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Bucky walked down the street. It was late, exactly 3:26 AM he knew. He always knew exactly what time it was even after an episode of dissociating. It was also why he woke up at the same exact time every day no matter when he went to sleep with the exception that it accounted for time zones. It was part of whatever Hydra had done to him, but it was one he kept to himself. He did not feel like hearing Sam’s commentary on there being a fancy alarm clock in his brain.
He stuck his hands in the pocket of his leather jacket as Sam sighed beside him. “Aren’t we close to your place?”
“How do you know where I live?
Sam looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“You keeping track of me?”
“Says the cyborg who always knows where to show up to start a shouting match with me.”
“You’re predictable.”
“And you’re on the government watchlist,” Sam replied. “I need a shower and food.”
“We need to strategize.”
“All of which is better done not on the street,” Sam replied.
“Fine,” Bucky said, changing sides of the street to direct them toward his apartment. The mission had gone south, fast. They were both exhausted. So, he lapsed into silence and led the Falcon back to his apartment.
“There no elevator or you just enjoying annoying me?”
Bucky turned to him and stared before starting up the eight flights of stairs. He unlocked the doorknob and then two more deadbolts. He felt Sam’s eyes watching him. Bucky could easily enough guess why. His was the only apartment in the hall with this many locks. They were put in special by his landlord, a war vet himself. The man got it, even if the specifics were different.
Bucky stepped in with Sam at his heel and began heading over to what amounted to a kitchen in the small space. He stopped and glanced back to see Sam had not moved.
“There’s no furniture,” Sam said. Then he watched the other man’s eyes fall on the pile of pillows and blankets on the floor. “You have no bed.”
“There’s a lamp,” Bucky said pointing, “The bathroom is there. Are we done saying obvious things?” Sam, for once, ignored his barb and walked on into the kitchen. The Falcon opened the fridge door.
“There’s no food in here.”
Bucky frowned, reaching around Sam and grabbing a box of takeout. He shook it under Sam’s nose. “Food.”
Sam took it and sniffed, making a face. “Not anymore unless super soldiers can’t get food poisoning.”
Bucky shoved it back into the fridge only for Sam to grab it and throw it in the trash.
“And you wonder why I don’t invite you over?”
Sam walked around the open room, stopping beside the pile of blankets. “This looks like a safe house.”
“Well, it’s not. It’s my apartment.” Bucky felt twitchy, like Sam was staring at more than just what amounted to his possessions.
Sam glanced back at him. He could see the thoughts running behind those eyes, but could not make out the shape of them. “I’m going to take a shower, then we’ll get food.” With that, the Falcon disappeared into the bathroom. Bucky felt the tension he had been holding in his body loosen slightly. He took a seat on the pile of blankets, drew his knees up, and let his head fall to them.
_-_-_
Sam got out of the shower and dressed back in his clothes, frowning as he considered the several million questions walking into Bucky’s apartment raised in his mind. He paused before rejoining Bucky and looked at the other man.
The former assassin sat on the pile that amounted to a bed—a nest really. He saw Bucky clutching a shirt. It was a bright blue that did not fit at all with Bucky’s whole late-life goth aesthetic.
“You got coffee in this place?”
Bucky’s eyes jerked up. He tossed the shirt down and got up, walking into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet and Sam caught enough of a glimpse to know it was otherwise empty before Bucky pulled out a jar.
“Is that instant coffee? You are an actual monster,” Sam said, making a face. He walked over to the space Bucky left and looked at the shirt that Bucky had held like a talisman. It was a patriotic kind of blue, Sam realized, and he knew at once who it belonged to. He glanced to the only other things in the apartment, like the stack of old books with broken spines. Sam tilted his head to look at them as Bucky came in and held out a mug.
Sam took it and frowned, “Where’s yours?”
“I uh…just have the one mug.” He pointed to the counter where he had, Sam realized, made coffee in a bowl.
“That’s…”
“Not everyone needs stuff to feel alive, Sam.”
“You kept some of Steve’s.”
Bucky froze, looking at the shirt at Sam’s feet and then to the books, confirming without words everything Sam had suspected.
“I didn’t think the Smithsonian would miss a shirt and some paperbacks,” Bucky replied, his tone biting. Sam stepped up into his airspace.
“You gonna bring up the shield again?”
“Not all of us got over him so quickly.”
The tension in the air between them was violent and Sam could feel it, feel the way Bucky was pushing. It was this kind of pushing that made him drag the super soldier closer in couples therapy and made him want to shove him away here.
But he was standing in the hovel of an apartment that was Bucky’s life, and even exhausted he could see what this was. Sam had gotten in past Bucky’s defenses, and the Winter Soldier was ready to fight him away to put them back up. Bucky Barnes would not be the one that let this energy go, so Sam turned around, shattering it.
“You just going to leave?” Bucky said. His tone was almost the same. Almost. Sam looked back over his shoulder and caught a flicker of something in Bucky’s blue eyes.
Would you have let me? He wanted to ask. “I’m starving and despite looking like a bunker, you don’t have a single can of food.”
“It’s 3 in the morning,” Bucky said, “Everywhere that does take-out is closed.” With those words, Sam knew then that Bucky went hungry often. Just dealt with it on the floor of an apartment that had nothing but that bare minimum and an empty reminder of a man who was not coming back.
“Lucky for you, we walked past a 24-hour convenience store on the way here. We’ll get you some food to put in your bunker and maybe even a second mug?”
Bucky fell into step beside him and they were trudging back down the flights of stairs. “Why do I need a second mug, you planning on inviting yourself over often?”
“I might,” Sam said it like a threat, but he meant it like a promise. After the blip when everything was over, he wondered where Bucky ended up. He knew that Bucky was back on U.S. soil with a pardon in hand. After some digging, he learned where Bucky’s apartment was. He even found out that Bucky had Steve’s old phone, on record so the government could keep track of him for his mandated therapy appointments.
Sam’s started sending text messages to Steve’s old number.
Sam: Looks like we both made it back.
Sam: Did you see they are calling it the blip? What kind of stupid ass name is that?
Sam: Let me explain read receipts. I know you are opening these.
Sam: No that’s ok, I’ll keep texting to myself
Sam: Maybe I’ll use this as a place for notes. I’ll put grocery lists and work out times.
Sam: Day 22 with no contact, I am now convinced these messages are being read by the ghost of Bucky Barnes.
Sam: That last one would have been so funny if you knew what ghosting was.
He kept up the one-sided conversation. Slowly, it got further and further between messages, but he never let too much time go by without sending something. Every time, after a few seconds, the message said read. Every time, he received nothing in return.
When Sam had tried to imagine how Bucky was living, he hoped that the man had found some peace and was maybe making good use of some tech he picked up in Wakanda to live in whatever amounted to bliss for Bucky Barnes. Sam feared it was more likely he was not living at all.
As so often happened since the blip, his fears were closer to the truth than his hopes.
Sam walked down the remaining stairs and headed out on the street with Bucky at his side. He glanced sideways at the Winter Soldier. “Bucky, what was he to you?”
“What kind of question is that, Sam?”
“A real one,” Sam replied back, tone clipped, “A sincere one, remember sincerity? That thing that causes you physical pain?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“You know what? Nothing. Say nothing. Go back to staring it’s way less annoying,” Sam replied, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He was too tired to do this with Bucky. Thinking about Steve made him tired.
“He was my best friend. He was my brother in arms, he was my…” Bucky stopped and Sam turned to look at him. He could see Bucky’s mind working behind those eyes. “Everything.” Bucky let out a breath, “I navigated by his gravity for so long I don’t know what’s left without him. There. Sincerity. You happy?”
Bucky started walking again but Sam did not. “Were the two of you…?”
“No, Sam. Apparently not,” Bucky replied turning to him, “Steve loved Peggy and I loved Steve, but Steve left to be with her the minute he got the chance didn’t he?”
Sam had always wondered. It was not like Steve and Bucky ever explained their relationship. It was not like Bucky ever explained much of anything about his life.
“I thought…”
“Thought we were together? Yeah, you weren’t the only one.”
Sam did not know what his face did, but he knew that his chest felt tight. Bucky started walking again, “Don’t look at me like that, Sam. Not you.” Sam shook it off and followed him.
“I didn’t know.”
“Why would you know?”
They arrived at the convenience store then, but neither one of them reached for the door. Bucky met his eyes and Sam returned it. Finally, Sam broke the silence.
“Come on, even cyborgs have to eat,” he said, pulling open the door and letting them in. He began making his way through the aisles of the store. He decided to go for cereal. It was almost time for breakfast at this point. “Does the Winter Soldier have a sweet tooth? No, you definitely eat some of that old man cereal right?” Sam looked at him, “Something high in oats.” He looked at Bucky expecting to see him ready to banter back, but the other man was just standing there.
“Just grab one,” Bucky said, and he went to another aisle. Sam grabbed one—with sugar thank you—and followed after him. “I’m getting food for your apartment, the least you could do is not make me guess what you like.” He realized as he entered the next aisle that Bucky was not gathering other supplies. He was just standing there in the aisle. Sam watched him, noticing the way he was not being pulled into their usual back and forth.
Maybe talking about Steve had been a mistake.
“You still on this planet, Barnes?”
“Fuck off, Sam,” Bucky replied. He reached up and grabbed a loaf of bread that Sam was pretty certain he had not even looked at. Then he stopped again.
“Milk?” Sam asked. The former assassin nodded and headed toward the fridges. Sam followed slower, watching his movements. Bucky was not spaced out, he was shutting down. He watched Bucky grab the first carton he found.
“That’s creamer…”
Bucky looked at it and then shoved it back into the fridge.
“Bucky,” Sam said, “Do you not…go grocery shopping?”
“It hasn’t been my first priority.”
Sam blinked at him, then he reached out and grabbed the man’s shoulder. He turned him slightly and saw the way his eyes were a little off. He frowned. “Buying food isn’t a priority?”
“No Sam, believe it or not.”
“What do you eat?”
“Take-out!” Bucky replied.
“You…don’t shop?”
“I get the basics,” Bucky replied quickly.
“Instant coffee and toilet paper?” Sam guessed.
“There are a lot of options!” This was not bantering Bucky, this was Bucky Barnes at his limit. Sam frowned, he felt out of step.
“The options are…a problem.”
“I was a kid when I joined the army!” Bucky said, his tone clipped. “You get rations. People tell you where to go, what to eat, who to be. And then Hydra…” His words seemed to stumble out of his mouth. “I never got to say no to anything.” The ‘anything’ made Sam feel cold. The ‘anything’ held a weight he doubted he would ever know the edges of. “Even when I was on the run for a while with Steve, he was in charge. When I was hiding in Wakanda, I was healing…there has never been a time when it has been my choice what I did. What I said. Where I went, or yes Sam, what I ate. I don’t even know what I like because it’s been so long since anyone asked me.”
Sam stood in front of him, watching Bucky deflate from those declarations.
“So you walk into a grocery store full of options and…”
“Yeah.”
Sam stared up at the ceiling to give himself a second to figure out what he needed to do. Bucky Barnes was a ball of trauma constantly unraveling another layer. Part of him wanted to just grab things for Bucky, get some food in him and let the therapist deal with this newest revelation. That was what Steve would have done.
That was what Steve did do. Wasn’t that what Bucky had just told him? Steve just did things for him. Sam for the millionth time cursed Steve and his inability to see past his own hero complex. “Come on.”
“Come…on?” Bucky asked.
“We’re about to grab all 10 types of cereal off that shelf and try them all at your place.” Sam stopped, “A cereal flight.”
“A cereal what?”
“Fucking forget it and fill your cyborg arms with boxes,” Sam replied. Bucky complied because of course he did. Sam watched that and cringed. He would have to be careful with direct commands going forward. He took a breath. One thing at a time. He grabbed a last item off the shelf and took a few steps up to the cash register as Bucky laid down the boxes. Sam paused, reaching for his wallet. Bucky shook his head and pulled his out instead. He passed a card across to the clerk. Sam watched the exchange before looking back up. “Bucky, do you have a job?”
“Does it seem like I have a job, Sam?” Bucky asked, annoyed and tired.
“How do you have money?” Bucky grabbed the bags of cereal and headed out. Sam followed behind, studying him.
“I have an account…I guess Steve set it up before he left.”
Sam blinked. “You’re living in Steve’s apartment. Or an apartment Steve bought for you. Off of Steve’s money with Steve’s stuff.”
Bucky’s shoulders tightened, but he did not disagree.
“No wonder you’re hung up on the damn man,” Sam sighed. Bucky chose to ignore that one, and Sam decided maybe that was for the best for everyone.
They got back to Bucky’s place and Sam started unpacking the bags. “So do we sit on your floor nest?”
Bucky glared, but did fall onto the blankets. Sam shrugged, sitting the boxes down beside him and grabbing the bag with their other items. He watched Bucky frown at it.
“What is that?”
Sam held up the milk and a mug. “Now you have two.” He sat down beside Bucky and handed it over. The super soldier squinted at it like he was evaluating a threat.
“What is on this? Is it a reference?” Bucky asked, turning the mug over. “It looks like a grid of stoplights.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Well, now I’m worried about it,” Bucky replied, “What the hell is a captcha?”
Sam shrugged, opening a box of cereal.
Bucky narrowed his eyes, but he did get up and get the ridiculous bowl of coffee. He poured it in the mug, and run water over the bowl. Bucky came back with both and sat down.
“Do you have a second bowl?”
“Do you think I have guests often, Sam?” Bucky asked settling down cross-legged in front of him.
“I’m eating out of your damn bowl then,” Sam replied. “Damn coffee bowl.” He held up a box of coco puffs. “Ready?”
Bucky frowned at the box. “I guess.” He leaned forward and watched Sam pour it in. His skeptical expression brought the slightest smirk to Sam’s face. “I don’t know if I want that in my mouth.”
“You just watched me eat snake guts.”
“We’re not currently undercover,” Bucky replied.
“Super soldier and giant baby about food, what a charming combo.”
“Oh shut it,” Bucky said, stuffing a spoonful in his mouth. “This…tastes like candy,” Bucky said, making a face. “Why is it chocolate?”
“Sugary cereal is the backbone of this society, Bucky Barnes.”
“Society is crumbling around us, Sam Wilson,” Bucky replied.
“But we will go down happy as long as we have access to sugary cereal,” Sam replied. Bucky shook his head and poured some of the Captain Crunch in his bowl. He made a horrible face.
“Cinnamon,” He said, practically tossing the box away from himself.
Dislikes too much sugar, hates cinnamon, Sam thought. Then Sam realized he was doing a mental catalog of what Bucky liked and disliked. He did not know what to do with this information. He shook off the thought and looked at Bucky. A patch of powdered sugar was stuck in his stubble. Sam laughed.
“What?” Bucky said, already defensive.
“You have a,” Sam motioned with his thumb at his own cheek. Bucky brushed at it with his gloved fingers and fully missed the mark. “No, up, no above that. No, not there.”
“Sam!”
“Oh come on,” Sam said, leaning over he wiped the sugar off himself in one rough go.
“What is with you and the physical contact,” Bucky said, but he did not move away and Sam realized just how close he had gotten.
“It’s nothing,” Sam replied, pulling back.
“Really? I don’t see you manhandling anyone else.”
What was with him and the contact? Sam wondered. This was the therapy room all over again, when he grabbed Bucky by the thighs and drew him close. There was also the time he grabbed Bucky by the shirt to pull him into the freight away from the rain of bullets. And the time he grabbed Bucky from under the truck and flew with him into the field. And it was also true that it was Bucky and only Bucky. Sam never found himself dragging around any other people in his life. He would just find the man in his face about something stupid—again—and he would just reach out to grab him. He would find them in trouble and he would reach out to protect him. He would find Bucky’s moods shifting and he would reach out a hand to his shoulder to ask, “Are you okay?”
Sam’s first reaction in all situations was to grab onto Bucky Barnes.
He shook his head trying to clear that thought.
“Just eat your cereal and stop staring,” Sam replied. Bucky poured in a bit of raisin bran. As Bucky considered the cereal, Sam considered him. They were sitting cross-legged on what amounted to Bucky’s bed, knees just shy of touching, eating cereal from the same bowl.
It had seemed so natural until he spent any time thinking about it.
Sam frowned at Bucky’s face. Bucky had not seemed excessively bothered by the touch, even when he questioned it, but Sam was learning not to assume Bucky would say what bothered him. “Do you mind it?”
“You know, this one is fine,” Bucky said, “I don’t know I would say I like it, but it’s not war rations.”
“Not the cereal, Buck, though noted.”
“Noted?”
“Don’t…distract me,” Sam said, feeling annoyed. Now Bucky was looking at him again. “You asked me about the physical contact. Do you mind being touched?”
Bucky’s expression closed off a bit.
Sam cringed. Of course. He should never have grabbed Bucky like that, pulling him closer. It just never occurred to him, not until Madripoor. “When Zemo touched you…that wasn’t the first time?”
Bucky sat the bowl down slowly. “It was the first time Zemo did.”
“When you said you couldn’t say no to anything…”
Bucky looked at him and Sam found himself staring into those blue eyes, staring into the pain that radiated from them. “I meant anything.”
“Bucky…” Sam started, but he saw Bucky closing off again. “I won’t do it again. I didn’t think…damn Bucky, I never thought you had…”
“I don’t know if I like being touched.”
Sam stopped talking and went quiet, letting Bucky approach the topic in his own careful way.
“I used to, before the war. I remember when…when Steve would throw his arm around me,” Bucky said, then he frowned. “Now I don’t. I mostly don’t want people to touch me, but I think I want to be touched.” He sighed in frustration, “That doesn’t make sense.”
Sam started to say, it does because it’s trauma, but he held the words back. “It makes sense,” he said instead. Then Bucky looked up at him.
“I didn’t mind touch when you…in the therapy room. It was fine.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he talked, “And when you did just now.” He looked up and Sam watched something like uncertainty cross his eyes. “I don’t mind it when it’s you.”
Sam’s eyes widened. Of all the things he imagined Bucky saying in a million years he would never have guessed it would be those words. He thought, even if Dr. Strange saw thousands of possible versions of this moment, he would never have predicted this one. “You don’t?”
“I don’t seem to,” Bucky said.
Sam looked at him, studied his face. “You want to be touched,” he said, realizing that was a part of what Bucky admitted.
“I…I think so,” Bucky replied.
Sam frowned. It felt like dangerous water, in more than one way. He stared directly into Bucky’s eyes. “Things are different now. You can say no. Any time. Any time anyone touches you, you can say no.” Bucky was listening and Sam was watching. He watched for any sign that Bucky was not telling him how he felt. “Do you want me to touch you now?”
The former assassin gave a slight nod.
“Bucky, I think while we figure it out, I’m going to need you to say it out loud.”
“Ok,” Bucky said, his voice quiet.
“Bucky, can I touch your arm?”
Bucky nodded again.
“Bucky?”
“Yes.”
Sam reached over and gently touched Bucky’s flesh and bone arm. He gripped it, gently, but enough that Bucky could feel it, then he looked up into blue eyes. “How’s that?”
He watched Bucky concentrating and for a second, Sam tried to imagine what it would be like to feel so disconnected from his own body that he needed to slowly work his way into feeling what he was comfortable with. “That is fine.” Bucky frowned, “When it’s you.” Sam frowned, thinking about the other things Bucky had not minded, but he was not about to grab him by the thighs and drag him closer again.
Thinking about that, this close to Bucky felt dangerous.
This was about helping Bucky figure out what he wanted, not the confused feelings Sam could not yet name. “Can I…” Sam said, not meaning for his voice to come out that breathy. “touch your neck?”
Bucky nodded, then swallowed. “Yes.”
Sam made sure to avoid touching Bucky the way Zemo had. Instead, he reached around and cupped the back of Bucky’s neck. He watched the super soldier close his eyes and open them.
“Do you…”
“I like that,” Bucky said before he finish asking the question. They were closer now, moving slowly as they moved through each other’s airspace. “Sam…”
“If there something you want, you can ask…” Sam started explaining. Bucky leaned a little closer. Sam was not used to seeing this level of uncertainty in Bucky’s eyes. Then he realized Bucky’s breath was starting to quicken. “This is too much.” Sam started to lean away but Bucky caught him by the front of his shirt.
“That’s not it,” and Bucky’s voice was the one that was breathy now. “Will you…
“Whatever you want,” Sam said before he even thought what he meant by that.
“…kiss me,” Bucky finished, and it was the permission Sam did not realize he had been waiting for. He felt like surging forward, he held back. Sam leaned in gently and laid a soft kiss on Bucky’s lips. He tasted like coffee and sugary cereal and Bucky. He tasted somehow exactly the way Sam knew Bucky would taste and Sam did not have time to wonder when he had ever stopped to think about how Bucky’s lips tasted. He started to pull back, but Bucky’s grip on his shirt tightened. “Stay?” This time Bucky deepened the kiss, his lips opening. Sam’s own breath was speeding up.
This. This had been what Sam wanted. With every bickering match. With every time they got a little too hands-on in the heat or arguing. With every moment when they kept connecting and disconnecting. Sam had not known before this moment, but this was what he wanted all along.
And Bucky was leaning, laying back on the nest of blankets and pulling Sam with him. Their hearts pounding in their chests against each other. Sam pulled away from Bucky’s lips enough to whisper, “Is this ok?”
“Yes, yes…” Bucky said, pulling him back down to him by the shirt, and he was getting lost in those kisses. Drunk on them.
“Bucky,” he breathed against his skin.
“Sam,” Bucky whispered back.
“Can I kiss your throat?”
Bucky groaned, “Yes…hell…yes…”
Sam was careful, more careful than he had ever been. He moved slowly, giving Bucky time to say no. Giving Bucky time to pull away. He gently kissed the flesh of his throat. Bucky closed his eyes, heading leaning back to let Sam have more access to his throat. “Is this okay?” Sam asked again. Bucky gave a quick nod and spoke in half a moan that Sam understood. He kissed his throat again.
Sam put his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder and suddenly felt tension run through every inch of the man under him. “Bucky?” Sam pulled back, he saw Bucky’s breath was quickening now in an entirely different way. Sam rolled off him and away, hands up between them. “It’s ok. You can say no and I’ll stop.”
“No,” Bucky ground out, he covered his face, struggling to steady his breath.
“It’s ok,” Sam said, “It’s ok. Breathe. It’s ok.” Sam started to sit up but Bucky’s hand shot out and caught him by the shirt.
“Don’t go just…wait.”
Sam nodded slowly, not moving further. Bucky’s breath started to slow and he dropped his hands.
“Ok.”
“Bucky, if this is too much.”
“I….please?” Bucky asked. Sam laid back down, propping himself up by the elbows.
“You don’t have to say…” Sam frowned, “Bucky, I want this too.” He shook his head, “This isn’t some weird experiment. I…want this.”
Bucky frowned, studying him. “You…”
“I want this with you,” Sam said, “If it’s what you want.”
Bucky nodded, and Sam saw that he did not quite understand, or maybe he did not quite trust the truth of it. “Can we try again?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Sam moved carefully again, covering Bucky with his body. He felt a little shiver run through the Winter Soldier. “Is this good?”
“Yes,” Bucky replied.
Then Sam kissed him, soft and light at first. Bucky clenched is fist around Sam’s shirt again, his mouth raising to deepen the kiss. Sam felt every nerve in his body firing at once. Then Bucky bit his lip and it practically felt like Sam was going through the stratosphere. Sam’s hand went to Bucky’s waist. “Is this…” he almost asked, but Bucky went tense again. Freezing almost entirely. Sam pulled back at once, but this time it was Bucky who rolled away. “You can always say no,” Sam said quickly.
Bucky shook his head without looking at him and Sam realized he couldn’t. Bucky couldn’t speak at all.
Sam felt his shoulders sink, “It’s ok,” he said again, “I heard you anyway.”
Bucky covered his eyes with his hand. As his breath settling slowly, he got out, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I’m just…” Bucky said.
“It’s ok.”
“It’s not damn ok,” Bucky said, anger flaring in his tone. “Just go.”
Sam froze, “Do you want me to go?”
“Don’t you want to?” Bucky asked, and behind the anger, Sam heard pain.
“Bucky…”
“I’m a mess. I’m this…pile of trauma and bad manners and…I’m hung up on Steve.” Bucky dropped his hand and looked over. “Why would you want to stay.”
It was all true, Sam knew. Every word of it except the part where he wanted to leave. “I told you…I want this too.”
Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on his, asking questions without words.
“Look I…don’t know what this is, but I…I think I’ve been wanting it all along.” Sam let out a breath, “And not just this part, though don’t get me wrong, I very much want this part. The other stuff too. Eating cereal out of your damn only bowl, and buying groceries with you in the middle of the night, and fighting with you at my side, and fighting with you. I want all of it.” He looked back into Bucky’s eyes, “And if—when— you want to be touched, I think I want to be the one doing it.”
Bucky grabbed him again and kissed him. He pulled back without letting go. “Will you…” Sam saw Bucky flounder. He was a long way from saying what he wanted. Maybe even from knowing what you needed.
But this time, Sam thought he knew what Bucky needed even if the other man did not. “Can I hold you?”
Bucky’s eyes widened, “No one has ever…”
“You’ve never just been held?” Sam asked, and Bucky shook his head. “Would you want…”
“Yes.”
Sam rolled onto his side and Bucky shifted so his back was to him, and Sam curled around him. He felt Bucky holding still for a second, then he relaxed into the touch. Then Bucky Barns was shifting until as much of Sam was touching as much of him as possible. He curled into Sam like a shelter.
Sam wanted to be that shelter.
He held Bucky tight and close and safe.
“You good, Bucky?” he asked.
“I’m good, Sam.” Bucky said.
Sam Wilson thought, he could love this man if he let himself.