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Sam’s sitting on the couch in the living room at Avenger’s tower, flipping through TV channels and periodically checking his phone. They all have their own private spaces, and he could be doing nothing there, but whether he’s willing to acknowledge it or not, he’s…waiting.
He looks up from his phone when Bucky walks in the door. “Well?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “How’d it go?” A year after coming home from Wakanda (and getting the okay from his therapist), and Bucky’s been dipping his toes back into the dating pool. Steve’s been relentless in suggesting various men for Bucky to date, and Natasha’s been relentless in vetting them. Still, nothing’s clicked so far.
Bucky groans as his lip curls into a snarl. “Don’t ask. Can you believe I used to be good at this shit?”
“Actually, no, but if you say so, man.”
“Oh, fuck off, Wilson.”
Sam has to fight to hold back his smirk. Bucky’s only serious when he calls Sam by his given name. Wilson out of Bucky’s mouth means everything A-Ok.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Sam replies.
Bucky gives him a deadpan look. “The waiter dropped a stack of plates and I pushed my date down onto the floor and covered him with my body.”
“Ouch,” Sam hisses. “Still, at least he knows you’ll protect him if shit gets weird.”
“Yeah…he did not see the chivalry aspect of that particular move. It probably didn’t help that I’d already insulted his mustache.”
Sam’s lip curls. “He had a mustache?”
“What’s that look? You have a mustache.”
Quirking his lips and raising one brow, Sam says, “Yeah, but I look good.”
Bucky heaves a sigh as he falls into the armchair next to the couch. “Why did I think I could do this?” he asks the ceiling.
“Look, aside from that whole brain-washed assassin vibe you’ve got going on, I don’t see the problem. You clean up okay, and I hear man-buns are in.”
Without taking his eyes from the ceiling, Bucky flips Sam off.
Letting out a chuckle, Sam leans forward. “Seriously though,” Sam begins, and then startles when he realizes he’s about to make a sincere offer of help. Breathing deep, he forges ahead. “What’s the objective? You just trying to get laid, or are you looking for Twu Wuv?”
“You think you’re hilarious, but you’re not. So sad.”
“Hey, at least I haven’t been dating my right hand for the last seventy years.”
“Not just the right one,” Bucky says with a smirk, and Sam can’t help the chuckle that it pulls from him, even as he rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah. Well, you want any pointers, you let me know.”
“Yeah, full offense, but isn’t the reason you’re hanging out at home on a Friday night is because you struck out with that girl from HR?”
“Excuse you, I did not strike out. She thought it would be awkward to date since we work together. I respected her decision.”
“Hey, man, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Sam smiles, but he hears the hidden commiseration. It’s not hard at all finding someone who wants to date the Winter Soldier or the Falcon. However, it’s turned out to be harder than expected to find someone who wants to date Sam Wilson, or Bucky Barnes.
“Of the three of us, how is it that Steve is the one in a successful relationship?” Sam asks.
“I think it’s that whole ‘shared life experiences’ thing,” Bucky replies.
Steve and Tony had quietly started dating a few months after Bucky came out of cryo for the last time. They still bicker endlessly, but there’s an affection there that makes everyone who watches them smile. When Sam had asked why Steve and Bucky never got together, their responses were equally horrified.
“Whaaaat?” Steve asked, his face a study of “Do Not Want.”
“Gross,” Bucky replied, looking so distraught that Sam dropped the subject and never asked again.
“Seriously though,” Sam says. “What’s your best line? Lay it on me.”
“Line?” There’s a little crease of confusion between Bucky’s brows and it’s definitely not adorable.
“Yeah, like, “If looks could kill, baby, you’d be a weapon of mass destruction.”
Bucky blinks at him. “I
am
a weapon of mass destruction.”
Sam glares at him until he starts to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he says, running his hand over the scruff at his jaw. “I’m a man, not a weapon.”
Sam gives him a look that says ‘you’re damned right,” before taking another pull from his beer. “Anyway,” Sam says. “Sorry ‘bout your date.”
Bucky shrugs. “Wanna order a pizza?” he asks.
“Didn’t you just eat?”
“And?” Bucky asks, looking confused.
“Yeah, alright. No mushrooms.”
“You got no taste, Wilson,” Bucky says, and pulls out his phone to place the order and let security know about the incoming delivery.
Later, once they’ve demolished a couple of pizzas, a side of breadsticks, and a family sized salad, the two of them hang out on the couch, watching TV, engaging in a little gentle ribbing. It’s not until Sam’s in bed and about to drift off to sleep that he realizes it’s one of the best nights he’s had in a long time. He tries not to examine it too much. It’s one thing to be bi. It’s another to be kind of gay for a hundred-year-old former world’s-deadliest-assassin. He rolls his eyes at himself and turns over to go to sleep.
.
The next morning, Bucky sidles up to him while they’re making coffee in the main kitchen. Sam’s been for his morning run with Steve, and from the looks of things, Bucky’s just rolled out of bed.
“Hey,” Bucky mumbles.
“Hey,” Sam replies. He might hate running, but at least it’s the kick in the ass he needs to get his day going. He’s got a group to lead at the VA in about an hour, and he’s supposed to do some training with Wanda in the afternoon. Avenging’s a good life. He could be doing a lot worse.
“Wilson,” Bucky says, and Sam snaps out of his reverie, realizing that Bucky’s been trying to get his attention.
“What’s up?”
Bucky opens his mouth to say something, then closes it and looks away. “Nothing. ‘Morning.”
Sam arches an eyebrow. “Okaaay.”
“Just, uhm, you know how you said you would help me?”
Looking Bucky over, Sam sees the way that Bucky’s shoulders are hunching, a sure sign of his discomfit, and Sam considers himself lucky to be seeing it. Lucky that Bucky trusts him enough to show his anxiety, rather than hiding behind the façade he wears like a second skin.
A quip is on the tip of Sam’s tongue, but he can’t be sure how Bucky’ll take it, so he holds his tongue and nods. “What’d you have in mind?” he asks.
“IreadthisthingontheinternetandIwantedtopracticeonyou, he says, all in one breath.
“You what now?”
“I read this thing on the internet,” Bucky says again, “and I wondered if I could practice on you?”
Sam smiles, slow and easy. “And what’s this thing you read?”
“It’s a – uhm, line?”
“You want to try a pick up line on me?”
“Forget it,” Bucky says, and turns away.
“Hey,” Sam says, and reaches out for Bucky’s arm before he can get too far. There was a time when Sam was acutely aware of touching the metal arm. Now, though, it’s just another part of Bucky Barnes. He’s not even aware of the difference most of the time.
“Come on,” Sam says, when Bucky finally turns around. “Lay it on me.”
“Just, um.” Bucky walks over to the dish rack and pulls out a bunch of forks and knives, then walks back to Sam. “I – I have all.” He stops himself and looks down, face pinking. Taking a deep breath, Bucky looks Sam in the eye and starts over. “I have all these forks and knives, baby, but what I need is a little spoon.”
Sam stares for a moment, slack jawed, before busting out in the biggest grin. “That was fucking terrible,” he says, a giggle rising in his throat. As he stands there, he’s sure that the response he’s having – heart beating fast, warmth creeping into his face – has nothing to do with the way Bucky’s looking at him, eyes wide and hopeful, a light blush across his cheeks, and his lips curving into one of the most sincere smiles Sam has ever seen. No, his response has to do with the absolute awfulness of that pick up line.
As he gives in to the giggle, Bucky starts to grin. “Hey,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Made ya laugh at least.”
“Yeah, you keep working on that,” he says, turning toward his coffee. He looks back up just in time to see Bucky give a mock salute.
“Sir, yessir!” he says, and walks away.
Looking back, Sam can say one thing for sure: He has no idea that he’s just unleashed a monster.
.
A few days later, Sam’s heading down to the training room and Bucky, soaked in sweat and red-cheeked, seems to be coming back from there. They’re about to pass one another on the stairs when Bucky pauses, and bends to look at Sam’s pants.
“What…?” Sam asks.
“Are…are those mirrors on your pants, Wilson?”
Sam hardly has time to process the words before Bucky’s standing upright again, and right in Sam’s space. “Cause I sure can see myself in them,” Bucky finishes and continues his trek upstairs, leaving a baffled Sam in his wake.
.
About a week later, there have been no additional forays into the world of pickup lines, and Sam starts letting his guard down. It’s another quiet Friday night: Steve and Tony are trying out a new sushi place, Nat and Clint are doing recon in one of the countries that end in
stan
, and Wanda is in California, visiting Scott and Luis. Sam’s not exactly sure where the world’s deadliest assassin is spending the evening, and he tells himself that he doesn’t care.
Still, when the elevator pings and Bucky steps into the shared space, Sam can’t help but feel a little bit more at ease. They choose a movie, Bucky orders Thai food, and the two of them settle into a comfortable silence, punctuated by quips aimed both at one another and the film.
.
Bucky and Sam are in the training room, going over the latest set of simulations. Sam swoops down, picks Bucky up, and then drops him down onto a platform, where he rolls and comes up firing. At least, that’s how it’s meant to go in theory. In reality, Sam drops Bucky, Bucky rolls…and rolls himself right off of the platform, falling about two stories onto the padded mats below.
“Shit,” Sam swears as he comes to land next to Bucky. “Shit. You okay?”
Groaning, Bucky rolls onto his back. “My appendix,” he moans, and Sam’s eyes widen.
“What?”
“I think…I think you’re my appendix,” Bucky says, his face lighting into a grin. “I’m not sure what you do, but I’m pretty sure I should take you out.”
“Man, fuck you,” Sam says, turning away to hide his grin. “I thought you were really hurt.”
“Aw, were you worried about me Sammy?”
“No.”
“Aw, you were, weren’t you? That is so sweet,” Bucky says, rolling up to his feet and shaking off the fall. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Bucky says. “They made sure I’m damn near indestructible.”
“Yeah,” Sam says. “Alright.”
.
It shouldn’t be a surprise when Sam walks into the common room a few days later and Bucky looks at him and winces. It shouldn’t be, but….
“Did it hurt?” Bucky asks, when Sam gives him a questioning look.
“What?”
“Did it hurt?” Bucky asks, getting up and stalking toward Sam, and damn. He looks really fucking good in black jeans and a dark blue Henley. Really fucking good. His hair’s up in a loose bun, but strands of it are falling down around his face, and his cheekbones, Jesus. No one should have cheekbones like that. It’s just not fair.
“When you fell from heaven, sweetheart,” Bucky says, getting close enough for Sam to smell him, clean and a little earthy, warm. “Did it hurt?”
“I will fucking end you,” Sam says, but there’s no bite to the words. In fact, if he’s being honest (he’s not), they come out maybe just a little bit breathy.
“Promises, promises,” Bucky says, then walks away, all fluid grace and swagger.
Sam lets out a heavy sigh and leans against the wall. “That fuckin’ guy,” he mutters to himself.
.
It’s gotten to the point that Sam starts dreading being alone with Bucky, in part because he never pulls that flirty shit when any of the team are around, and in part because…because…because Sam’s maybe, kind of, just a little bit falling for it. Maybe.
It’s just…Bucky’s really attractive. It’s those high cheekbones and all that hair, the way his lips curve at the corners, and how he lights up when he’s happy. Sam never thought he’d be looking at Bucky with anything like
want
, but, here they are.
He’s not entirely sure what to do with his crush. For the time being, he decides to let it sit. After all, Barnes probably doesn’t mean anything by it. No sense in letting a dumb crush come between them.
And if he lets himself hope a little, well, that’s just his business.
Still, that sliver of hope that he’s allowed himself crumbles a few days later when he’s running with Steve.
“Hey,” Steve says, slowing up his regular triple time pace to keep pace with Sam. “How’s the project going?”
“Project?” Sam asks.
“Yeah, Buck said you were helping him out with something. He was really excited about it, but now he won’t say a word.”
“Oh,” Sam says. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna laugh,” Sam says, feeling protective of Bucky, and hey, that’s new.
“I won’t.”
“It’s – it’s ridiculous,” Sam pants. “He asked me to help him learn how to flirt.”
Steve coughs out a laugh, then stops jogging when the laugh overtakes him. He’s doubled over his knees laughing when Sam’s about had enough.
“It’s not that funny,” he says. “I do have some game.”
“No,” Steve laughs, holding a placating hand up. “No, it’s not that that – it’s just – Sam, Bucky’s the biggest flirt I know. Always has been. He said he learned growing up with three sisters, but man, he could charm the socks off of anyone back in the day. Still can, from what I’ve seen.”
Sam shrugs, feeling…hurt? Defensive? He’s not sure.
“Well I don’t know what he’s playing at, then,” Sam says, and Steve straightens at his tone.
“Hey,” he says. “Come on. If he asked you for help, he must need it. I think he still thinks you don’t like him, Sam.”
“What?” Sam’s thinking of all the Friday night’s they’ve spent together, how Bucky knows his orders for Thai, Sushi, Chinese, Japanese, and pizza, and how he knows that it’s Star
Wars
and not Star
Trek,
thank you very much, Tony Stark.
Steve shrugs. “Anyway, I do know there’s someone he’s been wanting to ask out for a while now, so maybe it’s just nerves. Either way, thank you, Sam. I know you didn’t get along at first, but I’m grateful that you’re willing to help him now.”
“Pfft,” Sam says. “He is my friend, too, you know. It’s not like this is some big favor.”
Steve smiles, then starts jogging in place. “Last one to Harold’s buys the donuts,” he says.
“Oh,” Sam says, making a face. “I better put in my best effort. Maybe today’s the day I beat you.” His tone is dry and flat.
“This is why you never beat me,” Steve yells over his shoulder. “Too much yapping.”
“I hate you,” Sam yells, but picks up the pace nonetheless.
.
That evening Sam’s mulling over his delivery choices in the common room when Bucky gets off of the elevator. He’s clean shaven and his hair is pulled back, off his face and in a neat bun at the base of his neck. He’s wearing dark jeans and a soft blue Henley, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looks – he looks good, and Sam has to remind himself not to stare.
“Hey man,” he says, and tries to keep it casual. He feels ready for whatever Barnes is going to throw him.
“Hey,” Bucky says. He walks to the fridge and grabs a couple of beers out, handing one to Sam.
“So,” Bucky says. “Chinese? Italian? What’re we doing tonight?”
“We?” Sam answers. “And here I thought you had a date, looking like that.”
Bucky colors slightly. “Nah,” he says, and goes for his hair, pulling out the tie that’s holding it in place. It falls around his face and Sam suppresses a groan. His long, wavy hair throws the sharpness of his jawline and cheekbones into sharp contrast.
“Oh,” Sam finally says. “You looked nice.”
Coloring further, Bucky moves to wrap his hair back up, but Sam stays him.
“Hey,” he says. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything, but slips the hair tie around his wrist. He comes around to stand next to Sam, looking over his shoulder at the take out menus.
“We could go out,” Bucky says. “There’s a new steakhouse that Steve was talking up the other day….” Bucky trails off and kind of shrugs.
Sam feels like he’s losing his equilibrium. He can’t help but feel that he’s missing something, and something big, but he’s not sure what it is.
“A steakhouse?” he says, and Bucky brightens, smiles.
Sam’s starting to feel like he’s in pretty big trouble here, because he finds himself agreeing just so Bucky won’t lose that look on his face.
“Okay,” he says. “Just let me get changed.”
Bucky shrugs and smiles and waits.
By the time they get back to the tower, they’re both stuffed to the gills. The steakhouse was excellent. They’d both ordered the tomahawk cut rib-eyes, with a bevy of sides to go with. When the bill came, Bucky insisted on paying, and once or twice, he’d put his hand at the small of Sam’s back when they were walking. It gave Sam that feeling of everything being off kilter, like a room where all the furniture’s been moved just a couple of inches to the left.
“Now what?” Sam asks, and all but throws himself on the couch. He’s giving serious thought to going upstairs to change into sweats, but thinks he can probably get away with just unbuttoning the top button of his jeans instead.
Bucky comes to sit beside him for a moment, before he jumps back up and grabs a couple of beers.
“I don’t know where you think I’m gonna put that,” Sam says, wondering if he can get away with undoing that button without Bucky noticing.
Shrugging, Bucky sets Sam’s beer down on the table, and perches at the edge of the couch. Sam’s just about to ask him what’s up, when he turns and looks at Sam and it’s - it’s devastating.
Bucky looks young and innocent, and absolutely breathtaking. Whatever Sam was about to say catches in his throat as Bucky looks at him, licks his lips then bites his bottom lip. Sam can’t tell if it’s a nervous tick or something he’s doing for show, but whatever it is, it looks good.
“I need some advice, Sam.”
“Alright, whatcha got?”
“There’s this guy. He’s gorgeous, smart, funny. He’s maybe the best person I know,” Bucky says and thats - that’s saying a lot. “He’s probably way out of my league, but…” and Bucky hunches his shoulders. “I don’t know what to say to him, and none of my lines have worked so far.”
Oh,
Sam thinks, as he tamps down the hurt.
Oh.
Whoever this guy is, Bucky’s pretty clearly…pretty clearly in love with him.
Oh.
Okay.
“You know,” Sam says, and suddenly he wants to be anywhere but here. “Just, you know, walk up to him, introduce yourself, tell him you’d like to take him out. Can’t win if you don’t try,” Sam says.
“Okay,” Bucky says. “So….” He stands and comes around to the side of the table where Sam is. “Hi. I’m Bucky,” he says, putting his hand out. “I think you’re so great,” he says, and there’s this gorgeous earnestness in Bucky’s eyes. Sam’s heart keens a little at that. “I was just hoping...would you let me take you out sometime?”
Sam smiles, but it feels like a fraud on his face. “That’s good, Barnes. Just like that, and he’ll be putty in your hands.”
Bucky looks startled for a moment, before he blinks and takes his hand back. That beatific smile from a moment ago is gone, and Sam can’t help but feel jealous of the guy that Bucky’s gonna aim it at next.
“Okay,” Bucky says, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I gotta - I’m going to bed,” he says, and quicks as that, disappears.
.
In the weeks that come, Sam hardly sees Bucky outside of their schedules sparring sessions and missions. There’s a group movie night, but Bucky sticks to Steve like glue, offering Sam nothing more than a smile from across the room. Sam smiles back - he’s genuinely starting to miss the guy, but he figures that whoever Bucky was working up to asking out must have said yes, because he’s been scarce at the tower. Sam might have dropped by his rooms once or twice on a Friday night, but his knocks went unanswered, and Jarvis was mum on the subject of Bucky’s whereabouts when asked.
He finally can’t take it anymore, so the next time he and Steve are running, he brings it up.
“So,” Sam says. “Barnes.”
“Yeah?”
“Guess it’s going good with that guy he was trying to ask out? Haven’t seen him around much.”
“Huh?” Steve says, and that asshole isn’t even out of breath.
“Have you met him at least?” Sam asks.
Steve stops jogging and drops down onto a grassy patch next to their usual path. “I don’t - Sam,” he says, and he’s got this look on his face, like he’s trying to figure out what to say.
“What is it?” Sam asks. As close as he and Barnes have gotten, he still counts Steve as his best friend.
Steve gives Sam a long, speculative look. “Bucky did ask someone out. Someone he really likes and admires. Someone he’d been getting close to. But the guy didn’t take him seriously,” Steve says, and he gives Sam a hard look. “So Bucky retreated.”
At that, Steve stands up and stretches an elbow up over his head. “I”m gonna head back to the tower. I’ll...see you later.”
Sam blinks and watches as Steve stretches the other arm. Is he...did he just…?
“Steve,” Sam says, because he feels like he’s finally getting a clue.
“See ya, Sam.” Steve turns and begins to jog away.
“Steve!” He watches as Captain Tiny Ass jogs away, leaving him on the grass to think.
He goes over the last few months in his head, how Bucky was at turns awkward and suave, how he always seemed to have time for Sam, until he didn’t have any time for Sam. Their dinner out. The way he’d put his hand on the small of Sam’s back to steer him. His earnest smile when he’d asked Sam out.
“Aw, fuck me,” Sam groans and flops back onto the grass. He gives himself a full minute to wallow in his own dumbassery, before pulling out his phone.
.
A couple of hours and one bodega stop later, Sam is haunting the common room when he’s supposed to be in the training room. He hopes that Bucky will come down, thinking that Sam won’t be there. He hopes that what he’s doing will be enough.
He hopes.
The elevator pings and the doors slide open and Bucky steps out. He only takes a step before he notices Sam, and Sam watches as his posture goes rigid. Sam comes from around the counter, his arms full of limes, and takes two steps toward Bucky before the limes start to fall, cascading onto the floor and rolling everywhich way.
“Shit,” he says, and bends to retrieve them. Bucky joins, chasing a few down before returning to hand them over to Sam.
Sam looks up at him, gives Bucky his very best grin, and says “Hey, thanks, man. I guess I’m really bad at pick up limes.”
Bucky stares at him a moment, eyes wide and unblinking. Sam stands resolutely in place, smile fixed on his face.
“You…” Bucky starts, but trails off.
Sam’s grin deepens.
“Holy shit, sweetheart,” Bucky finally says, a wide grin splitting his face. “That was the worst!” It’s followed by a disbelieving chuckle and Sam’s pretty sure he’s more than halfway home.
“Did it work?” Sam asks, with a slow blink.
“Goddamn,” Bucky says, dropping his limes and sliding an arm around Sam’s waist. “It took you long enough.”
Sam drops his limes and steps into Bucky’s embrace. “Well, you know I’m not as fast as you.”
“That’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and presses a small, soft kiss right behind Sam’s ear. “I’ll wait up.”
Sam nearly melts then, because Bucky’s pressing a line of kisses along his jaw, and calling him
sweetheart,
and holding him like he’s afraid Sam will fly away.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says, and then: “I’ve missed you.”
Bucky snuffles something into Sam’s neck, then holds him tighter.
“Sorry I made you wait so long,” Sam says, and presses a kiss against Bucky’s cheek.
Bucky pulls back to look at him. His eyes are clear and bright, that blue-gray shade that he’s missed so much, and Sam’s fingers tighten on Bucky’s shirt because this is - he gets to
have
this.
“Worth it,” Bucky says, and leans in to brush the softest kiss against Sam’s lip. “Totally worth it.”
As the afternoon slips into the evening, their kisses grow more frequent, then more lingering, then more heated. When Sam takes Bucky by the hand to lead him to his rooms, he pauses and asks, “Is this okay?”
“More than,” Bucky says, and kisses him long, and deep, and hot. “Besides, I gotta show you all the other tricks I’ve learned from the internet.”
Sam only has a moment to worry before Bucky’s manhandled him into the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.
“Should I be worried?” Sam asks, tugging his t-shirt off and tossing it near the hamper.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky says, and Sam thinks that that particular endearment will never get old. “You have no idea.”
As it turns out, Bucky’s right.
And as it turns out, Sam doesn’t mind in the least.