Work title inspired by this awesome poem:
( liminalmess . tumblr post / 650250701590740992 / captain-america-and-the-white-wolf-sp)
Before we get into the fic, I just want to start by saying that this idea has been nagging me since Episode 2 with Bucky mentioning his sister in the present tense. I started writing before the "shield is the only family I have left" line so we're going with it.
This is probably the longest one-shot I've written, which surprised me (a little) since this is my first SamBucky fic I've written and contains more smut (mild or practically non-existent, I'm sure, compared to others) than I've ever included on any of my work so please be kind!
Let me know what you all think! Enjoy!
"Pull over here."
Sam glanced over at Bucky, biting back his usual remark on the other man's stellar conversation skills. The man had been so…skittish since his final session with Doctor Rayner and while Sam was loathed to associate that word with the former assassin, it was the only thing that could accurately sum up his behavior over the last week.
He'd been quiet in a way that Sam was sure most would chalk up to his normally broody, stoic demeanor but there was none of that dry humor he'd grown accustomed to present in his voice or that cocky shit-eating grin he had whatever he made another fucking bird pun in response to Sam's own cyborg quips.
Sam had found him on more than one occasion opening up the small notebook with the list of scratched-out names, curling and uncurling the fingers of his left hand with an expression so laden with guilt and self-loathing it physically hurt to witness.
He wanted to reach out to the man, to place a hand on the vibranium arm that he seemed to abhor so much at the moment, and ask him what was wrong, but Sam knew Bucky would shut him out and retreat further into his head than he already was. The last thing he wanted was to push him when he was so clearly struggling, but God, he missed the man he'd traveled across the globe with, even with all that had happened.
Sarah would argue that there was definitely more to that "sentiment" (insert waggling eyebrows here), but Sam was in no mood to indulge that particular train of thought just then, especially with how Bucky kept obsessively pulling at the sleeves of his leather jacket and his gloves to make sure every inch of skin and metal was covered.
Sam cleared his throat. "Where are we?"
"Her name is Rebecca Proctor." Bucky stared out at the small two-story house with a forlorn, distant expression, clenching his jaw once before letting out a breath and turning to face Sam with a rare glimpse of vulnerability in those steel-blue eyes, "She's my sister."
Sam blinked, "Your sister?"
The ghost of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, "Yes, my sister."
"I wasn't aware you still had family around."
Bucky's face lost all traces of humor. "Yeah well, Dad passed in '72 and Ma followed a year later. My other sisters, Maggie and Abby died during the Blip. Old age." His brow furrowed as though trying to remember something more before his attention turned back to the present conversation, "She was the baby. Only sixteen when I enlisted. I sent a few postcards back home until…"
"Does she know…?"
"Steve contacted her shortly after he got off the ice but I…" His lips pressed into a thin line as he flexed his left hand, "I don't know if he ever mentioned that he found me…at least not at first." He let out a choked laugh, "I'm sure she saw the U.N. coverage, though, so you know, there's that."
Sam could see just where his mind was going, reaching out like he'd wanted to do the second they'd started driving and curling his hand over that unyielding forearm. "She wants to see you, Bucky. I know it."
"You don't know her."
"Trust me, man, I know sisters." He motioned his head toward the building, "If she's anything like you, I'm sure she'll be pissed at you." Sam smiled when Bucky huffed out what could've been a laugh. "Okay, she'll definitely be pissed at you, but that doesn't mean she doesn't love you or that she won't be happy to see you. She'll want to see you." He squeezed his arm, knowing Bucky could sense the pressure, "All of you."
Bucky stared at Sam's hand on his arm with a frown and pulled away, turning and pushing open the passenger door and slamming it behind him, but Sam could see hesitation slowing his stride as he reached the stairs and followed suit.
Bucky shot him a glare that no doubt would've worked on literally anyone else, but said nothing as Sam joined him on the front step. He was still in a way Sam had only witnessed in the Winter Soldier, but the effect was sullied by the emotions writhing just underneath the surface. There was too much in his eyes for him to look like anyone other than Bucky Barnes.
"Do you want me to wait in the car?"
He opened his mouth then closed it twice, "No."
"Okay." Sam reached out and knocked lightly on the door (much to Bucky's chagrin) and they didn't have to wait long before a woman no older than seventy-five answered the door and stared at them with eyes a few shades darker than Bucky's with none of the lingering shadows as she smiled.
"Can I help you gentlemen with something?" her face shifted from cordial to confused the longer she looked at Bucky before her eyes widened in realization. Her grip on the door tightened and she swallowed, "Oh my God, it's you. It's…Uncle James?"
Buck seemed unable to form a response.
Sam hated to interrupt the family reunion but he cleared his throat, breaking the woman's concentration, and smiled warmly as he held out a hand. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Sam Wilson. I'm sorry we showed up like this so unexpectedly but I wanted to ask if your mother was available to talk with us."
"Winnifred, but you can call me Winnie." She shook her head with a laugh as she took the hand in a gentle grip, before opening the door further and stepping aside, ushering them in. "Come in. I'll let Mom know you're here. Make yourselves at home."
"Thank you."
She stared at Bucky a moment longer before turning and walking back into the house.
Sam went to follow the woman and stopped when Bucky didn't move and turned to find the man standing at the threshold as though he would be struck down should he step over the line and God, the sight was too fucking painful to watch.
He curled his fingers around the metal wrist, voice soft, "Bucky?"
Again, Bucky looked at the point of contact for a heartbeat before shaking himself of whatever observation he'd made as he gently pulled out of Sam's hold and stepped inside, making a deliberate effort to make a sound with each step as he looked around the living room.
Sam's eyes were drawn to one wall in particular covered in frames, but it wasn't the glossy color school portraits or pictures of various vacations that drew his eye. It was the older black and white photos that had him looking closer and he smiled at one that seemed to be a prominent one from that period in Rebecca's life: her and her brother.
He picked it up.
Bucky and Rebecca shared obvious similarities from the dark thick hair styled for that time period, the laugh lines that crinkled at the corners of their pale eyes, and the most prominent thing was their smiles: wide and bright and completely at ease.
Bucky wore a white button-up rolled up to his elbows and tucked into high-waisted pants, his arm wrapped around his sister, clad in a pale blouse and dark knee-length skirt, whose head barely reached his shoulder. While not having changed much physically (other than his sheer bulk), he looked younger somehow. Lighter. Completely unaware of the horrors he'd soon be subjected to or what those horrors would turn him into...
Something in Sam ached at the thought but he ignored it, trying and failing to stop his descent down that rabbit hole as he found himself glancing at the photo then back at the man and remembered with sudden clarity how at ease he'd seemed back home: how he'd laughed freely at the boys' antics and let the children use him as a human jungle gym, that bright (and beautiful) smile spreading across his face at their squealing laughter when he lifted their feet off the ground...
His heart lurched at the memory.
"That was about a month before I enlisted."
It took everything to not let out a loud curse, aware that he was a guest here and Sarah would surely find out if he did anything remotely un-gentlemanly in the presence of an elder (probably from Bucky, that geriatric asshole) and whack him upside the head like he was still a child and not Captain America.
One side of Bucky's mouth lifted when he saw Sam jump.
Sam narrowed his eyes but didn't engage further, too relieved to see some of the tension bleed out of the man. Sam didn't mind being the butt of the joke, at least in this situation, if it made Bucky more comfortable. "I see the resemblance."
"Ma always told us how much we looked like Dad."
Sam hummed, about to ask another question when Bucky went still moments before his own ears picked up the sound of approaching footsteps coming down the stairs and he quickly returned the picture to its place on the shelf and turned to face the entrance to the living room with only the shifting of fabric behind him telling Sam that Bucky had done the same.
Winnie had her arm linked with a much older woman, the shock and awe replaced with concern for who could only be her mother, but Rebecca only had eyes for Bucky, the sheer love and joy radiating from eyes identical to her brother's almost too much to look at but then she smiled at Bucky, the change erasing decades from her face.
"James…you came back."
Bucky made a strange choked sound and Sam glanced over at the man, who, even with how frighteningly still he was, looked seconds from breaking into a super-soldier sprint that he'd need his wings to follow. His expression was wary and guarded, and his left hand was clenched so tightly Sam swore he could hear the metal groaning in protest.
"Everyone said I was crazy for thinking that." Rebecca approached him without hesitation, reaching up to gently cup his face in her hands, those blue-grey eyes drinking in every line of his features as she ran her thumbs back and forth over his stubbled cheeks. "They kept saying you'd forgotten about me, but I said they didn't know you."
Bucky shuddered at the contact, eyes falling closed as he spoke, "I did forget."
Rebecca frowned, "They made you forget. It's not your fault."
Bucky's eyes snapped open, lips parting to argue—
"They tortured you." Her voice broke on the word but her face was anything but fragile: those blue-grey eyes were twin shards of ice and steel and the set of her jaw showing yet another similarity between the siblings. Their anger. "You didn't choose that. Do you hear me? You didn't choose that."
He stared coolly at her, "You don't know that."
Sam stared incredulously at his mulish stubbornness.
Rebecca was having none of it, scrutinizing his own hardened mask and scoffing in annoyance, completely undaunted by his glare that had sent battle-hardened men running. "That's a load of bullshit, James and you know it."
Sam fought off a smile when Bucky broke the staring contest to clench his jaw.
"I know you...probably more than you would ever admit." She leveled her own glare at him, but hers wasn't nearly as sharply honed as his. It was softened by familial concern when she moved forward and he took a step back, only to disappear completely when she realized how he didn't want to be within arm's length of her. Didn't want to touch her. To hurt her. She reached out a hand, "James..."
Sam's heart ached as Bucky shied away from her, having seen and heard this scenario play out so many times before. Somehow, this instance hurt worse than the others and Sam was torn between going to Bucky or comforting Rebecca. As much as he wanted to help ease their pain, he forced himself to be a spectator unless he was called on.
"You are many things, James Buchanan Barnes." She stopped herself from walking any closer, her hands falling to her sides. "You're impulsive, even if you argue otherwise. You're an overprotective, stubborn pain in the ass who fights for everyone but yourself. But most importantly, you're my brother. You're my Jamie." With the utterance of what must've been a childhood nickname, the tears finally spilled over, "No matter what they did to you...no matter what happened, that has not and will not ever change."
"I'm not the same James that left." Bucky's own voice trembled, eyes staring at the picture Sam had been examining. "The person that you're looking for is gone, Rebecca. Your Jamie died when he fell from that train."
Rebecca glanced at the left hand still clenched into a fist and shook her head, "You're wrong."
Bucky sighed, "You don't know what I did."
"I do." She stated simply, "I read the files."
Sam's stomach twisted at the sound that tore from Bucky's throat as he stumbled back, the urge to lay a steadying hand on his shoulder hitting him hard. The need to help someone in pain was practically engrained into the Wilson family DNA, but touching him in any way right now would only escalate the situation.
Bucky was panicking.
Not the hyperventilating, trembling constantly in motion type of thing that most would associate with the word panic but Sam had spent too much time around the man not to get a handle on what it looked like when he started spiraling
He was still. Unmoving in a way that was so unlike the Soldier because this wasn't that preternatural stillness before a fight, ready to move in an instant. This was fear. He held himself too rigid, every muscle wound so tightly and Sam knew it wouldn't take much for him to break apart.
Rebecca took a hesitant step forward as though approaching a wounded animal. "James—"
"You shouldn't have done that." He shook his head, "You shouldn't have read them—"
"Why not?" She asked, voice not unkind. "Why not?"
"You know damn well why not!" Bucky snapped, eyes flashing.
Rebecca didn't flinch. "We thought you were dead. I thought you were dead and to find out you were still alive for all that time…" she swallowed thickly, "I had to know what happened. I needed to know what happened. So I looked into it."
Sam admired the woman's strength, having remembered how sick to his stomach he'd been when reading about the atrocities that had been done to Bucky without really having known him at the time, amazed that she was able to do so when it was her brother…Rebecca Proctor had a spine of vibranium.
He watched Bucky's expression closely, finding himself, in that moment, unable to read what was going on in his head but Sam had an idea and he could've shuddered at the images those files conjured up being played over and over again in horrible clarity in Bucky's mind. He was sure the nightmares would make themselves known tonight...
"And what did you think?"
Sam was surprised to find he'd asked the question, Rebecca turning to him with mild surprise while Bucky remained trapped in whatever hell he'd fallen back into and unable to verbalize or express much at the moment. He knew, though, that the question was one Bucky wanted an answer to as well.
Rebecca stared at him and Sam shouldn't have been intimidated by a ninety-something-year-old woman but those eyes would always have the power to freeze him in place (if for entirely different reasons, in Rebecca's case) before shifting back to her brother. "I think, that you went through hell. You were tortured and experimented on by men who hated everything you stood for. You were stripped of your emotions, your memories, your identity, everything that made you you, and turned into their...Soldier."
Sam came closer to Bucky as she spoke, seeing him flinch at the last word, and placed a gentle hand on his metal shoulder. He was surprised when the man let out a long breath, as though preparing himself, "The Soldier is a part of me now. I can't erase the things that happened no matter what I do or what anyone says. Their blood is still on my hands, Rebecca. Can you still look at me and say that I'm still your brother? That you still care about me?"
"Yes." She responded without hesitation, "I love you, James. Then and now and always."
Sam stepped back as the woman moved forward to wrap her arms around her brother and for a moment, Sam wasn't sure Bucky would reciprocate, and was surprised when he did, eyes shining with moisture as he rested his chin on her forehead and closed his eyes.
Sam looked away when he saw the tears, the sight too raw and too private to even bear witness to. As he stared at the photographs, he absently wondered why Bucky had even wanted him to stay in the first place...
"Mr. Wilson?"
It took Sam a moment to realize the voice had spoken, finding Winnie coming out of the kitchen drying her hands with a dishrag. She smiled warmly at him again, motioning with her head behind her, "Let's give them some privacy, yeah?"
He nodded, following her into the kitchen, and cleared his throat. "It's just Sam."
"Sam." She amended, turning back to the refrigerator, "Did you want something to drink?"
He went to shake his head before he noticed her own furtive glances to the living room where a low murmured conversation could be faintly heard. She was just as worried about her family as Sam was—
Family?
He considered the use of the word for Bucky and found it appropriate, warmth blooming in his chest at how easily he came to the realization, and he smiled back at her. "Something to drink sounds great. What did you have?"
The question drew her attention back to the kitchen and she shook her head, draping the towel back over the handle of the stove and opening the fridge to examine the contents, "Well, we have water, soda, beer, and iced tea."
While the beer sounded tempting... "Iced tea."
"Of course." She grabbed two glasses from the cupboards and set them on the counter before reaching back into the fridge and pulling out a large pitcher. Winnie poured both in quick succession before returning it to the fridge, "Do you take lemon?"
"Yes."
She readied the slices quickly, "Sugar?"
He nodded again.
"How much?"
"Two scoops." He smiled at her raised eyebrows, remembering the first time Bucky had drank Sarah's sweet tea and the surprised noise he'd made. The expression on his face had been priceless, "I grew up in the South. Mama's sweet tea was sweeter than most, but I'd always add more. My sister, to this day, says she's surprised my teeth haven't fallen out yet."
"No judgment here, Sam." Winnie chuckled in amusement as she stirred the sugar in, the sound of ice cubes clinking against the glass an oddly soothing sound, holding out a glass to him, "Tell me how it tastes."
He took a sip and smiled, "Perfect, thank you."
Winnie returned the smile.
Sam took another drink. "So your mom talked about him?"
The woman blinked at the question, then nodded, "Not a lot at first…usually only when asked, but then Steve was pulled from the ice and everything changed. She became a lot more open about her childhood, about him." Her expression dimmed, "When we found out he was alive, when the files dropped, I couldn't bear to read them…"
Sam recalled his own hesitation, "But she did."
"I hadn't seen her that heartbroken since Dad died." She leaned back against the counter, "Even though I never said as much, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to come back. It wasn't like I thought he would physically hurt her, but…"
Sam held up a hand, "I understand. You wanted to protect her. She's your mom. There's nothing wrong with that, you know."
"Would he understand?"
Sam pursed his lips, "Yes. He shared your worries."
"Then why come?"
"With everything that's happened, I believe he's finally been able to reconcile with his past as the Soldier and all that tied him to that." That had been evident when he'd finally understood that making amends wasn't about avenging. It was to be of service, to make those he'd wronged so grievously feel better, to offer them closure only he could give. "He's ready to reconnect with a part of himself he hasn't been able to since he fell from that train."
"I'm assuming you had a hand in that realization."
Sam saw the small smile that pulled at the woman's mouth and there were echoes of Bucky's knowing amusement there that Sam pretended not to notice. He also pretended not to know what exactly she was implying with the comment and took another drink. "Only a small part. He did most of the work."
Winnie hummed but said nothing more about it, "Let's bring them something to drink."
Sam saw what she was doing as she poured two more glasses, adding lemon to both and a dash of sugar to one before handing him the unsweetened one. He stared down at the glass, biting back a smile, "I'm assuming this is for him?"
Winnie's smile was bright, "Of course."
Picking up his own glass, he followed Winnie out into the living room to find the siblings sitting and laughing on the couch and he nearly faltered when identical pairs of steel-blue eyes trained on him, but he kept going, holding out the glass to Bucky, mildly surprised to see that he'd removed his gloves. "Here."
He took it with his left hand, eyes flitting from his glass to Sam's.
"For God's sake, Barnes, just drink it."
Bucky glanced at his niece, "He didn't add anything to it, did he?"
Sam sighed, "No, I did not."
"Ya sure?" he swirled his drink suspiciously, "He's pretty sneaky."
"You're a super-soldier, Barnes. A little sugar won't kill you." Exasperation crept into his voice, a common occurrence around the other man, and Sam was too engrained in his conversation with Bucky to see the shared look between mother and daughter. "Hell, maybe it'll sweeten up that lovely disposition of yours, get you to smile more."
"What're you talkin' about?" Bucky lounged back into the couch, a slow smile spreading across his face, his gaze burning with something as he took a long drink, not taking his eyes off Sam as he did. "I'm smilin' right now."
Yes, he was.
Sam sighed, breaking the eye contact, "Just drink your damn tea."
Bucky's grin turned smug, "Sure thing, Cap."
Sam sank on the recliner adjacent to the couch, that all too familiar stare boring a hole into the side of his head as he listened to the ice clink, his heart pounding in his ears as he pictured the sight of Bucky tilting the glass back, the shadows sharpening the curve of his jaw, the bob of his throat as he swallowed…
Sam resolutely refused to look over at the man, his mind frantically trying to decipher what the hell he'd seen in Bucky's gaze because he could not be what he was thinking. It couldn't be. He had to be misreading something crucial. It was amusement, maybe, or he was just teasing him, being his usual antagonistic self—
You know exactly what it was.
Sam nearly choked on his tea.
Why did the voice sound like Sarah?
"Sam Wilson, I presume?"
He cleared his throat, turning to Rebecca. "Yes, Ma'am."
She waved a gnarled hand at him, "No need to be so formal, Sam. Call me Becky."
Sam smiled, "Becky and Bucky?"
Becky chuckled as Bucky groaned, dropping his head. "Yes, well, Ma thought it fitting considering how alike we were. Always said we were two peas in a pod." She looked over at her brother, frowning briefly at the faint bruise underneath the stubble on his jaw from a cheap shot meant for Sam, her smile quickly returning, "Never met an asshole not worth decking."
Winnie raised a brow at her mother.
Sam's gaze slid to Bucky in time to see a soft smile curl his mouth.
"Ma always blamed me for Walter, you know."
Winnie herself was as lost as Sam, "Who was Walter?"
"Walter Green. He was this boy that lived down the block from us." Becky spoke, her brother once again leaning back on the couch, right arm slung over the top. "I always tagged along with Jamie and Steve whenever I could but one day, he decided he didn't like seeing a little girl constantly hanging around and decided to corner me when the boys weren't looking, probably to scare me off."
Sam knew where this story was going, "I'm guessing he wasn't successful."
Becky hummed, her own smile fondly amused, "He thought that being taller and stronger would intimidate me but I've found most men are a lot less scary once they've taken a well-placed kick between the legs and a right hook to the jaw."
While Sam had expected as much, he was struck dumb when Bucky threw his head back and laughed, teeth flashing in the light and dimples appearing in his cheeks, eyes bright with unbidden joy. The sight was like a sucker punch to the chest, the air whooshing from his lungs and his stomach swooping dangerously as though he'd taken a nose drive through the clouds, and then everything suddenly clicked into place.
Fuck.
Sam blinked at the man, only to catch Becky staring at him with a warm, knowing gaze before he drained the last of his tea. He took note of the other near-empty glasses and pushed off the chair, once again drawing the attention of those fucking eyes, and it was all he could do to maintain a casual air as everything inside him scattered to the wind. "Would anyone like another glass?"
Winnie smiled, "That would be wonderful, Sam. Thank you. Mom?"
"Yes, I think I'll take another glass. James?"
Bucky watched both women, eyes narrowing on his sister before zeroing in on Sam, and whatever he saw had his brows furrowing in concern. He smiled at his sister, though, pushing up from the couch with languid ease, "I'll get my own. Can't have Sam ruining perfectly good iced tea."
While he was sure the man meant for the comment to ease Sam's mind, it did little except add to the tension in his shoulders, the thought of being in the same space alone with Bucky with the realization still so blaring in his mind— Sam forced the feelings to the wayside long enough to manage a smile of his own, "You trust me in a fight, but not with your drink?"
Bucky's smile widened, "Gotta draw the line somewhere."
"You are paranoid, you know that?"
The man shrugged, still smiling, "Given my track record, can ya blame me?"
That smile...
Sam just shook his head, taking Winnie's glass while Bucky grabbed his sister's, keenly aware of him as they both walked into the kitchen and tried to ignore that stare as he opened the fridge but before he could do anything, a dark hand grabbed the pitcher and set it next to the sink.
Bucky leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest, regarding Sam with intense scrutiny usually reserved for how to take out an enemy combatant rather than a regular everyday conversation. All traces of the earlier humor and easy smiles gone the longer he stared. "What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to be a good guest."
Bucky snorted, "No, you're avoiding something."
"I'm not avoiding anything." Sam shot back, meeting that stare with one of his own, everything in him tensing as those eyes moved over every inch of his face. "Now could you move your ass? I would like them to get their drinks."
"They're fine." Bucky didn't budge, "Becky clearly thinks something is going on."
"When did she say that?"
"She didn't have to." He cocked his head, "I know the look."
Sam cursed attentive sisters as he broke eye contact, setting the glasses down on the counter, and wished he'd worn his wings. Flying away from this conversation was looking more and more tempting with every second that passed but again, Sam tried not to let it show, throwing him a small smile as he chuckled, "You worried about me?"
For a moment, Sam thought Bucky would just laugh and make some smartass comment about how he absolutely was not worried about but it didn't happen and Sam was instead subjected to genuine concern on his behalf, heart pounding in earnest against his sternum at the emotions moving behind those pale eyes. The fact that the other man could probably hear it didn't help in the slightest.
"And if I am?"
"I appreciate your concern, but you have no reason to be." San went to reach around Bucky to grab the pitcher, all without looking into those eyes. If that happened, Sam wasn't sure he could break from that gaze again. "Go be with your family."
Bucky's right hand caught his wrist gently, his touch scalding, "Sam—"
Don't look. Don't look...
Sam found himself drawn back, though, the stare that used to infuriate him now a magnetic pull he couldn't resist even if he tried. Paired with the impossibly warm, callused fingers pressed into the inside of his wrist where his pulse was no doubt racing…
He managed to clear his throat, "What?"
"You're included in that, you know."
"Included in what?" He knew the answer to the question before he'd even voiced it, but a part of him wanted to see if Bucky would actually say it aloud, if he realized what Sam had just moments before or if his feeling were completely off-base and he was embarrassing himself for the foreseeable future…
"You're important to me, Sam." His expression was unusually open, his emotions laid bare in a way Sam had never seen, as though the cool distance he kept between the outside world and his own feelings had been thawed by the warm sunlight streaming in from the kitchen window. "I know that this trip was sudden and all—"
Sam shook his head, "I'm fine, Buck. Really."
"After Isaiah, I was afraid to—"
"Bucky." Sam cut in, finally seeing what the other man thought was going on with him and trying to quell the sting of disappointment. He was afraid that Sam would be mad for keeping something else about his past hidden from him, not because he harbored anything more than friendship but because he didn't want to seem as though he were keeping secrets. "She's your sister, Buck. Why would I ever be mad at you for that?"
This time it was Bucky that looked away, dropping Sam's hand, "You were so open about your family with me when I first visited Delacroix. You and Sarah and the boys accommodated me when you didn't have to, treated me like I was a part of the family even with everything that had happened between us before."
Sam didn't add that he'd kept their first three interactions from his sister, not entirely sure she would've reciprocated the flirting so much as thrown the nearest metal object at him while cursing at him in Creole for trying to hurt her brother but in the end, she would've still welcomed Bucky into her home.
Sarah may have been overprotective but she trusted Sam's judgment.
"I understand. Given your history, I get the need to keep some things on a need-to-know basis, even from me." Sam smiled as he said the next words, pouring as much sincerity into them as he possibly could, "You didn't owe me anything, you know that right? Especially in regards to something like this. You were just being cautious."
"Why?" Bucky asked dubiously, "It's not like you'd hurt her—"
"No." Sam cut in gently, "You were afraid she'd hurt you."
Bucky's mouth snapped shut at the statement, his silence extremely telling as his eyes flitted to the doorway before he stared down at his exposed left hand, curling and uncurling the fingers and unable (or unwilling) to meet Sam's gaze.
He was…ashamed.
Sam placed his hand over the vibranium one, stilling his movements. "You were afraid that she'd take one look at you, at this arm, and want nothing to do with you. That she would tell you to get the hell out of her home and never come back. That sound right?"
His jaw tightened but he didn't pull away.
"But she didn't." Sam felt the humming of gears under the metal, giving him a sad smile when Bucky turned his face away from Sam, "I can't imagine everything that was running through your head when she mentioned the files but..."
How this conversation had turned back on Bucky, Sam wasn't one hundred percent sure, and at any other time, he would've been perfectly fine with the attention being shifted away from him but that urge to help fragile minds and heal old wounds was ingrained into him. He'd never been able to stand by and do nothing while someone suffered.
He squeezed the metal hand, "I'm honored you wanted me here."
A bitter smile pulled at his mouth, "S'not like I had anyone else to bring."
Now Sam frowned, "Bucky—"
Bucky chuckled, "We're not talking 'bout me right now, though, we're talking 'bout you."
Back to this. "There's nothing to talk about. As I said, you're being paranoid."
Bucky smirked, "Then why are we still holding hands?"
Sam flushed, going to pull back and put some distance between them when metal fingers slid through his and tightened infinitesimally. He swallowed, staring down at their joined hands with a mixture of nerves and giddiness he'd thought he'd left behind in high school, his response coming out more choked than he'd like, "I don't know."
Warm fingers brushed under his chin and Sam was helpless as he lifted his head, everything in his body tensing as he realized just how close Bucky was and he took notice of every detail of the man's face: the lines crinkling at the corners of those pale eyes where he now saw small flecks of darker blues and greys, the near-invisible lattice of scars along his temples, the dusting of dark stubble along his jaw, the faint impression of those dimples he'd glimpsed earlier, those full pink lips slowly curling in a smile—
"And here I thought I had the starin' problem?"
Shit.
Buck tilted his head to the side, "See somethin' ya like?"
That old Brooklyn drawl had become more noticeable since they'd walked through Rebecca's door and while a more even-keeled Sam would've seen the change as showing a level of comfort here that he rarely afforded anywhere else, his current mental capacity was in a literal free-fall as it imagined what that voice and that mouth would feel like against his arched throat—
"And if I do?"
The words came out before Sam could stop them, challenging…almost coquettish in a way he'd never been with Bucky before and he could see that his tone surprised the man briefly before that smile took on a roguish edge, Bucky walking forward until Sam found his back pressed against the refrigerator.
"You sure you wanna go down that road?"
Sam wasn't so far gone as to miss the flicker of hesitancy pass over Bucky's face, to hear just how much was buried underneath the question. To see the glimpse of fear that he somehow wasn't worthy of the peaceful life he'd craved for so long, of being treated with kindness and gratitude, of being loved and forgiven...
He responded without hesitation. "Yes."
Bucky's eyes slipped closed, leaning his forehead against Sam's as vibranium hand rested lightly on his hip, hot breath fanning Sam's cheeks as he swallowed. His face tightened as though in pain but then he opened those eyes, the searing intensity had returned to his gaze as his right hand curled around the back of Sam's neck and dragged him forward.
The first brush of lips was tentative, hesitant in a way Sam hadn't expected from Bucky, but it still flooded his body with a pleasant warmth. He could feel how much the other man held himself back, though, both physically and emotionally, in the feather-light touches and how still he held himself and Sam pressed his palms to Bucky's chest.
The man's heart was pounding frantically.
Whether with fear or anticipation, Sam wasn't sure, but he didn't want to take any chances...
Sam reluctantly pulled back, reaching up to cup his face to keep those eyes trained on him because the last thing he needed was the guy bolting before Sam could explain. He rubbed his thumbs back and forth over his cheeks in an echo of Becky's hold, the gentle touch loosening his clenched jaw, "You know you don't need to force yourself to do something you don't want to do, right?"
Bucky let out a shaky breath, "That's not it."
"Okay." Sam's hands slid down the column of his neck to rest on his shoulders and he could feel the tension bleed infinitesimally from the muscle as he squeezed. He smiled warmly, "Then talk to me, Buck. Explain what's going through that cyborg brain of yours."
A smile pulled briefly at one corner of his mouth before it fell, the hesitancy Sam had just felt becoming more prominent in his features. The emotions and thoughts were warring behind his eyes, pressing his lips into a thin line as he weighed the words.
Sam waited patiently, watching expectantly, "Take your time."
"I want to, but it's just..." He cleared his throat, peering at Sam through his lashes as though to check that he was still watching before looking down at where his left hand still rested on Sam's hip. "Are you sure you want to have...this with me?"
Sam again, didn't hesitate. "Without a doubt."
Bucky's brow furrowed.
"You're overthinkin' this, man." Sam's gentle chiding carried hints of humor, wanting to see that beautiful smile grace that face again and wondering what it would feel like against his mouth— He pushed the wandering thoughts to the side for the moment, focusing on what was happening in the present, "There's nothing that could possibly dissuade me, Buck. I know exactly what I want here."
He swallowed, vibranium hand flexing. "Me?"
"Is that really a surprise?"
Bucky finally pulled away, growling out something in Russian that did not have any business sounding as attractive as it did as he turned his back to Sam, bracing his hands on the countertop and bowing his head. "You shouldn't."
"Too bad, Barnes. You're stuck with me."
"Why?"
All traces of humor fled Sam at how hoarse that single word sounded, walking over and leaning back against the sink mere feet from where he'd placed himself. "Because you are a good man, Bucky Barnes. With everything you've been through, I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to permanently withdraw from the world, but you came back—"
"It was a condition of my pardon."
"Well then, you didn't have to help me with the Flag Smashers." He amended, not deterred by the anger currently being directed at him, "You could've stayed in the States and not followed me around the world. You could've easily kept on ignoring me and left me to my own devices."
"I was selfish." Bucky finally looked over at him, blue-grey eyes heavy with shadows, "I was pissed about the shield and dismissed your choices at every opportunity. I didn't bother trying to understand your own feelings because I was too obsessed with my own. I was horrible to you for no reason."
"You had reasons."
A bitter chuckle, "Not good ones."
Sam hummed, "No, but after Riga…you didn't have to come back. I would've understood if you wanted to go back to D.C. We had the shield back from Walker and the higher-ups had stepped up and taken over the whole situation."
Bucky's jaw flexed.
"You came to Delacroix." Sam smiled, "Sure, you brought me a new suit and wings, but again, you didn't have to stay. You helped Sarah and I fix my parent's boat, listened to AJ and Cass pester you with ridiculous questions, helped me train with the shield—"
"Why are you making my choices into something they're not?"
"I'm not saying you weren't an ass, Bucky." He tried not to let his exasperation creep into his voice, knowing exactly what was buried beneath that clipped tone and refusing to let it get a rise out of him. "Or that your choices at the time didn't have less-than-stellar motives or weren't meant to cause pain, but I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here."
"You shouldn't."
"That's a shit argument and you know it."
Bucky glared at him.
"You're not as scary as you think you are, Buck." Sam tilted his head to the side thoughtfully, fighting back a smile even with those piercing eyes boring through his bones and straight into his soul, "Hell, I think your sister's got you beat on that front."
Bucky spun around, crowding his space as his eyes flashed. "Enough!"
Sam straightened from his leaning position, going still as the warmth emanating from the super-soldier wrapped around him, the air crackling with barely leashed anger and frustration, but again, Sam refused to react. "You deserve to be happy, Bucky. Don't deny yourself that."
Bucky didn't react save for his jaw tightening.
Sam reached out a hand to cup his face, heart aching as the anger bled from Bucky just as quickly as it'd flared. He watched as the man leaned into the touch with that same pained expression, like it'd been too long since he'd been handled with any care. "I'm right here with you, Bucky. I'll always be right here."
His eyes opened, pale depths glittering with the beginnings of that brilliant light he'd glimpsed in Bucky's interactions with his sister, the man once again taking a shuddering breath, his right hand fisting the back of his shirt as he buried his face into Sam's neck, the fingers of his left digging into his hip hard enough that Sam knew there would bruises left behind.
He barely registered the pain, though, focused entirely on the man clinging to him like he was his last thing tethering him to the present. The only thing keeping him afloat. "I'm sorry," he murmured against Sam's neck, "I'm sorry for everything I said."
"I know." Sam didn't even think as he wrapped an arm around the man's back, the other hand snaking up to gently card through those dark, thick strands as he pressed a gentle kiss to the super-soldier's temple. "I know."
…
The drive back to Bucky's apartment was quiet and Sam knew he should've been worried by how withdrawn the super-soldier had become as he listened to the metal plates shift furiously, a physical manifestation of whatever was going on in his head, but the man's silence wasn't tense or angry.
There was none of the tightness around his mouth or the clenched jaw that hinted at a precursor to any sort of outburst and those pale eyes, while distant, weren't heavy or haunted as they stared out the window, more so…reflective of all that had transpired.
Whether in regards to Rebecca or them, Sam couldn't tell.
It was when they stopped at the second red light that Bucky finally turned that contemplative stare on Sam, his expression brightening when Sam realized he'd been caught looking, one dark brow arched, "You're starin' Samuel."
Sam inwardly cursed, both at being caught and the use of his full name in that drawl, stomach fluttering as the hand on the wheel tightened. He smiled, though, glad to see the echoes of that cocky grin tug at the corner of his mouth, "You've been a bit quiet is all."
"Ain't nothing new."
"No, but…" he resumed driving as the light turned green, "…you seem different is all."
He chuckled, "Worried 'bout me, Cap?"
Sam shook his head, "It's a good different so…no I'm not."
Bucky hummed but said nothing more until they reached the apartment, hesitating in opening the passenger door for only a moment before he cleared his throat and adopted an easy air that Sam didn't have the heart to say was easily seen through. "Wanna come in?"
Sam glanced at the clock.
Eight hours until his flight left for Delacroix.
He nodded, "Sure."
Getting out of the car, he paused long enough to lock it before following Bucky into the building, the super-soldier pausing when he caught sight of an elderly woman struggling with holding her groceries and getting her door open. "Give me a second?"
Sam shook his head. "Go 'head."
Bucky's entire demeanor softened as he spoke to the woman in German, eyes crinkling in fond amusement as he attempted to take the bags in one hand and was promptly waved off. He smiled widely at the woman, leaning against the doorframe before speaking again.
The woman scoffed before she finally noticed Sam, sharp green eyes moving from Sam to Bucky before she grinned smugly, saying something to the man that had him blinking like he'd been smacked upside the head as he honest-to-God blushed. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he glanced at Sam.
Sam was sure his own face was burning as well as he smiled and waved back.
The woman relented then, practically shoving the bags at Bucky as she withdrew her keys from her pocket and unlocked the door, talking animatedly as though she hadn't stunned the former Winter Soldier stupid with her words alone.
Sam chuckled as Bucky obediently followed her inside, waiting outside the door.
Not two minutes later, Bucky came out, face still a bright red. "C'mon."
"James!" The woman called out in a thickly accented voice.
Bucky sighed before smiling, "Ja, Karla?"
"Do not be rude, James." Karla came over, her head barely reaching Bucky's shoulder as she went to move around him. She squeezed his left shoulder, murmuring something in German that had him moving without a word, "Who is your friend?"
Sam smiled, not missing the insinuation as he held out a hand to her, "Sam Wilson, Ma'am."
"Sam Wilson…" She smiled, taking it, "Karla."
"It's nice to meet you, Karla." He released her hand, smiling widening, "I didn't realize he kept such lovely company."
Bucky scowled as Karla laughed.
"Such a sweet boy." She patted his cheek affectionately, frowned at Bucky, "You good to Sam, James?"
"Uh…" Bucky blinked, looking bewildered at the sudden shift in conversation before narrowing his eyes at Sam like he was imagining hitting him with his vibranium arm when Sam coughed out a laugh. But then that boyish smile was back as he looked at Sam with that piercing gaze and spoke with utter sincerity, "Yeah, I am. He's a good man. I don't know where I'd be without him."
She patted Bucky's cheek, "Smart man."
Sam flushed under that stare, unable to formulate a response when she turned back to James and said something in German. He may not know the language but he grasped the tone and message well enough: don't screw this up.
Bucky nodded seriously, responding in kind.
Karla beamed, "Danke, James."
"Bitte schön, Karla."
Bucky's smile held until the door clicked shut, "Lovely company?"
"What?" Sam laughed, opening the door to the stairwell, "She was."
"Kiss ass." The super-soldier huffed, "She's as bad as Becky."
Sam shook his head, still smiling, "I didn't know you could still blush like that."
Bucky growled, "You're one to talk."
"What did she say?" Sam kept pushing, holding open the door for the second floor.
"You askin' me with that voice tells me you already know exactly what she said." Bucky pushed past him and strode purposefully down the hall, somehow not making a single sound as he reached his door and unlocked it. He shed the jacket, leaving him in a stupidly tight black t-shirt that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. "You wanna drink?"
"Sure." Sam shut the door softly behind him, "Where's Alpine?"
Hearing his name, the small white kitten bounded out of the bedroom to weave between Bucky's ankles, purring up a storm as the man opened the two beer bottles with his left hand and set them on the counter before reaching into the fridge again to get food for Alpine.
"I'm surprised you decided to keep him."
Bucky laughed, "I couldn't get rid of him if I tried."
Sam grabbed one of the bottles and took a swig, watching as Bucky crouched to scratch between the kitten's ears with a single vibranium finger and an awestruck smile curled his lips as Alpine arched into the touch, the tiny creature undaunted by the metal appendage that had done so much damage.
The image of a kitten having an ex-Hydra assassin so enamored might've had him laughing if the sight didn't hit him so viscerally. The late afternoon sun illuminated both of them in a pale golden cast, Alpine practically glowing, and Bucky…looked nothing short of ethereal with the light playing over that straight nose, those cheekbones, darkening the shadows underneath his jaw while brightening his smile—
It looked like something from a damn museum (or Sharon's gallery).
Then Bucky straightened to find Sam staring and anything remotely soft or angelic that he'd glimpsed at that moment vanished; his smile sharpening in amusement as he leaning back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest, knowing full well how the fabric would stretch over his arms; and those eyes, while normally intense, turned absolutely predatory as they raked over his body. "Samuel."
Sam cleared his throat, fingers tightening around the bottle as he smiled. "Jamie."
Bucky's face scrunched up, "No...no, don't call me that."
"Why not?" He laughed, "I think it's cute."
The super-soldier pushed off the counter, practically stalking toward him as he walked around the island and grabbed the other bottle. He took a long drink, grinning that bright, sharp smile that still had warmth bubbling up in the pit of Sam's stomach. "Okay, Sammy."
"No. No..." Sam was sure he made an equally displeased face at his sister's nickname being spoken in that tone of voice. "I agree. We should, uh...definitely leave those nicknames to Sarah and Becky."
"Well then, Sam." Bucky drained the rest of his beer, not breaking eye contact as he did so, and his eyes flashed when Sam's gaze dropped to where his mouth wrapped around the lip of the bottle. "What did you wanna talk about?"
Sam's face burned, "What did I want to talk about? You asked me to come in."
"And you could've said no."
"Making my choice into something they're not?" Sam was proud of himself for remaining focused on the conversation instead of the super-soldier who had moved even closer to him, drawing on that well of calm he tapped into during stressful situations but he was sure the blood pounding in his ears ruined that effect.
"Just givin' you the benefit of the doubt." He plucked the almost-empty beer from Sam's hold, setting both bottles behind Sam in a way that had him leaning in his space but where he normally would've stepped back, he remained toe-to-toe with Sam with that same gleaming smile, "It ain't such a bad thing…so I've heard."
"Using my own words against me now?"
"They're good words."
"Are you saying I was right?"
Bucky's smile softened, "And if I was?"
Sam breathed in the warmth emanating from Bucky's body, the faint traces of his cologne lingered in the back of his throat along with the distinct combination leather, metal, and musk always present around the super-soldier that went to Sam's head quicker than whatever the hell he'd drank in Madripoor—
"Sam?"
Shit, how long had he been quiet for?
He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind, but the fog wasn't lifting as quickly as he would've liked and he didn't exactly have the option of putting distance between himself and the subject of said haze because while he was sure Bucky would back off if asked, Sam wasn't sure he really wanted him to.
Something more than amusement crept into Bucky's expression the longer he went without responding: that same earlier hesitation that slowly turned that bravado into wariness. His smile slipped briefly and it looked as though he was about to take a step back.
Sam reached up, placing a gentle hand on his left shoulder where he felt the raised seam of scar tissue where the metal had been forcibly adhered to flesh through the thin t-shirt. He smiled warmly when Bucky tensed, squeezing said shoulder. "I haven't changed my mind on this, Buck. You do know that right?"
Bucky's shoulders loosened and he nodded.
"Nothing more needs to happen either unless you ask." His hand slid up his shoulder and cupped Bucky's jaw, Sam running a thumb back and forth over his cheek as he watched the man fucking melt under the touch, the sight just as painful to experience the second time around. "Just tell me what you want, Bucky."
Flash fingers caught his wrist when Sam went to pull back. "Stay."
"Okay." Sam rotated his hand until he could intertwine them with Bucky's, not commenting on how tightly he squeezed, using his other hand to gently draw the man forward until their foreheads were pressed together. "I'll stay."
Bucky closed his eyes and swallowed.
They stood quietly in the middle of the kitchen for who knew how long. Vibranium fingers once again dug into his hip, and Sam ignored the dull throbbing of forming bruises, content to stand wordlessly for as long as Bucky needed him to, having sensed that contemplative air about him, and knew he would eventually find the words.
Sam looked up when Bucky squeezed his hand a minute later to find pale eyes peering through those dark lashes. His stomach did another nosedive when he turned into Sam's hand and pressed a kiss to his palm, the point of contact sending a shock up his arm and down his back.
The super-soldier smiled, looking almost relieved, "I know what I want."
Sam slid his still tingling hand along Bucky's jaw, fingers running through the soft hair at the base of his skull before curling around his neck, both his hand and Bucky's vibranium grip drawing them closer until they were only a hairs-width apart.
Sam whispered the next question against his mouth.
"And what is that?"
Bucky's smile was wide and bright and so fucking beautiful. "You. I want you."
Sam wasn't sure which one of them closed the distance but that fact seemed moot the moment Bucky's lips met his, surprisingly soft and incredibly insistent as the super-soldier pressed him back into the counter. The juxtaposition was something he'd found unique to the former assassin: the strength and aggression he displayed in a fight only matched by the warmth and gentleness he had with AJ, Cass, and the other children in Delacroix—
A vibranium hand pushed up the hem of Sam's shirt, the sensation of the smooth cool metal moving languidly up his back effectively destroyed further conscious thought as he arched into the touch, his own fingers sliding into those dark strands and tugging sharply of their own accord. His other hand, now free of Buck's grip, curled into the belt loops of those ridiculously tight jeans and drag those hips to meet his.
A shudder went through Sam as they met and like a match being struck, the last vestiges of restraint were burned away as Bucky's lips parted in a silent gasp. Sam's pride at electing that sound from the seemingly unflappable man was drowned out by the heat that washed over them, every touch, every movement becoming more charged, more frantic as Sam deepened the kiss, tasting hints of the beer and something uniquely Bucky...
Sam only pulled back when the need for air trumped everything else and wasn't surprised to find that Bucky was content to push forward and Sam was helpless to do anything other than tighten his fingers in his dark and close his eyes as Bucky's mouth moved along his jaw, pressing long, lingering kisses to his pounding pulse—
Sam groaned as his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin, a groan slipped out, "Buck..."
Bucky grinned, lips curling against his throat moments before the sound of tearing fabric reached his ears as the super-soldier literally tore Sam's shirt open, metal fingers exploring the firm expanse of his chest and down his stomach with aching slowness and patience that Sam hadn't known he possessed.
He hummed, "I've wanted to do this since Madripoor."
Sam let out a breathy laugh, "I liked this shirt."
"Me too." Bucky chuckled, "Really brings out your eyes."
"So, you rip it?"
Bucky smiled that sharp smile, his pale eyes nothing more than slim metallic rings as both hands slid down his body before he stepped back, "As Captain America, I figured you would understand the concept of self-sacrifice."
Sam shrugged off the remnants of the shirt, rolling his shoulders as he did so, throat going dry at the blatant hunger in the super-soldier's eyes at the movement. He returned that smile, reaching out to run a hand over the fabric pulled taut across his chest, "I could say the same about this shirt. Makes your eyes look almost...silver in the right lighting."
"Oh?"
His fingers caught on the chain that held his dog tags, noting that the single word came out hoarse, and he smiled, dropping the tags back onto his chest. "As much as I would love to do the same, I have something even better in mind."
Bucky seemed to regain some of his cockiness, "And what is that?"
"Take it off."
Bucky grinned, "That an order, Cap?"
"And if it is?"
Without a word, he reached back and pulled the shirt off in one swift movement, meeting Sam's stare with one of his own as the worst of his scars were laid bare, bracing his hands on the countertop behind him as he shot him a small, sardonic smile, "Is it everything you imagined, Cap?"
Sam didn't hesitate, stepping forward and running his hands over every inch of Bucky's chest and stomach in much the same way that was done to him except for his metal arm. He followed the seam of thick scar tissue he'd only ever felt through his shirt with sure, gentle fingers, and could only imagine what it must've been like to leave such a permanent mark on a super-soldier but Sam disregarded the thought almost immediately, bending to kiss the silvery lines with a reverence he was sure the former assassin hadn't ever experienced. "Everything and more."
Bucky swallowed and shook his head, voice choked, "You're lyin'."
Sam smiled, reaching up to cup his jaw, "Not in the slightest."
If anything, Bucky's eyes dilated further, very nearly as black as the shirt he'd discarded as he dragged Sam forward into a bruising kiss. Blunt nails and metal fingers dug deeper into his jaw as Sam's own hands made quick work of the super-soldier's belt and zipper, Bucky stiffening briefly as his knuckles brushed slowly along the length of him.
"I ain't one to tease, Sam." Bucky's hips rocked of their own accord, that old Brooklyn drawl thickening with want, eager to find friction against Sam's callused skin even through the thin barrier, and it looked as though it took everything to keep himself still.
"Who said I was teasin'?" Sam breathed out the question, knowing full well that that was exactly what he was doing, and should've been prepared for the super-soldier to finally employ that speed and strength as hands slid over his ass, resting on the back of his thighs and lifting him like he was nothing before spinning him around and pressing him to the nearest wall.
Bucky slid a knee between Sam's and smiled as his hips bucked forward with a broken moan, leaning forward for an absolutely filthy kiss, teeth sinking into his bottom lip and tugging hard as those hands squeezed his ass before gripping his hips, guiding them forward and back, forward and back in an agonizingly slow pace.
Sam's jeans had grown far too tight, the pressure building so deliciously low in his gut, and God it had been too long. His fingers struggling to find purchase on both the skin and metal of his arms as he fought to make him go faster, head falling back against the wall, "Damn it, Buck, just fuckin' move."
"Tsk tsk, Sam." Bucky stopped, the bastard, chuckling darkly against Sam's neck before biting down and sucking a mark into the skin, his tongue soothing the blossoming bruise, "You gotta ask a little nicer than that, Captain."
Sam laughed breathlessly, "Fuck you, Barnes."
"That's not nicely." Flesh fingers slipped between them, easily unbuckling his belt and pulling it slowly from the loops, popping the button and easing down the zipper. Bucky's hand sliding underneath the elastic band, moving lower and lower, teasing and caressing and stroking, taking far too long to get to where Sam desperately wanted him to be.
"Please fuckin' move."
Bucky's smile reminded Sam of light catching the edge of a blade, sharp and dangerous and somehow still beautiful as he lifted Sam, not the least bit strained as legs secured themselves around his lower back as he walked them back to the bedroom, lips not leaving his as the door was kicked shut behind them.
…
Sam woke, body pleasantly aching as he rolled onto his side.
Bucky's back was to him, his shoulders rising and falling as he slept, the man having placed himself between Sam and the door as they'd both drifted off, and the amount of trust that Sam knew such a simple act required had his heart nearly bursting with...something.
The sun streaming through the window cast Bucky in a soft glow not unlike it'd done in the kitchen and, while Sam had never considered himself an artist by any means, the light turned the gold lines of the vibranium arm molten and the pale scars spider-webbing out from the metal into something almost silvery in appearance, reminding him of a beautiful piece of two-hundred-year-old piece of pottery than Sharon had been auctioning off that night in Madripoor...
Kintsugi, she'd called it. It is a centuries-old Japanese art of repairing pottery with lacquered silver, gold, or platinum, making the repaired piece more beautiful and unique than the original by emphasizing the brakes and fractures…giving it a second life. It was a physical representation of finding beauty and strength in the broken.
While he was positive Shuri herself probably didn't have that thought in mind while creating the arm, Sam found the comparison fitting in more ways than one. Both the arm and the scars branching from it, while leaving a physical mark on his body, also represented a period of Bucky's life that forever altered him in every way possible, where he was literally broken apart and reshaped into another person entirely. Yet they also told a story of survival against all odds, of piecing oneself back together.
With the new arm, they showed rebirth and the possibility of second chances and while Sam couldn't account for the "more beautiful than the original" aspect of it all (despite the stories he'd gotten from Steve of their shared childhood), the man that Bucky was now was pretty damn beautiful, if he did say so himself.
Sam reached out, fingers first tracing the gold between the vibranium plates, listening to the faint humming of the inner workings as the sound intermingled with Bucky's even breathing and Sam savored the moment before the urge to touch more of him won out, his hand moving over the thick, raised scar before following the thinner ones across his skin and even though Sam didn't sense a change in the other man, he knew Bucky was awake as soon he registered the touch.
The man was a lighter sleeper than he was.
Bucky grumbled as Sam's phone began to ring.
"Good morning, Bucky." Sam smiled, pressing a kiss to his scarred shoulder before reluctantly sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed in search of his ringing phone only to be stopped by the vibranium arm around his waist. "You gonna let me go?"
"Come back to bed." Buck murmured, burying his face in Sam's neck.
"If I don't answer, they're just gonna keep calling."
"Then I'll just break the damn thing."
"You are not breaking my phone." Sam said, "It could be someone important."
Bucky mumbled something decidedly not English into Sam's skin and tightened his hold, but Sam didn't need to know the language to understand the tone: that whoever that important someone was could go to hell.
Sam smiled, craning his head to kiss Bucky's hair, "I'll come right back."
Bucky said nothing as the phone went silent again, only to resume its ringing not ten seconds later, where he released Sam with a frustrated growl, "If you don't answer that phone, Sam, I will throw it out that third story window."
Sam's stomach fluttered at the sound when he pulled on his boxer briefs and pushed off the bed, faltering when he turned and caught sight of Bucky leaning back against the headboard with the sheets tangled around his hips, lashes dark against his cheeks, the play of light and shadow over flesh and metal almost tempting him to turn off his phone and crawl back into bed. He cleared his throat, "That would be breaking it."
Bucky opened his eyes, the blue eyes looking mercurial in the sunlight, and he smiled at whatever he saw on Sam's face, looking much too satisfied with himself as he folded his arms behind his head. "Throwing it out the window ain't such a bad idea now, is it?"
Sam fished the phone from his discarded jeans and opened it. "This is Sam Wilson."
"Where the hell are you?"
Any traces of fatigue vanished at Sarah's voice and he pulled his phone away from his ear to check the time even though he knew what the clock would tell him: that the plane he was supposed to have been on had landed twenty minutes ago; and he just barely stopped himself from cursing. "I'm...uh, I'm in Brooklyn."
There was a pregnant pause on the other end, "Oh?"
Sam glanced at Bucky, "Lost track of time is all. I can be on the next flight out if—"
"No, there's no rush." Sarah cut in smoothly and Sam didn't even need to see her face to know that she'd already figured out exactly what had occurred and was wearing that wide, face-splitting smile she'd gotten from Mom. "Tell Bucky I said hi."
Sam shot a look at a silently laughing Bucky, "He heard you."
"I expect you both down here by Friday."
Bucky mouthed the word speaker?
Sam, already dreading what was about to happen, did just that, holding out his phone and it took every ounce of that well of calm to keep from dropping said phone or make a single sound as Bucky rose from the bed and strode naked across the room with that stupid smile on his face without a care in the world.
Bucky, the asshole, fucking winked at Sam. "Need me to bring anything, Sarah?"
She laughed, "Just don't keep my brother too occupied, alright?"
"No promises."
Sam did make a sound then, face burning, "Seriously guys?"
"Oh, don't be a prude, Sam." She chided, "You two have a good day."
Sam shut the phone off as soon as the call ended, glaring at Bucky.
He grinned, "What?"
Sam tossed the phone back onto the clothes with a huff, gesturing to the entire length of his bare form, struggling in vain not to linger too long on any one area and failing spectacularly if Bucky's raised brow was any indication. "You really have to ask?"
"Well, since we have more time..." he ignored the question, once more walking into Sam's space and grasping him by the hips, drawing into a bone-melting kiss and back towards the bed as he slowly inched down the elastic waistband...
"Bucky..." Sam's gasped, ripping himself away in an attempt to regain control of his breathing, only to stop altogether as teeth sank deep into the juncture of his shoulder while his right hand curled around the length of him. "Fuck..."
"That's the plan, sweetheart."
His hips snapped up into Buck's hand, Sam gasped, "I hate you."
Bucky's mouth moved to his ear, "No you don't."
…
"So…"
Sam sighed as Sarah sidled over to the porch, the sibling watching as Bucky rolled around in the grass with AJ and Cass and few other children from around the island in some sort of mock Avengers battle, the sight of them filling Sam with that same bubbling warmth.
For someone who'd used to see himself as an irredeemable killer unworthy of compassion or forgiveness, he was quite comfortable being used as a human jungle gym. He was so soft…so playful and gentle in a way he'd only seen when Bucky visited Delacroix—
"I have a question."
He sipped his beer, "No."
She cocked a brow, "You don't even know the question."
"But I know that tone."
"It's not a bad question."
"I am not talking to you about my sex life." Sam realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth and he finally turned in time to see her smirk as she tipped back her own bottle, praying to all that was well and holy that this conversation was out of super-soldier hearing range. The last thing he needed was for Bucky to pick up this little talk—
"So how was the sex?"
Sam took a long drink, refusing to answer—
"Does the vibranium arm have any…hidden functions?"
—and choked on it, his face burning. "Wha…? No!"
Sarah snorted. "Relax, Sammy, I'm kidding."
Sam rubbed at his chest and cleared his throat, "I'm sure you were."
"No, but all teasing aside…" She faced him fully, leaning on the banister with one arm while the bottle dangled loosely in her fingers. Her expression was one that Bucky had assured him the siblings shared: all warm smiles and soft eyes. "Are you happy?"
While significantly milder than the others, the question hit him harder, and Sam turned his attention back to where Bucky was playing with the kids and couldn't stop himself from smiling widely at the sight of half a dozen children piled on top of him.
Then Bucky's laughter rang out amidst the squealing giggle and Sam was brought back to that afternoon in Becky's living room: the lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, too-white teeth flashing in the sunlight…
"Yeah, yeah I am."