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It’s instinctual for Sam to make a quip and laugh when he sees Bucky in a sticky situation, any situation, really. And when he’s hanging off the edge of a moving truck, after being pushed over by a young woman, he absolutely has to.
And he does know that yes she’s a super soldier and yes they both got their asses handed to them, but he quite enjoys knowing that Bucky’s now reliant on Sam to save him.
He quickly swoops down under the truck, grabbing his vibranium-armed companion, and leading them to tumble into a field of blooming yellow flowers (since thanks to how low the truck is, there's not a feasible way for him to bring them both back up into the air and the fight).
(But oh well, he’s tired.)
There’s enough velocity from Sam that has them spinning far away from the road, though there’s no reason that they keep their grip on each other through it.
They land, most conveniently, a good 300 feet away from the highway, with Sam’s head surrounded by overgrown grass and Bucky’s head barely hanging above him.
Rather than getting off, the sanest course of action given their position, Bucky instead sighs and let’s his body weight sink further down on top of Sam. Clearly he’s tired too.
There’s a comfort in knowing that despite how drastically things are now changing, Bucky and Sam are stupid enough to get caught up in it together.
“Dude you weigh like 180 pounds, and that’s not accounting for the arm.” Sam strains his words slightly, though it’s more dramatic than he needs to be. It’s maybe, though he’s never admit it, the smell of Bucky’s cologne filling his senses that makes him strain in discomfort.
(He also momentarily wonders when former goat farmer Bucky Barnes became a cologne wearer.)
“Mhm.” He barely forms a word in return, huffing and lifting his weight off just slightly, but keeping his general position of straddling his superhero compatriot. “Could’ve used that shield.”
His words should be said in a rough tone, cursing Sam out in their usual teasing way, in the way of a man who just lost a fight against 8 impossible enemies.
But instead it’s weary, matched with a tinge of sentimentality he can’t help but associate with the man these days. And it’s matched, Sam realises when he focuses his eyes on the man perched above him, with a look in his eyes that could only be described as affectionate.
He has so many things to say in return, but he can’t say any of them.
A small “Buck…” rests in the back of his mind, but it doesn’t make its way to his lips. He instead settles on a similar stare, incidentally, filled with an uncharacteristic longing that makes Bucky pause.
Bucky hasn’t seen Sam in months, now. Not really.
He’s seen his photo pop up on his phone when he rings, something he looks at it intently each time. He’s seen him on the television more than once, giving the same scripted speeches about ‘rebuilding America’ and ‘protecting the world’ (and when Bucky does watch those, he can’t help but think of how much the words don’t match Sam).
They’ve spent the past day arguing. Quips, eye-rolls, brags and otherwise, and Bucky hasn’t really had the chance to take him in. His face is slightly obscured by his ridiculous red goggles, but Bucky finds a brief comfort in the familiarity of his beard, the smoothness of his skin tone, and for some reason, the crinkles in his forehead too.
He knows that he and Sam tease each other, overbearingly so, but deep down he’s known since the beginning that he and Sam are just as bound ‘til the end of the line as he and Steve ever were.
Bucky hates to be sentimental, it’s not a useful feeling considering his life story, but he takes comfort in how easily Sam treats him like a normal person, teasing him about his faults and quirks, as well as how easily he trusts a man who used to be a puppet for the other side.
And before he knows it, unaware of the sounds of rushing of cars and the sound of the heartbeat below him, Bucky’s pushing his lips down onto Sam’s.
It’s gentle, strangely so for the adrenaline still rushing through their veins, but the plush of Bucky’s lips pulling against his own has Sam’s body utterly paralysed to the ground.
It’s a tender kiss for two ex-soldiers, no matter how sentimental they both are feeling, so Bucky pulls away after only a second, not knowing what he’s meant to say next.
And Bucky does stares at him stupidly, no clue at all how Sam feels.
Sam, however, decides to take an arm under one of Bucky’s, and pulls him back down to a much more intense kiss.
Their teeth clash from Bucky’s surprise, and his position above Sam slips slightly, but it takes barely a second longer to compose himself and push down into him with the same ferocity.
It’s hard to maintain composure when kissing the man you’ve had a begrudged crush on since you went on the run with him 5 years ago, but Bucky’s body lights up at the amorous feeling of Sam’s lips interlocked with his.
Bucky kisses like a teenage boy, he knows it- somewhere between the desperation of their movements and how long it’s actually been since his last kiss- but Sam’s gripping his side in a way that shows nothing but that same burning need.
His fingers are left bare by the gloves he wears, and the feel of his nails trying to dig into Bucky’s side has him pushing Sam’s body even further into the grass.
In fact, Bucky brings an arm around Sam’s head, crowding him completely as their lips continue to bruisingly smack together. And Sam only wants to revel in the feel of Bucky surrounding him, trying his best to pull him even closer.
In their synced movements their crotches rub harshly against each other, leading to desperate, deep moans leaving both of them.
It’s that feeling that has Bucky finally breaking from their fervent, messy kiss, and dropping his head down slightly between Sam’s neck and shoulder as they both pant to get their breath back.
And fuck, their crotches are still pressed against each other’s.
There’s an infinite list of reasons Bucky could come up with to not go down on Sam in the middle of this field, from his insecurities to the actual mission they’re meant to be on right now, but he goes with the most reasonable thing his clouded and horny brain can come up with.
“We should get a hotel room.” Bucky says after a short moment, still taking heavy breaths that Sam can feel intimately on his exposed neck.
“I don’t know if w-”
“N-no, I mean, we’re in the middle of Germany. I don’t want to jump back on that plane for another 5 hours.” Sam’s barely had the chance to stutter out his own excuse before Bucky’s correcting him, thank God, so he replies with an agreement and a complaint about how much his back hurts.
At the sound of that, Bucky’s taking a final deep breath and pulling himself up from the ground- then a metal hand to pull Sam back up with him.
They look at each other for a few seconds too long, having nothing to say, wanting to avoid a conversation they almost definitely need to have now, and both of them briefly flicking over the idea of one last kiss.
Instead they start wordlessly walking back to the main road, Bucky a step behind, as Sam calls for someone to send them a car and to find a cheap motel with space for the night.
As they walk, both of them wonder what bed arrangements they’ll end up in come night time.