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Sam looks beautiful, bathed in sunshine in their bedroom, on their bed, under their covers. After months of pining, years if he’s being honest with himself, Bucky finally has Sam, has him the way he’s always wanted him.
They’re both shirtless, with the duvet slipping down the arch of Sam’s back. He’s perfect, and Bucky feels like he’s lost in the trance of Sam’s soft, sleeping body.
Slowly, Bucky reaches his flesh hand out, tentatively placing his index finger onto Sam’s shoulder, gently tracing a tiny scar he has there. Every part of Sam entices Bucky, the parts Sam himself doesn’t even like, are built to draw Bucky in.
If he had to describe perfection to someone, he’d describe Sam.
He moves his finger slowly towards Sam’s face, using two now to follow the edge of his jaw. Sam’s eyebrows furrow together, like he’s aware Bucky is touching him even in his sleep.
Bucky grins, can’t help but feel this overwhelming love he holds only for Sam.
When Sam’s mouth twitches up on the sides, Bucky knows he’s been found out. He knows Sam will open his eyes and tease him about being a creep for watching him sleep.
But Sam doesn’t open his eyes, just turns his head enough for Bucky’s fingers to catch on his lips, where Sam leaves a gentle kiss. The gesture makes Bucky’s heart flutter, and his breathing pick up for a few seconds.
He doesn’t open his eyes, he doesn’t tease Bucky for loving him so openly, instead he lifts his own hand and grabs Bucky’s. In his half-asleep state, Sam twines their fingers together and tugs on Bucky’s arm.
Without a single ounce of resistance, Bucky shuffles towards Sam, made a little awkward with only his one arm, his metal one on the floor. Sam lifts his arm and creates a space big enough for Bucky to squeeze into.
Like puzzle pieces, they slot together, and Sam lets out a gentle sigh. Not once has he opened his eyes, he just slides his hand down Bucky’s back and settles into the mattress.
Sam’s breathing evens out, and he falls back asleep.
With the comfort of Sam’s presence, and the warmth of their bodies pressed together, Bucky knows that Sam loves him and he loves him right back, so he too drifts back off.
****
When Bucky wakes up again, his room is cold, and the sun is hidden behind a cloud. He’s alone in bed, no Sam to smile at and sleepily admire for a few more minutes.
The smell of bacon and eggs drifts into his room, and Bucky grins. Sam must be making them breakfast.
He leisurely makes his way out of bed, sliding his feet into his slippers and grumbling to himself. He’s got a shirt on, something he doesn’t remember having on earlier, along with his metal arm, which he’s sure he left on the floor last night.
When he opens the bedroom door, the smell from the kitchen intensifies. As does the sound of their radio playing quietly in the kitchen. If he were anyone else, he wouldn’t have heard it, but his super soldier hearing brings along a few perks. One of those being the usually undetectable sound of Sam humming.
With a smile, Bucky steps out of the room and heads for the kitchen.
Sam is humming Hey Diddle Diddle by Marvin Gaye under his breath, and ever so slightly swaying his hips side to side. Everything about him beckons Bucky closer, as if there’s a thread connecting them, and with every breath Sam takes, it tugs him closer.
Silently, Bucky makes his way over to the stove, where Sam is gently pushing scrambled eggs around in the pan. “Good morning,” Bucky starts, smiling when Sam jumps slightly and turns around. “Are you alright sweetheart? You weren’t in bed.”
Sam’s face screws up, where he’s looking over his shoulder at Bucky. “Uh, good morning… Sugar?” Sam says in a questioning tone. His face still hasn’t smoothed over and he’s giving Bucky a look. “Yeah, I’m-“
Sam cuts himself off when Bucky comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. “What are you doing?” He asks, dropping the spatula into the pan and bringing his hands down to hover over Bucky’s that are resting on his stomach.
Bucky doesn’t answer, just brings his face closer and presses a kiss onto Sam’s cheek. “Saying good morning.” He whispers, bringing his metal hand up to turn Sam’s head to face him.
It’s only when their lips connect and Sam doesn’t breathe into his mouth like Bucky expects him to, does the other shoe drop.
In an instant, Bucky drops his hands and takes three big steps backwards until he bangs into the breakfast bar.
“What the fuck was that?” Sam bursts, quickly pivoting to turn the stove off and move the pan of eggs onto another hob.
Bucky wracks his brain, running back through the events of his morning. He woke up next to Sam. Sam, who was still sleeping in the bright sunlight of their shared bedroom, Bucky touched his shoulder and admired his sleeping frame. Bucky then fell back asleep and woke up however long later to an empty bed. In their bedroom which was a lot darker, and Bucky had a shirt on again, and-
Oh.
Oh shit.
“Uh okay, I can explain!” Bucky exclaims, pressing his lower back more into the counter.
Sam takes two deep breaths and closes his eyes. “You better explain fast.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Sam wasn’t ever meant to find out about Bucky’s feelings, because Bucky knows Sam doesn’t feel the same. Now, Bucky has fucked up and Sam is going to hate him.
“I had a dream, and I must have gotten confused and thought it was real. It happens all the time, I wake up and I think I’m still in that dream because I’m so sure that dream was real I-“
“What could you have possibly been dreaming about that made you think to come kiss me?” Sam interrupts.
Bucky can feel intense panic creeping up his spine, can also feel the bitter shiver of self hatred following close behind. “It was just a dream, it doesn’t matter, I’m gonna go.”
“What? Bucky, what are you talking about?”
“I just need to go outside for a bit, get some fresh air or something, that’ll wake me up.” Bucky mumbles, grabbing his leather jacket from where it’s hung next to their front door.
Sam stutters over a couple syllables while shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. “No- Buck we need to-“
“Don’t call me that right now.” Bucky seethes.
Taking a steadying breath, Sam raises his hands in a placating manner. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, but please can you just wait, we need to talk about-“
“Not now, I just want to go.” Bucky says while pulling on a pair of his lace up boots and quickly doing them up.
Sam rushes after him when he stands up and puts himself between Bucky and the front door. “C’mon man, talk to me.”
Bucky just gives him one of his glares and grits his teeth. Sam doesn’t let up, even going far enough to put his hand gently on Bucky’s chest. “Breathe with me for a second.”
Bucky shoves Sam’s hand off of him and puts his hand on the doorknob, right next to Sam’s hip. “I don’t need your counsellor shit right now.” He says, knowing it’ll hurt Sam enough to make him move.
He’s proven right when Sam shuffles silently to the side and lets Bucky leave.
****
When a gust of cold New York air hits him, Bucky realises just what’s happened.
After years of being the world’s most violent and precise weapon, he should be able to chime into the moment quicker than this. But he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, he’s no longer the machine that can be tuned in or out to block everything except the mission ahead. And Sam, well, Sam makes him relaxed, Sam makes him calm. Being around him makes it easier to forget the decades of torture, that he isn’t a ‘normal’ human being, and that he will never be an average civilian again.
If any of his handlers saw him now, they’d say Sam makes him weak.
He starts walking and doesn’t stop until he’s six blocks away from his and Sam’s shared Brooklyn apartment. His mind is racing, and every self-loathing thought possible is passing through his brain.
Sam doesn’t want you.
Sam deserves better.
Why would Sam ever want to be with someone like you.
You’ll never be with someone like Sam.
You’ll be alone and that’s exactly what you deserve.
In a vain attempt to stop his racing thoughts, Bucky turns into an alley and stops walking. He’s surrounded by trash cans, and there’s a distinct New York smell about this alley. He braces himself on the brick wall and grabs the sides of his head.
Not even thinking, he pushes his hands together, not taking notice of the pain his metal arm is causing him.
He only stops when a siren rings through his ears, making him turn away from the road. “Fuck!” Bucky shouts, not casting a single care to the people who can hear him, the people who can see him.
He should have known it wasn’t real. He’s an idiot to ever think Sam would want to be with him, to think that Sam would see his feelings and reciprocate them.
The dream flies back into his mind again, refocusing over and over until it’s crystal clear. He can’t escape it, like it’s etched onto the insides of his eyelids.
Sam sleeping in their bed, Sam’s soft skin on display for Bucky, the arch of his back obscene to where his lower half disappears under the sheets.
Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, but all that does is blur the edges, as if someone in his head is torturing him with a clear look into his dream.
Sam’s shallow breaths, the way they puff out of his slightly parted mouth, how his back slowly lifts and falls with every breath. The skin of his shoulder, smooth and perfect under Bucky’s flesh fingers. How Sam would let him touch him with his metal hand because he trusts him.
The realisation sets in like a wave pouring over him. Sam trusted him, and Bucky went and broke it. Broke them. He kissed him without asking and now Sam probably doesn’t ever want him around him again.
His stuff is probably going to be in the building’s hallway when he gets back, if he ever goes back. Sam is probably clearing out his room right now, stripping his bed and burning what he can. He’s probably-
The buzzing of Bucky’s phone in his pocket stops his thoughts before they can spiral any further. When he pulls out his phone, he’s got a message from Sam.
Sam 09:47
Bucky please come back home we need to talk about this
No emojis, no sort of tone Bucky can sniff out. Sam could be seething or panicking. But Bucky can’t find it in himself to think of anything but Sam wanting to talk about how to break their lease.
He doesn’t reply, just pockets his phone and leans his head back against the brick wall. The sky is cloudy; the sun isn’t shining – because this isn’t a dream – and it looks like it’s going to rain.
With a few deep breaths, Bucky drags his hands down his face. Between one second and the next, Bucky decides he needs to go home, if nothing else but to get this talk out of the way.
****
When their building comes into view, Bucky hesitates. It would be so easy to turn around and never look at this place again, to forget the way back to his home with Sam, like he’s forgotten everything else in his life.
He could turn away right now and walk out of Sam’s life. Delete his number, maybe move to Wakanda, he’s sure with some buttering up he could properly mend his relationship with Ayo and Shuri and be allowed sanctuary back in his old hut.
It would save him the embarrassment of Sam’s rejection. But it would also cost him the small shards of memories he does have in Brooklyn. The memories he’s made since living with Sam, since they got into the groove of Captain America and the White Wolf.
From the ground, the ten-storey building looks daunting, even though Bucky knows what’s really scaring him is the prospect of the man in there, waiting with his happiness held in his hands.
Bucky takes two deep breaths and decides fuck it, he’ll be the grown up he’s been for the past eighty odd years, and face what he’s done. He takes the few steps to the doors that lead to their mailroom, and heads for the staircase.
Usually, he’d take the elevator, but the stairs give him a chance to think of the answers he’ll need for the numerous questions Sam is bound to have.
When he turns towards their door, he wipes his clammy hand on his trousers and holds it out above the doorknob. Embarrassingly, it’s shaking. His hands haven’t shaken since he was strapped down to the table in Azzano.
His phone starts buzzing in his pocket when he pushes the door open, to find Sam in their kitchen, his phone pressed to his ear.
“Oh, thank fuck, where have you been? I’ve been texting and calling you man!” Sam starts, dropping his phone onto the counter and stepping towards Bucky. “I know you like your space sometimes, but you just walked out! That’s not what we do Buck,” He carries on, knowing enough to not reach out to Bucky. “We talk about things, come on.”
Bucky lets Sam fret over him, lets him coddle and check for any injuries, like the older brother and natural mama bear he is. He knows he at least owes this to Sam, to let him quiet his own mind before Bucky fires it all up again.
“Sorry, I needed to think.” Bucky murmurs, not making the effort to raise his voice any louder, not having the strength to.
Sam huffs, his hands hovering around Bucky’s body. “Then you think in your goddamn room! Not wandering the streets of Brooklyn.” Sam seethes, finally deciding Bucky is in a good enough state to step away.
Fleetingly, Bucky mourns the loss of Sam’s natural body heat.
“Look, I’m going to make some tea, and then we’re going to talk about this,” Sam says, ushering Bucky to sit at the breakfast bar as he gets the things out to make some of his sweet tea.
But Bucky doesn’t want goodness right now, doesn’t deserve the sweet things Sam is constantly giving. He’s always all give and no take, forever making sure other people are okay without thinking about his own well-being.
“No.” Bucky firms, holding steady to his jumbled up and impromptu plan.
Tell Sam about his dream. Tell Sam about his feelings. Tell Sam he’s happy to move out and give him the place. Tell Sam he’ll never go to Delacroix again. Tell Sam he’ll remove himself from the Captain America image privately, publicly and permanently.
Bucky takes a quick breath and squeezes his eyes shut for a couple seconds. “I’m gonna talk, and you’re going to listen and you’re not going to do anything for me.” Bucky declares, opening his eyes to stare into Sam’s.
(Sam’s gorgeous honey eyes-)
Stay on topic.
Sam drops the spoon he was using to measure out sugar in a jug and places his hands on the counter. “Okay, if that’s how you want to get through this, shoot.”
Bucky nods his head and braces his own hands on the breakfast bar. “I had a dream that we were together. And it’s embarrassing because usually I can somewhat figure out if a nightmare is real and move on from it. But this wasn’t a nightmare, it was a dream and I never even doubted it because it was good.”
Sam bows his head and fiddles with a couple sugar grains on the counter. “Alright,”
“No, let me finish.” Bucky all but begs. When Sam nods his head, Bucky continues. “I dreamed of something I’ve wanted for a long time and never thought I’d get. I dreamed of something good, because it was you,” Bucky heaves another breath. “I dreamed of you, and you weren’t falling too far away from me to catch, you weren’t under my hand as I killed you, Sam I dreamed of you, and you were happy.” Bucky sucks in another breath, willing the tears not to fall.
“Sam I’ve never dreamed of you being happy, and I so badly wanted it to be real that I thought it was. And I’m sorry.”
Sam lifts his head as his brows furrow. “Why would you ever be sorry for that?”
It’s frustrating because Sam doesn’t understand. Sam will never understand just how little Bucky deserves all these good things he’s received. Sam still naively believes Bucky possesses the capabilities to be a better person. But Bucky knows deep down that he can’t be.
Someone who has done all the bad he has can never be clean.
He can never be good the way Sam is.
Bucky sighs. “I’m sorry because I’ve had these feelings for months now, or at least, I’ve been aware of them for months, and I’ve kept it from you. And I feel like I’m holding you back from actually finding someone, because you’re stuck with this traumatised… thing! And he can’t do anything for himself or be left alone because he’ll just end up fucking dying!”
Bucky is standing now, pacing the short space of the breakfast bar, and wringing his hands through his hair. Absent-mindedly, he notices the pain of his metal arm ripping strands of his short hair out.
Without him even realising, too caught up in the volume of his mind cursing him, Sam appears at his side. “Hey, hey, hey, Buck, baby let go,” Sam whispers, gently wrapping his hands around both of Bucky’s wrists and tugging.
When that doesn’t work, Sam gently runs his fingers up both of Bucky’s hands towards his own fingers and twines them together. He slowly pulls each of Bucky’s fingers out of his hair, until he lets go.
Bucky drops his hands to his sides, Sam letting go from the unexpected deadweight. “Buck, what are you talking about?” Sam murmurs his voice soft and close. “You’re not a burden to me, you’re my friend.”
“But that’s just it!” Bucky yells, stepping away from Sam, away from his goodness, and raises his arms in the air. He feels the urge to crush something rush through the vibranium of his arm, through his veins that stop abruptly against the metal on his shoulder. “I want to be more than that! And I don’t deserve someone like you! I’m lucky to be in your life at all!”
Surprisingly, Sam scoffs. Bucky whirls on him, his face surely showing the shock of Sam’s reaction to what Bucky’s saying. “You put me on this kind of pedestal, and you shouldn’t.” Sam says, his face grim and his tone harsh.
Bucky opens his mouth to rebuke him, but Sam cuts him off. “I’m not this perfect person you make me out to be. I’m-“
“You are to me!” Bucky cries, stepping back and turning away, determined to not let Sam see him cry. This isn’t how Bucky wanted this to go. He wanted a clean break, something contained and cauterised so there was no risk of infection. But here he is, contaminating Sam, just like he does everyone.
Sam’s face is a picture of surprise. For a moment, his eyes flick back and forth, as if he’s wracking his brain trying to make sense of everything. After an agonising minute – during which Bucky breathes harshly through his nose to make his tears go away – Sam steps towards him.
In a moment of weakness, Bucky lets his consistent, compulsive need to be in Sam’s orbit win. When Sam steps close enough to touch, Bucky lets him.
“I’m not perfect Buck, because no one is,” Sam whispers, tentatively bringing his hand up to rest on the solid vibranium of Bucky’s bicep. “You can’t view me as perfect, because one day I will do something wrong, hopefully without meaning to, and it’ll ruin everything we’ve made already.”
In a corner of Bucky’s mind, he takes a second to marvel at how Sam always knows the right thing to say. It’s hard not to view him as perfect when he always seems to be.
Bucky doesn’t say anything, just focuses on his own chest rising and falling with his breaths. His own reminder that he’s alive. That he’s safe and he’s with Sam.
“You have to see my flaws, or you’ll be disappointed.”
It makes sense. For fuck’s sake it always makes sense when Sam is the one explaining it. “Yeah.” Bucky mumbles, dropping his head.
Sam grins, and Bucky doesn’t need to see his eyes to know a few endearing crinkles have formed next to them. “I’ve got flaws, I piss you off every day, so surely you can see them.”
Bucky chuckles, working against his body doing its best to stop him from feeling anything good right now. “You can be pretty annoying.” Bucky answers, lifting his head so he can lock eyes with Sam.
It’s overwhelming, like it always is when he and Sam get stuck in their little staring contests. Being able to stand this close to Sam, to look into his pretty eyes as he smiles softly at Bucky. It’s nothing short of a blessing.
“So, what was happening in this dream that made you so desperate to plant one on me?” Sam says, trying to lighten the mood.
Bucky lets him, lets him get his way because he knows whatever Sam wants, Bucky is weak to do any different. “It wasn’t anything interesting, we were just in bed.”
“In bed? James! I thought men of your generation cherished romance! And yet here you are, bedding me in your dreams.” Sam jokes, testing the waters more, and wrapping his hand fully around Bucky’s arm.
Bucky feels his cheeks heat. “It wasn’t anything like that. We were just laying there.”
“And when you woke up, you just knew you had to see the real thing, huh? ‘Cause it’s so much better in person.”
Bucky stares at Sam, his lips rising into a grin. “You have no idea.”
Sam preens, his smile lifting even more under Bucky’s face. “Can I hug you baby?” Sam asks, the pet name rolling off his tongue and licking the fire burning in Bucky’s belly.
Bucky doesn’t bother answering, just wraps his own arms around Sam’s upper body. He makes sure his metal arm is underneath his flesh one, constantly weary of hurting Sam with it.
Sam brushes his hands up Bucky’s back, before settling them around his waist, with his face fitted perfectly in the crook of Bucky’s neck. “This is why we talk about things.” Sam says after a moment, his body shaking from his poorly contained laughter.
“Okay, alright I get it, you’re the expert and I should always listen to you.” Bucky answers while pulling away, more than willing to fall back into their easy teasing.
Sam doesn’t release him, just gently holds Bucky’s waist. “We’re also better friends than the type to run off when something is difficult, right?”
The word makes him cringe. Friends. Bucky does his best to cover it, but Sam clearly notices.
With a grin, Sam uses his hands to bring Bucky’s arms around his waist. When he’s done that, he brings his own hands up to wrap around Bucky’s neck. “You don’t get to graduate from friend before we go on a date.”
Bucky balks. There wasn’t any thought in his mind of this talk going this way. “A date?” Bucky asks, his hands tightening around Sam’s waist without him realising.
Sam smiles wider, taking a step closer. “Yeah baby, you’re gonna have to wine and dine me proper, if you want to kiss me again,” He starts, pushing his face even closer so Bucky can smell Sam’s natural scent. Fresh honey and saltwater. “You’re an old romantic man, aren’t you? You’ve gotta prove that to me, sugar.”
Every single nerve ending in Bucky’s body is on fire. Sam’s words and Sam’s face and Sam’s beautiful eyelashes, all coming together in an effort to push Bucky off the edge. “Yeah,” Bucky says eventually, stupidly. “Yeah of course, uh,”
Sam must take mercy on him because he brushes his hand into the short strands of Bucky’s hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re terrible at this.” Sam says, and that’s all the warning Bucky gets before Sam is bridging the small gap between their lips.
It’s a sweet kiss, sweeter than their last by a long shot. This one is mutual, and this one holds hidden promises within. Promises of a date, hopefully more than one. Promises of more.
Sam sighs into it, opening his mouth to let Bucky in, and pushing his hand even further up Bucky’s neck until he’s cradling his head. Bucky gently uses his hands to rub up Sam’s back, his shirt rising as if following his fingers.
It feels like lights are bursting behind Bucky’s eyes, as if fireworks are going off in his head as he embraces Sam. He’s never felt like this before. Never felt such overwhelming happiness just one moment after the emotional turmoil of before.
He feels like the luckiest person in the world, having Sam like this, their lips entangled together as they breathe each other in, together. No other moment in his life could ever come close to this one. This moment that will surely define the rest of his life.
Maybe cleanliness doesn’t matter, when the person who wants you is handing you a mop along with his own to help you with the job.
When they pull apart, Bucky can tell his cheeks are red, can feel his hair ruffled at the back. Sam is smiling, his tongue coming out of his mouth to trace over his lips as he glows under the sun newly shining into their living room.
“I thought you said I have to wine and dine you before I get to kiss you again.” Bucky says, kicking himself a moment later at potentially losing his chance to kiss Sam again before their first date.
Sam just beams, running his hands down from the back of Bucky’s head to his shoulders, eventually stopping on his chest. “Thought you deserved a taster.” Sam whispers, leaning in momentarily to leave one last lingering closed mouth kiss on Bucky’s lips.
“Now c’mon, you haven’t eaten, and I was so worried about you that I haven’t either.”
****
It’s infinitely overwhelming the way things barely change between them. They go on one date, then another, and even more after that. Eventually Sam’s room turns into their room – on account of Bucky’s barely being lived in, which made it easier to turn it into a guest room for Sarah or the boys – and soon enough they have routines that are theirs now.
The biggest change is in the field. With Sam soaring so high above him, Bucky can’t help but let even more panic seep into him at the fact that he can’t always see Sam. It also occurs to him that if the general public were to find out about their relationship, it opens them both up to even more danger.
If someone finds out that Sam is everything to Bucky, down to the pores on his skin, they could use that against him. Bucky knows there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to keep Sam, and by extension his family, safe.
Bucky is also all too aware that it’s the same in reverse.
There are many sleepless nights where Bucky pushes Sam away. He shouts at him to leave because his nightmare seemed so real, and he’s convinced there’s a threat out there willing to blackmail Sam into doing anything because they have Bucky again. And what’s worse – Sam sometimes goes.
They’re working on it.
Sam is his constant, and he’s always reassuring Bucky that no matter what he thinks, no matter what his mind forces him to believe, Sam isn’t going anywhere. Bucky does his absolute best to make sure Sam is firm in his belief that Bucky isn’t going anywhere either.
Eventually, their lives settle into a brand new normal that feels just the same as before, but better.
“You coming to bed, baby?” Sam calls from their bedroom.
It’s the middle of February, and it’s freezing in New York. They’re only here for the better part of a week before heading back to Louisiana to hopefully catch some sun.
They had a loud Christmas in Delacroix, with the boys waking them up at dawn and dragging their uncles downstairs. Sarah had sauntered in breezily five minutes after they had reached the living room, with her hair tamed and eyes wide awake. “Happy Christmas everyone!” She had said, looking more smug than usual.
Bucky had clued into the fact that she had told the boys to wake their uncles up before her. It took Sam a little longer, but once he did, he grabbed Sarah and messed up her hair as they both laughed to the high heavens.
It was the best Christmas he ever had.
Now, in the cold months of winter in New York, Bucky grins to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam is undoubtedly in his blue tartan pyjama trousers, with his shirt crumpled up on the floor. He’s probably got his iPad propped up on his lap doing some last-minute Captain America things.
Bucky knows exactly what face Sam will pull when he walks into the room, and he knows Sam will put his iPad down immediately to make room for him on the bed.
He’s proven right when he turns into their room and Sam looks up. His face brightens with his gap-toothed smile, as he locks the iPad and dumps it on his bedside table. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls the covers back on Bucky’s side of the bed and shuffles down.
Bucky makes his way over to the bed, hesitantly pulling his shirt off to drop onto the floor. He sits down on the side, shoving his slippers off and sliding his legs under the covers.
It takes him a few moments and a couple deep breaths, but he takes his metal arm off and gently places it on the floor within reaching distance.
That had taken months of therapy and too many hard conversations with Sam to count. But now he feels comfortable enough to trust himself, and Sam, that he can sleep without it. As long as he can reach it if he ever, god forbid, needs it in the middle of the night.
He’s also getting there with understanding that he’s an amputee, and he’s re-learning to live his life without an arm and not wholly rely on it.
When he rolls over, Sam is waiting for him, his head propped on the pillow. “We’re leaving at seven tomorrow,” He starts, letting out an almighty sigh and reaching his hand out to rub at Bucky’s shoulder as he lays down. “I’ll still go for a run.”
Bucky frowns, forever annoyed that he misses most mornings with Sam because of how consistent he is with his exercise. He understands why he is, but he also just wants a lazy day with his partner – sue him.
“Oh, you’ll live, Buck.” Sam chuckles, shuffling closer while pulling Bucky towards himself.
“If I had it my way, we’d spend all day in bed at least once a week, you know that.” Bucky says, using his hand to cup Sam’s face and drag him closer for a kiss. It’s sweet. Gentle. Just like everything is with Sam.
Sam hums, opening his mouth to tease Bucky before pulling back. “We’d never get anything done if we had it my way.” He whispers, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist and pulling their lower halves together.
It brings a cheek-splitting smile to Bucky's face; to constantly be shown just how loved he is by Sam, and to be able to show how much he loves him in return. “We can find a way to arrange that, sweetheart.” Bucky murmurs, pulling Sam back in to rejoin their lips.
They make out for a few minutes, Sam’s soft palms rubbing soothing patterns into Bucky's skin. Breaking the wall of Bucky’s self-esteem issues has done wonders for their sex lives, but Bucky notices and appreciates it most when he gets to bask in the feeling of Sam just touching him.
Eventually, Sam leans back, and Bucky does his best to chase after him, but Sam just nips at Bucky's lips a few more times. “Sleep, we both know you’ll be crankier than normal if you don’t get enough.”
Bucky frowns again, trying a couple more times to pull Sam back into kissing. But Sam doesn’t let him, eventually doing the most by turning over and shuffling back. Bucky knows a losing battle when he’s faced with one.
He can’t really spoon Sam from this position, with his left shoulder on the bed, because his arm port gets in the way. They’ve ruined a few sheets when Bucky has fallen asleep without activating the cover for when he’s not got his arm on.
So, Bucky rubs his hand down Sam’s torso, slowly and gently, enough to make a couple goosebumps rise on his skin. He leans down to pepper a few kisses onto Sam’s shoulder and neck, leaving an extra delicate one behind Sam’s ear as he sighs with a smile on his face.
“Goodnight sweetheart.”