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“Come on, Buck. You’re holding back again.”
Bucky growled, picking himself up from having gone down to his knee trying to land a blow on Sam only for him to fire his jetpack and whip out from underneath him. He felt like he was playing at a disadvantage, even though the last Captain America he’d fought had been a super soldier.
“I’m not holding back.”
“It’s either that or you’re showing your age, man. Which is it? You getting slow? You want me to call Clint so we can put you out to pasture?”
Bucky swiveled his arm. It was functioning perfectly already, of course, but it was an instinctive gesture at this point, as though if he could identify some fault in the apparatus he might have a better excuse for his failings. Sam pulled at the front of his cowl and lifted the shield down from his back.
“I’m one of the few guys out there still living who’s seen you in action. You know, the old you. I know how hard you can hit when you mean it.”
“You mean when I was the Winter Soldier. I didn’t mean anything.”
“Yeah you did. At least the way Steve told it back to me when he was laying in that hospital bed growing his face back together.”
If Sam wanted something, reminding Bucky what a monster he could be when he was mindless and terrified, beating the life out of his best friend, really didn’t help with getting him there. He scowled at the ground, curling his metal hand into a tight fist.
“I disabled you without breaking a sweat.”
“Yeah, you did. That’s exactly what I mean. You didn’t even bother with letting me slow you down. You saw what my vulnerabilities were and stopped me dead.”
“I’m not pulling your wings off.”
“Couldn’t if you tried.”
Bucky rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to fight you like I want you dead, Sam.”
“And that’s the problem. Cause the guys I’m going to be fighting are gonna be fighting me like they want me dead, Buck. I’m top billing now. People depend on me to be able to fight guys like the Winter Soldier, like you used to be, and they’re depending on me to win.”
Sighing, Bucky rubbed his metal forefinger against his eyebrow and took a quiet step back, appraising the situation. Sam wanted him to fight like he intended to kill him, and that maybe touched a little close on raw nerves which… What? He’d spent so long running from it now, from being the Winter Soldier, and it still made him anxious to even come close to using all of his power, as though letting himself go might awaken some darker side of him that just didn’t care who got hurt in the process.
Sam didn’t know what he was asking, but Bucky couldn’t deny the logic of it, either.
“Look, just… Just roleplay it, okay? You’re the Winter Soldier and I’m your mission. But like…don’t destroy my gear, okay? And you gotta use sticks instead of knives and pebbles instead of bullets.”
“This is ridiculous,” Bucky sighed, picking up a handful of gravel from the driveway and glowering at Sam as he shoved it into his pockets. “Nobody’s going to attack you with sticks and stones.”
“Yeah, but if you stab me in the chest with a twig I’m gonna be fine, and that’s what matters.”
Bucky had to go out of his way to find a couple of sticks he actually liked the feel of, while Sam tapped the shield impatiently with his fingers. They had to feel right, had to have the right weight in his hand, otherwise how was he supposed to pretend they were knives? It was stupid.
Still, Bucky was finally ready, and he gripped his knife-stick firmly, blade pointed toward the ground, and met Sam’s gaze.
“You sure about this?”
“I said do it didn’--”
Bucky was already moving. He dashed in fast, dropping his shoulder as though he intended to bowl Sam over, but coming up short. Predictably, Sam hit the boosters to get out of dodge, and Bucky grabbed him by his ankle, using his momentum from running and the power of his left arm to throw Sam on his back on the ground. The attack knocked the air out of him so effectively, that Bucky had a knee on his chest and his stick knife at Sam’s throat before he could recover.
“You’re dead.”
“You get one for free. C’mon, I wasn’t ready.”
Bucky helped him up, shaking his head as he backed off again. “Not gonna wait until you’re ready. Steve wasn’t all offense. If he could take someone out and prevent escalation he did it. So attack me.”
Sam looked down at the shield in his hands thoughtfully, as though considering the best option. When he did move, he came at Bucky with his right arm tipped across his body to protect himself from the metal arm while using the power in his suit to drive the shield up under Bucky’s chin when he went to deflect it. There was no holding back, and Bucky ended up on the floor on his back, but by the time he hit the ground his legs were already coiling up, his hand on the bottom edge of the shield to lift it higher, blocking Sam's view. Placing his feet against Sam’s torso he flung him backward like an unwanted rag doll being tossed across the room by a petulant child.
Sam had to use his wings to keep himself from crashing disastrously, and he glided back around to attack Bucky as he climbed to his own feet. From there, both of them took to swinging fast, moving in concert, trading a few blows but deflecting more, with Bucky only bringing more and more power with each attack he rained down on the shield.
And then Sam was all the way down on his knees, holding up the shield as it rang out over and over again. Bucky had lost himself in the blows, and it was only when he noticed the shield pressing into Sam’s shoulders as he protected his head that he realized he’d completely lost control. Steve had taken the full force of those blows before, it was true, but there was something about driving his fist into that blue and white star, a target for all his despair and rage, which caused Bucky to come apart at the seams, exactly how he’d feared he might.
Bucky tore the shield away and discarded it, tossed it off into the grass and frowned apologetically down at Sam who was cowering at the possibility of another blow. But instead of hitting him, Bucky descended down, wrapped his metal fingers around Sam’s jaw and pulled him up into a rough, bitter kiss, stained by years of regrets and disappointment.
And Sam kissed back for a few breathless moments, dug his fingers into Bucky’s hair and kissed him ferociously, until suddenly he was forcing their mouths apart to ask questions Bucky didn’t want to answer.
“Bucky, what are you–?”
Another kiss cut that one off, followed by “I’m the Winter Soldier.”
Sam clawed for air as Bucky heaved him to his feet, pulling their bodies close together. “That makes even less sense.”
“Just keep rolling with it.”
Because Bucky didn’t want to be Bucky right now. He didn’t know who he was, or what he wanted to be, except for being someone who kissed the people he liked instead of someone who let opportunities pass him by because he was too afraid of himself to even try.
“Buck…” Sam had to shove him off to get a word in edgewise. “C’mon. Not out here. At least let’s go in the house.”
Bucky could compromise with that much, at least, though his method of getting in the house was to throw Sam over his shoulder, snatching up the shield on the way as he carried him into the house like an abducted prize. Once they were in the bedroom, the scramble to undress mostly revolved around peeling Sam out of his suit, something which left Bucky feeling more frustrated than ever.
But once Sam was free, the shield came back into play, Bucky straddling Sam’s hips and pulling his wrists up so that he could buckle Sam’s arms into the straps. “No touching.”
Now came Bucky’s turn to undress, much slower than Sam, more seductively, rolling his hips in his lap while Sam swore and pulled futilely at the straps.
“The times I dreamed about this you were way less bossy,” Sam complained.
Whatever Bucky might have had to say about ‘are you sure it was me, then?’ went unspoken as he focused on the role he was playing. He was the big bad, the Winter Soldier--not meek, nervous Bucky Barnes who struggled to even sit with his back to a door. He was strong and powerful, made of pure muscle, vibranium and danger.
And Sam, for now, was as much Sam as he was Captain America.
“You’re my mission.”
Sam’s pupils dilated the very second he said it. “Fuck.”
“ You’re my mission ,” Bucky repeated, with more emphasis, wrapping his vibranium hand around both their cocks and rolling his hips to thrust into his hand, grinding up against Sam’s erection in the process.
Sam bit his lip. “Yeah I am.”
They chased orgasm just like that, Sam pinned under Bucky’s hips, Bucky riding on top of him, his body rippling as he arched and crashed down, hunting more and more sensation from the smooth, cool slide of his own fingers.
“So finish it,” Sam panted as they came close to the edge. “Do it, Barnes. Do it. ”
So they did. Together.