its so romantic on the borderline.

by smokin_reds

Summary:

“He enjoyed the simplicity, he knew how it went, he knew what to expect.

"You want something different?" Cam stilled.

Bucky breathed in, meeting Cams eyes, felt a little flip in his stomach, he felt silly for how overjoyed he was to be seen.“

or Bucky tries to have a simple little one night stand and ends up having the best most embarrassing sex of his life with his idol and new professor.

Notes:

this is like suuper inspired by “dont shy from the light” by glittercake.. it was unintentional but i love that fic so im not surprised its invaded my subconscious please go read it if you have the chance :))
its also a little bit of whiplash (damien chazelle) a little bit of black swan (darren aronofsky) a little bit of good will hunting (which could mean nothing)

ok lovr you hope u enjoy :)))

Chapter 1: prologue "don't you know that only fools are satisfied?"

Summary:

title from "Vienna" by Billy Joel.

It had been a long day, Bucky was laid in bed, his leg aching and his stomach churning. He was thinking of who he could have pissed off that knew how to put a curse on him, the list was surprisingly long.

Every three weeks Bucky went to his local doctor's office and got a shot of testosterone, this month his shot day had landed on the eve of his first day back at university. His leg was aching and his stomach was churning. 

The summer had stretched long and thin, he had picked up a job at a garage that wasn't far enough from home, one of his coworkers had known his old man. So, as if spending three months in a hot tin workshop surrounded by sweaty, shirtless old men wasn't bad enough, he also spent it being asked if he needed a hand, if he needed any big strong men to help, being called a name that hadn't been his since he learnt how to curse. 

To make matters a little worse, Buckys best friend had been back on with his on and off girlfriend since July, Steve was finally just "Peggys boyfriend" again, and he couldn't be happier.

Bucky could have been happier, see his friendship with Steve had a lot of benefits. He didn't like that saying so much, always reminded Steve that friendship is a benefit, even without sex. That being said, he missed having sex with Steve. 

He wasn't celibate or anything, he was on all the apps, he'd gotten nasty in a few club bathrooms, he'd even been on one date - although Natasha, had tricked him into that one. He just missed the simplicity of Steve. 

Bucky's phone lit up the room, he was listening to Billy Joel, saw his face on his home screen, he looked a little disappointed, that little orange logo underneath. 

 

42 top: U up?

 

He sighed at himself, at that feeling in his stomach, at how quickly his hands moved to respond. He was tying up his shoe laces before the guy had even texted back, he wasn't desperate, he was bored! If the guy didn't end up wanting to meet then at least he could go for a drive. 

Bucky caught himself grinning when he saw the guy had sent his address. 

It was a nice area, the guy let him up quickly. He hadn't gotten used to it yet, hiding his shock when he saw a guys face for the first time as they invited him into their home, he was always glad when it all matched, couldn't take it seriously when their face didn't look like what he'd conjured up in his mind.

He was hiding a different kind of shock with this guy though, Cam, he was called, he looked like Bucky's wet dreams come to life. He had to ask if they'd met up before and he'd forgotten, the guy assured him they hadn't, he just looked so familiar. 

He had dark skin, wide shoulders, short hair, his nose was off, a little crooked, not how he expected, crows feet around his eyes, fine little lines all across his face, deep between the brows and around his mouth, a scar on his jaw, a gap between his two front teeth, undeniably beautiful. 

"Must have one of those faces.”

"Must do." He couldn't shake the feeling but... He was here to do a job. "Hey, so, you read my profile right? I shoulda' said when we were texting but... I'm trans- a trans man, so, I was born a girl, I'm on Testosterone, I've had my breasts removed. So, I look... a little different, but basically, down there, I'm a chick, you can just... fuck me like a girl. If you're not into that, I'll leave, no harm done."

He'd been through the speech many times, Bucky learnt a long time ago that many of the men he's into don't get it. He's learnt to spell it out for them and not get caught up on language. He missed Steve's simplicity. 

"I read it." He had this little smile on, he was looking at Bucky like he wanted to eat him alive. "How d'you want this?" He stepped closer.

It was doing it for him, "What d'you mean?" 

He seemed hesitant for a moment, "Can we kiss?" Bucky nodded, "Okay, good, had me worried this was gonna' be all formal."

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Formal is good, it's how you know everyone's having a good time, you got a problem with checking in?"

He smiled and held up his hands like he was innocent, "Not at all." He nodded for Bucky to follow him, "What do you want me to call you? You say fuck you like a girl, how far does that go."

"Not as far as you're thinking. It's the easiest way to ask you to put your penis in my vagina." Cam laughed, "I'm serious, you know how many guys tried going in the back door before I started saying that." They were in his bedroom now, boxes were stacked in the corner, he twisted his brows up at Bucky, incredulous. 

"Call me James, call me whatever you like but no baby-girls or sweethearts. And I will not call you Daddy." James wasn't a fake name but it wasn't the name his friends used, it was good for these he'd found. 

"Noted. No kinky shit?" Cam was gliding his hands along Bucky's arms now, his eyes dipping more frequently. 

"No, I mean, I'm not fragile, don't be scared to break me, but no choking or handcuffs or whatever the fuck. Also, I don't submit." He was looking around the room now, for any evidence, no sex swings or whips as far as he could tell. 

Cam nodded, "Anything else?"

James shook his head, letting Cam pull him into a kiss, it turned deep quickly, they clearly both wanted this bad. 

It was a bit of a wrestle, both wanting to overpower the other, they seemed a similar strength, James relented a little when Cam reached down, biting on his neck while he rubbed his dick through his jeans, he wanted this bad. 

The thing about Steve, as much as Bucky loves him, as much as Bucky appreciated having him as a friend and liked the simplicity of what they did, he knew his role. 

Steve was straight. Steve only had girl crushes and girlfriends, Steve thought he had a crush on Bucky, back in the day, when it was Steve and Victoria, when all the mothers crowded round and spoke about their wedding, how pretty their kids would be, how Steve must have a crush on her because he just shoved her off the swing. Steve believed it all, and he never really strayed from it. 

The farthest he did stray was after Victoria became Bucky. It started off simple, Testosterone is a hell of a drug, you put two best friends in a room who have a very loose idea of where the line between platonic and romantic is, you have one string bean of a boy who girls don't even look at and one who's learning about his body through porn, and you end up with what Steve and Bucky have.

Steve wanted sex, wanted to try out boys, wanted to help his buddy out. Bucky wanted sex, wanted to try out a strap on, wanted to help his buddy out.

It was a good thing, but something was missing. 

Steve was straight. If he wanted to go down on a girl, he'd go down on his girlfriend, if he wanted to fuck someone like a girl, he'd fuck a girl like a girl. Steve was happy to get his back blown out by his buddies silicone dick, and that was all he ever wanted from Bucky. 

 

Bucky wanted more. 

 

He wanted this. 

 

He tried to lift his hips, grind against Cams face but he wouldn't let him, he felt those words slip from his head "I won't submit" He thought he might cry, tears so happy they'd come out golden. 

Cam had three fingers in James while he sucked his dick, he wondered if he'd done this before, figured he was an expert, he was moaning like he was being fed the best meal of his life, James lasted five minutes.

He started kissing his way back up James' body, "You sure you're gay?" He couldn't stop himself from saying it. 

Cam smirked down at him, holding James' jaw, his chin shiny with cum, "I was born in the south in the eighties, honey, I've fucked girls." 

It must have just been the tone of voice, some after effects, maybe just the taste of hisself when he kissed him after, James couldn't quite put his finger on why that sentence made him light headed. 

"Don't get too cocky, I'm just not used to all that." 

"Oh yeah?" 

He shouldn't have said it, Cam shouldn't have gotten him started, James should learn to be less talkative during sex. Maybe then he wouldn't be laying out in some strangers bed, recovering from the best orgasm he'd had in weeks, watching said stranger slip on a condom while he talks about how annoying his friend is about the simplicity of the benefits they share. 

It was just that, they never even talked about it anymore, it wasn't even a question anymore. They'd wind up at Steves dorm one way or another and they'd kiss and they'd take each others shirts off and they'd giggle together because it was fun and easy and they're always happy when they're hanging out! Then Steve would stop, he'd look at Bucky's backpack by the door, he'd act sweet, and Bucky would get the harness and a dildo out and he'd put it on while Steve laid down and got the lube ready, and then they'd have sex!

And it would be great! At least half the time Bucky came, and every time he got to take his friend apart, watch his toes curl and feel his muscles tense, it was great. 

He enjoyed the simplicity, he knew how it went, he knew what to expect. 

"You want something different?" Cam stilled.

Bucky breathed in, meeting Cams eyes, felt a little flip in his stomach, he felt silly for how overjoyed he was to be seen.

He hadn't considered much how nice it could be to sleep with someone who wasn't picturing someone else, who was actually, maybe, listening to him, thinking about him, even if only for the few hours they shared.

He nodded, "Yeah."

"How d'you want it?" Cam was sitting on his knees between James' legs still, the words coming out softer this time. 

He felt exposed, Cam didn't have the man-eater stare anymore, it turned to a pleading, he just wanted to give James whatever he wanted, make him feel good. James asked. Cam gave. 

 

Cam gave three times. 

 

James was in heaven. 

The backs of his thighs were red, his hips too, bruises were sure to bloom there tomorrow, his lips were swollen, both from how much he and Cam bit at them, the hair on the back of his neck was stuck down with sweat, he couldn't really feel his legs. 

Cam had him on his knees while he stood at the side of the bed, his hands squeezing his sides like a lifeline, James gripped the sheets as he finished, his back arching into Cam, he moaned high pitched but he was too gone to care anymore. 

He was flying, Cam giving a few more thrusts before he was coming deep, holding James down on himself while he rode it out. 

It was good, so good, Bucky found he loved taking, he loved asking and getting everything he'd been dreaming of. 

Cam pulled out, a gasp, Bucky felt funny, it felt different this time, he'd heard of squirting, sure, but it never happened for him, he figured it was only something the girls in the industry could do, maybe he was wrong. 

"Shit."

He wasn't wrong, maybe he was, but not in the way he was thinking. 

"What the fuck."

"It broke."

Bucky let out a little scream into the sheets he'd been gripping in bliss, just moments before. He looked back, Can looked up in fear, picking the broken condom off his dick.

"What the fuck, man!" He stood up, carefully, "What the fuck!" He huffed, he was quickly learning he hated this. "Where is your bathroom?" He huffed.

"Uh- That door." Cam pointed, stepping back, Bucky still liked being seen even if it was the rage in his eyes.

He did an awful, awkward waddle to the bathroom, repeating little "Ew ew ew"s and "What the fuck"s to himself as he cleaned up. 

He caught himself in the mirror, fucking hickeys, they trailed down his chest, there was a fading bite mark on his shoulder, that bitch had marked his territory!

Truthfully, he'd had worse hookups, he'd peed on a guy the first time he tried drunk, club cubicle sex, not that anyone was getting that story out of him in his lifetime, anyway, it's not like trying to scoop semen out his cunt after four rounds of brilliant sex was a low point or anything. 

He was still huffy when he walked back to the bedroom though, no one can stop Bucky Barnes from being a whiny bitch.

"I'm sorry, okay, that has never happened before, I bought these last week, I put it on right, I-" Cam was holding the box, reading the expiry date.

Fuck, it was super endearing. 

"Whatever, man." He started picking up his clothes, glad Cam had put on his underwear when he had to pick up his jeans from right beside him. 

"Are you- um, like on the pill or anything?" He asked carefully. 

"Fuck no." 

"So-"

"I'm gonna' get a Plan B- No, sorry, first I gotta' google if I can take one when I'm on T, then I'll go buy it." He huffed, "Where's my shirt?" 

Cam pointed at it on the floor, seemingly stuck standing where he was, the box of condoms still clutched in his hands, "How much is Plan B these days?"

These days, Bucky needed to start being seen by men his age, "Fifty bucks." He unraveled the shirt.

"Fifty US dollars?" He shouted, squeezing the box to his chest, "Jesus."

"This isn't mine." Bucky rolled his eyes, shoving the t-shirt into Cam's hands.

Cam froze again, looking down to a t-shirt on the bed, "Aw, what the fuck." 

Bucky reached for it but Cam stopped him, "I thought it was mine, I used it to, uh, clean up."

Bucky thought he could cry, quite honestly, his arms dropped by his sides, his eyes slid shut, he sighed, a real deep sigh. 

Cam pat his shoulder and Bucky laughed, one of those sort of frantic, what else, laughs. 

"Here," Cam jumped into action then, handing his shirt back to Bucky, "Take this," He turned round to his bedside table, putting down the condoms and picking up his wallet, taking out three twenties, Bucky felt his ear perk up at the idea of this guy casually carrying around that much cash. 

He turned back to Bucky, handing him the money. 

"Give me the change when you come to pick up your shirt tomorrow, I'll wash it for you." 

Bucky looked up at him, Cam was less than a head taller but it felt a big difference in that moment, he pursed his lips, wanting to refuse, wanting to tell him to shove it up his ass. He thought for a second about that, surprised at himself, he loved taking money off people. 

He looked between the folded notes and Cam's big brown eyes a few times, he looked a little scared still, like he'd be hurt if James was angry with him. 

He smiled, finally, breathing in, tucking the money into his pocket and putting the t-shirt on, it was plain black, God, this guy is good. 

"Thank you." He batted his eyelashes up at him, "No fancy scented stuff, it makes me break out in hives, hives aren't sexy." He huffed one last time, Cam following behind him grinning as he walked to the front door. 

"Yes sir. Come after six, okay? That's not some DL shit, I have a job." He leaned against the door as Bucky stood in the hall, blushing like an idiot. "What happens if Plan B doesn't work?"

It was around 2am, the building silent, Bucky still glanced around, "It probably will, I'll take it anyway, can't hurt." He shrugged, Cam looked alarmed. "Night Cam."

"Get home safe James."

God that was sincere. Bucky felt exposed. Tomorrow night and then never again. This is ridiculous.

Notes:

link to the pinterest board i’ve made for this fic! just to show the vibessss (there might be spoilers in there idk)

 

pinterest board

 

another one for the paintings and edits i’ve made for this fic :D

 

media pinterest board

 

to be clear since it’s in the ig edit! i’m basing the university they attend on Juilliard in Manhattan but i’m not using that name because i don’t wanna be locked in on that u know?

Chapter 2: one "try this trick and spin it"

Summary:

bucky has a composition to work on and a new professor to meet. "Where Is My Mind?" by Pixies.

The internet told him Plan B would work fine with testosterone, the pharmacist gave him a cheeky smile, said it was nice he was buying it for "the lucky lady". He'd rushed to put it in the under-seat storage compartment of his bike as fast as he could and by the time he got home he was so distracted with thoughts of Cam, of his face and his voice and his hands, of talking to Clint about all this, he left it in there. 

Clint was his roommate, begrudgingly. They'd met in a bar before he started University, his drunk ranting about his dad in Brooklyn and about the student housing and the ridiculous real estate scene of Manhattan had lead Clint to start a blissful, dreamy story about the apartment he inherited from a grandmother he didn't know he had.

He talked about the ugly curtains he couldn't afford to change and the black mould that kept making him sick and the cracked kitchen tiles, the fact that it was his, no rent, crazy expensive electricity bills but that's probably because the company had been scamming the old lady and he was gonna' get around to fixing that soon... 

He talked about the spare bedroom, about how big and lonely it felt, how all his medical school friends were too turned off by the mould to consider it, and how all his friends who weren't turned off by it had no business living in Manhattan. 

Bucky dropped to his knees frighteningly fast that night, probably heard a crack under him, he begged Clint to let him move in, was glad he was too inebriated to feel embarrassed, was glad Clint was just inebriated enough to accept this strangers offer. 

Clint was a grump, an over-exhausted, over-dramatic, under-achiever, even after he quit medical school and started work to become a paramedic with the fire department instead, he was still always shuffling around the apartment like he carried a lead weight on his back. It was probably the black mould. 

It turned out though, after almost four years, he was still a good shoulder to rant at. 

Bucky collapsed next to him on the couch, waking him up, it was after 3am, the tv was quiet, a nature documentary whispering in the background. 

"Sam Wilson." Bucky said. "You know him?"

Clint shook his head, half waking himself up, half answering the question.

"He was a piano player, back when I was a kid, he was the best piano player. He sung too, you've probably heard his music."

"Hm, he die?" He grumbled.

"No." Bucky thought for a moment, "Maybe, I dunno', I think something happened. Like rehab or something. He just stopped making music, it was sad, no one actually knows what happened."

"Like Frank Ocean."

"Yeah."

"Cool. Why're you talkin' about him then?"

His brows creased, he looked at Clint, still slid. down the couch, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other clutched the beer he somehow had managed to keep upright when he was asleep. 

"I think I just had sex with his doppelgänger..."

He chuckled, "Cool."

"He was nice."

"Sure he wasn't the real deal?"

"Nah, he was off," He started listing the differences, the nose, the hands, the hair, he remembered the vinyl his mother had, propped against the wall, his big smile, it was different, didn't reach his eyes the way Cam's had.

"Hm, you wish it was?" 

"Not really, I mean yeah, obviously, Wilson was amazing, but this guy, I think if this guy was him, I'd be mortified. I want Wilson to know me for my music not the face I make when I cum."

Clint hummed, then laughed again, "Laura used to cover my eyes when she came, for the first, like, two months, every time, she said she made an ugly face during it."

"Does she?"

"No,"

God, Bucky hated it when Clint talked about how good his relationship was, he loved Laura, of course he did, she cooked for him and she made Clint happy which made him more bearable, but he was sick of the eyes he made when he talked about her, the smile he got just for her, the happiness that clouded his rant. 

"The condom broke." 

"There's no more Plan B in the bathroom."

"What?"

He got hesitant, "Laura isn't buying it anymore."

"She was stocking our bathroom with birth control?" Clint only nodded, "Whatever, Sam-Cam, hm, Cam he gave me money for some- I left it in my bike."

He laughed at him, "You better take it, we don't need anymore piano prodigies running around here." 

Bucky rolled his eyes, Clint was slurring, his eyes half shut, "Yeah, whatever, night Clint."

"Night Buck."

He loved Clint, he loved cheap rent and good cooking and the ugly curtains they couldn't change, he loved his stupid, late-night conversations, his advice, he was glad to have him, even if he was also the most annoying man he'd ever met, even if he still drank straight from the coffee pot and even if he'd set a "no sex in the apartment" rule for him.

 

☆

 

Bucky couldn't sleep, he tossed and turned all night, he had springs digging in his back, he sunk into his too soft pillow, he was feeling all the differences between his bed and Cam's. He was feeling sick. 

The clock ticked beside him, he was counting how long until his first class of the semester, eight hours, then six, then five. His leg ached at the injection point, his hips ached at the fingerprint bruises, his head ached from dehydration, his stomach churned. 

He wasn't a nervous man, he'd been fighting for too long to feel something so stupid as fear, no, this nausea wasn't nerves, he was just ready, the summer had been too long, the past three years had been too long, this night had been too long. He just wanted to be there already. At the end of it.

If Bucky could snap his fingers and be at his graduation, be applying for real jobs and making his first album and getting signed, he'd do it in a heartbeat. 

He was painfully bored. He felt a composition at his fingertips. 

The clock ticked beside him, six in the morning, close enough. 

He got ready, pulled on his jacket and raced out the door to his motorbike.

It was a quick drive to his campus, the parking lot sparse, he was walking away from his bike when he remembered Clint's words suddenly. 

"No more prodigies"

He ducked back to it, pulling out the packet, he hated taking pills, he pulled out a RedBull too, crouched beside his bike when he saw some lecturers walking through the lot, he cracked open the can, took the pill, and washed it down. As he stood up he thought about that myth, how mixing spirits makes you more drunk, he wondered how drunk a mix of Testosterone, Plan B, and RedBull would make him.

He shook his head at himself, shoved the empty plastic back into the store, and went on his way.

It was only the faculty members on campus at that time, Bucky and Stan, the custodian most often in the music building, had built up a rapport, he'd tease Bucky after every break for being the first student in the door. 

"Morning Stan." He said quietly, the only noise being the hum of the AC.

He was laughing before he even looked at Bucky, "Morning kid, not wasting any time, huh?" He pat his shoulder.

Stan was old, probably older than the building, had worked there longer than anyone, a good guy to know, he had the seniority to make up his own rules.

"You know me." Bucky grinned, gesturing to one of the practise rooms, can in hand,

"I do, I know you know what I'm gonna' say! No open containers!" He tried to look stern.

"Aw Stan, come on, I had to take a pill, I just opened it, please, I didn't get any sleep either. Please?" He did his best puppy dog eyes. 

They always worked on Stan, "Oh alright, good on you, coming in here with a hangover." He smirked, waving him off to continue sweeping the halls. 

"Thank you Stan! I love you." He spoke in a sing-song, stepping into the room and sitting at the piano, placing the can on top.

He sort of wished it was just a hangover, his hands were shaking, his throat was tightening. Stan always asked him to keep the door open in the mornings, no one else was around to get distracted, it meant Stan knew he wasn't fucking around in there and, best of all, he got to hear Bucky play while he worked, and Bucky had someone to listen while he worked, it was nice for the both of them. 

He tried out the new composition, something he'd been thinking about the last week. During his breaks he didn't really get to play, he had a buddy who did nights at a restaurant and he'd cover for him every once in a while, but he didn't like it much, the rigidity of the Piano Man. 

This was what he loved, working on something new, playing around with a piece, feeling that light in his chest, the tremor in his hands evening out, his shoulders relaxing into the piano, his eyes sliding shut, all the background noise fading out. He loved this, he needed this. 

He faltered in it, of course, just a section of it he couldn't crack, frustration growing, then a door slammed, a pair of footsteps, talking, ugh, he was out of practice, he was just pressing buttons at this point. 

He was trying not to listen to the voices down the hallway, but they were getting closer, "I think I know who's in here." She whispered. 

A smile, Carol Danvers, the head of the department, she stood in the doorway, nodding, gesturing to Bucky, "Of course."

Another figure stepped in beside her, furrowed brow, light chuckle, he knew it, recognised it. Bucky knew that nose, that hair, those hands. 

"Good morning, Bucky," She turned to the familiar man, "I promise I didn't pay him to do this," She looked back, "This is Sam, he's- uh," She glanced at some papers in her hand, "Yeah, he's your new lecturer,  he's replacing Coulson."

He tried to keep his brain from leaking out his ears, holding eye contact with Carol, "What happened to Coulson?"

She tilted her head side to side, "He's teaching at a high school in Tahiti, decided this place wasn't for him." a shrug, "Anyways, come on, Bucky, this is Sam Wilson, aren't you excited?" 

Her smile was infectious, Bucky couldn't stop himself, he looked at him. 

 

Jesus Christ.  

 

Sam Wilson. 

 

It was him, for sure, the crooked nose, the lines around his eyes, the fucking hickey peaking out from under his collar. 

 

Jesus Christ. 

 

"Yeah, that's... crazy." He stood up.

He saw that vinyl propped against the wall again, saw his mother dancing to Sam's music while he set the table. 

He rounded the piano and shook his hand, smiling at him and Carol, "I love your music, man."

Sam was surprised at this, his handshake weak,  "Uh, I'm glad." He laughed at himself. 

"I'm just showing him around, it's all a little last minute," Carol explained. 

Bucky looked at her carefully, he felt Sam staring at him, didn't dare look back, knew if he looked at those eyes too long he'd do something stupid. They were still shaking hands.

"Anyway, we don't mean to distract you Buck, we'll let you get back to making magic." She grinned impossibly bigger, "I hope you had a nice break." 

"Yeah, yeah, you too." He nodded, "It was nice to meet you." He braved it, standing far too close, finally taking his hand out of Sam's, holding his breath. 

"Nice meeting you too." 

 

Bucky almost felt insane, was he the same man? He smelt the same, he was going insane. 

 

They walked away while Bucky sat back at the piano, his fingers hovering over the keys instinctively but he was listening to them, to Carol, the woman he considered an ally, the woman who'd helped him so much during his time at the University, as she talked to Sam like Bucky had come here from heaven, like he made music to rival Beethoven, like he couldn't totally hear her. 

 

It was sick, it was all one big joke, he pressed a key, hearing Carol stop speaking mid-sentence, and he huffed at himself. He'd lost the composition. He gathered his things and rushed out the building not looking to Sam or the traitor at the other end of the hallway. 

 

It was sick. Bucky was sick. He ran to the nearest restrooms in the main campus building and threw up in one of the sparkling toilet bowl's. Remembering he was still wearing Sam's shirt when he looked at himself in the mirror, Jesus.

Notes:

a little drawing i made to go along with the chapter. i will try to do a little something for every chapter :))
pinterest

Chapter 3: two "the only one who could ever reach me"

Summary:

meet Natasha. "Son of a Preacher Man" by Dusty Springfield.

Natasha was probably Bucky's best friend, he hated to admit it cause he couldn't even think of the words Best Friend without thinking of Steve, but it was true. 

They just had a lot more in common, Natasha was on the same course as Bucky, a Bachelors in Music, she focused on violin but that was just another commonality, she was the best violinist at their University, while Bucky was the best pianist. They had that same drive, the same dedication, the same knowledge that if this failed then they'd have nothing. 

They had less classes together this year but they'd made the same promise to meet together for breakfast before them at a diner just off campus, he raced over, jittery and with bile stinging in his throat. 

She was good at reading people, too good, sometimes, she knew everything about Bucky and decided they'd be friends after one conversation with him, knew he took himself too seriously, that he had a plan to keep his head down for four years and make more enemies than friends, and she'd fought to ruin those plans, he was so glad for it now even if he spent his first semester at University wishing for her death. 

She was doing it now, as he devoured a breakfast burrito she watched him carefully, he'd given up on hiding things from her, even if the thought of speaking about him was making it difficult to swallow his food. 

"We have a new lecturer for Theory." He choked, she was staring holes in his head. 

"Coulson croaked?" She smirked.

"Teaching high school, must have been sick o'you always nitpicking his assignments." His cheeks felt hot. 

"Who's the new one?"

"I fucked him."

 

Hm.

 

It felt like the whole diner froze, Bucky knew it hadn't, like, logically, he was whispering, couldn't squeeze out anything louder if he tried, he just hadn't seen Natasha go so still for so long before. 

"What's the verdict."

"I think I need to kill myself."

She rolled her eyes. "He was that bad?"

"He was perfect." He grimaced. 

She hummed, leaning back, both their breakfasts forgotten about between them.

"Got a picture?"

 

"Sam Wilson."

 

"Fuck off!"

 

Now the other patrons of the diner were listening, she covered her mouth, shocked at herself, twisting her brows at Bucky who only nodded, a sullen look on his face.

"Were you gonna' tell me you fucked him if he never turned out to be our lecturer?"

"He told me his name was Cameron."

"Aww no..." She was laughing at him.

"I thought Wilson was dead, to be quite honest, Natty..." He rubbed at his eyes, his nausea finally subsiding to make way for exhaustion. 

"Well, everyone did..." Natasha seemed like she might tease him again but stopped herself, sighing and leaning across the table to put a hand on Bucky's shoulder.

She asked him for the full story, rounding the table to sit close by his side while he whispered the exact timeline of events, whipping his head around every few seconds to make sure she was the only one listening. 

They sat for a moment together after he finished, she hugged his arm, her head on his shoulder while she thought of something wise. 

She was wise, beyond her years. Natasha had been caring for her younger sister since she was 16, had held off on going into higher education until she could take Yelena along with her, she had her sights set on New York and there was no chance she'd leave Yelena in Volgograd. 

They'd both applied to the same place, got accepted on unconditional's, and moved out here four years ago, Yelena doing a bachelors in Fine Art, focusing on ballet, they lived in a little apartment nearby campus, Natasha was the best violinist Bucky would probably ever meet, but first, she was a big sister, she was a caretaker, and she was damn good at that too.

She shared her thoughts, assured Bucky that offing himself was not a solution, that she wouldn't even want to make it through the year without him by her side, and finally, most importantly, she let him know that the world wouldn't end because he had great sex with his idol. 

They were soon interrupted by Hobie and Co. Reminding them they did have classes to attend, he dragged them along to the theory class they all shared, now with Sam Wilson. Hobie focused on guitar, his Co being his band, the Spiders, Bucky begged Natasha to keep everything quiet for now, knowing the amount of energy those three would have for him would be enough to put him in a coma. 

Bucky sunk into his seat, willing the earth to swallow him up, it wouldn't, of course, just left him there, stranded, picking at the callouses on his hands and listening to a droning monologue about the years curriculum from a man who'd cum inside him just twelve hours prior. 

It was strange, awful, of course, his face was hot, he felt like everyone knew, felt Natasha watching him, but then, at some points in the lesson, it did feel sort of... sweet. 

Bucky didn't crush very often, didn't recognise the butterflies in his ribcage, he felt a little stupid, Sam kept making terrible jokes and he was the only one laughing, and then when Sam's eyes found his in the crowd, a difficult feat since he'd begged the others to let them hide at the back even though Hobie's hearing was shit, Sam smiled at him, a soft, surprised little thing that made Bucky's ears turn red. 

It was ridiculous. 

It was all completely ridiculous.

They raced out the hall as soon as the lecture was over, skipping past the crowd forming around Wilson, asking for pictures and advice and about "What the fuck happened to you?"

He didn't want to know, he didn't want anything from Sam Wilson, he wanted everything from Sam Wilson. His head hurt.

He struggled to concentrate in his classes the rest of the day, thankful none of it was dreadfully important, Bucky could list his pains, head to toe, every inch of him was in some turmoil, he felt jittery, a shake in his hands all day, he had to fight himself not to punch a guy in his Piano Lit class for how he was chewing gum, he had to bite back tears when he dropped his journal, all the papers and sticky notes he'd tucked between the pages scattering across the pavement. 

He met up with Natasha a few more times throughout the day, hugged her too long in the middle of a hallway, too many words spilling out his mouth to keep track, she pet his hair and reiterated her wisdom, whispered about how insanely fine this would all be in the end. 

After they parted ways, Bucky nodding to himself and repeating her words in his head, he went home, no more lectures today, he was glad for it, he was glad he wasn't bored anymore, if he made a big enough effort to reframe it in his mind, this was a good thing!

Bucky showered, stayed in there too long for sure, used up all the hot water, his fingers pruning as he stepped out, he got changed, organised his things for the new school year, sticky taped a study guide to his wall.

Then he sat down and stared at the wall for an hour. 

Clint got home, loud and grumbling, and that seemed to snap Bucky out his trance, it was around 8pm, he talked to Clint for a bit, inhaled the pasta he'd got from Laura's, and decided it was time to stop humming and hawing about Sam Wilson. 

If he ended up talking himself out of it by the time he stepped out his building then at least he could go for a drive.

 

☆

 

The tips of his fingers were buzzing as he ran up the stairs to Sam's floor, his toes turning a little numb while he waited at his door, his stomach in his throat when the door opened. 

Sam inhaled, looked like he wanted to say his name but wasn't sure which one to use, settled on breathing out on a "Hey."

Bucky shook his head, "I'm just here for my t-shirt." He huffed, "And this." he pulled his hand out his pocket, a handful of change and a few crumpled notes.

"Oh," Sam took it awkwardly into two palms, holding the door open with his hip, he pushed it back with his foot as he leaned over to let the cash spill out his hands onto the side table just beside the doorway. 

Bucky glanced behind him, saw an old piano tucked into the corner of the room, beside the couch, papers and boxes piled on top of it, he rolled his eyes to himself. 

Sam straightened up, apprehensive, "You wanna...?" He gestured inside, stepping back. 

Bucky stuttered for a moment, best if I don't, but Sam's short sleeve clung to his bicep as he held his arm up and Bucky wondered best for who? He stepped inside.

Sam shut the door behind him and went through to his kitchen, so casual that Bucky was wondering if he really was the same guy, like maybe someone had cursed him, like he really had slept with the doppelgänger of his idol and professor and now he was acting strange in the mans home for no reason. 

He spun in place slowly, actually taking in the place while Sam/Cam shuffled around in the other room. It was small, clearly those streaming residuals were running low, there were boxes piled in corners, paintings leaning against the wall, not yet hung. The top light was missing a bulb but the room still had a warm glow, a few lamps scattered on the few clear surfaces in the room, blankets were piled on the sofa, one slipping off the back revealing the peeling leather, one folded neatly on the arm rest, wonky crochet stitches in pinks and oranges. 

It had that homey feel you wouldn't expect from a celebrity, that scruffy look you wouldn't expect from a professor at one of the best performing art schools in the city.

He caught a pile of envelopes on the side table by the door, peered over, Occupant, he huffed, sliding the top one to the side, Sam Wilson. 

 

That was that then. 

 

Sam Wilson, walked back through, holding the shirt that he'd used to clean his dick after he fucked Bucky so hard he broke the condom, his ribs felt too tight for his lungs, he was trying to be nonchalant, he was sure it wasn't working. 

"Here, no fancy scented stuff." He offered it.

Bucky took it, he felt supremely stupid about everything, twisting the shirt in his hands he made to say thanks but Sam interrupted.

"It doesn't have to be weird, you know, Danvers talked very highly of you, You sounded good from what I heard this morning,"

Bucky kept his eyes on his t-shirt, could hear his own high pitched moan replaying in his head, Sam couldn't seem to hear it, continued, inching closer as he spoke.

"I get if this was just a one time thing, but can we not let it get in the way of what we do at the University?" 

Bucky looked up then, brows furrowed, "What are we doing at the University?" 

He hesitated, "I wanna' work with you." Bucky pulled his head back, grimacing, openly, "Carol wants me to work with you, said somethin'bout how you.. like my music." 

Fuck Carol Danvers, that beautiful, fantastic, despicable traitor. He'd played one of Wilson's compositions for an exam in his first year. Sure, he played his music a few times since then, in the practise rooms, alone, maybe with Nat, but how could Danvers know about that?

"It's okay." 

Sam smirked and Bucky had to look away again, "This course is good for making you a good at music, I- She wants me to help make you a.. A musician."

"The next you?" He let himself hope just a little.

Sam grinned, "Yeah."

Bucky rolled his eyes, feeling combative even though this felt like a dream, probably because it felt like a dream, too good to be true.

"Why were you hooking up with university aged boys the night before you started workin' for one to make the next you?" He crossed his arms over his chest.

Sam looked surprised, like he'd forgotten what they'd done, he hadn't, Bucky watched the memory flash in his eyes, he shook his head lightly, "Why were you hooking up with professor aged men the night before you... met me?" He floundered. 

"Well you know why, or were you not really listening?"

"What, about Steve?"

Shit, he definitely hadn't meant to say his name, "Yeah, boys my age don't know how to act."

"I can see that," He smirked, it seemed Sam didn't exactly want to forget about the night before, Bucky swallowed, Sam took a breath, "Listen, it's not like I only get with guys in their 20s, okay? It's just, guys my age.. tend to.. recognise me more..."

Bucky had to bite his lip to stop from laughing, "You're pulling the too famous card?" 

"I am." 

"I recognised you."

"You didn't say anything."

"Oh right, like I was just gonna' ask you if you're the guy everyone thought was dead for ten years, like I was gonna' imply that the Sam "Falcon" Wilson, was on Grindr on a Monday morning."

He blinked a few times, reeling his head back, frowning, "What, dead guys can't have sex anymore?"

Bucky couldn't stop himself from laughing this time, "Come on, dude!" 

"Oh, it's dude now?" 

Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes with no bite, "You prefer Cam?"

"You prefer James?" 

It felt like flirting, it felt good, Bucky had butterflies in his stomach, was sure his ears were bright red, couldn't stop fidgeting with the t-shirt in his hands even though he was probably stretching the fabric out. It felt too easy. 

"What happened?" Sam frowned, "To you, dead-man-walking?"

Bucky saw hurt flash in his eyes, saw the quick intake of breath, his adams apple bobbing with a hard swallow. 

"People quit their jobs all the time, no one's accusing your old professor of being dead, are they?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, a teasing smile on his lips, they'd roll out his head at this rate, "Coulson, I'm sure, handed in his notice, he explained his departure, Tahiti, remember?" He stepped closer, testing, "You were on stage accepting Grammy's one day, partying with whoever the fuck was coolest, selling out stadiums, then the next you were missing award shows, whoever the fuck was talking about how much they missed you, you cancelled your tour, Sam." He shrugged, "Shits weird."

"You know a lot about a guy who's just okay." 

"What happened?"

"Gonna' go share it on your little conspiracy blog?" 

Bucky wasn't budging, he could smell the soap Sam used, could feel the heat radiating from him, could probably hear his fucking heartbeat, he needed to know this. He wasn't sure why, knew it wouldn't matter in the long run, he just did. It was that thing he'd always wondered in the back of his mind, that Mt. Everest he needed to climb.

"Why'd you stop?" 

Sam sighed, his hand raising to the side of Bucky's neck, his thumb hooked round to push him back gently, barely, "I want to help you be great, Barnes, but we don't need to do this for me to do that. Okay?"

 

Fuck this guy. Thats what he'd do. 

 

"Tell me something else then?" 

"Like what?"

"Like what do you think the probability is on the condom breaking again?" 

He laughed, a puff of air that fanned over Bucky's face, "Really?"

He only hummed a yes, finished with the teasing, Bucky surged forward, an almost violent kiss to Sam's mouth, he gasped into it, his grip on Bucky's neck tightening, Bucky reached down to squeeze at the front of Sam's jeans before he could pull back to ask any stupid questions.

Sam moaned into the kiss, laughing against his mouth, he started mumbling something, Bucky didn't want to hear it, started pushing him back, guessing there'd be a wall behind them. 

Bucky was annoyed, he'd been spoiled the night before, he found himself wanting. He wanted his dick sucked, wanted his brains fucked out, but more importantly, he wanted to know what Sam's problem was, he wanted to be seen, he wanted to know who'd cursed him. 

He was dizzy with it, with his wanting, when Sam's back did finally hit a wall, with some gentle directions from him, Bucky almost sunk to his knees, pulling away to gasp in air, shake away the thought, straighten his legs, long and firm. 

Sam met his eyes, a frantic look in them, his brows twisted together, "Should we talk about this?" He was clutching onto Bucky like he might be wanting in the same way.

"I know I might have fooled you last night but i actually hate talking." He huffed, attempting to lean forward again, he was stopped by Sam's shaking hand. 

He laughed lightly again in shock, Sam took a second to breathe, to look at Bucky in a way that made him want to hide, before finally speaking again, "What do you want from me?"

What a fucking question. 

It made him dizzy the way it had the night before, his mind whirring into action faster than his mouth could follow, he let himself smile, "I want you to fuck me so hard I stop thinking, Sammy." 

His breath hitched, he shook his head, Bucky felt his stomach drop, "Not- not, what do you need? What do you want from me? From this?" 

Bucky's brows furrowed, his gut twisting, he hesitated, "Do we have to figure that out- right now?" He felt like a child, felt that wave of guilt and humiliation wash over him, burn his ears and tingle at his fingertips. 

Sam's gaze ghosted across his face, his breathing slowing, he brought a hand to his cheek and Bucky had to fight not to flinch from it, something teasing curled at his lips, he moved his face closer to meet Bucky's eye, his fingers pressing at his jawline, "I'm just hoping you don't think this will help you pass my class." 

 

Of course.

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Oh God," He groaned, Sam laughing, he stepped closer to hold his face in both hands now, Bucky looking up between them with a pout, he could embrace childishness, "It won't?"

Sam shook his head, his smile turning fond, "I'm glad it wasn't a consideration."

Bucky could taste his breath, coffee and something sweet, "Well, I don't know. I'm pretty good at this, you know? Maybe I could change your mind?" He batted his eyelashes, his hand drifting down Sam's front. 

"You are, I know. You're good at piano too, though." He smirked, leaning in to kiss the corner of Bucky's mouth, peppering them across his jaw and down the line of his neck. 

"You basing that opinion off what you heard this morning?" Bucky asked, hands quick of Sam's belt, he moaned, maybe an answer, maybe a plead, "I'm thinkin' you're already a little bias there Prof'. What you heard was shit." 

Bucky slipped his hand into the front of his jeans, squeezing, Sam's breathing ragged, when he lifted his head to meet Bucky's gaze again, "Then shut up and show me something better." He mumbled not waiting for any retaliation before crushing his mouth back to Bucky's.

He flipped them around, pinning Bucky against the wall, grinding into his hand, taking his turn to roll his eyes, just the whites of them showing  as Bucky twisted his hand, dragging it along Sam's length as much as he could from this angle. 

Bucky could feel him all over, one hand squeezing his jaw while the other tugged at his hair, Sam's chest pressed tightly to his, his knee knocking into the wall behind him and his thigh between his, just high enough for Bucky to get some friction against. 

He needed more, he needed Sam's ribs to open up so he could climb inside, curl up right beside the beating heart. 

He opened his eyes, Sam travelling back down to kiss at his neck, leave more marks where everyone could see. Bucky felt tears in his lash line, a stone caught in his throat. 

He wanted too much. 

When Sam finally got his hands on him he felt such relief, the first time he came that night he was still pressed against that wall, he felt the cold wallpaper against his skin, Sam's warm hands wrapped around his thighs where he held him up, his mouth hot on his. He let the tears fall freely, he kissed back fervently. 

He let himself want too much. Bucky let himself take and it didn't feel wrong because Sam seemed so happy to give.

Notes:

i have low blood pressure so if i talk ab tingling fingertips too often pls just embrace it…

Chapter 4: three "piano man, he makes his stand"

Summary:

bucky embraces the new normal and plays piano for sam. "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John.

"What I said earlier still stands, we can't let this get in the way of my job or your degree." His voice was hoarse. 

Sam had done his job well, if you'd asked Bucky his name around ten minutes ago, he'd have said God or Sammy, and you'd have had to argue that the former was, in fact, not the correct answer. 

He was still a little out of it now, watching Sam's mouth move, feeling the fingers cast through his hair, thinking only about those things. 

"Bucky." He stopped moving his hand, earning a little whine, Sam laughed lightly, shifting over, sweat still drying on his skin, "You in there?" He leaned on his elbows over Bucky, smiling that stupid, beautiful grin.

Now that was all Bucky was thinking about, he nodded, chewing on his lips, "'M'here." 

Sam hummed, "You're here." He brought his hand to Bucky's face, his thumb running along his cheekbone softly, "You still hate talking?"

Bucky melted into the touch, eyes sliding shut, he took the words in, swirled them in his mouth, tasted each syllable and thought about them for a moment, his review, "We can talk."

Sam sighed, a tired thing, turning back over to lie back beside Bucky, "You wanna' keep doing this?"

Bucky nodded quickly, looking over to Sam with a smile, "Please." He spoke with an embarrassingly small voice.

He laughed, "Okay, then it stays separate."

"Okay." He breathed, looking at the ceiling, "Does that mean we can't fuck in your office?"

"You fantasising already?" 

Bucky hummed an affirmative, casual as anything.

"Yes. It does mean we can't fuck in my office, when we see each other or talk or work together on campus... all you should be thinking about is piano." He held Bucky's jaw, pulling it to force their eyes to meet.

"Yes sir."

Sam smirked, "You gonna' be a problem?" 

"You want me to be?" He grinned.

Sam shook his head, trying to rid a thought, looking a little flustered if Bucky chose to be cocky about it. A moment passed, Bucky felt so good, his whole body was numb, all those pains had vanished, the aches he had now were delicious, like that ache he got in his hands when he played piano too long, his hips and his chest and his ass, nerves humming a song to the tune of their breathing. 

Sam reached over, resting his hand on Bucky's shoulder, a tiny movement as he traced circles on his skin. 

Satisfied, that was the feeling, a bone deep satisfaction.

"Thank you." He whispered. 

Sam looked over with a furrowed brow, Bucky felt his eyes on him, saw him in his peripheral vision, taking him in, before he smiled, a soft little thing, and moved over to kiss his cheek. 

Too intimate, probably, too soft, too open. 

But people can change, too intimate can become normal for anyone, if you do it enough, if you enjoy it as much as Bucky did. 

 

It became the new normal.

 

Bucky went to breakfast with Natasha, they talked about anything, everything, they went to class, he watched Sam talk, thought about piano, he went to his other classes, thought about Sam, he played piano until his fingers hurt and then went to Sam's place and let him take all the pain away.

He never stayed the night, they never spoke too much, although Bucky was losing his grasp of what too much was. He tried, if he caught himself thinking about Sam too much while on campus then he'd pinch himself, think about piano instead, it didn't always work, rarely worked, when he could remember Sam's voice in his ear the night before, the burn of Sam's fingers against his skin, the look in his eyes. 

He tried. 

 

Sometime early September, Peggy dumped Steve.

 

Bucky had been home, working on assignments, not thinking about Sam, when Steve had barged in, the rusted spare key in his hand. He stood beside Bucky, a dramatic little pout on his face, he hadn't needed to say anything for Bucky to know, they hugged, Steve had smelled of weed and beer.

Bucky directed him to the couch, lumpy and stained, reminding him of Clint's rule, reminding him that it would be fine, she'd forgive him or miss him or come back, whatever he needed to hear, Steve had gripped at him, tears falling slowly, like he'd already ran out. Bucky reminded him of Clint's rule.

They'd started up again after that, Bucky tried not to think about how little they hung out when he was with her, how often he texted when he wasn't, he packed his strap everyday and tried not to think about Sam whenever he was fucking Steve. 

 

It became the new normal.

 

Bucky spent his time between Sam's apartment, Steve's dorm, and campus, only home long enough to change or eat Laura's cooking, sometimes he slept at Steve's, sometimes he showered at Sam's, he smelt of them both, his hands ached.  

 

☆ 

 

It had been a long day, Bucky hadn't had Wilson's class that day, no classes with Natasha or Hobie either, exhaustion was clawing at his skin, he planned to play in the practise rooms until he couldn't keep his eyes open, then he'd walk over to Steve's and pass out there.

He felt conflicted, two hours into working on a composition, of playing over the same section, the pre-chorus, that wasn't coming out right, when Sam texted him, still under that little orange logo because Bucky wasn't sure if asking for his phone number was too much.

 

42 top: Come over?

 

He sighed, he needed to finish this piece, he'd already given Steve a half assed promise to go to his, he needed to finish this piece, couldn't leave it as it was.

 

42 top: Please?

 

Bucky cursed at himself, at the heat in his cheeks. 

 

J: since u asked so nice ;) 

 

He packed his things, whispered to the piano that he'd be back, since he was clearly losing his mind, no need to hide it anymore, and made his way to his bike. 

Sam's place was always so warm, Sam was always so warm, so smiley, so hungry. 

"I missed you," He mumbled into a kiss, his hands sliding under Bucky's shirt before his door was even shut. 

"Shut up." He groaned, pulling at Sam's short hair to deepen the kiss, Sam laughed, biting Bucky's lip in retaliation. 

It was quick, Bucky ignored the squeeze in his chest, it was just sex, of course it was just sex, it was always just sex.

They hadn't made it to the bedroom, Bucky's skin stuck to the leather of the couch, his forehead against the back of it as he regained his breath, knees either side of Sam's thighs. Sam held onto his waist, still kissing his neck.

"You taste different." He sighed. 

Bucky choked a laugh, shock giving him the motivation to slide off Sam, he pulled on his underwear and sat beside him, Sam still watching with a crease in his brow. 

"You smoke?" Sam stood to throw the condom away, putting his underwear back on too, and settling back, just too close to Bucky, their skin sticking together. 

"Sometimes." Bucky hummed, looking over the room again, an Alexa in the corner playing jazz, boxes labelled "Sams Shit."

"You should stop."

"Why? So I taste better for the guy who keeps giving me hickeys?" He frowned at Sam, tilting his head, watching as Sam looked down, his eyes trailing along the line of his shoulders, across his chest, too far down to pretend he was just looking for the marks he’d left.

"Yeah." He reached over then, his hand stretched over Bucky's jaw as he sucked at his neck, a bite here and there. Insatiable. 

Bucky laughed at him, focused on taking in the room, the sun was setting, pouring in through the window, light dancing on the keys of that old standing piano. It was covered in water stains and scratches, a train sticker on the top panel and a few bits of white where someone had tried to remove another sticker. There were notches along the wood under the keys, the fall board up but a layer of dust all over, no music on the stand. 

His fingers twitched, he loved hitting that point during sex, his mind going blank long enough for those perfect chords to come to him, he had it, he was pretty sure he'd figured out the pre-chorus, if it came out the way he was seeing it in his mind, if he could just reach over and hit those keys, make sure he was right, it was perfect. 

 

"Bucky?" 

 

His head snapped back to Sam, "Yeah?" He felt like he had to gasp for breath, like he'd forgotten he was with someone.

Sam kissed his shoulder, was he nervous? "You can play something if you want." He mumbled into the skin there, leaving goosebumps. 

Bucky hesitated, couldn't tell if this was a test, he hummed, shaking his head, "Sorry." It came out as a whisper. 

He smiled then, slipping his hand into Bucky's, "Don't be sorry, I wanna' hear you play." He wasn't meeting his eye. 

For all that talk of working together at the University, they'd practically been avoiding each other on campus, maybe Sam was also finding that rule impossible, maybe he'd changed his mind. Bucky hadn't wanted to ask, didn't want to be in a room alone with Sam while at university and hadn't wanted to talk about it after sex either, he didn't want to cross his wires anymore than he had already. 

So, Sam still hadn't heard him play anything more than that little snippet on his first day, and now he was asking him to, when all Bucky had in his mind was a stupid little section, he just had to know. 

He sighed, mumbling out a stream of words that he thought might explain what he was thinking as he moved over to sit at the piano, it's nothing, don't expect anything spectacular right now, if it comes out bad don't hold it against me. 

Sam hid his laugh, twined his fingers together in his lap, and watched. 

He tested a few keys, shocked that it was actually tuned, the bench creaking under him. He breathed in, playing the chords, breathing out slowly as he tried his theory, the sounds echoing through the soft room exactly as he heard them in his head. 

He toyed with them, trying a few different parts, tilting his head and mumbling to himself. He felt Sam's eyes on his back, his words kept coming out quiet and shaky, "It's a.. piece I've been working on, just a little- thing." He didn't turn back, didn't want to know what Sam was thinking. 

"Let me hear it." His voice was steady, stern even, it shook Bucky into straightening up. 

He played the composition, realising around half the way through how similar it sounded to an Elton John song, something tucked away in his subconscious, nothing he could name, he pushed through, faltering on the end, his memory getting stuck on that part again. 

He huffed at the end, scratching his arm, dragging his hand over his face, he was embarrassed, he felt awkward, out of place like behind a piano wasn't exactly where he belonged. 

"Sounds nice." Sam seemed hesitant, like he was lying. 

Bucky finally turned around, pouting, "It's shit." 

"Is everything you do shit?"

Bucky's eyes widened, "No?" He gripped at the wood of the piano. 

"So, it just happens that whatever I have heard, has been shit." He raised his brow. 

Bucky stuttered, "I guess. Maybe you're just bad luck." He shrugged, Sam tilting his head, looking away to pick at his nails, "I'm good at piano, Sam." He found that strength in his voice again, leaning forward on his chair.

Sam's lips twitched, "That's what everyone's been saying." He nodded slowly, still looking at his hands.

Bucky had to bite his tongue. Fuck this guy, fuck this piano, fuck Carol Danvers, fuck Grindr, fuck Steve Rogers, fuck This Guy. 

He spun back round, breathing in, seeing red creep across his vision, he searched his memory for the most pretentious shit he could play, some Bach shit he could never remember the name of, he played it too fast, too hard, he wanted to throw something. 

He finished, rushed, but correct, and looked back at Sam, his brows raised in a question.

He frowned, "You didn't write that."

Bucky rolled his eyes, huffing again, "No. I didn't." He gritted out, "But it's good, right? I'm good at piano. Everyone saying that is right. You are bad luck." He hated how his voice sounded to himself, high and pleading. 

Sam scoffed a laugh, shaking his head, "Sure." 

"Fuck you!"

"You write a lot of your own stuff?" He smiled up at him, so casual and calm. Bucky gathered the saliva in his mouth and thought about spitting at him.

He swallowed, breathing heavily, "When I can."

"Anything less shit to show me?" 

Bucky felt tears in the corners of his eyes, felt stupid and ridiculous, had a stone in his throat. 

"Nothing I play is shit." 

Sam laughed then, a deep, hearty laugh, standing up and stepping toward Bucky. His chest was burning, his nails digging into his palms. 

"You are ridiculous." Sam rested his hands on Bucky's shoulders, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

Bucky groaned, pushing him away weakly, "Stop." He whined. 

Sam was still smiling, reeling back, standing straight over him before he gripped his jaw, twisting Bucky's head so he had to look at him, "Play your new piece again."

Bucky felt small, nervous, turned on, he ignored the last one with all his might, when Sam let go he nodded slowly, swallowing and turning back to the piano. 

He played it, precisely, carefully, feeling Sam against his back, his hand back on his shoulder, he squeezed it gently when he finished playing, and Bucky had to blink back tears. 

"It could be better." 

Bucky felt a knot in his stomach come undone, "How?"

"Thought I was bad luck." He cocked his head down at him.

Bucky rolled his eyes, looking up through his lashes, frowning, "How?"

Sam smiled softly, settling down next to him on the small bench, thighs pressed together, his skin hot. He laced his arm around Bucky's waist as they talked, Bucky explaining his process, Sam cutting in with small comments, praises, criticisms. 

They sat like that for hours, the composition forgotten about after an hour or so, completed, perfected, Bucky's ears going red as he hit the starting notes to Sam's magnum opus, the song that had earned him his first Grammy nomination, Sam groaning and gripping his wrists to make him stop. 

Bucky played some of his other original pieces, the first thing he'd ever written and performed, a basic little thing he'd done for a high school talent show with his friend singing over it, he only whisper sung the lyrics to Sam after he'd begged for it.

They went over what Bucky was putting together for coursework, Sam staying close, voice low, soft. Bucky indulged a little, watching Sam's mouth twist around words he wasn't quite listening to, feeling his weight beside him, the course hair on their bare legs scratching together, Sam absentmindedly traced his finger in shapes on Bucky's waist, running over a faded scar.

Bucky tried a few times to get Sam to play something, unintentionally, not pushing, he'd just get frustrated with a suggestion Sam had.

"Not like that, I mean- You're stiff, you gotta-" 

"Will you just show me? You play, I'll watch, just show me what you mean." Bucky huffed, folding his hands in his lap.

Sam sighed, "You've got it, Buck. Just- breathe into it, feel it in your hands." 

Some of the help went right over his head, some bits of advice he ignored, feigning that he couldn't change his ways, his habits. The way Sam avoided the keys though, that stuck in Bucky's mind, no matter what, his fingers never made contact with the ivory, he pointed to them, named them, but never -even when it could have been more convenient- played anything. 

Eventually every word Sam spoke was lost to Bucky, he couldn't even pretend to listen anymore, his back hurting from hunching over the piano, his ears ringing from the repetitive sounds, his hands aching. He leaned further into Sam, trying to stay upright, Sam smiled, kept talking, about a class he took or a teacher he had once, but he stopped as soon as the first yawn broke the dam. 

Bucky tried to brush him off, Sam's incredulous look as he assured him they could pick this back up another day. 

"Even the greats gotta' sleep, baby."

The nickname made him smile, he was just too tired to tell him off for it, Bucky finally agreed, after plenty more pushing from Sam. He stood and got ready to leave,  glad Sam wasn't trying to get him to stay over. 

The ride home woke him up a bit, cold night air bringing enough life into him to remember to stay quiet as he clambered up the stairs and into his apartment, dumping everything by the door and crashing into his bed. 

It felt like the best sleep he'd had in years. Exhaustion had stretched through his body, fitting into his skin around his skeleton, pulling at his nerves every time he walked, for weeks. 

He never usually had dreams anymore, never had time to remember them when he woke up at least, maybe a nightmare here and there, he'd wake up shivering, picking up his phone to call his mother before he remembered her sunken cheeks, cold hands, the flowers at her funeral. 

Tonight, he dreamt. He dreamt of sunlight and brown skin, of watching long fingers glide over the piano, breathing into it, feeling the music in his fingertips, feeling warmth in his chest and soft lips on his cheek.

Notes:

bucky portrait!! zero context for the pose just needed to get the reference out of how i picture him in this :)) sorry he’s a twink i could not think of any reasons for why he would be strong in this universe…
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Chapter 5: four "don't slip away, my dear"

Summary:

bucky fixes cars and feels feelings. "The Fall" by Rhye

The car park was quiet, only a few clusters of students and faculty still on campus, most people leaving or inside hiding from the cold, quick chats before departing for the day. The sun hung low, street lamps flickering on.

This guy was hovering, Lee, his arms crossed, face stern, tilting his head to watch Bucky's every move, getting in the way.

Bucky held out the black clamps, the red ones in place and jumped at Lee, making a short buzzing sound, his laugh echoed through the lot, Lee rolling his eyes.

"Will you hurry up?" He huffed.

Bucky smirked, attaching the black clamps to each vehicle, and rounded his motorbike, urging Lee to get in his car, he flipped the key and yelled for Lee to try his, revving the engine a few times. The car jumped to life, Lee shouting a fuck yes as he got back out, letting the engine keep running and pulling Bucky into a hug.

"Thank you, bro, I thought I was gonna' be fuckin' stranded here!" He laughed, hitting Bucky's shoulder in that straight boy way.

"Yeah, no worries, man." He smiled back, picking off the cables carefully and wrapping them back up to tuck in his store.

"Uh, you want money or..?"

Bucky looked back, eyed the BMW plaque on the front of the humming car, "A jump start is usually £300... Or- it was at the shop I worked at this summer, at least." He shrugged, not meeting Lee's eye.

"Oh damn? Do I get any kinda' discount, since we're friends?" He crossed his arms.

Bucky couldn't even tell you what course he was on but he nodded, he hadn't expected him to be that stupid, he had that look, maybe a history degree, "£270?"

His cheeks cracked with a grin, "Perfect, you on  Cashapp?" He pulled out his phone.

They stood staring at their phones for a few minutes, Bucky reading out his information, Lee putting it into his account, then waiting to make sure it went through correctly.

They shook hands and Lee slammed his hood down before going on his way, happy as could be! Bucky smiled to himself, hopping on his bike and preparing to leave before he caught sight of a familiar car, brown eyes tracking him from inside.

He drove his bike over, stopping beside him.

"Hey stranger." He ducked his head down, leaning over his handles to look inside.

Sam rolled down his window, leaning in the frame to smile up at him, "Hey." He glanced to where him and Lee had been, "What was that about?"

"Needed a jumpstart, paid me 270." He laughed lightly.

"270? You scammin' these nice young folk in my school?"

"It ain't a scam, I'm a real licensed mechanic, and a struggling artist, I'm allowed to charge these nice young folk whatever I want. It ain't your school either." He shrugged.

"You're a mechanic?" Sam's brows twisted up, incredulous.

"Yeah, how do you think I pay rent?"

"Making coffee like every other gay, struggling artist."

"Woah! You cannot speak to me like that Prof." Bucky laughed, leaning back on his bike, clutching his chest, scandalised.

"Whatever, what're you doing now?" His eyes flicked around the parking lot, the light in them different now.

"I'm going home, sir. Got work to do." He raised his brows, challenging him.

"Like that?" Sam frowned.

Bucky matched it, looking down at himself,  "Yes?"

"Where's your helmet?"

"Uh- I left it at home." He choked back a laugh.

"You aren't even wearing a jacket... Do you always drive like that? When you come over you ride this?"

Bucky could see him retracing his steps, remembering every time Bucky came over, hair windswept, the goosebumps dissipating on his skin under his t-shirt.

"Pretty much."

"You tryna' die?"

Bucky burst out laughing then, shocked, "No?"

"Then why aren't you wearing all that protective shit?" He yelled, Bucky checked around the lot again, completely empty.

"Cause' the protective shit is ugly Sammy, n' it fucks up my hair." He bit his lip, trying to distract him with seduction, "Would you like me this much if I was always walking around with helmet hair? I don't think so!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're ridiculous!"

Bucky felt a squeeze in his chest, wanted to tease and tell Sam to quit worrying but a little wormy feeling in his gut told him to relish in it, feel the warmth of concern, just for a second.

"Get in, leave your bike here, I'll take you to yours an' you can get your gear."

It wasn't a question.

"Really?"

"Yup."

A little glint in Sam's eye told him he could say no, if he wanted to. Bucky sat for a moment, watching Sam, his brows twitching up, his lips pursing. If he wanted to.

He huffed, explaining to Sam before he drove his bike to the corner of the lot, parking it and locking it up before he did a terrible little jog back to Sam. He climbed in his car, shoving his backpack down beside his feet, a few empty water bottles crinkling under the weight, it was a shiny little Honda, the upholstery peeling from the ceiling and the sun visor hanging off it's hinges on his side.

Looking around the lot once again Sam leaned over, kissing his cheek, smiling at him, Bucky's throat tightened, smiling back and squeezing his fists so tight he felt his nails digging into the skin of his palms.

Sam asked more about his work, how long he'd been doing it, why he did it, Bucky tried to be as brief as possible, needed the cash, his dad had a shop in Brooklyn, taught him everything. He talked about his bike, how he'd never have it if he hadn't done his work in car shops, he'd got it free, a broken piece of shit, and been able to fix it up in his off time, took a few seasons, took a load of work, and a fortune of parts he found around the shop.

He, adorably, expressed concern that Bucky would injure himself doing "That Shit" and Bucky had to let him down gently, tell him that of course he's hurt himself, asking where he thought those scars, the deep brown burn marks and little white etchings, on his hands were from. Sam nearly popped a blood vessel.

"You prefer that shit to piano?"

"Course' not." He shrugged.

"Well your hands are pretty fucking important for piano, and it seems like you don't care."

Bucky suddenly felt a shock of deja vu, sitting in a car with his mother, unable to escape the conversation as she went on and on about something that didn't matter, the argument ending as soon as they left the car, at the same moment he realised they were not going to Bucky's place, Sam hadn't even asked his address, he never noticed, they were headed to Sam's apartment.

Bucky rolled his eyes, "My hands are fine Sam, I'll give you a handjob later n' prove it. What I do for a living doesn't concern you, hasn't killed me yet."

"Oh my god." He sighed, glancing to the side, trying to be stern, "What about the helmet? Hmm? What's that for?"

"Like I said, purely aesthetics, please, Sammy, drop it."

He huffed, stopping at a red light and turning his head to look properly at Bucky.

"Why do you care?"

"Cause' those handjobs are great, I don't want you to die an' I never get 'em again." Sam pouted, hiding a smile, "You're careful though, right?"

He had an unbearably sincere look in his eyes, his hand coming down to squeeze Bucky's thigh. The light changed, everyone behind him already filling the air with incessant honking, Sam didn't waver, his head inching upward, brows creasing, a silent plead.

"Yes." He nodded, covering Sam's hand with his own, hoping he'd keep it there, Sam grinned and turned back to the road, laughing a little as he checked his rearview mirror and drove forward, moving both hands to grip the wheel tight.

Bucky couldn't think what the passengers behind them might be doing through the mirror, couldn't take his eyes off Sam. He started thinking then, if it was true, if he was careful.

It felt strange, to question it, but he'd just never been asked before.

He'd grown up around the shop, around his dad always complaining about injuries he got from it, around him always joking, half joking, warning, about getting trapped under a truck, about his friend who lost a finger under an engine, about his friend who lost a son to a car accident.

He'd grown up in the wrong body, around his dad who was always telling him he'd be better off staying normal, around him always joking, half joking, warning, about not letting him continue his transition, about all those kids who died from AIDs, about what his father would have done if he'd tried what Bucky had.

He'd grown up on borrowed time.

He dreamed and he hoped and he pushed for a better life doing what he loved, but it had become a noise in the background he never noticed anymore, the voice that told him he wouldn't grow old. Pain hummed under his skin, death breathed down his neck, blood rushed through his veins like he was already bleeding out.

He wasn't suicidal, not anymore, not since he got the surgery and moved out and met Natasha and Clint, but he definitely hadn't learnt how to fear death either, how to be careful with his life.

He breathed deeply, happy Sam kept such a hard gaze on the road, he stopped himself, looking out the window to watch figures whizz past instead of touching that thought, instead of exploring the idea of growing old.

They arrived at Sam's building, "What happened to taking me to my place to get my gear?" Bucky smirked at him, not moving to get out the car.

"We can do it in the morning, save gas." Sam didn't meet his eye.

"Woulda' packed a toothbrush if I'd known you were planning a sleepover." He coughed a laugh, turning to get out and move toward the door before Sam could see the red in his cheeks, but something in the way he stepped up beside him, something in that little curl of his lips, told Bucky he'd seen it anyway.

It felt strangely domestic, Bucky dumped his bag by the door, cringing at how loud it echoed around him, he turned to see Sam taking off his jacket, dropping his keys onto the side table, Bucky watched, suddenly awkward, now was usually the part when he started taking off his belt, this didn't feel like the time, didn't feel usual.

Sam saved him, a little, smiling at him like everything was normal, and closed the space between them, he held Bucky's face between his hands, not kissing him, not pressing his body to Bucky's, just- looking. His eyes skimming across his face.

"What?" It came out as a whisper.

Sam caught himself, breathing in, his thumb brushing across his cheekbone before he dropped his hands down to Bucky's shoulder instead, shaking his head a little, "You hungry?"

Bucky's chest squeezed, his ribs growing too small for a moment, he nodded silently, not checking with his body, just saying the right answer. Sam's smile grew impossibly bigger, nodding back before he made his way through the kitchen.

Bucky had a stone in his throat, why did he want to run away?

After a short conversation they settled on a pizza Sam had in his freezer, Bucky leaned against the counter behind him, they stood close together as it cooked, the light from the oven glowing against Sam's skin, they talked about school, about the work Bucky had to do, he assured Sam he could do it another time.

Sam asked him if it was okay that he'd taken him here, laying out the words, getting strict permission instead of dancing around it, he asked if he wanted to stay the night and Bucky shocked himself when he said yes and felt no hesitation, when he teased Sam about it, a fluttery feeling in his stomach.

As awkward as it all was, as open and raw and burning as he felt around Sam, he sort of ached for it, missed him on the rare nights he spent at home, alone and itching to text him. He still thought about him too often, pictured himself bending over the desk that sat square in the centre of Sam's lecture hall, pictured Sam under him as he bent Steve over in his dorm room, pictured him curling into Sam's side on his couch at his and Clint's apartment, falling asleep on him while they watched a movie.

He wanted the domesticity like you want to go back on a rollercoaster, fingers tingling from squeezing the handle and throat raw from screaming, heart racing as you wait in line to go again.

They ate still leaning against the counters because Sam still didn't have any dining area. In fact he still didn't have a lot of furniture, he explained that he'd been living with his sister before moving out to D.C. the year prior, having to start from scratch, then not having the funds or care to move all the furniture he'd acquired up to New York. So, here, he wasn't acting that fast about furnishing the apartment.

Boxes were piled in the corners of every room, a bookshelf in the kitchen laid empty, hooks on the wall with nothing to hang. Bucky wondered where he kept the awards he'd won, Sam said he spent too much time on campus to care what the place looked like, then he turned, watching Bucky take in the room, and he suddenly looked embarrassed, Bucky laughed him off, telling him his place didn't look so much better.

The night ghosted by, they watched TV, or Sam watched TV while Bucky was on his phone, completely ignorant to what was playing but his eyes on Sam often enough to know it was good.

Eventually, when they both grew bored of what they were doing, their attention stayed on each other, Bucky felt like a teenager, sprawled out on the sofa making out until he had to sit back to gasp for air, his hand inching down to Sam's belt as he sucked hickeys onto his neck.

It was all so light, Sam stopped him, smiling, laughter whispered between them as they moved to the bedroom, he turned on the bedside light, guiding Bucky to lie on his back and crawling up him, watching him again, not kissing, not moving his hands anywhere, just committing Bucky's flushed face to memory.

It was sweet, not a second when their lips weren't on each other, their teeth clicking together, giggling and breathing into each others mouths, tomato and garlic, tongue tasting the sweat on his neck, their hands were soft, warm on each other.

It was slow, when Sam finally pushed in, Bucky felt a weight come off his chest, Sam stilled for a moment, teeth scraping against his neck lightly, hands shaking, one arm around Bucky's head, fingers carding through his hair, the other around his leg, holding it up to hit that perfect angle.

It was like a blanket, Sam moving impossibly slow, each thrust deliberate, hard but still gentle. Bucky cried, real trembling tears, gasping into Sam's mouth, he felt so full, so warm and wanted.

It was too much, too intimate, too raw.

He thought his chest might have broken open, Bucky looked down between them expecting to see his ribs spread open, to see Sam holding his heart in his hands like a baby bird he found on the sidewalk, he looked down and saw Sam filling him up, his fingers pressing into the skin of his thigh, bending him in half, their skin melting together.

The orange glow from the light flooding in at the rhythm Sam set, like flashing lights at a nightclub, stammering the movement. Sam moved his mouth to Bucky's ear, whispering sweet words, tooth rotting, heart aching murmur's.

"So perfect," "You're so good for me," "Made for me." "You're perfect." "Who do you belong to?"

It shocked him, went through him, hit his ears and vibrated along his bones. Too much. Too intimate.

"I'm yours." He breathed, head crushed into the pillow with the strength of Sam's kiss, he moved faster then, cursing and moaning into his skin, Bucky laced his arms around Sam's waist, nails digging into the skin of his back as he came, every muscle squeezing, pulling him closer, closer, not close enough, he felt everywhere they weren't touching, his skin burning against open air, he wished Sam wasn't wearing a condom wished he could cum inside him, stay there and make it stick.

He couldn't get enough air in his lungs, Sam moving away, his head buried into Bucky's shoulder, his full weight now on top of him, Bucky breathed deeply, head dizzy, eyes blurry, he felt tears tracks going cold against his temples, sweat drying on his skin. He felt Sam's heartbeat against his chest, focusing on it, hands flat against his back, he breathed into him.

Sam lifted his head, trailing kisses up his neck, across his jaw, the softest, prettiest kiss against his lips, moaning into it. When Sam pulled back Bucky heard himself whining, he smiled down at him, it seemed like he'd figured it out, whatever he'd been looking for all night, he'd found it, Bucky's skin hummed, he wanted to figure it out too.

Sam cleaned them up, Bucky unable to sit up if he tried, head still spinning, when he was finished he clicked the light off and pulled the covers over them, whispering for him to turn on his side before he settled in behind Bucky, pressing his lips to the back of Bucky's neck, his breath tickling. Bucky put his hands over the one Sam had on his stomach, the other around his neck squeezing his shoulder, he felt a shift, literally, as he turned back on his back, Sam tucking his chin on his shoulder, the ghost of a smile as he kissed him with his eyes shut tight, but also mentally.

Suddenly all the too much, too open, too intimate felt right...

He shut his eyes and felt Sam against him, his fingers inching down to Sam's wrist to feel his pulse, felt his coiled hair scratching against his jaw, the weight of his arm across him, the warmth of his breath over his chest. He committed it all to memory, letting himself feel it all and enjoy it, he fell asleep imagining feeling this way forever, he fell asleep imagining a future of warmth and a beating heart.

☆

Bucky had a breakfast date with Nat, Sam happily accepting to get to campus a good hour before he had to be there so he could make it. Bucky felt like a kid showing off, letting Sam snoop around his apartment as he got changed and found his motorcycle jacket. It was a thick vintage one he'd been gifted by an old co-worker who clearly didn't realise how much they could have gotten for it online, it was a deep black leather and had brown fur lining the collar, he'd stopped using it during the summer after leaving it at the shop too often, it could get too thick and warm and felt awful on his skin when he sweat.

Sam stepped into his room while he was looking for his helmet, he felt shy, rushing to kick some dirty laundry under the bed and arrange the pillows to look neater on his bed, his eyes skimming the room for anything else, Sam only smiled at him, turning to look at the walls, it looked pretty much like a teenagers room, the walls sparse with posters with creased corners for movies he didn't even enjoy that much and blupolaroid's of his friends, a single painting hung up, an Italian landscape piece he'd clung on to from childhood. Shelves filled with trinkets and a few books, a framed photo of his mother and sister together from before she got sick.

Other than the delicately placed and poised items, there was a lot of mess, clothes on the ground and on the chair at his desk, empty bottles and crisp packets abandoned on the nightstand, the wardrobe now a waterfall of fabric after his hunt for his jacket. He mumbled out some excuses and apologies, picked up his helmet, sleek black, and he motioned for Sam to get the hell out of here, wishing he could read his mind and know what he was thinking, his lips curling and his eyes narrowing at every little thing around the apartment.

They drove to campus, the sun still low on the horizon, and Bucky stiffened in his seat as they rolled up to where he'd left his bike. He'd worried a little, in the back of his mind, that something might happen, that he'd come back and find it stolen or clamped or with the tyres slashed or something. What they found was worse.

"Is that Romanoff?"

Bucky sunk into his seat, his hands dragging down his face, she'd never shut up about this. She proved him right already, smirking at him through the windshield as they parked, sending a little wave.

"Oh God." He groaned.

"You guys are friends, right?" Sam looked a little alarmed, brows creased together.

"Yeah." He breathed, looking over at Sam and realising their reactions weren't matched, "She knows." He reached over clutching Sam's thigh, as if to prove his point, the way she stood at his bike she'd be at the perfect angle to see the movement, she made no effort to interrupt them, pretending to look at her phone.

Sam's lips pursed, "Right."

Bucky bit his lip. It wasn't a secret exactly, the same way what him and Steve did wasn't a secret, Bucky told his friends, talked about it, used it as an explanation for why he was always busy. But it certainly wasn't everyone's business. They didn't want it in the rumour mill. He only told people who he knew had better things to do than blab about it to the whole University. They hadn't even broached the topic of how the University would feel about it, because then that would mean broaching the topic of what exactly it was, this relationship.

"Why are you upset then?" Only a second had passed but Sam obviously noticed the tenseness in Bucky's shoulders.

"She's just gonna' be... so annoying about this." He mocked her voice, a high pitched, "Walk of shame, huh, Barnes?"

Clearly he was leaning a little too loud because a sharp knock on the window shook his notice from Sam's pretty laugh, a mean frown on her face as she leant over to look in the window. He rolled her eyes, looking back to him.

"Well, unfortunately I got work to do Barnes, so I'm throwing you to the wolves." He smirked, and it looked annoyingly similar to Nat's.

"Oh, so that excuse counts now, does it?"

Sam only laughed at him, nodding and glancing back to where she stood, only seeing her crossed arms he leaned over to kiss him, just a peck on the cheek, they'd kissed all morning and Bucky felt his chest squeeze, wanting to know if it was him or the setting that made Sam hold back, but he just smiled instead, gathering his things and stepping out the car, his voice coming out high and sweet as he said goodbye.

Nat looked smug as fuck, like she'd just won the lottery but her winnings were just torturing her best friend. He huffed, sucking his cheeks.

"Stop." He held up a finger.

"These are different clothes to yesterday." She looked him up and down, frowning.

"Figure that one out." He watched Sam as he pulled out, parking on the other side, smiling at him openly since the lot was empty. He flicked at Nat, watching with a grimace, and hopped on his bike, waiting for her to climb on behind him and driving out in the direction of the diner, they could have walked but he wanted to tease Sam, he didn't miss his gaze following them as he walked across the tarmac toward the main building.

Natasha pried and prodded for answers and juicy details but Bucky didn't feel inclined to share them, keeping it mysterious, of course, he wanted her to know, wanted her opinion, her advice, but all those words buzzed under his skin and he was scared if they started coming out he'd never get them to stop. He did not want to confess anything terribly vulnerable after she already had something to hold over his head for at least a week.

He kept it to himself, deciding he'd only let the rawness and softness leak out under extreme circumstance, like the next time Sam was deep inside him and asked who he belonged to.

He still needed to figure out what that guys problem was.

 

Chapter 6: five "worrying about your little world falling apart"

Summary:

bucky and steve attend a party and bucky ends up sleeping with a lesbian. an homage to being in the bathroom while your drunk. "Dancing in the Dark" by Bruce Springsteen.

Bucky watched the ceiling, his skin tingled, car headlights leaking in through the window and dancing above him, his phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen adding to the glow, he mumbled to Steve, lying beside him with his eyes shut, hands laying on his chest and sweat drying on his skin, he hummed and reached over, picking up Bucky's phone and passing it to him, his eyes were blurry, he blinked against the bright screen.

NatRom: u busy?

He responded quickly.

luckybucky: no

NatRom: maria's hosting her friends bday party but she's scared not enough people will show come n bring drinks n look nice.. pls..

Bucky had to search his brain for a moment to remember who Maria was, he found a pretty brunette, she was on the same course as Yelena and last time he saw her she was hanging off Natasha's neck outside a club with heavy lids. Bucky smiled to himself and typed his reply.

luckybucky: can steve come

NatRom: yess!! bring anyonr pls just no sam sorryyy

He could tell she was typing fast, panicked, and laughed a little. She hadn't talked much about Maria but he wasn't surprised, Natasha liked to keep things private, Bucky hadn't even known about Yelena until a year into their friendship and she lived with Nat, so he suspected, of course, that however she felt about Maria was just serious enough for her to keep it to herself, he suspected, that tonight might be a good way to find out first hand, or at least get drunk and get out of Steve's humid dorm room.

So, they got ready, fixed their mussed hair and cleaned cum off each other, Bucky found an old flannel of his amongst Steve's clothes and stole it back, slipping it on over his t-shirt, Steve agreed to go easily, a lot of Bucky's friends had become Steve's, Natasha being one, his course was full of people who took themselves too seriously and he'd always kept himself as an extension of Bucky, always falling into whatever friend groups Bucky made, he'd even learnt Steve did the same thing with Peggy.

Natasha had sent the address and they decided on taking a cab, it was only a short drive, they ducked into a corner store by Maria's place and picked up a couple bottles, Natasha welcomed them at the door to the apartment building, explaining that the buzzer didn't work and then grumbling about how annoying that would be as they trekked up the stairs.

Maria was, in fact, prettier than he'd remembered, but he'd be sure to tease Nat later about how similar she looked to him with that brown choppy shoulder length hair. Her and Natasha looked nice together, both dressed up a lot more than him and Steve, Maria had grey pinstripe slacks on and a matching waistcoat, a lacy bralette peaking out from underneath, she looked like she'd been rushed off her feet all day, hair stuck to her forehead with sweat and trainers discarded beside her as she slipped on some heels.

Natasha wore a short leopard print dress and red heels that would be abandoned by the door in an hour if Bucky could guess,  her lipstick matched her heels, glossy, it would also be gone by the end of the night, judging by the red smudge on Maria's neck, her hair fell down over her shoulders in big tight curls that bounced every time she moved her head. She looked beautiful, happy, she threw her hands around herself in a way that told him they'd been pregaming for quite some time, Bucky envied how carefree she was with her affection, leaning heavily against Maria.

They rattled off a list of names and relations, degrees people were studying for, who to look out for and who to avoid, vague descriptions of friends of friends, Bucky still wasn't sure who the birthday girl was until around two hours after he'd arrived. Everyone crowded around the dining table, already full of half empty liquor bottles and untouched snacks, they sang a terrible rendition of "Happy Birthday" as Maria carried out a cake that would end up smushed into her carpet.

She had a big smile, that was all he could remember about her, oh and that she clung to Maria, they hugged for about a million years as everyone dug into the cake, Natasha kept her cool, it was less surprising when the birthday girl broke their hug and moved on to crush Natasha in a similar one, even less when they landed on the couch, tangling in a mess of tongues and hands, not that Bucky watched.

He was too busy watching Steve in his own tangle, a brunette he almost mistook for Peggy was pinned between Steve and the wall, he had his hand up her skirt and his tongue down her throat.

When that started making him feel sick, he moved back to the buffet, the cake made his stomach churn so he picked through the bottles, trying to find something that wasn't utterly terrible, coming up unlucky he poured a heavy shot of vodka and definitely not enough mixer, he watched the party from there as he took the first few sips.

It was a nice apartment, open plan, the dining table sat between the kitchen and the living room, a hallway next to the front door leading to the bathroom and bedroom. It was bigger than he expected, he made a note to ask how the fuck Maria got her hands on this place at his next breakfast date with Nat. There were string lights all over the place, a multicoloured strobe light in the corner of the kitchen, a puddle of something that had to be radioactive by the fridge.

The place was full, everyone had a long weekend for fall break so they were all light and free, Bucky couldn't remember a single name, there were clusters of 20 somethings flirting and fighting and fucking everywhere he looked.

Bucky downed the rest of his drink, pouring another, realising very quickly that he'd have to be a lot drunker if he was going to stay here any longer. He turned to join the make shift dance-floor, coming into contact with Steve's heaving chest.

"Oh God, dude, I'm so glad you brought me here!" He giggled, shouting into his ear, hot and sticky against his skin, he stood beside him and threw his arm around Bucky's shoulders, tight.

"Ew dude, I don't know where those fingers have been, get them out of my face." He shouted back.

Steve only laughed, gripping Bucky's face and shoving his fingers in his mouth, just for a second but still long enough to make Bucky sweat. "You saw that? Nah, we just made out. She's in my culture class, I think she's just trying to set a record man, she was on me like you on an old man!" He laughed, that stupid, drunk laugh that meant he thought he was the funniest person on the planet.

"Jesus, dude."

"Is that his name? I thought it was Sammy, baby." He was looking down at him straight on now, holding Bucky's face between his hands, a shit eating grin on his face as he mock moaned the name.

Bucky felt the alcohol buzzing in his head, felt a smile curl at his lips, one time he'd said Sam's name in bed with Steve, one time versus the million times Steve had said Peggy's. He rolled his eyes, swatting Steve's hands away, scoffing a laugh at him.

Steve got so touchy when he was drunk, it always made Bucky's skin itch, he never knew how to feel about it, he felt all the time's Nat had called him closeted whispering down his neck, and he felt all the times he'd seen Steve and Peggy together replaying behind his eyelids, and he felt incredibly, horribly, conflicted. He wanted Steve to slap him and fuck him all in one breath.

He pushed him farther back, shaking his head, gripping his drink, and he stumbled over to the crowd of people dancing, he could barely register what was playing, Steve followed him, close behind him.

He breathed out, breathed into the crowd, felt hands on him, skin against his, Bucky didn't check whose, lived in the lie, in the omission of truth, he slid his eyes shut and let the vibrations of the music take him, breathing into the hands under his shirt, into the chest against his back, into the hardness grinding into his ass.

He took one last absent minded sip from his drink before letting it drop to the ground, a hand sliding down his front to toy with the waistband of his jeans, lips hot and sticky against his skin, trailing up his neck, he reached back to pull at his hair, his brow creasing when he found short, straight strands, his fingers easily carding through.

He sighed into him, into the man he refused to recognise, he lived in the lie, Bucky squeezed his hand, turning his head with his eyes squeezed shut to kiss him as he urged the strangers fingers into his underwear. Teeth clicking, he took the hint, he smiled into the kiss and Bucky had to pretend he didn't recognise that smile blind, that he didn't know who it was by the shape of the teeth under his tongue.

The man slipped his hand down further, running his middle finger through the wet heat of Bucky and bringing it up to toy with his dick. It was wrong, Bucky laughed through the kiss at how wrong he was doing it, he recognised that too, the clumsy movement, he hadn't ever done this, not with a man, not with a man like Bucky, but in felt good like electric heat in his veins anyway.

The music and the alcohol and the scent of sweat that wasn't his coursed through him, he was swimming, he was falling, he was barely dancing but he felt it. He felt the rhythm of the man he didn't recognise. He even, almost, felt a little desire from him, the soft lips against his, the moans swapped between them.

The stranger squeezed his hip with his free hand, pulling him back harder to get friction against his own cock, neglected, he felt it throbbing through both their jeans. He gasped into Bucky's mouth, biting at his jaw, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.

It shocked him, the movement, the tickle, how overwhelming it all became too quickly, Bucky's eyes shot open, blue eyes staring back, his brows twisting up, eyelids heavy, he watched Bucky carefully, one hand moving from his hip to his stomach, covering it completely under his shirt, warm, his other moving from where it had slowed on his dick, he pulled it out and brought it up to Bucky's lips, ice blue iris' changing colour in time with the strobe lights, tracking the movement.

Steve shoved his fingers into Bucky's mouth for the second time that night and this time all Bucky could do was moan, the taste of him was sweet and sweaty, he could taste the dirt under Steve's nails.

Steve spun him around, ripping his fingers out, and pulling Bucky's chest tight to his, an embarrassing whine in the air before he crushed him in another kiss, Steve groaning into his throat, all but growling when Bucky tugged at his hair again.

Bucky wished that it would turn sour, hoped that he would be able to look back at this with regret, prayed for shame, but he couldn't find it, pleasure tingled in his bones, a smile stuck to his lips, a laugh trapped in his chest, he felt so good.

The crowd pressed tight, someone tripping behind Bucky, landing against his back and pulling on his shirt, he had to stop himself from yelling at them, breaking the kiss to turn and catch them, dragging them back to their feet, Steve giggling in his ear, hands steady on Bucky's hips.

The strangers apology sounded fuzzy, Bucky already looking back to Steve, they didn't make any move to continue the kiss, the music had changed, faster now. The moment had passed. Bucky grinned back at him, his eyes darting down to Steve's gloriously visible boner, a weight against Bucky's hip through his jeans.

He leaned over, a mumbled question in his ear and Steve, through that never ending laugh, sweeter now, more endearing, shook his head, he brought his hands to Bucky's shoulders, moving in time with the music, shouting something about dancing.

So, that's what they did, for minutes or for hours or for days, they danced, less grinding but still swapping spit whenever they swayed too close, they made friends with the group of girls beside them, shoulders brushing and fingers slipping under fabric as they moved freely.

Eventually, Bucky's thighs started cramping and he noticed how desperately he needed to piss, he whispered to Steve before swapping obnoxiously loud goodbyes with the girls and stumbling to the bathroom, he sat on the toilet too long, the room spinning as he stared at the wall, until a fist was banging at the door and he was forced to rush out, someone leaking vomit on the floor behind him.

He lazily fiddled with his belt as he walked back to the kitchen, the smell of vomit had sobered him slightly but his head still felt too heavy so he took a moment to lean against the countertop, thinking about drinking some water but mostly just watching the people passing by, he noticed buzzing in his pocket but knew his fingers would feel to fat to navigate his phone right now.

He was really seriously thinking about turning to get a glass of water now when someone distracted him, a guy a few inches taller than him, pale skin and dark eyes, a shaved head and a wicked grin. He slid along the counter next to him, standing so close Bucky had to cross his arms over his chest so he wouldn't touch his dick on accident.

"Hey." He shouted over the noise, his hand leaning against the marble behind him, "You want any?" He leaned close, his voice pitched lower.

Bucky hummed, bored, he whispered back "Any what?" He looked the man up and down, not trying to hide anything when they lingered on the hickey bruising his neck.

He chewed his lip, a laugh light on his lips, like they were flirting, "What's your poison? I got whatever you need, baby. Snow, E, a blowjob?" He stayed close this time, looking into Bucky's eye, teasing, breathing into his mouth.

Bucky considered him, tilting his head, but he could taste cheese on the guys breath and needed to step back, artificial cheese too, total boner killer. He shook his head, attempting to turn him down politely, and turned to get that glass of water. The guy glanced around behind him, trying hard to be nonchalant, he leaned in again, he'd sweat through his shirt and it was now sticking to Bucky's arm.

"I'll give you a discount." He grinned, "Buy an ounce 'n I'll throw in the BJ for free,"

"I'm good, man." He turned, his hand over the top of his cup, and raked his eyes across the crowd in front of him, he couldn't find Steve or Nat in the mess of bodies, not even Maria or those girls he'd been dancing with. 

"You're good, huh?" He pressed even closer.

Bucky was considering punching him.

His stomach churned, the water burning down his throat, "I'm good." 

The guy licked his teeth, "Really?" He grimaced, "You don't understand what's going on here. Do you?"

Bucky was considering punching him.

"Bucky!" A melodic voice fell over the kitchen, a delicate hand gripping his elbow tight and dragging him away.

He sighed, relief washing over him as he watched the bouncy red curls in front of him, he didn't spare a glance back to the dealer, his legs feeling made of jelly as he followed her down the hallway.

To the bedroom. He frowned, he may have blurred a few lines tonight but this was not one he felt comfortable with, as much as he did love Natasha, it was purely platonic, not Steve platonic, real, true, capital p, Platonic.

He was relieved once again to find a small group of attendees splayed on the floor in a circle, a blunt passed between them, they were hissed at as they stepped in, shutting the door quickly and pushing a rolled up towel against the bottom of it. He stepped over carefully, there was a very different atmosphere in here, slower, softer music playing, a few soft orange lamps around and a string of pink light around the head board of the bed, lighting up the birthday girl, star fishing asleep on top of the plush duvet. Maria sat surrounded by her goods, rolling up the next blunt, Natasha pointed around the circle, reminding him of everyone's names, before gracelessly sitting down beside Maria. They weren't all strangers, Hobie, Gwen and Miles were huddling together, their backs against the bed, they barely shot a wave up at him, their eyes glued to Gwen's phone between them.

Steve grinned up at him between two girls, they looked disappointed when Steve pet a spot beside him and whispered that he'd missed him. The circle didn't expand when he came in so, similar to Nat and Maria, Bucky had to squeeze in close to Steve, he crossed his legs, one knee resting against Steve's thigh, and pressed their shoulders together as he explained the skinhead debacle, quietly, just between the two of them.

Steve listened with a frown, offering to go out and deal with him but Bucky only laughed and shook his head, "I don't know enough people here to send you out to deal with a guy offering free coke and blowjobs."

His frown deepened but he put on a little pout to show his amusement, "What's that supposed to mean?" He nudged his shoulder.

Bucky rolled his eyes, taking the blunt being passed to him with a smile, he took a drag, eyes heavy on Steve whose lip curled fondly, he exhaled into his face and passed it to him, "It means I know you love coke and blowjobs, and I don't want you to abandon me for one from that guy."

"Aw Buck, you wouldn't be abandoned! We're right here." He wondered when they'd stop pretending they weren't listening, Nat's eyes glistening from the other side of the circle.

He looked back at her through his lashes, "I know! But, Stevie's my emotional support animal."

Steve stayed quiet beside him as she grinned, he should have known this was coming, "What does Mr. Wilson have to say about that?" She tilted her head.

He rolled his eyes again, glancing back at Steve to make sure he was smiling before he proceeded, "Oh, Sammy's happy with the arrangement, he has been begging for joint custody though."

He laughed as Steve brought his hand up to cover Bucky's face, "Oh my God, dude."

Bucky pulled at his wrist, whispering "I'm kidding!" Dragging the word out, wrestling his hand away, he noticed Hobie moving, leaning over to whisper something to Nat, he should know by now that drunk Nat hadn't ever heard of discretion.

"Oh, he doesn't just have a crush on him, they're fucking."

"You're fuckin' our professor?"

He felt every set of red eyeballs in the room landing on him, even the birthday girl had woken up at some point, staring at him, hard.

Bucky shrugged, alcohol helping his fear turn into a teasing coy look.

"How long?" He asked, the magical phone forgotten about, Gwen hogging the blunt now, everyone zoned in on Bucky.

"Since- Well, technically, the day before the year started." He fidgeted with his fingers, picking at his cuticles, eyes strictly on Hobie's.

"How?"

He shrugged again, "Grindr."

Hobie grimaced, looking to Natasha who, thankfully, had that air around her, nodding like it was obvious, like it was fine. Because it was fine. It was.

Steve squeezed his hip, and Bucky felt like he was on the dance floor again, breathing in sharply as he turned to him, "It's going good, right?"

Bucky hesitated, feeling loose, drawn out, "Yeah, we hook up, he's helping me with my course work... It's cool." He feels ridiculous, not in full control of his body as he shrugs on every word.

"That's it?" Nat drawled. Fuck. "What about the little sleepover?" It turned out she could hold it over him a lot longer than a week.

He narrowed his eyes at her, still coming up with a response other than fuck off  when Steve cut in, "A sleepover doesn't mean anything."

Bucky breathed an exactly but it was overshadowed by Hobie cackling, "As if you're the authority!"

He frowned, Steve wasn't that well acquainted with the Spiders, had no reason to find it funny, "What's that supposed to mean?" It sounded a lot darker than before.

Hobie had that you know look, his eyes flicking between them, Bucky looked to Nat's for a saviour but she had none to offer, she watched the floor. Hobie laughed, shrugging, "Steve. You're a straight boy doing friend with benefits with a trans man, and you're the bottom."

Hm.

Bucky wasn't stealth, truthfully, he wasn't not stealth either, he just didn't care to explain either way, honestly he forgot sometimes, hadn't even thought about it when he was considering that blowjob. That being said, he wanted to knock Hobie on his ass. He didn't care if he was trans too, if there was kind of a point, hidden in there, he didn't really care that everyone was gasping and directing their pointed fingers at Hobie and not Steve. It didn't matter, because now Steve was frowning, he'd tensed up, he was inching away from Bucky, and now this night was totally fucking ruined, the rubber band that they'd been stretching all night had finally snapped and Bucky's cheeks were red from the force.

He stood, resisted the urge to kick Hobie in his big head, and left, stepping into the bathroom and sitting on the lid of the toilet, the room was still spinning. He crossed his arms over his knees and laid his head between them, shutting his eyes.

Time sort of stopped, or sped up maybe, he was only focused on his breathing, the feeling of the ground under his shoes, the feeling of his socks around his feet, the shirt that hung off him, his hair falling forward.

The door clicked, he didn't have to look up to know it was Natasha, her footsteps silent and her perfume loud and flowery, her jewellery jingling together as she sat down in front of him.

"D'you know how gross this floor probably is?" He muffled into his sleeve.

"Ah, this dress isn't mine anyway." She laid her hands on his back, "You okay?"

"Was leaving the worst thing I possibly could have done there?" He lifted his head slightly to peek at her.

Her eyes were soft, her curls frizzy and looser, her smile small, knowing, "No, Steve still hadn't said a word when I left, that is worse."

His brow creased upward, a frown breaking, it was all too much, he was too drunk and not drunk enough, the room was still spinning. Like magic, Natasha pulled out a bottle from behind her, he couldn't read the label, the big Russian text across it, but he recognised it, the clear liquid had been responsible for every black out mistake him and Nat had ever made, she grinned at him, shaking it slightly in his direction.

He took it from her and drank down some too bug gulps, it burnt at his throat, he was still frowning when he passed it back, "How do you do it?" He whispered.

She covered his hand with hers, "Do what?"

"Be normal about relationships?" He turned it to lock their fingers.

"Hm, Bucky, I am not I fear." She grimaced, taking a swig, only making a face at the thought, the liquid going down like water, "I've been looking at engagement rings." She didn't meet his eye.

He coughed a laugh, "What?"

"Oh come on, you've seen her! Everybody looks at Maria like they want to eat her and I want to be the only one allowed to do that!" She shuffled closer, gripping the neck of the bottle like a lifeline.

"What about- uh- the birthday girl."

"Well, she looks at both of us that way." She shrugged, raising her brows as she took another drink.

He sighed, "You look normal to everyone else."

"I try very hard." She passed it back to him.

"You make it look easy."

"Nothing is easy, Barnes." She spoke softly, her words like a hug, "Do you wish Steve was gay?"

"No." He breathed, a little surprised at how fast he'd been able to answer. "He'd be a terrible boyfriend, he is to Peggy."

"But Peggy isn't you."

He frowned, "No, she's the woman he'll marry, even if he's gay or straight or fuckin' celibate."

"You're upset about that?"

"No." He smiled, rubbing his thumb in circles over her hand, "The earth spins and the birds sing and Steve gets with Peggy. Can't change it."

Nat dropped her head to his lap, watching the wall, "What about Sam?"

"There's nothing about Sam."

She squeezed his leg, "I think that weed was laced with something evil, I swear I will not use it against you. Tell me about Sam."

He tried, but it really was difficult to say no to her, especially with the liquor in his throat.

"He's too sweet." She scoffed, "He's making it, like, impossible to keep it all separate."

His fingers carded through her hair, they drained the bottle as they talked, Bucky finally explaining everything, hoping she'd forget to goriest details by Tuesday. It had been killing him to keep it from her, the words spilled out onto the sticky bathroom floor, how open and warm he felt around Sam, that if he was normal about this then he might say something like they were going steady, or that he thought he was falling for Sam. But he isn't so it wasn't and he wouldn't.

He did still keep a couple things to himself, like all the times he'd jerked off to the picture on Sam's Wikipedia page since that sleepover, like all the times he'd told Sam he belonged to him, like all the times he really, really felt like that was true.

He talked about his mother. That little nagging feeling in the back of his mind finally making its debut, they'd moved to the bathtub, drawing the curtain and facing each other, their knees knocking, he hiccupped through the words as Nat squeezed his hands, that little feeling, like Sam must be perfect because his mother loved him, even if she didn't know him, even if there were a few million other people who loved him back then, that thought clawed at him whenever he thought about him too long. Silly words like fate and destiny, silly feelings like love. 

They both had to hold their breaths, the sob story interrupted by another attendee barging in, they held their hands over their mouths, trying not to look at each other so they would't burst out laughing as the stranger on the other side of the curtain pissed. Nat let out a tiny little snort when they heard Tiktoks playing from their phone, luckily the person was too focused or wasted to notice, they left without washing their hands so Bucky and Nat could finally laugh until their ribs hurt. 

Soon enough, Nat was convincing him to text Sam, she was scandalised to find out they'd only ever sent each other "U up?" texts, barring the one "Hello this is Bucky" text from when they first exchanged numbers. 

She then decided a text wasn't enough, it had to be a photo, she took his phone, and in a slurred voice commanded, "Look sexy." 

He laughed, a little hysterically, furrowing his brow. Nat rolled her eyes and tugged at the flannel he was wearing, throwing it on the floor and then shoving his t-shirt up, tastefully of course, like it had just ridden up while he lounged in a girl's bathtub, she adjusted the empty bottle in his lap and momentarily Bucky wondered why Nat was so good at this, the bottle looked a little phallic and the way her eyes lit up, that was her plan. She snapped far too many pictures, moving all around from across the tub, getting every angle, chewing on her lip in concentration. 

"Can I do something incredibly inappropriate?" She deadpanned.

He shrugged, nodding, "Have you ever considered being a photographer?" 

She hummed, holding the phone in one hand and shaking her head, her curls falling fluffy over her shoulders, and then she, casual as could be of course, rested her hand over Bucky's crotch, pursing her lips as she shot it, her red nails scratching at his waistband. She sighed, taking it away and sitting back to look at the photos, grinning away at them.

Bucky laughed, a little sound of disbelief before surging forward to take back his phone, all was forgiven, he looked hot as shit.

They giggled, pressing together as Nat shifted over to lie against Bucky's side, selecting the perfect photos to send off, Bucky already felt the hungover regret but decided he deserved this. Shockingly, as he thought about it, he actually rarely made terrible decisions, he was allowed to make a few. It was past 4am so after around two minutes of waiting with bated breath, staring at the text thread, they shut the phone off and Nat assured him it was fine if he didn't respond right away. 

Natasha talked about Maria for a while after that, it turns out they'd been seeing each other, going steady, falling for each other, since the start of the summer break, way before that first time Bucky even saw Maria. She was on Yelena's course but she was a few years older than even Nat, she'd been in training to become an accountant but after a dramatic series of events that Bucky struggled to follow, she decided she wanted to live, not just make money.

 Bucky's spine was crushed against the ceramic, he was pretty sure there was a bottle of soap digging into his thigh, and he kept getting mouthfuls of chemical saturated hair, but he was happy, at peace, the sounds of the party dying down on the other side of the door, no one else bothering them, the weight of Nat on top of him stopped him from spinning out, her deep raspy voice lulled him to sleep, the liquor made his skin warm.

The band had snapped. The careful and practised dynamic between him and Steve had faltered. Bucky didn't know where they stood, if the way Hobie had laid out their situation had been too much for Steve, had sobered him to the reality of it. Bucky had known, had felt that what they did was okay for experimenting teenagers but it had become ridiculous too long ago, he mostly knew that because any time it was brought up, his friends assured him of it. He knew that was wrong too. 

He knew he loved Steve. Whatever that meant for them. He didn't know who he would be if Steve wasn't his best friend, if Steve didn't love him, who he'd have become if they'd never met or what he might do if they never spoke again. He prayed for the Bucky who didn't have his Steve, wherever he might be.

 

Notes:

this chapter literally took a million years i need to learn how to stick to my notes.. i was literally just thinking hmm steve doesnt play any part in this chapter maybe i should include him more blacked out and woke up to 5k words about him HELLO???? anyways...

Chapter 7: six "we could steal time, just for one day"

Summary:

sam has a cure and a sob story, bucky has a broken fuckin spine. "Heroes" by David Bowie.

Bucky wakes violently, tensing up and gasping, the toilet flushing loud beside him, he groans, his spine surely crumbled to dust at the bottom of the tub under his and Natasha's weight, the curtain rips open, Maria looking down with a laugh of shock.

"And here I thought I'd get to sleep with my girlfriend at my place after the party I threw..." He rested her hands on her hips, she was still wearing the dress pants from the night before, the zipper undone and showing off a lacy pair of underwear that matched the bralette, the waistcoat nowhere to be seen.

"Morning Maria." He grumbled, shoving Nat's shoulder lightly, she was big, he was suddenly realising, all that hidden muscle was laid over him, pressing into his wounded liver and digging right into his bladder. 

Natasha grumbled, waking up, rubbing at her eyes, and looking up to Maria, she was sort of bathed in light, the small window directly behind her head, her soft smile down on both of them, "Hey baby." She frowned down at Bucky, leaning up on her elbows, ignoring his gasp of pain as they pierced into his ribs. "Wanna' help me out?"

Maria nodded, leaning down to take her hand, Bucky leaned back, shutting his eyes, partially against the sunlight now shining directly in his eyes and partially for their dignity, Natasha's skirt riding up her thighs. "Wait! Did Sam ever text you back?"

He huffed, his bones still creaking, he looked back at them, unable to muster anything better than a glare, Natasha clung to Maria's side grinning, Maria tugging at the hem of her dress, he whimpered as he moved to find his phone, under his thigh, the screen covered in marks, he suddenly remembered how much of that bottle had ended up spilt over them. 

S.W.: Don't send shit like this while I'm asleep now It's 8am and I've got a boner :( 

S.W.: I know a really good hangover cure btw 

S.W.: Come over. 

The time stamps showed fifteen minutes between each text, Bucky bit down on his lips, he hurt too much to let himself smile, "It didn't work." He mumbled.

"What? Does he think I'm competition?" She asked, a cocky lilt to her voice that told him she hoped that was it.

"No, but you wanted us to like, text like normal people right? It just ended up being another you up thing." He sighed, handing the phone to her before trying to peel himself out of the tub.

"Are you competition?" Maria spoke quietly, looking over Nat's shoulder, her eyes wide on that photo.

Nat giggled, her hand grazing Maria's jaw, kissing her on the cheek and turning back to Bucky, "This isn't a you up text Bucky-Boy." 

He stretched against the sink, cracks popping all down from his spine to his toes, "Right, its a come over text, same difference." He shrugged, wincing at the crick in his neck.

She rolled her eyes, "Hangover cure? He's too old for that to just mean his dick, He's saying come over so he can look after you, Buck." She shoved the phone against his chest, grinning like she'd won the lottery, "Have fun!" She spun, pulling Maria with her, who smiled back and repeated the phrase,

He sighed, looking down at the text, at the photos, his cheeks were red in them, his eyes shiny, he looked up at himself. How come he looked so much older in the mirror? He breathed in deeply, texting back, it had only been an hour since his last text, he hoped the offer still stood. He pissed and washed his face, considered going home to shower and change and then realised the last thing he wanted to do any time soon was have sex, so he chanced it.

B.B.: it better not just be ur dick...

He ambled out the bathroom, ignoring the sounds from Maria's bedroom, ignoring Steve asleep on the sofa, a pretty blonde curled up beside him, his hand in her shirt, ignoring the bile in his throat as he called a cab.

The band had snapped but it was okay because Sam had a cure. 

He had too much saliva in his mouth, he thought about ripping the cab drivers head off, maybe just screaming at him to drive in a straight fucking line and to avoid the fucking potholes, he gripped his seat belt tight, feeling sweat against the back of his neck. He didn't say anything as he paid and left the cab, breathing heavily, he slammed his thumb against the buzzer too many times, leaning over to the side of the doorway to spit, the saliva tasting like acid, he tried to straighten up, feeling lightheaded before spilling his guts onto the sidewalk, his nails scratched against the brick wall, his shoulder twisted as he gagged, his stomach tensing, his throat burning. He felt tears in his eyes, being able to stand just enough to rest his forehead on the wall, his breath was coming out too harshly, he was almost humming.

Everything outside of himself sounded fuzzy, "Bucky?" Like he was under water. 

Hands were on him, his shoulder his jaw, he looked up, blinking away the water in his lash line. Sam. His brows were twisted up, "Hey baby, you okay?" His keys were clutched in his hand, the metal cold against his cheek.

Sam started wiping his thumb against his chin, Bucky turned his head away, pushing him, "No, I'm sorry, the fuckin'- the driver was a fuckin' lunatic- please, s'gross." He stepped back, hand firm on the wall. 

He grabbed Bucky's shoulder, gently pulling him back, shaking his head, he swiped his mouth again, his fingers delicate on his face, holding him, Bucky shut his eyes against the feeling, the feeling of Sam bringing him closer, kissing his temple, hugging him tightly, one hand soft in his hair the other firm around his shoulders, the feeling of Sam's worn shirt, thin under his fingers, his warm chest breathing against his, the words, unintelligible but sweet, whispered in his ears.

Sam smiled at him, ushering him upstairs, it felt familiar, not like he was stumbling up to hookup with anyone, not like he was shyly moving around an unfurnished apartment, not like he needed to practise every step, it felt like coming home, it was improvised, it was imperfectly perfect.

Sam made him sit on the counter, declaring that he would actually get a dining table at some point, and handed him a jug of water and a few painkillers, he watched him carefully as Bucky chugged it down, he might say Sam looked fond if he didn't feel like hell, Sam took the empty jug and handed over a smaller cup, the liquid had a green hue, Bucky frowned back at him but he wasn't letting up. Pickle juice, he grimaced, downing it with his eyes squeezed shut. After that he offered some actual food, rummaging through his fridge with an apologetic lilt to the options he listed, Bucky almost tripped, darting to his side at the words leftover pasta. 

So now Sam was watching him eat cold pasta straight out the Tupperware at 9am and the pickle juice must have worked because the shine in his eyes really did seem fond, the curl of his lips really did seem sweet. 

They talked, words quiet and soft, Bucky described the party, let him know that Natasha was who he had to thank for the latest addition to his spank bank and for the violent hangover, that maybe Steve was to blame too but he didn't need to get into it, that Maria seemed nice, seemed like the one for Nat and he couldn't be happier for her. Sam described his night, grading assignments and falling asleep on the couch to Judge Judy reruns. They kept letting the silence settle, just smiling at each other, just feeling each others presence. 

When Bucky was finished his food Sam threw the dish into his sink and crowded him against the counter, his arms winding around Bucky's waist, he groaned, pushing him back slightly, "Ugh, don't, I'm sweatin' like a fuckin' pig." He kept his hand against Sam's chest to soften the blow.

"I'm makin' you nervous, Barnes?" All he got back was a glare, he rolled his eyes, "It's fine, Buck, it's good even, sweat the toxins out or whatever." He stayed an arm's length away.

"I shouldn't have come." Bucky breathed, biting down on his lip as he watched the wall behind Sam.

"What?"

His brows twisted up without his permission, he chewed at his cheeks to stop from frowning, "I shouldn't be here, I'm sweaty an' gross, an' tired, and fuckin' sore cause' Nat feels a lot bigger than she looks and a bathtub does not make a good bed." He squeezed his hands into fists, holding them against his eyes like that might make it all go away.

"Buck," He'd never heard his own name sound so soft, "You're fine, it's fine, hey." Sam held his forearms, pulling them away gently. 

"You didn't invite me over just to give me fuckin' pickle juice, Sam, it's not fine, it's stupid, I shouldn't have come." He forced the words out stern, his voice only wavering at the last words when he saw the teasing look in Sam's eyes.

"What'd I invite you over for then?" He sounded like he was in on some joke.

"Sex." Bucky shrugged, feeling water on his cheeks.

Sam made a stupid little buzzer sound, "Wrong."

"Fuck off."

"This is my place, baby, I will not fuck off, it's my apartment, the one that you are welcome to at any time, for any thing, you can come here for sex, sure, or to use the piano, or to talk, or to eat cold pasta and pickle juice," he smiled, turning even softer to say, "or for nothing at all."

Bucky's head tilted down to the floor, his hands back over his face, his fingers pressing into his eyes, he felt cracked open, the liquor still in his blood and the headache at the base of his skull were making him extra emotional and the added Sam of it all was just making his bones sing with feeling, his chest beat too fast, his ribs and lungs shifting out of place to prepare for the heart to come spilling out. He felt raw, he wanted it raw, wanted Sam in him and all over him and as far away from him as possible all at once.

"What do you want to be here for?" Sam whispered after a long stretch of silence.

Bucky breathed in, braving a look into Sam's eyes, his hands dropped to his sides, he raised his brows, a stone in his throat, "I just want you." He breathed out. He didn't wait for a response, stepping forward to fall into Sam's arms, big and warm and wrapping around him easily. 

He pushed his face into Sam's collarbone, his hands fisted into his shirt. Sam gasped into the feeling, holding him tight, tighter than he thought could ever be comfortable, like he was made to fit there, Sam kissed his hair, breathing against his scalp whispering again, always whispering those perfect little words, sweet sounds like, "You've got me, baby, my Bucky, I'm here, I'm here for you, always."

Words that made Bucky think of silly things like love.

"I'm sorry." Bucky mumbled against fabric, didn't really mean to, didn't know what for specifically, everything maybe, he used to do that all the time, back then, after his mother and before he gave up, before he realised he didn't care enough for people's expectations to apologise for not living up to them, he didn't put a second thought to the idea that maybe now he did care, he cared too much, maybe his biggest fear was letting Sam down, maybe he was remembering church, remembering the fear of God he'd had as a kid.

Sam didn't respond with words, he squeezed, he pulled back to hold Bucky's face in his hands, shaking his head in a tiny movement, and he kissed his forehead, his temple, his cheek, "You're perfect, you know that?" He spoke the words against his skin, they spread warmth along his cheekbone, seeped in through his skin and travelled along the grooves of his brain, rang in his ears.

They stood like that for a long time, melting into each other stood in the middle of Sam's ugly kitchen, holding and whispering and breathing. Eventually, they moved to the ugly living room, Sam yelled at his Alexa to play music with a please and thank you, they tangled together on the couch and Bucky remembered the sight of Steve, checked his phone, cursed at himself for it. They alternated between speaking quietly about University and music and parties and dozing off to sleep, feeling each other's heartbeat, tracing skin and scars. 

They ordered in food, and as he watched Sam tap at his phone Bucky really, actually, regarded his hands, noticed a dark line stretching from his wrist to the first knuckle of his thumb a few more around his wrist. When they were waiting for the food Bucky took Sam's hand in his, twisted it around, there were tiny etches all over, a line up the inside of his forearm. Sam noticed, Bucky wasn't trying for sneaky, he chewed his lip. 

Bucky looked up at him, too tired and too open to be sensitive, "And you told me to be careful." He traced a mark on Sam's skin and then a similar one on his, one he'd gotten from a co-worker with a blowtorch and no brain. 

"I tell you to be careful so you don't have to quit before you've even started." One side of his mouth pulled up in a smile, it didn't reach his eyes.

It clicked then, Bucky breathed out. Mt. Everest. 

"That's why you stopped? An injury?" He sat up, trying not to squeeze Sam's shaking fingers, he wondered that too then, if the tremors were linked.

Sam wouldn't meet his eye, "No." He watched their hands, closed both of his over Bucky's.

He needed to know.

"Why then?" 

The moment stretched, Sam's face flicking through with his thought process, his lips twisting to the side, his brows scrunching up until a line formed in the middle, the golden glow of a lamp shining in the water built on his lash line.

"Please," Bucky whispered, shifting closer, "What happened?" It felt like a memory he'd forgotten, like something he knew in his soul, in his subconscious, he just needed someone else to recount their version so he'd remember, "Why'd you disappear?"

Sam sighed, "My partner- my producer, he died." He met Bucky's eye then, finally. "He was drunk, and he wrapped his car around a tree and bled out with a branch through him and I couldn't move, and I couldn't call for help. Like I was there just to watch." He spoke like he'd detached himself from it, like he was testing Bucky, you really want to hear this? 

"Riley." Bucky remembered him, he'd died right before Sam's second world tour, he'd worked with everyone, he was one of the best, Sam was never mentioned in the media surrounding it, not once, not even as a friend. 

"Riley.." He confirmed, watching the wall, his eyes falling somewhere distant. "He'd have loved you."

Bucky was sure he stopped breathing for a moment at that, braved it, "How come you were never in the news about it?" He felt mean for it.

Sam shrugged, "I told them not to, they probably paid 'em off, made sure no one knew I was there."

"Was it a legal thing?"

He smiled, a sad thing, turned back to Bucky, "No. No, I wasn't driving and I was drunk too, no one else got injured so.. I was safe." He must have seen all the questions waiting to spill out of Bucky's mouth, must have been tired of hearing them, "I asked them not to because everyone was telling me I would be fine in a few months, I'd reschedule the tour, say I was just mourning, come back with a surprise single in memoriam, and continue as normal." He choked, his voice wobbling, "But I didn't do my PT and I ghosted my PR team and my manager and I stopped getting out of bed." He frowned, the kind that showed he was trying not to cry, "So they all dropped me and the tour was cancelled and everyone got refunded except me so I sold what I could and moved in with my sister." He breathed out, a tear sliding into the crease of his nostril.

Bucky wasn't good with grief, had hated everything people offered him when he was grieving and never learnt what worked, he stayed silent, bringing his hand up to wipe at the water, pulled him closer to kiss his jaw and held him there, trying to mirror all the warmth and comfort Sam had offered him this morning. 

"Don't worry, I'm over all the It should have been me shit," He sniffled, Bucky smiled against his cheek, "My sister smacked me upside the head so hard I saw white the first time I said that to her, so, yeah, I gave up on that idea quick." They laughed then, a watery sound.

"You ever get past the uh- Oh man, I gotta' text 'em about this thing?" He offered.

"Never." He scoffed, "I do still talk to him." Sam met his eyes, nervous, "He doesn't talk back though, I'm not going crazy... just yet."

Bucky didn't believe him, grinning, "Right." He let a moment pass before he laughed, kissing the corner of Sam's mouth.

The buzzer sounded then, snapping them out of the moment, Sam hit his thigh lightly and stood to get it, Bucky watched as he thanked the driver and took the food and went to get cutlery, he watched empty space when Sam left his eyeline. It was a distant, hard to reach memory, Riley's face, he was the kind of handsome that didn't need to be pointed out, blonde and built. Bucky couldn't help but twitch at what he meant by partner, he remembered the paparazzi photos, their big grins, clinging to each other stumbling out a club, sharing a cigarette outside the recording studio, standing too close, he remembered that clip of Sam winning his fourth Grammy, the shining eyes and soft smiles shared over a crowd of applause, the embrace on the stage when he won his fifth, that same night, hands creasing suits. He wondered how much of it he was making up in his head, how far he was spiralling, the tangy scent of the Chinese food wafting through from the kitchen, he wondered if Sam would find it strange if he walked through to find Bucky searching his name.

They ate, Sam talked more about Riley, yes, he loved him, no, they weren't dating, yes, he's been to therapy, no, it didn't work. Sam tells him he's never missed making music and winning award's because he knew he wouldn't be able to do it without him. It doesn't seem difficult for Sam to speak about, doesn't seem like he was holding it back because he couldn't admit it, more so, as the conversation stretches longer, that he doesn't like bothering people with it, that he didn't want Bucky to have to face it, and Bucky considers the idea, watching Sam chew his food slowly to stutter the conversation, if he wished he'd never asked, he doesn't, he's glad to know, he's glad to understand why his fingers will always hover above the keys, why he always keeps such a hard gaze on the road when he's driving, why he knows how to cure a hangover. He knows a little more about the man he's known forever, a little more about the man he might be falling for, a little more than the rest of the world. 

And that's all he wants. Sam. To know Sam. To have Sam. To understand Sam. To be able to know all of him before that silly word ever slips out his mouth. 

They're silent, the food finished, the music still playing, fading into the background, they're both sat back sinking into the couch cushions, both ate too quickly, too much, Bucky sucks in a big breath, "Have you ever been in love since?" He doesn't look at Sam directly, watches his reflection in the TV.

"I dunno', different kinds of love," He shrugs, noticing Bucky's frown, "My sister, she had a kid right after the accident, had another one two years later, I loved- I love them, I think I got to appreciate my sister a lot more too." Bucky nodded, smiling softly, not big enough, couldn't his disappointment, "Have you ever been in love?"

Bucky winces at the question, the difference, "Different kinds of love," He repeats, unable to admit that Sam's his first, Steve's name's on his tongue.

"I got no jealous exes to worry about then?" He shuffles closer, soft laughter between them as he pushed Bucky back, lying down between his legs, feeling too light on his chest.

"Oh no, plenty of those, jealous ex-hookups," He runs his thumbs over Sam's cheekbones, letting himself ride along the hope of this being the answer he was looking for.

"Hm, is that all you do? Hook up?" Sam presses a kiss to his sternum. 

"Yeah, it was all I needed before you came and messed me up." He whispered it, hoping Sam wouldn't feel his heart racing.

"Messed you up?" He pressed, doing that face like he knew everything.

"Now I want everything, all the time but only from you, I miss you when I blink, it's ridiculous, Wilson." Bucky squeezed his face, stubble against his palms, Sam grinned and pushed up, hands either side of his ribs, and pecked him, Bucky didn't have enough time to react and kiss back.

"Sounds like love." He whispered, trailing his kisses down to Bucky's neck, teeth grazing his jugular.

"Shut up." He groaned, his fingers carding over Sam's hair.

He pulled back, raising one hand to stroke his cheek, "You know I feel the same way," Another kiss, "All the time, an' only for you." He grinned.

There it was. The answer. The Mt. Everest. This guys problem. All wrapped up in one silly word. Love.

"Enough to let me get on top?" Sam's eyes widened, his brow furrowed, "My spine's not recovered from last night, I can't hold your weight much longer." Bucky squeezed his waist, a frantic but genuine smile on his face.

Sam laughed, carefully flipping them over, and rewarding himself by sliding a too cold hand down under the waistband of Bucky's jeans and groping his ass like a stress ball. It felt like a weight had been taken off his shoulders as well as his spine, the fear and uncertainty of what this was, while still hovering in the corner, wasn't screaming in his ears anymore, he breathed into Sam until their heartbeats matched, he buried his face into his neck and kissed until he'd marked his claim, he grinned against his skin and pulled his knee up between Sam's legs until he heard a delighted groan. 

And then they spent the rest of the long weekend like that, ordering food and pretending to watch movies, tangling and pushing and pulling and kissing until they couldn't feel their lips. Bucky played the piano a few times, trying not to get distracted, trying to focus on anything other than Sam's presence, Sam tried too, to leave him be, but something like pride or admiration swelled up and he needed to put his hands all over him, he needed to ruin piano forever for Bucky by jerking him off in his seat, needed to watch Bucky cum and then play one of his songs.

They moved between rooms, Bucky rode him in the living room with Judge Judy on behind them and Sam drilled him into the mattress in his bedroom with Judge Judy shouting through the walls. Bucky finally fulfilled a long time dream and got fucked against the wall in the shower, couldn't finish, told Sam to put him the fuck down and jerked him off while rolling out his shoulders and blinking water out his eyes. 

There were long stretches of silence between them too, just before they fell asleep or just after they'd wake up, while they ate, while they dressed, only once ruined by Bucky's phone ringing five times in a row, he shut it off and assured Sam it was nothing, kissing him until he forgot out it, he didn't turn his phone back on until Monday night, double checking his schedule, finally getting a tsunami of texts, okay sure, maybe disappearing for three days to fuck his- his professor wasn't his best idea. Natasha had texted a few times on the first day, a post that reminded her of him and then jabs about being too busy bouncing on it to text back, he sent a smiley face, hoping that was enough, of course it was. Steve, shockingly, had texted, just once, are we okay? Bucky decided to leave it, a headache for another day. Even Clint had chimed in, wondering if he could finally get a new roommate, rent the room out for more, he'd been real stingy recently and Bucky didn't put it past him to start selling his personal belongings, he typed back a stern I am still alive and still paying rent stay out of my room. He ignored the rest of the notifications, that birthday girl and Maria adding him on Instagram and more missed calls from his dad. 

It was late, Bucky had considered finally heading home, he had an early class the next day, wasn't sure if the cab would be cheaper tonight or in the morning, but every time he looked over at Sam, considering, preparing to ask, Sam would look back, smiling and kissing him absentmindedly before looking back to the movie they were watching, and Bucky found himself sinking deeper into his side, never wanting to leave it. So, he stayed the night.

They were tidying up to go to bed when it was finally brought up, already a strange act, the weekend was officially over, they weren't stumbling to bed at 3am with their jeans at their ankles tonight, they were folding the blankets and switching off the television and carrying their dishes through to the sink, it felt funny, maybe Bucky wanted to rustle feathers just to make it feel less domestic, maybe trying to pick a fight is what feels more like home than anything, if his parents had taught him anything.

"This isn't just sex anymore." He states, just to clarify, just in case Sam had changed his mind in between kissing Bucky and cooking him dinner.

He watches him for a second, "No."

"What about on campus? Your stupid little rule still in play?" He kept his hands busy, straightening pillows.

"Well, I never followed it before, why follow it now?" He brushed past Bucky with the popcorn bowl, the kernels sliding across the bottom, his mouth curled at one side.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, "You what?"

"Oh come on, you look hot when you concentrate, half the times I stood behind my desk it was cause' I had a raging hard on for you." He shrugged, shucking the leftovers into the bin and shoving the bowl in the sink, a headache for another day.

"Oh, I will remember that, Prof, 'specially when I go to the counsellor about this." He pinched his hip, sliding past him to throw some cans away.

"Jesus." He laughed, double taking like he wasn't sure if Bucky was kidding, the glint in his eyes answered the question. "Whatever, why'd you bring it up, hmm? Want to act on those fantasies, finally?" 

He hummed, yes, he stepped closer to Sam, crowding him against the counter, "Not yet, I dunno', s'just... Different." He looped his arms around Sam's neck, his hands coming to rest on Bucky's waist, "All my friends know," He rolled his eyes, "All of them, but, I don't think I want many other people knowin'. Don't want 'em to get the wrong idea." He shrugged, watching Sam's mouth.

"You want 'em to keep thinking you're doing better than them for your brain, not your dick." He smirked.

Bucky smacked his shoulder, "I want 'em to know that. Asshole." There was no heat, their hips pressed together.

"Okay, so we keep it casual on campus..." Sam hesitated, "That mean's I can't kiss you, huh." 

"I'm getting deja vu." He rolled his eyes again, "Maybe just when we're in your office n' the doors shut." Bucky hadn't been in Sam's office, couldn't think of being alone with him in there wearing those stupid button ups without getting lightheaded, he only knew about it's existence from all the times Sam had cursed about not finding something, exasperated as he claimed he'd left it in there, he had an idea in his head but too many late nights alone in bed had turned the room dark, there was a couch deep enough to be a bed in there now, a desk with a soft top so Bucky's ass wouldn't go numb while he sat and got his dick sucked.

He focused his eyes back to Sam's, reminding himself where he was, shitty kitchen, Sam's arms, home- Sam's home that is.

"And when neither of us have better shit to be doing." Sam offered, sensible, Bucky wondered how good his eye sight was, if he'd ever get to see him kneeling between his thighs, lips shiny and a thin pair of glasses crooked on his nose.

"Sounds good."

Sam, maybe too sensible, said some shit about an early night but Bucky decided to finally live up to the boytoy idea and said fuck that, they laid together in bed for about five minutes before Bucky was pawing at the front of Sam's boxers and whispering in his ear about how bad he needed it, Sam, giving into the doting cougar role, only needed thirty seconds of that before he was giving, hard, like Bucky worried he'd be hobbling into class kind of hard. An hour later they were sweat stained and sticky and wrapped up together dozing off, Bucky was grinning and just before sleep took over he heard Sam mumbling about driving him into school tomorrow. That night Bucky dreamt about his dad, strong arms and dark eyes, a broken beer bottle and a car wrapped around a tree. 

He tried to forget about it in the morning, watching the sun filter in over the planes of Sam's face, soft golden skin under his fingers, but the pictures stuck, and his dad kept calling.

 

Notes:

samriley sketches :P slight discrepency on the dates... cass was born after ri died... pay no mind i just could.. nawt think of anything else to write to imply rileys connection to the wilsons.. wtv wtv hope u enjoy :)
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its my birthday tomorrow teehee i will spend it writing the steve arc yippeee

Chapter 8: seven "he isn't always evil and he is not always wrong"

Summary:

everybody knows. stucky make up. thanksgiving! "The Stranger" by Billy Joel

The days start getting faster, shorter, better, before Bucky knows it it's November. It's all too good, maybe, but he tries not to focus on it, focuses on his degree, on Sam, on Natasha. It's all peaches and cream in those departments, he's acing every assignment, (even in classes Sam doesn't teach, a relief) and feeling better about his work every day, he feels more relaxed on campus, his status with Sam a little more concrete, a little less panic attack inducing. Bucky spends more time with Sam in that famed office, it's actually very simple, kind of boring same as his apartment, a few family photos and withering plants scattered around, they spend time in the practise rooms too, change their rules slightly one day after Bucky get's too frustrated with a composition and decides to pester Sam into getting a boner about it, they talk about an album. Sometimes Bucky just sits opposite Sam in his office, studying while he responds to emails, the shared silence over the room like a blanket.

Bucky spends too much time at Sam's place, his motorbike is looking a little neglected, covered in red leaves outside his apartment, Sam had been driving him into campus a lot, they'd started sharing clothes, eating lunch together, it was getting dangerous.

Like really dangerous, like Bucky couldn't keep his hands off Sam in the hallways dangerous, like Sam kept asking to see Bucky after class and ignoring other students dangerous, like Natasha was having to fend off rumours about them dangerous, like the incident.

It was mid-November, Bucky only had an afternoon class that day and had been studying at his apartment all morning, he hadn't been planning to see Sam until after his lecture, hadn't been planning to see him standing by his car in the staff parking lot looking like the happiest man on earth laughing into his phone, the screen pressed against his cheek as his head tipped back, he hadn't planned to drive his bike over to him, hop off, and nearly jump his fucking bones in front of God and everyone.

Bucky didn't really know what came over him, he'd missed him maybe, in the thirteen hours since he left Sam's place, but he saw that smile and felt that twinge in his chest, and his hands moved before his brain and he just needed to kiss him, to wrap his arms around Sam's shoulders and kiss his neck and feel his pulse under his tongue, he didn't want to actually disturb the call, he was just hoping Sam would react in some way, maybe whine a little like he did and then say something sweet about Bucky while he excused himself and hung up, he wanted whoever was on the other end to know he had his hands on Sam and they didn't. Instead all he got was a "Ugh, gotta' go, text me how it goes." before he hung up and pinched Bucky's hip, smiling big and mean as he said "That was my sister... again, Barnes, are you making this a habit?".

A habit, because Sam was still holding that other thing over him, when Bucky went huffy because he wouldn't stop laughing long enough to tell him who Sarah was after he texted her all through a movie Bucky had been asking to watch together. A habit.

So, people knew.

It also turned out there were a few people from that party with no loyalty, and when a few people say something it only takes a few days for everyone at their University to know, or to know a variation of the truth at least. Bucky and Sam hadn't heard much directly, thank fuck, but Nat had heard it all, she had been conspiring with Yelena, Maria and Hobie (who had apologised and officially now owed Bucky) for a few weeks before she compiled their findings and spilled every rumour about the pair to Bucky over breakfast one morning.

It was ridiculous, some people had taken a more delicate approach, claiming Bucky was some kind of nepo baby and Sam was a family friend helping him graduate, some claimed they had just gotten along really well through the University but Sam had already signed Bucky to his label -apparently they weren't even doing cursory google searches, does Sam Wilson own a record label? No!- many, of course were saying the inevitable, shit like Bucky sucked Professor Wilson's dick in the practise rooms the first day of the year in a calculated and precise move to keep Sam under his thumb, or his tongue, long enough to graduate top of his class. Some claimed Sam was the calculated one, took his teasing looks and eye rolls as a control thing, said shit like Wilson made him suck his dick on day one. Bucky wondered how difficult it would be to track down whoever came up with that one and throw him off a building, wondered if they'd use that to further the story.

He didn't repeat the details back to Sam, gave him the general explanation, they're surrounded by idiots, and said some shit about maybe I did us a favour kissing you up and down in the parking lot, straightened them stories out a little, maybe it didn't help them with the rumours at all, maybe there was a little fire in Bucky's chest at the idea that at least they knew that, in some way, Sam was his, but Bucky wouldn't say that out loud of course.

The few weeks after the incident were a little weird, truthfully, people were watching them both, like all the time, Bucky thought he might be acting a little paranoid about the whole thing until he was walking through the music department with Nat and she shoved him around a corner they weren't supposed to turn, whispering that she had seen Sam up ahead talking to Danvers and that she kinda' really doesn't have time for that right now. She clarified later that she was happy he was happy and all that shit but just wanted to finish the story she was telling without everyone around them zoning in on whatever might happen if Professor Student Fucker and Nepotism Barnes bumped into each other. She then clarified that no, she didn't come up with those names herself.

Bucky tried to be upset about it, he thought about it all, long and hard until he got a headache, he went through all those rumours and names and tried to make a list in his head of all the reasons he should end things with Sam, he wrote out a pros and cons list one morning in the diner waiting for Nat, he had to use both sides of the page for both columns, he tried, he really, really, tried to be smart about this, to put his degree and his career and his social life first, but ultimately Sam had won.

He took a handful of painkillers and slept off that headache and he tore up that list and he chose Sam.

He figured since everyone was talking about how young he was he could believe them and spend his youth making shitty decisions for his degree and his career and his social life, it's not like great sex was the worst thing he could be doing.

But, as it turned out, while he couldn't bring himself to be upset about the Sam of it all, there were still plenty other things to give him headaches. Like the Steve of it all.

☆

A week or so after the party Steve had texted Bucky a grand total of thirteen times, things like im not stupid bucky, what hobie said wasn't a shock to me. and idk why you're mad. and can we talk? Bucky hadn't taken much convincing, he'd felt out of sorts at actually ignoring Steve, he was mostly letting him stew to teach him a lesson, something about the way Sam had snuck in and kissed Bucky right on his big stupid heart had changed the way he thought about it all.

Steve had been messing him around for years, using Bucky, they touched and kissed and fucked and it was getting stupid.

Bucky kind of wished he could just, get drunk at home with Clint, watch Sex in the City with him until they passed out on the couch, he sort of wished he was drunk every night, every time he thought of Steve, but as it turned out, he never had the time, or Clint never had the time. It was really annoying.

So Bucky texted him back, they met up at his and Nat's breakfast place and they talked. Bucky assured Steve he wasn't mad, he was pissed off, he was a little confused, he was trying to be... careful. He never mentioned Sam, made a point of it, didn't want to complicate things further, acted oblivious to any hints Steve made.

Steve explained his reaction to what Hobie had said, that it wasn't apprehension to what him and Bucky were, but that he hadn't known... anything... about Hobie, hadn't known he was gay or trans, had thought Hobie was acting on "Some kind of phobia!" and wasn't sure how to react to it, if he was allowed to fight back or if correcting everyone yelling at Hobie for outing him would come across wrong.

Bucky had just ended up laughing at Steve for a few minutes, had said it would have been a lot easier to just come out in that little sing-song tone he used that would get him a eye roll and a smile.

Maybe they didn't talk for long enough, but they were happy, and they enjoyed being around each other again, and Bucky kept thinking of Steve's fingers in his mouth, and Clint was out, busy again. They went back to Bucky's apartment and it felt like going home, Bucky fucked Steve in his bed, felt Steve's hands on his back and in his hair, kissed him hard like his life depended on it, he watched Steve's eyes roll back as he came all over their stomachs and then-

Then Steve smiled up at Bucky, a giddy glint in his eyes, he flipped them over, shimmied the harness down Bucky's thighs, he looked a little nervous then, placing a quick kiss to his hipbone and silently asking permission, Bucky nodded without thinking, his lips parted in shock, before Steve finally touched him. Steve sucked a mark into Bucky's neck as he made him cum on his fingers, it was just like on that dance floor, it was so much better than on that dance floor, it was a little clumsy, messy, rushed, it was perfect.

Steve was grinning and laughing quietly as they laid together after, their shoulders bumping together, Bucky turned, his lips curling and his brows twisted together, and Steve only looked back, biting down on his lip to dampen his smile.

It was so stupid and his chest felt so light and his head was so empty all he could do was laugh back at him.

They cackled until their cheeks hurt and their ribs ached and then they kept laughing until they heard keys in the lock. They were lectured for thirty minutes with sweat stained sheets pulled up to their chins, and after Clint left, they laughed some more.

It was nice, Bucky wouldn't have minded it becoming a regular thing, Steve making him cum like that, with fervour, with a smile, it doesn't. It never happens again. They fall back into their old usual, the stumbling to his dorm and the kissing like it means nothing and the coy little look at his backpack. The sex that means nothing and everything.

☆

Bucky focused on his degree, on Sam, on Natasha, he focuses on not thinking about Steve unless he's with him, easier that way.

It's a lot, the days are too short and he has too much to do, he ends up glad that Sam insists on giving him lifts everywhere on the rare occasion he has to fill his gas tank, he enjoys the nights he spends with Sam doing nothing, he revels in sleeping eight hours a night and waking up with no reason to get out of a warm bed, he stops buying cigarettes.

He doesn't realise how close the end of the month is until he's at Sam's place one night, Billy Joel playing over the speaker, a book in Sam's hand while Bucky lays against him, and Sam asks about Thanksgiving.

He had been resting his eyes, his fingers curled into the fabric on Sam's sweatshirt and focusing on the hand rubbing circles on his back, "What?" He mumbled against Sam's chest.

"What do you do for Thanksgiving? Your families on Brooklyn, right?" Sam stopped pretending to read, folding the corner of the page and dropping the book to the floor beside him, both his hands now on Bucky, holding him like he'd slip away.

"How'd you know that?" He whispered it, his mind a little foggier than he'd realised, he wiped at his eyes.

"You said your dad has a car shop in Brookyln." Sam poked his cheek.

Bucky huffed, shifting to prop his chin up on Sam's chest, "That's all you're gettin'" He frowned.

"Oh, come on." He ran his fingers through Bucky's hair, a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth, "You're not gonna tell me how you spend the beautiful, sacred holiday of Thanksgiving?"

Bucky sighed, mirroring the smile, "My mom's Italian."

He gasped, "I didn't know that, explains a lot. So, you don't celebrate with her, what about your dad?" He traced Bucky's cheekbone with his thumb.

He shivered, tucked his chin down, feeling the soft fabric against his lips, he shrugged, "Nat's hosted something for it the past few years."

Sam laughed at the muffled sound, "Isn't she.. not American?"

"Russian." Bucky felt tired, "We just spend all day together eatin' too much food n' drinkin' too much, she likes to cook n' I didn't wanna' spend it alone, n' then Clint an' his sister started coming, even Steve an' Peggy joined us last year."

Sam hummed, letting the silence sit for a minute before he spoke again, "You're good at not talking about yourself, huh? You ever consider the CIA if the piano shit doesn't work out?" He pulled at Bucky's chin gently, forcing their eyes to meet.

"I'm not telling Professor Student Fucker about how much I hate my dad, Sammy, issa' bad look." He raised his brows, tilting his head, still in Sam's grasp.

The side of his mouth pulled up for a second before he pursed his lips, looking at the wall to regain his composure, "Understandable." He nodded, looking back at Bucky's unchanging face and rolling his eyes, "Okay, what about your mom, how Italian are we talking, and are you an only child cause' I can't pin you down on either side." There was a deep line between his brows, Bucky wanted to reach out and smooth it down under his thumb, tell him to forget about it and go to sleep.

He didn't. He thought about Riley. He sat up. He breathed in.

"My mom died ten years ago. I have a sister, she's eight years younger than me and went to live with my mom's sister in Indiana after it happened so, I don't know her well enough to talk about her." He breathed out, "And- My mom was born near Florence and married an alcoholic from Brooklyn, she's very Italian." He shrugged.

Now, it was Sam's turn to take a deep breath in, "I'm sorry." He whispered, taking Bucky's hand into his.

"S'okay. Unless your music had secret death rays in it. She loved you." He watched their fingers twined together in his lap.

Bucky was still terrible with grief.

They didn't speak for a bit, maybe Bucky had scared him into silence with the accusation, he didn't mind if he had.

"Thanksgiving is a stupid holiday anyways, I don't mind the little Russian-Italian-orphan- party me n' Nat got goin' on." He said after too long.

Sam shut his eyes and scrunched his mouth like he was trying not to laugh, shoving Bucky's shoulder as he shook head, "Really?"

"Yeah, what do you do for it? Bet it's boring." He shoved him back.

"I spend it in Louisiana with my sister and her family, we fish, we cook and then we cook again the day after for the whole block." He smiled.

"Sounds terrible." Bucky pushed Sam back down, resuming their places to see if he could get away with napping out of this conversation.

"Oh yeah?"

"Hm, yeah, you should just stay here n' spend it with me." He had really been enjoying that nap, really wanted to go back to napping, wanted to spend Thanksgiving here, with Sam, on this couch, napping.

"You think they'll accept me into your orphan party?"

Bucky was not conscious enough to decide if he was happy about the accidental invite.

He shrugged, nuzzling further into Sam's side, Bucky's nose tucked under his armpit, "I dunno'." He mumbled, his heart was racing, his eyes squeezed tight.

Sam laughed, said he'd think about it, and at the lack of response from Bucky he picked his book back up.

Neither of them brought it up again, and when the holiday rolled around Bucky spent it with the closest thing he had to a family, his friends. Peggy came again this year, her smile warm and her hand clasped in Steve's the whole night, Clint and Kate spent most of the day with Laura's family but they made an appearance after dinner, Kate sneaking off with Yelena and Clint packing Tupperware with pie no one could eat and avoiding Nat's glare.

After the parade and after too many glasses of pink wine, Bucky slipped out onto the fire escape and video called Sam, the sun sparkled in his eyes, his skin was shiny and golden, his grin was too big like his face was about to split in half and there were children laughing and yelling in the background. Bucky stayed outside for a while after they hung up, he thought about texting his sister, remembered the year she ate so much turkey she laid flat on the floor for three hours. Eventually Nat came out with a blanket and two beers, she hugged his side and wrapped them both up, they didn't speak, didn't need to, just watched the city under them and kept each other company.

Bucky couldn't say the words I missed you when Sam got back but something in the way Sam kissed him said he knew anyway. He was glad that night, that Steve was back with Peggy, that even just to himself, he could hide behind the idea that he'd only missed the sex, he cried into Sam's mouth when he came.

Notes:

this is kind of a clean-up chapter.. my chapter layout is getting messy bare with me... oh also im scottish dont @ me if the thanksgiving vibes are off...

Chapter 9: eight "I know I could have loved you but you would not let me"

Summary:

truth spills out and bucky is understood. "Silver Springs" by Fleetwood Mac.

Notes:

a little pic for this chapter… time for the greatest reveal of all time.. i’m really bad at drawing men and at fanart… enjoy!
pinterest

Exclusivity is a funny thing.

Bucky once went to a concert for a band he swore made the best music ever known to man and he bought a tour t-shirt for $30 even though he only had $10 in his account, he'd heard someone say something about that being the last batch and figured he needed something to remember this day by, other than blurry photos, that he needed proof he was a real fan, an og fan, when they got big. They never got big. Their next album was shit and Bucky just... stopped listening to them, found better music, got over that feeling that he knew them, that he had to stay faithful to them. But he still has that t-shirt, it's kind of ugly and he never wears it around other people, but he has it, he got one of the last ones ever made, it makes him feels a part of a club even if he never goes to the meetings anymore.

Exclusivity.

Bucky was starting to realise he liked to run away from his issues.

It was just so much easier not to talk about things. Him and Steve never talked, they exchanged pleasantries, they asked how their degrees were going, they asked is this good through heavy panting, and that was it. They'd barely even talked when Peggy had dumped Steve, Bucky wondered if they'd only gotten back together for the holidays, he never voiced the question though.

Sometimes Bucky wonders if he even enjoys the sex with Steve, finds himself thinking about other things during it, piano mostly, an assignment waiting for him at home, Sam, he wonders if it's like those last few months he was listening to that band, never registering the sounds, just never getting around to taking the songs out his regular playlist. He wonders if that band would have cared to know such a big fan had fizzled to a background listener, if they'd have been upset he didn't like their music anymore or just been happy their music was being streamed.

But, he keeps quiet, it's easier that way and he's always enjoyed background noise anyway.

He doesn't talk much to Sam either, relatively, they talk all the time, they talk about piano, about an album, about Riley and family and even about something very close to love, they talk after classes, and on the way to Sam's place and while they cook and eat and fuck, then they lay in bed together and Bucky thinks about all the things they aren't talking about, wonders if Sam's thinking the same thing. He started getting nightmares where his mouth was sewn shut sometime in mid-November, he has to touch his lips every morning just to make sure it wasn't real.

He thinks about exclusivity, wonders if he's the ugly t-shirt or the person whispering about the last batch to up the sales.

He keeps quiet.

☆

The world works in mysterious ways sometimes.

It's early December, the sky is white and the air is cold but Steve's skin is hot.

He's laying at the top of his bed, leaning up on his elbows to watch Bucky, a breathy smile on his lips, his eyes fluttering, Steve grabs to pull him into a fierce kiss as he grinds down onto Bucky's fingers, his hands tight in Bucky's hair as he peppers more kisses along his jaw, teeth grazing his jugular.

Bucky moans into the air, feeling Steve's dick leaking between them, wishing he could get some friction on his own, he opens his eyes, moving his head to give more access for Steve's greedy mouth and to lay eyes on his harness. He notices, instead, too quickly, a jacket laid over the back of his desk chair, its a little brown leather one, cropped, familiar, Steve slips his hand down to jerk himself off, his knuckles grazing the front of Bucky's jeans, he curses, looking down at the mess between them, Steve's more than ready, looking up at Bucky with his brows twisted tight together.

Bucky laughs lightly, kissing his forehead and moving back to slip his jeans off, his eyes catch on the surface of the desk, there's makeup there, a little pink bag of toiletries scattered over papers and books, he frowns, looking down to fumble with his zipper and seeing a the bag shoved under the bed, they might not have been talking much but Bucky knew Steve, what he owned, what he liked, he didn't recognise this. He gave up with his jeans, hearing Steve's breath catch behind him as he leant down to drag the bag out, a leather duffel bag with an "I ♡ London" charm hanging off the strap and a lilac night shirt falling out the top of it.

Steve was behind him quick, looking down at where Bucky was glaring daggers, he kneeled on the edge of the bed, his dick hard and red against his stomach.

"Bucky?" He was breathless, Steve's fingers grazed his arm and Bucky snatched it away without looking.

"You're with her?" He asked, his voice too low and too fragile, staring at the pretty clothes inside the bag.

Steve hesitated, pulling at the sheets to cover himself, "Uh- She stayed over last night- She's busy, though, she won't be back for hours."

"Jesus, Steve." Bucky sighed, biting his tongue so he wouldn't try curse his entire bloodline, he shook his head and squeezed his hands into fists, not meeting Steve's pleading eyes as he slipped his shirt over his head and shoved his boots on without doing the laces, he let out another "Jesus" when he saw the ugly tour t-shirt on the floor beside his backpack, Steve must have taken it accidentally that day after their party, had probably stretched out the fabric, probably didn't even recognise the band.

He huffed, leaving it where it was, crumpled next to the laundry basket, and walked out.

He drives to Nat's place without thinking, doesn't know what to think, doesn't know what he's supposed to do, but last time he ran Natasha had ran after him and it went okay, he's too relieved when she swings open her apartment door with a grin.

Feels bad when it falls, when she frowns at him and asks him what's wrong and all he can say is, "Steve is with Peggy."

He was right, to go to Nat, she chases Yelena out the living room and offers him food and alcohol and makes him tea when he declines and sits them down on the plush couch and she... listens.

Bucky talks until his throat dries out and then he talks some more, and she just sits and listens and Bucky knew he shouldn't be surprised when she just understands so easily, but he was anyway, found himself over explaining some parts, defending himself when he didn't need to. 

Natasha is too good he realises, too kind to him and too observant and too understanding and too warm to the man who barged in on her Saturday night. Too soft, too open.

At some point he started crying, her hands on his jaw and her thumbs wiping at the beads of tears on his cheeks before he notices them. There's a stone in his throat and she tells him its okay, he can cry, he doesn't have to say it all at once, she's here all night, so he stops speaking and sobs into her shoulder for a while, the fabric of her shirt turning a darker black, her fingers twisting in his hair and her breath falling softly over his back.

He loves Natasha he realises, he can't think of love without thinking of Steve but he thinks of her too, he thinks of love in red hair and that gentle, accented voice, in terrible vodka and in Vivaldi. He breathes easier with knowing it's easy with her. There's nothing hung on their friendship, they could stop talking tomorrow and all they'd miss is each other, they don't gain anything from their friendship, except the friendship.

He's not sure much of what he says is productive or that it makes any sense at all, but he gets out the main points, Steve was being kind of an asshole to Bucky, Bucky always wants more with Sam, Bucky is thinking of joining a nunnery.

Nat nods along, offering her little wisdoms, offering to go beat someone's ass, offering to hook him up with someone normal, to which Bucky accepts, declines and asks "Do I deserve normal?" respectively. She holds him, brings him into her bedroom when his wet rambling has been exhausted, and strokes his hair while they watch The Foreigner, their joint comfort film, inexplicably. Bucky settles in with his chin tucked over Natasha's shoulder, his arms tight around her waist to make sure she wouldn't slip away, her arms a warm weight around his neck reminding him she wouldn't.

Bucky doesn't fall asleep for a while after Nat does, his eyes puffy and his throat tight, he thinks about all the things he has finally said, thinks how lucky he is to have Natasha, thinks, maybe, he does like speaking and, maybe, a little bit, he's glad he noticed Peggy's things in Steve's dorm and actually, finally, left. The rubber band had stretched and stretched and this time it had snapped for good, fallen to the ground, the two frayed ends sparking like a live wire, it wasn't coming back, Steve might try, might get a new one and start pulling at him but it wouldn't work, it wouldn't be the same. Bucky watched Nat, the light's from her laptop perched on her lap danced across her face, her shoulders rising and falling gently with her breath, she didn't expect anything from him, didn't bring up how he was when he was 18 or 16 or 7, didn't have that look like she knows his secrets, she does, of course, she knows everything, but it's like they don't matter, like even if he didn't have those secret's she'd still love him all the same. Bucky fell asleep figuring if he joined a nunnery Nat would have to come too, and then he'd have to spend all his days watching her look hotter than him in a habit, and that sounded just a little worse than dealing with men. 

☆

Bucky spends the next few days holed up in his own bedroom for once, he fills half a journal with lyrics and compositions, he keeps up on his work, finishes up a few assignments and essays, finally watches some movies he's been meaning to check out, burns out his retinas by staring at a screen for eight hours straight to watch a series he didn't care about, forgets to eat until he's sick with hunger a few times, he's had better weekends, but he's had worse ones too.

He has his phone switched permanently to Do Not Disturb, between Steve, Sam, and his dad his phone wouldn't stop ringing otherwise, he only picks it up to scroll aimlessly through Twitter, or to check Nat's texts, she promises to drop by with notes he missed from their shared classes and takeout, she sends an I love you text every so often, she says Steve is texting her too. 

He knows hiding out isn't helping anything, knows he'll have to deal with it at some point and missing his lecture's isn't making anything better, he swears on Sunday and Monday night that he'll wake up bright and early, eat breakfast and go to class, and on Monday and Tuesday morning he shuts off his alarm and stares at his wall until his classes finish. He just needs to think on it a little longer. All that talking with Nat made his jaw ache and his chest squeeze and he just needs to think on it a little longer. He wants to punch Steve until his cheek swells up and he want's to say that word to Sam until his tongue stops working and he just needs to think on it a little longer.

Unfortunately, Bucky isn't a lucky man.

It's Wednesday night, Clint is making them ramen, the instant kind but he's frying eggs to drop on top to make it feel fancy and so he won't feel guilty if his culinary student girlfriend asks what he's eating, Bucky is watching him, wearing sweats and a hoodie that are stained from last nights ramen, he feels like his skins too tight, Billy Joel is playing.

The buzzer doesn't sound before there's a banging on the door and they frown at each other, Clint tapped his ear like he wasn't sure if the alarm was going off and this was Lady H from No. 6 coming to chew them out again, Clint shrugs and shimmies the eggs in the pan while Bucky goes to answer the door.

He's a whirl of furrowed brows and bright eyes, "Where were you today?"

Bucky shrugs, "Here."

"You know now's a really shit time to start slacking off?" He pushes past, not sparing a glance at Clint.

"You know you can't just barge in like this?" Bucky shut the door, glaring at the back of his head.

"Fuck that, I need that assignment due today, an' I'm makin' sure you're not dead." He huffed, crossing his arms and standing too close, too tall, Bucky tilts his head up to look at him and can taste sugar on his breath.

"What's the verdict?" He speaks lowly, he knows he kind of looks like shit, greasy hair that's grown too long, his face is too oily and too dry all at once, his under eyes a deep purple, his cuticles are picked raw, he puffs out his chest a little.

"You look like shit."

Bucky shouldn't want to kiss Sam right now, he knows that, he's glad Clint scoffs behind him to distract him from how badly he does.

"Hey!" Clint shouts across the room, a spatula clutched in his hand and pointed at Sam like a weapon. "I'm startin' to think you got a thing for dickheads, Buck."

Sam holds the eye contact, eerily unfazed, Bucky's mouth curves at the corner and he looks over at Clint, "Really?" 

Clint raises his hands, grumbling a sorry but holding his gaze for a second longer, Bucky sends a minute nod to say thank you before Clint turns back to his food, making a show of taking out his hearing aid and placing it on the counter. 

"You are being kind of a dickhead, Prof." He shoves his hands in the pocket at the front of his hoodie, fidgeting with a wad of lint inside it as he tries to act nonchalant. He tries very hard and ignores that it's totally not working.

"Says you. Forget how to text back? Or attend class?" He raises his brows, taking a tiny step back.

"Maybe." He shrugs, maybe he's being too relaxed.

"Maybe, fuck off, man, what's going on?" He glances at Clint, swaying at the stove, like he is actually nervous about prying ears.

"It's not really the time, Sam, okay?" He breathes, Sam looks nice in his apartment, he's wearing a sweater that squeezes at his shoulder, a soft green under the warm light of his kitchen.

"Excuse me? It's exactly the time, Buck. You think you can just skip whenever you want? You can't even tell me what what you think is more important than your degree?"

"Yes, I do think that Sam, everyone thinks that, it's college not the damn supreme court. Give me some fuckin' time, take a hint, you don't own me, shit, Sam, learn to back off." He huffs.

Clint cleared his throat then, pointing to the steaming bowl of noodles on the counter before disappearing into his room with his own, his aid still lying out. Bucky took a deep breath in, the tension easing a little, he took a step back, his stomach upside down and the thought of eating making him sick, he looks back at Sam with a sigh.

Sam tracks Clint's movements, he grits his teeth as he looks back at Bucky, "I don't need to own you to care, Bucky." He tries to look soft but there's still anger in the set of his jaw.

"You don't need to care either."

Sam's brows pull together, stepping closer again, his hand raising to grip Bucky's chin firm but gentle, he tilts his head up to make clear eye contact, "I need you to be great at what you do, Buck. I care. That's not changing. I need to get you there, you just need to let me. You can't start slacking off, you can't start skipping and ignoring me, okay? You need time? I need that assignment. I need you to wake the fuck up." His grip tightens for a second before he lets go, pushing Bucky back with the force.

Bucky wishes he'd just pushed him to his knees.

He watches Sam too long, the air thick, his hands in tight fists. Bucky breathes out harshly, stepping past him to go into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and rummaging through the mess of his bed, papers scattered over the blankets and his laptop falling down the side, he trips over piles of dirty laundry as he rushes back out, a stack of papers creasing under his fingers, he shoves them into Sam's chest.

He takes them, his mouth twisting up as he skims over the pages, "Looks good."

Bucky rolls his eyes, "Will you leave now?"

When he looks back at Sam he's much closer, in his space, a hand on his cheek and Sam's mouth on his, he's smiling into the kiss, like he's proud, like he was just testing him, Bucky feel's sick.

Bucky pushes him back, Sam going easily, he stands straight, surprise in the twist of his brows.

"Leave, now." He blinks, not able to meet Sam's eyes.

"Will you tell me what's goin' on?" He sounds too soft.

"You can care about my degree all you want Sam, but not this."

"I already said, I care, you can't change that." He's whispering now, the assignment abandoned on the table and his hands hovering over Bucky's skin.

Bucky shrugs, "Just stop making it my problem, then." 

He laughs at that, a light sound, "Buck, please, I can't have my best player off sulking all week this close to finals. If you can't tell me what's wrong then you need to get over it now." He sighs, his face twitching, "I'm saying that as your lecturer." His voice is tight, "As.. Just Sam, I need you to talk to me, I want you to." His hand is warm on Bucky's arm.

"It's nothing to do with you, or school, or music." He takes Sam's hand into his, bridging the gap.

Sam squeezes his fingers, "I'm sorry to break it to you but I can talk about things that aren't about me, or school, or music." His mouth curves up at the side.

Bucky rolls his eyes, "It's about Steve." He says, hoping it will be the final straw for Sam to just drop it, he doesn't of course, Bucky ran out of luck the day he matched with The Falcon on Grindr, he just pulls Bucky closer, leans back against the table, watching him carefully.

"Is he the, uh, other dickhead, Clint mentioned?" Bucky nods, "Need me to do anything? What course is he on? I can plant weed on him or something." 

He should just stop looking at Sam, with how often he rolls his eyes, Bucky shakes his head, putting a hand over Sam's mouth to shut him up for a bit, he just wishes he could stop time and think about it just a little longer. "He's on a scholarship, he'll end up enlisting or something stupid like that if he gets kicked out." He whispers, "He might be annoying but I don't want him to die." 

"Good to know." He muffles with a wet breath against Bucky's palm, he might be kissing the skin there between trying to speak but it's hard to tell.

Bucky watches him, seeing how long the silence will be allowed to sit. It's just, Sam knows, about Steve, obviously, the Steve thing was one of the first real things he learnt about Bucky, second only to what he tasted like, but, back to perhaps Bucky's biggest issue, they hadn't really talked about him much since then. There was a joke, thrown into conversation sometimes, about a side piece, about the straight boy in Bucky's closet, about Steve. Bucky usually just laughed and kissed Sam until they'd forgotten what they were talking about. "Too busy with that little side piece, huh? Maybe you can come over after and I'll take care of you better than him."  Chalked up to the rambling's of a horny old man. Sometimes it was softer, sometimes Bucky imagined Sam was being genuine, jealousy or insecurity laced through the teasing, Bucky just kissed that thought away too, couldn't bring himself to believe Sam could feel that strongly about him in anyway and couldn't figure out how'd he'd feel about it if he did.

He doesn't know how to feel about much at all, he sort of wished it was all just about music, that this was just a tricky chorus he could ask Sam to fix for him.

"Steve was cheatin' on Peggy with me." He breathes, watching Sam's face carefully.

Sam's quiet for a long time, even after Bucky lets his hand fall away, wiping the spit on his joggers, Sam frowns, angry maybe, he doesn't say anything for too long and then finally, "What?" Confusion is definitely the winning emotion.

"He told me she'd dumped him, we were hooking up and... she'd been staying with him, they were together, and he acted like I shoulda' been fine with it." He tried to rush out the explanation, a little flare in his chest like he had to defend himself.

"And you're not..." 

Bucky scoffed, "No." He looked at the ground. He couldn't have been given a little longer?

"I thought..." Sam adjusted their hands, holding Bucky's together tightly, "I thought you guys were.. casual. Doesn't she know about you two? That it's.. just sex?" He was trying to be careful about how he said it. 

"It is casual, and yeah she knows... I guess, I don't know, I think she knows, generally about us, but I thought we had an understanding- Me and Steve, when he's with Peg- We barely even talk, we don't hook up. I don't know, Sam, okay, it's weird, that's kind of half the reason I'm so pissed off at him. It's just sex, he doesn't give a shit, he thought I wouldn't care!" He huffs.

"You didn't want it to just be sex?" His voice was too quiet, his gentle fidgeting with Bucky's hands slowing.

"No." Bucky responds quickly, remembers Nat on that gross bathroom floor, he'd be a terrible boyfriend, you're not Peggy. "It was, it is just sex," He sighs, pulling a hand from Sam's grip to pinch the bridge of his nose, "I just didn't like the reminder." He didn't meet Sam's eye, tried to pretend he was talking to himself, thinking it through on his own, "I've been trying to ignore it, that he was using me. It's not being used, it's a mutual decision, it's casual sex, people do it all the time," He forced himself not to say he does it with Sam but chose not to think about why for the moment, "But with Steve, it felt different, it feels bad. Like if we stopped it would break a rule, it would... hurt... someone's feelings, but when it keeps going, it's not helping anyone." He breathed in, "It's ridiculous." 

Sam watched him carefully, his lips twitching up, "You love him?" He asked softly after a moment of silence.

"I love him." Bucky sighed, looking into the shiny brown eyes staring up at him, "But I'm not in love with him, it's not romantic, it's very fuckin' unromantic." He clarified, pointing a finger in his face, I'm not Peggy. 

Sam nodded, smiling, "Okay well, love, romantic or not, is sort of ridiculous, every time."

Revolutionary.

Bucky nodded, now would be a bad time to say it, he stayed silent.

"You think it's over?" Sam asked gently.

"Me and Steve?"

A nod, "Whatever it is."

Bucky smiled, "Yeah."

"You were right then." Sam asks, a hint of remorse in his grimace, "Someone got hurt." He wraps his hands softly around Bucky's waist.

He shrugs, "Maybe. Maybe, it was hurting me anyway and ending it is just like... ripping the Band-Aid." He runs his hands up Sam's shoulders, sighing, tired from the effort of talking. "Maybe Peggy got hurt or maybe she knew all along and doesn't care."

"Will you talk to her?" He whispered.

"I don't know." He chews his lips, "Wouldn't this have been so much better if you'd'a given me some time? An' I coulda' answered with more than I don't know."

"Hm, an' I woulda' been pacing my apartment like those bears in tiny cages all week, waiting for you to text me back." He pinches Bucky's waist.

"You need to get out more, Prof." He laid his head on Sam's shoulder, they hadn't moved, still standing in the middle of the kitchen where he'd told Sam to Back off.

"Got my hands plenty full with one prodigy, baby." He slipped his hand down to grope Bucky's ass through his sweats to emphasise his point, "I did actually go out over the weekend, by the way, with other lecturers, the gay ones, for your information." 

"You makin' friends out here all on your own?" Bucky teased, fluttering his eyelashes. "I'm so proud."

"I missed you, we were at a bar and I bumped into an old buddy, a guy that did PR for me for a little while, he's does fuckin' social media managing for a donut shop now, it's sad, but all I could think about was you. I wanted to introduce you, tell him to keep an eye out, talk about how to get your shit out there nowadays cause I'm only pretending to know how it works." He pushes his face into the crook of Bucky's neck, "N' we talked for so long about me and my career and how good I was back then and I wanted to hit him so bad." He grumbles.

Bucky laughed lightly, lifting his head from Sam's shoulder, patting his hair, "Sounds awful, bet those gay lecturers are still laughing about it." 

Sam frowns, looking back up at Bucky, his face turning softer, "I know I don't own you, Buck, you don't owe me anything," His voice pitched to a whisper just to say, "This can stop any time you want it to," evening out again to say, "But I like to know what's going on with you, I don't like you disappearing on me." His brows twist and his fingers are grazing Bucky's jaw.

He sighs, something big and warm swelling in his chest, suffocating him with feeling, he nodded, any words getting stuck in his throat. 

"It's weird for me too, I haven't felt like this about anyone in so long, I haven't felt so.. obsessed with someone in years," Sam watched his mouth,  Bucky could almost smell gasoline and whisky, "And we, honestly, barely even know each other." He laughed, mostly at himself.

Bucky hummed, "Dead mom, long lost sister, best pianist in Brooklyn, not much more to know about me." He shrugged. 

"I haven't even taken you on a date yet." Sam whispered it, like he was shy.

Bucky hesitated, opening his mouth to speak and a scoff of laughter escaping instead, "Yeah, but-"

"I want to." He said, firm, eyes hard on Bucky's, waiting for the rejection.

Bucky's suddenly felt very warm, his cheeks probably bright red, he was glad his hair hung over the tips of his ears. He only nodded.

"Do you think.. With-" Sam licked his lips, looking at the floor between them through the small gap their chests left, "With the Steve thing, if I'm being too much, just tell me." He sighed, when he looked back at Bucky it was like the earth had stopped spinning.

Too much. 

Everything is too much, everything is too fast and too soft, and too intimate and too hard, and everything is too much.

Steve was too much.

He didn't understand Steve, his almost, sort of, kind of, commitment to Bucky, his strange version of love and intimacy and boundaries, he didn't understand how Steve rationalised it all in his mind, how he slept at night, sometimes in the same bed as Bucky, knowing what they did, how much, how soft, how intimate they could be, they were, they loved being, and still going home to Peggy, still acting defensive when people said he was gay, still calling Bucky bro in the light of the morning. 

Maybe Bucky would never understand Steve. Maybe he never wanted to talk to him again, never wanted to try understand him, to hear him rationalise it and explain how he did it, defend his sexuality. Maybe that was fine. Maybe not everything was meant to be understood. Maybe some things were just ridiculous. 

Bucky thinks he might understand Sam. Despite not knowing each other very long, he knows why his hands shake and he clings to tight and his piano has a layer of dust over it and there's never beer in his fridge. He knows, maybe, that Sam had everything he ever wanted, once, for a time, he had the life everyone dreamt of, and it was taken from him, it slipped out his hands and all he could do was run from it, ghost everyone, lie in bed until his fingers forgot how to play and the public forgot who he was. He knows that Sam is too much, that the weight of how he feels for Bucky sits in his ribcage and presses at his heart, that the warmth and softness and intimacy between them burns away their fingerprints when they touch. Bucky knows that Sam is everything he's ever wanted and nothing he's ever had, he's perfect and it's terrifying.

So, Bucky can't tell Sam he's not being too much, he can't tell him he is. He can only smile, a little watery one, and push forward to kiss him, his hands are twisted in the front of Sam's shirt and their teeth click together, Sam presses his fingers into Bucky's jaw, kissing him back just as deep, his tongue running along the back of his teeth. Bucky's lost to it, feels like he's turning himself over to Sam, mind and body, it's his, it's his, he belongs to Sam, he is Sam's.

He pulls back hard, a string of spit between them, "This is not casual." He rushes out. "It's not just sex. This-" He points between them, the tips of his fingers tingling as he breathes in harsh gasps of air, "Is more."

Sam laughs, gasping all the same, catching Bucky's shaking hand, nodding as he catches his breath, "It's more," He squeezes out, "I don't think there's any world where I could be casual about you." He sighs, his eyes shiny and golden, watching Bucky like he hung the goddamn stars in the sky.

"Wow, Wilson, take me out to dinner first." He teased.

Sam rolled his eyes, grinning like an idiot, a big, stupid grin that Bucky matched exactly.

They kissed some more, softer this time, less desperate, tiny whispers shared between them, smiles and giggles laced throughout, until eventually Bucky's stomach growled, they laughed some more and talked quietly about their few days apart, like they'd been separated in war or something, while Bucky ate his almost cold ramen, gave some of it to Sam when his brows twisted up and his eyes got big like a begging puppy. After they finished dinner they instinctually started drifting toward Bucky's bedroom and he suddenly remembered not only how disgusting his room was, but him too. He ordered Sam to snoop in the living room while he rushed around, focusing on the dirty dishes and laundry thrown around, settling with the idea that Sam wouldn't mind the more general mess, remembering how messy Sam's apartment could get.

He grabbed his nicer sleep clothes and stepped out, finding Sam and Clint talking in the kitchen, he eyed the blond carefully, his arms crossed and his face stern, and told Sam he could wait in his bedroom if he wanted. He showered, trying not to think about what kind of talk Clint was giving Sam, maybe he was telling Sam about the other men he'd been forced to meet, about the times he'd had to patch him up after a hook-up gone sour, about the time they'd agreed he should be sharing his phone location with both Clint and Nat, about his taste in dickheads. He failed, not to think about it, rushing his routine to get out and see if Sam would take it all back, if he'd realise Bucky was too much, a worse too much than him, a dark too much, an annoying too much. 

Instead he found Clint washing dishes quietly and Sam, the little snake, flipping through one of his journals in his room, he turned with a smile when Bucky walked in, commenting on a scribble of a composition, telling him it was very similar to a song from his debut album, Bucky grumbled about Sam getting out of his subconscious and kissed him until he could yank the journal out his hands and throw it across the room. 

Bucky did get him to go over a few other things he'd been working on before they settled in together on his bed, talking some more and letting silence settle in between while they checked their phones, getting ready for bed, he felt bad, Sam having stripped out of his jeans and his sweater, only wearing a too thin t-shirt and boxer shorts in his cold bedroom and his bare arm now damp under Bucky's wet hair, he still smiled when he looked over at him and still placed little kisses to the crown of his head every so often, he still let Bucky burrow his head into the crook of his neck and combed his fingers through the tangled wet knots as he fell asleep.

He smiles into Sam's skin when the claws of sleep start picking at him and he realises he doesn't have anything to think about, when he realises all those things he needed to say, all the things he's been holding inside from Sam, hiding from him, running from by himself, they're all out there, spilled onto the floor of his kitchen and softly swept up by Sam. 

He realises maybe he was that ugly tour t-shirt, maybe Steve had been the one to buy it out of obligation, who didn't like their music anymore but kept the shirt so he had a claim on something. He realised he was he ugly tour t-shirt but maybe it was okay because, maybe, Sam loved him, tattered edges and bad music and all, he remembered that maybe he wasn't the only one, he remembered that Nat was still texting him I love you's out of the blue, and that Clint was ready to turn a spatula into a weapon to defend him, and he grinned and he fell asleep knowing and being known. 

 

Too much, too intimate, too soft, and oh it was perfect, Bucky might have died and gone to heaven and it would feel just the same as falling asleep in his own bed, wrapped up in Sam's arms, wrapped up in the arms of the man he knew, and understood, and loved. 

 

Notes:

heyyy... i think i have a curse about eight chapters....
i really do apologise for the time between chapters, its been a weird few weeks, i got a pc for my birthday, and then like three days later my 17 yr old dog died... anyways idk this chapter was just really difficult to get out, my notes are a mess, idek the ending, if this curse prevails and this is the last chapter i think itll be an ok ending but i do want to put them thru a bit more before im ready to give them up.. so... hold steady my friends... pray for me.. pour one out for jinx.. she was a sweetiepie... she would have loved sambucky if she had media literacy...
okay next, this is silly but i have to tell u... i struggled so bad to think of a comfort movie for them so i stole my brothers, it is a point of contention between us because even he doesnt really know why the foreigner his comfort film, it just is, so whatever, thanks to my brother for giving my characters (thats right mr feige theyre mine now...) a stupid ass comfort film.
ok thats all thank you guys i love you i hope to see you with another chapter we're all gonna go jump steve rogers later <3

Chapter 10: nine "play your love songs all night long for me, only for me"

Summary:

december and christmas p1! "Our House" by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

December always went too quickly, theres no time at all between the shit that gives you headaches, the days are too short and the nights are too long, too quick and too slow and too awful.

Bucky never has a second to breathe, he was kissing Steve and then he was cursing Steve and then Sam was telling him it was all ridiculous and then he was telling Steve if he ever even thought about his dick in the same room as Bucky he'd hit him and then he was studying for finals and being civil with Steve and kissing Sam and then he was finishing exams and getting too comfortable with Sam in front of other staff and blushing like a teenagers in front of all the gay professors and then Sam was telling him about a showcase in January and it felt a million years away and two minutes away all at once so then he was practising for that all week and then... it was Christmas Eve, Sam was in his bedroom picking through his record collection and time might have stopped for a moment then.

Bucky was wrapping gifts, having put it off until the last moment, as was tradition, he was onto Clint's sister Kate's gifts now, Sam, Natasha and Yelena's sat neatly beside him, but Sam still refused to look over, a fan of surprises, Bucky tucked that little tidbit away, his head was lolled to the side, reading each spine like they'd hold all the secrets.

It wasn't a bad collection, started by his mother and carefully and precisely added to over the years by Bucky, as precisely he could be at least, on his tight budget - although he knew it made them look messy, he could never bring himself to pick off the price labels on his mothers records, sometimes he looked at them with more grief for the economy than her.

Frank Sinatra crackled through the record player, one of those vintage ones with the clear lids just like the one his mother had, the speakers tucked away in the bookshelf above it, his crooning was only interrupted by the crinkling of paper and ripping of tape, an occasional snort from Sam that identified when he found his own music.

When Bucky finished, hiding all the parcels away in a carrier bag, Sam flipped the record and crawled in beside Bucky, he wore soft plaid pyjama pants, a jumper that he ripped off soon after getting into bed. Bucky never got used to how hot Sam ran, revelling in it every night they spent together, inching closer and closer until he could hear the click of his teeth and the rush of his blood, the warmth creeping in through every point of contact until they couldn't tell where Bucky ended and Sam started.

He was so glad he'd pulled out his puppy eyes on Sam and asked him to spend Christmas with them, explaining that everyone was bringing a plus one, the loves of their lives, including Steve, and he'd literally rather die than have to sit through that alone, he was so glad Sam had agreed like Bucky was just asking him to pass the salt. He worried a little, like he always had, like he had since that first terrible Christmas when he was nine and had to hide in the bathroom with his baby sister and half-sing Ain't No Mountain to distract her, when he learnt there were better things to look after than himself, he worried that something terrible would happen and he'd forget the words and not be able to distract them and he worried that Sam would wonder why he hadn't stopped it.

Every Christmas Eve since he was nine he'd fallen asleep praying and hoping that there wouldn't be a fight, no one would be angry, that no one would blame him or hit him or get him a bad gift that he couldn't pretend to be grateful for, every Christmas Eve since then he'd stayed up too late to listen for trouble, too many times to count he'd heard it, enough times that he could imagine it if he was tired enough. Tonight though, he felt Sam's warmth spread through him and was, for the first time since he was nine, unbearably excited to wake up.

And it all seemed to work, when he woke up with a kiss, Sam's gap tooth grin sparkling in the morning sun, his voice gravelly enough to send heat down as low as the octave.

Bucky groaned into his pillow- Sam's arm, turning over, wishing he could get his mouth on him but having Clint's face flash in his mind like a curse, a weight slipped off his chest then, he realised Sam's hands were accounted for elsewhere - only on his waist and his neck, unfortunately. He looked down between them, Sam's lips peppering kisses on his face anywhere he could reach, there was a little box being squished between their chests, he took it into his hands, rolling onto his back, hearing Sam's breath catch. It was wrapped with a bow, a dusty blue, he was too tired to be apprehensive, pulling the lid off and putting the box to the side and he lifted out the contents.

A guitar pick.

A regular plastic pick, white in colour, maybe all his prayers hadn't worked, Bucky fought to keep his face even, rubbing his thumb over the flat shape, wracking his brain, when the fuck had they ever talked about guitar.

"You're gonna' learn guitar." Sam suddenly said, his voice still nice and low in Bucky's ear.

"I'm what."

"I got you a guitar, it just hasn't arrived. You're gonna learn guitar." He kissed his jaw, down his neck, his hand coming up to tilt his head into the right angle.

"I'm a pianist, Sammy, why would I need to learn guitar." He felt a swell of guilt in his stomach, "Thank you. Thank you so much but- I'm sorry." He felt silly, going through every emotion he could think of while Sam sucked at his neck.

He did manage to pull himself away for a moment, an easy smile on his face, "Baby, if you're gonna' be a star then you're gonna' need to know other instruments." He kissed the corner of Bucky's mouth, "Don't apologise, it's okay if you don't end up being the best ever at this one thing, I just need you to know the basics, yeah? I'm giving you a head start, you know my third album had a huge delay in release because my team demanded I learn guitar before I could start production on it?"

"I just won't get a team that demand that of me." He mumbled, flipping the pick between his fingers, Bucky knew he was being ungrateful, petulant even, but he couldn't help it, he hated learning new things, hated the idea that he wasn't doing enough when he was doing everything.

"Well, Bucky, I'm your professor and I demand it, okay?" Sam smiled, reaching down to grab his ass like that might persuade him, it worked.

He rolled his eyes, "Fine, it better be a nice one." He laced his arms around Sam's shoulders, biting at his jaw.

"Ugh, it's the best, half my rent kinda' best, taking forever to get delivered kinda' best." He rolled over him, pushing his knee up between Bucky's thighs.

"Wow, must be for someone you're real sweet on." Bucky's hips lifted, a soft groan spilling out his throat at the friction.

"Must be." Sam breathed, his hand skirting down to tuck into Bucky's underwear, leaning down to kiss along his collarbone as he let him grind against his hand.

Bucky moaned too loud, he was too relieved, he felt like a teenager, it had been a few days, but the idea of sleeping in the same bed with direct orders not to have sex was twisting up in Bucky's mind and making him hornier than he ever had been in his life.

They flipped over, Bucky straddling Sam's hips, his dick hard under the soft fabric, Bucky gasped, Sam's hand kneading at his thighs and ass as he moved against him, the slide, even through the fabric, was perfect. Bucky panted, kept catching himself glancing at the door, he felt too hot, Sam looking up at him like that, his hold firm enough to leave bruises, his hips jumping up when Bucky didn't grind hard enough for his liking. Finally, a noise sounded from the other side of his door and Bucky felt like a bucket of water had been dumped on his head, he jumped half out his own body, leaping off Sam and pushing his face into the pillow, he realised he was safe about a second after he heard the noise but his instincts slipped to flight too quickly to stop himself.

He grumbled and cursed into Sam's shoulder while he laughed at him behind his hand, using his other to rub soothing, maybe teasing, circles on his back, he was still holding the pick between his fingers, he threw it at Sam but it only made him laugh harder.

Bucky couldn't even bare to look at Sam until they were both dressed, he'd had to slip out to the bathroom just so he could will his face to stop burning hot and his dick to calm down. Sam kissed him when he did finally meet his eye again, leaning in to whisper about tonight, which totally didn't help.

Laura was making pancakes, she looked tired, different, but maybe Bucky was just staring at her too hard to ignore how Sam was rubbing his thigh under the table. Clint watched her hard too, it was strange to see them together, Clint skated around her, helping, touching her softly and handing her things she needed. Gentle and kind were not words that often came to mind when he thought of Clint. Caring, awake, what next? Pigs growing wings?

Familiar faces started filtering into the apartment while they were still eating, all hungry eyes and big smiles for Laura's cooking, Kate and Maria had spent their Christmas Eve's at Natasha and Yelena's so they all arrived together, flowery perfumes and red lipsticks, long nails catching in the scratchy fabric of ugly sweaters as they hugged, pretty laughs when Laura made a joke about outnumbering the men.

They all sat together, a family, and devoured the mountain of pancakes, fruit and syrup leaving their plates and fingers sticky, the girls had brought their fare share of alcohol, making up mimosas, Sam, Clint, Laura and Maria passed on them, watching the others wash down their breakfast out of tall glasses.

Bucky thought he might burst into flames with the way Sam watched him. He tried to take it back a little, when no one else was looking, he licked syrup and champagne off his fingers, made a show of it, fluttering his lashes at Sam, just to make him squirm the same way his steady gaze was making Bucky's skin burn. It worked, Sam rolled his eyes, squeezing Bucky's thigh like a warning and joining the rest of the tables conversation.

After breakfast they moved to the living room, Clint had cleaned the place up, extended everything for all the extra bodies in the apartment, he'd pulled out extra chairs from his room and even bought a few plush throws and seasonal pillows, Bucky silently thanked Laura for whatever she was turning him into. The tree was a little shabby, they lived on the third floor so it was small enough to carry in one hand, the plasticky leaves sparse, the branches crooked. The fairy lights sparkled against the tinsel that was falling off one side and the pile of presents that eclipsed the tree itself. They'd only turned on the soft lamps around the room, the lighting low and cosy so it felt like a memory.

They talked and digested, an old Christmas movie on in the background, eyeing the gifts but waiting, there were two more to come before they could start. They arrived just as Bucky was considering pulling Sam away to exchange in private, later, he thought, hearing that pretty voice fluttering in through the hallway.

Steve and Peggy came in grinning with a bag of gifts, they always liked to spend the morning together on days like these, Peggy hugged, Steve touched shoulders, Peggy complimented, Steve undermines teasingly, Peggy clings to his side and Steve looks at Sam's hand on Bucky's neck too long. It was funny to think how easily Steve had slipped into the American Dream.

The couple tucked themselves into a seat, pressed close but still looking disconnected, and Bucky had to stop dissecting because the gift exchange was starting.

It was just... a little awkward. Bucky had talked to Steve, for a long time they sat and talked about everything, their shirts stayed on this time, their hands never wandered, their lips never touched. Bucky explained his hurt and Steve defended his innocence. Steve had told
Peggy, she'd known all along of their little arrangement, but Bucky was right, that last time was different, it was wrong, it was a moment of weakness, of desperation. She'd forgiven him, he'd said, she understands. Bucky had held his hands in tight fists at that, explaining that no matter how she felt about it, it had to stop, and Steve had just agreed. Had said that Peggy, through her understanding had still felt a little put aside, that they were coming up with a new arrangement, just the two of them, so that she could still get what she wanted, a rock, a boyfriend, someone to call hers, and he could still get what he wanted, he never named it though, his desire, his eyes darted around the diner, his cheeks turning red.

Bucky had been trying not to think about this new arrangement, when he saw them he had to push the image of her above him out his mind, of Peggy's hair falling over Steve's back the same way his had, of those pretty long nails scratching at his shoulder blades as he came the same way his had. It wasn't out of anything like envy or attraction, he didn't want any part of it, he recoiled at the idea of being with Steve now, a nice burn in his chest at finally being apart from him, two separate entities. He wasn't imagining their new arrangement wishing to witness it, he was only confused about it. Had it really been that easy, all along? It wasn't the Bucky part of the sex that Steve needed, just the act, if he'd just talked to Peggy sooner, if he'd acted on his desperation and driven Bucky away sooner, then this new arrangement would've never been so new. Did she enjoy it? Had she wanted it all along? Was the shy look she was sending Bucky now a thing of embarrassment or something coy and teasing? Had Steve needed to teach her how to do it?

Sam grip on his shoulder tightened, his thumb rubbing along the skin at the back of his neck, something he hadn't stopped doing since Bucky cut his hair, too short, newly exposed skin drawing Sam in. Bucky turned to him, dragging his eyes away from Peggy's hand on Steve's knee and Sam gestured to Natasha who had her hand extended, a medium sized box in it, he smiled at her, squeaking a little, he'd almost forgotten about the gift part and he took it, nudging at Sam in excitement when he kissed Bucky's shoulder. He unwrapped it quickly, knee braces, soft, tight black fabric, he looked at her with a frown and she patted his arm, glancing behind him at Sam as she whispered, you've got this. Bucky rolled his eyes with a smile, shoving the braces back into the wrapping and tucking them behind him. Sam tilted his head when their eyes met again, and Bucky only shook his head, kissing his jaw to distract him.

All of Bucky's gifts to everyone had a note saying from Sam too added on, it was the first time he was actually meeting anyone other than Nat and Clint, the latter still eyeing him carefully, so no one had expected any heartfelt gifts just from him, it was a surprise then, when him and Natasha did have small boxes to exchange after her and Bucky. She finished clasping on the necklace Bucky had given her, feeling the edges of her birthstone between her fingers, the blue shining against her skin, and she carefully placed the bottle of liquor on the coffee table before she took out her gift for Sam. He'd got her two tickets to a concert, the New York String Orchestra's annual performance at Carnegie Hall, she was still clutching the necklace as she read the tickets, her brows twisting up, Sam said something about this actually just being a learning experience, clarifying he was joking too quickly after demanding an essay on the concert, she laughed anyway, her grin too big for her face, and hugged him. Maybe pigs would start flying.

Nat got Sam a diary and shrugged, didn't meet Bucky's eyes when Sam was flipping through the pages and he pointed at the notes on certain dates, she was feeling the blue stone between her fingers when she said she'd written down dates important to Bucky, All the shit he won't tell you about himself.

Sam thanked her too many times, made jokes that Bucky couldn't hear, Nat's eyes shined too brightly, her hand coming to rest on Bucky's knee before Sam's shaking fingers took their place back on his neck.

Bucky watched Yelena pestering Peggy so he wouldn't focus on how big his heart felt in his chest, how cramped the space between his ribs was getting, he was sandwiched by all the love in the world and he had to watch Clint and Kate bickering so he could ignore that he'd never learnt how to take it.

Laura was pregnant.

Laura and Clint stood by the tiny tree after most of the gifts were unwrapped and there was a nice thick layer of paper on the floor, "We have a little announcement." She said, her voice was so sweet, her smile like honey, it looked strange in comparison to Clint's crooked grin, there was a hole in the armpit of his shirt, exposed as he hooked his arm around her shoulder. She pulled out a photo from behind her back, the ultrasound, one perfect little baby, a hand stretched out like it was waving.

Clint and Laura were having a baby and Bucky's first thought was how uncomfortable Nat's couch would be when they kicked him out, his second thought was how pretty Laura was when Kate surged up to hug her, his third was to look at Sam and watch his reaction, surprise, a fond joy like Clint was his own brother.

Everyone took turns to hug the couple, everyone kissed Laura's cheek, Bucky smacked a kiss on Clint's mouth to make him laugh since he looked like he was about to vibrate out his skin, everyone gushed over the blurry blob of a child. Kate dropped to her knees to hug Laura with her ear to her stomach, she was over excited, talking too loud about being the fun aunt, Yelena had to pull Kate to her feet and push her down on the sofa, she sat beside her, shushing her and petting her hair like she was taming nervous cat. Sam clapped Clint's back and congratulated him with a smile so bright Bucky had to turn away so he wouldn't get burnt.

Bucky felt something sizzling in his throat, his ribs ached, his roommate was having a baby, his roommate, only a year and a half older than him, was going to be a dad, his best friend was whispering about moving in with her girlfriend, his ex-fuck-buddies girlfriend kept looking at her hand like she was missing a ring, and here Bucky wasn't even sure if he was allowed to call Sam his boyfriend, here he was living everyday with that little nag in the back of his head telling him Sam was obviously just passing the time with him, here he was trying to push down the L word like it was something to be ashamed of.

Bucky's cheeks got hot, he watched everyone fawning over the couple, he listened to them talk about sex reveals and name ideas and birth plans and he twisted his fingers into his scratchy jumper and willed the universe to swallow him up. He was unbearably happy for Clint and Laura, couldn't stop the smile on his face even through his spiral, he was also painfully conflicted. He thought about being in his forties and being the only one in his friend group still on the terrible dating apps and felt a real physical pain in his chest and then he remembered Sam's profile on Grindr and thought he might throw up all over the pile of gifts.

Bucky held his breath and started planning an escape route when Sam's fingers slipped round to the tap against the column of his throat, Sam kissed his shoulder before leaning close and saying low, "You want your gift from me?"

He carefully extracted his fingers from the stitches of his sweater and squeezed Sam's thigh, "Can we swap ours in my room?"

Sam wiggled his brows, "With mom and dad in the other room?" He was standing up, Nat was pretending not to watch them, everyone else still huddled around the couple in question.

Bucky only rolled his eyes, his brain taking shape again, the room growing colder without Sam pressed to his side, he pat Natasha's shoulder and ensured her they weren't running away to have sex, she wished him luck anyway with a vicious grin.

It was almost silent in Bucky's bedroom, he could literally feel the air seeping back into his lungs, clear and cold, Sam was quick with his affection, demonstrating just how much he'd been holding back as soon as the door clicked shut. Bucky sighed, Sam's big hands warm on his waist, his chest pressed to Bucky's back, his lips soft on his neck.

Bucky sighed, pushing away from him, he hadn't been lying to Nat, they were here with a job to do.

He huffs, once again, feeling immature and sick, and sits at the end of his bed, fishing the bag with Sam's gift out from under it, "You go first." He says, trying at coy, when Sam sits next to him.

He's smiling when he nods, he kisses Bucky on his cheek, letting out a giddy little laugh, and pulls out a parcel.

It's big and flat, oh God, and wrapped in brown parchment, a sticky bow slapped in the middle, just the same style as the one he'd given Nat. Bucky felt his stomach in his ass as he peeled away the tape, opening it, oh Jesus Christ himself.

Billy Joel, The Stranger, Original Sealed First Pressing 1977 Vinyl LP. There was a little hype sticker in the corner. Featuring the single "Just The Way You Are"

Bucky's heart might have stopped.

There was a second vinyl, the same one without any frills, Sam leaned over his shoulder, his hands rubbing over Bucky's arms, "That's one to listen to and one to keep forever so if you ever go into debt trying to sell Bucky trademarked toasters or something, you gotta' backup plan." He grinned.

"How much was this." He whispered.

"Really?" He met Bucky's eyes, no heat, he was so excited, it was coming off him like heat waves.

"Am I your sugar baby?" Bucky pouted.

"Do you know how Christmas works?"

"I got you sex gifts." Bucky's brows twisted up, the words running out his mouth before he could cover it with shaking fingers, he kept trailing his other hand over the plastic shrink wrap on the record.

"You did?" Sam only put on that stupid flirty face.

"I spent like, maybe $30..." He squeaked.

"Okay, that's- you aren't supposed to say that, baby, the price doesn't matter, I'd take a kiss on the cheek as the only gift you got me and still be happy with what I got you." Sam kissed his cheek to prove a point, a point lost on Bucky because.

Oh Jesus.

"God, this and the fuckin' guitar, are you insane?" He let out a string of blasphemy and curses muffled behind his hand, he dug his palms into his eyeballs, and finally he groaned, long and pained, placing the records beside him carefully before he flopped back onto his bed.

"Maybe, crazy for you definitely, wasn't it obvious?" Sam ran his hands up Bucky's body, stupid and corny, could Bucky be suffering anymore, "Do I get the sex gift now or later?" He whispered, biting at his jaw.

"I need to die." He mumbled.

"You are bad at this dude!" Sam laughed, half choking Bucky out -what a way to go- with his biceps as he wrapped him in a hug, their bodies awkwardly laying and pulling at each other on the bed, he kissed the crown of Bucky's head, speaking into his hair, "Do you not like the gifts?" So quietly, his shoulders tensing.

Bucky ripped free from his hold, shooting upright and looking stern down at Sam, sad and frozen on his bed, "I love the gifts, Sam, thank you. This is not me upset with your gifts, it's me upset that I don't know how to shop for people and all I got you was fuckin- Me! Basically." He huffed, slumping down as he reached for the little flat box containing Sam's gift.

Sam was upright again, his head tilted and his hand dipping too far inside Bucky's thighs, "You?"

Bucky handed him the box, "Here, but for the record, I am gonna' get another gift for you as soon as I can, okay?"

His roommate was having a baby and here Bucky was apologising to his- Sam because he thought they were going easy on the present's this year.

Sam pulled at the ribbon, biting down on his lip, and lifted off the lid, he immediately shoved the lid back on, his jaw dropping slightly as his head spun to look at Bucky with wide eyes, "You did not." He whispered, slowly picking out the contents and flipping through the stack of small photos, each a little different. He'd enlisted Nat's help for these, a series of about twenty photos, Bucky posed carefully in each one, a few different outfits that Nat had helped him pick out too, they were still laughing about how the cashier had offered to get Nat's measurements for her, comparing the tiny garments to Natasha's body, she'd hid her laugh and declined and the cashier only smiled at Bucky, wiggling her eyebrows. In some he laid back on a plush blanket, black lace clinging to his pale skin, in some he was kneeling, cheeks as red as the silk on his chest, he only noticed as he watched Sam look trough them that Nat's painted toenails were visible at the bottom of the frame on a few, just below the line of his knees, he wondered if Sam's eyes would ever follow down the black of lace and ink winding around his thighs to notice the white feet.

"Okay, you're done," Bucky whispered, he sort of wanted Sam to look at them in his own time, already felt hot under the collar at the idea of him using the photos to get off whenever Bucky wasn't there to do it himself, felt a flame in his chest at the idea that Sam would never need anyone else again. He spotted how tight Sam's jeans were getting as he reached over to shove the photos back in the box, breathed a little easier knowing that Sam liked it, at least on some level, he'd had a few meltdowns when he was arranging it with Nat, kept trying to back down in fear that Sam would think it was stupid, of course she was right, in telling him he was the one being stupid.

"God you're perfect." Sam breathed, tracking where Bucky tucked the box away beside him before meeting his eyes, he stopped chewing his lips just long enough to kiss Bucky, his hands coming up to cup his face. He deepened the kiss, squeezing his jaw and running his tongue along Bucky's teeth. Sam sighed against his lips, barely pulling away enough to speak, "So perfect."

"It's not enough." Bucky whispered back, his eyes shut tight.

Sam's hand slipped around to the back of Bucky's neck, his fingers tracing circles on that spot, "You're right."

Bucky's eyes fluttered open, his brows twisting up before he could stop himself, "What?"

"You're right, I want that kiss on the cheek still." He shrugged, his lips curling up as he watched Bucky rolling his eyes.

He licked his lips, gripping Sam's face on either side to plant the grossest, wettest kiss he could on his cheek.

"Thank you." He smiled like he'd won something, his eyes shining.

Bucky busied himself by tidying up the wrapping paper and ribbon, placing the records carefully on top of his player, briefly wondering if Sam's sudden interest in his collection the night before had been a last minute concern for his gift choice. He turned back around to see Sam still grinning up at him, his fingers squeezing into his knees and his dick still straining against his jeans "We should go back through, Nat will start telling them we're fuckin' if we stay in here any longer." Bucky scoffed.

"We aren't?" Sam pouted, bending awkwardly -attempting to be subtle about adjusting himself in his pants- as he stood up, stepping over to chew on Bucky's neck.

Bucky sighed, "No, Sammy, come on." He peeled him away and moved toward the door, his hand on the doorknob when Sam grabbed the other one, spinning him carefully.

"Thank you."

"I'll get something-"

Sam shoved a hand over his mouth, "Thank you, Bucky, for everything." He spoke too quiet, too soft, the words hitting Bucky's ears like raindrops, flowing in past his brain and through his throat to land in the meat of his heart, the watery words soaked into his blood and pumped through his veins, the thanks made his fingertips and his cheeks go red, his toes tingle and his head went light. "Thank you." Sam whispered against his skin this time, he felt the words absorb into his pores, relaxing into the tiny muscles of his cheek, pulling them into a smile.

He was so full of Sam's thanks that he couldn't find a response, but Sam never needed one, Bucky nodded, clutched his hands, kissing him through a grin before pulling him into a hug, he could feel Sam's heart beat against his chest, feel the thanks and the life and the love that he had thumping at the inside of his ribcage, he felt the pulse in his neck against his jaw, he felt his soft breathing over his back, he felt his erection on his thigh.

Sam's warm skin against his today was enough to fix all the terrible Christmas Day's before it, the sound of laughter and chatter on the other side of the door, the smell of the perfect Christmas dinner Laura was preparing, the absence of anger, the tangible love in his hands, it was enough.

 

Notes:

im back!! hope yous are all well and that you enjoyed this chapter! leave a kudos on this fic if u wanna vote to eradicate the month of december... we will prevail soldiers. also i have the most ridiculous baby fever for a 20 yr old dude so yes i had to push my problems onto beautiful gorgeous perfect never done anything wrong in her life Laura thank yewww

Chapter 11: ten "all that we intend is scrawled in sand"

Summary:

christmas p2!! "All Things End" by Hozier.

Notes:

ok a couple things that are vastly of vastly different tones... first of all there is.. wait for it.. actual smut here.. right at the end.. . just an extra warning since its quite different to the other scenes in this so far in both subject and detail level... the power dynamic is power dynamic-ing is what ill say...
ok second.. we virtually meet bucky's italian family in this one.. so here's some google translate italian for you.
"Zia" Auntie/Aunt
"Buckino" my educated guess at how an italian would sweeten Bucky's name
"Mamma" Mother
"Nipotina" granddaughter/ niece
"Nipotino" Grandson/ nephew
"Mio Nipote" My Nephew/ niece
"Tesoro" Darling/ honey
And "Lupo" is a common Italian surname that does translate to Wolf heheehehe
i have been to Italy I have felt the warm embrace of a beautiful Italian woman and of the catholic church but i am no expert so please feel free to correct me
okok im done Enjoyy

Sam's dignity might have died that Christmas day, his knee was bouncing, his fingers tapping against Bucky's thigh, he chewed at his lips. No one was looking at him except Bucky; when they had stepped back into the room everyone had taken once glance at Sam and Bucky, at their big grins, their joined hands and then at Sam's erection straining through his jeans and looked away with wide eyes and pursed lips, vowing not to do him the disrespect of even looking his way for the rest of the afternoon.

Bucky was kind of enjoying it and he could tell that only made Sam squirm more, Steve was clinging to Peggy a little tighter and Nat was looking a little smugger and he felt an undying flame of possession in his chest at the whole thing. He tried to tamp it down, knew it was a ridiculous reaction to his- Sam's indecency, but he smiled all the same, he lazily trailed a hand over his shoulder and he kissed Sam's cheek while he tugged at the denim squeezing his thighs.

Sam sort of mellowed out somewhere between the conversations of world's worst Christmas gifts and the ones about family traditions, Bucky had to stop himself from trying to actively turn him on just for fun but the glint in Sam's eyes when Clint finally met his eye and included him in the conversation again made the devil on his shoulder take a back seat for once.

It felt like a cruel fate, Bucky was doing so well, sitting nicely, keeping his hands to himself, staying out of the family talk so he didn't bum everyone out, and then his phone rang, his sisters name big and bold on his screen, he froze, the ringer loud enough to halt everyone's conversation, he stared at the screen until it rang out, her name disappearing. Sam touched his shoulder and he jumped, frowning up at him.

"You should call her back." He whispered, his thumb rubbing in circles on his thigh, everyone was staring at him in confusion.

Bucky nodded, "It's Becca." He murmured to the others, Clint, Nat and Steve's eyebrows shot up, everyone else's staying firmly knit together. Bucky stood, his mind a little blank still and stepped through to his room, his fingers shook as he tapped through his phone to call her back, he squeezed his eyes shut when he saw the flat box still laid on his bed, he tucked it into his bookcase so no one else would find it in the meantime, then he sat and opened Facetime, it only rang twice before Becca's face shone back at him.

Becca looked just like him, something everyone who ever saw the pair loved to point out, he'd hated it, once, early on, when he heard it as him still looking like a girl, but he didn't mind it anymore, it was too true to disagree. Becca also looked just like his mother, something everyone who ever knew her loved to remind them, she looked like Winnie in a way he could never see in his own resemblance to her, she cut her hair the same way, her eyes shifted in the same brown tones, her mouth curved up in the same smile. Becca looked beautiful, full rosy cheeks and olive skin, full hair that fell in soft dark curls over her shoulders, her eyes were bright and shiny, her teeth white and her laugh absent of a smoker's cough.

"Bucky!" She squeaked, her eyes scrunched in a grin, "How are you? I thought we'd missed you, you didn't pick up, I was so scared!" Every word came out light.

"Becca." His voice sounded hoarse and worn down in comparison, "I'm good, I'm sorry I didn't have my phone on me, had to run out the room to call." The lie slipped out like a term of endearment.

"I see, you're with people?" She still talked like their mother, the inflection of someone not used to speaking English but her accent strongly American, she fidgeted with something off screen, her phone was propped up on the dining table, the old kitchen behind her, warm and familiar.

"Yeah, just friends." His eyes flicked to the record's against the wall behind his phone.

"Ooh, is Stevie there? Will you say hi for me?" She smiled, her eyes dipped low enough on the screen that he could tell she was looking at herself.

"I will." He swallowed, his heart in his throat, "Where is Zia Camilla?"

Her voice dipped low, conspiratorially, "Ah, she is doing her makeup, she wanted to look nice for you and your friends." She smiled, crooked and dimpled.

"Oh, I feel bad now, I don't want to submit you two to even a virtual minute of those baboons." He smirked, a wild howl of laughter sounding through the door just to prove his point.

She laughed, "It's okay, Buckino." A figure walked behind her then, silhouetted by the window behind them, "This has to be short anyway, we are eating soon, I'm so excited, it smells amazing Zia." She addressed her off camera.

"Ah! Is that my other nipotina?" Her voice came through the phone crackled.

"Nipotino, mamma." Becca corrected, Bucky flinched.

"Yes, yes of course mio nipote, Buckino," She came into frame, Bucky flinched.

Camilla made Becca look like a distant relative to her mother, they could have been twins, she was all hair, her curls taking up half the frame, her lipstick was on her teeth and he could tell she'd doused herself in perfume from the way Becca winced when she leaned in close. His auntie had crows feet and smile lines and a saggy neck, her eyes looked shut when she smiled, her veins shone blue through her hands when she held Becca's shoulder. She was stunning and seeing her always made Bucky's chest squeeze, the reminder that every year she grew older was a year his mother didn't, the reminder that his mother never had a chance to get those wrinkles and that saggy skin.

"Hi Zia." He managed.

"Hi tesoro!" She grinned through the phone, pressing her face to Becca's so they both fit in the frame, they looked like friends.

"How has your day been?" His arm was tired, his throat was tight, his eyes stung.

"Oh, it has been wonderful, you're sister got me the most beautiful card and she is even helping me make dinner, she is quite the chef, you know? She is your mother's daughter, for sure." Camilla didn't sound like Winnie, her voice cracked more, her accent drew thicker.

"Oh, I don't know if Buck cares about that, mamma, remember he lives with that chef now." Becca cut in, she was only sixteen after all, couldn't let the attention be on herself too long no matter how warm her life looked to Bucky.

"I live with the boyfriend of a chef- although, she might move in soon- She's pregnant, just told us today." He scratched at his neck, "Anyway, as good as her cooking is it's nothing on mom's seven fishes." He spoke low into the microphone.

"Pregnant?" Becca flinched beside her, "Young, no?" Camilla's brows twisted together, long painted nails scratching at her chin.

"Laura and Clint are almost thirty, Zia, Mom was younger than them." He shrugged.

"They don't live together though, and you are his roommate, you said? Your mother, God rest her soul, was married and living with your father, may he burn in hell, by the time you came along, Buckino." She pressed.

"Calm, Zia, it's different times now." Becca picked at her nails, grimacing like she was bored, pushing Camilla out the frame subtly to say, "Tell Laura we say congratulations and we hope it goes well. Will you move out? You know we still have a spare room."

"You know I have a life in New York, and a semester left for my degree."

"And a girlfriend?" Camilla looked so hopeful.

"And lots of friends who would miss me."

"A boyfriend?" Becca tried, pursing her lips.

He hesitated, "And Clint hasn't kicked me out yet." Becca had that glint in her eye like she knew. "How is school?" He could shed attention too, maybe it was a Barnes thing.

"Fine, boring, one of the teachers I had last year got fired for talking to female students on Snapchat." She shrugged like she was reading out the ingredients of cereal, Camilla only rolled her eyes, like she was sick of her telling that story.

"Huh, he do anything to you?"

"I didn't say it was a man." She sat upright.

"Uh- Right, sorry, did she do anything to you?"

"No, it was a man and no, he wasn't interested in me, but you can't assume, Buck." She slumped back down.

He laughed, "How did your exams go?" Camilla had stepped away at the sound of a tinny timer.

"It wasn't bad, I hated taking them, thought I might explode out my skin," He heard an off screen sound of disgust, "But I did well, obviously." She was still only paying half attention.

"That's fine, that's how I get too, hate sitting still that long, maybe you should see if any of your classmates are selling grass for next year, worked for me."

Her eyes went wide, glancing over to where he assumed her auntie was, before she looked back with a laugh, "Grass? As in weed? James Buchanan Barnes are you a pothead?" She screeched, Camilla's face popping back into frame to scowl at him.

"No! No! I'm kidding, obviously! God." He waited for Camilla to duck out again to whisper, "I was onto way harder stuff when I was your age."

"Bucky!" He didn't know Camilla had a stern voice.

"I'm kidding Zia!"

His chest hurt, they talked a little while longer, he asked more about Becca's school work and plans for finding a part time job and he got her to hold the phone up to Camilla so he could ask about how her store was doing, pretended to know anything about the world of candle sales, and so he could get her back by pressing about her love life, it backfired on him when she got all sweet about never bothering with that stuff when she had a perfect little girl to raise, when he had to watch Becca laying her head on her shoulder and whisper about that customer who always offers to go buy her a coffee.

As much as he loved his little sister and his aunt, Bucky hated talking to them. Every phone call felt like he was pulling his heart up and out his throat and leaving it on the ground in front of him, every Facetime felt like staring at the sun until his retinas burnt out, every laugh and grin and warm look the two shared that he had to watch or listen to from half way across the country was a little tiny stab to the gut. He always felt horrible after, he hated them and he hated his mother and he hated his dad and at the same time he loved them all like he'd die if he didn't. He was jealous, a little pathetically so, of his sister, of her luck. All she'd ever had of their father was his name and Camilla had helped her change it to Lupo on her thirteenth birthday, the same year Bucky had found out his dad had been stifling off his inheritance. All she ever had of her mother was a few sweet memories and her perfect sister, she never knew her long enough to miss her, had gotten a new mother too quick to ever lose anything at all. She was beautiful, and smart and normal. She would go to law school, she'll be the best family lawyer in whatever major city she decides to move to, she'll have a nice husband and two and a half kids with weird names, she'll take them to their Nonna on weekends and they'll get fat on authentic Italian, she'll fall right into the line of perfect Lupo women, she won't die until she's a hundred and ten.

Bucky was so happy for her and he resented her.

Bucky missed his mother.

Bucky wondered why he'd never gone to Indiana with Becca.

They wished him well and hung up after showing off their feast, blew kisses into the screen and sent a symphony of sweet crackling Italian down the phone line before his screen went black and he was drowned in the silence. His room suddenly felt too big and too small and he thought there might be a big black hole right in the centre of his ribcage. He slipped his hand up the sleeve of his sweater and traced over the tiny little raised lines of his tattoo, the swirly letters like her signature, Winnie, inked along his forearm, he stared at the record collection in front of him, his eyes stung, his chest ached and Bucky missed his mother.

He wasn't sure how long he was there like that before there was a light chap on the door, "Buck?" Natasha popped her head in the door, saw him and shut it behind her as she stepped toward him, "She okay?" She sat down next to him and rubbed her hand in circles on his back, she knew him too well.

"They're perfect." He smiled at her, a small, sad thing, he was tired, he didn't need to hide anything from Nat, she'd only figure it out anyway.

"You okay?" Her brows twisted together, she hugged his arm.

"Yeah." He leaned into her, "Just needed a second." He sighed, already feeling better just with the familiar weight beside him, "How's it going out there?"

"Sam's putting up a fight," Bucky frowned down at her, "I don't know what happened for Clint to be so.. Determined to hate him, but Sam is just- good. Everyone's obsessed with him." She sounded so fond Bucky almost wanted to laugh.

"I hope they aren't telling him that or his head will be too big to leave." He mumbled, "Laura's having a baby."

"We're getting old, big boy." She slumped against his side.

"Still picking out engagement rings?" He whispered.

Bucky could just see her smile from this angle, "She found out, they're so expensive though, we decided to just focus on school." She didn't seem bothered by the halt in plans.

Bucky was finding his point, the issue he could think about to distract himself from that hole in his chest, "When did you know you were actually- girlfriends." 

Natasha sighed, sitting up and looking at Bucky, "We were a total stereotype, babe, you remember that night we went to Titi's?  We made out all night, she came back to my place and didn't leave for a week, my first text to her number was Hey wife." She pulled a face like she was disappointed in herself, shaking her head softly, "Someone should do a study on that, what are gay guys like?" She tilted her head.

"Stupid." He huffed, "It's the complete opposite, I think if gay guys could reproduce you'd have dudes with five kids together still texting through Grindr." He pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes.

"You know I have heard him referring to you as his boyfriend, and you two would make beautiful children." She poked his shoulder.

Bucky frowned at her, shit. "We would. We'd make the next five Bach's, we'd be so annoying about it, we'd be the talk of the PTA, the wine mom's would hate us."

"Stop talking before my ovaries implode," She stood, "You ready to go back through, babe?" Nat held out her hand, her fingers wiggling in the air, "I smell food."

He nodded and they stepped back through, tentative smiles and concerned eyes falling on him, he put on his biggest grin and nodded, it was enough, the conversations fell back into rhythm, Laura and Clint danced around each other in the kitchen, Sam traced his finger over that spot at the back of Bucky's neck, his lungs filled with air and his heart beat in his chest just as normal.

Soon the food was ready, everyone taking their turns to ask Laura if she needed a hand and each one being slapped away, they set the table and took their places, an awkward task, the table was a little small, cramped, some side dishes had to stay on the counters, certain guests had to squeeze into the corner of the table, each couple pressed tight together.

Bucky watched Clint and Laura, still sort of in awe at how he'd been whipped into shape, looking closer, even the deep circles under Clint's eyes had faded, his hair was styled nicely, his hands moved softer around her, his big clumsy movements had been tamped down to a careful precise step the way the Moon was orbiting the Earth. Doting husband and father. Clint Barton. Bucky was less surprised by the thought the more he watched them.

He felt Sam watching him, felt a giddiness in his chest, he thought about Becca's question Boyfriend?  He thought about Nat's claim, His boyfriend. He thought about five kids and wine mom's.

"So when are we gonna' have our first baby?" He turned to Sam, hoping the glint in his eye would stop the shock he watched flash over Sam's face.

He willed his face to stay straight, hesitating for a moment, Sam's eyes darting across Bucky's face before his mouth tilted up to one side, "I was thinking we could start tonight." He ran his hand up Bucky's spine.

Backfired.

"Really?" He felt eyes drilling into the side of his skull, "I hope you know I won't be like that with you." He gestured to the careful dance happening in the kitchen and avoiding Steve's gaze like an eclipse.

Sam watched them for a moment his brows creasing, Laura grumbled at Clint, rolling her eyes at the way he was mashing the potatoes, Clint only giggled to himself, "You're kinda' like that already." Bucky scoffed, "You're a grump."

"Oh," Bucky watched Sam's face carefully, catching each muscle twitch, "Who said I'm Laura here, I meant I'm not gonna' be tiptoeing around you like him."

Sam raised his brow, considering, "We could adopt."

"You're not gonna' get pregnant for me." Bucky caught Peggy smirking at them from across the table, he glanced at the couple, rolling his eyes dramatically as he waved his hand at Sam's face. He was testing him, his heart felt like it might beat out his chest. He looked back at Sam and tilted his head.

Sam chewed at his lip, "I'll see what I can do for you, baby." He nodded solemnly.

Bucky grinned, holding Sam's gaze for a moment longer as he turned forward to look at Steve and Peggy, "And that's how I'm getting my degree."

Sam smiled, shaking his head, fond, affectionate, Bucky felt like running a lap around the block.

He grinned at the couple across the table, they laughed with him, Steve looked different, he raised his brows at Peggy, an inside joke swapped between them that Bucky was so glad not to understand, he looked at Sam like they were friends, no competition, no envy. No heat. Bucky might have felt shame at his surprise but Sam's hand was on his thigh and the food was being served and his ribs were tight.

The room was loud over dinner, five different conversations at any moment, every sentence ended in a laugh, every story had an interruption and three tangents thrown in, everyone's cheeks ached from their smiles and their stomachs hurt from overeating, everyone wearing jeans had undone their zippers, everyone that was drinking was speaking a little louder than they needed to, Sam's hand stayed somewhere on Bucky throughout the dinner, at both their inconvenience. Bucky's heart was too small for this.

They moved back into the living room at some point, Laura finally took a seat and watched Nat and Maria drinking wine with big eyes and twisted brows, there was music playing quietly from someone's phone and it was snowing outside, a white border forming on the small window.

Bucky volunteered to wash up, Sam got stuck in a conversation with Clint somewhere, he heard their voices, listened for trouble, couldn't find any, he was enjoying the peace.

"Need a hand?" Bucky still found himself flinching at that voice however soft it was, Peggy stepped over, her hand landing on his shoulder, "Quiet through here." The loud chatter was dulled by the door she shut behind her.

"Here, you can dry." He made himself smile, handing her a dish cloth, meeting her eyes finally, she was so pretty he had to look away again.

"Sam seems nice." She spoke after a moment, her hair flipping over her shoulder as she looked at him, pointedly, Bucky only nodded, the day had been too long. "You seem happy with him."

"I wasn't happy before?" His hands burnt under the running water.

"I'm sure you were," She was hesitating, avoiding his eye now, "I've never seen you like this though, I suppose it's probably more about me than him." She inhaled quickly, Bucky watched the muscles in her neck go taut, she chewed at her lips and added to the pile of clean dishes.

"You're happy?" He handed her a plate but didn't let go right away, she looked at him, "With Steve?"

She exhaled, her neat brows twisting together, her lipstick had smudged into a red stain, she took the plate and looked down at it as she dried it slowly, careful not to break her long painted nails, Bucky watched her, waiting for an answer.

Peggy placed the plate on the pile delicately, "I am." She finally said, meeting his gaze, "He's coming to England with me for New Years, he wants to meet my family." Her hands fidgeted, her thumb rubbing over the bare skin of her left ring finger.

"I'm sorry I never talked to you after, for not- Telling you."

"Telling me what?" She knew, Bucky saw it, she wasn't confused here, this was a test.

"I don't know, Peggy, that your boyfriend's a dick?" He huffed, he hated tests. "That he didn't tell me you were together and when I asked he only cared that we wouldn't get caught- or interrupted- I don't know, that I never even bothered to talk to you about this shit the second I met you, the second he told me he loved you while he was in bed with me?"

She sighed, glancing at the door, "Bucky," She placed a gentle hand on his arm, "That wasn't your job." Her eyes shined up at him, "And Steve is a terrible liar." She bit back a smile, "And a dick, and when I got back that day he was all upset and red in the face and all I did was cross my arms and he was confessing his sins." Peggy snorted a laugh, she was trying too hard to find light in the situation, "And he tells me how much he loves you- all the time." her thumb rubbed circles over his forearm.

Bucky had never seen her sad.

He took the dish towel from her and dried his hands, putting it down to wrap her in a hug, she returned it with urgency.

"He's not gay." Bucky felt he needed to tell her.

"I know."

"Like not even bi."

She sighed, lifting her head from his shoulder, "I know."

"That's sort of worse than if he was." It was almost a question.

She nodded, "I know."

"You're happy with him?" He asked again, Bucky had half a mind to go slap Steve for her.

"Ask me after New Years?" She shrugged.

"Don't marry him." He whispered.

She smiled, pulling him back into the hug, "Don't put that in your best man speech."

Bucky shut his eyes, breathing into the hug, she was using Steve's shampoo, her hair wasn't as shiny as it had been at Thanksgiving, she felt strong in his arms.

"I thought no one was supposed to cry on Christmas." Sam's voice filled the room.

Bucky and Peggy both gasped, pulling away quickly, "Oh, we're not! He was just telling me how to seduce my professor, I did just awful on my exams." Peggy brushed her hair back, smiling wide at Sam.

"I see, well I'm sorry to interrupt but I was lucky to get out of there alive," He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, moving across the room, "There's a real, man vs woman thing going on out there."

Peggy squeezed Bucky's shoulder where her hand rested, her brows shooting up, "Oh really? I better go join the winning team then, eh?" She smiled at Sam, turning back to look at Bucky, "Barnes," She slid her hand down his arm, holding onto his fingers for a moment as she said, "We don't owe each other anything, okay?"

Bucky nodded, smirking as she left the room, patting Sam's back and giggling at his tilted head, when she was gone, the door ajar and the muffled sounds of playful arguing spilling in, Sam hooked his arms around Bucky's waist and kissed his cheek.

"You okay?" He whispered, Bucky nodded again, kissing his jaw in return, "Good, tell me where these go so we can go back through, I wanna' be there if a fight breaks out." He hovered his hands over the stack of clean dishes, a smile curled at one side of his mouth.

Eventually they were done in the kitchen and headed back through to see everyone else, thankfully all moved on from whatever their argument had been about. With stomachs full of food and wine everyone was a little looser, everyone took up a little more space, legs tangled together and laps ached under the weight of loved ones. Laura was the only one not touching anyone else, she'd been granted an armchair all to herself, almost, Clint was very carefully perched on the arm, shooting glances down at her every two minutes.

Bucky tried his hardest not to doze off, watching Nat's mouth twist around a story and memorising each word, nodding and trying to active listen, by the time she got to the punchline he'd forgotten the setup, he laughed anyways, since Sam was laughing, since everyone was, since they all sounded so happy, since he was full of so much love and food and alcohol that the laughter just fell out like a breath.

He did find himself startling awake a few times, his head lifting from against Sam's side, frowning at whatever loud noise woke him up, trying to figure out why Sam was smiling at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky. Bucky would just sit up straighter, twined his and Sam's hands back together and go back to pretending to engage in conversation, Sam must have been doing something to make sleeping against him seem so enticing, the way he traced circles on Bucky's skin or spoke lowly in his ear, that big stupid grin.

Finally guests started drifting out the door with handfuls of leftovers and gifts, and the goodbyes zapped some energy back into Bucky, however long it took. Everyone hugged and kissed and they spent too much time with the front door open, "Oh, I meant to say..." "You know that reminds me..." "Did I tell you about...?" Slowly but surely they disappeared, plans for New Year's Eve solidified and well wishes wished.

With the news of the impending baby, and that little box of pictures surely looming in Sam's mind, they agreed to give Clint and Laura the apartment for the night, Bucky squeezed the couple in too tight hugs and they made their way out, bags in hand, a silent agreement that the sleepover would probably stretch into the next year.

They drove in silence, Bucky watched Sam, watched the streetlights bounce off his cheekbones, the stop lights shining in his eyes, he sits on his hands because he can't trust himself. Bucky is so glad he can't get visible boners when they're walking into Sam's apartment building, when there's a hand at the small of his back guiding him upstairs and when Sam decides to just reach around from behind him to unlock his door, he's so glad Sam gets very visible boners when he feels it pressed against him before he steps inside.

They dance around it for a bit, Sam sorts out the things he'd brought back from Bucky's, organises his laundry and puts away his toothbrush and avoids the heavy gaze from across the room when he tucks the little box into the drawer in his nightstand, Bucky feels those big cartoon hearts in his eyes as he pictures Sam pulling them and the lube out that drawer next time he's alone. When Sam's focused on his phone, changed into a pair of thin sweatpants that hang too low on his hips and Bucky is officially over playing coy, he makes his move, dashing into the bathroom with his backpack. He debates the sexiness of Christmas as he changes into the last set him and Nat had bought, the only one not featured in those photos, he wonders if he should have waited until Valentines for all this while he washes his face, he hesitates before slipping on the knee braces, questions actually trying this out after a day dedicated to family and food. He looks at himself in the mirror, his post dinner bloat is gone and the blue silk is nice against his pale skin, he has little triangles of sky blue lace over his scarred nipples and his bush pokes out from the fabric of his thong, his cheeks are red and as he shoved his discarded clothes into his backpack he decides: Any holiday could be sexy if he looked like this, he could just do it all again on Valentines, and that he needed to stop thinking about his family if he was going to have a good night.

He was proven exponentially right when he stepped into Sam's bedroom and saw a stain form at the front of his sweatpants before he could even speak. 

"Should I have done  the serious conversation before getting changed or do you think you can stop drooling long enough to have one?" Bucky crossed his arms over his chest.

Sam inhaled, his gaze still raking up and down his body, he squeezed his eyes shut, nodding and pursing his lips like he was steeling himself, "Is the serious conversation related to the- attire?" 

"Kinda', the attire is a gift, to you, and the conversation is regarding another gift, to you." Bucky picked at his cuticles, if he spoke any less politely then he'd probably fall apart.

"Okay," Sam opened his eyes, keeping them steady on Bucky's, "Serious conversation away."

"I don't do blowjobs." He stepped closer, "I've tried it before, with- you know, the guys I've slept with- strangers and classmates and- people I don't care about, right? And I hated it, it felt- bad, because those people didn't care about me either, and like, they didn't clean their dicks, I think, or the whole, not caring thing, just made me too aware of how gross they were." 

Sam had that wide eyed frown, "I don't mind if you don't give me blowjobs, Buck, I like what we do."

"I really wanna' suck your dick."

"Huh."

"I don't know, I- I might not. If I do start, and then decide I hate it, I need you to know it's not personal, and I need you to- let me stop. Hence the serious conversation."

"Of course. I'm not- you don't need to. though, you know that?"

"I want to. Like all the time, I want- you." Bucky swallowed, "I wanna' be yours."

"Bucky." He breathed, his lips twitching at the corners.

"Serious." He pointed a finger in Sam's face, trying to stay on task, "I might be bad at it, so I need your help- you know?" He moved that hand to Sam's chest, tracing over the fabric, "And if I need you to stop, or take a break, I'll tap out," He demonstrated against his chest, three light taps, just like he'd been shown years before, "You can do the same."

"Tap out?" He scoffed a laugh, "You'll be in control, Buck," He rested a hand on Bucky's hip, toying with the silk strap there like he couldn't help himself, "I'll keep my hands to myself."

Bucky glanced down, nervous, he definitely should have waited, voicing his wants was getting trickier with the proximity, he sort of just wanted Sam to bend him over at this point, he cleared his throat and powered through, "I want you to be in control, Sammy, I want you to keep your hands on me." He eyed him carefully, pulling his other hand into his space to prove his point.

Sam bit back a smile, his grip quick to bring Bucky in, his erection pressed tight to Bucky's, "You're sure?" Even with the heat in his eyes and his touch and his open mouth, Bucky knew he was safe to say no, it almost spurred him on more.

"Yeah." He nodded fervently, kissing the grin off Sam's face, he wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, licking into Sam's mouth as he sat back on the bed and let Bucky straddle his thighs, "I want you." He spoke against his jaw as Sam groped his ass, Bucky reached between them to feel Sam through his sweatpants and trailed his kisses up to Sam's ear, "I want you to use me."

"Jesus."

Their eyes were locked on each other, both wanting so badly but so careful to catch any sign that the other didn't, so tuned in to the other's noises and movements, waiting for a tension in the shoulders or a tight breath or those daunting three taps to drag them out of it, both waiting for the inevitable bucket of water the other would throw over their head and only working themselves up in the meantime. Bucky slid off his lap, glad for the thick fabric on his knees to pillow his landing, he kept his eyes on Sam's crotch, pulling at his waist band, his dick springing out, it looked bigger from down here. Bucky swallowed, glancing up to Sam as he gave it a few testing strokes, he was nervous, Jesus,  his cheeks were hot and the tips of his fingers tingled, but Sam looked a little gone already, he was nodding letting out tiny gasps and curses, gripping the edge of the mattress, Bucky ran his thumb through the bead of precum on his tip and the moan that spilled out of Sam's mouth filled him with confidence.

Bucky trailed his free hand to Sam's hip, pushing him to lean back further as he kissed at his inner thigh, course hair scratching at his jaw, he pushed his nose into Sam's crotch, inhaling deeply as he kissed at the base of his dick, more curses filled the air, Sam's hand coming up trembling to cup his cheek.

"So pretty like this." 

Bucky grinned against him, grazing his teeth gently against the vein that ran up the underside of his dick, he peppered little teasing kisses along his length, looking up through his lashes at Sam whose brow furrowed, his chest rising and falling harshly. Bucky wrapped his lips tentatively around the tip of Sam's dick, his eyes fluttering shut at the taste of him, he swirled his tongue and bobbed down a tiny amount, his hand was moving slowly at the base, he swallowed him down further when he felt Sam's hand twist into the hair at the back of his neck, he wanted so bad to feel him in the back of his throat, to feel Sam deep inside him, to give him everything. 

He hollowed his cheeks, pulling off, using his spit to stroke Sam as he spoke, "I need your help, Sammy." He breathed.

"But you're doing so well, baby."

"I can be better." Bucky whispered, opening his mouth, guiding Sam's dick to rest against his tongue, the weight heavy and grounding, he reached behind his head to move Sam's hand, hoping he'd catch on to what he couldn't say out loud.

"You're sure?" Sam asked, taking a hold of the hair on the crown of Bucky's head.

Bucky nodded, Sam's dick sliding along his tongue with the movement. Sam rolled his eyes with a grin, gripping Bucky's jaw as he moved him carefully, Bucky closed his mouth, moaning around Sam's length as Sam pushed him further down. This was it, the feeling Bucky had been chasing, the words that spilled out of Sam's mouth and the power he had, it wasn't like the others, it wasn't the suffocating, aching feeling of those men in his throat, it was heady and it was sweet and it was Sam, he wasn't giving up anything the way he had with them, he wasn't relinquishing his control, not in the same way at least, he still had a tight grip at the base of Sam's cock, he still had Sam writhing and moaning above him, he could still take back his control at any time, but he wouldn't, it was almost a game. Bucky dragged his free hand away from Sam's thigh, feeling him twitch in his mouth as he reached down to get some friction on his own aching dick.

Sam pulled him off, his hand sliding down to hold him by the throat as he leaned in to press a kiss to his mouth, tasting himself on Bucky's tongue, "You're so perfect for me, hm? Made for me." Sam smiled into the kiss at Bucky's whimper, he was stroking himself fast now, the blue lace scratching against the back of his hand, "Don't come all over my floor now, baby, what a waste."

Bucky huffed, "Please." 

"Please what?" He smirked

He rolled his eyes, taking his hand out his underwear, watching for rejection as he pushed his fingers into Sam's mouth, using them to push him back to how he was sitting before and swallowing him down in one go. Sam thrusted up into his mouth, unable to help himself, he hit the back of Bucky's throat and did it again at the moan Bucky let out. Sam had one hand tight in Bucky's hair and one gripping his wrist to keep Bucky's fingers in his mouth, he was lost to it now, giving Bucky exactly what he wanted, taking exactly what he needed. Sam looked so good like this, through teary eyes and quick movements Bucky made sure to take a mental note of it, of Sam's built thighs spread for him, of brown eyes looking down at him like he was everything, of plush lips against his skin as he kissed along his forearm, the sweat sliding along his temple, the wrinkle between his brows, the taste of his cum, the feeling of Sam shooting ropes into his mouth, the sound of sweet praises and filthy moans. 

Bucky swallowed down every drop of it and then he leaned up to swallow every word too. 

"You're so good to me." Sam had a lazy smile on his lips, the words a little slurred, he moaned at nothing, "Thank you, baby, thank you, so perfect, so good."

Bucky smiled softly, kissing along his jaw, his knees starting to ache but he didn't care, he pulled at Sam so he could reach his ear, biting at the cartilage before whispering, "Anytime, baby." 

It took a little longer, a few more kisses and whispers, for Sam to gain control over his own body again, after that he only needed to chug down a glass of water and five minutes later saw Bucky laid out and Sam's head between his thighs, another five minutes later and they were wrapped up in each other, cum on their tongues and limbs languid, lace and silk and too thin sweatpants thrown discarded on the floor and covers pulled up around their shoulders. Bucky traced circles on Sam's chest, kissing at his neck absentmindedly, it was sort of perfect, all tension drawn out of them, all his big fears and worries gone, at least for the moment, quite a few of the ones he had about Sam wholeheartedly answered for.

He placed a final kiss to Sam's cheek, burrowing his face into his neck, about ready to drift off when Sam cleared his throat.

"Hey Buck?"

"Yeah?" 

"I think we should stop having sex."

Huh.

 

Notes:

A cliffhanger?????? what is happening here?? anyways can my fellow skinny guys who are scared to give blowjobs because kneeling puts them in extreme pain please rise up! and can we please have a real conversation about the sexiest holidays!!! and can we please have a little commotion over smokin reds first real smut scene :P thank you thank youuuu

Chapter 12: eleven "emily, I'm sorry, I just make it up as I go along"

Summary:

Sam loves Bucky and he's not over Riley. "Emily I’m Sorry" by boygenius. (alt, "Lilac Wine" Nina Simone or Jeff Buckleys version)

Notes:

heyyyy btw lots of "i should kms" in this teehee all for fun and not to be taken seriously but also.. suicidal ideation is #Not A Joke!! haha!! please take care of Yourself!!! xxx

Bucky always felt so good around him. Coming on his tongue or on his fingers or sending Sam to heaven by clenching around his dick. Just perfect.

"You're close?" Sam panted, biting at Bucky's thigh.

"So close, please, Sammy." His nails dug into Sam's shoulder.

Sam always had a flash of intrigue the fourth or fifth time Bucky said please during sex, wondered briefly what he was asking; Bucky never said "please more" or "please harder" always just please, like he had to beg just to be here, like he had to pray for it not to stop. It was always a short moment though, a brief question before Bucky tugged his hair or scratched his back or said "oh yeah, just like that!" and his question was sort of answered.

"That's it, baby, take it." His hand was cramping, three fingers stroking at that spot that made Bucky cry a little, "So perfect." Sam crooked his fingers, sucking on his dick, pulling him toward the edge, a silent proclamation, a silent plead, come on his chin, he worked Bucky until he squirmed and pulled at his cropped hair, a silent admission, he kissed up Bucky's body slowly, tasting the sweat off his skin, running his tongue along lines etched in white and lace in blue, a silent declaration, a silent confession.

Sam kissed along Bucky's jaw, his fingers tangling into Bucky's hair, their moans and huffs of breath mixing in the air, their spit and come mixing on their lips. The silent words ringing too loudly in Sam's ear's, everything in his mind screaming for him to just fucking say it.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

After, laying beside Bucky, his head on Sam's chest and their legs twisted together, the words still rang out, the words still fought against his jaw, rattling around his throat, he swallowed, a kiss on his cheek, hair tickling his neck, he shut his eyes, squeezed them tight until he saw white spots.

"Hey Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"I think we should stop having sex."

Love was pacing across the inside of his skull.

"What?" Bucky was stiff in his arms.

"We should take a break."

Love was digging at his ribcage.

Bucky was silent for a long moment, sitting up slowly, his back hunching and the ridges of his spine protruding under his skin, "Fuck." He whispered, his head shaking.

Love was chewing at its own tail.

"I've just been thinking-" He rushed out.

"For the five minutes since you were eating me out? You couldn't have figured that out before?" He cursed under his breath, clutching at his chest, his back still to Sam, "Jesus, was it that? The- What I said- It was too much?" He turned suddenly, his brows twisted up, his lips twitching.

"No. Bucky, baby-"

"Fuck off." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, Sam went cold without him, "This is such bullshit."

"Bucky." Sam moved forward, catching Bucky's wrist, he sucked in a breath, "Let me speak."

"I don't care-"

"We're not breaking up." His voice was too stern, too loud past the words stuck in his throat.

Love raised it hackles like the bumps along his back.

"Listen to me."

Bucky held the eye contact, with water in his lash line and a wobble in his chin.

Sam should have learnt. He should've saved this conversation for the morning maybe, for the new year, for three months from now when this thing between them was already petering out and there were less stakes. He should have learnt.

I love you.

☆

Sam picked at the paper label, scratching at the bits of white still stuck to the bottle.

"I love you, man, you know that?" The words fell out.

He hummed.

"Ri, come on." Sam whined, placing the bottle on the coffee table and leaning into his space.

"I know, Sammy." Riley rolled his eyes, that face he always did, the if you make me pause this movie one more time I'll hit you kind of face.

"You never say it back." He sounded like a kid, didn't have enough control over the muscles in his mouth, his speech slurred, he didn't remember boundaries, his chest pressed to Riley's shoulder and his arms around Riley's neck, "I say it all the time and you never say it back."

"Cause' you only say it when you're drunk, little bird." His cheeks were red, his lips stretched thin into a smile, his eyes shiny, his neck stretched in front of Sam's eyes as he turned to pause his movie and ash his cigarette.

"Thas' not true," It was, technically, "I'll say it tomorrow when I'm all hungover and upset," He wouldn't stop drinking long enough to be hungover tomorrow, "I love you, Ri." He did. Sam dropped his head on Riley's shoulder, "If-"

"When-"

"If I get this Album of the Year, I'll stand up there," He placed his hand on his own chest like he was pledging allegiance, "And say thank you Ronald Riley, I love you more than the Saints, and the camera'll cut to you in your seat and f'you do that face you always do then it'll be all the gossip n' everybody'll hate you."

"Alright then, little bird, if you remember this conversation tomorrow and you do that, if-"

"When-"

"If you win this Grammy, then I-"He matched Sam's hand to chest move, "Swear to the Saints, I'll blow you a kiss from my seat." He took a gulp of his beer, smiling back down at him.

He always had that smile on, the soft one, the one with the crows feet, the one that Sam wasn't sure he was actually always doing or if his brain had twisted the memories into something sweeter, if the Riley in his memories knew he would die in eight, five, two, months, if the Riley in his head wanted it to be soft.

Sam smiled back, his cheek smushed against the soft fabric of Riley's shirt, "Can't wait."

Sam never got that kiss. He didn't remember the conversation until after his AOTY win, he was never sober enough around Riley again to bring it up, he was never smart enough to learn from it.

Sam only ever got one I love you from Riley and he held it in his chest like a lead weight.

He should have learnt.

☆

"Listen, Buck- You had this thing with Steve-"

"Oh, Jesus, Sam!"

"No, no- It's not about him, listen- It was about sex, right? The second conversation we ever had was about Steve, and about how it was just sex and you never talked and you guys were just friends, okay? And then you finally- figured your shit out, right? And what did you say to me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Buck- No! You said this isn't just sex." A breath. "So-" A sigh, "Why are you so scared of this?"

He hesitated, "I'm not-"

"Then we'll take a break."

"And do what?" Bucky huffed.

"And date, Bucky, we'll talk and go out and go to sleep." Sam spoke lower now, it was late, he should have learnt.

"This is so stupid."

"No, it's not Bucky- This is what people are supposed to do. They meet and they learn each other's real names, and they hang out, and kiss, and on the fifth date they finally have sex." That's what virgins in high school do, the Riley in his head said, "I just want to see what it's like- Right? See how we work when there isn't always just- sex to fall back on." This is stupid, he said.

It looked like the fight had left Bucky, his shoulders slumped, his eyes cast down, he was silent for a long time, his arms dotted with goosebumps, "You don't like the sex?" His voice came out small.

"I-" love you, "like it. It's perfect, baby, but it's not everything."

"You think I'm like a sex addict or something?" He grimaced, meeting Sam's eye.

Sam's eyes widened for a second, "No."

"What if that's what this test proves. Can I- When can we-" He shook his head, "How long do you wanna' do this." He huffed.

"It's not-" Sam reached over to squeeze Bucky's fingers, "It's not a test, baby, I'm not testing you, at all." Sam has failed this test too many times before, "I was thinking a couple weeks, into the New Year, at least, before your showcase." He traced circles in Bucky's palm, "And if you- are a sex addict, that's fine. Point is just that we talk about it."

He could see the wheels turning in Bucky's head, his eyebrows twitching and his eyes fluttering as he thought it through, I love you.

"I'm not pulling back." Sam whispered, "This has nothing to do with what we did tonight." Not a whole truth, not a whole lie, "I-" love you, "-enjoyed what we did, I had a really good day, I want to do that again- if you do, just... after we..." He sighed, "Have more of each other."

Maybe he'd learnt a few things.

I love you.

"Okay."

I love you.

"Okay?"

I love you.

"Okay, two weeks, no sex, only talking."

I love you.

"Okay, we can still kiss."

I love you.

"Ugh, yes. Can I still sleep here or is that too tempting."

I love you.

"Get in here."

I love you.

"Night, Sammy."

I love you.

"Night, Buck."

I love you.

☆

It was too tempting.

Sam woke up on Boxing Day at half mast and ran into the bathroom before he had to bare witness to the nose scrunch Bucky would do when the sun against his eyelids woke him up.

They spent the day napping in separate rooms and eating at opposite ends of the couch, they kissed with their bodies turned away from each other and as soon as Bucky left that night Sam was in his shower with his dick in his hand.

On the 27th they only texted a few times, Sam pretended to do work, pretended to forget about the photos in his nightstand, pretended that he didn't feel like his heart was out of his chest writing an essay on the other side of town all alone. He texted some of his new friends, the gay professors, the ones that hadn't known who he was, the ones that had shared awkward looks when Sam's old coworker yelled at them from across the bar, the ones that never texted back outside of school hours, he ended up yelling into a pillow about how pathetic it all was. He ended the day with a picture of Bucky in one hand, his dick in the other and love on his tongue.

☆

The 28th goes much the same, Sam thought about inviting Bucky over, about inviting him out to be safer, about going to his and saying fuck that. He didn't. Bucky called him. Sam almost didn't answer, it was late, Bucky had never called him, it felt like a test, like bad news, like a butt dial.

"Sammy?"

"Hey baby." He stared at the muted television, his phone screen cold against his cheek.

"You busy?" He sounded... normal.

"No." He picked at the frayed hem of his sleep shirt, his friends hadn't gotten back to him, shocker, probably all too busy with their age appropriate husbands.

"Miss you." No. Not normal. Bucky was nervous, "Not a sex miss you. I just miss your face." Maybe sad?

"You wanna' come over?" Danger zone.

"No." He rushed, "I mean, yes, obviously, but no, it's kind of a sex thing, I've got a hard on for you right now and as soon as I see you all my clothes will fall off."

"Understandable."

"Mhm, you broke in my little gifts yet?"

Danger Zone!

"Yeah." Sam sighed, a twitch in his boxers, "I miss you."

"What would you do if I was there?"

Bucky Barnes would be the death of Sam Wilson.

He cleared his throat, staring hard at the characters on screen, Star Trek reruns, Sarah's favourite, very unsexy, "I'd cook you dinner n' make you practise for your showcase."

"My showcase." He could hear the eye roll, "It's a showcase, I might participate in, if they take me."

"Yeah and in what world would they not."

"The world where I'm not banging the directors buddy."

"Bucky."

"No, I know. I was winning these things long before I won your heart, Sammy."

So sweet, so teasing, Sam cursed his dick for being so interested in something so cute.

"You wanna' come over then?"

"Only if you'll fuck me through the mattress."

"I'm hanging up." Sam laughed, acting on his word, palming his dick through his sweats as he waited for Bucky to call back.

"So mean to me." He huffed down the line.

They talked a while longer, eventually Sam's dick got the message and he could focus on Bucky, not just sex with Bucky but Bucky. They talked shop, of course, assignments and compositions and Bucky would be coming over tomorrow because he had a little thing he wanted to try out, Sam always wondered how long it would take for Bucky to stop calling every little thing he wrote a little thing.

They talked about their days and their plans and what they'd wear for New Year's Eve, Bucky said this was the first year he wouldn't be dressing up with the sole purpose of looking sexy enough to go home with a stranger, he sounded a little nervous when he said it would probably be the first year he wouldn't kiss Steve at midnight.

Sam still felt a little funny about the Steve thing.

The Steve thing was kind of like the Riley thing but the Riley thing was kind of like the Bucky thing and the Bucky thing was, of course, always a Steve thing.

He guessed it was more difficult to ignore the blonde guy sitting in the corner of the room when he was a real living man and not just a ghost. He imagined getting over the love of your life who's not really the love of your life is a lot more difficult when he's still in your life and you can still act on the love.

Sam was fine with the Steve thing, he understood it, he felt it, it burned in his chest, it crawled up his spine, it sat in the corner of the room and made comments and hissed and laughed and it smiled because it knew. He was fine with the Steve thing.

He hoped Steve would be there at midnight to watch Sam and Bucky kiss and he hoped the Bucky thing was haunting Steve.

Sam still felt a little funny about the Steve thing.

At some point Sam moved to his room, his eyelids were heavy and the television was only distracting him from Bucky, he shut off all his lights and hummed little yes's and no's to Bucky's story, tucking himself into bed and focusing very hard on not focusing on getting hard. Bucky had this sleepy voice on, he'd been in his own bed the whole time, Sam could tell because of the way he breathed and the rustling of fabric, his voice would get gravelly toward the end of each rant, he mumbled more.

A long moment of silence fell over them, Sam had plugged in his phone and switched on loud speaker, not opposed to falling asleep to the sound of Bucky's tinny breaths. He was almost there, his eyes falling shut, when Bucky piped up again in a tiny voice.

"Am I good at this?" A hard whisper.

Sam took a second to respond, getting his bearings back, "Good at what, baby?"

He hummed, "Any of it."

Sam inhaled, sitting up a little on his elbow to stare at the screen, "You're perfect." It came out too mean, like it was a stupid thing to ask, which... Sam was too tired to get into.

Bucky sighed, the speaker rattling with the sound, another stretch of silence and then still in that little voice, "Sometime's I feel like- I don't know, I got my eyeballs scooped out as a baby, and everyone else is saying see this? look at this? and I just- can't. There's probably a better analogy," He mumbled, "S'probably mean to blind people but- You know what I mean?" He huffed.

"You feel different?"

"I feel like I'm from fuckin' Mars, but not even Mars cause' everyone feels like that- I feel like I'm from the smack middle of the abyss of space, like I just appeared and I didn't get the rule book or the instincts or anything that everyone else did."

"You're doing very well for a void baby."

"If I don't do well then I came a long way for nothing. Do you know how far away space is? The least I could do is be one of the greats. The first one."

"The first great?"

"In the list, in fifty years when a kid in high school is writing his college essay, he'll say; I wanna' be one of the greats, I wanna' be the next Bucky Barnes or Sam Wilson or Billy Joel. And then that kid will be the first."

"You think me n' Billy got rulebooks to get on that list?"

"I think you were born with it built in, I'm missing parts."

"Maybe that's what will get you on the list then. Elvis got on the list for being the first white guy to make black music, Freddie Mercury was gay and poor and he made it, you'll be the first guy from space, who lost his rule book, to make the best music anyone's heard since 2017."

"First guy from space that got to bang Sam Wilson."

"Presumptuous."

"You bangin' other void baby's?"

"Hm, nah, you're one of a kind, you're out of this world." Sam laughed at himself, ignoring the groaning down the phone line.

"Sam."

"Yeah, baby?" He sighed, smiling, settling into his pillow.

"I'm good, right?" A beat, "N' don't just say I'm perfect."

Sam shut his eyes, "You're the best I've seen since 2017." He hoped Bucky understood, "Whatever you're missing doesn't matter, baby, the good's built in."

Bucky never responded save for a hum, his light snoring filtered in through the speaker after a while and Sam fell asleep listening to it, picturing Bucky beside him, Bucky had hung up by the time he woke up the next morning.

☆

Bucky comes over on the 29th. Sam watches him play the piano, gets that burning in his chest he always gets when he watches him, the numbness in his fingers and his toes and the ache in his knee.

He watches Bucky pick away at a new composition, something he's thinking of using for the showcase, maybe the ache is coming from that looming threat too. He watches Bucky's back curve, folding into the piano, he's wearing a thick hoodie, Sam doesn't recognise it, he wishes Bucky was bare for him so he could watch his arms flex with the movements, wishes he could go kiss away the goose bumps he'd get. He wishes he'd never brought up the showcase.

Shuri was an old friend, one of the ones he was scared to bump into every time he left the house, she was sweet, he remembered, but she teased like they all did, the people who'd grown up with enough money behind them for every single thing to be just a funny little thing. She was the second heir to the Panther Company throne, the one who'd laughed in the face of the family business and ran to America to be an artist.

He didn't know her well enough anymore to be excited about the showcase, he'd heard whispers about it, about the Black Panther coming to to extend the olive branch, to appease his baby sister and bring her back into the company by throwing a fundraiser for the musical arts, he'd read about the long lost cousin, Erik, and his new role in the company to find the link between the old traditions and the new mission, he'd heard the rumours about that new professor in the performance department, Nakia, about the son she never talked about and who his father might be.

Sam knew the opportunity this could be for Bucky, the connections he could make when he met Shuri, the publicity he'd get for his performance, and he needed to see Bucky on stage, the sensible part of Sam needed to see how well he could capture an audience before he could be sure he was the right guy for this. Bucky needed to do this showcase.

But if Sam thought about it a little too long, if the sun set and his stomach churned and he kept the showcase in his mind, he dreaded it.

He watched Bucky crossing his arms, gripping the thick fabric of his hoodie, his knee bouncing against the foot pedal, and Sam thought about it too long.

Was he allowed to love Bucky?

"Should I just do a cover?"

"What?"

"It's not like I win anything, if I do an original and it sucks ass I will have to kill myself but if it sounds great all I get is like a participation trophy or some shit." He shrugs, turning around to face Sam with a pout.

"You're not gonna' kill yourself, Buck, stop saying that."

"I might!"

"Whatever you do, it won't suck ass, your only danger is f'you sound just okay." Sam raised his brows, "You wanna' be average?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, his mouth twitching at the side, "No, I wanna' be the best."

Sam let himself smile, stepping over to wrap Bucky in a hug, curling around him from above, pushing his face into Bucky's neck and tucking his hands under his hoodie, "Then it'll be the best." He whispered, half to himself.

"N' what will I get for all my hard work?" Bucky spoke low in his ear, his cold hands covering Sam's.

Sam breathed into Bucky's neck, he thought about Shuri, about the night they'd met, he saw Riley sitting at the desk in his peripheral, "Anything you want, baby." Riley laughed at him.

☆

Sam didn't sleep the night of the 29th, he tried and he pretended and he stayed wide awake, he watched Bucky sleep, his fingers were still numb.

Sometimes Sam thought about going back to therapy, he thought about what he'd say, how he'd sit in the office, how he'd explain himself, he tried to imagine what the therapist would say to him.

"I know it's wrong to say I should have died that night but surviving it hasn't done anyone any good, I wish I hadn't given up but continuing without him is like living without a lung." Sam would wring his hands, chewing his lips while he awaited his response.

"People get their lungs removed all the time." The therapist would say, "You'll be fine."

"I love Bucky, but I'm worried Riley's watching me from the afterlife and thinking I'm replacing him or moving on or forgetting about him, but I can't, I love Riley like a lung, remember? But then I worry that Bucky will think I'm still hung up on Riley and I'm only using him to fill the Riley shaped hole in my chest, where the missing lung was, and maybe I am, and maybe I'm doing Bucky wrong by staying with him when I'm still missing my lung." He'd hold his head in his hands and taste blood on his lips.

"Isn't Bucky half your age? You should kill yourself." The therapist would smile like Bucky and write him a prescription for enough Xanax to kill a horse.

Sam hadn't seen a therapist in a long time and his imagination took too many liberties after the sun set.

He watched the moonlight against Bucky's skin, his pale face so calm, the red bumps across his forehead, the tiny freckles on his cheekbones and the deep purple under his eyes, Sam only noticed the little white line on his temple then, a tiny bump telling a story Sam hadn't heard yet, Bucky looked so beautiful like this, in deep sleep, not dreaming, not thinking, not talking shit, just perfect and beautiful and safe.

Sam lifted his hand and tentatively skimmed his fingertips over Bucky's face, tracing the line of his nose and the curve of his ear, he dragged his nails along his scalp gently, pulling the hair back carefully just to see him better, he settled his thumb into the cleft of his chin, placing a tiny kiss on his cheekbone before he stood and paced through to the living room.

Time passed quicker like that, watching some old detective show on mute, chewing at his nails, listening to the traffic outside, forcing himself to stop thinking. Riley sat at his desk in the corner of the room with a branch through his chest and laughed at him through the blood spilling out his mouth.

Sam stared at the screen with unfocused eyes until the sun started sparkling through his window, he showered and brushed his teeth, made breakfast sandwiches and kissed Bucky awake, he stared at Bucky while he ate and ignored the pain in his knee and he wished he was having sex instead.

Maybe Bucky would have a better chance if he didn't have Sam and the ghost breathing down his neck to weigh him down, maybe Sam should take a step back, tell Bucky what not to do and let him figure the rest out on his own. Bucky had gotten this far already what the fuck did he need Sam for? Nothing. Sam was biting at Bucky's ankles and whining on the other side of the door. Sam had ended his time in the music industry by letting everyone down, he'd broken promises and contracts and hearts, he'd screwed people over, wasted months of work, cost people their jobs, all because he couldn't stop staring at the bottom of the bottle long enough to get out of bed and go to work. That is not someone Bucky needed on his side, a broken old man is not reliable, a grief-stricken pussy is not who should have his back, an alcoholic fucking asshole-

"Whats wrong?"

"Huh?"

"What is wrong with you, Sam?" His tongue worked the inside of his mouth, his plate wiped clean in front of him, brow furrowed.

"You want a list?" He tried to twist his mouth into a smirk but it felt like a grimace.

"I want you to talk." He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, the dart of his eyes showing his fear.

Sam sighed, his hands twisting in his lap under the table, he stared at the old wood, he'd found the table at a second-hand shop, found the chairs at a yard sale, he'd bought furniture so that Bucky would stop hiding his laugh every time he walked through the apartment, he'd started buying real groceries, he'd thrown away half his pay check for a Christmas gift and it turned out they were supposed to be keeping it casual this year, because of fucking course they were.

He met Bucky's eye, watching for a moment, a long moment of silence, stretched like time stopped, he looked so beautiful like this.

"I think I love you."

The moment stretched again, Bucky's breath hitching, his mouth twitching, his eyes flicking with several different emotions before they settled on a giddy sort of look.

"You think?"

"I think." Sam breathed, "I haven't decided if it's a good idea yet."

Bucky smiled, twisted his mouth like he was trying to hide it, "It's a terrible idea, but so was hooking up after finding out I was your student so, at least you're consistent." He sounded like Riley.

"You scare me."

Bucky watched him carefully through his lashes, his head bowed over his plate, "What d'you mean?"

"I mean, I love you, and you scare the shit out of me, I love you like it's obvious but you can do a lot better than me, and I love you like it's what I was built to do but you do not need me, and I love you like Riley and I fucked it all up with Riley." Sam's voice cracks at the end, his fingers dig into his thigh, his knee throbs with pain, his chest heaves with shallow breaths.

Bucky's lips part, his hands fall from lazily clutched under his chin to gripping the edge of the old wooden table, his brows furrow.

"Sam."

"I love you, Bucky."

Softer, "Sam."

Sam feels water streak his face, his eyes track Bucky rounding the table, pulling a chair up to sit facing Sam, he turns and their knees knock together, Bucky lifts his hands to hold Sam's jaw and hugs him tight.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong, you didn't- I'm not him." He breathes against Sam's hair, holding him like he knows, like he has any fucking idea, Sam cries into his shoulder, tiny, sharp sobs clawing at his throat, love is scratching up his insides, punishing him for locking it away.

"I'm not him, Sammy, you're okay."

Sam clutches at Bucky, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his- Sam's shirt, his breaths come out quick and hard, he's trying so hard to stop, knows it's ridiculous, knows crying won't help. He feels himself drowning, Bucky holds him close, his touch burns, his words are soft and gentle and they ring loud and piercing in Sam's ears, he feels it, the ache in his chest, the missing lung, the black tar filling his veins, Sam feels like he's floating inside his skin, like his bones aren't connecting, like his fingers are too big and his ribcage is too small.

"Sammy, you've gotta' breathe, come on." Bucky's pinching his jaw, forcing Sam to meet his wide eyes, his brows raised, a pinched smile, "Breathe." He demonstrated, in through the nose for three, hold, out the mouth for three, Bucky nods, his smile growing when Sam copies him, he still looks nervous, though.

Sam wishes he had liquor in his apartment for the first time in months, starts calculating how quick he can find some, where the closest store is, what he should have first, a beer, God, Sam missed beer, an old dealers name flashes into his mind as he breathes, matching Bucky, as he sees the fear register, he can almost feel Bucky itching to run away, still clutching onto him.

"I'm sorry." He says, instead of what do you drink when you feel like your organs are clawing their way out your body? 

"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Sammy, do you feel okay?" Bucky says, instead of Fuck you.

"I feel like I'm sorry, Buck," He slumps back in his chair, "I'm sorry." Sam pushes his palms into his eye sockets.

"Okay, fine. You're sorry, what for?" He says, stern, his hands on Sam's thighs, his thumbs tracing circles.

Sam's brows crease, "I'm sorry for telling you I love you- when I'm not-" He sucks in a breath, "I'm not over Riley." Can't meet Bucky's eyes.

"Jesus." Bucky huffs, Sam flinches, "You mean the last guy you loved who you watched die? That Riley? You're not over him? Really? Wow, Sammy, now that really is a surprise!" He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. What a dick, Riley would say, a shit eating grin on his face.

Sam stutters, squinting against the sunlight streaming in the window behind Bucky, squinting against what might be Riley sitting beside him, "I'm sorry."

Bucky chews his lip, blinks and stares at the wall for a moment, "No, I- That was mean. I just-" He sits up, fidgeting with his hands, "I really am not surprised, Sam, he- it was big, he was important to you, I'd be more worried if you weren't still- hung up, or whatever." 

"You didn't sign up for this." He sighs, "I didn't tell you early on enough, I didn't- You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"What'd you say? On Christmas? The second conversation we ever had was about Steve, the guy who is very much still alive and in my phone and on my mind- way too fuckin' often." He stares, hesitates like he's waiting for Sam to cuss him out for that, he doesn't, Bucky continues, "You didn't run. I haven't either." He looks tired with the conversation, "Sammy," So soft, "What's this about?"

Sam focuses on his breathing, he can see Riley trying to smooth out the crease between Bucky's brows, can hear him saying terrible timing, little bird.

"I've just... been thinking a lot, recently. I love you, and I've been trying to tell you, but every time I try I..."

"You think about him." 

"And I think about how much I fucked it up, how much I probably hurt him and how I never had a chance to figure it out until he was gone." Sam's face crumples, he chews his lip raw.

Bucky sucks in a deep breath, leaning forward to take Sam's hand, "I get it." A whisper, Sam grimaces, hates himself for it, just a little, Bucky matches the look, "I know- I know comparison is probably the wrong route to go here but- Sam, my mom died when I was fourteen, suddenly, like the day before she died we had some big ass argument about groceries, like screaming and storming off level fight, you think I didn't tear myself to pieces over that? I get it, Sam." 

"Okay." Sam nods, because he's tired too, of himself, of Bucky's will for this to be okay.

Bucky sighs, "Okay, so you understand that- you gotta' get over it, right? Not Riley, you can be ninety-nine and still thinkin' about him, okay, but it's gotta' be softer than this. You can't spend the rest of your life wishing you'd done it different with his, you gotta' know you can't change what happened, that if he hadn't died you'd'a probably still hurt him and how lucky- as fucked as it is- how lucky are you that you lost him and you know all the mistakes you made and you've had all this time to think about what you should'a done and now... now you can do better by everybody that's still here." He sucks in a breath, his grip tight on Sam's hand, his eyes quick to take in Sam's reaction.

Sam feels a little like crying again, not with despair or aching over Riley but with the thought that Bucky is too young to be so good at this, with the image of a teenaged Bucky, at the time Sam was losing Riley in that car, already an expert in grief, already getting over it, with the idea that maybe someone had spoken to him like this, quick and hard, Bucky with freckles on his nose and a scar on his temple, Get over it, she's not coming back to hear your sorry's.

"Sammy?" He traced a circle on Sam's hand.

"You're too good to me." His voice is scratchy.

"Well, a little bird told me you love me," He shrugs, "Be pretty rude not to help you out."

Riley is somewhere laughing at Sam. 

"It would be, you're right." He leans forward smiling and kisses Bucky, their knees knock together and there's still water in his eyes.

"You decide if it's a bad idea? It's okay, if you take it back or- you need time." Bucky runs his thumb over Sam's jaw, "No rush." He whispers.

"It's a terrible idea, and I love you, Bucky." Sam smiles against his skin, kisses him again, the words don't know what I'd do without you flash into his mind in earnest and he laughs at himself into Bucky's mouth, "It is stupid how much I love you." That face Riley always did burned into the back of his eyelids, the one that probably meant you are a dick, Sam Wilson, and he steeled himself, "Please, tell me if I ever fuck this up."

Bucky smiled softly, a crease in his brow, "You w-" Sam squeezed his jaw, "Okay. Okay I'll tell you if-" When. "You fuck this up." He pinched Sam back, nodding.

"I love you." Sam couldn't stop saying it.

Instead of a Thank you or a Sorry it was just I love you. In silence it was love, in between kisses it was love, through a moan it was love and in a half asleep daze it was love. Riley still watched, still bled in the corner and grinned wickedly, but in his dreams he looked softer around the edges, his laughter sounded like Bucky's and his cursing sounded like a It's okay, I loved you too, I forgive you, you picked a good one, little bird, don't fuck it up, Sammy, love him good and sober for me.

And he would. Sam wasn't going to let Ronald Riley down ever again, he swore to the Saints on it. 

 

Notes:

btw the line "which... Sam was too tired to get into." is actually Very funny with the context that I, smokin-reds, am called Sammy... :P
anyway very strange to write a sam pov... it will continue into next chapter... kind of feels like abandoning a baby (bucky) in a dumpster (what is he thinking...????) (he's probably really annoyed that sam made him have to Convince sam it was ok to love him....) (lol)
also this took... Nearly a month.. to write... listen listen listennnnnnn

Chapter 13: twelve "one day, you'll figure me out"

Summary:

Happy New Year. "I'm Your Man" by Mitski

Notes:

heyyy… content warning!! Bucky is attacked verbally and physically for being well a little bitch but also for being gay and trans so be aware… it’s right at the end and not a very long passage but.., just in case 😋 enjoy!! oh also they’re like in a club there is heavy drinking and references to drugs and groping and blah blah just be careful with that too!! :D

Sam might have gotten whiplash at the change in pace, the 30th had started a little rocky but they fell into that hazy, daydream rhythm after the fifteenth I love you, after the fiftieth I'm sorry. It was all so pretty and slow and then the 31st rolled around and Sam got goose bumps as he watched the whirlwind of Bucky and his friends. 

They were at the Barnes/Barton apartment, Maria and Natasha were half in the bathroom with their makeup bags spilled into the sink and half in the hallway, yelling their opinions on everything Bucky picked out, because after all that talk he still hadn't perfected his outfit, kept slipping too camp or too slutty - his words. The Spiders were in the living room, all dressed and painted, pregaming and complaining, Hobie had his boots on the table and Gwen was spilling tobacco on the rug, Miles hadn't let a single song play all the way through in twenty minutes. Laura was sat nice and calmly on Clint's lap, he had his eyes shut and his head back, a grimace on his face at every loud noise, she seemed more content with it, maybe the knowledge that no one would dare expect her to clean up, she listened to Gwen tell disjointed stories, offered her own opinions on Bucky's attire and kept a grounding hand on Clint's shoulder. Sam watched mostly, leaning in the doorway of Bucky's bedroom, granting him a line of sight to everyone, he kept quiet, knew responding that looks great, baby, to every outfit would not be helpful, he focused on Bucky's flushed face and the smell of hairspray, focused on the expanse of white skin as Bucky changed his shirt again, focused on trying to guess the song's name before Miles picked a new one. It was 9pm. Sam did not look at the liquor on the coffee table, he did not track the little bag of pills swap hands. It was 10pm. Sam could kill for a beer.

"Ready for a quickie before we go?" Bucky whispered, warm hands snaking up Sam's waist, his eyes wide, smile wider. 10:30pm, not bad.

Sam blinked, frowning, "You're ready to go?" A nod, a pinch to his hip, Bucky smirked, right.

They were still abstaining. 

Bucky was still struggling.

"When have you ever managed quick?" He pinched back, kissing Bucky's temple and hearing a chorus of groans from his other students, "Can we finally leave?"

"One second!" Nat said, the fifth time that night, she stepped out into the hallway, mumbling, "Here." She held out a stick of product, gripping Bucky's chin and swiping glitter across his cheekbones, she grinned as she finished offering the stick up to Sam as Bucky pulled out his phone to look at himself, Sam didn't miss the picture he took, saw himself grimacing in the background, shaking his head. "You do not want to sparkle with us, Wilson?" She pouted. He did not.

In the Uber there Bucky used soft hands and softer words, he was still sober, still flushed, still perfect, his shirt clung to him, a size too small, some stupid slogan on it, his jeans hung low, tucking into his boots, laced with shiny black ribbon, he sparkled against the streetlights whizzing past, his lips were pink from how he'd been chewing them all day.

"You're definitely okay with me drinking?" He asked, unable to keep his hands still on Sam, jittery on nothing but adrenaline, "You can say no, to anything, you'll be okay in the club?"

"I'll be fine, baby, it's not like I'm-" He glanced around the car, everybody busy with each other, he pitched his voice lower anyway, pulling Bucky closer on his lap, "I'm not an alcoholic," Liar, Riley was squished into the boot, chin propped on the seat behind him, "I'm not- sober-sober, you know? It's fine, baby." He smiled, blinking past the sting in his eyes, kissed Bucky, ignoring the groaning behind him

Later, as they pulled up to the club, when Sam thought he'd kissed the conversation out of his mind, Bucky whispered, "Just tell me, any time it's too much, no matter what." It wasn't a question, Sam still felt like he was breaking a promise.

In the line outside the club Sam clung to Bucky, chest to back, slid his hands up under Bucky's shirt, kissed his shoulder every so often, he couldn't stop surveilling, couldn't help but subtly watch every person around them, waiting for the porcelain to shatter, he wasn't sure what it would be, felt narcissistic thinking he'd be recognised as the Falcon, felt stupid thinking he'd be recognised as Prof. Wilson, felt a pit in his stomach at being recognised as a total fucking loser. He felt old. Out of place. He felt too fucking sober.

Bucky placed his hands over Sam's, absentmindedly, talking to the others, Yelena and Kate had joined them, a few more new faces, girls he hadn't been introduced to yet. It was loud, Bucky's hands stroked up Sam's arms, never still, he traced circles and squeezed his arm, he laced and unlaced their fingers together, ran a thumb across Sam's knuckles and a index fingers over his scars, it was good, overstimulating but soothing, he could focus on it, he acclimated to the setting, the sounds, strangers laughing, not at him, squeal's of New Year excitement, yelling he didn't need to know the reason for, he let Bucky's constant fidgeting calm the buzzing under his skin. 

This should have been such a natural habitat for Sam, a night club, 11pm, pulsing music and colourful lights, hands on him and bodies pressed tight, a kiss on his throat and words in his ear, yelling but still hard to hear. He should have settled right into that rhythm, he lived and breathed this environment for so long, years of moving between the club and the studio, years of headaches and hangovers and washing sick off his shirt in a strangers bathroom, years of dancing and floating and running along streets he didn't know with people he didn't know because he could and because he was alive, and he could run, and drunk Sam loved running. He sort of ached for it. Knew he'd never be able to feel that free again. 

He blinked against the lights, Bucky was talking to him, holding his jaw and his neck and shouting into his ear, "What do you want to drink?" His breath was hot against his skin. 

"A coke." He shouted back, taking the chance to touch him back, running his thumb over Bucky's bottom lip, chewing at his own. 

Bucky was still at the start of it all. He had years of drinking too much and not sleeping enough and running until his lungs gave out ahead of him. Maybe tonight he'd do a line in the bathroom and laugh until his ribs ached with whoever sold it to him, maybe tonight he'd dance until his thighs cramped up and he has to crawl along the sticky floor back to the booth they were in now, maybe tonight he'd go home with someone prettier than Sam and when he woke up he wouldn't remember if he'd embarrassed himself. 

Bucky kissed him hard, flashing that beautiful smile before running off with Natasha, their hands coming together as they moved through the crowd. 

It would never be the same. Sam should have stayed home, he hoped he'd get to taste the liquor on Bucky's tongue soon.

"Hey!"

Sam frowned, snapped out of thought, he'd been watching the spot Bucky had been before the crowd swallowed him up, he turned to Hobie, leaning heavy against the table, one of the new girls was behind him, nervous, sober, chewing her lip.

"You good?" Hobie slapped a hand on his shoulder just on the edge of too hard, Sam kept a straight face, "You look like a lost puppy, blud." 

He put on a smile, "I'm good, man, just trying to pretend I'm not the oldest person in the building."

Hobie grimaced, dismissively waving his hand at Sam as he scanned the crowd, "Not even close, check out grandad!" He pointed to a guy hovering by the toilets, one hand on his drink the other in his pocket, he twisted his lips to the side as he watched every body pass him by, he looked about 60, "And you're here with people, not nearly as embarrassin'." He moved closer to Sam, slinging a skinny arm around his neck, fishnet material scratched at the skin there.

"That is rude!" The girl hit his shoulder, smiling, following their gazes to the lonely old man, "Maybe he's just waiting for his friends." She pouted.

"Oh, Kam, please do not tell me you're about to go talk to the only creepy bloke in here cause' you feel bad." Hobie groaned.

Sam could smell his deodorant, "Thank you." He whispered, since he was feeling a little sensitive.

"I won't! Oh my God, of course not, I'm just saying! Don't judge, dude." She gestured vaguely to Sam, maybe, aborting the movement when she accidentally made eye contact with him, "Hey! By the way," She cleared her throat, balling her hands into fists in her lap, "I'm Kamala! I'm on Miles' course." She waved a hand to Hobie, an extension of each other, "I've heard about you." She added, turning her head away and holding his eye like she had the upper hand, she probably did, but something in the way she smiled after made him think she hadn't heard enough.

"Nice to meet you Kamala." He shook her hand, because he was forty and he had a reputation to uphold.

The crowd  beside them parted and the rest of the group flooded back around the booth, each with hands full of drinks, Maria carried a tray of shots, Gwen a pitcher of something bright, Bucky made hard eye contact with Sam like he was making up for not being able to point, he was holding three glasses, "With the straw!" He yelled, that glass was raised slightly in his hold like he was being careful the others wouldn't spill over into it, Sam grinned despite himself, taking the glass with the straw, helping him put the rest down without spilling anything, kissed his cheek as he sat down beside him, "I tasted it, took two tries for him to stop giving me vodka and coke." He huffed, Sam kissed him again.

The other girl was America, also on Miles' course, she introduced herself as she climbed over his lap, falling in between Kamala and Gwen, she grinned big and spilled her drink on him. Throughout the night there was always a few other strangers at the table, never lingering long enough for introductions. 

Bucky was drinking the spare vodka cokes he'd been given, it tasted terrible every time they kissed, didn't stop him from indulging though.

Once he was sufficiently drunk and loose and antsy Bucky joined the dance floor with the others, Sam tried to watch him, his tooth aching grin and his terrible dancing, but he kept being eclipsed by other dancers, flashes of glitter and a pale hand raised to the sky behind sweaty strangers. 

Soon he was completely hidden, Sam turned back to the table, realised sitting there all night watching and waiting for Bucky was probably very anti-social and would not help his case in the nobody but Bucky wants me here issue. Kamala, Maria and Miles were still sitting around, plain sodas and 0% beers in front of them, he relaxed a little when he noticed Maria still watching the crowd, smiling whenever she caught sight of red hair. 

The song changes and with it there's an eruption of familiar squeals from the dance floor, Sam groans to himself, it's one of his, a little two minute hit from his stint in pop music, he hadn't escaped that song for three years after it's release, had only heard it in a mall once since he stopped making music, he'd been with his sister and his baby nephew, she'd winded herself laughing at him. 

His eyes slid to Maria, she hid a smile behind her bottle, watching him carefully, Miles hadn't noticed but Kamala was giving him that look again, mouth in a firm line, brow creased. 

A few seconds of hard staring before she was pointing wildly, "You!" She yelled, her eyes wide and grin wider, "I knew it! You are- The fuckin'- You're the Falcon!" She squeezed Miles' arm, shaking him, "My brother was obsessed with you." She laughed, "I mean- Your music! He wasn't like- stalking you or anything, he just like- had all your music on his Ipod and was like so excited when you won that Grammy." She giggled again, a nervous tic, she was loud, excited and fighting against the volume of drunken karaoke as the chorus played loud.

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek, a polite smile curving at the corner of his mouth like he didn't want to crawl out his skin right now.

"You didn't say anything?" Maria frowned at Miles, "You're only figuring this out now?" A pointed look to Kamala, she leaned against the table now, in their spaces, she sent a sidelong glance to Sam, checking in. 

"Hey! I thought she knew, Hobie did the introductions." Miles held his hands up either side of his head, shrugging.

"I mean- I thought he looked familiar, I just- I don'know, I was never- a fan, it took me a second. Sue me!" Kamala was quieter now, embarrassment warming her cheeks, she avoided his eye and busied herself with her drink, chewing her straw. 

"It's fine, Maria, I'm old," He swiped his hand under his eye like he was wiping away a tear, leaning toward them, "Nobody recognises me anymore! It's fine, really, I'm a has-been." He sniffled, pouting, releasing a breath when Kamala was laughing again. 

"You're not that old, don't let everyone here make you think that, they'll break you down." Maria rolled her eyes, nudging the two third years.

"How old are you?" Sam asked, skeptical.

"Twenty-seven." She shrugged, "I'm a mature learner, they never let me forget."

Sam thought for a moment, watching the other two rolling their eyes at each other, "Hm, ninety-eight?" A nod, "That was the year I had a girlfriend for a week before she told me she was pregnant." He huffed a laugh, taking a swig of his drink as they spluttered and question marks appeared in their eyes.

"What?" A chorus.

"We were fifteen! Sex Ed. wasn't that good back then, we were both in church too, she thought the condoms were like a sex toy or something, I was using 'em for fun, we broke up after it, said it was sinnin'" Sam shrugged, remembering her teary face as she left his house, still clutching her stomach, she was nice. 

"You were straight?" Miles asked.

"I was with her."

"You are old, I take it all back." Maria huffed, taking the last swig of her drink and collecting some of the empty glasses, "Drinks?" 

Kamala and Miles were whispering with each other when Bucky came back, falling against Sam, an arm hooked around his neck.

"Come dance with me." Bucky pawed at his chest, licking his jaw, "Please." He whined.

Sam hesitated, "I gotta' piss, after?"

"Mh, me too." 

Sam held him up, hands petting around his waist and up his sides as they shuffled through the crowd and made it through to the toilets, Bucky squeezed the hands around him, pulling Sam behind him into one of the stalls. Sam rolled his eyes, chewing his lips as Bucky giggled too loud and spun around with a grin.  Bucky trailed wet kisses against Sam's jaw as he leaned behind him to lock the door and pulled his own jeans down, looking up through his lashes and his hands resting innocently on Sam's belt as he sat and pissed. 

Bucky pulled gently at Sam's hands, tugging him down, Sam bent at the waist so they were eye level, it was quieter in here, music still pounding against the door but only a couple men at the urinals, one stall beside them occupied, all quiet movements and manly groans, Bucky whispered, "I'm so happy you're here."

"Watching you pee?" Sam tilted his head, matching his tone, hands on his knees.

"Yeah." He grinned, relenting too quickly with a grimace, "Ugh, no, you know what I mean." He pinched at Sam's jaw.

"I do, I'm happy to be here with you baby," He turned his face into Bucky's hand, kissing his palm, tasting sweat and liquor, "I really do need to piss though." He mumbled against his skin.

Bucky laughed and muttered away as he stood to wipe and yank his jeans back up, still buckling his belt as he pushed Sam around to swap places, resting his forehead against his back and humming like it was a nice reprieve, Sam made quick work, proud of his dick for taking no notice to the familiar weight behind him and pretty hands snaking around to hug his chest, he zipped himself back up, hit the flusher and spun in his hold, pretending it wasn't gross to take Bucky's face in his hands and kiss him until he was laughing, the zap of energy Sam could tell he needed.

He swatted Bucky's hands from where they were groping at him as they stepped back out to the dance floor, trying for a don't even think about it look and winding up grinning and squeezing Bucky's ass in retaliation. Sam did not want to dance, his skin itched and his knee ached, he tried to inch toward the booth where he saw the girls and the spiders and the laughs and the nice comfortable seating, he tried to distract Bucky, kissing his temple and looping his arm around his shoulders, guiding him gently.

Bucky wasn't having any of it, he watched Sam, his feet rooted in one spot, near the centre of the floor, his hands firm on Sam's hips, "Dance with me." He whispered, ghosting kisses as he leaned in and away again, swaying his shoulders, a grin stretching at his bitten red lips, "So everybody stops trying to hit on me."

Sam frowned, a flip in his stomach at the words, he glanced around, finally noticing all the wandering eyes, all the heavy gazes dragging up Bucky's figure, hair spun around fingers and smirks curved at one side. Sam had been too focused on Bucky, on the liquor taste of his teeth and the drag of painted nails on his forearms, he'd been too caught up with Bucky and his whirlwind and his smile and how seamlessly he fit into this world that Sam didn't recognise anymore. He'd been watching Bucky so much that he'd forgotten he wasn't the only one that could see him like this.

Sam laughed a little at himself, he moved back into Bucky's space, hands on his arms and his waist and his neck, thumb grazing along his jaw, leaning in to kiss him, to kiss his teeth because he wouldn't stop smiling, to rest their foreheads together as they barely danced, feet moving in tiny steps, hips moving side to side, swapping breath in the small space between them.

It's jarring, the feeling of fear and fight mixing in his veins, the possessiveness he feels over someone who can't possibly be owned, the worry that he could never truly have him. Sam wants Bucky, too much, he wants Bucky like he wants fresh air to breathe and like he wants a safe place to go home to and like he wants a beer, and Sam knows he could never have him, all of him. There isn't a person on Earth or from Mars who could have Bucky, who could know him inside and out, who could understand him and his silences and his looks and his quiet breaths and his big, huge, complicated, ridiculous fucking feelings. Sam can try, he can learn and ask and imagine and assume and he can pray to the Lord above that one day he might get Bucky in some small way but he knows, Sam understands that someone like Bucky cannot be known because someone like Bucky makes damn sure of it. 

He flattens his palm out against Bucky's back, slides his other under his shirt, squeezing the fat of his waist, Bucky's staring at him, a little haziness in his eyes, lids heavy, lips caught between his teeth, hands hooked lazily around Sam's neck. They dance like idiots, too slow and too soft and people are bumping into them and there's a sweaty hand at Sam's back that isn't Bucky's and there's and squeeze in the crowd that they breath into and Sam knows this is as close as he'll ever get to understanding Bucky. 

"I love you," A reminder whispered against the beat of the room, "You look so pretty tonight," Words coming out sticky against the shell of his ear, "I'm so lucky I get to be here with you." Something too sweet spoken past a lump in his throat, too raw, too much, too open like his guts might splatter onto the dance floor.

"Mmh, Sammy, I love you too, you know that?" 

The ghost in the room has his hand in Sam's chest, the ghost is squeezing and squeezing, the ghost looks sorry, the ghost looks like he isn't meaning to be so rough, the ghost is pulling at his heart, fingers digging into the veins, blood seeping under his fingernails, squeezing and squeezing and saying, "I love you, I love you, I love you, you know that, right little bird?"

"I know, baby." He says back, his heart in someone else's hand.

The clock strikes midnight and Sam forgets to think about Riley. 

He kisses Bucky until half past midnight and then they kiss some more.

Finally they stumble into the hallway, strangers clinging to the wall, phones clutched between ears and shoulders and tears streaming down crumpled faces, supportive hands rubbing circles on backs and soft "It's okay."'s passed through the space

Bucky pulls his own phone out, tapping away and holding it close to yell into the microphone for several voice notes, some names familiar some not, Clint, Gabe, Ayo, Yori, Steve. "Happy New Year Stevie, I hope London is kicking your fucking ass, I hope you're having the worst fuckin' time, dude, I know you wish you were here with us, we're at fuckin' Titi's, tell Peggy I said hi, tell her family I said something terrible, tell your fuckin' ass to get back to the mother land, bitch, fuck you, goodnight Stevie, I love you!" He giggled to himself as he sent it, typing out a few extra messages to go with it, sighing and shoving his phone back in his pocket to turn to Sam, "You not texting anyone?" His eyes were wide, smiling big like he couldn't wipe it off if he tried, fingers resting on Sam's belt.

"Sarah'll be asleep." He shrugged, "Becca?" 

He frowned, almost a grimace, tilting his head, "Not allowed to talk to her when I drink." He spoke slow, Sam couldn't tell if it had always been a rule or if Bucky was just making it up as he went along, it seemed to sober him a little, whatever it was. Bucky hummed and stepped closer into Sam's space, hands slipping around his waist, "Happy New Year." 

looping his arms around Bucky's neck, "Happy New Year, baby." He whispered into his hair, a kiss to his temple. 

Natasha found them like that a moment later, pushing a shot into Bucky's hands and making them shake out their arms and legs, "Shake out the upset!" She yelled, and when Sam was thinking about leaving no witnesses to the ridiculous act she placed a hand on the sides of their heads, smushing their cheeks together and bringing her face in close enough to smell the perfume and sweat on her neck. "I love you both." She said, face straight, voice serious, "But the party is not over yet, my friends, we must keep dancing." She made a pointed nod at each of them before releasing them, grabbing Bucky's hand and pulling them in a caravan back to the dance floor.

Sam was pretty sure he did love Natasha. 

He danced and watched, the tangle of them, her gold jewellery shining against his pale skin, his dark hair and hers, vibrant and pink in the light, one hand reaching back for Sam and one firm around her waist, lipstick marks on his cheek and glitter swapped like spit. 

Sam was pretty sure there was no way to love Bucky without having to love Natasha, without falling for her the same way Bucky did, without hanging on her every word like him. Maybe the Riley thing was like the Natasha thing and maybe Sam was crying under the strobe lights and maybe he was too full of love to be careful with it anymore. 

Time passed like the year had, in slow motion and far too quickly. 

Sam was still achingly sober but he had a high anyway, the tangible joy of everyone in the room, the vibrations of the excitement and the smell of liquor had lit a flame in him, he couldn't stop smiling and he couldn't stop kissing Bucky. 

They shared a cigarette outside, people pouring out the doors of the club, they were still counting heads, sort of, in theory, Nat and Maria were half way to public indecency, Natasha's shoulder pressed against Bucky's. He could hear Hobie, loud and happy, maybe arguing maybe just talking to someone, Miles, slower, quieter, Gwen was chipping in too.

"Wait, wait, what's happening?" Sam took a second, a hand on Bucky's jaw to hold him back, he had to do some reconnaissance.

Hobie, Gwen, Miles and Kamala were huddled nearby, Kamala's thumbs moving furiously on her phone, brow creased, Miles trying to stop the other two from fighting the bouncer maybe, a threat of a wasted drink, if Sam was hearing them correctly.

America was talking to two strangers, Sam was sure, he watched for trouble but she seemed fine, smile big and hands moving animatedly, Kate and Yelena join them, being welcomed into the conversation with a shout and a hug. 

"Will you fuck me when we get home." Bucky was slurring, nose pressed to Sam's neck, fingers digging into his neck too hard, a cigarette neglected in his hand by his side, "Need you to." A kiss, almost sweet.

"No, baby, not tonight." Sam kept his eyes on the crowd, on Kate, pulling out her phone, on the man beside her, too close, on Hobie, Miles' hands pressed to his chest, on Maria, mirroring Sam, she smiled at him, Natasha gnawing at her neck.

Time passed like the year had, in slow motion and far too quickly.

A big guy, Sam barely noticed him, a big and mean looking guy, surrounded by other big and mean looking guys, dark hair, dark clothes, ugly face, Bucky's age, regular and boring and nobody at all. 

The guy was only walking past, looking for a target, locking eyes with Sam and then Bucky, he could almost hear the radar pinging in his mind. 

"Yo, Barnes?" A big voice, a twisted smile. 

"Hm?" Cigarette between his lips, Bucky frowned at him.

"Oh shit, yeah, Barnes, nice to see you, man, heard you'd shacked up with some old guy, your professor, right?" A laugh, slapping the back of his hand against his buddies chest, too small t-shirts clinging to the muscle.

"Fuck you, dude." Bucky rolled his eyes, stepping forward slightly, for reasons Sam couldn't imagine.

"Fuck me? Fuck you! Just cause' you're a fag now you get to graduate? Fuck you, Becky." He pointed a finger, moving in.

"Aw, Rimlow, I'm sure they'll let you pass second grade one day, just gotta' keep your head down, maybe take it out my ass!" Bucky leaned in, smiling, why was he smiling? Sam couldn't tell if there was a joke he was missing, if this big, ugly guy with the lion tattoo stretched across his bicep was maybe, possibly, Bucky's friend, and this was all fun and games.

"Fuck you and your fuckin' faggot boyfriend, I hope you have fun checkin' him into a nursing home, Becky."

Becky? Who the fuck is Becky.

Bucky licked his teeth, shaking his head like he was tired, he seemed to have sobered up a little, his arms were still loose but he was standing unassisted, a step in the right direction. 

"Am I a girl or is he a faggot, Rimlow, 'cause if he's my boyfriend then we can't be both." He shrugged. 

The guy - Rimlow? - grimaced, "You're a fuckin' danger to society and he is a fuckin' perv, that's it." He spat on the ground and Sam caught that big, beautiful grin on Bucky's face from where he stood behind them as Rimlow took another step forward.

"Step any closer, baby, n' people might get the wrong idea."

Sam didn't have a second to process that, or Bucky batting his eyelashes, or the cheesy grin on his face, because Rimlow's fist was connecting to his cheekbone and Bucky was falling at Sam's feet, and as soon as he and several other hands yanked him back to his feet, Bucky was on him, a knee to the guy's stomach once, twice, and when he fell on his back Bucky was bringing his fists down on his big, ugly face, shins scraping against the concrete either side of his waist. 

Sam was frozen, it all happened so quick and too slow, pale skin in flashes as he watched from behind him, back hunched, a cigarette abandoned on the concrete, yellow embers dying, the soles of his boots scratched against the road, everything was so loud and dark and quiet and bright and Bucky wasn't stopping until Natasha, sweet, perfect, Natasha had her hands hooked under Bucky's armpits, dragging him off, picking him up.

Sam looks up, The Spiders had been holding the big, ugly buddies back, Maria was pulling Sam along now, Bucky was stumbling against Nat's side, Kate and Yelena falling into Sam's shoulder, questions and shouts and Oh my Gods, and Jesus Christ Barnes, and laughter, big, real laughter, Bucky's laughter. 

They were piling into a taxi, Kate and Yelena dropping off again, Good lucks and Good nights, as they waved them off, Maria was talking to the driver, saying Bucky's address.

Sam couldn't think, much, so he said, "We're going back to mine tonight." Frowning at her.

"Not anymore." She almost laughed, nodding to the driver and sitting down across from them.

"But Laura, and Clint, they won't want us there." He felt like a kid, don't wake up mom and dad.

"Clint'd kill me if I let him go to your's like this." Nat says.

Like this.

Sam looks at Bucky. 

He's flushed, he's pressed to Nat's side, sitting half side ways between her and Sam, there's a little split on his cheekbone, by his eye, its all red, no blood, no tears, just red hot skin and a little tired smile, his eyes are fluttering, struggling to stay focused, his hand falls heavy against Sam's thigh, knuckles burst and angry, and Sam thinks he might die on the spot.

"Nothing on you, by the way," Nat's words are still a little slurred, "Just- Clint's a doctor-"

"Paramedic." Maria cuts in.

"Whatever, he just- I mean he just likes to make sure Buck's okay, concussion n brain bleed-wise." She's rolling her eyes and waving her hand around like what she's saying isn't just twisting the knife that's buried in Sam's chest.

Whatever.

Whatever, it's so fine.

Whatever, it's fine when the four of them manage up the stairs and fall into the apartment and get two seconds of a death glare from Clint.

Whatever, it's so normal when Clint asks who and who started it as he goes for the first aid kit like he could find it blind.

Whatever, it's cool when Clint sits him down and listens to Maria and Nat rush out an explanation of who and who started it, when he breathes a sigh of relief at hearing, "Rumlow punched first." 

Whatever, it's nice when Laura comes out, arms crossed and eyes sad, and tucks the girls in on the couch, thanks them quietly, comes over to rub Clint's shoulder and goes back to bed.

Whatever, when Clint, clumsy, big movements, Clint, is using slow and gentle hands to clean and patch up the wound, when Bucky signs something with sluggish movements and hugs him, when Sam can do nothing but stand like an idiot. 

"Hey." 

Sam blinks, Clint is in front of him, Bucky is drinking a glass of water like it's homework.

"Hey." He says again.

"Yeah." Sam nods, meeting his eyes like an assignment.

"You good?" A nod, "First time?" A sigh, "Relax," Clint smiles, like it's a joke, "He's fine, he'll have a hell of a hangover and a bitch of a shiner but he's good. He's always good. And it's an always 'cause this is a habit, and I'm not saying that to scare you off 'cause fuck you if you leave him, I'm saying it 'cause he's always good, he never hits first, he never fights dirty, and he always stops when he's told to." 

And he bares his teeth and his hackles rise and he's house broken. 

"You okay?" Sam asks, instead of Should I have stopped it?

"I'm good." He smiles again, "Happy New Year, Sam, be good." He knocks a pointed finger against Sam's chest, waving bye to Bucky as he steps back through to his room.

Bucky slams the cup back down beside the sink, stepping over to Sam slowly and wrapping his arms around him breathing into him, it's easy to hold him, to kiss Bucky's head and say "Okay, baby, lets go to bed." To walk him through and peel off his boots and his jeans and his own clothes too, to tuck them in and ignore the scratch of glitter against chest, to kiss his head and say "I love you, Bucky, goodnight." and to fall asleep with him like that.

Bucky Barnes is a mystery and a storm and a void baby and he is known and unknown and he is beautiful and disgusting and wonderful and awful and he is loved and he is hated and he is perfect and he is wrong.

Sam loves Bucky and he is scared of Bucky. Sam knows this and nothing else.

Notes:

hi again… I tried to do a hiatus cause I was scared this was going nowhere and then I watched the bear season four and it’s complete directionlessness and pointlessness inspired me to keep going…
also fork found in kitchen that a guy who cries every new year struggled to write the new year chapter 🤷🤷
will try to keep up with this pls keep your expectations low the next chapter we will be back to Bucky’s pov yippeeeee I think the ending here got a bit too like.. Sam don’t know wtf going on… but Bucky will clear it up a little I THINK

Ok love you thank you for reading mwah mwah mwahhhh

Chapter 14: thirteen. "the great gig in the sky"

Summary:

January First. "The Great Gig In The Sky" by Pink Floyd.

Notes:

Hiiiii we are back with Bucky my poor abandoned puppy, lots of feelings, lots of talking, lots of hand holding, lots of love!!! mwah mwah enjoy
Some Russian Google Translations for you!! (not that important to the story :P)
"Spasibo" Thank You
"Solnyshko" Little Sun
"Lisichka" Little Fox (common terms of endearment)
(now realising a lot of nats scenes got cut damn... formal apology coming #soon)

Bucky wakes up wishing he was dead, kind of. He feels like hell warmed over but then he realises Sam's under him and Sam's arms are around him and all he smells is Sam and it makes him very much glad to be alive. He sighs into him and manages two more minutes of half sleep before the sun shining in through his windows and the stale liquor taste in his mouth and the numbness in his fingers from how he's lying on them, makes him all too antsy to keep trying.

He extracts himself from Sam's grasp, taking a second as he crawls off the bed to look at him, fine lines and glitter on his skin, hands twitching against the now empty space beside him, Bucky groans at himself as he walks out to the bathroom, he feels lovesick and sick sick and homesick all at once, he feels like all his insides are trying to climb up his throat, like his brain is rattling in his skull.

The bathroom lights turn on so bright Bucky tears up a little, he pisses and groans some more and drags himself across the counter to half heartedly brush his teeth, openly whimpering at the sight of himself. Hair stuck in all directions, a hickey on his jugular, he can feel now the grains of glitter embedded in every crease and dip of his face and hands, his skin is uncomfortable with dried sweat and spilt drinks. And, of course, he looks like got his shit rocked.

He can see fully out his left eye but the area all around is an ugly red, a tint of purple by the bridge of his nose, there's slight swelling under the eye and along his cheekbone, he grimaces, the little white strip of plaster hiding a cut, and the scratches on his jaw where Rumlow had dug his nails in to push him off.

Fucking Rumlow.

The water runs over his hands and he's reminded of the redness there too, swollen knuckles, red and pink.

Bucky's sort of thinking about caving his skull in on the countertop but he decides to go stare at Sam some more instead.

"Morning."

Bucky grips the doorway, "Jesus."

Clint is standing in the hallway, arms crossed, "Feeling okay?"

"Guess."

He doesn't respond, just brings one hand up to Bucky's face, shines a little torch in his eyes, tilts his head, "Vision?"

Bucky wants to vomit, "Fine."

"Nausea?" He tucks the torch in the pocket of his sweatpants.

"Nauseating."

Bucky tenses up, clinging to the wall to brace himself as Clint lifts his hand again, poking gently at the area around the fresh bruise, "Feel that?"

"Yes." He grits.

"Good." He walks through to the kitchen, Bucky following close behind, and picks up some pills and a bottle of water, "Take these." He drops them in Bucky's hands, stepping round to the fridge-freezer as he does as he's told. He hands Bucky an ice pack wrapped in a cloth, "Here, twenty minutes at a time, do not leave it on." He slaps Bucky's right cheek twice, not lightly enough, "Way to bring in the new year, buddy."

Bucky rolls his eyes and drags himself back to his room.

Sam still looks fucking gorgeous.

He's on the edge of sleep now, his brows creasing and his mouth twisting, Bucky crawls up the bed toward him, throwing the ice pack and water on the bedside table, trailing kisses up his stomach as he goes, pretending just for a second that he doesn't feel like the shit on someone's shoe and trying for sexy as Sam's eyes flutter open.

"Morning, professor." That always seemed to work.

"Morning, baby." He sighed, still half asleep, eyes sliding shut as he dragged his hands up Bucky's sides.

"How d'you feel?" He ran a hand down Sam's chest, placing little kisses along his collarbones.

"Hmm, been worse." He smiled, laughing to himself a little, before something flashed through him and his eyes were snapping open, his fingers digging into Bucky's shoulders as he stared down at him, "Your face!"

Bucky rolled his eyes, pursing his lips, trying for a smile, "M'fine, Clint checked me over already," He reaches for the ice pack, leaning his elbow on Sam's chest as he presses it gently to his eye, gritting his teeth and forcing himself not to react to the sharp shock of pain through his brow bone.

Sam frowned, a sad thing, almost a pout, his hands coming up on either side of his face, thumbs running over his cheeks where they can with the pack in the way, "You feel okay?"

"Full use of my eye, no numbness or confusion, all good." He shrugs.

"But do you.. feel okay?" He holds his chin, reaching between them to tap against Bucky's sternum, "In here?"

He snorts a laugh, an ugly thing, his cheek squished against the pack, sucks in a breath and suddenly feels awful, "M'okay, Sam." He puts on a small smile, nodding.

"Okay." He nods back, wrapping his arms around Bucky, squeezing his ribs just on the edge of too much, "I'm sorry, by the way," His eyes dart around Bucky's face, nervous, "Don'know how much you remember, but- I reacted- poorly. I think." He swallows.

Bucky's brows crease, "I remember you were there." He shrugs. "And you're here, now. All good."

Sam sighs like it's not enough, maybe it's not, maybe Bucky's just tired.

"I just froze."

"So? Rumlow's a piece of shit, but he's my shit to deal with, right? Fuck were you supposed to do? Jump in to defend my honour and get your ass kicked? Damage the money maker? What if he kicked you in the dick so hard you could never fuck me again." He raised his brows like it was serious- which... It wasn't not cause for alarm.

"Bucky." He spoke flat.

"Sam." He spoke high.

"Listen, I just- I didn't do- anything, Nat- Natasha and Maria and Clint- They're saints, you know that?" Bucky smiles, nodding, "They all knew what to do, they knew exactly what to do, to get you out of there and get Clint to make sure you were okay, and I just froze. I'm sorry, I was being an idiot-"

"Miles had a panic attack one time." He cut in, pulling the pack away from his face, catching the quick grimace Sam made at the sight.

"What?" He hid the look, staring at Bucky's mouth instead.

He leaned over to drop the ice pack back on the night stand, picking up his water at the same time, it stayed closed in warm hands, "One time I got into a fight when I was out with him, n' Nat n' everyone, she broke it up n' we were running down some street and suddenly he was keeled over havin' a fuckin' panic attack cause' he thought someone would call the cops and his dad would find out n' ground him for like ever, n' all I did was laugh at him cause' I was shitfaced and I thought, this guys nineteen he thinks his dad can ground him? As if I was one to talk, anyways it was terrible, he didn't come out with me for like months n we're barely friends anymore." He shrugged, "You're fine, Sammy." He stared at him, hard.

Sam sighed, "This happen every time you go out?"

He had that face on, that this-is-a-lot-face, that this-isn't-working-face, the face they made before he told them something that made them see right through Bucky, right through his pretty face and nice mouth and into the big, black hole in his chest.

He sat up on his knees at Sam's side, pressing at the red of his knuckles and crinkling the plastic of the bottle, "I dunno'," He shrugs, "M' not quiet about anything, right? I'm gay an' trans, and I know people that take real offense to that, you want me to just, take it? I shoulda' just let him call you a fag an' move on?"

"Been called worse, sweetheart." Bucky rolled his eyes, "It's just- to me it looked like he- Rimlow? He was just lookin' for a fight, an' you gave him one."

"Rumlow," He couldn't supress a huff of laughter, "It's Rumlow, n' it doesn't matter what it looked like to you Sam, 'cause he's not your problem, remember? Anyways, what does it matter, okay, he was just looking for a fight, and he lost one, maybe he'll learn from it."

"Well you know him, huh? Will he?"

Bucky opened his mouth but hesitated. No, he would not, he would take it as a challenge, he would remember it, he would come back harder.

"It doesn't fuckin' matter, Sam."

Bucky sighed, moving round to lean his back against the headboard, pressing his fingers into his eyes before being sharply reminded of the subject of this fucking headache, letting out a hiss. Sam didn't move, just reached a hand over to squeeze Bucky's knee, avoiding the bruises blooming at the edges.

"How do you know him?"

Bucky breathed out, "Work."

"Car shop work or piano work?" Sam traced circles on his inner thigh.

Bucky dropped his head round to look at him, bone tired, heavy lidded, "Why?" He sighed, a twitch in his eye, an image behind his eyelids, Brock and his dad, a meaty hand clapped on the shoulder he'd gripped last night, matching twisting grins showing teeth he'd knocked loose.

Sam's brow creased as he met Bucky's eye, "Because I need to know if this is gonna' come up in your work later on, or if it's just some stupid shit from the job you used to have."

He swallowed, "Car shop." Sam nodded like a job had been finished.

Way to bring in the new year.

He felt stripped, raw and red, Sam's hand didn't move, even when Bucky shifted to take his phone from the floor by the bed, plugged in, fully charged, his notification list went on and on, he thought about responding to them and sighed, tapping on his music app instead and switching to a softer playlist than what he'd last been playing, turning the phone off and dropping it on the mattress by his hip, taking a sip of water that felt like acid.

"I had fun." Sam broke the heavy, almost silence, squeezing his knee.

Bucky breathed out through his nose, something tough and meaty in his throat, he was trying not to cry, he realised, subconsciously biting back the swell of emotion, it took him a moment to identify the feelings. Sadness, mostly, overwhelmingly, a childish, ugly sadness. He was horribly hungover too, he recognised, and bruised, and he'd never been good at taking the new year in stride, it always stung like the split skin of his knuckles. There was a little anger left over, at Rumlow, still breathing down his neck after all these years, still keeping up on what Bucky did and who he was dating, he was angry at himself too though, for rising to Brocks bait, for biting back and letting it ruin the night.

"You can go, you know, if you want, don't have to stay here n' play nurse." He said, because his face and his hands and his feet hurt and his heart hung heavy in his chest and his throat was closing up, he kept his eyes forward, seeing Sam shift in his periphery but not the details of his face.

"Uhh.. You- want me to leave?" He seemed shocked.

Bucky kept his focus on his breath, "I d'know, Sam, just- Don't feel obligated, or anything- to stay, if it's too much." He squeezed his hands together.

"Buck." Sam sighed, tiny grunts as he moved closer, one arm snaking around Bucky's waist, one coming up to cup his cheek, pulling him to make eye contact, "I had a nice night, probably the best New Year I've had in forever."

A news article about a blonde and a car flashed in Bucky's mind, he shut his eyes tight and turned his head into Sam's hand, kissing his palm.

"If I didn't wanna' be here, I wouldn't be, there's no obligation, you got plenty people out there who have you, I know that, I just want to be here for you too." He held Bucky's face in both hands now, swiping his thumbs over his cheeks lightly to catch the tears that had finally slipped free, pulling him in to pepper kisses over sticky skin, smudged makeup and sweat and all, Sam pressed their foreheads together.

Bucky bit back the flow of tears, he sniffled and let out little whimpers at himself, at how awful and stupid and embarrassing it all was, he was, he wanted to disappear, he wanted to still be drunk, he wanted to sleep for a week and he wanted his mother.

"I had a good time, baby, I'm having a good time now."

Bucky sniffled, "I'm disgusting right now, this is good for you?" His face split into a broken smile, pulling back from Sam to give him full view of his wet face.

"Ugh, you're beautiful, you could sit there and look disgusting and be horrible to me and I'd just- relish in the attention, Buck." Sam grinned back, hands still firm on his jaw.

"You're sick." Bucky rolled his eyes, made an ugly noise as he sniffed snot back up and let out a watery laugh at himself.

"I love you."

Bucky groaned.

"Still need a full debrief, I think, but you gotta' shake this hangover first." Sam pressed a kiss to his head before leaning back, they nodded at each other, and Sam let go, sitting back against the headboard, Bucky handed over his water and Sam swallowed down the rest of the bottle, condensation dripped down his wrist.

They stayed in the quiet like that, time passing peacefully, just their hands twisting together on the mattress between them. It was nice just to exist in the space like that, Bucky still felt a little like he'd cracked open his ribs and pulled something meaty and red out, like Sam could see all of him, but for that moment, it felt okay, like maybe it was soft too, like maybe Sam liked the colour red, like maybe he could see Bucky, watch him openly and his eyes weren't burning.

However lovely the moment was, Natasha was a welcome interruption.

"Good morning, lover." She waved her fingers at Bucky from the doorway, "Mr. Wilson." She grinned, pushing unruly hair from her eyes, "You look awful, ladies."

"Thanks, Nat." Bucky sighed, smiling right back.

"Laura's making breakfast." Maria appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised, "Wow, you look awful."

He noticed the smell coming in from the kitchen now, soft noises of pans and cutlery and chatter between the couple, Bucky was suddenly ravenous.

"You guys sleep okay on the couch?" Sam asked, still laid back and shirtless, the duvet bunched around his waist.

"Hmm, comfier than it looks, especially when you have such a lovely pillow, my lisichka." She winked at Maria, her accent slurred, the words clumsy in her mouth with sleep and slipping into a laugh against Maria's skin, they'd stand in each other's skin if it was possible, Bucky was sure.

"Well, you'll be paying for my hip replacements when I'm thirty, sweetheart." Maria squeezed at her.

"Worth it." She grinned, looking over at Bucky her lipstick had stained her lips and there was glitter in her hairline.

"You look beautiful." He smiled at her, his eyes a little shiny. Nat was wearing sweatpants that hung baggy around her ankles, a hole worn by the knee was how Bucky recognised them as Clint's, her dress, a velvety golden number, was creasing, sitting awkwardly over the sweats at her waist, she laughed as Maria, still in her jeans from the night before but her sequin top replaced by a tight CIA tee, courtesy of Laura, kissed her temple, grinning like she agreed.

"Spasibo, solnyshko." Her gaze softened, one hand on Maria's stomach, her curls framing her face and her skin golden with leftover makeup.

"Can we go eat?" He whispered, her edges softening with the wetness in his lashline.

"Hmm yes, lisichka, we go." She pointed like Maria would forget what way to go, gripping her hand as they walked away.

Bucky took his time in getting up, making sure his eyes were fully dry and no lumps were stuck in his throat, he picked up some pyjama pants from the ground and slid them on, it was cooler with the open air from the hallway swooping in and lighting up goose bumps all over, he took a worn hoodie from the back of his door and pulled it over his head, almost stepping out before noticing the stillness in the room, he frowned, turning back to Sam, he had only moved to the side of the bed, one leg propped straight against the floor, his fists pressed against the edge of the mattress, his mouth pursed.

"You okay?" He stage-whispered, a slight curve to on his lips, it wasn't funny- it wasn't. He bit his lips and schooled his face into something more appropriate.

"M'fine." Sam spoke through his teeth.

"You coming to eat?" He asked, moving in closer.

Sam nodded, a repeated, rapid movement, like he was hyping himself up, like he was defending himself without words, he didn't stop shaking his head in these small nods until Bucky was beside him, one hand reaching out to grip his shoulder, Sam gasped, his eyes snapping open to look at Bucky, "I'm getting up, I'm fine." He rushed out.

"You don't look fine." He grimaced, at himself mostly, there was a twist in Sam's brows that made his stomach churn.

Sam shook his head, sucking a breath in and brushing the hand off his shoulder, Bucky couldn't let it drop, holding it out to help Sam up, he huffed and took it a tight grip, taking his time to stand, bending as he braced against the bed with his fist, a bit back groan as he shifted his weight between each leg to stand straight.

Bucky frowned at him, now face to face, "What happened?" He was trying to recall the night before, the morning, trying to find what was wrong, he had nothing, no memories of Sam joining the fight, no collapsing on the dance floor, no drunk footraces, he looked down at the stick straight leg, Sam was putting all his weight on the other one, his hand hard on Bucky's shoulder.

"It's my knee." Sam breathed out, Bucky refrained from rolling his eyes, "It get's stiff."

Bucky waited for elaboration, braced Sam with a hand on each side of his waist in the meantime, watching his feet shuffle past him.

"Let's go." He put on a smile, kissing Bucky's cheek on the edge of too hard before, once again, pushing his hands off him and limping away.

"Wait- what? No- Why Sam? Like- did I do something?" Bucky spoke to loudly.

"M'hungry." He was looking down at his shirt, in the middle of the room in a crumpled pile on the floor, he was looking at it like he mourned it.

"Okay." Bucky could eat a human fucking arm right now but that wasn't exactly the point, "But- what happened? Should I know? Did I black out last night? Did I fuck it up?" He meant the knee, did he fuck the knee up, it felt like an apt slip up though, the pinched look on Sam's face like he maybe, sort of, was about to punch Bucky if he stepped in range.

"No, you did not, it does this, it'll ease up, stop panicking." He glanced over his shoulder, brows raised, eyes piercing, his chest fell with deep breaths.

The look sort of felt like a punch anyway. The words like scrapes of gravel against his skin.

Bucky nodded rapidly, stepping up to his side and bending down to pick up the shirt for him, handing it over. He was not fucking panicking.

"Hey, it's fine." Sam spoke so gently, then, taking the shirt and Bucky's hand at the same time, pulling it up to press a kiss to his red knuckles.

"Doesn't seem fine." Bucky whispered. "We're supposed to talk now, right? Instead of sex? I just said all that shit and now you can't tell me why you can't fuckin' walk." He shrugged, gesturing to where he could still see the scraps of red and bone lying on the mattress

"I can walk, Buck, s'just a little sore."

"Why? Is it- Listen, if it's just cause your- old, that's fine, I know you're not twenty, I'm not expecting you to always be- like us- like young and-"

Sam laughed, eyes creasing, it came out wet but real. "Oh, is that what this is? We're finally doing that care-home role play you always dreamt of?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "Fuck you, man."

"Okay- Hey," Sam held Bucky's face in two hands then, shirt still slung over his arm, "Listen," He hesitated, pulling his head back from Bucky's like he could separate himself from it all, "I was in a car accident, Bucky, I could be young and spry as all y'all and it would still stick like this," His mouth twisted in a smile but it didn't curl right, Bucky didn't recognise it, "It won't ever go away." He breathed out, steadying his voice, "I was on my feet a lot yesterday, I've been in a different routine recently, with the holidays, and it's winter. I should know my limits by now- but I don't, doesn't got shit to do with you, okay? Relax, please, baby, it's fine."

Bucky swallowed, brows twisting up, "M'sorry."

"What for?"

"It sounds shit, sorry you- you'know, have to deal with that." He was staring at Sam's chest, scared the big brown eyes might set off the waterworks again.

Sam shrugged, "It's like your shot, you know? That hurts but you gotta' deal with that, like- probably forever, right?"

It snaps Bucky back, his eyes darting up to Sam's "My what?"

"Your T-shots, you always have a sore leg after, like every dose." He shrugs again, equally taken aback, his shoulder's relaxing with the switch of topic.

"How do you know that?" Bucky grips his wrists lightly like he might run away.

Sam purses his lips, "You uh- You kind of kept- like hitting me, like not badly just, like swatting at me, when I would grab your leg during- certain activities, and I got scared and googled if Testosterone was making you mean or what- and- I- I figured it out."

"You googled if Testosterone was making me mean?" He repeated back, slowly, brows raised.

Sam nodded, pouting.

"You coulda' asked."

"Well clearly," He gestured to his own leg, "We're not good at all that."

Bucky sighed, "Well, shit then, I shoulda' known  you were hurting, shoulda' figured that out, right?" He frowned.

"Not really." Sam ran his thumb over Bucky's cheekbone lightly, catching on the tape and smoothing it back down, "It's not something I tend to broadcast," He spoke quietly in the air between them, "Not something I wanted you to see."

Bucky twisted his face into Sam's hand, speaking against his palm, "Are you okay with me knowing? Can I- Can I worry about it a little?"

Sam smiled, nodding, "Yeah, just a little though, I'm not fragile."

He pressed a kiss to the rough skin of Sam's palm, reaching out to pull him into a hug, whispering, "I know." As he squeezed him too tight.

Wheezing, Sam pulled away and finally or too soon - Bucky couldn't decide - put his shirt on, grabbing Bucky's hand and walking them out to finally, definitely not soon enough -Bucky was sick with hunger, or maybe it was everything else - go eat some of Laura's delicious food.

No one paid them any attention as they came in, they sat too close, Sam rested his hand on Bucky's thigh and kept his leg straight under the table, Bucky dropped a kiss to his shoulder, the shirt was from last night, it still smelled like liquor and sweat and Sam, he lingered there, breathing it in.

His stomach churned as he looked out at the food.

He should have noticed. Right?

Sam had been in a car accident, his best friend- His Riley died, he'd told Bucky he stopped going to physical therapy, he stopped getting out of bed. Eight years sounded such a long time, eight years ago Bucky was in high school, eight years ago Bucky thought he was going to die in his father's home, eight years is forever.

He'd heard eight years, he'd thought, when Sam first told him, I finally know what made him stop all those years ago, and that had been it, he'd thought, Sam is still grieving his friend, and that was all he'd lost after the crash, his friend and his passion and his job. Bucky had seen those scars on his hand, but then he'd heard about a tree through a chest and the scars had seemed so tiny and unimportant, then he saw them as old, he noticed the flat spots where they'd fully healed.

He should have asked, then, on that day, he should have looked Sam in his watery eyes and asked how long the bruises had lasted. The car had crumpled and broken enough to kill his friend and Bucky hadn't thought to ask where the metal had pressed at him, where it had pinned him down and what parts of him had snapped.

Bucky watched him, watched the quick flash of pain as he shifted in his seat, the crows feet by his eyes creasing and his bared teeth, it was all over his face, and then it wasn't, masked with a deep breath. Eight years is so long to grieve somebody, but, Bucky realised, as he watched Sam's hand slide down his thigh completely absentmindedly, talking quietly to someone else, grabbing something on the table with his other hand, and massaging at the spot by his kneecap, like it was muscle memory, like it was nothing, Bucky thought how could you forget a thing like that when your body couldn't? How could you move past something that lived in your bones? Bucky wondered what else hurt and how the fuck was he supposed to ask now when he should have noticed months ago.

A tiny, ugly part of him that talked without permission and hissed and snarled had thoughts too, ones like maybe its nice, maybe it's good he can't forget, maybe if Bucky had been able to take some of his mother's pain, in those last few days, if her sickness had cut into him like metal and he'd been scarred, stuck with the tangible feeling of loss, it might have made it better, it might have made the eight years after so much easier because the pain was real. Bucky traced over the raised lines of his tattoo and the split skin on his knuckles, he stopped staring at the calloused skin on Sam's knee and ignored the ugly little parts of himself.

They ate, Laura had made a spread, outdone herself really, when half of it was eaten by the pack of heathens that had invaded her morning, who would have just as happily eaten prison slop. There were store-bought waffles warmed in the microwave, a stack of toast reduced to crumbs in seconds, fruit cut up precisely, coffee and orange juice in carafe's, it was like a movie, Bucky half expected Clint to whip out a newspaper and for Natasha to shove a slice of toast in her mouth and run out the door with a messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

They barely talked, the radio played in the corner, and they chewed loudly and no one spoke. Bucky thought he might choke on the silence. His fingers buzzed with something.

It wasn't surprising, everything his head was swimming with went back to it. He missed his mother, every January 1st he missed her, every year that passed was a year she didn't get to see, didn't get to fill with her smiles and joy and music. He was trying to be hopeful, this year he'd graduate, he'd make an album, he'd do fucking something with his life and his degree and everything that he had to give. He had that spike of fear, the one he got when he thought about Riley when he was in a mood, when he realised how easily Sam had lost it all. His cheekbone ached and his knuckles stung and there was something humming in his veins and he needed to get in front of a piano and get it all out his head and into something real.

Some quiet conversation picked up when everyone was finishing their breakfast, Bucky picked at his hands and kept his mouth shut, mind still running a mile a minute. Sam's apartment was where he needed to be, it was where they should have been this morning, how easy it would have been for him to just roll out of bed and sit up at the old piano, picking out the composition in his mind while Sam slept away his aches. He was practising how to ask when he heard his name in the conversation.

"Bucky?" It was the end of a sentence he missed, Laura had a small crease between her brows.

"What?" He asked, frowning back, leaning in closer to the table to hear her past the ringing in his ears.

"Did Steve text last night? He got home safe?"

He hesitated, his lips parted as he tried to catch up, moving past the realisation that he hadn't thought of Steve all morning, past the flash of memories of past January firsts waking up in his bed, pictures in the front of his mind without his permission. He stuttered out a "Uh, I don't even know if he was out but- I'll check." Scratching at his jaw and grimacing at the pain there as he pulled his phone out, tapping through to find their texts. He heard Natasha telling Laura that he was in London, dragging Peggy's name out all sweet. Bucky saw his embarrassingly long voice note followed by a few texts from Steve and a photo.

Stevie: London is great fuck you very much.
Happy new year dude love you.
She said yes by the way.

The photo showed Peggy and Steve smiling with all their might, fireworks in the background and Peggy's pale hand front and centre, a modest stone placed carefully on her ring finger. Bucky blamed the prick in his eye on how shiny everything in the photo was, bright eyes and teeth and sparkling fireworks all pressed tightly together in the fuzzy selfie.

He cleared his throat and turned the screen out toward the table, carefully, subconsciously not letting Sam see it yet, eyes went wide, gasps were swallowed.

"He's fine, I think." He said, instead of something inappropriate.

Bucky really didn't want to throw up all the lovely food, he didn't want the taste of bile in his throat, he didn't want such a sharp reminder that Steve still had a place in his heart, that this hurt, that the thought of Peggy kissing him in a white dress stung like shit.

He swallowed, switched off his phone and placed it face down on the table, clearing his throat again before forcing a small smile, casual, "I figured that's why he went." He shrugged, "To ask for her dad's blessing n' shit." He saw Sam shift in realisation, a breath let out, a tiny nod of the head.

This is such bullshit.

Everyone responded as he wished, awkward, put on laughs and agreeable words, moving on swiftly, pretending Bucky wasn't there, for his sake, everyone but Sam, who stared from the corner of his eye and stroked his leg.

Bucky took a few minutes to re-centre himself - for the too-many-to-count time of the day - breathing carefully, scratching at his own hands to stop the tremor.

He took the hand on his thigh into his, tracing circles on Sam's palm, meeting his eyes and gesturing with his head away from the table. They got up quietly, thanking Laura for the food, walking back through to Bucky's room, the door shut softly behind them and Bucky turned into Sam's arms.

"Let's go to your place." He almost sounded normal, Sam agreed and kissed him like he was something sweet.

☆

The apartment was cold, they hovered by the entrance for a bit, Bucky's eyes drifting back to the piano every other second.

"I'm gonna' shower," He hesitated, his fingers trailing up Bucky's wrist, tucking under his hoodie, "wanna' join me?" His mouth curled at one side

Bucky looked at him, he felt like his body was too far away from himself, "Bad idea, I think." He bit his lip, smiling and fluttering his lashes like it was easy.

He huffed a laugh, "I think you might be right," He bobbed his head side to side, hands still soft on Bucky, "But I'll be a while, yeah? No pressure, just letting you know I might use up the hot water, it helps with- yeah, just if you do wanna' shower later." He inhales sharply, not used to sharing.

"You sayin' I stink?" Bucky grimaces playfully, throwing his arms around Sam's neck.

He giggles, "Hmm, yeah, ain't a bad thing though." Putting on a moan as he grabs at Bucky's elbow and shoves his nose into his elbow.

Bucky groans, "Gross!" Wriggling out his grasp, "Get out of here! Disgusting man!" He slaps at Sam with no strength.

He's laughing loudly now, "Okay, okay! I love you." He sings as he leaves.

Bucky feels carved out.

He stares at the space where he was standing for a bit, hears the water start, hears a moan as the hot water hits Sam's aching bones, he feels himself smiling and sits at the piano, taking his time to lift the fall board and find his thoughts, picks them up in between the keys and strings.

He loses time like that, taking all the scooped out parts of him and moulding them into a song, playing it until it feels polished and shiny before moving onto something more familiar, something that sounds like home and has his mother's laughter laced into the notes, something that looks like a black suit and too many flowers, that smells like bad news over his favourite dinner, something that feels like dark hair scratching his face as he leans over a hospital bed. His fingers move without thinking, a dull ache that he doesn't notice yet, his toes going numb as they move on the pedals, his jaw tense, his brows twisted, if he focuses then it's like he can feel her there, elbow at his shoulder, humming the vocals, voice coming out rougher as she got closer to the end, her ringed fingers pressing the notes he hasn't figured out yet, a smile like his sisters when they finish, words he's forgotten the sound of, an accent he never hears twisting around kind things.

The hollow part of him is singing.

Sam is watching him, water dripping down his temple as he comes closer, a hand tacky with lotion landing on his own, carefully resting against the edge of the piano, he takes it gently and presses a kiss to jittery fingers, Bucky turns to him and he doesn't feel real.

"Sounds good." He speaks so quietly, nodding and sitting down beside him, wrapping the hand up tight now, like Bucky will slip away.

Bucky nods back, too far away from himself to speak.

"Hey," Bucky meets his eye, "You okay?" Sam stares at him hard.

Bucky swallows, breathes in like maybe he hasn't since he sat down, flexing his fingers and squeezing Sam back, fitting back into his body because he's not sure if he's okay, he feels a funny kind of wrong, a wrong kind of sadness, too old and too deep for him to ever be okay again.

He feels like maybe he's not a person at all and just the leftovers of other people.

"Buck." Sam whispers, bringing Bucky back to life again.

"I miss my mom." He says, because of course he does, he doesn't need to hide it, he doesn't need to pretend that it's something deeper or something better, it's her, it's so many other things but this, piano and music and the big empty space in his chest, is empty because she died ten years ago and nothing can ever fix it. "A lot."

Sam sighs in understanding, a sad smile on his face as he leans in to press a kiss to his temple and he doesn't say anything, Bucky smiles back, a silent thanks.

"It's just- so much all the time. Brock and your knee and Steve and- I still miss her, like I don't have anything else to think about I just- I feel like I'm missing my fuckin' arm." His lip curled, the deep, aching sadness turning to anger like it used to.

"You think all the other shit might be easier if she was here?" He asked, voice small and calm like he was talking to a spooked cat.

There's a stone in Bucky's throat when he shrugs, "I don't know if I'd even tell her, s'embarrassing."

"Right, cause' you lost her when you where- 14, right? When everything in the world is embarrassing." He smirked.

"Yeah, probably that." He huffed out a wet laugh.

"You think all this shit would still feel as bad if she was here?" His thumb skated over his uninjured cheekbone.

Bucky wished they could stop having conversations about grief, wishes every day wasn't led by it, wonders what they'd have to talk about if there weren't any ghosts following them.

"Maybe." He whispers, meeting Sam's eyes, "No point in thinking about that, though." Like he's the one teaching lessons here, like he's not a sniffling little kid at Sam's piano.

"No, probably not." Like he doesn't mind.

"What was yours like, when you were my age?" Bucky pulls his hands out Sam's grasp and wipes at his eyes, barely noticing the sting of tears and scrapes.

Sam has that sad smile again, "Mad." Bucky frowns, "Obviously! Come on, she ain't want me to be some pretty boy singer, what would the neighbours think? She gave me two years to make it or I was back on the boat with my daddy."

"Boat?"

"Wilson Family Seafood, baby, my plan B!" He leaned back, a stupid, duh, face on.

"Shit, I didn't know I was dating seafood royalty!" Bucky hit his shoulder, another wet laugh.

"Oh, yeah, they roll out the tarp carpet for me soon as I land in Louisiana." He nods to himself as his smile stretches wide.

"Sounds like luxury."

"Mhmm."

Bucky rolls his eyes, can't bite back the smile, "So, when you did make it, she supported you?"

"Kinda'. Kinda' had to, I think Sarah was fighting for me a lot when I wasn't there, wearin' em' down." He shrugs, "She was proud though, I think, took her to the Grammy's one time, after my dad died, not long before she did too. She ain't stop smilin' the whole night, shook hands with everybody she saw, just about squeezed my head off when I won." He laughed.

Bucky bit his lip to hide a grin, "I remember it." Sam sent a questioning look, "I remember watching it, seeing you win, for Fly High, right? We bought it on everything we could." His eyes are watering as he speaks, remembering the night from his end, sitting on the couch with his mother, a rare night off for her, clapping along with Miss Wilson when as he accepted the award, he laughs.

"Shit."

"Yeah, shit."

They stare at each other for too long, grinning like idiots.

"You know, I think my mom would- well maybe not love you 'cause you ain't from Louisiana and-" He clears his throat, pursing his lips, "Well, you ain't white," Bucky laughs, "But I think she'd think you're real sweet, and she'd be happy you make me happy."

"I do?" He asks before he can stop himself.

"Like nothing else, baby."

Bucky turns away like he didn't know that would be the answer, "Well, we know my mom loved you, I think your just fishing for it now." He shrugged, huffing out a laugh before continuing, "Guess that's no surprise, Seafood King." Sam shakes his head like he isn't laughing just as much.

The rest of the day passes much the same, no concept of time or plans to hold them down, Bucky finally showers at some point, the sting of cold water calming him some, they talk and talk until their throats are raw and voices come out scratchy, they sit close and watch shitty movies and they kiss like virgins.

The hole in Bucky's chest isn't so big by sunset, the edges curl in gently, the space around it fills out to make up for the missing parts, he feels almost normal. They learn to talk about it, they learn to fill the space, they do it like they're experts. They get into bed at the end of the day and Bucky is laughing at something stupid Sam said and he's falling asleep without that deep, habitual sadness he usually holds on every January first, he's thinking about Sam and an album and Miss Wilson at the Grammy's before she died, he's thinking about his sister and his best friend and his future and all he has to give it, he's thinking an awful lot about love and it feels almost normal.

 

Notes:

this is not the end btw! i will be going thru and adding songs to every chapter, i didn't want to add them until i finished the whole fic because im scared of commitment (shocker) but it was deadly important (pun intended) to this one so i.. will be doing that now!! hope yous enjoyed this one hope yous enjoy grief and otherness and waiting a long time between chapters, im going to tha you ess of ay this month so many more delays to hit the so romantic fandom!! but hopefully shopping at a target and seeing police men holding guns will count as research for mcu fics :P

thank you for reading mwah mwah!!!