Work Text:
The life of superheroism really is the gift that keeps on giving, Bucky thinks bitterly as Sam looks over at him with a frown.
"I swear it didn't look like that when I left it," he says with a sigh, dragging a hand down his face.
"No, I believe you, Buck," Sam says, still frowning. "It's just that I was actually looking forward to this."
Bucky swears under his breath. Because, yeah, he was also looking forward to this. And has been all week. So, it's awfully disappointing to have spent the time setting up a corner of his apartment's roof terrace all romantic and whatever for him and Sam to have dinner, only to be called out on an emergency job the Spider-Kid dealt with easily enough, and come back to everything strewn around by the wind and dive-bombed by pidgeons.
And sure, maybe Bucky should've gone up to check everything before taking Sam up here, but the sun's setting and it was nice to get flown up here in Sam's arms from the mission site. Sue him for wanting to throw a little more romance into the mix, christ.
The issue is, though, that they've spent the last month trying to have a proper sit down date that wasn't just half-watching a movie on the couch while they fooled around. They've been taking turns each time their attempts for a successful date failed, and Bucky was so confident this one would go well he's even more disappointed to toss the ball back into Sam's court.
"Did you know your building has a pidgeon problem?" Sam asks.
Bucky winces. "No, because I've never seen it like this up here."
"So, you're saying this was a targeted attack?"
"I don't know, why don't you tell me, birdy?"
Sam rolls his eyes, but smiles. Glad for it, Bucky takes his hand.
"Well, I'll still cook you dinner," he says, leading them to the door.
"That's sweet," Sam says softly. "This is really sweet, baby. Wish it panned out the way you wanted."
"Kinda feels like that's not in the cards for us lately," he says as they head into the building and trek down the stairs to his apartment. Sam makes a noise. Then, without thinking on it much, Bucky continues. "You know, work-life balance is an important thing."
"Uh-huh. Who're you telling that to?"
He sighs. "Sam."
"No, no, go on. Maybe I'll listen when you stop piling stuff onto your plate."
Great. Super fucking great. Foot, meet mouth. A conversation they've had about a million times over the last year since Sam took up the shield. A conversation that almost always devolves into an argument.
"I'm just saying," he says, unlocking his front door and holding it open for Sam to go through first.
"And I'm just saying we've been over this," Sam shoots over his shoulder, walking towards the bedroom.
Bucky locks up and follows him, watches him slip out of his wingpack next to the closet and pull on the hidden zippers in his suit, shrugging out of it.
"Yeah," Bucky says, taking off his tac jacket and sitting on the edge of the bed to unlace his boots. "We have. And it's getting us nowhere except weeks of this."
Sam tsks. "I'm not arguing about this."
Bucky twists to look at him. He's pulling on a pair of Bucky's sweats—or maybe they started out as Sam's originally, he's never sure anymore—and looks tired.
"Well, I don't want to have to force you to take a break."
"C'mon man," he says, moving across the bed on his knees. He sits back on his heels next to Bucky and prods his shoulder. "Don't do that. I don't want to do this on top of everything."
Bucky lays a hand on Sam's cheek. "It's just—it's not for lack of us trying, right? So…maybe we should—"
Sam covers his hand with his own. "Maybe we should. But I can't—"
"You can. Or you'll end up having to."
Sam shuts his eyes, letting out a long, deep sigh. Bucky flips his hand against his cheek, folding their palms together. He brings their clasped hands to his mouth and kisses Sam's.
"Not gonna argue, sweetheart."
Opening his eyes, Sam gives him a small smile. "You still cooking or should we order in?"
"Hey, I promised to cook, I'm gonna cook." He leans forward and kisses Sam, feeling something warm unravel in his chest when Sam smiles against his lips.
Later, after dinner and showers and slow, ardent sex, Bucky pulls Sam against him. He lays a hand over Sam's heart, nosing into the nape of his neck while Sam hums contentedly.
"You know if I could, I'd stop time for you," Bucky murmurs against his neck. "Get to do everything, then."
"Oh my god," Sam says. "My ass is that great, huh?"
"Yes, but I'm serious."
Sam laughs, twisting in his arms to face him. "I know, baby. 'Cause I'd do the same."
He runs his hand over Sam's temple, up across his hair, and down to trace the shell of his ear before stopping at his jaw. Sam shivers.
"Let's take a vacation," he whispers. "I can't promise to stop the world from ending but c'mon, sweetheart, let's take a bit of time off. I'll plan all our dates and everything."
Sam rolls his eyes. "Well, if you're planning everything…just—only a week, okay?"
"You know," Bucky grins. "We might be able to make up for all of this if we go on a date every night."
Propping himself up on his elbow, Sam raises an eyebrow. "That a challenge? You are so not planning everything then. I'm going to out date the fuck outta you."
Laughing, Bucky sits halfway up and knocks Sam back against the bed. He hovers over him, kissing Sam when he starts to protest.
"Try me, doll. You won't be able to out woo me."
"You're on," Sam says, wrapping a leg around Bucky and flipping them.
He smiles up at Sam. "Oh, you know I like it when you're on top."
"You are so fucking annoying," Sam says, but kisses him all the same.