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It takes a nightmare for Sam to figure it out. A wake-up-in-a-cold-sweat nightmare, limbs-twisted-in-the-sheets, heart-thudding-in-your-chest kind of nightmare. It'd been a dream about Bucky. Only, through some horrific means, Bucky and Sam had been conjoined together into some abomination of a body, all of their pieces smashed together into a moving and wriggling mass, screaming and fighting with itself.
After that, it's obvious. Sam and Bucky are both square pegs trying to fit into a single round hole. They're pushing and shoving, jockeying for the space, but neither of them are willing to give, and there just isn't enough room.
Neither of them quite fit into the spot that Steve carved out for a best friend. Maybe Bucky did, once, before time and circumstance sharpened his edges. And after that, Sam was the closest fit. But Steve's past and Steve's present have been at odds with each other ever since he emerged from the ice.
Which leaves nothing to do besides push and shove until one of them gives.
And Sam isn't giving up any ground. Not in the car, and certainly not on T'Challa's beautiful, luxurious sofa.
"Can you move over" Bucky asks, standing in front of the couch, blocking Sam's view of the television.
"No," Sam says, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Bucky growls.
Sam's pretty sure that neither of them give a damn about the sofa, but because Bucky asked for it, Sam's not giving it up on principle.
Bucky retaliates by climbing right into Sam's personal bubble and taking up the space between Sam and the arm of the couch. It's a close fit. Bucky's remaining arm is shoved up against Sam's side, Bucky's whole body warm and tense, all of him full of determination and sheer stubbornness.
Sam doesn't relent. He doesn't slide over to the other side of the sofa. If anything, he plants himself and leans into Bucky even more.
The two of them watch the whole movie like that. There are plenty more couches in the room, but this one offers the best view of the screen.
The first ten minutes are uncomfortable. Bucky's shoulder is digging into Sam's, and Bucky can't quite stay still and keeps shifting around, and his hair constantly brushes against Sam's skin. But after that, they kind of reluctantly settle into a comfortable position, and Sam's arm ends up slung over Bucky instead of trapped behind him, and it's actually not so bad, sharing a sofa.
The next time it happens, both of them are expecting it. Sam resists, Bucky growls, but when they end up tucked against each other, it's immediately a lot more comfortable than the last time.
Bucky falls asleep during the climax of the movie, his head on Sam's shoulder. When Bucky wakes up, Sam is halfway into another movie, his eyelids drooping, and Bucky just blinks at him, disoriented, but doesn't say anything, and doesn't move. Sam dozes off and on until the film is over and the room is dark, and suddenly, it's just him and Bucky, breathing together and sitting too close. They both get up. Neither of them talk about it. Falling asleep on each other just becomes another part of movie night.
They only get into one fight during the whole thing. It's a pretty big fight, though. There's yelling, and Sam is suddenly really glad that the building they're in is huge, because he doesn't want to think about anyone else overhearing this particular argument.
Sam doesn't remember what exactly starts it, but the real conflict ignites after just four words: "Steve would do it." Bucky mutters it darkly, and it's fully intended to be a jab at Sam, and boy does Sam take the bait.
"Because Steve would bend over ass-backwards for you, you know that?" Sam says.
They haven't even sat down yet. The stand-off happens in front of the sofa.
"He'd do that for anyone," Bucky says.
Sam's shaking his head. "If you were anyone else, we wouldn't be here. And I'd be allowed back in my own goddamn country!"
Bucky bristles. "Why didn't you join the other side, then?" he snaps.
"Because his side's the right one, even if it also has you on it," Sam says. He could've said the last part lightly, as a joke, but the anger in his voice turns it mean. "And—"
"—I am not Captain America."
They say the same thing at the same exact time. It doesn't make it any better. The fact that they agree, that they were thinking the same, just makes both of them more angry.
Bucky storms out after that.
They skip the next movie night by mutual silent agreement that feels a lot more like resentment. But after that, Sam and Bucky both get over it, and things return back to normal again. It turns out that both of them enjoy it too much to give it up over just one fight.
These movie nights used to be all three of them. Sam and Bucky and Steve. When Steve was there, Sam and Bucky didn't really interact with each other, much less get into ongoing fights over petty things, like room on a sofa. But then Steve got too busy for movie nights, and neither Sam nor Bucky wanted to ask anyone else to join them, because no one else could really replace Steve. No one else could be the glue between Sam and Bucky.
Or maybe, no one else could keep them apart.
The truth is, Sam starts to actually look forward to cuddling with Bucky. They learn each other's tells, quietly figuring out what is comfortable for the other person and what isn't.
And then Sam has the nightmare.
He doesn't get them often, nightmares. They come in bursts, where he gets one every night for a week or so, and then they'll stop, and he won't remember his dreams at all for a while. But this one comes entirely out of the blue, then doesn't come again, and it shakes Sam up more than the rest, because it threatens to ruin movie night.
Sam doesn't want anything to ruin movie night. He doesn't even wish that Steve had time for them anymore, since the moment Steve shows up, Sam knows that he and Bucky will be back on separate couches with Steve somewhere between them, and Sam doesn't want anything to be between them.
So is the dream something that Sam actually wants, then? His and Bucky's bodies pressed against each other, the two of them so close that they become one being?
It turns out that the dream is actually a sex thing. Or just a cuddle thing, maybe. Sam's not quite sure.
"I thought if it would be somebody, it'd be him," Sam says, sitting comfortably with Bucky half in his lap. "Steve, I mean."
"What are you talking about?" Bucky asks.
"If I, y'know, fell in love with a guy," Sam says, gesturing vaguely. "Or with anyone. Romantic love isn't really my thing. At least, it hasn't been my thing. I'm just a guy who likes flying and helping people. I have family and friends, but that's it, and I'm okay with that."
From the look on Bucky's face, it isn't quite computing.
"I've never really been into men or women," Sam says, his voice flat. "Never really had much of a sex drive. But I thought if I ever did feel something for someone, I'd fall for goddamn Captain America, right? Perfect specimen of a human being. Better person than I'll ever be."
It's a high action moment in the movie, but neither of them are paying attention. Movie night stopped being about watching movies a long time ago.
"But nope! Still nothing," Sam says.
Bucky's quiet. "I knew that if I wasn't in love with him, I couldn't be one of them homosexuals," he says. "I knew men that loved other men that way, and I thought that if I was like that, I would be in love with him, but I wasn't."
"I tried, you know," Sam says, looking at the screen instead of at Bucky. "Tried to be in love with him. Didn't work."
Bucky leans back, his weight on the couch shifting. "I think I tried, too," he says softly.
Sam dreams about sleeping with Bucky. Just sleeping, no sex. The two of them curled up in Sam's bed. Bucky is a fitful sleeper, and he tosses and turns and accidentally kicks Sam a couple times. But Sam sleeps like the dead, and nothing shakes him, not even a super soldier pressing a cold foot against his calf. Bucky wakes up, his expression endearingly disoriented for a moment, locks of his hair spilling on the pillow, and Sam leans down and kisses him.
Then Sam wakes up. For real. He and Bucky had fallen asleep in a tangle on the sofa. It's still nice, but now Sam finds it lacking. Sleeping on the sofa gives him a sore neck, and it's hard for two grown men to fit comfortably for long periods of time.
He wishes they were in an actual bed together.
"What is it?" Bucky asks, his voice a little gravelly from sleep. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Sam is looking at Bucky like he just discovered that the world revolves around him.
"Um," Sam says, trying to find the right words. "Shit." He leans back into the couch.
Bucky sits up. He's still staring at Sam, confused and a little worried.
"I can't believe it's you and not him," Sam says, gazing up at the ceiling. "It would make sense if I wanted to kiss Captain America. But no."
"Instead, you get me," Bucky says, his voice flat. With his inflection, and without properly looking at him, Sam can't tell how he's taking it.
"Yep. Captain America's favorite asshole." Sam winces. "Okay, that sounded bad. What I mean is—"
"I hate you. You know that, right?" Bucky says.
Sam starts to get up. "Yes—"
Before he can finish the word, Bucky's lips are pressed against his, Bucky's hand curled around his cheek. It's a short, chaste kiss, and it's over before Sam can even react.
"So it's not just me?" Sam asks, as soon as he can breathe again.
"Wanting to kiss the next best thing to Captain America?" Bucky says. "No. It's not just you."
Sam smirks. "So I'm the next best thing to Captain America?" he teases.
"Well, according to you, I'm his favorite," Bucky says.
"I hate you," Sam mutters, going in for another kiss.
In some ways, Bucky will always be closer to Steve than Sam is. But in other ways—like right now— Sam is definitely closer to Bucky than Steve is. Of course, it's not a competition, but that doesn't stop Sam from feeling the need to compete anyways.
But maybe Sam and Bucky need each other to balance out Steve. They get under each other's skin like no one else can, but sometimes, Sam thinks they both need that. It's easy to blindly follow Captain America, but Sam and Bucky keep each other guessing and questioning. They remind each other what really matters. And if they have to be in the same space, they might as well make the most of it.