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The night has already settled deeply by the time Sam arrives at the hotel. A bright neon sign of ‘Harrowleaf’ behind the front desk catches his attention, the counter void of any receptionist for some reason. People’s Republic of Chernaya barely speaks English, and that’s more than fine by Sam, but that makes him feel like a lost child during undercover missions — out of the country, anyway. Steve had learned five languages during his time as Cap. He’s got to at least learn two more to be on that level.
There is a huge digital clock just below the neon sign. 1:35AM. March 10th. He frowns at the familiarity of it, although he can’t quite pinpoint how and why it’s significant.
Sam decides to make a bee-line towards the room that pumps bass on the marble floor. There’s a big mahogany door with a triangle sign sitting beside it that’s in Chernayan that he can’t quite decipher, however he knows it won’t matter as long as he carries out the mission: retrieve the accelerator part they stole from the broke down Avengers Headquarters after the Battle of Thanos. He doesn’t know how this got smuggled all the way to Europe without being detected this long, but they can’t afford to let a bunch of criminals build their own time machine.
He knows the only way through where it’s located is through this door. Hope had mapped the place for him during the briefing, and he had studied it before going in. He just wishes it wasn’t getting through some sort of a party.
Sam pushes the door open and the music grows louder in his ears. He could feel the beat from the soles of his feet, the spotlights rolling around the room and hitting his face, momentarily blinding him. He squints his eyes at it and decides to keep his head low, pushing through the dancing crowd swiftly and without causing much contact.
There should be a hallway past where the bathroom would be. Sam would have to find a hidden door. One would think that it might be hidden by a painting, activated by pulling a small statue nearby, or maybe a bookshelf you would have to heave out of the way.
The bathroom hallway is filled with drunken chatter as Sam wades through. His eyes momentarily meet someone’s, briefly smiling at them out of respect, before turning the corridor he’s meant to go to.
The silence suddenly drowns the chaos from the party as he trudges ahead. The cream walls look too bare, and there isn’t really any shelf or a lever disguised as a figurine. Sam panics slightly, his eyes quickly scanning the empty hall. The Wasp’s scan showed frames and console tables. Now, it looks like the entire hall was stripped clean just before he arrived. Like they knew he was coming. He walks along the path, reaching for the wall in hopes of accidentally pushing a hidden button.
All of a sudden, Sam gets pulled into a small space indented into the wall. He raises his hand in defense, almost ready to swing at whoever plucked him from his concentration, until he realizes who it is.
“Looking at somebody was your first mistake.” Bucky whispers, his lips forming an amused smile. “You’re bad at this.”
“Don’t get too cocky.” Sam rolls his eyes, his closeness with Bucky feeling too electric. They haven’t seen each other since the gala, and considering what happened… Sam mentally swats the thoughts away. “What the hell are you doing here, Buck?”
Bucky shushes Sam all of a sudden, drawing him closer. They’re concealed in the dark space, with Bucky’s back plastered on the wall as he listens to the incoming footsteps. Men start speaking Chernayan which makes Sam regret not having an auto-translate earpiece.
The vibranium palm on the small of his back makes Sam self-conscious. He feels Bucky slowly sink his fingers down on his waistband, making him shudder internally. “What are they saying?” Sam asks. Did Bucky get a new perfume? It’s cedarwood and patchouli and oakmoss and intoxicating. Sam moves a bit to save his sanity, which makes Bucky pull away.
“They’re looking for you,” Bucky answers with an exhale, “They thought you were suspicious. They’re going to send people back to the party in case you’re there.”
“You didn’t answer my first question.” Sam fires back right away. He can hear the receding steps, yet he still whispers to Bucky just to make sure. “What are you doing here?”
Bucky tilts his jaw up and looks downwards at Sam, parting his lips slightly. He takes his hand off of Sam, to both Sam’s relief and dismay, and crosses his arms.
“Synge was originally based in Vegas. They were a small syndicate that grew over time, like any other cartels, until they somehow branched off to Europe, eventually here in Novokamsk.” Bucky explains as his jaw clenches after the pause.
Sam notices how Bucky’s not wearing appropriate clothing for a party, but his new uniform. There is a stark difference between his gray blazer and pants combo with a black tee underneath, versus Bucky. He has an all-black tac gear, very much similar to his previous navy blue suit, with less zippers and red highlights. He has the Thunderbolts insignia sewn on his right sleeve. Thigh holsters wrap both his legs, and he’s armed to the teeth, unlike when they were still partners.
“Sergio Castiglione is a member – well, he is kind of the leader back in Vegas. He’s supposed to meet with a woman named Zaytseva, she’s one of the agents that handle Synge ops around Europe.”
“And how does the Avengers concern you?” Sam asks, pulling a pistol out of his blazer’s inner pocket. It looks like there might be confrontations sooner or later. “Because I’m here for the stolen time machine accelerator piece and that’s no government property.”
“I didn’t know you’d be here. I’m here for Castiglione. We found out he’s been smuggling weapons and intel from the government and distributing it to other organizations. If I get to him, we’ll rattle the info outta him.” Bucky says, watching Sam cock his gun and check the perimeter.
“Assuming your interrogation skills ain’t rusty?” Sam teases with a smile.
Bucky shrugs, returning the smile. He looks extra rugged today, like he didn’t get a good cup of coffee like he usually would. “I did great with Nagel back then.”
“Yeah, with rupturing his ear drum.” Sam replies, carefully getting out of their hiding spot first. The hall is as empty as when he first arrived. The blank walls are staring back at him. “The Wasp said there should be a door of some sort here. I couldn’t find it.”
Bucky emerges just behind him, holding a glock of his own. He follows Sam to the end of the hall. Then, he reaches for the wall with his flesh hand, his fingertips feeling the subtle grooves and Sam is so sure they weren’t there. “You always have to look closer.” Bucky says, pushing on it slightly until a square tile pops out clean. There’s a print scanner asking for access.
Glancing at Sam, Bucky puts his vibranium hand up on the scanner. The small plates on his fingertips rearrange until it could resemble the last ones that touched the scanner, which allows them access right on.
Sam whistles in bewilderment. “Did you always have that with you?”
“As far as I remember.” Bucky replies as he watches a thin iron door open. Stairs lead to a dark hall below, so he turns back to Sam and signals at him to go first.
Without hesitation, Sam steps in first. He slowly makes his way down, pistol up on guard, as Bucky follows suit. The door closes behind them without a sound at all. There are motion lights at the bottom of the walls that guide them through.
“Why are you alone?” Sam asks. “This is a long way from the Pentagon to be alone.”
“Contrary to popular belief, we aren’t based at the Pentagon.” Bucky says, swiftly checking their 6 o’clock just in case. “And I’m not alone. Shostakov is with me. He should be somewhere here. Why are you alone?”
Sam’s chin quirks as he tilts his head with a shrug. “I could handle the mission alone.”
“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “But it kinda defeats the point of being the Captain.”
“Are you doubting my ability to go on solo missions?”
“No, all I’m saying is that you should at least have a back up. You worry me… You’ve always been more of a soldier than a spy.”
Sam hums at the last statement. Why is that so familiar? “Steve had been on missions alone.”
“Ha. And he’d always wish I was with him.”
Sam snorts. He knows Bucky is kidding for the most part, but he can’t convince himself that he doesn’t feel the same. Does being Captain America come with being absolutely captivated by a certain Bucky Barnes? Sam knew that Steve thought of Bucky as someone more than a friend at one point, he just didn’t act on it. He also knew he was growing fond of Bucky each week he visited him in Wakanda and it made him damn nervous. Sam thought that if he acted on whatever he’s feeling before Steve did, it would ruin the team dynamics. So he never did, yet never did Steve.
“I just don’t like the thought of things going south and you having no one.” Bucky follows up when Sam stayed quiet.
They’re not technically a team. Not now, anyway. They’re two people with different agendas that somehow line up. They could work together, they could just not. But, like puzzle pieces lost and found, him and Bucky fell into place naturally and perfectly. They’re like a well-oiled machine no matter how long it has been. Sam misses being in a team with him.
Sam misses him even though he’s right with him.
“You okay?” Bucky speaks again and pulls him out of his thoughts. Sam hadn’t realized he stopped in his tracks.
Sam nods. “Yeah.” He looks ahead and sees blaring red lights, then a thick iron door. Hope showed him that this would be where the accelerator part is, the room Castiglione and Zaytseva would meet in is on its right. The pipe near Sam’s face sprays with hot air, so he takes a step back and bumps on Bucky behind him.
Bucky catches Sam, his right hand landing on his shoulder blade. “...Are you sure you’re fine?”
“I am. Didn’t you see the shit that blew on my face?” Sam lurches to the front again, realizing he sounded too snappy. He sighs, putting his gun down to his side and facing Bucky. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. I just… I don’t know.”
With Bucky blinking in confusion, Sam could see when is the exact time it clicked, as he gives Sam a smug smile. “You miss me.”
Sam isn’t having it though. He rolls his eyes playfully and turns away. “Fuck off, man. I knew you were gonna bug me about it.”
“Hey,” Bucky nudges Sam with his elbow, enough for Sam to look at him again. He has a soft smile on his lips. “I missed you too. You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here.”
Staring at Bucky’s eyes is definitely not good for Sam. Flashbacks of the gala night replay in his head, which isn’t ideal in this situation, and watching Bucky’s eyes flicker between his eyes and his mouth might just be the last straw. How far was that night already, and how fast can they get out of here to do it again? Fortunately, the crackle in Bucky’s earpiece distracts them both, making Sam step away and hoist his pistol up again while Bucky turns to find out what it was about.
“Shostakov?”
“Barnes. Do you copy?” Alexei Shostakov speaks, the transmission choppy.
“What’s going on?” Bucky asks his partner, then shares a look with Sam. “What’s your location?”
“–Got me. Idiots.” Alexei buzzes, his voice muffled and shrouded by static. “They — bzz — finding you now!”
Alexei blurts out a string of Russian curses before his comms go quiet. Bucky grits his teeth and turns to Sam immediately. “They know we’re here too.”
“Shit. What the fuck did Red Guardian do?” Sam complains, and within a second or two, Synge operatives start to open fire from the other side of the hallway. Both Sam and Bucky jolt and duck, instinctively looking for a hiding spot. Sam crouches behind a stack of metal barrels while Bucky positions behind a wall across Sam.
Sam takes a peek and immediately pulls back as a bullet ricochets on the barrel. He switches positions and fires his gun from the top, hitting a guy on the shoulder, then an accidental bullet on the red bulb which darkens the vicinity. Bucky plucks three mini knives from his belt and takes a deep breath before throwing them one by one in a swift motion. A man gets stabbed on the chest who goes down with an ear curdling scream. Another gets hit on the hand where he’s holding his pistol, screeching in pain before Sam shoots him on the left shoulder, sending him down. The last knife buries in a woman’s neck, its carotid artery sliced as she couldn’t even make a sound other than wet gurgling. The members fall like tree trunks, simultaneous and hard, as Sam fires the last bullets to take the final Synge member down. Suddenly it’s quiet, only the droplets from leaking pipes audible. Both Bucky and Sam step out of their barricades, their guns up in case someone tries again.
Bucky steps over some bodies nonchalantly as Sam peers at those that still move and breathe. Sam never shot to kill, he knows where to hit just so he can knock them down. His eyes meet the woman’s, a pool of blood soaking her orange jacket right where Bucky struck her with the knife. She’s dead. Bucky doesn’t even look back. It reminds Sam of when he physically had to pull Bucky away when he threw a pipe through a bounty hunter’s shoulder in Madripoor. He has seen the same horrors when he was deployed in wars, but the Winter Soldier can truly send a different kind of chill down your spine.
The iron door has a wheel handle that Bucky turns effortlessly. Sparks fly as Bucky shatters the locking mechanism upon turning the wheel. He pulls it open with a heave, and there they see a bunch of other stolen devices presumably sold and to be delivered as well. There is a glass case in the middle and Sam could recognize the accelerator part from the file Bruce Banner had sent him yesterday. He knows the name of it, he swears, but he’s never been techy enough to remember.
“There’s the accelerator part.” Sam says, nodding his head towards it. “What are you gonna do with Shostakov?”
“I don’t know. There’s no response from him at all. He must’ve dropped and stepped on his comms while running.” Bucky sighs exasperatedly, a hand on his waist while standing with a cocked hip. “Go get it. I’ll be on the look-out.”
Sam purses his lips into a line and bobs his head at Bucky before jogging towards the glass case. He uses the buttstock of his gun and smashes the glass, swiping the shards away before picking the device up. It’s not any bigger than his palm, and it’s amazing to see how small it is considering the time travel possibilities it can provide. This little thing is one of the reasons why they’re back from being vanished. It’s so easy to miss during the massive clean-up of the compound, and so easy to steal.
Grunts from Bucky get Sam’s attention, whipping around to see a woman tussling with Bucky at the door. He immediately puts the device inside his blazer and aims the gun at her, though there’s difficulty since both her and Bucky are moving quite fast.
“I need that, Avenger.” The woman grumbles, side-stepping Bucky’s punch before kicking him in the face as he staggers backwards a bit. She has a thick Slavic accent. Sam figures that she must be Zaytseva.
Bucky doesn’t correct Zaytseva. Instead, he throws another punch, this time with his vibranium arm, and hits her on the stomach. She feels the blow and lurches backwards, but gains enough momentum to grab the extra pistol on Bucky’s thigh. She aims it at him, so Sam takes a gamble and fires his pistol, the bullet grazing Zaytseva’s finger which makes her drop it. Zaytseva glares at Sam and charges at him instead, but Bucky yanks her blonde hair back and puts her into a choke hold.
“Go!” Bucky shouts, slightly tightening his grip on Zaytseva. She chokes out a noise. “You got what you need, go! You’re done here!”
Sam hesitates. Before he could even make a decision, he notices Zaytseva take the last knife on Bucky’s belt. His eyes widen as he steps forward, a hand desperately reaching out, but Zaytseva buries it in Bucky’s abdomen with all her strength. Bucky feels the pain shooting from below his rib, so he releases the woman and stumbles backwards in shock.
Everything is happening too fast. Zaytseva faces Bucky again and holds the knife handle before burying it deeper and twisting it. She extracts the knife to let him bleed out before tossing it across the room. Sam hears the purl in Bucky’s groan as his knees buckle, collapsing on the cold metal floor with a dead stare in his eyes.
Along with Bucky crumbling down, so did Sam’s world.
He sees Zaytseva walk towards him with a determined glint in her irises. “You have what I need.”
Sam unloads the magazine off his pistol and throws it to the wall with his gun as he watches the woman. He raises his fists to his face and assertively reloads his arms, biting down his teeth until he tastes ferric. He feels like he could chew her up and spit her out. He wants to. He needs to.
He’ll take her on.
And he wants it to be personal.
Zaytseva strikes him with a roundhouse kick, in which Sam blocks with his left arm. He takes her foot and flips her, much to Zaytseva’s surprise, making her land on her face with a grunt. Sam attempts to stomp on her shoulder so she rolls away and crawls back up. She swings at him and lands a heavy punch near his mouth. He evades another series of punches from her and kicks her on the stomach, right where Bucky punched her earlier. He wipes the trickle of blood down his lips, smudging it across his chin.
Zaytseva takes a moment to breathe. She smiles. “You’re angry?”
Sam doesn’t even answer. His eyes are dark and his fists are balled so tight he could feel his nails dig and nip on his skin. He snorts a breath out of his nose and charges at Zaytseva, punches and strikes raining down from him as he towers over her. Zaytseva blocks them as she walks backwards and into the wall. She has become exhausted from fighting a super soldier, and yet Sam doesn’t stop. He lands multiple fists on her face, left and right, and he snarls in rage even though she can’t defend herself anymore. With one lucky evasion, Zaytseva turns her head to one side and lets Sam’s fist hit the wall. He dents the thick sheet of metal, and now his knuckles bleed, his and Zaytseva’s blood mixing together. She’s no longer squirming in his grip, but she still breathes, and she still grins with bloodstained teeth, as if amused.
I’ll give you what you need, Sam thinks.
He raises his fist again.
In a matter of seconds, another hand stops it, but it’s not his opponent’s.
“I think… I think you’ve made your point.” Bucky mumbles, gently pushing Sam’s hand away. He can’t stand as long as he wants to, and though unharmed, his legs are betraying him. “Come on… Sam…”
Sam didn’t realize how heavy he was breathing. He releases Zaytseva and watches her slide down the wall with a groan. He turns to Bucky who’s currently holding his stab wound to put pressure on it, his breathing ached and labored. Sam hooks an arm below Bucky’s armpit to help stabilize him, worry washing over the wrath in his chest. Bucky looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, pale and sweaty and bloody.
“Hey, old man, stay with me.” Sam whispers at him, keeping it light-hearted. He taps Bucky’s face with the back of his hand and ends up smearing blood on his cheek. He doesn’t even know if it’s his or Zaytseva’s. “We’re gonna get help. We’re gonna–” Sam takes a step forward with Bucky but Bucky fails to make it, leaving it to Sam to heave him up again.
Bucky nods at Sam to note that he’s listening, yet drops the hand that is holding his wound out of weakness. Sam reaches for it instead. He decides to delicately sit Bucky down, propping him below a nearby table. Sam kneels right in front of him.
“Eyes on me.” Sam commands.
Through half-lidded eyes, Bucky looks up at him. He even manages a smile. “Cap.”
“Hi.” Sam smiles back so sweetly as if he just didn’t beat the crap out of the agent who did this to Bucky. He could see the consciousness slowly leave Bucky’s being. “Stay with me, baby. I’m getting us help. Okay?”
Bucky frailly puts a hand on where Sam is holding his wound. He squeezes it with his remaining strength.
Sam knows he can’t stay. He closes his eyes for a moment to refocus before slipping his hand off of Bucky to take his blazer off. He crumples it into a ball and presses it on the wound as a make-shift tourniquet. Taking Bucky’s metal hand, he puts it on the tourniquet to secure the pressure before walking away. His mind is racing and so does his heart, figuring out the options and coming up with a quick plan. There must be a first aid kit somewhere. If he can’t find Red Guardian, then he’ll find something to stitch up Bucky himself. He’s already lost so much blood, and Sam isn’t particularly knowledgeable of how fast the super cells work in Bucky’s system.
Before Sam could even get out of this god-awful room, Alexei appears by the door, seemingly out of breath from running. He straightens his back at the unexpected Avenger. “Captain America? Why are you here?”
Sam utters a prayer of gratitude at the sight of Alexei as he slumps his shoulders in relief.
A shabby motel is what Sam, Alexei, and poor half-conscious Bucky decided to settle into.
Alexei wanted to bring Bucky to the hospital but he protested, saying he’d rather bleed to death than see white walls and ceiling-mounted operating lights ever again. Bucky would’ve argued further if it wasn’t for his state of mind, and Alexei’s arrogance would’ve put fuel to the fire, so Sam had to step in.
“I was a PJ. I can do it.” Sam sighs as Alexei talks his ears off while setting Bucky down on a creaky mattress. He requested a bundle of towels from the receptionist beforehand and only gave him four, which will have to make do. Sam takes the gloves from the suture kit he had asked Alexei to fetch earlier and puts them on.
“PJ?” Alexei asks, flailing his hands. “What the hell is a PJ?”
“A Pararescueman.” Sam answers, putting a pillow behind Bucky’s head. He unbuckles Bucky’s chest holster and hastily unzips his jacket, spreading it open to see the puncture wound. His compression shirt is still in the way, so he exhales and carefully lifts it to his pecs, as Bucky stifles a pained groan. “Are you gonna just stand there or are you gonna fucking help me with your teammate?”
“What do you want me to do, Mr. Pararescueman?” Alexei queries again, the reluctance and sarcasm heavy in his tone.
Sam pushes the kit of equipment towards Alexei, ignoring his attitude. “Wash ‘em with soap and water, then soak ‘em in hydrogen peroxide for 20 seconds. Get a clean towel from the bathroom and dry ‘em. Hurry.”
Alexei grumbles but takes the kit. Meanwhile, Sam takes his bloodied blazer off again and hands it to Bucky. “Bite on it later. It’ll sting a bit.”
“It fucking stings now,” Bucky quips with a grimace and adjusts himself a bit. Miraculously (or, thanks to the Super Soldier Serum), the bleeding has stopped. “I’m hungry.”
“Mm. Me too.” Sam’s demeanor lightens up as he pours a glass of water on the wound to clean it. The cerise fluid runs down to Bucky’s side and onto the towel that was laid out. Then, Sam starts with the saline solution. “We can get some Burger King later.”
Emerging back from the bathroom, Alexei tosses the kit on the bed with freshly sterilized equipment. “I have to call Valentina since… very obviously he can’t.”
“What happened to you? Where’s Sergio?” Bucky asks, listening to the clanking of surgical equipment beside him. He doesn’t want to look, but he holds back a wince upon feeling Sam’s scissors cut some jagged flesh out. “Please tell me he didn’t get away.”
“I broke his leg and tied his hands behind his back with a cord. His shoe is inside his mouth so he doesn’t yell. He’s in a dumpster somewhere… I’ll come back for him.” Alexei shrugs and pulls his phone out as he walks out of the motel room.
Sam hums again. “Whew, you guys are brutal.”
“That’s– shit, be gentle!”
“Thought you like it rough.”
“Doctors normally don’t talk back to their patients like this.”
“Good thing I’m no doctor. And stop being a baby.”
“You called me baby, though.”
Sam looks up from suturing and locks eyes with Bucky. He looks better. His lips are back to a rosy tint, and he can match his banter like he usually does. Sam figures that he must’ve been healing pretty quick inside, and though there was excessive blood loss, the serum had made up for it. Normally, this kind of stab wound should’ve killed somebody, but not Bucky. God, he’s thankful for that. He’s also thankful that he wasn’t able to see what he looked like while he unsparingly lashed on Zaytseva. He felt like a different man, because the thought of losing someone he loved and cared for right in front of him was just too much. Hurt was the root of it all. Sam would’ve torn Zaytseva apart — would’ve torn the whole world apart — if it wasn’t for Bucky tethering him back.
“You weren’t biting on my jacket?” Sam changes the topic and diverts his eyes away. He cautiously pricks the needle into the skin with the hemostat, almost finishing the rest of the suturing.
Bucky exhales, his breathing sounding like he’s not as pained as earlier, which is good. “No, I can handle it now. I’ve sutured myself and–” A grunt. “–have done worse jobs. Plus, the thing is in the pocket. I don’t wanna crush it.”
Finally releasing the breath he didn’t know he was holding, Sam leans back to his chair after completing the suture. He honestly forgot about the accelerator piece. Bucky could’ve dropped it earlier while holding it as a tourniquet and he wouldn’t have given a damn. He was scared for Bucky. Sam takes a gauze and some tape and covers the suture just so it keeps it dry.
Bucky sits up with a hiss, propping himself on the head board. He takes his chest holster and leather jacket off completely, leaving the compression shirt scrunched up on his upper chest. Sam stares at how the shirt sits nicely on Bucky, then his gaze lowers to the arches of his abs as he respires back to normal. He swallows, darting his eyes back to Bucky’s, who is already staring at him.
“What?” Sam asks, as if he wasn’t just caught in the act. He feels his face warm up in embarrassment.
Bucky chuckles raucously, scooting to the edge of the bed as he pulls his shirt down. He positions himself in front of Sam, spreading his legs before heaving Sam’s chair closer. Sam’s knee lodges on Bucky’s inner thighs, a position familiar to the both of them.
“You like to be close?” Sam jests and tilts his head slightly without breaking eye contact.
Humming, Bucky brushes his fingers near the cuts on Sam’s visage. Sam doesn’t flinch, but his facial expression twitches. He didn’t even realize the damage to him. Now that the adrenaline is draining from his system, he can feel where the bruises would form on his jaw.
Bucky reaches for the first aid kit on the bedside table and places it on the mattress. He picks it open and goes for the box of butterfly bandages. He takes one and tenderly puts it on the cut above Sam’s left brow, their faces so close that their warm breathing blends. Despite the iron lingering in the air, Sam could still smell what’s left of Bucky’s perfume, slowly sending him into a daze. Then, something clicks in his head, making him recoil.
“Hey, don’t move.” Bucky frowns at the sudden movement.
“You almost died on me on your freakin’ birthday? ” Sam says in disbelief.
“It’s my birthday?” Bucky returns another question, equally confused.
Sam crosses his arms with a scoff. “It’s March 10th. Man, how old are you?”
Bucky calculates for a second as he purses his lips. He’s been so busy that he never really paid attention to the days. He’s still holding the last butterfly bandage, so he reaches for Sam’s neck and gently pulls him closer. “107.” He mutters under his breath, focusing on the cut near Sam’s jawline.
“You should’ve taken a day off… or something.” Sam remains still as Bucky tightens the steri-strip to close the cut. Reality feels like a whiplash after witnessing Bucky’s almost lifeless body an hour and a half ago, then now.
“A hundred and seven years. 99 of ‘em without you in my life.” With a couple of swipes to feel that it’s even, Bucky beams proudly at his work. He looks at Sam’s eyes while keeping their short distance. “Sam. Seeing you again was enough.”
Sam wrinkles his eyebrows together for an instant, then cordially smiles. Bucky takes the opportunity to do what he’s been wanting to for hours now — he leans forward for a soft kiss, proving to Sam that he’s all he’s ever wanted, nothing else.
Breaking the kiss for a second, Sam cups a palm on Bucky’s face. “Don’t scare me like that again. Do you understand?”
Bucky meets Sam’s gaze, noting the sincerity and fear in his eyes. He nods and leans into Sam’s touch, his warmth seemingly healing all the body aches from the fight. Bucky closes his eyes again as soon as Sam reconnects their lips. He opens his mouth and allows Sam to slither in, tilting his head backwards once Sam decides to stand up and lean towards him. Sam keeps his knee in contact with the tent already forming on Bucky’s tech pants while sinking it into the mattress.
The bed whines below the two, and so does Bucky under Sam. He slides backwards to give Sam more space, although he wants them completely wrapped around each other, and accidentally twitches the wrong way and hurts himself on the stomach. He winces and breaks the kiss.
Sam realizes their situation and reaches for the stab wound with a delicate hand. “Shit, I’m gonna hurt you, aren’t I? We… We don’t have to do this. Just rest, then maybe—”
“No,” Bucky interrupts. “No… no, never. I heal fast,” He pulls Sam’s thigh and positions it on his side, gesturing Sam to move his other leg so that he’s straddling him. Once he does, Bucky reaches for Sam’s neck and trails gentle kisses down till he gets to the collar bones. His hands caress Sam’s thighs, sliding upwards and under the fabric to rest them on his bare waist. “You’ll never hurt me, Cap. Please.”
Sam has his eyes shut firmly the entire time, letting his body feel the sensation of Bucky’s warm breath and lips in contrast to the slightly colder vibranium hand. It’s incredible how they’re still clothed. Sam wants to change that.
Tugging on the bottom hem of Bucky’s shirt, Sam finally lifts it as careful as he did earlier. Their lips collide once more, and for a few more moments, before Sam yanks his own shirt and chucks it on the floor.
“We gotta stop seeing each other, Buck,” Sam whispers against Bucky’s lips while unhooking his belt. “You’re not allowed to…”
Bucky hums, lovestruck, as he plants short kisses on Sam’s lips. “Sure. Sure, we’ll stop. Definitely.” He says, as if it’s a reminder that he couldn’t quite stick in his brain. “God, I missed you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”
Sam laughs and it sounded divine in Bucky’s ears, making him laugh too. “Yeah? You gonna make it if we stopped, then?”
“No.” Bucky answers, whatever he said 10 seconds ago thrown out of the window. “I don’t think I can live without you. I think that’s where my death comes in, Sam.”
Sam knows that. He feels the same. He almost went insane without Bucky’s touch for this long. Bucky feels like a drug, something he has to overindulge with, a vice despite his perfect Captain America image. Sam kids, but he doesn’t want to stop either. Only Bucky can satisfy and gratify him, so what’s a little present going to do harm?
“Well, you’ll have me.” Sam assures, pushing Bucky down by the shoulder and onto the bed. His fingers trace the zipper of Bucky’s pants, then up to the button, unclasping it as he smiles dizzyingly. “Happy birthday.”