Working on Sam’s boat was a nice distraction for both Sam and Bucky. The boat needed a lot of work. It had been running since before Sam was born. It was pretty much falling apart. Sam figured that his help was a silent apology for the whole Zemo thing. And also disappearing after the fight with John Walker.
The boat was quiet. Too quiet. It was early in the morning. Bucky had slipped out the door before anyone was awake in the Wilson house. He slept, shockingly. But once he woke up, around 4 am, he couldn’t fall back asleep. He did a couple of laps around the house, ate a light breakfast of just toast with strawberry jam and black coffee. Now he was at the docks, working on the boat.
There was an old radio Bucky found in the storage area of the boat. It looked like it was pretty old. By some miracle, the thing still worked. Bucky flipped through the stations until he found a jazz station because of course he did. Bucky was always fond of 1940s jazz.
The first time he ever went to a dance was with this girl Flora and her sister went with Steve. Steve could not dance. He kept stepping on the girl’s feet, tripping on his own shoelaces. Eventually, he gave up, having a seat near the drink table. Bucky stopped for a break, leaving Flora with her sister. “Not much of a dancer, huh?” He smirked at Steve, dropping down on the chair next to him. Steve gave him a tight smile. “Not good at much of anything.” Bucky gave a light laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “C’mon, Stevie, you’re an amazing artist. You don’t have to be good at everything, yknow?” Steve looked up at him with adoration. “You are. Good at everything, I mean.”
Sam scared Bucky out of the memory. “Hey, didn’t hear you leave.” Bucky slightly jumped, dropping the wrench he had. “Shit, sorry Buck. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Sam sighed, leaning down to grab the wrench. “It’s fine.” Sam noted the quiet jazz drifting through the room. “Still won’t listen to modern music, huh?” Bucky grinned at him, turning back to the fucked up engine he was working on. “Never.”
Sam and Bucky worked in silence, save for the 40s jazz playing in the background, for several more hours until it was around noon. Sarah finally showed up with sandwiches and potato chips. “You boys hungry?” Bucky grinned. “Always.”
Sarah left them to eat, working on the small garden in the backyard of the house. Bucky hadn’t even noticed there was a garden back there. “Did you sleep any?” Sam asked, popping a chip in his mouth. “Yeah, just woke up early. Couldn’t fall back asleep.” Sam hummed, taking a sip of the Coca Cola Sarah brought. Bucky was almost finished with his lunch. “Any nightmares?” Bucky finished chewing before answering. “No. Slept like a baby.” Sam grinned and bumped shoulders with him before finishing off his lunch. “I guess we should get back to it, huh?”
When they got back into the engine room, the radio was still playing. Bucky grabbed Sam’s wrist, pulling him to his chest. “What the fuck, Bucky?” “Dance with me.” Sam let out a surprised laugh, trying to pull away. “Hell no. Let’s just fini-,” he was interrupted. “Please, Sam.” Bucky was staring at him with a sad smile. “Okay, fine. But just one song.” The smile turned ecstatic.
Bucky didn’t know where this idea came from. As soon as he heard the smooth jazz with Sam by his side, he felt the need to dance like he used to. He never danced with Steve. He regretted it. His arm was wrapped around Sam’s waist, his human hand holding Sam’s hand, Sam’s other arm resting on his shoulder. It felt ridiculously intimate, but neither of them were complaining. Bucky was always warm. Sam noticed that quickly when they met up with Sharon, getting ready for the fight at the airport with Tony. The man was like a walking heater. It was nice sometimes. Like right now. Bucky snuggled his head into Sam’s shoulder and sighed. “What’s wrong, Buck?” “Nothing.” “You sure?” Bucky smiled against his neck. “Yeah,” he said softly. Bucky felt content. Really content.
The ended up dancing for 5 songs. Well, not really dancing, just swaying while holding each other. By the 5th song, Bucky had kissed him. Neither one of them were sure where it came from. But Sam didn’t pull away. He looped his arms around Bucky’s neck, holding him in place. The kiss was soft and sweet, slow and warm. They didn’t feel the need to rush. Sure Sarah would be back soon to check on their progress and to borrow the truck to pick up the boys from school, but they didn’t feel the need to rush. Instead, they kissed lazily, while slowly swaying to the 1940s jazz playing on Sam’s parent’s radio.