Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

December 2008—Regina

If there is anything Sam Wilson will remember from Seskatchuan, it was fucking freezing compared to Lousianna. 

The weather was bitter and uninviting, making his nose somewhat sting and his cheeks almost flush, he was sure on the bus ride over at any moment his teammates were going to throw him off the bus for how annoying his occasionally chattering teeth must've been. He seemed almost bored with his surroundings of the parking lot they began to fill out into from the bus once it stopped a decent length away from the building all the most promising young hockey players would be lining into entering. 

Christmas was two days away, which not only meant his mom was going to force his sister and him to rewatch Home Alone when they got home to nicer people and weather, but also that the world’s best and most promising teenagers were going to be seeing who could shine the brightest in the eyes of the recruiters at the World Junior Hockey Championships. This was only going to be the beginning of his big and propitious future, Sam was sure of it.

It would be way too much of a compliment for him to call the Russian hotshot a problem when he hasn’t even seen him in person—he was more of a nuisance if anything. 

James “Bucky” Barnes.

Sam had never heard such an American name on such a phenomenon of a player that had begun to attract eyes not just from Russia any longer. It felt like someone said “hola” at a Mexican restaurant then ordered and spoke in english the entire time. It felt odd when his mom had said his name and was talking about a russian player when she and his father traded names that were promising just like him for the championship. He knew he was one of the luckier players coming to compete considering his parents and older sister flew over to watch the championship take place, he doubted many relatives would normally fly that far for only a possibility at being drafted.

James was an absolute powerhouse on his team. Sam’s groan could probably rival that of the rinks Zamboni when the Russian had been conversed over within the hockey world so much even Louisiana wasn’t safe from it, even though the majority of the people there hadn’t originally been into hockey much until Wilson began to make more of a name for himself. Sam and James were both young candidates who were able to possibly be taken on by a promising team through the NHL draft that incoming June. Everyone who had seen both boys play would’ve expected them to rank the number one and number two picks at the end after the recruiters have seen all that they have needed to see, it became more controversial depending on who you asked would be in which spot. 

Sam was sure where he would end up on the podium.

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Bucky knew where he was meant to place.

He had heard about his close competition Sam Wilson, who came from a place in America where hockey was about as popular as baseball was for eskimos. Bucky knew he was from the US too—Brooklyn, but his mother had moved them out to Moscow when he was too young to remember. If anyone mistook him from coming from an American team, it was quickly eradicated when he spoke with a thick Russian accent. That and his English was total dogshit. 

Bucky had never met Sam Wilson, never even played against him, and yet he was sure that he would destroy him in front of the recruiters and anyone watching.

His higher escalation to fame would start with returning a gold medal to Russia from Canada, the birthplace of hockey. After that, he would return with his team back home to Moscow and lead them into the championships. Nobody then would be able to call him more American than Russian. This was going to be his year without a doubt in his mind. He had been sure that 2009 would be his year once he had begun to sense the growing skill difference between him and other young hockey players. No nobody from Louisiana was going to take that from him.

The Russian team arrived just as the sun began to bleed light into the dark sky, sharp trees lacking leaves pierced dark silhouettes around the building they arrived at. Inside contained a rink that looked just about like any other rink Bucky had played in. The American team had already begun to run drills as his team and him watched, which meant the Canadian team weren’t on until later. It occurred once again to him that once he was drafted he would be moving away from his family to be closer to his team, suddenly 17 didn’t feel as grown up to him. The practice jerseys that they were given for today didn’t have any identifying names on the back, so he couldn’t get a good idea of what Wilson looked like within the sea of other teenage boys. He didn’t have long to look either before his coach yelled at him to get his ass into the locker rooms to change then get out onto the ice. Everything stuck to a strict schedule today, planned down by the minutes. 

The rinks Zamboni drifted across the ice in even, tight lines as the russian clean awaited it to finish so they could begin drills. The rink was dingy and not nearly as good as the other rinks he’d skated at, but it wasn’t the worst. It’s not like they would officially be playing here either, that much better rink was located more downtown within the much larger arena. Few people here and there were littered around watching the Russian players begin to practice. Most likely they were some people's more dedicated relatives from Russia, some scouts obviously, and some of the more hard-core hockey fans. 

It couldn’t have been more than 45 minutes within his practice before Bucky felt eyes from the rows. It wasn’t the gaze of scouts. Up in the rows sat a young man flanked by who he assumed was his parents. He wore a jean baseball cap and a thicker looking jacket. He couldn’t decipher who it was from the angle of the lighting and him currently at practice, but he imagined he wasn’t that far off by assuming it could be Wilson. 

“Oh I’m sorry, do you have other more important places to be Barnes?” his coach asked snidely in Russian towards him. Bucky ducked his head, embarrassed, and skated closer towards his coach with the rest of his teammates, some casted nosy glances while others kept their eyes to their coach as he continued to speak. 

He would never say it messed with him, but he did not appreciate that his competition Wilson—if it was Wilson, could be watching them practice. Maybe it was just an intimidation thing. Perhaps he made Wilson nervous enough that he felt like he had to watch how he moved on the ice to feel confident enough for when they met for real to compete. 

Wilson should be nervous.

Once the Russian team's coach called that practice was over, he made his way to the showers to get that sticky feeling of sweat off of him and get dressed. He returned towards the rink afterwards to look through the thick flexible glass, back to where Wilson had been watching in between his parents. James didn’t see any of the three where they were sitting prior, only the Canadian team beginning their own practice as players could be seen either skating small laps or beginning common drills. 

He quickly gave up his search, if you would even call it that, and headed outside realizing he would have plenty of time in the future to constantly be in the arenas. He walked outside of the heftier doors to colder air towards the vending machine. After probably a whole two seconds at looking through the cheap and tasteless things he walked off elsewhere.

Bucky blew warm breath into his hands, cursing quietly as he rubbed his hands together quickly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his parka. If an interviewer were to ask his teammates about his worst flaw, the majority would say the same thing. First that he was an asshole—second, that he had a really fucking annoying habit of zoning out when off of the ice. He had no idea how much time passed. Jesus he needed to get a grip. Or a watch.

“Sorry, I don’t think you’re supposed to smoke here,” somebody nearby told him. Bucky took a moment to translate what the stranger was actually telling him instead of just absently nodding like he understood and walking elsewhere.

He turned to face the person to get a better look instead of just through his peripheral. He now was certain the person that was speaking to him now was Sam Wilson. He looked how you would think he did if you had just heard his name. He had smooth rich skin that contrasted against the pale, barren surroundings. His eyes were warm dark brown that, aside from what looked like sizing up Bucky, were expressive. Wilson was all sharp features as he sported a cropped hairstyle opposite of his own longer hair, usually unkept looking with waves almost to the point of curls—maybe if it wasn’t constantly under a helmet. There was a shadow of facial hair over his lips, like maybe if they weren’t both seventeen there would be more proof there. His eyes were captivating, distractingly so.

“Huh?” Barnes responded, suddenly almost self conscious about how stupid his russian accent must sound.

“The smoking area? It’s over there,” Sam repeated, pointing a smooth, blunt nailed finger towards the oversimplified sign at the farther part of the parking lot—dead smack in the path of the colder sharp breeze that Bucky’s wall had been half blocking. 

He shifted his weight on his feet a bit before continuing to lean on the wall he resided by, Jesus did he really look like a smoker? He internally questioned this as he turned his gaze back to the thicket of leafless trees. 

“Oh, shoot sorry I thought you were smoking” Wilson apologized, like he was trying to keep a conversation going.

“Is okay” Bucky shrugged off, ready for this odd talk of theirs to be over. The quiet was sort of uncomfortable, he expected Wilson to have turned away and walked off by now. Apparently Wilson was not planning to let him go that easily.

“I was hoping to finally meet you, got lucky out here I guess,” he continued, sticking out his hand towards the other boy, “Sam Wilson.”

He couldn’t help but stare at him, fighting a grin at this interaction. If he were to guess how the two of them would’ve finally met, he would’ve predicted at some lame gala they had to attend. Perhaps maybe more profanity thrown around or at least on the ice. 

“Yes,” he responded, taking his paler, pink knuckled hand from the chill out of his pocket and shaking Wilson's hand. Wilsons hand was smooth with a firm grip, How the fuck was his hand that warm? Bucky wondered as he took his hand back, quickly retreating back to its place within his parka. 

“Hope I don’t sound creepy or anything man, but you’re a pretty good player to watch,” Wilson complimented, a shine of easy friendliness glinted off of him, James noticed when he smiled there was a small almost unnoticeable gap between his teeth that most players didn’t have from constantly having teeth replaced or fixed.

“Thanks,” he’d answered curtly, he hoped for Wilson’s sake that he wasn’t complimenting fishing, because he wasn’t going to get anything out of him.

If Bucky was being the most obvious person in the world that he would rather get out of this seemingly one-sided conversation, Wilson was ignoring it like it was a competitive sport. He was beginning to find this man boring. Attractive, but boring.

Wilson continued the conversation, switching topics when Bucky didn’t say anything else, “did any family or anyone come with you from Russia,–Russia right?”

“No,”

“Damn, that must be tough since Christmas is in like, what, two days?”

Bucky was slowly beginning to lose function to translate this boring conversation, like parts of his brain were beginning to shut down from sheer boredom, “is okay.”

The two of them had now been standing outside in the chill for a while now, Wilson flexed his hands to get some feeling back into them.

“Christ it’s cold, does it get this cold where you’re from?” 

“No, colder.”

Wilson nodded, turning to lean onto the same wall as Bucky, peeking up at him from the corner of his eyes, who stood a good two inches taller than him. James awkwardly kept his eyes towards the parking lot, willing himself not to look away towards the trees and towards the other man's tempting gaze. 

This had to have been past American pleasantries by now, was he about to be beat up or attempted to be intimidated outside of the arena?

Wilson’s breath clouded out from between two distracting brown lips, his eyes leaving Bucky to see what he was looking at, as if to inspect what was taking the Russians attention then realizing Bucky was unfortunately awkward and that it wasn’t directed purely to him— or lack of.

“I heard they’re doing this thing next year in Ottawa. You ever been?” 

Bucky pried his eyes away from nothing in particular and down towards the other boy, not wanting to seem like a dick head when the player so far had been nothing but friendly so far. He was going to engage more and give this a shot.

“No. You’ve been before though, yes?” 

“Nah, it’ll be my first time,” Wilson responded, more content that he wasn’t the only one throwing conversation around. 

James, however, looked like he was at gunpoint. He was horribly socially awkward when it came to things outside of his game and everything around it. He had absolutely no idea what else to say past what has already been said. Would it be frowned upon if he just ran away? He was thankful however that the silence no longer felt awkward, instead, turning into a more comfortable quiet between them. 

“I need to head out, my team should be looking for me now,” Wilson added, straightening up from his place on the wall beside him. Bucky tried—and failed, not to look too hard at Sam’s face, whose cheekbones were more noticeable through the strikingly pale atmosphere. He would be lying if he didn’t agree that the Louisiana boy wasn’t attractive. He was sure girls thought that way from Wilson’s hometown. He probably had a girlfriend back home that was waiting for his trip back.

Bucky’s mind came back when he noticed Wilson's hand was now extended towards him. 

“I’ll see you at the tournament right? Good luck,” Wilson chimed, unable to hide a toothy grin as if he was purposefully putting out that James needed luck.

Bucky took his hand and couldn’t help reciprocating that playful smile that Wilson caused to bubble out of him. “You still going to be friendly when we beat you?”

“Yea—no, that's not happening. love the enthusiasm though.”

Bucky knew Wilson fully believed that, it almost made him snicker at the seemingly misplaced confidence. That Wilson would take the gold medal and the NHL would have its new number one draft pick, Hockey’s new fucking royalty with a stupid smile for everyone to worship.

Wilson had another thing coming if he thought Bucky was going to wish him luck. He had no idea James was going to wipe the floor with his cocky ass as soon as they met on the ice. He dropped his hand after and headed towards his back towards him and walked towards the rink.

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When Sam got into his parents car Sarah turned over to immediately interrogate him, about most likely why he was coming from the direction of James Barnes.

“So is he cute up close too?”

Sam turned to face her with a false gasp of betrayal and pushed her farther towards the opposite seat, “Wow, so you just outwardly have no shame. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I’m serious!”

“So what’s he like?” their mother cut in, trying not to pry too obviously too early.

“Honestly? Kind of a dick” he muttered, looking back towards he had been talking with the Russian, if you could call what felt like an interrogation talking.

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As the end of the game was called and the tournament was officially over, the American team stayed close together in the aftermath, seemingly licking their wounds after the painful defeat. The contrast was almost laughable as the Russian team cheered and hollered over their victory. They were forced however to cut their victory short as players from both teams began to skate forward for the line up. Players from opposite sides curtly shook hands with each other as they moved past—a gesture that wasn’t just common but expected in Hockey for sportsmanship.

Sportsmanship that Wilson did not feel for a moment in his pride let along his heart. For starters, Sam was willing to bet on everything that the Russian team had played dirty, and it didn’t help seeing them all snicker and grin at each other in a language he couldn’t decipher. He couldn’t stand playing against them.

For starters, the Russian team was good. Annoyingly so. And for fucks sake, James Barnes was a problem. He was a phenomenon. It was infuriating how fluidly the bigger man moved on the ice, like he was born on the damn thing. Throughout the time of the tournament—even leading up to from some sources, The rivalry between Barnes and Wilson had begun to cause a commotion for the hockey fans growing more aware of them. Sam had been turning a blind eye mostly to the pressure the press attempted to make, but you could only ignore it for so long as Sam began to hate him now for his own self-driven reasons.

He scanned for the taller Russian through the sea of helmets in the lineup, as if finding him on the ice before having to shake his gloved hand would reveal something he had missed within the game. When he had found the other player, he suddenly realized it would be more so a mistake. Barnes' lips were curled into a pleased smirk, his eyes twinkled a bit with content at the predicament. Once Wilson met with him on the lineup, he shook his tersely, like he couldn't let go of the damn thing fast enough. 

“Congrats.”

“I see you at Draft.” he declared, blue eyes sparkling at Wilson from behind the cover of their helmets. 

Well where else do you think, the fucking bahamas? Wilson bit back the remark, not wanting to react poorly. He knew he would be way worse in James’ face if he had won.

The silver medal hung heavy around Sam’s neck, and it wasn’t the weight of it. They could’ve hung a half dead opossum around his neck and it would’ve amounted the same to him. He hung tight within his team, all of them biting back frustrated tears as they remained respectful through Russia's national anthem. He refused to let himself cry and look even younger than he probably looked. When they were finally allowed to leave, Sam had practically teleported off of the ice to get away from the humiliation of second place.

This was not at all how this was supposed to have turned out. In Sam's mind, he was supposed to have taken the gold in Canada, American instead of Russian victory. His quick rise to stardom had brought him to this place and now it felt as if he had chucked it out of the window.

For every time Wilson went against Barnes, it seemed like all of that social anxiety he had remembered in the Russian from their first interaction ceased to exist. He had looked Sam straight in the eyes and poorly bit back a shit eating grin, like he could read the Americans mind and knew exactly where his mind went when he looked at him. Wilson was seen as more of a calm and collected guy. He didn’t let people get under his skin easily, but that goddamned smile he would see on James’ face might as well have been a chainsaw that could do nothing but get under his skin.

Perhaps this is what Sam hadn't realized he needed though. He had become too used to being the best, with such a gap between him and other players, that he didn’t know what to do now that he finally had someone not just to match him but to challenge him. 

All Wilson knew now was that Barnes needed to watch his back, he was coming for him.

Chapter Text

June 2009—Los Angeles

“Sam? Sorry, could you get closer to James, please?” the cameraman requested, cutting through Sam’s train of thought. 

Wilson took a moment to fix his stance as he stood in front of the soon to be flashing cameras and eager reporters, who all seemed like they had their own angles they wanted to achieve. He looked towards the cameraman who had requested that from him to see if the fix was better. 

“Yep, thanks Sam. Okay, smile boys.” He’d said after a curt nod towards Wilson and stepping back a bit with the rest of the photographers as they took aim and fired.

The first few camera flashes had Sam flinch a little from the shock of the flash, a small thing that quickly diminished after some more time passed and he got adjusted to it. He stood close to James’ right, not taking the chance to turn his head to get a better look at him in case someone took a photo and added some hyperbole of a headtitle, like that Sam was trying to size him up during the photos or something of the sort. James seemed more rigid off of the ice than on, a tight small on his face contrasted the big smile he’d seen painted on his face during games. The Russian seemed a little taller than when he had last seen him in January, back when they had spoken a bit before ever playing each other. To the other side of Barnes was another big guy—an American named Rogers Sam hadn’t remembered that much. Jesus, why had Barnes become so noticeable to him that he forgot about the only other American on the podium? Steve held his new jersey out like a shield towards the cameras as he held three fingers up on one hand to show he got third pick, both hands holding each side of the jersey as he showed that he got drafted in Phoenix.

James had his chin raised lightly, eyes past the lenses towards something else as he held up a single finger and his jersey to signify he was the draft's new first pick. Of course he got first and was still being fucking stoic, it was worse than if he was more smug. What was this kid, a machine?

Sam sported a smile without being told, even nudging Barnes once to do the same. He would thoroughly deny this up and down if someone—especially another player asked him, but he had become…the smallest bit…obsessed…with James Barnes. He had heard the Russians teammates call him “Bucky” once or twice, but he really didn’t want to get teeth knocked out on or off the ice from assuming what he could or couldn’t call him. This problem of his had been going on for around six months maybe? It wasn’t like he was some crazed fan, his hunger to be first and his hatred for this confusing player that seemed to constantly one up him had collided into this mess for him. The two had a decent amount in common when it came to their careers. It made Sam realize he knew practically nothing about number one other than what he knew about him on the ice or in interviews. He didn’t know if it was worse that the interviews were pointless or that he actually looked at the interviews. Both of the boys were the team captains of their respective new teams, and both team captains had led their teams to separate championships. Both had also achieved the titles of playoff MVPs, both also scored the most not just compared to their teammates but within their leagues. 

And yet Wilson had fucking silver at home while Barnes had gold.

This occurrence had managed to find Sam again and it was beginning to drive him crazy. Throughout his entire life Wilson could be found in first through his Hockey career. 

Barnes. What an asshole.

It wasn’t like it was the end of the world however. He still had gotten second overall on the draft. Sam was extremely lucky to find himself on the Montreal Captains, which not only meant he would be moving to be closer to his team's hometown in his own place, but that he was also going to be the team captain of one of the most respected and loved teams in the entire league. It seemed like a pretty deal considering Wilson knew a decent amount of languages, fluent in English and French which were spoken the most there. He was sure his face was going to fall off after receiving the news, he had always been a Captains fan since before he could remember, even sure that he forced his family into being team fans when Hockey became more incorporated in their lives after him. Despite this good news it still agitated him that he stood at second. 

Because it genuinely couldn’t get any worse for Sam, Barnes had been drafted by the Boston Hydras, who were Monstreals arch rivals. Sam’s smile faltered slightly at the idea that he would have to see the player more times than he preferred, maybe god just hates me? Sam questioned as he snapped back up towards the camera. This rivalry would’ve died between fans if one of them had been drafted elsewhere, like where the third place guy Steve got drafted. Clearly they weren’t that lucky. 

From here on out it seemed like their careers were intertwined. 

At least that meant that Sam didn’t have to be so polite to Barnes now.

“Hey man, congrats.” Sam said after everything, extending his hand out for Barnes to take, trying to rein in his own frustration.

More of a genuine smile forced itself onto James’ face, "Thank you,” he replied, a little more smug than Sam would’ve preferred. 

Instead of returning a congratulations, or even any words on the matter, he clapped his fucking hand on Sams shoulder.

What the fuck?

He didn’t say anything, just basically patted his shoulder as if he was consoling a Little League child who had struck out. Sam shrugged off the tough, unable to hide the hint of disdain in his eyes. He laughed a little at the sheer fucking audacity, almost retaliating with words much worse than “congrats,” but he lost the chance as both were separated and guided towards opposite dirrections for their own interviews to either account on what happened at the past games or to ask questions. Sam did not want to hear any questions directed towards him on Barnes. He didn’t even want to think about him.

It wasn’t like Sam had been looking for him exactly, but he hadn’t caught sight of the Russian until only after he had gone back to the hotel the players had grown acquainted with. The lobby inside was filled with athletic young men, most cleaned up nicely in suits. Within even his own environment, James stood out. Barnes was one of the taller athletes with dim blue eyes and a cleft chin. Seeing him—here, all cleaned up and dressed in a navy blue suit that seemed to hug his body almost perfectly, he looked more like a model than a hockey player. 

Sam didn’t know how James did it, the way he could look like he didn’t just turn eighteen. Wilson was nearly the same age as the other player and yet he still felt like he resembled a kid, like someone would yell that he was late for class than yell that he had a flight to catch for a game. 

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Bucky had probably been lying in his bed awake for almost an hour before he realized this wasn’t going to work.

It wasn’t like he didn’t work hard today, hell, he’d been drafted first for the NHL. There was nothing higher that day for Bucky to achieve. He went over the events in his head again; standing in the front, two guys flanking him as second and third with cameras flashing at their placement, Sam bumping him with his shoulder to get him to smile properly. He ran his hand over his face as he got up, why did he remember such a small moment of touch so clearly? It wasn’t like they hadn’t touched before, he was sure both of them had been the causes for some bruises they and other opposing teammates possessed from games.

He didn’t want to think about this anymore. He squinted at the newly turned on lamp as he put on sweatpants and sneakers to go to the hotel's gym to clear his mind, maybe even be able to sleep after. He doubled back to grab his room key because every time he forgot it and had to stand stupidly in the lobby waiting for them to print him a new one. Yea, not happening at the dead of night.

When he walked in thankfully no one else was there. Bucky scanned for any of the cardio machines and settled for the stationary bike in the middle of the area. He hadn’t brought headphones or anything, just planned to lose himself to the rhythm of the machine until he was tired enough to head back. 

He didn’t hear when the gym door opened from another person entering the space. It couldn’t have been five minutes that he had been on the bike before the bike to his left was taken.

Sam Wilson looked back at him when Bucky glanced up, nodding at him once as he put his phone and water bottle in the cup holders on his station.

Oh what the fuck.

Bucky turned back to the tinted windows facing them to the front. Maybe he could just ignore the man? He was not going to apologize about winning gold, God he hoped the American player didn’t want to start something in the shared quiet. Why was he even thinking like that? He would ignore Wilson and get through his workout without even thinking about him. It wasn’t like he came down here because he knew Bucky was there. Maybe he just had problems sleeping too and they had the same idea. It could’ve been a decent amount of factors, like the change in the time zones, or maybe he just preferred to go to the gym around midnight so there weren't a lot of people. 

The knob was loud enough to be noticeable when Wilson increased the resistance on his bike, keeping his pace despite it by speeding up. Bucky looked up from the floor. Wilson didn’t look at him, just continued to look down at the floor under the tinted windows like something interesting could maybe be found there. Bucky knew himself as a person to be competitive and a little petty, so he wasn’t overall that surprised when he found himself increasing the resistance on his bike too…slightly heftier than Wilsons while keeping his original speed.

It took almost no time for Wilson to notice. After no more than a minute he was reaching down to add more resistance, noticeable fighting a grin as he waited for Bucky to raise the bar even higher than he did. Bucky couldn’t help the huff of laughter that escaped him as he turned the knob higher on his own bike.

This back and forth kept going for longer than either of them cared to remember. It stayed just the two of them in the desolate gym, the only sounds were the machines and the men's heavy, labored breathing as they kept this charade up. Every time Wilson increased his bike, Bucky did the same, and every time Bucky increased his bike, Wilson did the same. They were both going harder for longer than either of them were probably used to, Bucky’s body was already more than ready to call it quits. He was damned however if Wilson thought he was going to give him an easy win in anything. Even though Bucky knew he would be incredibly sore in the morning, he didn’t want to stop, or even slow down from their pace, until Wilson gave up first. He could beat him.

Wilson, meanwhile, showed no signs of stopping. If anything it looked like he was practically basking in the revelation that Bucky couldn’t keep up.

Bucky knew he was stronger than Wilson, but he had to admit the bastard was fucking fast and had the stamina of a damn racehorse. They kept this uncomfortable pace for maybe another moment or so until Bucky gave in and stopped pedaling and started quickly turning the knob the opposite direction to lessen the load, breathing heavily as he got off. Sam relished his victory a little longer, taking his hands off the grip bars and sitting straight up as he pedaled for a bit. This quickly stopped as he realized how beat he was too and he copied Bucky and got off. By the time Wilson walked over, Bucky was already sitting on the floor with his legs outstretched and his back against the wall.

“Shit,” Bucky said breathlessly. A weak laugh escaped from Wilson as he sat at the opposite side of the wall, more falling into his seat than controlled like the win wasn’t exactly a cake walk. His head was tilted up against the wall so he had to look down at Bucky a bit, the two of them caught their breath from the silly competition. Wilson was sporting a sleeveless gray shirt that was thoroughly darkened by sweat. Both of them sat opposite of each other, their legs not far off from each others; If Wilson moved his Adidas a bit closer it’d graze Bucky’s ankle.

Wilson took his hand and cupped his own neck to wipe off sweat, a vein on his bicep was visible in the lighting. His elbow went down like a sail as he rubbed once at his neck, the muscles in his forearm twitched in response. This insignificant, meaningless gesture Bucky knew he’d done subconsciously maybe a hundred times was for some reason now catching his eye. Bucky didn’t know how to describe Wilson. He was masculine in such a confident, effortless manner. Since their first interaction he possessed a little more of a thin goatee, meanwhile it felt like Bucky was incapable of growing facial hair. Despite being decently taller than Wilson, it felt like he wasn’t perceived the same way as the other boy despite them almost being the same age.

Bucky averted his gaze back to the floor, practically praying that his misplaced blush looked like nothing more than flush after their workout.

“Fuck, what a day huh?” Bucky started, deciding to make conversation.

“Totally, yeah.” Sam responded, bringing his head back to properly get a look at Bucky.

“Everything you ever dreamed of?”

Sam couldn’t help a sneer at that, “Not quite.”

Seeing his face, Bucky couldn’t help but grin, “Ah, yes. Sorry about your big day.”

“You’re such a dick.”

“Do you like Montreal? Is good yes?”

“S’good, colder than home, but Louisiana isn’t exactly big for Hockey.”

“Ah. Boston any good?”

“Yeah, I don’t exactly go often, but it's a pretty good place. I think their Hockey team is kinda shabby nowadays though. Mostly the new players.”

Bucky jabbed Wilson's shoe lightly at that with his foot, “Ah. You are a sour liar.”

Wilson scoffed at that before returning the gesture to get Bucky’s attention more focused, “Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then.”

Bucky thought for maybe a second max, “yea, Montreal and Boston play against each other a lot.”

Wilson nodded to that before he grabbed for his water bottle that he had gotten from his bike previously. He took a long pull from his water, his throat bobbed, and his eyes were still on Bucky somewhat experimentally. Bucky averted his gaze, not wanting to look desperate as he realized stupidly that he had forgotten his water back in his hotel room. It wasn’t until Sam took the bottle away from his dark wet lips with a small sigh that Bucky realized he had been somewhat staring. It didn’t take long for Sam to catch on as he propped up a knee, extending his arm with his water bottle over to Bucky. 

Bucky waved his hand away a little, “No, Is okay.”

“I don’t have cooties, Barnes.” Sam retorted, shaking his bottle to show that there was more than enough water still inside it.

Bucky took the water, thanking him tersely. It would’ve been stupid to refuse something so small. It was just a necessity. 

Their fingertips grazed as Bucky took the bottle from Sam. He didn’t want to look like a germaphobe by unscrewing the cap to drink, but he also didn’t want to seem like too much by drinking straight from the tip, so he squeezed it above his mouth as he waterfall’d the drink into his mouth. He couldn't ignore the way Sam was looking at him while he drank.

Something was different from then on in the atmosphere. The way the air seemed to thicken in the gym didn’t escape Bucky. It was as if his heart didn’t realize he was just sitting on the floor and not about to go skydiving off of a plane. There was a buzz under his skin, like despite the workout he was more than ready to move away from Sam's gaze that pinned him like a bug on display. Did he really want to move away though? Did Wilson feel the same thing he was?

If Sam was experiencing the same thing as him, it wasn’t written on his face.

God, did it show on his own face?

Bucky had absolutely no idea if Sam felt the same thing he was feeling, and yet it felt indescribable…just out of reach. If he even knew what he was feeling, maybe he could get a leash on it; and yet he couldn’t even name it.

He quickly tried to dismiss it, to forget about how he almost just choked on water when he thought about it. Jesus, what was wrong with him right now? 

He gave Sam back his water bottle, unable to miss how his fingers didn’t just graze, but overlapped Bucky’s. There was no denying it wasn’t on purpose now, how his thumb touched Bucky’s wrist featherlight. The moment seemed to last a lifetime, and still Bucky caught himself almost frowning when the second of the interaction ended.

Bucky couldn’t help but crave that warm touch a little. How captivating and inviting Sam's eyes were when tiresome energy shone a small amount from the auburn. He could’ve just shrugged it off as blood flowing from their cardio run, but this didn’t feel the same as after workouts with his teammates. 

He wanted Sam's touch again.

Maybe he wanted to feel him. His sturdy hands, his breath even when it wasn’t apart of a little laugh, his fucking eyes on him that he couldn’t seem to misplace, his full lips that seemed to be a dogwhistle to Bucky’s attention. He was nothing short of curious to how they felt on Bucky's mouth. He quickly realized he had to leave immediately as he felt himself growing hard in his sweat pants.

What the fuck was happening.

Bucky practically flew upwards to his feet, pressing his hand to the floor as he got up, “I go to bed. I will see you around…yes?”

Sam at this point remained on the floor, with his arms propped on his knees he looked up at Bucky through his lashes. “I doubt you won’t see me.”

After that Bucky couldn’t help but nod and leave as quickly as possible without it being a dead sprint. His head was nothing but a heartbeat as he hastily retreated back to his hotel room, once he accomplished this trek he fell backwards onto his bed.

What the fuck just happened?

He’s had nothing but girlfriends. That’s how it had always been. Christ, it wasn’t like he was into Wilson or anything. It was nothing more than a fluke, right? Plenty of boys have accidentally gotten hard randomly in class or working out, so how was this any different?

Maybe because this had never happened around the men he played Hockey with on a daily basis now.

It wasn’t exactly hard for Bucky to get a girlfriend, it was the keeping them that seemed to be difficult. It wasn’t like he was mistreating them, he did all of the things a good boyfriend would do. He bought flowers, went to movies with them, paid for dinner he’d taken them to when she’d make a remark that they haven’t gone out recently, but it all ended the same.

At the movies, she would cast little glances in his direction like she was expecting something, or find his hand like clockwork when he was reaching for food. How come the girls always wanted to sit in the back of the movies anyway? Sure, you could put your feet up and people weren’t around you, but why that far? And the girls HAD to be starving or something for how many times his hand was grabbed in the popcorn bucket. They always looked a little bummed when Bucky focused more on the movie than the glances, but seriously, why would he want to kiss or make out during a movie. 

It was always decent for a few months, his friends clapping him on the back or wanting to trade stories, and the girls weren’t exactly bad looking either. But eventually things always turned south. How she felt, “more like a friend than anything,” or “how she had a different idea of how their relationship would look than how it did.”

He was never really all that upset when he would get broken up with, but he had no real idea why it was happening.

All of these feelings from the girls he had been with that didn’t seem to pierce through his own exterior, and yet he was just on the fucking gym floor half hard with another man. There was genuinely no way this was happening. He had to clear his mind. And his erection.

He made his way to the shower, he could easily think of a random girl to get off to. This was obviously a mistake. He threw off his gym clothes and stepped in.

He turned the water hot, it poured down onto his nape as his hand made its way down south. His dick twitched once as he brought his hand around it, stroking lazily up and down just to get it going.

He started to think of features women he had been with possessed. 

Soft slim hands, straight and curly hair alike, what it felt like to have sex with them, feel what it was like to be inside of them.

His thoughts drifted as he could feel his cock getting harder. Blue eyes shifted to green ones…from that to hazel…ending at brown eyes warm with ego and mischief. By now Bucky could feel his dick painfully throbbing, precome creeped out of the head. Slim hands faded from under his closed eyes to firm, sturdy hands with callus from athletic use, the undersides warmer than her knuckles. Bucky couldn’t help but let out a pathetic sound as he went faster, his other hand gripped the wet wall to focus on anything else than just this, his finger nails looked for purchase in the grooves of the wall as he continued, eyelids fluttering as his fantasies changed rapidly. Thin lips replaced by plump ones…ringed by a sharp, smaller goatee…Fuck.

By the time he realized who he had been thinking about, he stifled a gasp as he came. It came in bursts as he came down onto the nearby shower wall.

There was no fucking way he just jerked off to the idea of Sam Wilson.

Bucky leaned against the wall of the shower now, warm water washed down his chest to clean his evidence. His breath billowed the foggy steam of the shower, it couldn’t have been long, the shower's mirror still had a clear view in the middle that Bucky could only look at in shame. 

His mind was warm, fuzzing from the post jerk off session that contrasted what he knew he should’ve been feeling.

Embarrassment.

Loss of dignity.

Pathetic.

Instead, he could only mutter “shit,” as he ran his thick pale fingers under the water to clean off the mess on his hand and run his other hand through his hair, now frizzy and messy from the condensation of the steam.

For the entirety of his life leading up to his death, James “Bucky” Barnes had to live with the fact that he had just masturbated and came after the events of getting first in the NHL draft to the draft's second choice, Sam Wilson.

Chapter Text

December 2009—Ottawa

Bucky couldn’t help but watch the numbers on his hotel's clock shift in red neon numbers from 11:56 to 11:57.

Besides the minimal lighting from his clock, his room was shrouded in utter darkness. It was only him in his assigned room, his roommate as well as half of his team were circled around the TV to watch for the New Years celebration and for when the ball dropped.

It hadn’t been too long ago when Bucky had been in the room with the rest of them. The Black Eyed Peas were an entertaining group despite Bucky not knowing nearly any of their songs, but that hadn’t stopped him from having a decent time with his team.

It felt almost sudden when Bucky had called it a night before the ball dropped, suddenly wanting to be alone.

11:58

Bucky felt borderline haunted by all of the fucking Sam propaganda that seemed to follow him around in this place. It seemed like Ottawa was certainly taking a liking to Canada’s new golden boy, especially one seemingly as friendly and confident as him. If it wasn’t his minimal goatee and eyes staring at him through a newspaper, side of a bus with other players, or on some screen, his recognizable jersey with his number 58 in white under the last name Wilson. 

It wasn’t even like he was playing for fucking Ottawa, how did he manage to become this likeable? It wasn’t like he was from there. As far as Bucky saw it, Canadians were loyal to the teams and players they liked when their home teams weren’t playing, so that had to have been it.

The Montreal Captains and the Boston Hydras hadn’t been able to play each other yet, which meant they wouldn’t likely see each other until the gold medal match occurred. It would be an outrage within the city if Canada and Russia weren’t aimed against each other in the finals.

How was it only 11:59.

This summer Bucky knew that he would finally be moving to Boston to begin his newly professional career in America. He had never been outside of Russia for longer than a couple of weeks. Bucky would finally be able to start his NHL career and become more rich and famous than he had ever imagined when he was younger. This would be him finally moving away from his family and he could finally become his own man.

He couldn’t help but thank god for that.

12:00

Happy New Year, Bucky thought as he laid in bed squinting at the bright numbers on the clock. 

He gave up entirely on trying to sleep as fireworks sounded outside and his teammates cheered and sounded just rowdy overall. Times like this made him wish he smoked or something. He wanted a good fuck if he was being honest. 

He wanted to be able to sneak out of his hotel and down into the hotel's gym and have Sam be there on the stationary Bike. But Sam wasn’t at his hotel and wouldn’t be in the gym. It was more likely that Sam Wilson was celebrating the beginning of the New Year with his family and friends in some perfect getup, like something straight out of a damn commercial. 

He wondered what Sam was really up to.

Six months ago in Los Angeles tonight Bucky has almost embarrassed the crap out of himself. He most likely could’ve played it off as a mistake. A miscommunication. There was no way Sam Wilson of the Montreal Captains was flirting with him.

The same way that there was no way he masturbated to the thought of Sam Wilson of the Montreal Captains.

It might’ve just been wishful thinking, but last time he checked Sam didn’t exactly seem opposed to him that night. Bucky could’ve sworn Sam was giving him eyes when looking up at him when Bucky was leaving, he could’ve sworn that if Sam were a bolder man he would’ve given him an updown. Fuck, had Sam caught bucky looking at him like that? He suddenly wished there was a video tape or something for him to see from that night so he could see what exactly went down again that night. It still probably wouldn’t have been enough, it was more feeling than action anyways.

He was embarrassed.

He wanted to kiss Sam.

He wanted to kiss Sam and have Sam kiss him back.

He wasn’t entirely sure that if he had kissed Sam that the player wouldn’t have kissed him back. Bucky was decent at reading people, so unless he was thinking purely with his dick, he believed there was a good chance Sam would have leaned into it if he weren’t such a coward. 

The thoughts that plagued Bucky's mind about this had been unbearable since the day he’d gotten drafted.

It wasn’t like Bucky had been doing nothing but think about his arch rival. He had his teammates constantly dragging him to outings, meaningless talks with girls he wasn’t all that interested in, boring sex. 

He had absolutely no reason now to think about his rival. It made him want to scream. He had no reason to think about his tempting smile. Or his warm hands. Or how his tongue darted up to wet his bottom lip when he laughed and was about to say something for whoever had a mic pointed towards him in an interview.

Shit.

Besides his insanity, Russia remained on top so far within the tournament. Canada also remained unyielding in their move up towards the finals. Eventually one team would have to lose. Bucky wouldn’t lose. He had more important things to think about than pretty smiles or overly confident American boys.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam was nearly beaming over the attention he had begun to achieve not just from reporters and other people involved within his Hockey bubble, but from Montreal as he began to move towards his second, and last, World Junior Championship. Christmas had been refreshing with his parents and sister before spending New Year's Eve noisily with his teammates in their hotel. He was constantly reminded just how lucky he was to have his parents at every one of his games when he knew how far away it was from their home in Louisiana. It wasn’t hard at all either to make friends the longer he stayed from home.

It felt like nothing could ruin his mood as the tournament progressed. Not to mention he had been playing phenomenally Hockey wise. Now Canada would be facing Russia once again, now for the second time in a row.

Sam knew that he would be seeing Bucky pretty soon.

He hadn’t been able to catch sight of the Russian during the entire championship, mostly due to their respected teams staying in different hotels and keeping practices at different rinks. 

It wasn’t like Sam was looking for him or anything. Well, he wasn’t bad to look at if he had been able to see him. Barnes had a broader build than Sam, his hair was dark and curled from sweat last time Sam remembered at the gym that one night.

Nope. Not thinking about that right now.

This game was going to be their first match against each other in a while. Sam couldn’t help but glance at the TV when it was on and he heard the Boston Hydras get announced before a game they played. He watched more often as time sped up for when they would be forced to compete against each other. It helped Sam be able to strategize more when he saw how his competition worked together. He knew for a fact that this was going to be the day he beat Barnes’ ass into the ground. 

Sam had forgotten a decent amount of what had occurred at that gym almost half a year ago—well, or what could’ve occurred. How they had sat opposite of each other, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. How his hair curled from the sweat from his hairline, his dim blue eyes crinkling a bit from the sting of it. How he had given Barnes his water. How he had let his fingers trail James’ hand intensionally, watching color enter his cheeks he doubted was fully from their workout…

It was just post workout adrenaline.

He was just being weird about it.

It was nothing but how the excitement of competition got to him. It had been a while since he had another player capable of standing toe to toe with him, that's all. Sitting on the floor with the Russian after pushing each other past their usual limits if anything was probably some small stupid form of trauma-bonding or whatever. He had been riding a high after the NHL draft day and had been seeing something from nothing, he was sure of it. Him—Sam Wilson, newly appointed player of the Montreal Captains, and the blue eyed cleft chinned russian boy Barnes from the Boston Hydras? He must have gotten acid slipped into his water bottle or something of the sort.

Just like how it was nothing, Sam treated it like that, continuing his everyday life after the interaction like nothing had happened. Maybe he would finally go out with his teammates one of these nights, what the hell.

There was something new he had noticed after that night months ago.

Sam had begun to catch himself noticing men, not just women nowadays. It wasn’t like he was checking out his teammates or friends or anything, but it was small little things from his daily life…sometimes it was just a guy that he saw in the Barnes & Nobles he went through to grab a coffee from the Starbucks. Sometimes it was the guy walking down the street. Maybe it was Chad Micheal Murray from that Freaky Friday movie his sister had made him watch with her that one time. 

What the hell.

He hadn’t realized how he had looked at some guys the same way he had looked at some girls. It wasn’t like he disliked girls. If anything it was the opposite for him. He enjoyed getting with girls occasionally. Fucking them. But it felt at times like he was missing something. Like he wouldn’t have been fully content if he had just gone up and got into a committed relationship until marriage with a girl he liked.

It wasn’t like that was where his mind was currently. He had gotten blown by maybe two or three girls since May—he wasn’t all that sure on that though. Sam was far from opposed to having sex. He enjoyed giving, feeling his way up and around the curves of one's body, the twitch of muscle and little gasps of breath when someone was about to orgasm, he loved being able to treat someone right all the way up to the point that they whimpered his name in between intelligible murmuring. 

It wasn’t like he had imagined dragging his fingers up into Barnes’ nape and feeling firm muscle seize slightly at his curious touch, or imagined his pretty Russian accent on those women ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Will you be mad when you get second place again?” Barnes probed.

“You’re a riot, you should check out standup comedy after you get second tonight.” Sam snickered, he couldn’t help but enjoy this banter they threw at each other.

“Little self centered, no? I thought there wasn’t an ‘I’ in team.”

“There isn’t an ‘I’ in gargle on my ballsack either but I guess we’ll manage right?”

Bucky couldn’t help but snort at that. He hoped a random photographer hadn’t clipped that. 

“Don’t worry. There is ‘I’ in Silver.” Barnes finished.

Sam was sure he would have murdered James if he hadn’t had won like he had planned to. He was laser focused on being precisely where he needed to be so he could score a goal not even forty seconds later. 

Once he had made sure they had won their game, he couldn’t help but throw a mocking kiss towards the Russians direction.

He’d only wished the glare wasn’t in his way so he could see his reaction

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky had a reputation that seemed to precede him due to his lack of talk, one that made him seem cockier and more like an asshole because he didn’t say a lot and people assumed he talked more behind peoples backs. They weren’t necessarily wrong, but through it all he was one short of dangerously passionate about playing Hockey. Losing seemed to carve something deep in his soul, he despised it with his entire being. And still, Canada remained victorious over Russia once the game came to an end.

Bucky couldn’t help but consider that maybe this was what happened to a man when he lacked healthy competition. He didn’t truly care enough to think on it.

Bile built in the back of his throat at the idea of having to bring back a silver medal to Russia. He was more than ashamed of it, everyone knew second place was first for those who would never truly amount to anything. Who ever remembered the poor bastards who got second place over the winners in first place?

There was no bone in his body that made him excited in the slightest to go back home to Russia. He was more than ready to make a place for himself within North America. He didn’t most of all want to see his father, let alone hear from the man—who most likely hadn’t seen a single one of his interviews or games or anything that had to do with the life he was making for himself. All he would hear about was the fact that he had only been able to bring a silver medal back home to Russia, and that he played too lazy and sloppy to achieve gold and to properly bring it home. The very idea of living with his father now made him feel ill. He was starving for the chance to be rich, famous, loved in such a way that he had experienced, if anything he wanted to be borderline drowned in it. He wanted to have a huge garage stocked with expensive and impressive sports cars. He wanted to have any attire he could possibly desire and more. He wanted his appearance and living style to only ever be seen by his family in the fucking news as he continued to dominate Hockey. He wanted to fuck whomever he wanted and party and make a name for himself as cameras went nuts trying to photograph him at any nightclub he desired to attend. He wanted more than anything the pressures of his family and country to be off of his back.

He didn’t even know what he wanted, but he wanted to be able to choose for himself.

Bucky was going to be whoever the fuck Bucky wanted to be. 

Bucky may have been on the ice physically, but his mind was surely elsewhere as he shuffled with the rest of the players in the lineup. The game was finished, but it didn’t feel like it when he looked at Sam once he reached him in the lineup.

It had only been for a moment, and yet it felt like time around the two had stopped just for them. Bucky felt like his breath was caught when he saw confidence and playful warmth in his brown gaze. Sam's gap toothed smile made him question if he completely lost at all that day, it couldn’t help but make him give his own exhausted little smile back.

When Sam took Bucky's damp glove from sweat in his own sweaty glove, it felt like they had managed to get words across without ever actually opening either of their mouths. 

This isn’t the end of what they had going.

The competition between the two of them would always be inevitable.

If one of them climbed higher to the top, the other wouldn’t be far off. The two would remain intertwined in their hunt to be the best.

It wasn’t like there wasn’t gloating in Sam's eyes, but it didn’t feel hateful, far from it. It felt more like an invitation if anything.

Sam wanted Bucky to watch him win. He wanted Bucky to watch him win, and he wanted to watch Bucky win. 

Bucky had finally shaken the last of the Americans hands by the time he looked back, wondering if he could catch a glimpse of Wilson's jersey or helmet amongst the sea of celebrating players. He couldn’t help but smile despite losing. It wouldn’t be long until he and Sam would not just see but be playing each other again. 

He couldn’t wait to wipe that smug look off of Wilson’s face.

Chapter Text

July 2010—Toronto

Sam had just recently signed a gainful endorsement deal from CCM and couldn’t have been happier to now promote for one of the single handedly largest hockey equipment companies. If anything, the lack of hockey games he played in the NHL, lack being a big fat zero, made him ecstatic that he’d soon be able to show off a little—he hadn’t been chosen just for being a handsome face.

So when the arrangement finally reached him that CCM had also signed Barnes, he was sure that his internal what the hell had been heard citywise like a telepathic raise of alarm.

He hoped that the photographers, sponsorships, reporters, and even fans knew that they weren’t being sneaky with how much they were hyping up their rivalry. At this point, he wouldn’t be that surprised if next time the Montreal Captains played the Boston Hydras fucking fireworks shot out into the sky and people actively lost their minds as he and Barnes lined up.

It didn’t help his suspicion that the company wanted to put together an ad with just Sam in the shot. They wanted both him and Bucky too. Together. 

It would have been fine—Sam wasn’t opposed to seeing Bucky, he saw plenty of the man whether it was during games on the tv or in the arena. It just felt odd that it took people so long to tell him about their arrangement.

Now Sam found that he was standing amidst a dark, somewhat desolate ice rink as lights were set and arranged for where they were needed, people talking and moving here or there. If his hands were covered in such boxy gloves he probably would have idly kept them in his pockets. If his uniform had pockets. It wouldn’t be long until he would be reporting for the training camp he would be attending. Maybe a little over a month? He still hadn’t caught a glimpse of the Russian since the World Juniors game that happened back in early January.

Sam couldn’t help but look around the arena, the lighting looked dramatic as the crew continued to arrange the scene. He was told that today was going to be simple. There were only two parts to what would be their photo shoot: the first part would just be individual shots then photos of the two of them, most likely flaunting sticks, gloves, and name brands from their sponsors as they posed poised against one another. The second part would give them more room to show off properly, whether that be fast skating or fancier work with their sticks for when the ads would be aired on television.

It didn't take Sam long to get accustomed to the cameras that would later be more adjusted towards him or photo shoots in general. It made him almost giddy, feeling more like he was a movie star than a soon to be player for the NHL.

Well—costar. 

The ice was smooth—It wasn’t like others had been previously on it—as he skated a few laps around the ice, looking at crew members doing their own things as he tried not to grow bored. Sam was a walking advertisement the way he was covered head-to-toe in CCM gear, it totaled up to his custom made black jersey with WILSON in appealing white letters on the back with his number 58 made big, in the front a large CCM logo sat where a team icon would usually go. 

He wished he could say it was weirder that he was wearing makeup, it was still weird, but he had an idea that his sister Sarah had a hand in desensitizing him to dumb stuff like this. He had not forgotten times when they were younger and she would bribe him with either candy or chores she would do in return if he let her do his makeup. The way he was sure she was going to entire respiratory distress with how hard she laughed until she reached the point of tears when Sam yelled at her after he saw the finished, horrible product was always something that even today would get a laugh out of her. He suddenly remembered the artist telling him that he couldn’t sweat with what he had on, so he cut short his skating and let his eyes roam idly around for something else to do until he was needed. Pushing off towards the bench area to sit, he peered down at the way the lights cut sharp into the dark area of the ice. The contrast managed to grab his attention for a moment.

It didn’t take him long to realize Barnes had shown up.

Bucky had shown up in a similar dark uniform, the name BARNES and 17 plastered on his broad back in big white letters. Sam took this now as a reasonable opportunity to skate over towards the placid Russian. Through the dimly lit atmosphere and their covered states, it would have been difficult to decipher Bucky from the front if he didn’t already know that it was him and there were other players present. His helmet covered his sweat-induced curls, his dim blue eyes shielded by the seethrough guard. He was wearing makeup too.

Barnes was a handsome man, but Sam would have described him more as pretty. He had more of a square face with cheekbones that protruded like curved furniture edges within a new home covered discreetly with ghostly sheets, soft symmetry from his cleft chin to his minute widow's peak. Despite being 19, his face was perfectly smooth, lacking the facial hair that would have made him lean more into a masculine appearance. His eyes were almond-shaped and blue in such a way that Sam was sure if they were in the sunlight they would explode in overwhelming color, framed with long dark lashes. His lips were rosy and thick, his shy smile made something stir in him, dimples revealed as if they were just under the surface waiting to charm the pants off of an unsuspecting man or woman. There was such a sincerity that resonated on him like dew on a spider's web. Sam wanted to see more of him without that stupid helmet.

“You look pretty,” Sam slightly teased. “Sure you don’t model for hockey instead of play it?”

“Shut up. You wear makeup too.”

Sam cheesed a little at that. There was a certain charm to Bucky’s newer English. “Yea, but I don’t look pretty.” 

He couldn’t help but react to the eyeroll he got in response. He wanted a response. Sam preferred when Bucky actually acted like a human instead of just some player, he was incredible and had the attitude of a waterboy.

With the mood of the lighting, the unruly curl that peeked out from Barnes’ helmet, and the unhelpful makeup, Bucky was an exceptionally pretty guy. Sam wished he had a way to describe how the blue in his open gaze rattled him. With Sam's cropped hair and slim goatee, it was without saying that he was handsome, but not pretty. His own face had less baby fat than Bucky's, his buzzcut was a couple of months old as his coils started to grow past his usual neat look. His narrow jaw harbored a slim goatee that was more signature to his look. Prominent cheekbones rested under warm, big, teasing auburn eyes that remained untouchable on the ice and outside of it alike. Cameras never missed his big gap toothed smile when talking shit to a cocky player in a game—well, another cocky player. He knew he was one of the best in his league so why not act like it? At least he could be arrogant without the marks of a broken nose on his face unlike older players with actual NHL games under their belts.

Sam hadn’t anticipated that the photo shoot would have taken so long. It wasn’t exactly hard: standing in the given position on the ice, and occasionally changing his hand positioning on the CCM hockey stick or changing his stance. The majority of the photos were individual, but some were of them together in poses that made it look like they were about to play against one another. The last of the shoot consisted of the two hunched over in the position they’d be in for a face off in a real game. The two of them held the growingly awkward position for what felt like forever, when in reality they would only be holding this for a couple of seconds. They were inches away from each other's faces, forced to meet brown eyes to blue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Try not to laugh guys, we’ll be done soon” the director stated. “It’ll be over in just a second if you guys keep it good.”

Barnes wasn’t all that concerned about laughing, there were more pressing things to him. He began to relax his eyes so that he wasn’t all focused on one part of Sam: his eyes, his lips. God he really needed to get a grip.

“James, do you think we could get a little more intensity from you? Maybe in the eyes,” 

Bucky muttered a small “sorry” as he blinked and tried to focus on Sam. He tried to stare him down, harnessing that competitive fire in his mind like in a real game, a real game though would only need them to hold this pose for a few seconds at most. This was a lot more than a few seconds.

It didn’t take long to realize Wilson no longer had that look in the auburn, it was warm, teasing. It felt like a private joke just for the two of them. His lip crinkled in the beginning of a smile, then he was gone as the smaller American broke with a snort that resolved into laughter. It didn’t take long for Bucky to crack and fall off into a giggling fit.

“Okay guys? Guys, come on now.” The exasperation in his voice now was more prominent.

“Sorry,” Bucky apologized, trying to get back into character. It was no use. As soon as he looked back towards Sam, the player had a stupid fucking twinkle in his eyes and a shit eating grin as soon as he saw Bucky look at him again and they lost it almost immediately.

Believing that was all that they were gonna get from this shot, the director brought that window with a break. Only the last of the film footage was left after that. 

“Your fault,” He muttered towards Wilson as they skated towards the bench.

“Uh, my fault? How?” Sam started, mock offence thick on his tone.

“Loud. Annoying. Pain in ass.”

“Not my fault your face made me laugh. Maybe stop looking like a bambi on ice 24/7.”

That earned the American a flick to the side of his helmet.

The filming they had to do next was far easier to get done. Both of their helmets stayed on since their main individual and together photos were over, pale streaks were carved across the fresh ice as they showed off—more competitively than necessary. Bucky doubted it was just him excited to see the final product. With how the cameras were paneled around him and Wilson skating, he was sure with a good voiceover and music in the background it would look straight out of a movie.

With that, the director thanked the two of them and left the two hockey players to go get showered and dressed in their normal clothes, most likely inside some crappy changing areas.

Bucky undressed fast, the sounds of velcro and laces being undone loud as his thick fingers worked and he walked over towards the shower. The area was a communal shower like the majority of them, he ran a firm hand from the curls of his hair down his neck as his other hand turned the nozzle, his abdomen and shoulder muscles flinched once as the cold spray quickly turned warmer. Droplets raced from his increasingly drenched hair to dance across his face, some momentarily becoming trapped on his dark lashes before joining the rest. It felt nice to just stand there for a moment and feel the pressure of the water down broad shoulders towards the path of his spine, some of it treacherously migrating down his chest instead. In the corner of his mind he wondered if he could get through his shower before Wilson arrived.

Barnes was many things, but he wasn’t that lucky.

Bucky's hair was nearly drenched by the time Wilson walked in, he blinked through blurry vision complementary of the shower to see the American enter and stand under the head right next to Bucky.

Um, what ever happened to urinal rules, huh?

Bucky tried to avert his gaze, and yet his peripherals seemed unable to get the hint. 

How

The fuck

Were Wilson’s pecs that huge.

Barnes suddenly felt like a starving dog with beef jerky being dangled in his face. The man was practically hairless. His traps looked nearly delectable, his sharper face features left a pleasant surprise for the softer muscle underneath. He radiated warmth in every aspect, Bucky’s breath was taken aback a bit. His abdomen looked like something holy had grazed carefully, sculpting fingers down it until it met with a pronounced v-line and left only a muscular physique in its wake. His abs were far from that of a skinny athlete, there was a decent layer of a healthy body fat percentage that made him look like a prime candidate for modeling for Calvin Klein. God if only he got to see him in that enticing, dramatic black-and-white lighting. Two ribs were visible on each side under his lats that might as well have been highlighted in fucking red with grab here underneath. 

With lightning speed Bucky let out a breathless, embarrassed cough and averted his gaze down towards the floor, the tiles under feet, anything else. Why was this happening to him now? It wasn’t like this was his first time in communal showers, he had gone through this same song and dance with probably hundreds of dudes and this had never occurred. He had never dared to look at his fellow players, teammates and opponents alike like this. God he needed to get a grip.

Once he peeked back upwards, he realized Wilson had his back turned towards him as he did his own business. There wasn’t exactly less of a show from this angle either. His shoulder muscles protruded lightly along with more defined brown skin. The muscles in his lower back twitched minutely as he shifted his feet, his waist was tapered in a way that dragged eyes of those lucky enough to witness, his ass was something else entirely as his eyes went from trailing helplessly over the wet, rippling muscle down south…

Bucky tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he suppressed another embarrassed cough. 

Suddenly now it felt like he had asthma?

He couldn’t possibly stoop this low, was he really going to check out another man's ass in the privacy of the shower area? Not only was he 19 years old, he was about to be playing for the NHL, he needed to be more mature than this. He needed not to give another man among the steam a fucking up-down. This was weird. He needed to stop.

It certainly was an impressive ass, though. It wasn’t exactly like he had a ranking system of others to compare it to, but it wasn’t exactly like it was common to see such a curve down from his lower back towards his glutes. The muscle flexed the smallest amount as Sam brought his hands up to his face to rub water away, and suddenly it felt like tunnel vision. 

Before he knew it he was hard. His cock was openly fucking excited right next to the culpret. He was sure he would die of embarrassment and shame.

He barely had time to look at his cock thickening with arousal in dismay before he noticed Wilson had turned back around.

Wilson’s brows raised in semi surprise as he shamelessly glanced down towards Bucky’s crotch.

“Fuck off,” Bucky muttered, turning around to shield his erection. “Is nothing.”

“Appreciating the view, Barnes?”

“No, thought of something else and accidentally looked down. My mistake,” Bucky retorted, unable to maintain eye contact. He was sure that he was one of the worst liars in history after this performance of his. He was sure it would be less painful to scoop out his eyes with his hockey stick than look Wilson in the eyes after being caught. Maybe the NHL would understand if he disappeared off of the face of the earth after this. Yes. He would change his name and flee so that no one would know he was checking out another player in the showers. 

“Something else, huh?”

It would be so easy for Barnes to leave now. 

He needed to leave. This was torture.

Why wasn’t he leaving?

But the way Sam was grinning at him was only making his…situation…worse. If Sam had really felt offended and sexualized, he could have easily decked him in the face prior. This was something entirely different—Wilson was teasing him.

Sam hadn’t exactly made any move to leave either.

For Barnes it felt like time had stopped. It didn’t seem like he could pull his eyes off of the Americans crotch. He was transfixed. He wished that he had the decency to look away, but his eyes were glued in place. Sam took in the scene of Bucky in front of him, unhurried and interested. Wilson seemed to appreciate the view laid in front of him, shamelessly soaking in the attention he himself received. 

What the fuck was happening right now?

This had to have been a wet dream—no, a wet nightmare. Bucky thought as he internally screamed at himself to look literally anywhere else.

He was far too busy freaking out to take in the sight of Sam’s own dick beginning to twitch and swell to life.

That gap-toothed grin that had streaked across Sam’s face left as abruptly as it had appeared. His gaze held more passion than Bucky had seen during any of their photos together, let along at all since he’s seen him.

This was so wrong. Bucky needed to get out of here. This had to be a social experiment, Bucky would run out and either his or Wilson’s teammates would be outside to laugh at him, call him a weirdo, and move on. This…whatever it was, wasn’t something Bucky knew how to deal with. 

And still Wilson let a callused, wet slick hand trail from his right pec down his abdomen until thick fingers wrapped around his cock. He tugged on it almost absent mindedly as he eyed Bucky dangerously through slitted eyes. 

Bucky’s face felt hot. It felt like someone had decided to light him on fire from the inside and left to watch it spread to see how he could handle it—if he could handle it.

“What were you really thinking about, was it me?” Sam probed in a low tone, his eyes never leaving Bucky unless it was a flick down towards his dick in his hand and back towards Bucky. What, was he trying to fucking highlight it now?

Despite the moisture in the air, Bucky’s throat felt bone dry. He swallowed in an attempt to recover.

“You,” he murmured, unable to ignore the sentiment in the open gesture.

Sam relished in Barnes’ gaze and voice, his dimples peeking through as his smile snaked across his face as he gave another firm, purposeful stroke.

“And do you want to touch me, Barnes?”

Bucky's fingernails stabbed painfully into his own palm as he willed his fingers not to openly twitch at Sam’s invitation. He wanted very much to touch Sam. He wanted more than he could clearly describe. But now? He really wanted to watch Wilson jerk himself off in front of him. But he couldn’t, not here…

“No, stop,” Bucky stammered. “Someone could see.”

Sam looked elsewhere as if rolling it around in his mind, then nodded and turned away to release himself. He turned off his shower indifferently, like he hadn’t tried to fucking masterbate in front of Bucky after seeing Barnes give him an up-down. Bucky’s breath stuttered through his nose as his eyes darted around aimlessly for something else to focus on, he shifted his stance as his mind hit static and he tried to fix his breathing. His heart thundered in his chest like a jack rabbit. He strained his ears to listen for Wilson’s departure as he turned his own shower off. 

What the fuck was happening-?

There was no possible way that Wilson was insinuating something between the two of them…surely not…right? It was a mad idea. 

They were both about to be rich and successful NHL players…

They were both going to be on separate, rival teams…

They were both boys.

Bucky had to escape this hellhole before he did something terrible and irreversible. He could feel his heartbeat in his temple like a war drum. He had to do anything but face Wilson again. This was a clear mistake. A joke. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real.

He closed his eyes, willing oxygen into his lungs. If he had a panic attack over this shit he was going to kill himself out of embarrassment. He gripped his towel and swore in that moment that it was instead a lifeline, something to focus on in his hands as he tightly wrapped it around his waist and left the area.

He could get through this, maybe if he just calmed down and talked to Sam they could pretend this never happened. It would be nothing other than a great…big…horny…accident. He sat on the bench, his clothes in a small pile ready to be put to use as he checked his phone quickly. Sam was already half dressed and standing, shirtless, not far away fidgeting with a dark maroon shirt that was inside out. 

“Never happened, okay?” Bucky began, eyes glued to his half open locker as he said the thing he had been rehearsing in his head in his best English. “We can forget all of this, does not have to be a thing.”

“Is that what you want, for this to go away?”

Bucky’s tongue was syrup as he responded moments too late, “Yes, better for both of us.”

Sam scoffed at that, stalking easily over to the bigger man on the bench, his shirt discarded in his hand like he had forgotten about his task. “Woah, you are a horrible liar. Is that always the case with you or just when you're flustered?”

Bucky grimaced at that, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Your English, such poetry.”

There was a moment of charged silence as Barnes rose to his feet, easily taller than the American. Wilson made no change in his demeanor or stance as their positions flipped around, if anything he looked content with the challenge as he sized him up through his lashes.

“So…do you have a room number, or do all of you big burly Russians sleep together all buddy-buddy in the cold outside?” Sam queried, shamelessly enjoying the view of Bucky’s earnest blue eyes being framed by his dark curly hair.

“I might,”

“And it might be..?”

“Fourteen-ten,” Barnes didn’t appreciate how quickly he replied.

Sam’s mouth quirked up into the beginning of an accomplished smile you would normally have on your face after getting a girl's number. “Hypothetically, if I were to knock on room Fourteen-ten at maybe around nine tonight?”

He answered in an unmistakably lower tone, “I might answer.” 

“Well then maybe I might knock.” The Americans gap toothed smile peaked out more prominently now as he put his shirt back over his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky proceeded to throw around the possibility in his mind that him jumping off the balcony would most likely be easier than whatever was going to go down with Sam tonight. He was most definitely freaking the hell out, he needed something to do other than watch the clock drag increasingly slow.

He laid out his options in his brain: He could always leave. Just leave his hotel room for a few hours to get food or something and pray that he didn’t run into the smaller American throughout the night, maybe Sam would get more of a hint then too and kick rocks. They would never talk about it again and go back towards the normalcy of stereotypical adversaries. He could stay in his hotel room instead and watch the door as Sam waited outside, there was more power in him properly setting his foot down. Or, he could open the door once Sam showed up and treat his sculpted body like braille—something he could only understand after feeling his way around with hands and mouth.

His breath hitched just at the thought alone, he groaned as leaned back with his hands on his face. There was no way this was happening to him. The second decision was the best. Maybe then he could just be a bit of a coward and let a wooden plaque of a door be his words, maybe it would even cause more heat to grow in between them on the ice. 

But he couldn’t really do that, could he? Bucky thought, Sure, people assumed he was an asshole because he didn’t communicate all that much, but did he really have to make it a reality through a crueler way?

New change of plans, he would just talk to him. He was a nineteen year old man. He wasn't going to let the smaller player try to intimidate him into doing something that would get both of them into deep shit.

He self consciously tidied up his hotel room. How would this talk even go? Hi Sam, sorry I gave you mixed signals that I wanted to fuck. Please forget this ever happened? He needed something to do with his hands. He already had been fussing with his already made bed, the floor was spotless, every time he tried to distract himself on his phone his eyes glanced at the time and how much closer it was to nine. Bucky quickly put his phone away after a few instances of that. He ran his hand absently through his rebrushed hair as he tried to flick through something to play on the tv. Would it be better for him to keep the noise of the tv on when they talked? He then went against that idea because it was stupid and he turned the tv off.

He checked his face in the mirror for several minutes as his window increasingly reduced until Sam showed up, he had an annoying tendency to pick at himself until everything was in place, that or his dad would bitch at him by calling him a slob and asking if he even looked in the mirror in the last week. That suddenly reminded him to switch his phone to silent mode.

His foot bounced impatiently as he waited, were those footsteps that he just heard Wilson? No, they continued past his room. In a last ditch effort at normalcy he turned on the tv to a baseball game so that he didn’t look like a weirdo who had been staring at the door in silence, now he was a weirdo staring at the door with baseball playing low in the background. He got up, half to shut off the overhead light and replace the light with that of the side table lamps, half just to have an excuse to move around.

The knock came right around nine o’clock. Bucky couldn’t help but glimpse through the peephole to make sure Sam wasn’t pulling a prank on him–that other American players weren’t waiting with him outside to laugh at him. 

The only person he saw was Wilson with a baseball cap on. The hat hid his eyes from Bucky, but he could tell it was him by the way his shoulders showed from the fabric of his shirt.

Bucky was then reminded of how stupid it was to have the television on. He quickly grabbed the remote to turn it off, chucking it onto the bed as he made his way over to open the door.

It was apparent that Barnes wasn’t the only one to put more thought into his appearance. Wilson's hoodie looked inconspicuous enough, his hair looked good in a way it always did with how short it was. His jeans bunched a bit at his knees but previewed his ass in a way Bucky shouldn’t have noticed when the American turned to close the door behind him. At this time at night with the normal looking clothes, Bucky doubted anyone would recognize the hockey player.

“I was wondering if you were going to open the door or not,” Wilson stated, nosely peeking past Bucky around his room.

“Almost didn’t.” he couldn’t help but confess.

“But still, you did.” 

“Look…I want to talk about the…thing. Between us.”

“Is that all you want to do, talk about it?” Despite being the smaller man, Sam was embarrassingly good at slowly but surely herding Bucky into the opposite wall. Bucky stammered at his tone.

“You want to sit down, yes?” fuck. He was sure at this point stuffing a sock in his mouth would do him better than talking.

“No, not really what I had in mind…”

It was only so long before Bucky felt his back graze the wall of his hotel room. By now he was sure he could feel Sam's body heat from the little distance they had in between them now. His fingers twitched uselessly as his wants remained awkwardly away from Sam’s body, he couldn’t help but feel surprised at his annoyance at Wilson's choice to wear layers.

“This is not good idea,” Bucky said weakly, making nearly zero effort to get out of his predicament.

“Oh really? Well-what gave you that impression?” Wilson teased, bringing his hand up to lightly direct Bucky's face down more. “Was it this part?” 

“Or maybe this,” he queried, cupping Bucky's chin down to feel his mouth on his own. Alarms were blaring in Bucky’s head as he brought his mouth down to Sams. He probably felt as stiff as a board with Sam pressed close, his eyes still open like he couldn’t fathom he was getting with Sam Wilson in his hotel room. Despite the surprise radiating from him, he wasn’t exactly pushing Sam away, it just seemed like he didn’t know what to do. Sam took this more as an invitation, his tongue grazed in between Bucky's lips seeking entry. Long, thick brown fingers invaded up Bucky’s chest and made their way towards his nape. Bucky could suppress a moan as he felt Sam’s fingers guiding in his hair, subconsciously lowering further into Sam’s mouth. Sam seemed to be enriched by the idea that he could pull more small sounds from Bucky, more fulfilled as he felt the Russian relax a little more into him, he peaked once to see his eyes were now closed and somehow still looked seeking. Wilson deepened the kiss from here, tugging his shirt down more as his tongue made his way into Bucky’s mouth. 

Barnes had never kissed a man before this.

Had Sam?, he’d asked himself in the back of his mind, He seemed pretty fucking enlightened on how.

This seemed so wrong in Bucky's brain, this was a horrible situation he had put himself in. He felt like the entire hotel would sense his panic and wake up to find the two most talked about prospects in the hockey world making out. Maybe kissing any man would be fine, but kissing this man..? There had to be rules on this. He wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t though considering how batshit crazy it looked. Unfortunately, if there were the tent pitching in his pants couldn’t care less.

Bucky’d dick throbbed almost painfully as Sam slid his knee in between his legs. Sam rubbed near Bucky’s erection in a way that made his breath hitch, his hand shot up to his mouth trying to remain quiet. 

Bucky had no idea what he was doing. He had still never been with a man. He snaked his hand up from Sam’s waist towards his chest. Wilson gave a soft moan that vibrated into Bucky’s mouth as his finger passed over the man’s nipple when he palmed it. That small little noise stripped away the last of Bucky's self control.

He kissed Sam back hard, just shy of their teeth colliding as Barnes’ mouth turned frantic and eager. He wanted this with every fiber in his body, he wanted so much more. A content little noise escaped Sam as Bucky flipped him into the crowded bit of the wall, Sam came free of Bucky's mouth despite Bucky’s attempt at continuing to get the man’s shirt off. With the shirt out of the way, Sam guided his large hand down towards his crotch. 

Holy shit, Bucky had Sam Wilson's dick in his hand.

He could feel the length solid against his fingers, his erection prominent in the denim of his pants. He tries to ignore the woody growing in his pants as he palmed the area, he heard the other man’s breath catch at his touch. Fueled with horniness and the noises coming from Sam, Bucky began to remove the denim barrier. He brought down the fly of the Wilson’s pants and worked his own hand inside, taking in the moan that resonated out of Sam once his touch registered. As soon as Bucky's hand wrapped around Sam's smooth, thick cock after getting past his briefs Sam let out a sharp inhale and stopped kissing him.

“Is okay?” Bucky murmured before Sam quickly shut him up with several sharp nods, a new determination in his brown gaze as he gave Bucky more access. His hands cradled Bucky's face, it felt like he was gazing into his soul through the blue, Sam's eyes brimming with desire. Bucky couldn’t dismiss his swollen lips and dark eyes, a chill went down his lower back, it felt like they were seeing each other for the first time. Wilson quickly shed off his own shirt as his fingers started to thread through dark curls, guiding Bucky onto his knees right in front of his aching penis. 

“Fuck…” Sam groaned once Bucky was in place, there was no way to undo this if they went this far. Bucky hesitantly replaced his hand for his mouth, certain that if this went wrong he would kill himself from embarrassment. He pressed his tongue to the head of Sam’s rigid cock and felt satisfaction at the full body shiver he felt on Sam’s part. 

“That’s it Barnes…” Sam hissed under his breath, his eyes fixated at the unruly hair under his waistline. 

It tasted like nothing more than skin. He worked his tongue around the head slowly, trying to think of what he himself would like if a girl was going down on him. Fuck this was so gay. Would he have to ask for advice from his girl friends now? He generally preferred to excel at everything he did, that or it didn’t look like he was having a good time. It felt like if someone had thrown him into a car at twelve and said okay, go get nascars attention. As he took Sam deeper into his mouth, he couldn’t help but think about how this was nothing like anything he had ever done before. He stayed like that for a while, moving his tongue around his length, not knowing what the hell to do. He was sure he looked like an idiot from Wilson’s view. 

Wilson’s eyes surrendered no such idea. By now he had his upper back pressed into the wall like he couldn’t trust his feet to hold him. Soft brown fingers teased Bucky’s hair, his dark eyes were hooded as if he was only still present through the touch of Bucky’s head. He mumbled a bit until he eventually got out, “look at you.” 

Bucky couldn’t help but think of their roles reversed, what the top of Sam’s head would look like bobbing underneath him, fuck. Would he immediately take over, or would he be just as uncertain as Bucky had been? What would Sam look like on his knees taking Bucky in? The thoughts alone flushed Bucky’s face, he couldn't have been happier that Sam couldn’t fully see his face right now. 

The distractions alone made a moan crawl out of Bucky, the vibration on Sam’s cock made him weak at the knees. Wilson couldn’t help but murmur reassurances and small praise to him, which felt undeserved to Bucky. Bucky felt Sam’s firm hand suddenly press at his head to give him a rhythm. 

Thank god.

Bucky’s head began to bob back and forth based on the pressure that Sam provided, sucking and licking at his dick like he was going on fucking tour. It was easy to lose himself in the moment. He was thankful that he was able to find pleasure in having a dick in his mouth instead of having to feel perfect the first time. Although, it left an uncertainty in Bucky. His mind couldn’t help but race.

Fuck, was he doing this right?

Oh my god, what if Sam was only still here because he felt too awkward to tell Bucky that he was god awful at giving head?

Those insecurities diminished as Sam’s hand moved to his cheek for a moment. If he couldn’t bring himself to talk, he could at least give in some way. He couldn’t help but think that he’d had wet dreams like this in the past, in his bedroom only to later stop in shame, he just never expected it to actually happen. Unfortunately for how bad he felt, he couldn’t ignore that this was extremely hot and he was sure that there would be at least a little come in his briefs when he got home. Through the motion and action Bucky was producing onto Sam’s dick, he was sure he was doing a horrible job. His worst fears were horribly confirmed once he heard Sam nearly yelp, “Stop! Stop. stop…”

Bucky pulled off to look at Sam, confused as he wiped his chin. His brow was furrowed with his eyes squeezed shut tight. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Bucky started, confused. It wasn’t like he had used teeth, what happened? “I’m not a…I haven’t…”

Sam gave a shaky laugh, “No—fuck, it wasn’t you, I mean it was you…” Wilson's head was against the wall as he spoke, It sounded like he had just gone for a long run. He waved his hand a little, trying to get the words to come to him. “Too good. Fuck, didn’t want to blow a load in your mouth Buck.”

Bucky didn’t mention that Sam had called him “buck” for the first time. It could’ve been just an in the moment thing.

“Really, too much?” Bucky was surprised at this, he felt like he really hadn’t done much.

“Yeah—yeah, you were perfect, Fuck..” Sam rolled his head against the cool wall as he tried to think, damn he was lightheaded.

“Shit, brain fog. My fault,” 

Bucky rose off of his knees, embarrassment warmed his ears as he got up off of the carpet. It wasn’t like he was going to be doing anything else on that level anyway.

Bucky looked almost shy as he met Sam's eyes, his lips were still slightly pink. He eyed the other man as curiosity weaved his brows closer, “you have been thinking about this, yes?”

Sam looked up at him through his lashes, maintaining Bucky's eyes on him as he used his thumb to wipe away a dollop of saliva. 

“Maybe.”

Bucky scoffed as he felt the other man's fingers loop idly at his belt loops. “You like trouble”

“Really. What gave you that impression?” The American retorted, “have you ever…been with a man?”

“Never,” he replied, “have you?”

Sam seemed to study the russian in front of him, as if deciding right then and there whether he would keep this as a quick hookup or if he would truly confide in his opponent. Could he even really call him his “opponent” right now, with Barnes looking at him like whatever would come out of his mouth at that moment was gospel?

“Back in Louisiana, a boy at my highschool.”

Barnes couldn’t suppress the surprise in his face, “at your school? Jesus, you love trouble. From a class you took together?”

“I wish, we’re family friends.”

“People found out, no?”

That got a sharp no of a head shake from Sam. “God no, we swore we wouldn’t tell anyone. Shit, our families went to church together—his dads a fucking asshole.”

That close of a threat didn’t sound worth it to the Russian.

Sam could feel the distrust in his gaze and bristled slightly against it as if it was critique.

“Fuck you, we were careful. It was just fooling around.”

Bucky could tell that he had reached into uncharted territory. Sam could tell that Bucky hadn’t meant to go there, he switched topics.

“We were…curious.”

“Curious, that what you call it?”

“Yes,” Sam said in a terrible attempt at Bucky’s heavy accent as he reeled Bucky in lazily, “and now, you make me curious.”

“Now…do I make you curious?”

Bucky swallowed at the seductive nature of Wilson’s voice. Sam made him many things: Frustrated, insane, horny, confused, even more frustrated, but yea, curiosity was definitely something Sam brought out in him. 

“Well you’re in my hotel room, yeah.”

“Was sucking on my dick worth letting me in?”

“I hate that you speak better English.”

Sam’s hand slipped into Bucky’s pants, sneaking from his waist towards his ass. Bucky exhaled sharply, gripping the wall.

“You a fan of it?” Sam queried.

“You in hockey? No.”

“Oh fuck off—who skates rings around your ass? You know what I mean.”

Bucky swallowed, trying to concentrate past Sam’s hand toying at his boxer's waistband. “Yes.”

Sam pretended to throw the idea around in his head, “hm, interesting—do you want me to get on the bed and let you continue?”

“You let me?”

“I could be persuaded, I am a nice guy afterall.”

Bucky’s fingers trailed up the sensation of his ribs and back as they waddled towards the bed, Sam separated from Bucky's mouth with a playful sneer as he saw the confusion fog over Bucky's face. A string of saliva broke them apart as Sam pushed at his paler chest to push his own self backwards onto the bed. Sam’s biceps flexed as he dragged his body farther onto the bed. 

Now that Sam was on the bed, Bucky took the moment to drink in the view of Sam’s mostly naked body. Sam glowed under the attention of the russians blue gaze, his firm hands remained braced by his pecs. There was a shimmer of challenge in Sam’s gaze. He was taunting him. There was a mix of sweat and spit around his collarbone from when Bucky had begun his…descent. His chest was wide with traps leading to sculpted deltoids, there was no hair on his stomach, only a defined v line that led to his bobbing cock still glistening from Bucky’s spit. His abs crunched in so he could pull off the rest of his pants, shoes, and socks. 

Bucky quickly got the memo and stalked closer back to Sam’s mouth as if it was a homing device—only to be stopped by Sam’s hand at his trap.

His thick brows furrowed, “You are very confusing.”

“Well if I’m confusing then you’re a tease. Take off your pants. Let me see you.”

“You’ve already seen me. Shower.”

That got an exaggerated sigh out of Sam as his head dropped back onto Bucky’s pillow—wait, was he seriously sweated and practically naked on Bucky’s hotel bed?

“Yes, and now I want to see more. Strip.”

Bucky quickly began to undress at the pants. He wasn’t ashamed in the slightest to be naked in front of other guys, it came part of the territory when players had to change by each other in and out of their jerseys and skates. He kicked off the rest of his pants and tried not to die of embarrassment as he slid his boxers off.

He slightly waved his arms up. He felt fucking clueless by now. Well?

A low, cat-call-like whistle came from Wilson’s lips, “Is now the part where I throw dollar bills, or after?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yea I’m waiting for that, You're cruel for making me wait, y’know?” He chided, running his fingers from Bucky’s throat down his smooth stomach. “Are you gonna keep looming down at me, or are you going to get down here?”

Bucky huffed as he rolled over, he felt like he should be more pissed off at Sam’s smoothness compared to his, but couldn’t bring himself to be. He laid flat next to Sam, unsure what to do. 

“So, what do you want?”

“What?”

“You, what are you into?” Sam questioned, rolling up onto his arms to bracket in Bucky.

“I do not know.”

“Come on, you have to have something you're into.”

“Really,” Sam murmured, one hand cupping bucky’s pec and leaning down to kiss his jaw. “You’re just gonna make me find out myself?”

“What, You lazy?”

“Wow, you’re such an asshole, y’know.” Sam muttered, his hand snaking down to press his palm to Bucky’s erection, he drank in the Russian's little gasps and the creak of the metal bedframe Bucky found himself gripping as the American curled his fingers gently around it. “Is this okay?”

Bucky nodded sharply, the metal cool under his hand. He was dumbfounded with how easy it seemed for Sam Wilson—a hockey player, a guy, his opponent—to have his hand wrapped around Bucky’s dick.

“Don’t worry,” Sam eased in between kissing up and down Bucky’s neck. Sam’s hand was slow and indepth, his touch was almost light without lube. Bucky might as well have been hypnotised. Bucky was spellbound by his rich American accent and confident mouth working from the base of his ear down to his collarbone. For all Bucky was concerned, there might as well have been a lure already in his mouth with Sam only reeling him forward. 

Light headed with lust and sensation, Bucky could barely process Sam moving lower down. 

Before Bucky could even realize what he was doing, Sam slid down Bucky’s paler body and took his cock into his mouth. Barnes stifled a moan as he felt Sam's warm mouth slide over him, one of Sam's hands stayed on Bucky's pec, the other began to work up and down his thigh. Sam couldn’t help but wonder prior what got him off, what dragged those pathetic little sounds out of him, what caused him to pant and sweat and buck his hips. He knew what he wanted though. He wanted Bucky to be fucking spent after him.

He had his jaw slacken as he took Bucky in as deep as he could. He bobbed his head lightly, more focused on keeping sensation on the other sections his hands worked on. Bucky choked out a whine as he grabbed the back of Sam's hand on his pec, desperate for contact and yet overflowing on sensation. Sam couldn’t stifle his surprise at how easy and touch starved Bucky was underneath him. Sam hummed with Bucky in his mouth with his hand kneading his thigh, he could see Bucky's bicep flex as his hand clutched onto the bedframe. 

“Sam…fuck.” Bucky couldn’t take it anymore and switched to Russian. Sam had no idea what the hell he was saying, but he loved the neediness in his tone. It didn’t take a genius at this point to know Bucky’s arched, quivering back meant he was about to come. Shane still had no idea what Bucky was saying, but he was not willing to take a load to the mouth in a hotel like a common whore. He quickly pulled off just in time for Bucky to use his hand to take over where Sam’s mouth was to stroke roughly until release painted his stomach. 

Sam couldn’t help but peer into Bucky’s slick and exhausted gaze looking right back at him, dark sweat induced curls framed his face in an almost seductive manner. He couldn’t help but stare at the mess in front of him. It was one of the hottest things he had ever seen. Bucky was mumbling incoherent nonsense into the air in ecstasy. Sam’s own cock was like iron from the scene painted in front of him. 

“Okay…what the fuck was that?” Bucky huffed.

“What was what? Because I’m pretty sure you sounded more than happy.”

“You say I suck you off then you tire me out,” Bucky propped himself onto the pillows and attempted to glare weakly at Sam, it didn’t help that he looked so fucking chipper, “why lie?”

“I didn’t lie, I just—got FOMO?”

Sam received a pillow chucked at his head for that.

“Fuck you.”

“You mad? Keep that for me next time.” Sam retorted, unable to repress a satisfied, almost cocky grin from seeing bucky spent and still somehow mad at him. Bucky scoffed, grabbing a couple of tissues from the nightstand to wipe off a bit of his stomach.

Sam tempted fate one more time by squeezing the inside of Bucky’s thigh once before he sat up on the edge of the bed, his back now to Bucky. He idly rubbed at his jaw as he rolled out his neck. The bed creaked as Bucky sat up to swing his legs over the side of the bed. Bucky gripped the mattress with both hands as he heard someone cough and walk past their room. Fuck, had he been loud? It was a little hard to think back on it considering Sam Wilson was treating his fucking penis as an all-you-can-suck buffet. Panic surged within him.

“So, uh…” Bucky stammered, “this will not leave room, yes.?”

“No. I will tell everyone. Maybe we get kicked off the team. Oh! Or do you think they’ll keep us on and instead turn us into shitty pride month merch? You have that pretty look to you so they’ll probably put you in a dress or something.”

“Go fuck yourself. Will you tell?”

“No, god, you think I’m telling anyone?” Sam scoffed at the accusation.

Bucky didn’t even know why he bothered to ask. “No.”

The bed shifted as Sam rose to his feet.

Bucky was not unfamiliar with shame or embarrassment. He had felt ashamed when he had accidentally broken his mini hockey stick when he was young. He had felt embarrassed when his girlfriend at the time's companions snickered and jeered when he did something wrong. Now he felt ashamed too. He felt ashamed that he wanted Sam to stay. He felt embarrassed that wanted to feel Sam’s breath in his hair and his hands around his waist as they slept. 

What was wrong with him.

This, out of all of the things they had ever done, was one giant mistake. Out of all of the possible hookups Bucky could’ve possibly had, this was by far the worst person he could have possibly picked. Besides that, there was no reason that this wasn’t just a quick no-strings fuck, right? Why would Bucky possibly want to entertain the possibility that this was anything else?

He began to increasingly want Sam out of his hotel room. He wanted to pretend that this never happened. He didn’t want to reach over and grab him. He didn’t want to push him down onto the mattress. He didn’t want to have his way with Sam after his teasing and over confident demeanor. He definitely didn’t want to redo said things two or three more times afterwards. 

Once Sam was fully dressed and pulling up his fly, he turned back to face Bucky. There was a playful sense to his mannerisms, like he knew—or at least hoped—that this wouldn’t be the end of them. Besides the briefs Bucky had slipped back into, he was still naked. 

There was almost a hint of an apology in Sam’s next words, “I have an early flight tomorrow.” Bucky could’ve also just been imagining things.

“Okay.”

What the hell was Bucky supposed to say?

Sam did a small, awkward hop to get his shoe back on while standing, “I guess I’ll see you around?”

“On ice.”

“Yea, on ice.”

Bucky couldn’t help but cast a glance back to Sam’s lips, knowing his time was up. He was painfully aware this was probably the last time something like this between them would ever happen. 

“Cya, Barnes.”

By the time Bucky mustered “Bye,” Sam was already gone.