2.

"Is it magnetic?"

"No."

"Does it come off?"

"Yes."

"Can it punch through walls?"

Bucky paused, holding his Heineken in his non-metal hand. He looked down at the young boy gazing up at him with curiosity furrowing his brow. "Don't know. Never tried."

People always asked about the arm. How many times in their lives did most folks come across a guy with a metal arm? Bucky was used to the furtive glances and the sometimes outright stares. He answered their questions as it suited him. And he always indulged in the inquisitiveness of children. They were so delightfully tactless. Guileless individuals with no malice, no prejudice. Seeking only information.

AJ had the same mischievous glint in his eye as his Uncle Sam. He looked around, as though searching out a wall for Bucky to try his arm out on.

In a blink of an eye, his mother appeared. She must have sensed the bad ideas brewing and came to put a stop to the shenanigans.

"I know you're not bothering your Uncle Sam's friend with foolishness," said Sarah. "Because I did not raise foolish children."

"It's fine." Bucky jumped into the line of fire. "As far as interrogations go, this was pretty mild."

The young boy saw an opening and took it. "Can you rip a door off a car?"

Bucky put on a contemplative expression while AJ's mother rolled her eyes. "Maybe a steering wheel…"

That was either the right or wrong thing to say. Only time would tell.

With the parental power vested in her by hours of exhaustive labor just so she could bring this bright eyed boy into the world, Sarah sent her son off to play with his brother and the other kids. More precisely, she told him to find some other business, which, to be fair, was some very vague instruction to give such an industrious youngster.

"I'd tell you not to encourage him," said Sarah once her child had taken off at top speed, "but I get the feeling that it would be like trying to press pause on a waterfall." She looked Bucky up and down. Her eyes assessing. Sizing him up. "I can see why my brother likes you."

Bucky wasn't touching that statement with a ten foot pole.

He sipped his beer and couldn't help looking over at the brother in question. Sam was talking to a bunch of guys, standing off in a cluster. Bucky recognized a few from Beaulac's, along with his general comings and goings around town. None he'd really given more than a congenial wave or a polite headnod as he went about his business. Sam, of course, looked like he belonged. His smile came easily. He laughed with his whole body. The sound carried across the park and settled into Bucky's bones.

"He took pity on me," Bucky admitted. "Even though I've lived here for months, I don't have much in the way of friends. Unless you count the grandma across the hall that checks in on me about once a week. To make sure I'm still alive and I haven't gone all Jack Nicholson in The Shining."

Sarah nodded. "All work and no play can wear a person down."

Very true. And his work-life balance could use some fine tuning. "I get some homemade banana bread out of the deal, so it's worth the weekly inspection."

Though it wasn't like Bucky was an actual shut-in, bereft of social skills. Like a lot of people, he was very particular about those he let into his circle. Not everyone he waved hello to on his way to his morning coffee and danish got access to his circle. Bucky was discerning. He was careful and took great pains in considering an individual's character, their disposition, and their overall outlook on life. Making sure that they were a compatible brand of crazy before fully unleashing his own. There was a process. A method to his madness. And there were plenty of nice folks who simply didn't make the cut.

Sam turned his head. His eyes locked with Bucky's. His face lit up like a Christmas tree and suddenly Bucky forgot how to drink beer like a normal person. A little bit of liquid dribbled down his chin. Sarah was kind enough to hand him a napkin.

"You got a little-"

"Thank you." Bucky dabbed his chin dry.

If he were smart, he would make his exit now, with what little remained of his dignity. Bucky came, he saw, he socialized. Thus fulfilling all of Steve's requirements. He could now retreat to his apartment for a well-deserved marathon of The Golden Girls and eat Talenti straight out of the tub. That would be the most prudent course of action.

Except Sam was now walking towards him.

Armed with that signature jovial smile that did funny things to Bucky's chest every time it was aimed at him, Sam strode over. Looking totally relaxed and exuding good humor. Bucky couldn't remember a time he had ever seen Sam frown. Not that Bucky was in the habit of memorizing the man's facial expressions. He certainly didn't keep a mental catalogue of all the different kinds of Sam Wilson Smiles. Though he had noticed a few.. Bucky was a naturally observant person. Let's see… There was that tight-lipped smirk, as though he could read Bucky's mind and found it all incredibly amusing. And the small, bashful smile that crept out whenever Bucky complimented him on anything. From his occupation of saving animals, to music collection, to his wardrobe.

That man could wear hunter green like nobody's business.

"Hey, Buck."

Steady on, knees. Keep it together.

"There are some folks I'd like you to meet."

He was in the process of telling Sam that he and his sister were having a lovely little chat… And then Sam put his arm around Bucky's shoulders and things got a little fuzzy after that. His legs moved of their own volition. Carrying him away from Sarah. He couldn't remember saying goodbye.

Sam brought Bucky over to the cluster of men currently gathered around the smoker. It seemed like their whole purpose was looking over the massive amount of meat on the grill as it achieved slow-cooked perfection. A serious task best left to seasoned professionals. Introductions were made. Bucky pinned names to faces, though he doubted he would see any of them again. Sam's hand was still on his shoulder. His thumb absentmindedly stroking Bucky's neck as the group went back to talking shop. The feather light touch sending shivers down Bucky's spine.

This was deliberate. It had to be. And then for him to trail his fingers down Bucky's back, all the while talking about the best prime rib he'd ever had… Indecent. That's what it was. Deliberately indecent. Bucky had a mind to complain.

Well, actually, Bucky's mind, in its current condition, was too busy contemplating whether Sam preferred pancakes or French toast in the morning after a night of banging Bucky like a bass drum to work up much of a complaint. He'd been in charge of his own orgasms for far too long and, to put it plainly, needed to get railed at Sam's earliest convenience. As in screaming so loud that Ms. Genie thought Bucky was being murdered.

"So, you write mystery books?" Angelo. Owned an auto body shop. Preferred a nice dry rub. "For a living? Not as a hobby or anything?"

He judged Bucky's choice of profession in a way that only an old man could. Angelo had done a lot of living and, as was to be expected, had a different way of viewing the world. He was of the era where men built their homes with their own two hands and drank their coffee black. No non-dairy creamer. No oat milk. Granted, these men also occasionally beat their wives or had a second family somewhere on the side but that really wasn't anything worth talking about.

There was no disdain in his voice. Angelo was simply making sure he had the facts correct. Most likely, he was inquiring as to how Bucky managed to keep the lights on. Being a full time writer wasn't easy, but Bucky was living his dream.

And getting paid handsomely for it.

Multiple streams of revenue. That was the trick to staying afloat. While Bucky's books - written under the pseudonym Ryan Wolf - sold well and often charted at the top of the NY Times Bestsellers list, the real money laid in the TV and movie options. Some studio wanted to turn one of his thrillers into a major motion picture? Awesome! Cut the check.

"Yeah, that's… what I do." An anxious chuckle escaped from Bucky's throat. "Can't beat it, really. I work my own hours. I'm free to to come and go as I please. Have laptop, will travel, ya know? Not a whole lot of people can say that they're doing what they love. And as long as my passion keeps me paid…"

Sam clinked his beer bottle against Bucky's. "I will drink to that."

No, Bucky was not transfixed by the steady bob of the man's Adam's apple. He was simply glancing at Sam and his eyes got stuck. It happened sometimes. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Good God, Bucky wanted to suck the nut right out of that man.

He downed the rest of his beer in one go, then detached from the group in search of another. Sam joined him. Walking close enough beside Bucky to cause a slight mental breakdown as Bucky caught a whiff of his cologne. This was what he got for living the last four months like a priest.

Though priests didn't jack off as much as he did.

Thinking about masturbating clergymen was like dumping a bucket of ice water down his pants. A necessary evil.

For the rest of the afternoon, Sam stayed by Bucky's side. He seemed to know pretty much everyone. He was greeted with big smiles and hugs and kisses on the cheek. And there were plenty of thanks for him tending to their precious pets. Including an iguana named Murray that belonged to the lady that owned the laundromat across the street from Bucky's apartment building. Sam was a much loved member of his community. He gave unselfishly of his time and, quite frequently, his money. More than a few folks mentioned paying Sam back some sum of money that they had borrowed. Sam waved off the promises of prompt repayment.

"Get it to me when you can. It's not worth losing sleep over it."

The man was a saint. Bucky could hardly believe someone that genuinely good actually existed in the same world as murderers, crooks, and assholes that yelled at cashiers.

As Sam made his rounds, he kept Bucky within arm's reach. Sam introduced him to pretty much everyone they came across.

Hey, this is Bucky.

This here's Bucky. He's my guy.

Hey, Buck! Tell 'em how we first met!

Because clearly that was a knee-slapper of a tale.

There was a way that Sam talked about him that threw Bucky off balance. He called Bucky his guy more than once. Not his friend. Not his buddy or his bro or anything remotely in the realm of platonic. His guy. And he gave no clarification as to what that meant. Sam conversationally brought up aspects of Bucky's life with an air of intimacy that had more than a few folks bouncing their eyeballs back and forth between them. Things like Bucky being from Brooklyn and Sam not holding that against him. Or how he noted that there was no sauerkraut for Bucky's hotdog because of course Sam knew how he liked his hotdogs.

This revelation had come after Sam admitted to putting ketchup on his hotdog, which prompted Bucky to ask how he could ruin a perfectly good frankfurter like that.

The point was that there was all this ambiguous language being used. Meanwhile, Bucky wasn't even certain if the dude that gave him heart palpitations every time he touched Bucky's arm even liked dudes like that. Whichever way Sam Wilson swung remained a mystery all these weeks later. And until he told Bucky explicitly, in no uncertain terms, that he very much wanted to know what Bucky sounded like coming on his dick, there would be no moves made. The last thing Bucky wanted was to make things awkward.

For Sam.

Things were already awkward for Bucky, but he'd grown used to it by now.

The fact that he could even look Sam in the eye after imagining the man eating his ass like it was a Denny's Original Grand Slam was a fucking miracle.

As the cookout wrapped up, Bucky found himself almost overburdened with food. Maybe after finding out that he lived alone, they were afraid he'd starve. One of the aluminum foil wrapped plates was just cake. Bucky would be eating good for days to come.

Sam assessed his mighty haul and asked, "Can I walk you to your car."

What Bucky meant to say: "No, thanks. I've got it. Thanks for inviting me, though. I had a great time."

What he actually said: "Sure."

Because Bucky wasn't about to turn down even five more minutes with Sam.

He'd manage to snag a parking spot less than a block away. The universe had decided to smile upon Bucky today. He packed his bounty into two reusable grocery bags. It made for easier carrying up to his apartment.

Paying no attention to his surroundings, Bucky ended up trapped between the closed passenger side door and Sam's body.

Sam's firm body.

Boy, he had some nice shoulders. The kind Bucky wouldn't mind resting his ankles on.

"I'm really glad you came." Sam dropped his voice in both pitch and volume and Bucky, God bless him, couldn't take his off Sam's lips. He took a step further in Bucky's personal space. "Seeing you was the highlight of my week."

"Wow," Bucky croaked. "Your life must be pretty boring."

Sam huffed a laugh and he was standing so close that the rush of his breath brushed across Bucky's cheek. Bucky was very much aware of the hand resting on his hip and the slight slant of Sam's head. His eyes were watching Bucky's lips, too.

One more step closer and the two of them stood nearly chest to chest.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…

"Sam! Quit kissin' on that boy and come help haul the trash to the dumpster!"

Much to Bucky's dismay, they were not actually kissing just yet. They were close. They were so fucking close that he could feel the heat from Sam's body. In fact, all Bucky had to do was tilt his head about an inch forward and he and Sam would be mouth to mouth.

The moment passed with Sam cursing under his breath. Bucky tried not to let the disappointment crush him. He clenched his hands into fists to keep from clinging to Sam. Want warred with reason, even as Sam took three steps back. The distance between them now was reprehensible.

"I gotta go… do the thing."

Bucky nodded like a bobblehead toy. "Yeah, no, that's fine. That's… important. Keeping the parks clean." Sweet Jesus, his mouth just kept on going. "In high school, I once volunteered to help clean up a section of Prospect Park. That's a park in Brooklyn. We've got a couple parks. Not just the one."

How was Sam not looking at him like he was a gibbering baboon? How was he staring at Bucky with such soft fondness? It defied all logic and reason.

"Text me when you get home."

Something inside Bucky melted. Possibly his brain. "Okay… Hey, Sam?"

The man had started to walk away but he stopped mid stride. He turned to look back at Bucky. "Yeah?"

"Were you…" Bucky screwed his courage to the sticking place. It was now or never. "Were you going to kiss me? Before?"

Get in the car. Get in the car and drive away and don't stop driving until you run outta gas.

Sam smiled at him and it was the most perfect thing there ever was. "Technically, I've been trying to kiss you for the last month. I guess I missed my chance."

Oh, he was so getting another chance. Infinite chances. Bucky was willing to wait until the end of time to be kissed by Sam Wilson.