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Sam needed to stop it. Clearly, he had to. Sam could see that Bucky noticed. He knew how Sam reacted. Probably. He was pretty sure Bucky knew, though, bless Bucky’s heart, the man was as dense as a pound cake sometimes. Sam needed to stop the madness before it reached critical levels of Sam losing brain cells near the man.
It happened without warning. Without rhyme or reason. Sam swore he knew that Bucky knew how to act like a modern person. How to at least go about his day without an anachronism popping up. He had years in Europe to fine tune how to be a person in the twenty-first century. Bucky had no excuse. None.
But still, there it attacked Sam’s heart when he least expected it.
“You’re a divine dish, Sam,” Bucky said as Sam turned to see Bucky watching Sam watch the sunset on Sarah’s porch instead of the sunset itself, smiling at Sam like he didn’t just break Sam’s brain with his words.
“You’re an educated fox,” Bucky said, Sam almost ruining Redwing instead of repairing him, Sam turning to see Bucky staring up at Sam instead of tinkering with his motorcycle.
“You’re a gravy grad lad,” Bucky said as Sam’s brain faltered enough for AJ’s water balloon to hit him, Sam turning to find Bucky gazing at Sam like Sam was the only thing to look at as Bucky was pummeled by ten children’s worth of water balloons himself.
“You’re a hipper-dipper he-pal,” Bucky said as Sam ran into the table with all the food at the boil, all the food almost falling to the ground if not for Sam somehow finding enough brainpower to stop certain catastrophe, finding Bucky buttering his chest rather than whatever was supposed to be in his hand as he stared at Sam.
“You’re a dreamy dynamite doll,” said Bucky as Sam almost choked on popcorn, turning to find Bucky staring at him instead of Brandy’s Cinderella, Bucky melting into the couch as if all he’d ever want to be was right next to Sam.
Sam couldn’t let this keep happening. That shouldn’t be that hot. Sam should be able to act like a normal human being whenever Bucky Barnes lets out a cutesy phrase Sam didn’t even know was real. For all Sam knew, this was a long con prank Bucky was pulling and he was just making up nonsense phrases to make Sam stutter and fumble and not be able to think.
And as Sam stood to the side of the middle school dance he was currently chaperoning with Bucky, Sam couldn’t help but sense a phrase that would disturb Sam’s train of thought.
“Hi, sugar,” said Bucky, because of course he would pop out of nowhere, punch in hand because one of the sixth grade room parents thought punch was what tweens wanted at a dance, Bucky steadying Sam with his other arm as Sam almost toppled over the table with the punch bowl, Bucky smiling warmly down at Sam, “Are you rationed?”
“Am I what?” asked Sam, trying to process what that could even mean while Bucky’s arm stayed firmly and distractingly around his waist.
Bucky knew what he was doing. He had to know. This couldn’t just be Sam.
Bucky took long, slow gulps of his punch. Sam… okay, so Sam was a bit hypnotized by Bucky’s adam’s apple as he swallowed the punch that honestly tasted like jungle juice without the alcoholic component. Just Sam… watching Bucky drink some punch… with Bucky’s arm securely around his waist.
Sam needed help.
He needed to take Bucky by his ridiculously chiseled face and kiss the living daylights out of him.
No.
Sam was normal. He was. Totally normal. He could focus on something other than Bucky’s adam’s apple… eventually.
Sam used a jetpack with wings on a daily basis. He helped communities organize. He talked people down from doing deeds that could ruin their lives. There were three PSAs that had Sam talking to kids about puberty all across the country, including this school. Sam was a world-class gymnast. Sam was a literal rocket scientist in all but doctorate. Sam was not drooling over a one-hundred-old man who Sam found googling what “A Star Wars” was and “Hobbit has sequel???”. Sam was not getting frazzled by a man he watched go to a 3-D movie yell and throw his glasses at the screen, breaking the screen at the movie theater before he ran faster than a car out and got them banned from all AMCs. Sam was not developing feelings for a man who said that “water pie” was his favorite dessert when AJ asked him what he should make for a bake sale to raise funds for his robotics team.
Sam… was…
Sam was totally into this guy.
He was definitely falling for this man and Sam had no excuse, literally none.
“Cut a rug with me, my rhythm rocker?” asked Bucky as he extended a hand to Sam.
Sam didn’t even know what song was playing. He didn’t know if they were even dancing to the beat. All he could feel was the two of them. Matching steps like they had danced a thousand times before when this was their first. Chemistry bleeding out into their movement. An understanding of how they could move, how they could switch who led. It was older dancing, something Sam’s grandmother taught him when he was younger. But it worked. Something about it all just clicked.
“You’re cookin’ with helium whenever I see you jive,” said Bucky as he dipped Sam gracefully.
Sam let out a surprised laugh.
“You’re making that up,” said Sam, because that couldn’t be a real phrase.
Bucky might have misunderstood. Or maybe he was being obtuse. His grin grew as he shook his head, told Sam, “No, truly. You’re a ducky shincracker. A cloud walker. A pepper shaker. A jive bomber.”
Sam couldn’t help but giggle.
“Stop that,” said Sam, unable to stop himself from smiling as Bucky pulled him back up, their faces close now.
“Never,” said Bucky as one hand moved up to cup Sam’s cheek, “You’re killer-diller. I mean it. I don’t know how I ended up chasing after such a swell cookie.”
“Chasing after me?” whispered Sam, as his mind finally caught up with are you rationed.
“I haven’t been clear enough, you humdinger hot shot? This isn’t any jiggery-pokery, I swear. I’d never say this for kicks,” said Bucky as his forehead touched Sam’s, “You’re a lulu fella, Sam Wilson. Kind and thoughtful and you make my days better. All I want to do is stare at you, which I know is cock-eyed, but I can’t stop myself. My eyes keep wandering to you. You’re on the beam, Sam. You’re all moxie and sweet, you’re four-oh. I’d love to neck at the passion pit, you priceless pistol. Boodle under the benches like we’re students. I know I’m just a palooka, I get that. I’m a sad sack. But still. Still. I can’t help it. I want to be near you always, you dreamboat. And it’s okay if you don’t want this blivet of a geezer to be with you, I’ll back off, but you need to know that I want you, Samuel.”
Sam didn’t understand most of what Bucky just said. But he understood the last half of that last sentence.
“I want you too,” said Sam, crashing into Bucky in an awkward, mangled kiss, teeth on teeth with possibly some blood.
They laughed, adjusting their positions as the kiss grew into something perfect. Which felt right for them. Because that was what they were. It had been messy at first. The first few times they met. But then they grew. Grew into something more. Something perfect.
Sam could hear kids cheering and clapping. Some of the other chaperones gossiping. Definitely one of the older teachers trying to get Sam and Bucky to stop kissing in the middle of a dancefloor filled with tweens. Sam would care about that later. That was a future Sam problem. All he wanted to do now was bask in this moment. Live in this kiss before he had to deal with nosy room parents and children recording Captain America kissing Bucky Barnes for whatever the coolest social media app was now.
He pulled Bucky closer, savoring the kiss.