“Come in,” Sam’s voice comes from the inside of his bedroom, and Bucky’s heart races in his chest.
It’s just Sam on the other side of the door, right? It’s pretty late, of course, but he doesn’t sound like he’s been asleep, and chances are he’s not mostly naked and sleep rumpled. Right? Or Not, whatever, that’s not why Bucky’s here, and he shouldn’t be thinking about any of that at all, so he takes a deep breath and turns the doorknob with too much force before he gets a chance to change his mind.
"Bucky?" Sam sits up, definitely a little naked. The sheet pools around his waist and Bucky can't tell if he's wearing anything underneath, but he's not looking. Definitely not. He just nods to Sam, takes another deep breath, and leans against the doorframe.
Sam smiles and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Nightmares?”
I wish, Bucky doesn’t say, and his eyes trail Sam’s fingers as he pulls the sheet a little further up, unable to decide if he’s relieved or a little disappointed.
“Come here, man, sit.” Sam moves a little toward the wall to make room on his side and Bucky’s feet move on their own accord to walk over and shuffle onto the bed. It’s just polite, absolutely, and nothing to do with the rush of sensations pooling in some unspecified parts of his body with the way the sheet is left behind, or Sam’s red, rather revealing briefs that are covering really really little of Sam’s body.
“Everything good?” Sam turns to face Bucky and leans his head against the wall.
Bucky rubs his forehead and squints.
Everything is not good. Nothing is good, really, and there was this thing, all these things, that Bucky wanted to tell Sam, things that’d been bubbling in his chest since he had taken the wrench from Sam and fixed that pipe, but right now, he’s a little distracted, by everything but especially by this heat that must be radiating from Sam, somehow, and melting Bucky’s train of thought and all of his words.
The thing is that Sam’s beautiful.
So freaking beautiful, it’s unfair and it’s not like Bucky’s just noticed that, definitely not, he’d of course, noticed the sparkles in Sam’s eyes and the little gap between Sam’s front teeth, and he’d been distracted before, watching him and forgetting to listen to what he’d been saying, but today… Sam’s been distracting Bucky in a whole other way.
It’s just different being so close without the distraction of a battle. To be able to watch Sam smile and look happy like he's not carrying the weight of the entire world, but just a small proportion, to see his soft side, all covered in dirt and grease, out of his element for once, to witness him being a different person as a civilian back home, roughhousing his nephews and joking with his sister.
He’s a whole different kind of beautiful today. In this dim light, a little sleepy and a lot tired, he looks absolutely breathtaking.
“It was an overwhelming day.” Sam shifts a little and looks out of the window. “I couldn’t sleep either, just drowning in my thoughts.” He turns back to Bucky and leans his head against the wall again. “You struggling too?”
Was he struggling with sleep too? What thoughts were drowning him again? Why is Bucky here exactly? Why is he in Sam’s bed, in his family home, in Louisiana? He doesn’t know anymore. He just can’t remember.
All he’s aware of now is the fact that Sam is very close. Close enough that Bucky’s almost intoxicated with his scent but not close enough because Bucky has no idea how his lips taste. That’s all he cares about in this second, to figure out this specific detail, to know how it feels exactly to stare into Sam’s eyes, even if it feels like Sam can somehow see through his eyes right into his soul. To get closer inch by inch, close enough to finally feel Sam’s lips against his to just realize that he now wants more, much more, that he wants to taste and touch, that he wants it all, he just… wants.
Sam doesn’t push him away. He just holds still and closes his eyes, so effortlessly that it makes Bucky a little jealous, as his own heart is now pounding between his ribs and he’s starting to sweat but Sam’s just at ease, as if he’s practiced being kissed like this for years. Sam hums and his fingers brush against the back of Bucky’s flesh hand, the touch burning every point of contact on Bucky’s skin.
“I…” Bucky says against Sam’s lips. “Can I…” he tries again with no luck because words are hard when his body is on fire like this. “I want…” And he gives up, and presses forward so very slightly, hoping that his lips can convey meaning without forming sounds.
Sam opens his eyes. His lips press back gently, and his fingers trail along the lines around Bucky’s metal arm. “Are you sure?” Sam asks, low and a little hoarse, and it takes Bucky a moment to stop thinking about his voice and understand the question. He thinks, for an instant, as his tongue tastes Sam’s lips, but the thought is gone right then because Sam’s lips part to let Bucky in and suddenly, there is nothing to think about. Everything disappears except for the softness of Sam’s mouth, and the sensation flickering through Bucky’s lips running like a current through his body. All he knows is the way Sam trembles under Bucky’s weight and closes his eyes as Bucky’s teeth nibble at the skin of his throat, his body is the only matter in existence as he lays back to let Bucky kiss his chest, impossibly solid and maddeningly soft, and the endearing way he covers his mouth with both hands every time Bucky’s tongue trails over his nipples.
Bucky’s exactly where he should be at the exact right time, in this bed, in this house, in this century. He’s here to kiss and touch and taste Sam, to mouth at his ear and draw endless circles all over his belly, to make him shudder with every touch of metal fingers right above the waistband of his briefs, over and over and over again.
It’s magical, how it just works when everything else has failed so miserably, how Sam's breaths running short and his fingers digging into Bucky’s side puts all the damn thoughts in Bucky’s brain on hold, how Sam’s fingers fumble between them to find a way into Bucky’s pants as Bucky finally wraps his flesh hand around Sam’s cock. The world slows down and then stands still as they touch each other in perfect harmony, as they hang on to each other and they let go, together, for as long as it takes to get to the edge and drift down, in each other's arms.
It’s easy. It’s safe.
It’s just right.
Sam falls asleep before Bucky pulls the sheet over them. They’ll have to clean up, and Bucky will need to borrow one of Sam’s shirts as his own can’t be worn before a wash. He needs to sneak out of this room and get back to the couch before everyone else wakes up, and he needs to talk to Sam, about, well, everything, but right now his mind is pleasantly empty, and sleep is creeping under his eyelids.
Tomorrow, he tells himself, as he lays his head on Sam’s chest, listens to the steady rhythm of his heart, and falls into a dreamless, deep sleep.