this cake,” he nodded to the table, “before I went to grab some food.”
“Thanks, man.” Sam gave his shoulder a bump. “But you know you didn’t have to bring anything.”
“‘Course I did,” he replied. “My ma would turn over in her grave if she thought I was showing up at parties empty handed.”
Sam shrugged, as if to say, fair enough.
“Well, let’s go get you some of that food, and me another drink.”
He clasped Bucky’s right hand with his left, and started pulling him along. It was a good thing too, because the second Sam held his hand, something he’d never done before — had never even come close to doing before, as far as Bucky knew anyway — Bucky’s feet almost forgot how to work, while his brain struggled to catch up with what was happening.
Maybe you don’t need another drink, sweetheart, Bucky thought, a little hysterically, once he’d recovered enough to actually follow along, instead of stumbling over his own two feet. Because only Sam being drunk out of his mind would explain the way he was casually swinging their hands back and forth like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Only… Sam didn’t seem drunk, not even a little. And the second Bucky acknowledged that Sam’s behavior wasn’t due to any confidence juice, it was just due to, well, Sam himself, he had to work very hard to keep a simpering grin from taking over his face.
“You’ve got to try the ribs,” Sam said, blissfully unaware of Bucky’s pining. He puffed out his chest a bit. “I made those.”
“You? Oh," he said, feigning skepticism. “Well, what did Sarah make?”
Sam sputtered a laugh and hip checked him, while still holding his hand, and Bucky almost died on the spot. He couldn’t help it — this was the most intentional contact the two of them had had outside of a mission, in, well, ever.
Sure, Sam was about twenty times more touchy-feely than him on any given day. But what was twenty times more touchy-feely than nothing? Really, Sam was good for a handshake or pat on the back, even a hug when he could tell you needed one, but this? This was all too much for Bucky. Too much in the best possible way, of course. Too much in the “not about to look a gift horse in the mouth” kind of way. But, still, too much. Too much like he was really starting to wonder… hope… maybe even believe that Sam was flirting with him.
Hell, it was starting to make him think that maybe Sam even returned his long-buried feelings.
But that couldn’t be.
Or could it? Bucky was beginning to seriously consider it, as Sam brought him to a stop in front of a few tables that were loaded down with food and handed him a ridiculous paper plate that resembled a tray more than an actual plate.
“Grab a little bit of everything,” Sam instructed, finally letting go of Bucky’s hand so he could reach into one of the coolers tucked under the table and grab them a couple of beers. “We wouldn’t want anyone feeling slighted, or thinking you’re playing favorites,” he joked.
“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Bucky murmured, then filled his plate with a sample of everything, before adding an almost comical amount of ribs.
“Right,” Sam said, smirking at his plate. “Well, let’s grab a seat and catch up.”
“You don’t have to keep me company, Wilson,” Bucky forced himself to say, strictly trying to be polite. The last thing he wanted was for Sam to be anywhere other than by his side, right then or ever. But, still, he figured he ought to give Sam an out, seeing as how it was his party.
“But what if I want to?” Sam asked, gazing at Bucky from under his eyelashes, before tipping his beer back and taking a long sip.
Bucky didn’t have a response for him. Well, a response that wouldn’t have him embarrassing the hell out of himself, (and probably Sam too), so he just bent his head and concentrated on eating, even if he could feel himself blushing.
“Yeah,” Sam snorted, “I didn’t think you’d have any complaints.”
******
Sarah looked at her brother and had to resist the urge to laugh. Sam was clearly in his element: holding court, shaking hands, kissing babies, making every single person in his orbit smile just a little bit brighter as they listened to whatever it was he was saying, something dripping with his trademark earnestness no doubt. However, none of that stopped him from making a funny face, grinning, and even winking a time or two, at Bucky whenever there was any trace of a break in his conversations.
Bucky wasn’t doing any better, not even close. There was absolutely nothing subtle about the way he kept eyeballing her brother every other minute. These weren’t stolen glances; Bucky couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d pulled up a chair and parked himself at Sam’s feet.
Oh, he might’ve been entertaining the kids who were swinging from his vibranium arm like it was a makeshift monkey bars set, and he was keeping up with their conversation well enough — or, rather, he was keeping up with the steady stream of Sam-centric speechifying he’d been doing for the past hour or so. However, there’d been a few times during their “talk” when, if he’d been looking at Sam any harder, he would’ve burned a hole in his forehead.
The blatant crushing was cute and all, and definitely kind of hilarious, but when Bucky started talking about the specifics of Sam’s new Cap suit for the third time, Sarah’s eyes began glazing over, and she started to wonder just how rude it would be if she excused herself and found literally any other conversation to join. Even Carlos’ tall tales of sirens and swamp things would be preferable to hearing Bucky wax poetic about her brother for another minute. She’d already bore witness to more pining than any younger sister should have to endure.
It was time to escape.
“Sam and I couldn’t live together.”
Damn, Sarah thought, and ended up staying parked in her seat. She couldn’t leave, not when things were maybe about to get juicy.
“The truth is, I would do it,” he added, quickly and emphatically. “It’s just… he’s just not the most talkative… sharing, or anything. I can’t get a read on how he feels. I mean, how he really feels.”
Sarah blinked up at Bucky. She was mildly impressed. Her brother was born with the gift of gab, had a smile that could light up a room and a personality to match. He was skilled at making even the most tight lipped curmudgeon spill his guts. It was part of what made him such an effective counselor. Sure, he’d share his own feelings and thoughts if the occasion called for it, or if he knew you really well. However, for the most part, for all the talking Sam did, very little of it was about himself. At least, very little of it was about himself in any significant way.
Most people just didn’t notice though, or maybe they just didn’t care to notice.
But apparently Bucky did.
He noticed. And not only had he noticed, but apparently it was the one thing keeping him from putting down some roots (and a deposit), and moving in with Sam? The man was clearly crushing on Sam, hard, but wasn’t going to… what? Come out and just say it until Sam did? He was having some sort of Crush Confession Standoff that Sam didn’t even know about?
Or, hell, maybe Sam did know. A game of Love Confession Chicken seemed right up her brother’s alley, to be honest. She still remembered the first time he’d brought Riley home for a couple of days when they were on leave for the Fourth one summer. The whole family had spent the entire weekend looking at both of them cross-eyed after he’d introduced Riley as his “friend,” and when she’d cornered him in the kitchen at some point to confront him about the obvious lie, he’d laughed and said, “I’m just waiting for Riley to blink.”
The next time they’d come to visit, Sam didn’t mention that their relationship had changed, but he didn’t ask their daddy to pull out the air mattress from storage again either.
“He’s such a good cook,” Bucky was saying, when she tuned him back in.
He looked so damn smitten, just standing there, oblivious to the playing kids, a serene smile on his face, while he gave her a blow by blow of Sam’s recipe for his spice rub of all things. And truthfully, she didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry tears of boredom.
Sarah did know one thing though: she was certain there wouldn’t be any air mattresses, or couches, or motel rooms with two double beds, in Bucky’s future. Considering the monologuing she’d been subjected to that afternoon, she wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky “blinked” the next time he was standing within two feet of Sam.
Almost on cue, her brother popped up out of nowhere and dropped down onto the bench beside her.
“What are y’all over here gossiping about?”
His tone was mild, but his gaze was anything but.
Sarah couldn’t help it, she fell out laughing.
“What?” They both asked, at the same time, and she began laughing even harder.
“Sarah?” Bucky asked, looking almost concerned.
Sam, on the other hand, just looked decidedly unimpressed.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she eventually responded, wiping her now watering eyes.
She rose from her seat, gesturing at the kids still basically doing pull-ups on Bucky’s arm.
“Come on you guys, let’s go find Mrs. Brookins. I heard she brought some of her homemade peach ice cream.”
They didn’t need to be told twice. All three kids took off immediately, even Brittany who was a little older and had been very obviously ear hustling since the second Bucky had begun lecturing Sarah about all things Sam.
As soon as she’d stood up, Bucky frowned outwardly, and inside his stomach dropped to his feet. He did not want to be alone with Sam.
Well, okay, he absolutely did want to be alone with Sam. Had actually been fantasizing about being alone with him again since about five seconds after they’d exited a cramped Volkswagen in Germany. The thought of alone time with Sam had been playing on a near constant loop in his mind for years: even during tragedies, and the world almost ending; hell, even when he had his head so far up his ass that he couldn’t even answer his phone; and, yes, even when he was interrupting missions with his bad attitude and even worse ideas. Through it all, although he had often tried his damnedest to ignore it, there’d always been the inescapable dream of Sam — of him and Sam, alone together and happy.
But that still didn’t mean he thought being alone with Sam was actually a good idea, especially at that moment. Obviously he couldn’t even be normal around Sam’s sister judging by the way she was clearly trying to run away.
So, how the hell was he supposed to carry on a normal conversation with the literal man of his dreams during his current state? He had just been two seconds away from giggling about a dry rub for God’s sake.
“Sarah,” he tried, but she cut him off.
“Don’t worry.” She was already headed away. “I’ll make sure the kids don’t eat it all,” she said, before practically speed walking down the dock.
“Oh, it must’ve been good,” Sam remarked, as he watched his sister’s hasty retreat.
“What?” Bucky asked, forcing himself to sound calm.
“Whatever the two of you were gossiping about.”
Sam’s voice was deceptively light, but he was looking right in Bucky’s eyes when he spoke, a daring smirk on his lips.
And there went even the illusion of any calmness in Bucky.
Because, see, Bucky had never been strong enough to turn down a dare, not even an unspoken one. He was the same bold bastard who’d jumped out a plane simply because five seconds earlier Sam had smirked at him before doing the very same thing; the same guy who’d shown up on Sam’s boat out of the blue, with nothing but a super-suit and a smirk, cocky as all get out, even though Sam had never asked for it… or the Captain America mantle.
Bucky was excellent at ignoring many things, especially an elephant in the room, and especially when that elephant was his own damn feelings, but he’d never possessed whatever quality allowed a person to ignore a challenge.
Especially not from a crush.
And especially not when that crush was as beautiful as Sam Wilson and sitting two feet in front of him, looking at Bucky all expectantly, like maybe, just maybe, he really was waiting on Bucky to do a little bit more than make casual conversation.
Looking like maybe he was waiting on Bucky to make a move.
And who was Bucky to disappoint? He’d disappointed Sam enough recently. He could give him this. Even if he had just been freaking out, and even if he still felt like he might vomit.
Sam Wilson was worth some mental spiraling and a swirling stomach. Hell, Sam Wilson was worth anything.
Embarrassing the hell out of himself included.
“We should move in together,” Bucky blurted out, before he could lose his nerve.
Sam had just taken a sip from his beer, and the second he processed Bucky’s words, it came right back out of his mouth.
“What?”
And okay, Sam looking both lost and confused, while Heineken dribbled down his chin wasn’t exactly the most encouraging response. But, in for a penny, in for a pound.
“I’d also like to date you.” Bucky paused thoughtfully, then added, “maybe we should do that first.”
“Or both at the same time,” he continued, quickly, before Sam even had a chance to respond.
Not that Sam looked like he was about to say anything, even though his mouth was hanging wide open. Frankly, he looked too stunned to speak.
It was okay though — it’s not like there was any silence to fill. In fact, the words were practically flowing from Bucky’s mouth at that point.
“Either one is fine,” Bucky added, with a shrug. “Whatever you’re most comfortable with, honey. I just want you.”
“I mean, I want to be around you and be with you,” he went on, awkwardly, but sincerely. “For as long as you’ll have me. That is,” he paused, took a deep breath, and then added, while looking straight into Sam’s eyes, “if you’ll have me… if you want me too.”
As he’d spoken, Bucky’s voice had become steadily quieter, until it was barely above a whisper, but even with all the commotion going on around them, Sam could only hear him. Everything else faded away. Sam had been frozen in place and laser focused on Bucky since about five seconds after he’d started talking.
And, yeah, Bucky sounded hurried and more than a little erratic, but he also sounded softer and more tender than Sam had ever heard him before. His voice may’ve been low, but it was practically overflowing with emotion. Bucky’s feelings were plain as day not only in his words and tone, but on his face as well.
And although Sam had sat there gaping like a fish for maybe a whole minute before he’d really caught up and caught on, he didn’t hate what he was hearing, or doubt the sincerity of it. Because, see, Sam had definitely started to suspect that Bucky might have a thing for him recently. When the guy followed him all the way back to Delacroix after their showdown with the Flagsmashers, and then just never really left, it was kind of hard not to notice. And even though Sam was still pretty salty about the way Bucky had been behaving since Steve decided to dip on them, he could also admit that he wasn’t as salty as he should’ve been. He wasn’t as opposed, or opposed at all really, to Bucky’s company as he should’ve been. Actually, it had gotten to the worrying (and honestly a little bit disturbing) point that he kind of craved it. Even worse, he found himself looking forward to it.
Sam hadn’t been planning on admitting that fact to anyone though, most of all Bucky, at least not yet. Making any declarations or propositions hadn’t been in the cards. Frankly, he hadn’t been planning on doing anything other than a little, or maybe a lot of, flirting.
Sam wanted to test the waters and make sure that what he was picking up from Bucky was definitely what the other man had been putting down. He was going to be casual about things, kind of slow even. After all, they’d just become friends about five seconds ago. There was no need to rush this thing blossoming between them. He wanted to let Bucky know something was possible, sure, hence the touching and flirting, but the plan was simply to let Bucky know the field was open, and then wait on him to make his move in due time, so to speak.
He hadn’t expected due time to come so soon though… or in the middle of a crowded party… or to be so… dramatic.
Then again, Bucky had always been about as subtle as a metal fist to the face, at least for as long as Sam had known him. And he’d definitely always had a penchant for spilling his guts all over Sam at the most unexpected times. So, really, should he have been that surprised by a public, though whispered, not quite love, but unquestionably like-like confession, and an offer of cohabitation to boot?
Nah.
As usual, Bucky had shown up and shown out, and Sam would’ve been lying if he said he wasn’t into it. The guy he couldn’t get off his mind, the guy whose company he’d practically become addicted to recently, just bared his soul and laid himself out on a silver platter.
Actually, “into it” didn’t even begin to cover what Sam was feeling at that moment. Overwhelmed, impressed, excited… hot all over, and just a little bit bothered too, was more like it. And, more than anything, Bucky’s words had filled him with an all encompassing sense of happiness, a kind of contentment he hadn’t felt in years, and honestly hadn’t thought he’d feel again, not even from the guy he’d been actively flirting with half the afternoon.
Hmm.
Bucky hadn’t really asked Sam out on a date yet, or really asked him anything; it was more like he was declaring himself. But, still, he was definitely staring at Sam waiting on an answer to that rambling mess of a speech he’d made. He looked all hopeful, and nervous, and oddly defiant, and Christ, he might’ve been a rambling mess, but he was Sam’s rambling mess.
And damned if Sam didn’t suddenly feel like he was already Bucky’s too.
“I want you too.”
Sam didn’t sound like he was messing with Bucky. He didn’t even sound shocked or nervous. Actually, he just sounded matter-of-fact.
One corner of his mouth was turned up into a tiny smile, and that smile went straight to Bucky’s heart, and had him tripping over his own feet to get to Sam’s side.
“You do?” Bucky asked, immediately all up in Sam’s space.
“Yeah,” Sam said, trying to play it cool in the face of Bucky’s enthusiasm. It was hard though, with all that very intense attention and adoration not only being aimed at him, but being aimed at him from about six inches in front of his face. It was just so damn sweet. Sam would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of it.
“And you’ll go out with me?” Bucky asked, sure he’d misunderstood and was getting ahead of himself. “Like, on a date I mean? You’ll let me take you out on a date?”
“Yup.”
“And move in with me?” Bucky asked, knowing he was being downright ridiculous, but with Sam’s eyes sparkling at him, he figured he might as well go for the gold.
Sam had to bite down on a bubble of hysterical laughter. This guy. His guy. JesusChrist.
“Maybe we should have that date first, like you said.”
Bucky’s dopey smile never left his face. “That wasn’t a no though,” he said.
“No,” Sam conceded, almost bashfully. “I suppose it wasn’t.”
“Well, then I guess we better go on that date then,” Bucky said, leaning so close that their chests were practically touching. He was clearly feeling bolder than ever, and Sam wasn’t opposed to that either.
In fact, he was very much digging it.
“Yeah, I guess we better,” Sam agreed, with a grin.
Bucky placed his hands on Sam’s hips.
“Maybe we should seal it with a kiss?”
He was pressing his luck, and he knew it, but damned if could stop himself — not when Sam Wilson had just agreed to go on a date with him, and definitely not when he’d responded to Bucky’s hold by relaxing into it, instead of backing away and telling him to take it down a notch.
“What do you say, Sam? Can I kiss you?”
He might’ve looked pretty smug, but he sounded so damn hopeful and maybe even still a little bit nervous when he asked. Sam’s heart clenched at the sound, and he felt himself melting even more than he already had.
But, still, am I really gonna kiss the guy for the first time in front of half the parish?
“Please, sweetheart?”
Oh. Yup.
What could he say? The intense devotion in Bucky’s gaze made it hard to refuse. He couldn’t bring himself to make Bucky ask a third time, not when he was staring at him like that, like his life depended on Sam’s answer. It was all a bit much, honestly, but before he could think too hard about the many possible consequences and repercussions of what he was about to do — what they were about to do — his lips were on Bucky’s.
It was supposed to be soft and quick, just a teasing little thing, a sort of sample of what was (most likely, if they were both right about this thing brewing between them) to come. However, the spark that occurred as soon as they touched was instantaneous and all encompassing, and when Bucky went to deepen the kiss, Sam didn’t pull away.
In fact, he didn’t pull away for a long time.
And, even when they did finally break apart, chests heaving, eyes a little wild (Bucky) and dazed (Sam), both of them more than a little dumbfounded, they each had the feeling they wouldn’t be leaving the other’s side for the foreseeable future.