butterfly kisses

by 1-800fangirl

"But," Bucky continued, face red, "I guess I was hoping this trip would be more…" He swallowed hard before muttering, "Romantic." Because really—how romantic could a bug museum be? (Or: the Sambucky date to the Audubon Insectarium no one asked for. Cue bad flirting through bug metaphors, strange facts about insects, and—if Bucky has his way—more than just a hint of romance.)

okay, informative notes first! one, i did incorporate my "wilson family speaks louisiana french headcanon" into this fic (because you can pry that headcanon from my cold, dead hands) but like. only a little bit. specifically, sam calls bucky "cher" as a pet name (meaning "dear" in la french and presumably in referential french, too) and at one point he says "welcome to the new orleans insectarium" in la french. easy peasy.

speaking of the insectarium, imma say that about 90% of this fic is accurate lmao. i was working with my memory and a walk-through someone called geomorph posted on zoochat (shoutout to them!). i did change and exaggerate a few details here and there but overall, i stuck pretty close to the actual layout of the insectarium! so this is largely an Authentic experience. also, rip to the actual insectarium. it got shut down because of covid :(

anyways! this fic is super self-indulgent. banter, fluff, humor—the works. also, i realized that i've already written pre-relationship and getting-together sambucky fics, which means it follows that the next one ended up being an established-relationship fic lmaooo. i hope y'all enjoy!

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"We should go to New Orleans today," Sam announced as he slid into his seat at the kitchen table. "Make a day trip out of it. Won't take us longer than 30, 45 minutes to get there."

Bucky frowned, placing the plate of eggs and bacon he'd made for Sam in front of his partner. "Seems like a sudden decision."

Sam shrugged, stabbing a forkful of eggs. "Well, you mentioned wanting to see more of the city, and Sarah's gonna be with AJ and Cass at their friend's house all day for a birthday party, so…" He stuffed the eggs in his mouth, swallowing most of them before he continued. "We might as well make the most of our free time."

Bucky served his own plate, contemplating the trip. It was true he'd mentioned off-handedly to Sarah a week or two ago that he was interested in visiting New Orleans, but if he was honest, he thought that conversion had been well out of Sam's earshot.

Part of him wondered if this trip suggestion had more to do with the recent political upsurgence regarding the Flag Smashers than it did his and Sam's unexpected availability. No new topics, per se, just the typical obnoxious rehashing the media liked to do. Questioning Sam's authority, questioning Walker's whereabouts, questioning Karli's death. Although Sam took the endless bombardment in stride, Bucky knew the external judgement—and Sam's own grief and guilt—weighed on him. Just yesterday there'd been a particularly nasty article about current delays with the GRC. Much of the blame was shouldered onto Sam when of course Sam was not responsible for any of the council's decisions. Or lack thereof. Sam had brushed the criticism off, but Bucky had been pissed. He probably would have torn the author a new one had he known how the fuck to contact them.

Okay. Maybe a casual, relaxing trip into the city was exactly what they needed.

"Why not?" he said, sitting down across from his partner. "I can't say I have other plans." Except maybe to watch Sam train with the shield, but Bucky could do that any day of the week.

Sam responded by hooking his legs around Bucky's ankles beneath the table. "Great. We can head out as soon as I shower."

Sam had gone for a run while Bucky made breakfast, which meant Bucky was now able to appreciate his boyfriend's sleeveless appearance in all its glory. The morning sunlight breaking through the windows caused the sweat on Sam's body to glisten, accentuating his chiseled biceps, but also—well, he reeked.

"Like what you see, huh?" Sam teased with a smirk, one eyebrow raised.

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, but not what I smell."

That earned a laugh from Sam. "Fair enough."

"So what are we gonna do in New Orleans?" Bucky continued after a pause, taking a bite of his own eggs. He'd heard it could be a pretty romantic city—Sarah insisted it was full of drunk tourists, though Bucky figured romance and drunkards weren't mutually exclusive qualities—but even so, he wasn't sure what Sam had in mind.

"That is for me to know and you to find out," was his boyfriend's quippy reply, to which Bucky responded with an exaggerated eye roll.

"Right. I see how it is."

Sam finished off the last of his meal, pressing a kiss to the crown of Bucky's head as he moved around the table before stopping at the sink to wash his plate. "Trust me, you're gonna love it!"

Bucky really should have realized from the mischievous glint in his partner's eyes that their adventure into the city was not going to be an ordinary date. In his defense, Sam's jogging shorts had become very distracting—more so than usual—when Sam leaned down to put his plate in the dishwasher. But even if Bucky hadn't clued in at that exact moment, the matching shirts, too, should have been a dead giveaway that Sam was planning an outing at least mildly nontraditional.

"Why the hell do you want me to wear this?" Bucky asked dubiously, surveying the long-sleeved navy button-up decorated in maroon roses with suspicion. Sam's shirt was the inverse—short-sleeved and maroon with navy blue flowers. "I thought we were supposed to be keeping our relationship on the low-down."

They'd only been together for about a month. Still in the honeymoon phase, as Sarah liked to tease them. And they definitely weren't out to the public yet—queer superheroes, one of whom being Captain America, was a can of worms most higher-ups were not yet ready to face. The secrecy wasn't too bad in itself, though Bucky often lamented the fact that he couldn't hold Sam's hand in public. Or sit too closely next to him. Or kiss him. Or—

Okay, maybe the secrecy was a tad annoying. But Bucky was more than willing to make that sacrifice until Sam was ready to go public with their relationship. Besides—it wasn't like his boyfriend didn't know how to make it up to him in private.

"On the down-low," Sam corrected as he buttoned up his own shirt. Bucky did not bother to stop himself from admiring how the muscles in Sam's arms flexed even with such small movements. "And yes, we are supposed to be doing that, but these shirts are fine for what I have planned today. You'll understand when we get there."

Bucky's brow furrowed in further suspicion, but he pulled the matching shirt on nonetheless. He also undid the top button of Sam's shirt, earning himself a smirk from his partner, to which Bucky responded with an innocent grin. "What? Is there a problem?"

"Oh, no. Not at all."

Bucky undid a second button. "Don't worry. I'm just making sure all the Cap fans in New Orleans get to see what they want to see."

"Uh huh. Yeah, you're very altruistic like that."

And after he undid the top two of Bucky's buttons, Sam kissed said grin off of Bucky's face. Not that Bucky was complaining.

The drive into New Orleans took a little over half an hour, as Sam had predicted. They parked at Canal Place—premium parking, Sam informed him, which Bucky could have concluded on his own given how empty the area was—but before Bucky could climb out the truck, Sam placed a hand on his vibranium forearm.

Bucky frowned at the unexpected touch. "Something wrong?"

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "No. But I thought I'd remind you that since we are not publicly a couple, we cannot do anything that might be misconstrued as too romantic for the next"—he made a so-so gesture with his hand—"four hours?"

"Okay," Bucky said after a pause, uncertainty evident in his tone. "Reminder taken. Should we get going, or—"

Sam laughed, cutting him off. Bucky might have been annoyed at Sam's vague-ass implications if he wasn't so stupidly fond of his partner's laugh. Ugh, love was the worst drug. "All I'm sayin' is that if you want to steal a kiss or two from your wonderful and very sexy boyfriend, now is going to be your last chance for a long minute."

Bucky's eyes widened. "Oh, shit."

Sam smirked at him. "Thought you'd be interested."

Bucky responded by grabbing the front of Sam's unfairly-attractive floral shirt and giving his boyfriend's lips a much more important task to focus on than meaningless chatter.

"So much for letting Cap fans see what they want to see, huh?" Sam said, amused, as they emerged from his truck five minutes later and he was forced to button all but the top button on his shirt.

Bucky shrugged. "Turns out there are certain sights I like to reserve for myself."

"So possessive, damn."

"You're into it."

Sam snorted. "In your dreams, cher."

Well, that wasn't untrue, Bucky mused as he barely concealed a shiver at Sam's French—Louisiana French, at least, he had no way to know otherwise—term of endearment. For fuck's sake.

Bucky decided to change the subject before either of them started something they couldn't finish as they walked down the streets of New Orleans in broad daylight. "So, can you tell me where we're going now?"

"Nope." Sam popped the 'p' as he shook his head. "Wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you five minutes before we arrived, would it?"

Unfortunately, Sam had a point. Bucky decided not to acknowledge that fact, instead glancing at the sign denoting the specific boulevard they were on. Canal Street. A fairly iconic name amongst the roads of New Orleans, though Bucky admittedly knew little about what specific attractions it offered.

"We're getting close," Sam said eagerly, nudging Bucky's bicep with his elbow as they passed the U.S. Custom House. "Cass and AJ are gonna throw a fit when they find out we went without them, but I figure we can just come again next month and bring 'em then."

Bucky's brow furrowed as he processed that statement. If the surprise was someplace where Sam's nephews could go, then it had to be family-friendly, ruling out any sort of club or bar. Which Bucky hadn't expected to be visiting, anyways, since the clock was yet to strike noon.

Hmm. Maybe he should have spent a few minutes searching 'New Orleans attractions' before they'd left Delacroix, but Bucky'd had other things on his mind. Namely how unfairly good that floral shirt looked on Sam. Christ, the way it hugged his upper arms.

Honeymoon phase, he could practically hear Sarah sing-song in his ears. Again, not untrue. Bucky was determined to milk the bliss of these early months for all they were worth.

"And we're here!" Sam exclaimed, startling Bucky back into the present. He threw out his arms, silver watch catching the light of the near-midday sun. "Bucky Barnes, bienvenue à l'Insectarium d'en Ville."

Bucky blinked, somehow resisting the urge to rub his eyes. Really, he wasn't sure he believed what he was seeing. In front of them was a towering steel entryway with a metal butterfly crowning the top and large print letters that read—"Audubon Insectarium?"

Sam nodded, an eager grin stretching across his lips. "Yep! The largest freestanding bug museum in the entire United States. An immersive experience into the world of entomology suited for beginners and experts alike."

Bucky opened and closed his mouth, speechless from shock and… Christ, maybe a little resentment, embarrassing as it was to admit. Sure, he hadn't known what to expect for his first true visit to New Orleans with Sam, but all the same… He'd never have guessed this.

"Buck? You good?"

Bucky blinked, realizing he was still yet to provide any sort of reaction. "I—uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He licked his lips. "But I don't understand—why choose—" He cut himself off with a short huff, aggravated at his apparent inability to form a coherent sentence. Dr. Tran would probably remind him to breathe.

Sam took a step towards him. Another step and the piercing eyes along the streets—yeah, Bucky hadn't missed the way people stopped to stare—would probably whip their phones out and start snapping pictures. "Shit, are you afraid of bugs? We can go to the aquarium instead—"

"I'm not afraid of bugs, Sam," Bucky snapped before immediately regretting the aggression in his tone. "I mean—" He cut himself off a second time with a sharp sigh. "Sorry. I didn't—I don't—"

"Why don't you take a breath?" Sam suggested, placing a firm hand on Bucky's normal shoulder. A foot of space still remained between them. "What's that mantra Dr. Tran has been drilling into you? Her 'words to communicate by' thing?"

Bucky was well aware that Sam had long since committed Dr. Tran's 'communication mantra' to memory, and as such appreciated his partner giving him a moment to collect himself. Because Bucky could—he had to—decipher his thoughts on his own.

"Mean what you say, say what you mean," he answered after a pause. Almost embarrassingly simple instructions that Dr. Tran had recommended Bucky keep in mind when he was struggling to communicate—usually with Sam, since Sam had been his only friend for several months, but with anyone else, too. Of course, was communication always so simple as the eight-word phrase implied? Fuck no. But Bucky would be lying if he said the mantra didn't help him simplify things he wanted to say. A nice starting point.

"Exactly," Sam confirmed with a nod and a warm smile. "So do that. I'm all ears."

Bucky flushed at Sam's confidence in him. Or maybe the heat rising in his face was from the blazing Louisiana sun—at this point, he couldn't be sure. "I'm not afraid of bugs," he repeated, earning a chuckle from Sam.

"Good to know."

"But," Bucky continued, certain his face was only turning a deeper shade of scarlet by the second, "this is our first real trip to New Orleans together. I guess I was hoping it would be more…" He swallowed hard, staring anywhere except Sam's eyes before muttering, "Romantic." Because really—how romantic could a bug museum be?

Sam stared at him for a moment, and Bucky groaned the second he saw a grin tugging at his partner's lips. "Dammit, Sam. Don't say it—"

"You, James Barnes, are a total softie," Sam declared, gently knocking Bucky's shoulder. Well, 'declared' at a volume low enough where they wouldn't be overheard by too-attentive ears. "'Most dangerous man alive' my ass."

"If this is what I get for being honest with you, Samuel, then I can promise that I will never—"

"'Most dramatic man alive,' more like," Sam said with a chuckle, to which Bucky responded by levelling an infamous glare at him. "Kidding, Buck." His amused grin became a warm smile. "I appreciate your honesty with me, and I promise that I will take you somewhere more traditionally romantic in New Orleans soon. But—" He took another step towards Bucky, and sure enough Bucky caught sight of at least three camera flashes from across the street. People weren't even subtle about their snooping anymore, for fuck's sake.

"But," Sam repeated, voice hushed, "answer this: do you trust me?"

"Of course," Bucky said without hesitation. "You know that."

Sam winked at him. "Then trust that I wouldn't let our first date in the Big Easy, secret or no, be lackluster in the romance department. Okay?"

Bucky sighed. "If this is your way of telling me you have a bug kink, then I might have to reconsider—"

Sam burst out laughing, using both arms to lightly shove Bucky backwards. "Shut the hell up, man, before somebody has to make you."

Bucky couldn't help but laugh, too, and he gave Sam a small grin. "I'll keep that in mind for later." He hesitated before adding, "I mean it, though." Ugh, blood had started rushing to his ears again. Why did honesty have to be so embarrassing? "Well, the part about trusting you. Not the bug ki—"

"How about we head inside before we get arrested for loitering," Sam suggested. He didn't wait for an answer as he grabbed Bucky by the shoulders, steering him through the double glass doors and into the insectarium.

The entrance lobby was larger and more formal than Bucky had expected for a kid-friendly museum, with a high ceiling and clean, spacious tile floors. The ticketing area itself was to their left, with four stations available, though it looked like just the two on either end were currently active. Bucky figured midday Thursday must not have been the busiest time for visits, his conclusion reinforced by the fact that only a single family was in line before them.

"I can take you here, gentlemen," a young woman at the farthest station on the right called. She had dark skin and darker hair that was shaved close to her head, though a tight curl pattern was still visible. "Two tickets, I presu…" She trailed off, eyes growing wide as saucers as they came to a stop in front of her computer. "Oh my God. You're—You're—"

"Sam Wilson," Sam finished with an easy grin as he placed his card on the counter. "Here to educate my co-worker on the insects of the world."

"Right," the girl managed to say after a long pause, nodding weakly. Poor kid. Bucky was all too familiar with being starstruck around Sam—a credit to her strength for not passing out. Which, unfortunately, Bucky had witnessed on numerous occasions.

"Thank you very much," Sam said as he accepted two tickets from the girl's shaking hands and tucked his card back into his wallet. "Have a good one, ma'am."

"Uh—you, too," the girl stammered in reply, but before they'd taken more than a few steps away from her desk she shouted, "Wait!"

Bucky gave Sam a knowing smirk. Photo op, he mouthed, earning himself an eye roll from his partner.

"Can I—Can I get a picture with you?" the girl asked, now clutching her phone in her right hand.

"He would love to," Bucky answered for Sam, nudging his partner forward. "And I don't mind taking it, if you need me to." He was the resident photographer between him and Sam, and Bucky did not mind the position one bit.

"I'd… like you to be in the picture, too, actually," the girl tentatively said. "If that's okay? Since y'all are… you know." Her face reddened. "A team and stuff?"

The note of uncertainty to her tone made an amused smile tug at Bucky's lips, because it was true that Captain America did occasionally have solo missions, especially when information needed to be kept more tightly under wraps. But whenever Sam needed a partner—well, Bucky tended to be first in line. So long as Torres didn't fucking beat him to it. Regardless, it wasn't much of a surprise that he and Sam were starting to be perceived as a unit.

"Don't worry, the bionic staring machine would love to be in the picture, too," Sam said, and Bucky realized he might have let silence hang in the air for too long. Oops.

He offered the girl a small smile and a nod, which seemed to reassure her.

Sam ended up taking the selfie with all three of them in it, as the girl's arm wasn't long enough even after leaning over the counter while Bucky, quote, "was too old to even know which button to press." Which was blatantly untrue, but the comment made the girl laugh and relax for the first time since she'd recognized them, so Bucky let it slide.

"Y'all look great, by the way!" the girl called as Sam and Bucky headed towards the entrance of the museum. "I love the shirts!"

"Thank you!" Sam replied. "No better place for floral than the insectarium, am I right?"

"It is the only pattern we see, sir."

Sam laughed at her comment while Bucky could only shake his head in confusion. He was yet to be enlightened on the purpose of their flower-adorned attire, at least in how it was related to the insectarium.

"Nope, I'm not explaining the shirts," Sam said before Bucky had even opened his mouth to ask the question. They crossed the threshold into the museum proper. "You'll understand soon, I promise."

Bucky scowled, unsure if he needed to be concerned or not that Sam could read him so well. "You said I'd understand when we got here. Well, we're here now, but I still don't understand."

Sam tilted his head. "Okay, I may have stretched the truth." He grinned at him. "But you will understand before we leave, I promise."

Bucky barely contained his scoff. "I'm holding you to that."

"I'd expect nothing less."

Bucky had prepared a snarky retort, but it disappeared in his throat as they stepped into a long hallway that was lined top to bottom with nature-themed wallpaper, giant plastic insects, and various individual exhibits. Mostly terrariums, but it looked like there were a few aquariums, too. Some were braced against the walls, while others were in the middle of the floor, splitting the walkway in two.

"Damn," was the first word that escaped Bucky's lips as he slowed to a stop, earning a laugh from Sam.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Although Bucky was still certain the attractions here were aimed at a younger audience… "Yeah," he admitted, shaking his head as he took in his surroundings a second time. "I didn't know people could be such insect enthusiasts."

"Well, everyone needs a hobby." Sam clapped him on the back—arguably as intimate as they could get in public, Bucky realized with remorse. "Come on. Let's start our tour."

"Tour?" Bucky repeated as he fell into step beside Sam. "As in a guided tour?"

Sam frowned. "You're right, that was a poor choice of words. It's not an official tour so much as there's a standard path everyone follows through the museum. So…" He paused. "Let's begin our look-around?"

Bucky snorted. "'Look-around.' Yeah, that's an upgrade."

Sam started to fire back at him, but Bucky barely processed a word of what was said, his attention newly snagged by an aquarium mounted against the left wall. Inside was an—

"Everglades crayfish?" Bucky muttered, skimming the title of the explanatory plaque before shifting his gaze to the crustacean itself. "Sam," he then said, raising his voice enough for his partner to hear him, "why the fuck is this crayfish blue?"

"Uh, how long have you been in Louisiana?" Sam asked, moving next to Bucky to observe the exhibit himself.

Bucky blinked. "What?"

"Because if memory serves, you've been here almost three months," Sam continued, ignoring Bucky's question, "and so there's no damn way you just said 'crayfish' to my face."

Bucky rolled his eyes, an amused grin tugging at his lips despite his efforts to fight it down. "Technically, I said it to their faces," he countered, pointing at the tank containing the two bright blue crustaceans.

"And that's supposed to be better? Imagine if I called you James all the time."

"It's my name—"

"It's a name, but it's not the one you prefer."

Bucky burst out laughing. "How the hell do you know if these guys prefer to be called crayfish or crawfish?"

"See, they actually told me—"

"Shut up," Bucky interrupted, still laughing as he elbowed his partner in the ribs with his normal arm—lucky for Sam. "You're Captain America, not Aquaman."

Sam winked at him. "So they say." Before Bucky could ask what the everloving fuck that meant, Sam was gesturing towards the exhibit's description. "And look. If you had read the summation, you would know that they can naturally occur blue, but aquariums tend to breed them specifically for the 'electric' blue shade."

"I read the description," Bucky lied—lied badly, as it happened, earning himself an eye roll from Sam. He hadn't even read the title correctly, turned out, because it did in fact say 'crawfish,' not 'crayfish.' Oops.

"Then remind me to get you some reading glasses, old man," Sam teased, lightly knocking Bucky's shoulder. "Until then, just ask if you need the exhibit information read to you."

Bucky barely withheld a monotonous Fuck you as a family with two children passed by, not-so-subtly gawking as they recognized Sam. He instead settled on a glare, to which his boyfriend responded with a mischievous smirk before moving on to a different exhibit.

Bucky followed him, of course, plastering on a polite smile as he nodded and stepped past the family of four.

"Ooh, leafcutter ants," Sam said excitedly, pausing before a giant terrarium full of interconnected dirt tubes. "Y'know, Buck, you remind me of these guys."

Bucky frowned, leaning forward to watch one of the smaller ants carry a massive leaf all on its own. "How?"

"Because they can carry 20 times their body weight. Not too different from your superstrength, right?"

Bucky tilted his head. "Fair." His gaze dropped to the descriptive plaque, and this time he actually read it, barely biting back a snort as he got to one of the final paragraphs. "Wait, look. They can get parasitic flies in their head." A crooked grin inched onto his lips. "Guess that's their version of HYDRA."

A beat passed, and Bucky panicked that maybe he'd pushed the line too far by joking about his experiences as the Winter Soldier.

"Well that's fucked up," Sam finally said, voice drier than a desert, and all the tension dissolved from Bucky's shoulders as he snickered.

"Sorry, I'm just feeling a very powerful kinship with these ants."

"Want me to tell Scott? I'm sure he could arrange a formal introduction—"

"Nope, not that powerful," Bucky interrupted, turning on his heel and marching off to another exhibit. Sam's laughter followed him the whole way. Bucky was not afraid of bugs, no, but even he had limits, and one of them was definitely interacting with an entire colony of leafcutter ants outside of their terrarium. Hell no.

After observing several more terrariums along the main hall, Sam steered Bucky into a small area labelled "Field Camp." After the employee sitting at the table got over his panic that holy crap, Captain America is talking to me, he went into a spiel about the different bugs that occupied the rotating terrariums before them—how and where they lived, their eating habits, and more.

"You can hold one of these guys, if you want," the man offered, gesturing towards the terrarium that contained a 'death-feigning beetle' according to the laminated label across it. "Or one of the hissing cockroaches."

Bucky glanced at Sam, and an unspoken challenge passed between them. I'll hold one if you hold one.

"I call the beetle," Sam then said, and Bucky rolled his eyes, because it wasn't like he could oppose Captain America. "Buck, make sure you take a picture."

"You'd better hope the beetle doesn't start playing dead in your hand," Bucky warned as he stole Sam's phone from his pocket, "or everyone will start thinking you have an anti-insect agenda."

"Ignore him," Sam said to the poor employee, whose face had gone a shade paler. "He's just bitter he has to hold the cockroach."

Absolutely, one hundred percent, mostly untrue. Besides—Bucky had a plan. One that was sure to piss Sam off, which meant it was the best kind of plan.

He snapped several photos of his boyfriend carefully holding the beetle in both hands, because he wasn't that much of an asshole where he'd purposefully take bad pictures. Although Bucky argued that any picture Sam was in was by default a good one.

When it was his turn to hold a bug, Bucky gave his partner an undisguised smirk before proceeding to let the cockroach rest only on his vibranium hand. Really, Sam should have seen that one coming from a mile off. But oh, the irritated-yet-begrudgingly-acceptant glare his boyfriend shot him as he took a few photos of Bucky holding the bug was the best thing Bucky had seen all day.

Well, second to Sam returning from his run. What a sight.

"I know you think you've won here," Sam said as they returned to the main hall, rubbing hand sanitizer across his palms, "but if anything, you just proved yourself a coward."

Bucky scoffed. "Please. It's called strategy."

"'Strategy' my a—" Sam cut himself off as a group of children darted by, and Bucky snickered. There was nothing better than one-upping his partner. Which Bucky knew was not normally a quality of healthy relationships, but since it only seemed to apply to them through the most ridiculous of contests—like holding bugs—he and Dr. Tran had long since concluded there was no need for concern.

"Wait, what's this area?" Bucky asked as Sam started to walk past an opening to an exhibit on their left labelled "UNDERGROUND" in green block letters.

Sam turned around, rejoining Bucky at the stylized, pseudo-stone entrance. "Oh, this?" He shrugged. "Honestly, it's more like a playroom. No real exhibits. I wasn't gonna make you go in—"

"I like playrooms," Bucky interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. "What if I wanted to go in?"

Sam shook his head, amused. "Then be my guest."

After about five minutes, Bucky had to admit—the room was definitely geared toward little kids. But like hell he'd say so to Sam. Besides, the descriptive plaques next to the oversized plastic insects weren't uninteresting. Just… Well. Simple.

"It's a jungle down there?" Bucky heard Sam mutter, and he turned around to see his boyfriend frowning quizzically as he examined a fake wooden sign. "Buck, does this phrase ring a bell for you, or am I losing it?"

"I don't think those are mutually exclusive," Bucky replied, somehow managing to keep a straight face as Sam shot him a glare, "but yeah, it sounds familiar." A frown tugged at his lips, too. It's a jungle down there. Where had he heard that before?

"Oh, shit," Sam said, snapping his fingers. "It's from that TV show. The—The one about the detective, right? Except I think they say 'it's a jungle out there' in the theme, not—"

The phrase clicked for Bucky. "Monk," he said with a nod. "The guy with all the phobias."

Sam frowned at his recognition. "Wait, how do you know about Monk? Unlike The Hobbit, this show was definitely airing while you were still in the freezer."

'In the freezer' was Bucky's favorite euphemism for his time in cryogenic stasis. "Late-night Sundance reruns," he explained. "Didn't get much sleep in Brooklyn, remember?"

If they'd been alone, Sam probably would have slipped his hand into Bucky's. But they weren't alone, and Sam seemed to settle on a quick shoulder squeeze instead. Bucky appreciated the touch, though it wasn't needed. He was sleeping better now, after all.

Having someone by his side, someone he trusted, helped. A lot.

Even if Sam moved all the fucking time in his sleep. Bucky had a sizable bruise on his left shin from one particularly aggressive kick. The running gag, of course, was that Sam had not been asleep when said kick occurred.

All the same, Bucky wouldn't trade those nights for the world.

Before his thoughts could dawdle any further, Bucky turned to face what he thought would be a plaque on the adjacent wall. Instead of being greeted by white lettering, however, he was met with a massive animatronic spider leaping straight at him out of a trapdoor.

Trapdoor spider. Right. Very funny.

And while Bucky did not shriek—the spider wasn't that realistic—he did startle to the extent that he jumped and released a string of curses that would've made five generations of Southern grandmothers roll in their graves. His startlement sent Sam into uproarious laughter, and Bucky knew that dammit, he was never going to live this down.

God, how annoying was it that Sam's laughter was his favorite sound? Made it impossible to stay angry.

"Changed my mind, I am so glad we decided to come in this room," Sam choked out amidst his cackling, practically doubled over at this point. "Man, if I had caught that on camera—"

"If you had caught that on camera, Captain America would become a solo hero," Bucky interrupted. He tried to keep his expression unamused and tone flat, but an embarrassed flush still crept up his neck.

"Count yourself lucky I plan to keep this incident to myself as it is, footage or no," Sam teased when his snickering finally died down. "Because I can think of a very annoying teenage superhero who would probably use instant-kill mode to get ahold of this information—"

Bucky stepped in front of Sam so fast the air practically snapped between them. It would have been intimidating had Bucky's face not still been beet-red as Sam gave him a shit-eating grin.

"If you breathe a word of this to Spider-Man," he whispered in as threatening a tone as he could muster, his body way too close to Sam's and yet not close enough, "I will make you regret ever letting me tag along to Germany."

Sam's grin only widened. "I'll keep that in mind, cher."

Dammit, Bucky wanted to kiss him. The pet name wasn't helping.

Somehow, he forced himself to step backwards. "Uh. Good." The blandest, most half-hearted reply in the world. Maybe he really was a softie. But in his defense, Sam's dark eyelashes and gorgeous smile had been—and still were—very distracting.

"Let's move to the next room before something else jumps out and scares you shitless," Sam teased, taking Bucky by the elbow and steering him back to where they'd entered. Bucky rolled his eyes but allowed himself to be guided out. They both ignored the whispers and camera flash that followed.

"'New Orleans Gallery,' huh?" Bucky said when they reached the next exhibit, this one along the right side of the main hall. "Should be right up your alley, Mr. Delacroix."

"Actually, it should be right up yours," Sam countered with a knowing smirk. "It's designed like a faux French Quarter. Maybe not as"—he leaned towards Bucky's ear, voice dropping to a whisper—"romantic as the real thing, but a pretty close second."

A grin tugged at Bucky's lips. "Of course." He gestured to one of the exhibit signs hanging above them. "Love bugs. The modern way to woo."

Sam's smirk widened. "It's the inherent romanticism of flying through the air with your partner."

Bucky rolled his eyes. Ha ha. Although he was not and would never be one to complain when Sam carried him bridal style during a mission.

Bucky moved further into the exhibit, skimming the panel about love bugs before snorting. "Hold on. Are you sure the 'inherent romanticism' isn't because they're fuc—"

Sam interrupted him with an excessively loud cough, and Bucky noticed a small group had joined them in the gallery, including several children.

"Mating," he corrected himself. "Because they're… mating while they fly together."

"Well, they aren't called 'love bugs' for nothing," Sam said cheerily. "Give them credit where credit is due." He leaned back against a nearby wall. "But despite the name, most people down here don't love 'em. Especially older folks."

Bucky frowned. "Really? What, do they bite or something?" He examined a blown-up image of the insect. It didn't seem dangerous, nor did it resemble any kind of pest he was familiar with. At least not compared to roaches or mosquitoes, which he noticed were also featured in the New Orleans section.

Ugh. Mosquitoes were Bucky's least favorite part of Louisiana. Well, besides the devastating heat. Apparently the supersoldier serum made his blood more delicious to the bugs. Sarah often joked he was going to start a species of super-mosquitoes if they kept biting him all the time.

For the world's sake, he hoped not.

"Nah, they aren't aggressive," Sam said with a dismissive wave of his hand, bringing Bucky's attention back to his present surroundings. "There just used to be a lot more of them around, which was really bad for cars."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "For cars?" Being bad for crops he could understand, like locusts. Even being bad for—for pets, maybe, like fleas. But cars? "Are you messing with me?"

Sam snorted. "Right, because I have nothing better to do than lie to you about love bugs."

Touché. "Okay, enlighten me." Could he just read the exhibit? Sure. But where was the fun in that?

Besides, Bucky hadn't missed the small crowd that had slowly gathered around them, presumably all soaking up Captain America's unexpected knowledge about love bugs.

Also, Bucky simply loved listening to Sam speak. Sue him.

Sam either noticed their newfound audience, too, or else he just decided to humor Bucky, because he didn't fire back with a snarky retort. Instead, he waved Bucky—and by default, their smattering of followers—over to a different part of the New Orleans exhibit, though still in the love bug section. Sam led them to a model of some yellow car, Bucky realized, one that looked like a…

Ha.

A Volkswagen Beetle.

Bucky had to respect the commitment to insect puns.

What was unusual about the car, though, was how the windshield and the front bumper were covered in dead love bugs. Fake ones, of course, but realistic enough so that there was no question as to what insects they were supposed to be.

"For a long time, love bugs' natural predators hadn't caught up with their migrational patterns out of Florida," Sam explained. "Now, they weren't an invasive species or aggressive towards humans or anything, but there were still a whole lot of them flying around with just about nothing to control population growth. So what happened"—Sam gestured to the fake Volkswagen—"was that they'd collect on cars, especially around highways where they liked to swarm. And hey, doesn't seem like too big a deal, right?"

A soft smile tugged at Bucky's lips as several utterly enraptured children nodded their heads in response to his partner's question. Hell, he almost nodded, too, as only Sam Wilson could have the power to make love bugs an engaging subject.

"But smeared love bugs across your windshield do not make driving very easy. Worse, they become almost impossible to remove after a few hours," Sam continued. "They can also clog radiator air passages, which is unpleasant at best and a safety hazard at worst. But what I think is most interesting about them…"

He pointed to a spot on the fake car where the yellow color appeared to have eroded away. "When dead love bugs get left on cars in the heat for a day or so, their body's pH becomes acidic, which means it can destroy the paint on a vehicle. Nowadays, paint is made with that in mind, so it's not as much of a problem. But a few decades ago?" Sam shook his head, chuckling. "Man, my grandparents hated love bugs. I always thought they were being unfair 'til I took my first solo trip down the highway and came home with abstract art on my windshield."

His final comment earned laughter from the crowd, and Bucky couldn't help but crack a smile. Sam loved interacting with people, his people, especially when he was able to do so outside of formal or heroic contexts.

Bucky loved watching those interactions, too. Getting to see Sam in his element.

The kids began peppering Sam with more questions about love bugs, which Sam gladly answered, reassuring the parents that he didn't mind when a few of them got embarrassed and tried to tug their children away. Bucky did his best to listen to Sam share this insect knowledge that he'd had no idea Sam possessed, but if he was honest, he got caught up simply in the watching of it. Sam's easy grin for the kids, the kids' starstruck expressions, even the parents gradually relaxing and adding to the conversation, too.

Maybe it was the honeymoon phase speaking, but seeing his partner interact so naturally with others—with everyday people—had to be Bucky's favorite sight in the world.

Bucky didn't bother to disguise his fond expression when Sam at one point met his gaze. The twinkle in Sam's eyes informed Bucky that Sam had recognized and acknowledged said fondness, but the gentle smile his partner gave him in return—a smile that always made Bucky's heart flutter—reassured him that the feeling was mutual.

It seemed this bug museum had the potential to be romantic, after all. But only potential. Nothing concrete.

Yet.

"So, you plan to start working here once you retire from the superhero business?" Bucky asked after Sam had taken pictures with a few of the kids and the crowd had finally dispersed. "I think you'd make a great guide."

Sam laughed as they stepped back into the main hall. "Not a chance. My knowledge is almost exclusively limited to love bugs, and that's because I did a report on them for Bio II in high school."

Huh. Bucky had been wondering why Sam knew so much about love bugs in particular. "I'd say that's kinda romantic of you, but"—he scrunched his nose in mild disgust—"knowing what I do now about them, I'm not sure that applies."

"Aw, come on. There's something at least a little romantic about how love bug couples fly together."

"Yeah, while they have sex."

Sam swatted his arm, and Bucky snickered. "They fly together afterwards, too, not just in the process. Don't make it weird."

They were at a museum dedicated to bugs. Nothing needed Bucky's help to make it weird. But he kept that comment to himself.

After a pause, he asked, "Why do they do that?" His pace slowed in the hall. "Fly together, I mean." There was no practical purpose that Bucky could discern, especially once the mating process was complete.

Sam shrugged, matching Bucky's step until they'd both come to a stop. "Well, they've got really short lifespans. Usually a week at most. I guess they don't have much of a choice but to stick together." He glanced at Bucky. "Maybe it really is love, then."

Bucky frowned. "Or loneliness."

"Is there always a difference?"

Bucky didn't have an answer to that.

Their hands brushed as they made their way to the final exhibit along the main hall.

"Oh, you're gonna love this part," Sam said, picking up his pace in excitement. "Or at least I'm gonna love watching you experience it."

Well, that wasn't foreboding at all. "Great," Bucky muttered, warily shoving his hands into his pockets as he followed Sam into some kind of… restaurant? There were tables and chairs, but—

"It's not exactly a restaurant," Sam said, and Bucky realized he must have been wondering aloud. Oops. "But it's close enough."

Bucky squinted to read a sign before them, earning the usual old man tease from his boyfriend. "'Bug Appètit'?" A beat passed before his eyes widened. "Oh no." Bucky took several steps backward, shaking his head. "Samuel Wilson, you are not making me eat fucking bugs—"

"I'm not making you eat anything," Sam laughed, grabbing Bucky's vibranium arm to pull him back towards the entryway. "But I would appreciate it if you didn't leave me alone while I check out if there's anything I want to eat."

Well, if Bucky refused that request, he'd seem like a shitty boyfriend. So he allowed his partner to lead him inside, his gaze trailing over the area called 'Tiny Termite Café' as they walked. Apparently the café served as a precursor to Bug Appètit itself, which Bucky vaguely heard Sam explain to be the place where a chef actively prepared insect-related dishes and provided samples for visitors.

Bucky noticed a rack of colorful lollipops hanging on one of the café's walls. Inside of each candy, though, was not bubblegum or a tootsie roll—no, each contained a different kind of bug.

The resemblance to insects caught in amber was so striking it was nearly uncomfortable.

"Remind me why I'm letting you drag me in here," Bucky muttered, earning further laughter from his partner as they crossed the threshold into Bug Appètit and stopped in front of a rounded counter lined with small white bowls of… different samples.

Bucky wasn't sure he wanted to know the specifics.

White lights dangled from the ceiling above, and a honeycomb-style wooden backdrop lined the wall behind the counter. All in all, aesthetically pleasing. If only Bucky could ignore the bugs being served before them.

"Because you love me," Sam whispered with utter innocence, giving his forearm a quick squeeze.

Bucky huffed, mostly because Sam was right.

"Too bad it's not Mardi Gras," his partner continued, voice returning to a normal volume. "They make a mean cricket king cake."

Bucky's nose wrinkled in distaste. "That sounds like a terrible combination."

"It's actually delicious," an older woman said. She had curly auburn hair with a single white streak at the front. She smiled at them as she stepped out from the back of the not-restaurant and moved behind the counter. Her black shirt with the insectarium logo across it denoted her as one of the chefs. "At least when I bake it."

Sam chuckled at her comment while Bucky found himself drawn to studying the woman's appearance. Her curls fell just below her ears rather than reaching her shoulders, but that particular shade of red combined with the numerous freckles dotting her face made her almost resemble…

Bucky glanced at Sam, searching for the same recognition in his partner's eyes. Upon finding none, he stuffed the similarities to the back of his mind. This outing was supposed to be a distraction for them—for Sam—and Bucky wasn't going to screw that up because of his overactive imagination.

The chef smiled at them, nudging forward a bowl labelled 'Crispy Cajun Crickets.' "Crickets are the rice of the insect world, you know."

"Yeah, but would you put rice on a king cake?" Bucky grumbled. He bit his tongue as he realized how rude that could come across, but the woman simply chuckled as Sam rolled his eyes.

"Please forgive him, ma'am. I think he's getting hangry."

Bucky shot Sam a dubious look, because hangry? Really? The chef spoke, however, before he could say something that would probably end up proving Sam's point.

"No, no, he's right about my analogy not being so applicable in that context," the woman said with a chuckle. "Still, crickets are a staple food and a great first for people who've never eaten insects before." She tapped the side of the ceramic bowl, giving Bucky another warm smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle. "What about it, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky still wasn't used to being recognized by his real name in public. A person identifying him as the Winter Soldier or Captain America's sidekick-slash-partner was more common. But Mr. Barnes?

"You can just call me Bucky, ma'am," he said, "but no thank you. I'm… not hungry." For bugs, at least.

"Come on, Buck," Sam said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes that let Bucky know he was only teasing. He lifted a different bowl, one labelled 'Cinnamon Bug Crunch.' "Try a waxworm."

"Fuck no," Bucky said, momentarily forgetting a lady stood in front of them. He flashed her an apologetic smile when his brain caught up with his mouth, which the chef acknowledged with a chuckle and an amused shake of her head.

Sam shrugged. "Your loss." He proceeded to use a plastic spoon to scoop up a bite's worth of the sample dish for himself. "Delicious," he said after swallowing, offering the chef a thumb's up.

The woman nodded her thanks. "Always a delight to have the approval of my son's favorite hero."

Bucky glanced over the other available samples. Most were the insects themselves, cooked and seasoned in some way. A few involved insects as only a single ingredient, though, like how "Hoppin' Herb Dip" contained crickets but was evidently made with other items, too. And if Bucky was being totally honest, he didn't want to walk away from the counter without having tried anything. He was just… picky about what kind of bug recipes he was willing to eat.

A platter to Bucky's left caught his eye, and he moved to read the label as Sam chatted with the chef about her son, his nephews, and all the different foods she'd prepared for the insectarium in the past.

"'Chocolate Chirp Cookies,'" Bucky mumbled to himself, as if saying the name aloud would convince him to taste one. He liked chocolate chip cookies well enough—Sarah made some of the best batches he'd ever had the privilege to enjoy—and if crickets were really the most basic of insects for a person to eat… Well, maybe he could—

"Working up the nerve to try one?" Sam asked, startling Bucky out of his thoughts as his partner peered over his shoulder at the platter of cookies. "I can confirm they're excellent."

Bucky rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips. "If you can already vouch for them, then I guess I don't need to eat any—"

"Aw, come on," Sam interrupted with a laugh. His hand dropped to Bucky's lower back as he gently pushed him forward. "Look. I can tell you want to try one."

Bucky did want to try one. Again, he never knew whether to be annoyed or embarrassed that Sam could read him so well.

"I promise there's nothing to be intimidated by," the chef reassured him. Bucky had almost forgotten she was there, what with the warmth of Sam's hand still resting against his lower back. "And I won't take offense if you spit it out, I promise." She lifted the platter. "Give them a shot?"

Bucky hesitated, then swallowed his remaining nerves and accepted a cricket cookie. He was the most deadly ex-assassin alive—he could eat a godforsaken cookie, bugs and all. Bucky took a small bite, and… Huh.

"It's crunchy," was the brilliant commentary that first left his lips, followed by an embarrassed grin. His reaction earned a chuckle from the chef and Sam's arm being slung around his shoulders.

"I told you it wasn't a big deal," Sam crowed, and Bucky couldn't even argue. Any mild irritation he may have felt over his boyfriend being right disappeared when Sam's fingers brushed the back of his neck as he retracted his arm. Bucky shivered, pointedly ignoring Sam's smirk after the fact.

They said their goodbyes to the chef as she left them to speak with an elderly man that had wandered in searching for samples, accompanied by a young boy—his grandchild, most likely. Sam ended up leading Bucky back to the main part of the café. An unusual silence fell between them as they walked, though not an uncomfortable one. He also purchased two lollipops from the rack on the wall, one yellow and one green. His response to Bucky's deadpan Uh, why? was a shrug, a smile, and a simple Why not?

Bucky accepted the yellow lollipop, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to convince himself to eat it.

They sat down at a table-slash-terrarium near the back of the café, one tucked away in a corner and obscured by numerous plants. The location was effective in helping them remain hidden from too many prying eyes, otherwise known as gawking guests.

Bucky noticed that Sam's expression had grown pensive as they'd left Bug Appètit, and his partner's look of intense thought was yet to disappear even now that they'd taken their seats in the café.

"You good?" he asked, hooking their ankles together beneath the table. He was probably pushing the line of 'discreet,' but fuck discretion—something was clearly on Sam's mind and Bucky would be damned if he wasn't there for him, no matter who was watching.

Sam nodded, though his brow remained furrowed. "Yeah. Just thinking."

Bucky broke what remained of his cricket cookie in half, offering Sam the larger of the two pieces. His partner accepted it with a small smile. Bucky nibbled at his, knowing Sam would speak when he was ready. Sure enough, Sam sighed a few moments later.

"The chef. Did she… remind you of Karli, in any way?"

Bucky studied Sam's face, noting a mixture of frustration and confusion and… grief, maybe. "Yeah," he answered after a pause. "She looked like her. If Karli was—"

"—older," Sam finished stiffly. "If Karli had been given the chance to get older. To find a better—a different path." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "She was only 19, Buck. She had so much life left to live."

Bucky recognized the third emotion permeating his partner's features: regret. "You can't blame yourself for what happened with Karli," he said after a pause. "With everything. I know you want to, because it's easier that way. To pin it all on one person. But you aren't responsible for her choices. Or for Sharon's." He stared down at his hands, the gold of his vibranium arm glittering even in the shadows. Mesmerizing, really. "Not everything is—was in your control. You did all you could."

And no more could be done now. The next step was only—was always—to move forward.

Sam lowered his hand to the table, clenching and unclenching it twice. "Knowing that doesn't make it any easier."

Bucky shook his head. "No. It doesn't." He placed his normal hand on top of Sam's, giving it a gentle squeeze as he lifted his gaze to meet his partner's. "But I'm here. If you need me."

A small smile tugged at Sam's lips. "Dr. Tran has really done wonders for you." Before Bucky could reply, Sam shifted his hand so their fingers were intertwined. "Thanks. I know you are."

After a pause, Sam sighed, this time a sound of mild exasperation. "Look at me. This was supposed to be a chance for us to get away from all that crap, but I'm here dragging the past into the present. Nope! Not anymore." He released Bucky's hand, leaning back in his seat. "So. How are you liking the insectarium so far? Seen enough bugs yet?"

Bucky decided not to press the subject of Karli. There was always time for that when they returned home, where they could be alone and Bucky could offer comfort beyond holding Sam's hand. "I've had more fun than I thought I would," he admitted, finishing the last of his half of the cricket cookie. Sam did the same. "I didn't expect insects to be so interesting."

"Ah, that's how they get you."

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, sounds about right." He raised an eyebrow at his partner. "I will say that you are yet to impress me in the"—romance, he mouthed, and Sam grinned—"department. And I still have no fucking clue what our shirts are for."

Sam tilted his head, considering Bucky's words. "You know, I think you'll end up understanding those at the same time." He winked at Bucky. "But patience is a virtue, cher. We're only halfway through the museum. And you said yourself that you're having fun!"

Yes, Bucky had said that. He was pretty sure he'd be having more fun, though, if he was allowed to kiss his boyfriend every once in a while. Ugh—patience was a bitch.

Bucky switched his attention to observing the tarantula that was crawling in the terrarium beneath their glass tabletop. Mexican fireleg tarantula, the description read. Apparently a good starter pet for arachnid fans.

"Even if we left now," Bucky continued after a pause, keeping his gaze glued to the large spider, "before whatever surprise you clearly have planned… the trip would have been worth it." Fuck, he was blushing. The consequence for baring his affection.

"Part of me wants to gloat about how I told you it would be a good time, but that was really sweet, Buck," Sam mused, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He pushed the yellow lollipop back over to Bucky. "Eat your spider candy."

"My wh—" Bucky blinked, cutting himself off as he realized there was indeed a spider in the center of his lollipop. "Oh." He picked up the candy before glancing back at the tarantula still slowly crawling within their table. "Should I feel bad about eating it in front of its kin?"

Sam's eyes widened at the question, and Bucky wondered what the hell kind of light bulb he'd set off in his boyfriend's mind.

"Eating a spider in front of a spider," Sam exclaimed, pulling his phone out of his pocket and swiping up to his camera, as if that statement alone was somehow enough to cue Bucky in. "You know what super-teenager would love to hear about this?"

The puzzle pieces fell into place for Bucky, and he grinned as he pulled the plastic wrapper off the yellow candy. "Can't wait to see how many retweets you get."

"Probably gonna break the world record." Sam moved to stand behind Bucky's chair, angling his phone to where both the spider lollipop and the live tarantula were visible between himself and Bucky.

It was a surprisingly nice photo, Bucky realized after Sam had snapped several and chosen the best one. Well, discounting their wicked grins. He'd probably end up saving the picture to his phone later.

"How should I caption it?" Sam mused, still standing behind Bucky's chair as he began typing away. "Just 'sorry, Spider-Man'?"

Bucky leaned back so his head was resting against Sam's abdomen—abs, resting against Sam's abs, why did 'abdomen' also have to be a fucking insect part? Jesus. "Maybe try to work in how we're eating the spider."

"Mm, good point." Bucky heard further tapping. "Okay, how's this: 'like our spider snack, Spider-Man'?"

Bucky snorted. It was beyond stupid and therefore utterly perfect. "Great. Send it forth and break the internet."

Sam chuckled. "Already done." He dropped his phone into his pocket before returning to his seat, and Bucky immediately missed the warmth of Sam's stomach as a headrest.

Neither of them made a move to eat their lollipops.

Bucky couldn't keep an amused grin off his lips. "All that talk and no follow through?"

Sam raised an eyebrow, as if contemplating some kind of challenge with the candy, but instead sighed. "Yeah," he said ruefully, picking up his green lollipop and examining the creature inside. "A scorpion is too much even for me."

"Great, because I don't really want to eat Spider-Man's cousin, either." Bucky moved to throw both of their lollipops away, but was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"We can't just trash them in front of the employees," Sam whisper-hissed, tilting his head towards the two people working the café's register. "I don't want them to think we hate it."

That was… a fair point. Even though the two cashiers were paying zero attention to them as they rang up several items for a young family. "What do you suggest?"

Before Bucky could blink, Sam had tugged him into the men's restroom that was tucked in the corner of the café. Which was a risk in itself—Captain America pulling his loyal teammate into a bathroom? Headline alert. But Bucky doubted anyone had noticed, at least given how aside their table had been.

"Bathroom garbage," Sam explained, releasing Bucky's hand as the door swung shut behind them. His voice echoed in the empty space. "Nobody searches through these."

Bucky wrapped the lollipops in a paper towel before disposing of them, though. Just in case.

Considering that it took him less than ten seconds to throw away their candy, they should have been back in the museum to check out the second half of the exhibits before even fifteen seconds passed. Instead, fifteen seconds stretched to thirty seconds to over a minute.

Neither of them moved.

Bucky was keenly aware this was the first time they'd been alone since arriving at the insectarium, and based on how Sam's gaze unsubtly dropped to Bucky's lips, he'd wager his partner was thinking along the exact same lines.

Bucky stepped forward, hands falling to rest on Sam's waist. Sam freed one of them—the vibranium one—and pushed up the long sleeve to press a gentle kiss to the inside of Bucky's wrist. Bucky shivered, and Sam smiled, his other hand moving to cup Bucky's face.

"I can't wait until we don't have to hide this," was all Sam had time to whisper before Bucky crashed their lips together, determined to make the most of these few seconds before he'd have to go back to pretending it wasn't killing him not to hold Sam's hand all the time.

Bucky tried to deepen the kiss, but Sam pulled away, giving him a stern frown that did not match the mirth in his eyes. "No. We are not making out in the insectarium bathroom." He pressed a chaste kiss to Bucky's lips before stepping away. "We will, however, continue this later."

"Damn right we will," Bucky grumbled, a small smile inching onto his lips despite himself as he followed his grinning partner out of the restroom.

The next exhibit was a smaller one, at least in terms of how it spotlighted only one insect.

"Termites, huh?" Bucky mused as he surveyed the to-scale model of a Southern wooden home around them. "Maybe you guys need more brick houses."

Sam snorted. "If only it was so simple."

Bucky warily eyed a diagram depicting how termites gnawed their way through wooden posts beneath raised homes. "Well, I sure hope this isn't happening to your house."

"God, Buck, don't jinx it."

"Why is this one so small?" Bucky complained as they moved into the following room. Hell, it was more an oversized closet than a true exhibit. The space was clearly intended to resemble a bait shop, but there were hardly any terrariums in it.

A Gulf Coast toad stared intensely at him from its tank, though, not that the poor guy had much else to look at. The nearby tree frog was giving everyone the cold shoulder.

"Because it's supposed to be a lead-in to the next exhibit," Sam replied. Bucky had almost forgotten he'd asked a question, what with the toad's unblinking eyes still trained on him. "If you're buying bait, where do you think you're going?"

Bucky frowned. "Fishing?"

"Okay, yeah, but where?"

Was this a trick question? "In… the ocean?"

Sam laughed, both hands pushing Bucky out of the faux bait shop and into the true exhibit. "Try a swamp."

"Holy shit." Bucky's eyes were wide as he took in the new area. All the previous rooms had been fascinating, yes, but this had to be his favorite yet. Spanish moss hung through fishing nets that draped from the ceiling, all lit with electric blue and neon purple lights, and the walls were designed to resemble cypress trees. In this exhibit, there were almost as many aquariums as there were terrariums filling every nook and cranny.

"Impressive, huh?" Sam said, grinning. "Maybe a bit more magical than a real swamp, but the general affect is the same." Bucky found himself unable to articulate an immediate response, and Sam snickered. "Oh, you get speechless when you're awestruck? Can't lie, the quiet is nice."

That snapped Bucky out of his stupor. "Shut up."

"You know you'd have to make me."

Something Bucky could not do in public, which Sam damn well knew based on his not-so-sly grin. Bucky decided the appropriate response was to flip his partner off before heading to the first exhibit that caught his eye, which happened to be a long, shelf-like aquarium protruding from the wall. It was designed to resemble a more saturated part of the swamp, complete with a plastic heron staring down hungrily at the real fish within the tank and a similarly plastic alligator curled on a raised section of the floor in front of it.

The fish were unidentified, Bucky noted as he kneeled down to get a better look inside the water. He was pretty sure he recognized a catfish, though. The top of the aquarium was open, and Bucky had to resist the urge to stick his hand in. Proof he was more 6 years old than 106.

"Ah, should we go to the aquarium for our next da—" Sam cleared his throat, coming to a stop at Bucky's side. "I mean, for our next outing." His hands were in his pockets as he observed Bucky's fascination with an amused smile. "I didn't know you had such kinship with fish, too."

Bucky did not deign a response to the latter comment. "You know what?" he said, watching a catfish swim in a lazy circle around the tank before he got to his feet. "I would like to go to the aquarium. The fish make for better company than you."

"I am so relieved to know the feeling's mutual."

"Ha ha, Samuel."

"Come on, you walked right into that one."

As if Bucky would give him the satisfaction of acknowledging that. "At least the fish won't be as rude as you are," he commented dryly, earning a mock gasp from Sam.

"Hey now, I'm the nicest guy in the world."

"That's what you want the world to think."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out as he tilted his head. "You're not wrong, actually."

"I'm a very perceptive person."

"Yeah, right. Sarah says it took you three months to get your head out of your ass and admit you liked me."

A hot blush crept up Bucky's neck. "And? It's not like you were any better."

"My obliviousness does not negate yours, Barnes."

Fuck, that was a valid point.

Bucky decided to shift the subject an inch to the left. "In all seriousness…" The heat across his cheeks intensified. "I would, actually, like to go to the aquarium with you. Not just being a sarcastic bitch about it." He'd have to confer with Dr. Tran on why open and honest communication so often left him red-faced.

Sam gently bumped Bucky's shoulder with his own. "I'd like to go with you, too. No sarcasm." He chuckled. "I know I just spent the last five minutes taunting you about fish, but I bet the penguins will be your favorite part." He winked at Bucky. "Since you're secretly such a softie."

'Secretly.' Not any-fucking-more. God, why had he admitted he'd been hoping for a romantic outing? He'd never live the comment down. "Yeah? And what's your favorite part?" Bucky challenged. "A tough animal? Sharks or something?"

"Not a bad guess," Sam mused. "Sharks are actually AJ's favorite part, but that's because he's 8 and has another few years left in his shark phase."

Bucky distantly wondered if Sam had a shark phase as a child.

"But no, my favorite part—and Cass's, too—is way cooler than a shark." Sam grabbed Bucky's forearm, tugging him towards an exhibit near the center of the room. It was another aquarium, this time with a fake cypress tree in the center that the tank itself wrapped around. The glass walls were high, but the water was only filled halfway. Part of a real tree branch stuck out the top. "Consider this little guy a hint. And find him yourself, don't read the description."

Bucky peered down at the water, unsure of what he was supposed to be looking for. "What—"

"Hang on," Sam interrupted. He placed his hand on Bucky's vibranium shoulder, gently pushing him downward until they were both crouching at eye level with the waterline. "Try this angle."

Bucky frowned, still at a loss of what Sam was trying to show him. But just as he was about to cheat and sneak a glance at the exhibit's explanatory plaque—

An offshoot of the branch blinked.

"What the—" Bucky muttered, gaze narrowing as he studied the 'branch.' "Is that…" He tilted his head. "A baby crocodile?"

Sam groaned as he straightened to his full height. "Come on, Buck. So close."

Bucky rolled his eyes as he stood, realizing his error. He kept part of his attention on the small reptile, as it had begun to swim around the tank. "My bad. A baby alligator."

"There you go. We aren't far south enough to have crocodiles here. Only alligators can handle the cooler water."

Bucky snorted. "You did not just call Louisiana swamps 'cool.'" The first criticism of Louisiana—besides the damn mosquitoes—Bucky had developed within days of his initial visit to Delacroix was the heat. He was still used to Brooklyn weather, where 75 degrees was sweltering.

What made Louisiana heat truly awful, though, was the fucking humidity. Sometimes stepping outside and taking a breath was like trying to inhale warm water.

"I said cool-er," Sam repeated. "The Caribbean has hotter waters than we do, yes."

Okay, fair point. Bucky saw no reason to challenge that. "So alligators are your favorite part of the aquarium?" he asked instead.

"Sort of." Sam watched the baby gator with fondness as it floated at the top of the water. "The Audubon Aquarium actually has an albino alligator."

"Huh." Bucky tilted his head. "That does sound pretty cool, actually."

"Everything I like is cool."

"You wish."

Bucky ignored Sam's protest, instead turning his attention to the display plaques in front of him. If his boyfriend liked alligators, then it was Bucky's responsibility to know a thing or two about them, right? It's important to support your partner's interests, Bucky could practically hear Dr. Tran say.

I know that, he'd told her, offended, but had proceeded to take mental notes of her advice all the same.

Bucky's general takeaway from his reading: alligators were ancient and deadly apex predators.

Fascinating.

"Hey, Sam," he called after working his way through a story about the largest reported American alligator. "Did you know they found a 19-foot alligator on Marsh Island here in 1890?"

Sam probably did know that already, since he'd been to the insectarium before, but Bucky was hoping the question would inspire his boyfriend to ramble further about alligators. He loved when Sam gushed about—well, anything. "Sam?"

Upon still not receiving a response, Bucky turned around to see that his partner had moved on to a new exhibit near the corner of the room. Two terrariums tucked into a fake log, specifically. There was an odd expression on Sam's face as he examined whatever was inside. Almost… solemn.

When Bucky was close enough to read the exhibit's description, he understood why.

"Black widow," he murmured. Somehow he stopped himself from slipping his hand into Sam's, instead simply stepping close enough where their shoulders brushed.

"Yep." Sam's voice was low even as he popped the 'p,' the sound nearly drowned out by the excited clamor of children that had been present in every exhibit so far. A long pause went by before he continued. "It's just a spider, though. Not a big deal."

Bucky shuffled an inch closer, firmly pressing their shoulders together. "You're a bad liar."

"I don't think you're in any place to criticize, Mr. Walk-You-Through-A-Hypothetical."

A smile flickered on Bucky's lips for the briefest of seconds. "Fair enough." He exhaled. "Is there… Do you want to talk about it?"

Sam hummed, shrugging. "Just thinking about how hard Nat would be laughing if she could see me now. A grown-ass man feeling weepy because of a spider."

Bucky shrugged, too. "Trauma, grief—they're funny things." Experiences he and Sam were all too familiar with. Post-war, post-Blip. After the fire.

Sam sighed. "Wish they weren't."

Bucky studied his partner's expression, and upon seeing some of the tension dissipate, he allowed his gaze to drop the terrarium before them. The spider sat still in its closed tank, even with both of them scrutinizing it. Resting, Bucky assumed. At peace in this place where no predator, no enemy could do harm to it. Here, the black widow was allowed to have… calm.

"Look," Sam said, pulling Bucky from his thoughts. He pointed at the bottom of the display plaque. "Apparently their venom isn't usually fatal to healthy humans, despite their reputation. No deaths in recent years even with thousands of bites."

"Hmm." Bucky tilted his head. "Guess the black widow just puts up a threatening exterior. You could say they're—uh, all bite and no venom."

Sam chuckled at Bucky's stumbled idiom. "Yeah. She was almost as much of a softie as you are."

For the second time that day, Bucky threw discretion to the wind, reaching down to give Sam's hand a gentle squeeze. Sam glanced at him, a grateful smile forming on his lips. He returned the gesture before pulling away, and together they headed into the next room.

"'Build-a-Bug'?" Bucky said dubiously as they entered what was apparently called the 'Success Stories Gallery.' "What the fu"—shit, there were two kids in front of the so-called Build-a-Bug monitors—"uh, what on Earth is that supposed to mean?"

Sam snickered at Bucky's awkward correction. "There is nothing better than when you sound like the 106-year-old man you truly are inside."

"Shut up."

Sam ignored the snark. "Build-a-Bug is just a way for the kids to preoccupy themselves while everyone waits their turn to watch the short movie," he explained, gesturing to the row of three colorful, box-shaped monitors. "They pick different insect parts at each station. It's like virtual Build-a-Bear."

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's Build-a-Bear?"

"You know what? I take it back, I hate when you act like your true 106-year-old self. You barely have half an idea of modern entertainment." Sam's voice dripped with mock aggravation, the playful nature of his commentary made evident by the amused glint in his eyes. "Don't worry about it. I'm adding Build-a-Bear to our list of future outings. We can bring AJ, too—he collects them."

Bucky had several questions—as he often did when someone introduced a 21st century concept he wasn't familiar with—but somehow managed to keep them to himself as Sam tugged him towards the exit. He did, however, ask what the rush was. "I thought you said we had to wait here to watch the film?"

"We're gonna try to skip the movie this go-'round," Sam explained. "I need us in-between 'groups' for my plan to play out perfectly."

Bucky snorted. "What, the shirt reveal?"

"That would be part of it, yes."

Who was Bucky to argue with the man who'd seen the film before? If Sam said it could be skipped, Bucky believed him. Of course, there were plenty of other activities they could busy themselves with in the back of a dark theater—

Bucky decided not to finish that thought. Either way, he could no longer deny how much he wanted to know what the point of their matching floral shirts was. At first he'd been satisfied with how the short sleeves hugged Sam's biceps in a drool-worthy way, but now his curiosity was starting to get the better of him.

"Do y'all allow people to bypass the film?" Sam asked the employee who was standing at the closed doors that presumably led into the theater. "If not, we don't mind waiting."

The young man hesitated. Bucky could tell from observing his partner out the corner of his eye that Sam was bracing himself for a "no," a calm reassurance for the employee practically spilling from his boyfriend's lips already. Bucky didn't want to see Sam's plans fall through before they'd had a chance to prosper, so he leaned in and not-so-subtly whispered, "He's Captain America," a comment which promptly earned him an irritated glare from Sam.

"Today, I'm just Sam Wilson," he corrected Bucky, "and I am making this request as a customer, not a government agent."

There was another pause, but the boy nodded. "I think it's fine. We let mothers with especially young children skip the film. Or people who aren't comfortable with 4D."

4D? Bucky had just finished refamiliarizing himself with 3D. How the hell had they added another layer to the experience?

"So it should be okay," the boy concluded, though he admittedly still looked nervous. He pointed towards an alternate exit. "That way takes you straight into the Hall of Fame Gallery."

Sam nodded his thanks and autographed the kid's phone case with a warm smile after the boy bashfully requested it. Bucky watched, aware he was smiling fondly, too.

"You don't need to—no, I don't want you to do that," Sam said as they were walking through the back hallway. Bucky absentmindedly noted that the white lighting made Sam glow like an angel.

"Do what?"

"Bring up my title. My position. Whatever you wanna call it—I'm not abusing the status of Captain America for my own benefit."

Bucky frowned. "It wasn't—"

"Listen to me, Buck." Sam's voice was steely, the most serious tone Bucky had heard from him all day. He stopped walking, gaze intense as their eyes met. "I use that shield in service. To protect all people, especially the ones this country ignores. And I refuse to accept anything in return. That's not me. Do you understand?"

Bucky nodded, voice failing him at first. Was it a lie, to agree that he understood? There was so much he'd couldn't understand, not in full, just by virtue of the skin he was born into. But that was no excuse not to try.

"Sorry," he said. They continued walking. "I was out of line. I should have thought about what I was saying—what it meant for you—before I said it."

Sam chuckled. "Yeah, you should work on thinking-before-speaking in general."

Touché.

"And I know you were trying to help," Sam continued. "Which I appreciate. But that's not how I get things done. So—"

"—so now that I know how you feel, I'll watch myself. I won't do it again," Bucky finished. Alone in the hall, he reached over to give Sam's hand a gentle squeeze. "Promise." It was a routine, one that applied to Bucky reacquainting himself with life as a civilian overall. If he fucked up, he himself had to fix things. Bucky needed to accept responsibility for his mistakes, as Dr. Tran liked to say, if he wanted to make his relationships with other people stronger.

Considering he and Sam had fewer and fewer real arguments with every passing day, it was clear to Bucky that progress was being made.

Sam nodded. "Thank you."

Dr. Tran had once informed Bucky that disagreements with someone were often indicative of underlying issues, such as personal insecurities. And Bucky had a feeling he knew what was going on here. Sam didn't want to abuse his title. Didn't want to be superficial or dishonest. Didn't want to fail—no, to become the shield.

Bucky stopped Sam before they reached the end of the hall, his normal hand closing around Sam's forearm. "You're nothing like Walker."

Sam never tried to define himself as a hero, as the Captain America. Everything he did was always for the benefit of someone else.

Bucky levelled his gaze with his partner's, not bothering to disguise the concern written across his face. "You know that. Right?"

Sam shifted his arm, the one Bucky held, to lace their fingers together a second time. "If I forget," he said with a small smile, "I'll always have you to remind me."

Bucky's heart fluttered at such casual use of always. Always, forever, 'til death did they part—

"Yeah." He squeezed Sam's hand. "You will." He leaned in to press a soft kiss to his partner's lips, but Sam ducked out the way with a laugh.

"Later," he said, giving Bucky a knowing look as he untangled his hand. "What did I say about patience?"

"That it's everyone's least favorite virtue," Bucky grumbled. He was still smiling as he followed Sam out of the hall and into the next exhibit.

"Maybe your irritation is a sign you should be practicing patience more often," Sam mused. "I'm sure Dr. Tran would agree with me."

Dr. Tran would agree with him, which made it all the more poetic for Bucky to disregard the comment entirely and instead focus on the new room at hand. Said room was emptier than the previous exhibits they'd visited, and not just because he and Sam were the only ones in it. The ceiling and walls were white, like the previous hallway, and instead of containing live insects, the freestanding glass cabinets across the floor were all full of mounted bugs.

Bucky frowned. "So this is called the Hall of Fame, because…?"

"Because it's showcasing the biggest, fastest, most beautiful, and most impressive insects from around the world," Sam explained, clearly parroting something he'd read on a previous visit. "Not my favorite part of the museum, but"—he shrugged—"still pretty interesting, all things considered."

Bucky snorted. How vague. "You know someone could say that about any part of this place, right?"

Sam clicked his tongue. "Feeling snippy, are you?"

Bucky bit back a comment about how he knew Sam adored his snark. Or at least had a love-hate relationship with it.

"You know what? You remind me of a dung beetle," Sam said as he stopped in front of a cabinet dedicated to beetles of the world. The comparison earned him an unamused glare from Bucky. "Sometimes you're full of shit—"

"Wow, you sure know how to charm a guy."

"—and obviously you've got your superstrength like they do, but." Sam pointed to a section of mounted beetles that were labelled as 'scarabs.' "You bring sunshine—brightness—wherever you go." His voice softened. "At least into my life."

Bucky's face reddened. That was… weirdly sweet, and made Bucky's heart jump around in his chest like a teenager's. Only Sam Wilson could make him blush by talking about bugs. But as tender as Sam's comparison had been— "Why the fuck are dung beetles related to sunshine in your book?"

Sam burst out laughing. "Because in ancient Egypt, dung beetles—scarabs—were associated with Khepri, god of the rising sun. Dung beetles rolled their balls of you-know-what the way Khepri brought the morning sun into the sky."

Bucky stared incredulously at his boyfriend. "Why the hell do you know that?"

"Cass had a project on ancient Egypt last year. He'd been reading the Kane Chronicles and chose to focus on a few different gods and goddesses. I helped him put his presentation together and apparently remember a couple facts from it."

Well, yeah. Sure seemed that way.

"So I bring light into your life the way dung beetles roll around balls of crap," Bucky mused, earning himself an elbow to the side from his partner.

"Sorry, was that not romantic enough for you?"

"Fuck off, I never should have—"

"No, no, I'll stop!" Sam was still laughing even after Bucky sent him another withering glare. "I won't bring it up again." A beat passed. "At least for the next ten minutes."

Yep, there was the qualifier.

Bucky glanced at the cabinet to their right, biting back a smirk at the opportunity it presented. "You know, I may not have the researched background you apparently do with dung beetles," he began, earning another snicker from Sam as he pulled his partner towards the next cabinet, "but you remind me of a cicada."

"Oh, here we go."

Bucky didn't bother disguising his wide grin. "For one, they're loud and annoying and rarely shut the fuck up—"

"You are not allowed to criticize how I flirt with you ever again."

"—but, but, cicadas are also associated with summer in Japan." Yori had spoken of his childhood summers in Japan, once or twice. Peaceful times amidst a world at war, while his country struggled to find its footing. "Summer can't begin until you hear a cicada sing." Bucky gave Sam a soft smile, the kind of vulnerable expression where he knew he was holding his heart in his hands. "And when I'm with you… it always feels like summer."

Calm. Carefree. Emotions once considered a luxury for him were now Bucky's norm, and he would be lying if he said that fact didn't sometimes overwhelm him.

Sam was quiet, staring at Bucky for what felt like a full minute. But before Bucky could break the silence with a joke about how clearly Sam was the one with the infamous staring problem, his partner had stepped forward and dropped his head onto Bucky's shoulder.

"You are so irritatingly cute sometimes," Sam grumbled, his own shoulders slumping as Bucky bit back a laugh. "In fact, I'd like to see it on you more often."

Bucky grinned. "The Winter Soldier belongs with the Summer Captain."

Sam snorted. "Jesus, that's the least catchy thing you could've said."

Bucky responded by trying to shrug Sam's head off his shoulder, because rude. But before he succeeded in doing so, Sam lifted his head on his own, eyes widening.

"Footsteps!" he hissed, pulling Bucky towards the next exhibit. "Come on—we need to say in-between groups."

Bucky vaguely recalled Sam having mentioned something of the sort earlier and as such allowed himself to be dragged towards a tall doorway. A silver sign reading "Metamorphosis" was laid across the top, while a giant, plastic green chrysalis hung from a fake branch above it.

It was anyone's guess as to what this exhibit would be about.

Once in the room, Bucky's attention was immediately drawn to a four-sectioned terrarium full of chrysalises and emerging butterflies. Somehow the cycle of life depicted inside was more engaging than the metamorphosis lab itself, which Bucky walked right past with hardly a second glance.

"Kind of crazy, isn't it?" Sam said. His hands were in his pockets. "How butterflies and moths and—most bugs, I guess, have such specific, clear-cut stages of their life." He shook his head. "Don't know whether to be grateful or pissed that it's not as simple for humans."

Bucky's gaze remained transfixed on a darkened chrysalis, one set aside from all the rest. A single crack ran down the center. Entering as one thing and emerging as another—that was how it worked, right? He was no stranger to such an experience. Only, he hadn't emerged from HYDRA as something beautiful.

"You kinda remind me of a butterfly, too," Sam mused, tearing Bucky's attention away from the lone chrysalis. "You were holed up by yourself for so long until Walker getting the shield dragged you out. Took you a while to find your wings, but"—he shrugged—"now you have. You're free to fly wherever you want."

Bucky gave him a wry smile. "Aren't you the one with wings?"

Sam chuckled. "Only in the most literal sense."

Bucky glanced back at the chrysalis and decided he preferred Sam's interpretation over his own. To be fair, he preferred everything about Sam. "Maybe you're right." He gave his partner a lopsided smile. "Is it too cheesy if I say that you're my wings?"

One of the butterflies in the bottom right section of the terrarium fluttered around before landing on the glass floor, as if agreeing with him.

"It is way too cheesy. You should be embarrassed." Sam bumped his shoulder against Bucky's. "But I don't mind." He tilted his head to their left. "Ready for the last exhibit?"

Bucky blinked. "The last one?" It felt like they'd just arrived.

Sam chuckled. "Yep, we're almost through." His eyes twinkled with excitement. "Not gonna lie, this part is probably my favorite." Then he winked at Bucky. "And you'll finally understand why we had to wear these shirts."

How could Bucky resist the temptation? "Lead the way."

Their fingers brushed as Sam guided him to a set of double glass doors, and Bucky somehow managed to stop himself from taking Sam's hand in his own. The doors they approached were translucent, interestingly enough, rather than fully transparent. Preserved the element of surprise, Bucky supposed.

"Is anyone in there right now?" Sam asked as the employee opened the doors for them and the three of them stepped into… a space so small it could barely be considered a 'room.' A second set of double glass doors stood closed before them.

What?

Bucky wasn't going to pretend he had even a semblance of an idea about the contents of this exhibit.

"Uh, no sir," the employee squeaked in response. Their awe of oh my God, I'm talking to Captain America was clear, and Bucky had to hide a smile despite it being the millionth time that day someone had reacted to Sam with such suppressed excitement. "The stragglers from the previous group just—er, they just finished up in there."

Sam grinned at the kid, thanking them with a nod. "Perfect. So what do you think?" He gestured to the doors. "My partner and I have about ten minutes in the garden before any other guests catch up to us?"

Bucky's focus split down the middle. One: they were entering a garden of sorts. Sounded pretty. Two: the ambiguity of the word partner. This employee could draw whatever conclusions they wanted, huh?

"I can make it twenty minutes!" the employee blurted. "If—If y'all want some extra time by yourselves, I mean."

Bucky was sorely tempted, but Sam shook his head, chuckling, and Bucky didn't fight him on it.

"No thanks. We don't need any special privilege. It's kind of you to offer, though."

The kid hesitated, but nodded. They fumbled with the keys as they went to unlock the second set of doors. "Enjoy the garden!" they managed to say with an embarrassed smile as they finally succeeded in opening the exhibit, and Bucky could barely contain his sharp inhale at the sight revealed before him.

"Holy shit," he murmured, stepping over the threshold. Bucky could feel Sam's pleased gaze on his back and he vaguely heard doors clicking shut behind them, but the rest of his focus was glued to the beautiful Japanese-style garden that now surrounded him. "It's…"

"Incredible?" Sam teased, moving next to him. "Agreed. Welcome to 'Butterflies in Flight.' The insectarium really saved the best for last, huh?"

'Best' was the understatement of the century. And Bucky would know, because he'd been alive for that and more.

The walls and ceiling of the spacious exhibit were painted to resemble the outdoors, shades of green leading up into a dazzling blue sky. Plants decorated nearly every inch of the room, with vines climbing up blocky posts and flowers lining a bridge that transversed a still koi pond and even small trees resting in different corners. Large translucent windows filled what might have been empty space on the walls, allowing the exhibit to be lit almost solely with natural lighting. It reminded Bucky of the authentic Japanese gardens he'd visited in the past, although there was one crucial difference:

Butterflies.

The colorful insects were everywhere in the garden. Some were busy fluttering through the air, others clung to rainbows of flowering plants, and still others rested in groups on raised stone stations about the room that were filled with slices of fruit for the insects to enjoy—mostly apples and oranges.

Everything about the garden was… peaceful. It had to be the closest thing to paradise on Earth. Second to Wakanda.

"Come on," Sam said. With no one in the garden but themselves, he slipped his hand into Bucky's. "Let's take a stroll."

Bucky's voice had disappeared into his chest and was yet to return, so he simply nodded, allowing his partner to lead him through the garden. At first, it was mostly Sam rambling about the different kinds of butterflies they encountered because apparently he'd "done his research" prior to their visit. Occasionally Sam made up backstories and personalities for them, too, because why the hell not?

Once Bucky's voice returned, he found himself asking Sam a few questions about the different species and offering a teasing comment about the butterflies' tragic childhoods here and there. The former to Sam's delight, the latter to his mock-irritation.

The entire time they walked, Bucky's hand never left Sam's.

"So what do you think?" Sam asked as they lowered themselves onto the stone ledge that braced the different plants lining the room. One of the fruit stands stood to Bucky's right, though no butterflies were currently enjoying the apple and tangerine slices resting atop it. "Romantic enough for you?"

Bucky blinked. Right—the overarching question he still semi-regretted having voiced aloud. And was it? With their hands laced together, with radiant butterflies fluttering about, with warm sunlight filtering through the windows and making Sam glow—

"Almost."

Sam raised an eyebrow, and Bucky bit back a grin. Yeah, yeah. He was an asshole, and he refused to grant Sam success quite so easily.

"'Almost'? What more do you want, Barnes? Jazz music? Candlelight?"

Bucky laughed. "No, I'll pass. But." He squeezed Sam's hand, heat rising in his face at what he was about to suggest despite the fact that they'd been dating a month already, for fuck's sake. "Aren't these moments usually…" He shrugged. "You know. Sealed with a kiss?"

Sam stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable. Bucky wondered if he might be taking things a step too far—they were in public, after all, and just because the room was empty now didn't negate that someone could wander into the exhibit at any moment. He opened his mouth to apologize—

"You ever heard of a butterfly kiss?"

Bucky blinked. "A what?"

"A butterfly kiss."

A frown creased his lips. "I don't think so." He paused. "Why?"

"That makes sense," Sam said, Bucky's question lost to the wind. "They only became popular pretty recently." He let go of Bucky's hand, and Bucky immediately mourned the loss of Sam's touch. "They're… pretty simple. Just—different."

The hesitation, the hand release—oh. Oh.

Sam was nervous. Or "flustered" might be more accurate, since he wasn't quite meeting Bucky's eyes. Bucky was in no place to comment, of course, seeing as he'd blushed like a schoolgirl while just asking his boyfriend for a kiss.

"Do it. Give me a butterfly kiss," Bucky blurted, his mouth light years ahead of his brain. In an attempt to salvage his remaining dignity and not seem too eager, he gave Sam a small smirk and added, "We're on the clock, right? No time to waste."

Sam hesitated. "If you think it's weird or if you get uncomfortable, let me know and—"

"—and you'll stop." Bucky's voice was gentle, maybe more tender than he'd meant it to be. Sam was just so impossibly considerate—God, how had Bucky ever lived without him? "I know you will." He smiled. Soft, quiet. "Thank you."

Sam hesitated again, but nodded. "Okay." He placed a hand atop Bucky's thigh. "Close your eyes."

Bucky did as instructed, unsure what to expect. Should he lean in? Part his lips? As much as it could irk him when Sam teased about his age, Bucky couldn't deny that maybe Sam had a point about him being out of his depth amidst modern romance—

Bucky froze at the feather-light touch upon his cheek. A gentle caress, only millimeters up and down. Fluttering, like… a butterfly.

He opened his eyes as Sam pulled away. Quiet hung between them, though not an uncomfortable one.

"Was it… okay?" Sam asked.

Bucky immediately nodded, not wanting to risk giving him the wrong impression. "Yeah! Yeah, it was good." He brushed his cheek with the fingertips of his normal hand. "Kind of tickled. But—not in a bad way."

Sam chuckled, and the slight drop of his shoulders told Bucky he'd finally relaxed. "It's because you use your eyelashes. Makes it a really light touch, like—"

"—like a butterfly flapping its wings," Bucky finished. A grin crept onto his lips, and he was sure his cheeks were pink as a cherry blossom. "Yeah. I got it." He placed his normal hand on top of Sam's. "That was real sweet, doll."

Sam snorted. "Are you trying to make the mood more romantic with your '40s lingo?"

"Maybe." Bucky gave him a lopsided grin. "Is it working?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Somehow, yes."

Bucky laughed, squeezing Sam's hand. "If we wanna talk old school, I have to say that while the butterfly kiss was nice, I think I prefer—"

A butterfly flew between them, putting the conversation on hold. Bucky held his breath, not wanting to do anything that might startle it. The creature fluttered around thrice in circles before landing on the sleeve that covered his vibranium arm, settling itself in the center of…

A maroon flower.

Right. Of course. Butterflies landed on flowers.

Well, that explained the floral shirts. Based on the smug grin Sam was giving him, it was clear he knew Bucky had figured it out, too.

The butterfly that had chosen Bucky's bicep as a pit stop was on the smaller side, with a mostly black and white design. When it lifted its wings, though, Bucky could see the undersides were almost a burnt orange.

Sam chuckled at the revelation, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb the insect. "You are not going to believe what kind of butterfly that is."

Bucky shot his boyfriend a raised eyebrow, hoping the action effectively communicated his What? He didn't dare speak aloud, not with the butterfly still resting comfortably on his arm.

"It's called a common sergeant."

Bucky immediately gave up on his vow of silence. "You're shitting me."

Sam shook his head, grin widening. "Nope. Guess the little guy knew you were one of his own, Sergeant Barnes."

Bucky wanted to kiss that stupid grin off Sam's face. He refrained, though, out of respect to the butterfly on his arm. He didn't want to jostle the poor creature. "Then you'll have to arrange it so I never get promoted, Cap."

"What, so you'll always be a sergeant like your butterfly friend here?"

"Yup." Bucky popped the 'p,' and the butterfly fluttered its wings, as if in support of his request.

Sam chuckled. "I'll see what I can do."

Bucky was torn between expressing his very, very sincere gratitude versus retorting with a teasing comment, but before he had a chance to decide, the butterfly preened a final time and merrily fluttered away.

Sam snickered as Bucky scowled at the insect's departure. "It's not like you were gonna be able to take it home, Buck."

Bucky rolled his eyes. Talk about missing the point. "I was riding the high of being chosen, Samuel. Now I've been discarded."

Sam shook his head, amused. "Wow. I didn't know you were so dramatic." A beat passed. "No, wait. I definitely did."

Bucky scoffed and started to pull away from him in mock offense. Sam's response was to burst out laughing as he grabbed both of Bucky's wrists and tugged him back down on the garden's stone ledge.

"Hey, hey," Sam managed to get out amidst his snickering. He threw Bucky a wink. "You know I'll always choose you, cher, even when those flighty butterflies move on to the next one."

Bucky could not believe such an atrocious pun earned a smile from him. Or maybe it was Sam's stupid French term of endearment. Or hell, maybe it was the promise—teasing or no—that Sam had chosen and would always choose to have Bucky by his side. Regardless of the cause, Bucky found himself smiling at his boyfriend with an embarrassing amount of affection. "Well… I guess I do prefer you to the butterfly."

Sam snorted. "You guess. Wow." But the tenderness, the warmth in his eyes did not dissipate. And instead of ribbing back, he released Bucky's vibranium wrist to cup the left side of his face. Bucky leaned into the touch, wishing they could stay in the peaceful garden forever.

"What were you saying earlier?" Sam murmured, gently running his thumb across the top of Bucky's cheekbone. "You liked the butterfly kiss, but…?"

Bucky swallowed, his free hand moving to rest on Sam's waist. "But I think I prefer the classic edition."

Sam smirked. "You don't like the remix?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Shut up and kiss me."

"Well, since you asked so nicely…"

And as Sam leaned in to press a slow, lingering kiss to Bucky's lips, as the smell of citrus and apples permeated the air around them, as butterflies fluttered about the garden and the space between him and Sam was ever-shrinking—well, it was more than romantic enough for Bucky.

Love bugs had it right, he decided. There was nothing more Bucky wanted than to stay by Sam's side until the day they died. Because it was Sam.

It was always Sam.

Bonus:

"Are you sure we don't need to worry about any relationship rumors?" Bucky asked for the nth time, a small frown creasing his lips. He brought Sam's truck to a stop at a red light as they headed out the city and back towards Delacroix. "The matching shirts weren't exactly subtle, you know, and there were people taking pictures of us all day. Also, don't you think that kid working the butterfly garden—"

"Technically, our shirts correlate, not match," Sam corrected, scrolling through his Twitter feed. Resting on his lap were multiple bags from the insectarium's gift shop, fittingly called the 'Flea Market.' "And seriously, I wouldn't worry about them or the pictures. Plus, that kid offered us extra time in the garden on their own back. Probably not the type to snitch."

Bucky lacked such faith in the innate goodness of humanity, but he did have such faith in Sam, and so he bit back a sigh and decided to trust his partner's judgement. Before he could say as much, though, Sam burst out laughing.

"Yeah, no, I think we're completely in the clear for romantic speculation," he said, grinning and shaking his head as he read something on his phone. "The people of America—well, mostly New Yorkers—have chosen a different part of our day out to fixate on."

Bucky glanced at the still-red light. "Wait, what? What's going on?"

Sam showed him his phone, and Bucky stared at the screen in utter confusion. Cap vs Spidey was trending on Twitter? What?

"It seems Spider-Man received our 'spider snack' tweet," Sam said, amused, "and now everyone on the Internet is picking sides. I've seen three Buzzfeed articles about it already."

Ah, right. The spider lollipop. "Good to know the kid is following in Stark's footsteps. Going against Captain America and all."

"Oh, yeah? And what side are you on this time?"

Bucky chuckled, winking at Sam as the light turned green. "Don't worry, doll. I'm with you until the end of time."

xXxXxXx

lmao not me using a pepperony quote for sambucky because they're two of my fave mcu pairings,, ANYWAYS! i hope y'all enjoyed this utterly ridiculous fic that i still can't believe i actually went and wrote. wow. thank you for reading!