Ch.1- New Shoes
Bored. That's what Bucky was. Bored stiff with the crick in his neck to prove it. His eyes ached while trying to read data points and specs on the screen in front of him. He glanced over to his boss and best friend, Steve, who sat stock straight, diligently typing away, emailing those idiots from Air Force Sector about the joint project due to start the next day.
Bucky felt his lip twitch up in annoyance. Steve swore by the other team's project lead, Sam Wilson, but AFS liked everything easy. Bucky didn't do easy at work. He was an efficiency sniper, and he wasn't afraid to say 'no.' At the moment, however, Bucky sat at a completely empty desk with only his efficient self to blame. He clicked through the tabs open on his browser, carts full of clothes and accessories he mulled over. "To buy or not to buy…" he mumbled to himself.
"Buck," Steve called over the monitor, making Bucky pop his head up, alert. "You're killing me with the sighing, bud. Just get out of here already."
Bucky could have kissed him. It was a beautiful day outside, and he'd sat by a window all day, unable to enjoy any of it. He needed a shot of energy to even enjoy the night, so Bucky grabbed his stuff for the gym. A good, pumping sweat and he'd be right as rain, plus it was only thirty minutes until clock-out anyway.
"Meeting is at nine," he heard Steve remind while waiting at the elevator. It didn't matter; Bucky would be in at seven as always.
Thankfully, directly across from Stark Industries sat an enormous gym complex with a partnership for 24/7 access to employees. Convenience was king in the monotonous yet ever-changing world. The crick in his neck reminded Bucky just how tiresome that daily grind could be, and he operated on autopilot while the stagnation of the day chipped off his stiff muscles. Tunnel vision set in; today was not a day for scanning the place for familiar or I-want-to-be-familiar-with-you faces. He pushed himself hard, almost completing the triple crown of blood, sweat, and tears in the fifty minutes or so he lifted and ran. A hot shower always felt better when he earned it, too, so Bucky took his time under the stream of water, thinking about what he might do for the rest of the evening. Probably close one or two of those shopping tabs...
They caught his eye while he double-checked everything was back in his bag to take home: a bright flash of color against the sterile grey floor.
Rainbow soles on a pure white shoe.
Glorious.
Bucky shot up on the locker room bench with bug eyes. "I love those. I want those." He hadn't even looked above the ankle of the cross-legged man wearing the sweetest kicks Bucky had seen in a while and that meant something because he browsed a lot.
The man's snorting brought Bucky back to attention. "Yeah, my favorites."
Bucky finally dragged his eyes off the soles, and oh damn, he's glorious, too. Sharp jawline, smooth skin, and a deep complexion Bucky wanted to study. His voice was sexy. Bucky could listen to that deep laugh forever, but he'd been too distracted to listen. What did he say? Wait, he's leaving?
The man stood and walked out while Bucky's head was still swimming with praise and wonder and excitement. Half of Buck's brain calculated what brand he recognized from the shape of the shoes while the other half tried to furiously decode what the hell Sexy Shoes might have said to him. No brainpower was left to push Bucky off the bench to follow and introduce himself. By the time he actually thought to move, Bucky lost his chance. Another disappointing part of a disappointing day.
He needed a fix, a boost, and Bucky knew just the thing. He found the most perfect, indulgent, retail therapy within a ten-block radius: rainbow-checkered Vans. Not quite the same as taking that sole brother home, but new shoes would have to do.
The elevator smelled like coconut oil as Steve and Bucky rode up to the conference rooms. It was comforting, rich and tropical, and it made Bucky want to go on vacation. Hell, he'd have clocked out right then just to avoid this meeting. At least Bucky could stare at his pretty new shoes throughout what was sure to be a painful discussion.
"How many times do you think I'll have to explain the limits of mounted scopes?" While Steve diplomatically avoided answering the perfectly legitimate question, Bucky adjusted his rose gold watch to check the time. Eight fifty-three. Steve was nothing if not punctual. They made it all the way to the massive glass doors around the corner without further barbs, though Bucky could think of several, and then all his thoughts just flushed right out of his brain.
The sexy guy with the rainbow soles was standing in the conference room with another, younger, dark-haired man in navy. Bucky's eyes shot to the man's feet momentarily. Today, however, the hottie from the gym wore a double-breasted grey suit and polished brown shoes which made Bucky painfully aware of how casual his carefully chosen outfit seemed in comparison.
"Morning, Sam," Steve nodded, "Torres."
"Good to see ya, Rogers," the man in navy said, shaking Steve's hand.
The gym hottie-Sam, Bucky tried to remember, the Sam-stared directly at him.
Steve clapped him on the shoulder. "This is Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Sam Wilson and Joaquin Torres."
"Nice to meet you, officially." There was that sexy voice again, and Bucky noticed with interest that Sam's hands weren't soft. He worked-just as Bucky knew he worked out-and maybe, just maybe, this guy wasn't as hands-off as Bucky assumed of AFS. This new development had Bucky all distracted from the purpose of the meeting, suddenly overcome with the idea that the 'Sam' he had made several joking comments about to Steve was one and the same with a man he met for three seconds and then dreamed about after impulse buying matching shoes. What the hell was he thinking?
Bucky smoothed his hand over his black Burberry polo as they settled into chairs across the table from each other, his hands clamming up. On any other day, Bucky Barnes was the flirt in any given room. He always found someone around attractive, physically or personally, but his body usually took much longer to react in any noticeable way. Where Steve was diligently punctual, Bucky was steadily charming, but he currently felt a mess of curiosity over the participants with exactly zero interest in the topic of the meeting.
"Now, let's talk specs." Sam's smile was genuine but not overly familiar. "I know you Army boys have a lot on your plates with this assignment, and we wanted a check-in on the progress." Bucky leaned forward a bit as he listened, biting his tongue when 'Army boys' were mentioned. Sam only thumbed through a file Torres slid over the table. "So…" he drawled while waiting.
Bucky took a deep breath, and there it was again, coconut oil, a vacation breezing through his chest. Dammit. He was going to have to disappoint the man. "Yeah, what you guys sent over has no consideration of weight, so we've had to go back in and alter some materials used to balance it back out. Those new composites have to be stress-tested to make sure high-altitude targeting will be as accurate as ground-level."
Professionally, Sam didn't miss a beat which made Bucky slump ever-so-slightly. "How long are we talking here? Why wasn't this in the emails, Steve?"
"It's all underway-"
Sam leaned back and bounced as he reclined. "We've got a deadline of three months for a functional prototype." Somehow his tone rang with a stern air while his face remained perfectly serene.
"Functional being the keyword," Torres added. "What would we be looking at if the composites don't work?"
Bucky rolled his eyes out of habit. He fought the urge to whittle down these men's confidence in a tirade of technical jargon while simultaneously fighting the urge to watch Sam's thumbs roll over each other as he held his knee up.
"I am-" Bucky noticed Steve cock his head in correction "-we are testing three possible materials right now. I'm sure one, or a combination of all of them, will work sufficiently. We can make it in three months." Steve did it again, and Bucky just barely stopped his eye roll this time. "Sir."
That seemed to amuse Sam greatly, and a slightly more devious smile crawled between the sharp lines of his beard. "Okay." He clapped his hands together. "That's what I wanted to hear."
Hottie was pleased which, in turn, made Bucky feel warm and irrationally willing to work overtime to complete the composite tests. He was staring at Sam's lips when Bucky realized the corner of his own mouth twitched as though to match it. Instead of letting it linger, he sat back in his seat and bit his tongue as Steve took over the lead, discussing other details with Sam. Bucky completely forgot to listen again, but he was sure it would all be in an email by lunchtime. That's always how these things worked. Then he let his mind wander to what kind of workout Sam Wilson had been doing the day before and what his muscles looked like in other clothes or no clothes at all.
"Well," Steve burst, shutting the file with a thwack on the table, "looks like we've got some work to do. Torres, let's go get you a copy of that contract schematic to take over to R&D." Steve walked Torres down the hall while Sam stood holding the conference room door open.
Bucky shot out of his chair, completely unaware the meeting had concluded, and awkwardly made his way to the elevator alone. His eyes were glued to his new shoes when shiny brown ones came into view.
The elevator dinged, and Bucky glanced up to see a warmer smile on Sam Wilson's face.
"Nice sneaks," Sam winked before sauntering onto the golden lift. "Coming?"
"Bucky!"
His head snapped to the side. Bruce Banner waved a hand from the far hall, and by the time Bucky opened his mouth to reply, he was looking back at the closed, mirrored door.
"Coming," Bucky called to Bruce, sighing as he walked down the hall.
"Hey, glad I caught you," the seven-time Ph.D. and resident weed-grower of Stark Industries chirped before shuffling Bucky into his office, "the heads of the five European satellite campuses are in town for Stark this week, and Tony wants a couple of the guys to take them around town for some fun. You in?"
"Uh…" Bucky couldn't think to answer him while staring at the piles of hand-shredded paper all over the room. "Are you channeling a guinea pig, Doc?"
"Oh, right, that. I got angry at something." Bruce shrugged. "And then I fixed it. So, you up for a night out?"
"Sure," Bucky smiled. He could get his groove back after such a disastrously disappointing two days.
Bruce let out a huge breath. "Great because otherwise, I don't know how to entertain this Zemo guy."
It was Sarah's last night in town, and Sam could not imagine subjecting his beloved sister to the extremes of a Stark Industries party night at the local club. They stayed in and watched old movies and cartoons, the ones Sarah had recently rewatched with her boys and realized how adult and/or dark the humor was. Sam always laughed so much with Sarah, and every visit she made was really refreshing, even when she only got a break from his nephews twice a year. Of course, he traveled to visit them and their parents regularly, but sibling time was something special, adult without judgment, right up until Sarah stuck her two cents in.
For the umpteenth time that night, Sam checked his phone. He was being inundated with texts about the wild night out with the Europeans. Now it was videos. He wouldn't click on those during the movie, but Sarah slapped his leg from across the couch anyway.
"You're going to miss the part where the kid totally kisses an adult woman," she shrieked, pausing Blank Check on his Disney+ app. "This is the cringiest of the cringe I've brought you and what is this? Who are you talking to?" The heightened pitch at the end warned Sam that Sarah was trying to winkle relationship news out of him.
"Nobody-" he playfully grabbed her foot "-it's just this work party where some guys are getting too drunk and dancing like idiots. Tony loves to film everything."
Sarah did not give up, arching an eyebrow. "Anybody special in those?"
Sam tickled her foot in defiance. "Noooo," he assured, "now turn it back on. You said we could end on Dark Shadows, and this kid-" Sam pointed as he waved the newly grabbed remote "-is basically tiny Tony. Let's go."
Sarah clucked her tongue. "One day…"
"Yeah, yeah, you'll be the first to know. Hand me the candy." He held his hand out expectantly.
"I killed it," she admitted.
Sam stared at her in disbelief. "You are the worst. Maybe I won't tell you shit."
"Fine, I'll make you more popcorn." Sarah rose from the couch, headed to the kitchen with their empty bowl in hand.
"Not the same," he called after her to the kitchen, watching his sister wave him off and then checking the new buzz on his phone. Tony had sent a picture where he hand-circled two people in the corner. Sam zoomed in to find that man with the sneakers making out with some girl in the corner of the club. He might not have recognized-what was his name-if not for the tiny ponytail at the back of his head. That paired with the broad shoulders he'd noticed at the gym was a dead giveaway.
Sam snorted. "Read that wrong," he mumbled.
"What?" Sarah called from behind him.
"Nothing. Screw it! Bring the ice cream out."
Weeks went by, and Sam was up to his elbows answering questions and coordinating info from research specs to other departments. He never had much of a life outside those concrete, glass, and gold walls unless forced to, mainly by Sarah who had long gone back to Louisiana. He could hear her griping about how often he looked at his phone and knew she'd be even angrier now if she could see him glued to the screen, walking around until he bumped into something or someone. Sam managed to get to Steve's desk without incident for a few in-person confirmations and a chat about possibly hitting the gym together after work and then again Friday morning when the yawning started.
Steve dutifully pointed towards his floor's break room with a knowing raise of his eyebrows. "And yes, we have the good stuff."
"Dark roast, eh? Just like me." Sam did a small dance on his way over to the little inlet kitchen where a couple of guys were chatting over their own liquid motivation, and the dark nubbin of hair at the back of one's head told Sam that Bucky Barnes was right there in front of him, short sleeves tight around his biceps. Sam listened while Bucky excitedly sold his coworker on his favorite brand of jeans, Lucky Brand, and as Barnes put it: "you're damn right they named it that for a reason."
Sam poured his coffee and leaned against the counter casually, eyeing the backside of Bucky to verify such a lofty review. He wasn't wrong. A good hug around those thick thighs, pockets high enough to show off the swell of ass cheeks. Sam slowly sipped, allowing himself this nice reverie since he'd eaten breakfast, lunch, and dinner at his desk for half of the last month. He deserved a little pick-me-up, maybe a pick-him-up. Must be some hot coffee, Sam considered as his belly warmed.
The guy Barnes excitedly spoke to finally noticed Sam at the end of the counter, a pitiful look of fear draping over his features.
Sam tilted up his mug. "Don't mind me," he drawled, and Bucky whipped around to see who his mark was looking at. What was that flicker across his face? Anger? Annoyance? Sam couldn't tell, but he wouldn't have been surprised by a bit of disdain from the man for whom he was working so hard.
"Nevermind. I'll send you the link," Bucky whispered to the guy who promptly scuttled off to the opposite end of the building. He then sighed and turned towards Sam, easing over without making eye contact and tentatively reaching for the pot handle. "If you're here to tell me to get back to work," the cutie started, head held low before flicking his eyes up toward Sam, a waft of fruity shampoo kicking the air, "then I'd like to say first that I'm on hour seventy this week already, Captain Wilson-" Bucky cleared his throat "-sir."
Sam couldn't help it. He chuckled listening to the overtly disrespectful tone implied by the wounded puppy. He'd run a toy off, and suddenly, Sam wanted to play, too. He slid his phone out of his pocket and tapped through his saved photos.
"What?"
"Oh, just remembering how informal you were at this work outing…" Sam holds up the screen so Bucky can see the circled photo.
Bucky's eyes went wide in an instant as he over-poured the hot liquid over his hand. "Shit, uh, that's not-ow." Bucky dropped the whole mug into the sink to get his hand under the cool tap.
Sam kept smiling but flipped over a new mug from the clean row, making Bucky a fresh cup. "You okay?" He held out the replacement as the cute, flustered man in the same little man-bun dried his red hand.
"I'm bi."
The words just fell out and landed in the air between them, and Sam couldn't help but really laugh at the matching shocked look on Bucky's face. He had thick, dark lashes covering crystal clear sky-blue eyes, and now, a flush high on sharp cheekbones. With each passing second, the red rolled down farther to Bucky's neck.
Sam decided to take pity on the pretty thing and released him from their intense stare, flicking his gaze down to the still-offered mug. "Well, okay."
Bucky's mouth opened and closed at least three times during the audible exhales through his nose. Finally, he grimaced and delicately took the coffee from Sam. "Thank you," he started quietly, "sir."
It was adorable, painfully adorable to watch Bucky nearly squirm out of his skin, but Sam had to put him out of his misery. "Sam is fine, Barnes."
The broad shoulders relaxed almost instantly. "Bucky. Everyone calls me Bucky."
"Well." Sam chuckled at his own evil thought. Deliberately, he raised his free hand to make an aiming gun gesture, and 'fired.' "Bye, Bucky."
Just as Sam imagined, poor, cute Bucky's jaw nearly slapped the carpeted floor as Sam left for his own department. He sipped his own coffee with a smug grin plastered across his face. It had been a while since flirting hadn't felt like a chore, and he'd forgotten how nice it could be, to joke, to stare, to torture ever-so-slightly. He felt so good, in fact, that Sam distractedly opened up a browser and looked up the brand Bucky had bragged to the other man about. They were nice. They did make the model's legs and butts look good. Bucky's thighs, however, made them look better.
Sam floated on his happy, distracted cloud for the rest of the day until the shit hit the fan. One of the composites being tested by Steve's department failed, disastrously failed, meaning Bucky failed, and Sam had to check himself with the realization that the cute guy who had his heart all aflutter was actually his subordinate. Bucky was off-limits, and that reality crippled Sam for a few days until he finished purging all the tough conversations at work. He got the project back on track, workshopped the problem, and facilitated solutions. He did his job, and so, Sam returned to going through the motions.
He saw Bucky at the gym a few times, rode the elevator with him once or twice, waved when Bucky passed Steve's desk during a random visit. Nothing special. No bright blushes or shy looks. Bucky looked stoic, almost cold, and it made Sam's heart sink a little. Maybe it was for the best.
But when Tony burst into Sam's office one day after lunch, shrieking about a night out at the club, Sam rekindled a tiny spark of hope.
"Who all is coming?"
Tony shot his hands up to the top of the doorframe. "Everybody! Vis has never gone to a club. You have to be there."
There was hardly a half-instant of time before Tony cut back in. "Don't be that guy, Wilson. You better be there," and the heir to the whole company practically skipped down the hall, crashing through the stairwell door when the elevator wouldn't open immediately. "THIS IS THE NIGHT!"
For once, Sam agreed with Tony.