Chapter Text
“Do you think you can stop fussing over me like a damn mother hen for one minute?”
Natasha Romanoff, clad in a stylish floral-print dress and tan sandals, her rich red hair curled to perfection, presses her lips together in a very thin line. “I’m just saying James, I hope this vacation does you some good. You need to loosen up a little, and you certainly aren’t going to get any of that done while you’re off being a workaholic without me to stop you.”
“I don’t need to get laid to loosen up,” Bucky retorts, dragging the stupid wheely suitcase thing he’d borrowed from his sister across the bumpy ground. He’s got another two bags of Natasha’s wedged under his arms, which makes speedy movement difficult. “And it’s a work vacation. Sort of. I’m only gonna be gone for a month or so.”
“Excuse you. If I was suggesting that, and I’m not saying I am, getting laid is the definition of loosening up. I just think you could benefit from some company that isn’t me or your little sister.” Natasha purses her lips at him, her judgemental gaze peering over the tops of her shiny blue sunglasses as he scowls at her.
“That. That is not true. I take full offense from that. And anyways, you’re the one who invited the Work Friends, so who are you to call me out on who I spend my time with?”
“Work Friend singular. And I seem to remember you being very keen on those pictures I showed you of Steve before we found out he was taken.”
“Well. I mean. Look at the guy. That was just a given.”
Steve the Hot Coworker had been a really fun time for him and Natasha, mostly because Steve was the kind of guy who introduced himself with the fact that he was bi and then sort of dared you to say something negative about it. He had, according to Natasha, a legitimate bi-pride flag pinned up in his wallet next to the picture of his girlfriend.
Bucky wasn’t quite sure if he believed her about that one, but there may or may not have been a few days of crushing disappointment once Natasha had found out that Steve was in fact dating a very cute British girl who also looked like she could kick Bucky’s ass.
“Anyways, Steve says he’s bringing a single friend, so--”
Bucky cut her off with a sharp jerk of his head as she waved down a cab. “God, Natasha! I told you to leave it alone. When are you going to stop trying to set me up with people?”
“When you stop moping about like a sad, lonely human being.”
A cab pulled up, so Bucky went to put their luggage in the trunk. Once ensconced in the backseat with Natasha, he turned to face her and said, very seriously, “You gotta promise me you aren’t gonna try and set me up with this friend, alright? I’ve had it. I’m done with blind dates and ‘group outings’. I can live vicariously through you and Clint if that makes you happy.”
“That makes me creeped out, actually. Don’t do that.” Natasha crinkles her nose at him. Then she sighs. “Fine. I won’t push it if he doesn’t seem interested.”
“Promise, Natalia,” Bucky insists.
She rolls her eyes at him. “I promise I won’t try to pair you off for the duration of this cruise. Happy? You know I’m only doing this because I care.”
It was as good as he thought he’d get out of her, really. “Okay. Good.” He pulls back to relax against the cheap cab seat and stare out the window for the rest of the ride.
Sam Wilson has one neatly packed sports bag slung over his shoulder as he trails behind Steve and Peggy, who are bickering good-naturedly about something as they take sips from their shared, eco-friendly coffee tumbler.
He’s trying not to be irritated, because Steve had sworn to him that this was not going to be a vacation that featured Sam Wilson the Third Wheel, but Steve and Peggy tend to get starry-eyed when they spend too much time around each other. Or at least Steve does, because Sam is sure that if Peggy Carter asked for a billion dollars, Steve would find a way to get it, logic be damned.
“So who else is supposed to be coming on this trip?” Sam interjects when their conversation lulls, because Peggy had sprung the tickets on him due to the fact that her friend Angie had come down with the flu or something like that, so he had no idea who else was coming. Sam was taking a full week off of work for this, and while his boss wasn’t very happy about it, Sam had enough clout in the workplace as well as plenty of vacation days saved up that ‘no’ wasn’t really an option.
“Natasha, from work,” Steve says. “And her boyfriend Clint.”
“Great,” Sam says, a tad sarcastically. “So I’ll be fifth wheeling instead of third wheeling?”
Steve shakes his head. “Well, no. Natasha said her friend was coming? Bucky Barnes.”
“Even better.” Sam wants to throw his hands up. “So I’ll be bunking with the guy whose name sounds like a cartoon character’s.”
“Not nice,” Peggy says sharply, not even bothering to turn around.
Sam sighs, because his parents raised him better than to be rude about someone he hasn't even met yet, but he really is a little annoyed.
“He might be really nice,” Steve says earnestly. “You could hit it off.”
“No!” Sam nearly shouts, startling some people nearby and possibly everyone else within a block radius. “Enough. No more of this. I told you guys I'm not interested in dating right now.”
“You're so dramatic,” Peggy huffs. “We're just being good friends. And you didn't mind some of the dates we picked for you.”
It was true. Sharon, Peggy's cousin, was a pretty great girl. They had a nice run for a few weeks before Sam had broken it off. And the dates weren't the problem. All Sam's dates were smart, attractive, and funny, but there just hadn't been that spark. Sam hadn't felt that spark since Riley, and he was tired of chasing after it. He'd decided a few months back to cool it on the dating front until he felt more comfortable with opening up again, and while Steve and Peggy were respectful of that, it didn't mean they hadn't stopped commenting on potential partners for him.
Steve gives Sam a shrug, but his eyes are concerned. Sam loves Steve, he does, but Steve is as bad as Sam's mama when it comes to fussing.
“No fussing,” Sam insists to them.
Peggy snorts and links her arm with Steve's, her curly ponytail swishing. “Dramatic,” she repeats.
Sam stews in his own irritation until they reach the docks, where they have to stop and check in with their tickets. Honestly, he deserves a vacation, so he is going to enjoy the hell out of pampering himself for a week.
“Where the hell have you guys been?” Clint says, when Bucky and Natasha show up at their designated meeting point. “I was trying to call you, but I keep getting no service here.” Clint is wearing a bright purple shirt with white flowers patterned on it, and neon pink cargo shorts that hurt Bucky's eyes. Why Natasha doesn't disown Clint based on his poor fashion sense alone, Bucky has no idea.
“I told you to come an hour early because I knew you'd be half an hour late,” Natasha answers briskly, pulling a ticket out of her purse and handing it to him. She also plants a kiss on his cheek. “Just like I didn't let you keep this.”
“Smart,” Bucky comments, pawning off Natasha's extra bags onto Clint, who struggles manfully under their weight.
“I am a responsible adult,” Clint complains.
Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you or did you not get here half an hour ago?”
Clint opens his mouth for a whole second before he wisely shuts it. Bucky laughs at him all the way to the ticket taker.
“How's Lucky?” Bucky asks as they wait in line.
“Good,” Clint replies cheerfully. “Katie's got him for the week.”
“Bet she's pleased,” Natasha says wryly.
Clint scowls at her. “Stop encouraging her to steal the affections of my dog. I’m the one who got us these cheap tickets!”
“Thanks for the cheap tickets,” Bucky and Natasha chorus together.
“I'd bury my head in my hands, but I don't have any appendages free for that, so you'll have to settle for this.” Clint sticks his tongue out at them and blows a raspberry.
“Really mature, Barton,” Bucky groans. “Now I've got your spit all over me. Remind me why we’re friends?”
“It's alright,” Natasha says, smirking. “Wait until we reach the stairs.”
Arriving extra early meant that they beat the rush of people checking in.
Sam sometimes wants to thank Steve for waking him up at ungodly hours every day during college, because it really does make getting up at normal-people early times seem like a piece of cake. But then Sam remembers jogging outside at the asscrack of dawn as Steve laps him again and again, yelling snarky comments every damn time, and all the fuzzy feelings die a quick, painful death.
“Can't we take the elevator?” Sam asks plaintively, eyeing the massive amounts of stairs. It’s not that he’s lazy. It’s just. A lot of stairs. A ridiculous amount of stairs.
“No elevator. Scared, Wilson?” Steve teases. Peggy is already marching up in her kitten heels, one bag balanced on each arm. Steve adjusts his suitcases under his unfairly large biceps while Sam frowns.
“Last one up buys drinks, boys!” Peggy crows at them.
Sam facepalms. “Oh my god. You two deserve each other.”
It is then that Steve grins widely like the maniac he is, and then proceeds to jog up the stairs with both hands full of luggage.
“You're an asshole!” Sam shouts, past caring who is staring at them.
“Asshole with free drinks,” Steve tosses back, already halfway up the steps.
Sam curses and begins the trudge. If he's gonna be last anyways, he's gonna take his sweet time with this.
The ticket line was long, and Bucky feels his legs cramping as he leans against the railing, looking down at Clint.
“Stop trying to Snapchat my struggles!” Clint says desperately. Bucky and Natasha had taken pity on him, so now Clint only has two bags to carry. But considering how accident prone Clint is, Bucky is beginning to wonder if they should have taken all the bags instead.
Natasha, who is already at the top of the stairs, holds her phone out, grinning like a dork. “Come on, honey,” she coos. “Smile big for the camera.”
Clint pulls an exaggerated grimace and totters up three more steps.
“We're gonna be here all day,” Bucky complains, dropping his backpack by Nat's feet and going to help Clint.
“Loser,” Natasha calls after him. She's still filming them. “No fun, Barnes.”
“No fun when we have to miss our vacation to drive your boyfriend to the hospital,” Bucky replies.
“Not like it hasn't happened before,” Clint says sheepishly as Bucky takes a suitcase from him. “Thanks, man.”
“I'm doing this for purely selfish reasons,” Bucky tells him, hefting the luggage up the last dozen steps. “You're embarrassing us by holding up the foot traffic. And with your fashion choices, but that’s another matter entirely.”
“Maybe if he'd packed less Hawaiian shirts, he wouldn't have had this issue,” says Natasha, tucking her phone away. Her eyes narrow at Clint. “You didn't mess up what I packed for you, did you?”
“Nooooo,” Clint drags out the sound innocently. He sets his bag down at the top of the steps and wipes imaginary sweat from his forehead.
“He probably found a way to fit three more shirts,” Bucky says. “Although how one person can own so many terrible shirts is beyond me.”
“Oh, you haven't seen Steve's wardrobe yet.” Natasha shakes her head mournfully. “He dresses like he's ninety.”
“Steve looks better without a shirt anyways,” Clint says absently, swiping Natasha's phone and checking her messages.
Bucky stares at him. “You sure your boyfriend is straight, Natasha?”
“I don't know. You've known him longer than I have.”
“Yeah, for like, an extra ten minutes. Worst ten minutes of my life.”
Clint makes a noise of success. “Yes! Service! So Steve says they're already on board. We've got nice rooms. Annnnd. He said their other friend got sick, so they're bringing someone else named Sam, which means Steve and Peggy are bunking together instead, cause the new guy is a guy and not Peggy's best friend Angie. So like I guess he can’t bunk with Peggy cause that’d be breaking the bro code.”
“Awesome,” Bucky says, exasperated. “I get to bunk with a different complete stranger.”
“Stop whining,” Natasha chastises. “I asked you out to meet them so many times. It's your fault. And Sam is nice. And good-looking. He works out with Steve.”
Bucky glares at her, picks up his bags, and stomps towards the cruise ship. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that he has to stop to pull on his backpack and buckle the front strap. He’s not going to let Natasha’s nosy, matchmaking ways ruin his vacation.
“Natasha says they’re on their way.” Steve puts his phone back in the pocket of his plaid cargo shorts. The three of them are standing at the front of the cruise ship, looking out over the docks.
“I’m surprised Clint didn’t make them late, what with the way Natasha goes on about him being a human disaster,” Peggy muses aloud. She’s pulled a thin cardigan on over her sleeveless blouse to buffer against the wind. Sam, clad in a grey t-shirt and plain tan shorts, isn’t too cold, but he’s certainly wishing that he’d thought to make some warmer clothing more easily accessible just in case. Everything in his bag is rolled into neat bundles to save space, and packed within an inch of its life.
“She’s probably got them on a strict schedule,” Steve says wisely. He reaches for the pair of sunglasses hanging from his shirt collar and puts them on. “Natasha’s sensible like that.”
“So, what’s this Bucky guy like?” Sam asks to no one in particular.
“No idea. Never met him.” Steve shrugs nonchalantly like this is no big deal. “I think Natasha mentioned he’s a workaholic.”
Alright. So maybe Sam was just gonna be stuck bunking with some guy who would be glued to his laptop for the duration of the trip. That would be acceptable. Not great, but better than many of the other terrible alternatives that he could picture. Plus, if the guy was a workaholic, Steve and Peggy would have to stop trying to pair Sam off and leave him alone.
“We’ll get him to loosen up,” Peggy decides. “This is a vacation, after all.”
“Hey, I think that’s them over there.” Steve waves his arm in their direction. “Natasha! Over here!”
“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” Sam says. “I’ll be right back.”
Peggy frowns at him sternly. “You’re not trying to escape, are you?” Her hands settle on her hips, and Sam has to resist the urge to immediately apologize even though he hasn’t done anything wrong (yet).
Hell yes, he was trying to escape. “I owe you guys drinks, remember?” Sam reminds her, a little too quickly.
She doesn’t say no, so Sam scampers off inside to find the bar, praying that it wasn’t too early for some beers.
Clint is taking about a dozen photos a minute as they approach the other half of their party. They'd stopped by their rooms to drop off their bags before heading to the front of the ship. Natasha had stolen a hoodie out of Bucky’s bag (she refused to touch Clint’s), to wear over her sundress. Bucky’s new roommate had laid his bag out in the center of the small room, which was nice because it meant he was at least considerate enough to not hog a bed just because he’d gotten here first.
Bucky plasters a polite smile on his face as Natasha introduces him to Steve and Peggy, who seem like a fairly nice couple. They certainly look very good together.
“James Barnes,” Bucky says. “But I go by Bucky.”
Steve shakes Bucky’s hand in his much larger one, and Peggy offers him a kiss on the cheek, which Bucky accepts.
“Where's Sam?” Natasha asks.
“At the bar,” Steve says, laughing. He and Peggy exchange a look, like they’ve got some inside joke going on.
“Sounds like a good plan,” Bucky says. “I'll be right back.”
“Get me a soda!” Clint says, gesturing with his hands and moving aside so he can take a picture of Steve and Natasha with the blue sky as a backdrop.
Bucky waves him off. “Buy your own sodas, Barton!”
Wandering back inside, Bucky follows the signs towards the closest bar. He orders a beer and hands his card over to the bartender, who swipes it and passes it back.
“Never too early for a beer,” Bucky tells the bartender sagely, and raises his glass in salute.
The bartender smiles flirtily at him, but Bucky isn’t in the mood so he turns away. There’s not too many people here yet, but Bucky makes eye contact with a guy a few seats away, and they do that thing where they nod at each other. The dude is nursing three beers though, so Bucky slides over a few seats to ask him about it.
“Rough day?” Bucky questions snidely, his eyebrows raised.
“You would think so. These are actually for my asshole friends.”
Bucky thinks hard on that answer. “Oh. Hey. You wouldn’t happen to be Sam, would you?”
Maybe-Sam looks at him carefully, and Natasha was sort of right because Maybe-Sam is definitely attractive. “Are you Bucky or Clint?”
“I’m Bucky Barnes.”
“I’m Sam Wilson.”
Bucky grins and props his elbows on the bar counter. “So. Tell me about your asshole friends. I have the feeling we’ve got a lot in common already.”
“They ran up the stairs after check-in and made me buy them drinks cause I came in last,” Sam laments, still annoyed. “Steve fucking ran up them like his life depended on it. And they also make me play third wheel on every single group outing we’ve been on, which I would not mind so much if they just left me alone.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky grouses. “Natasha and Clint are great friends, but Natasha won’t stop trying to set me up with her coworkers.”
Sam smacks a hand down on the counter. “You’re telling me. All I hear from Steve is about who’s available at work. I don’t care, I’m not interested. If I wanted a date, I would go out and get one myself, you know? I don’t need help.”
“Exactly, oh my god.” Bucky takes a drink, nodding along with Sam’s every word. “Like, even before we got here they were trying to tell me you were single, right, and like I already told Natasha to leave it alone. She even tried to set me up with Steve before she knew about Peggy.”
“Peggy set me up with her cousin Sharon,” Sam says confidentially. “Nothing against her-- she was really nice, but it wasn’t there. And I’m not looking to be attached right now.”
“God, I bet when they find out we’ve been at the bar together they’re never going to let us hear the end of it.” Bucky drags a hand down his face in disgust.
“I wish we had a way to shut them up,” Sam agrees.
“Honestly, couples are gross. I love my friends, but I'm damn tired of their relationships.” Bucky shakes his head.
“I know if I was dating someone they would leave me alone,” Sam mutters. “I almost didn't want to break things off with Sharon just cause I knew they'd be back at it.”
“I want them to feel all the misery they've caused me. Very acutely.”
“Give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Exactly!”
There is a pause in which they look at each other appraisingly.
“Y’know what,” Bucky says thoughtfully. “I think we can make this bunkmates thing work in our favour, pal. In a ‘be careful what you wish for’ way.”
“Our room is right in-between theirs,” Sam adds, leaning in towards Bucky. “It'd be a shame if those walls were too thin.”
Bucky’s resulting grin is positively filthy. “It has been a long time since I've gotten laid, according to Natasha.”
Sam snickers at him. “Whatever you say, dude.”
“So you're in? This is go big or go home, Wilson. You up for the challenge?”
Sam drains the rest of his beer. “I'm up for whatever you are, Barnes. My personal goal will be to make Steve blush fifty times by the end of today as payback for the stairs.”
Bucky offers his fist to seal the deal, and they bump on it.
“Hey pals,” Bucky drawls, sauntering towards where their friends still are congregated near the front of the deck. “Look who I found at the bar.”
Sam takes a moment to openly admire Bucky's tight skinny jeans, and maybe it's not 100% for show because damn. For a fake booty call, Sam thinks he's done pretty well for himself.
“Hey Sam!” Natasha smiles, her gaze flickering between the two of them. “The two of you seem to be getting along well.”
“Hey,” Sam says cautiously, a bit daunted by her enthusiasm. He's only met Natasha a few times, and she'd been scarily perceptive enough to spook him.
Bucky hums loudly and drags his gaze over Sam's body in a way that ought to be illegal coming from someone you literally just agreed to fake hookup with 20 minutes ago in a cruise bar.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, and what the fuck, how is his voice in a lower register already, Sam would like to know.
Peggy eyes him suspiciously. “I'd say so.”
Now Steve is looking at Sam with wide eyes, and Sam has to remember that he's playing it cool here.
“Got your drinks,” Sam says, holding out the beers.
Steve takes his, but his confused gaze is now fixed on Bucky, who is wearing a very self-satisfied smirk.
“Sam and I are gonna hit the pool,” Bucky says confidently. “Show off a little.”
No one says anything, so Bucky grabs Sam by the arm and drags him off to their rooms.
“That was hilarious,” Bucky says as soon as they are out of earshot. “Natasha looked like she was regretting it already. I haven't flirted that hard in months. I think she forgot what a sexy asshole I could be.”
“‘Sexy asshole’,” Sam repeats, just to make sure he heard right. “Do you call yourself that?”
“Only when I'm being a sexy asshole,” Bucky replies, unlocking their room. “Now put on your swim shorts, Wilson. We got some Baywatch to reenact.”
“Please no.” Sam shudders as he follows Bucky into the room. “How are we even supposed to make going to the pool annoying for them?”
“They’re gonna come watch, cause they can't believe it. And then you're going to openly admire my abs. And my ass.” Bucky tugs his backpack onto the left bed. “Door side alright?”
“Um, no,” Sam says.
Bucky frowns and looks up from where he’s digging in his backpack. “No to the door-side bed?”
“No to me drooling after your pale white boy ass,” Sam retorts. “I am clearly the hot commodity here.”
Bucky snorts like he's humoring him. “Yeah, okay.”
“You were the one who was checking me out back there,” Sam argues diligently.
Bucky turns big eyes and a dreamy smile (that is not attractive at all) on Sam. “So that means it's your turn to return the favour,” Bucky says triumphantly. Sam gawks at him.
Then Bucky starts to strip down in the middle of the room, so Sam has to angle away to look through his bag for his swim trunks because he is not playing this game with Bucky, no way.
Sam's trunks are plain black with white stripes down the side. Bucky's are ... the bright colours of the American flag. Because he is literally wearing swim shorts patterned with the American flag.
“Lost a bet,” Bucky explains when he catches Sam's incredulous stare.
“Okay,” Sam says, for the lack of a better comment.
Bucky peels off his white t-shirt to expose a whole lot of pale skin. And abs. He wasn't lying about the abs.
Well, whatever. Sam knows he looks good too, cause he's not the only guy who knows how to workout and then go shirtless at the pool. Ditching his shirt, Sam folds and rolls it up before placing it back neatly into his bag.
“Fancy,” Bucky says, and it sounds judgemental.
“At least I didn't bring a backpack,” Sam answers mildly. “For a second there I wasn't sure whether you were legal for beers.” Pulling out some sunscreen, he offers the bottle to Bucky, who is unimpressed at Sam's preparedness.
“You're just as bad as Natasha. I know I need sunscreen, okay. I get it.”
Sam's lips twitch at petulant expression on Bucky's face. “Sure you do. I'd love to see whatever tomato-red pics she got of you to warrant that look on your face right now.”
“You laugh now, but remember I'm the hot one in this fake relationship,” Bucky declares dramatically, tossing his bag back onto the floor. They make quick work of the sunscreen, and Sam refuses to deploy Bucky's suggestion of a white glob on his nose.
“Let's go before I also start to regret this,” Sam says.
Bucky pouts at him. “Not even an hour into our fake relationship and you're already tired of me? Must be losing my touch.”
Sam takes one look at Bucky, who is wearing his American flag swim trunks and has an unsmeared spot of sunscreen that he missed on his back, and thinks that Bucky Barnes is exactly the kind of boy his mama would tell him to avoid.