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James Buchanan Barnes was dedicated to his country, to his service, to His Royal Highness Samuel Thomas Wilson.
Being a knight seemed to suit his demeanor well; pursuing something with single minded focus let him excel in his field time and time again. It was what made Steven jealous of him, what made him rise the ranks so quickly, what put him at the right hand of His Highness.
Well, that and his recent loss of an arm.
Miraculously, James had survived losing his arm in a skirmish on the kingdom's northern border. Although maybe it wasn't quite so miraculous, as any train ride or snow fall or bridge now filled him with unshakable fear. (Sometimes, he wished it wasn't just his arm, rather the whole of him that was lost to the northern border.)
But now with this relocation of service to Prince Samuel's side, he had something to serve. Something to live for.
His Highness Samuel didn't quite agree. Being prince was something inevitable, something precious— but it didn't mean he had to like it. This added attention as his sister Sarah got closer to replacing their mother as queen only made him dislike his reality more. Not quite next in line, not quite free. A spare tool to be kept sharp for worst case scenarios.
The only one who could empathize with him— his kind and honest Riley of the neighboring kingdom in the East— was now one with the heavens. The only one who knew Sam, not Samuel. Now, Sam was alone.
Except… James was always with him.
It wouldn't have been a problem, for he was never really alone as an heir to the throne, except that his knight was annoyingly handsome and devastatingly unaware of Sam's attraction.
"You're staring," Sarah mumbled into her glass of wine, startling Sam at her side. He dragged his gaze away from where James stood, close to the corner of the ballroom, not any more than 10 feet away from Sam.
"I feel crazy, Sarah. Does he even know how good he looks in his formal uniform?"
Sarah leveled her brother with a tired glance, wishing she could yell at him to let his heart lead for once. But she knew he had several visits with suitors lined up. While he hated being at the mercy of the crown he would never do something to sabotage his family. Sam was also sensitive to the topic of love now that Riley wasn't around to soothe the ache.
"I'm sure he doesn't, Sam," Sarah replied, fighting to keep her voice even.
"I need a drink," Sam spoke after a few moments of silence, leaving his sister's side with nothing more. He couldn't see it or feel it, but he trusted that James was now following Sam's trek across the ballroom. The knowledge made something akin to anger rise in Sam's stomach, heating him up from the inside out.
Sam grabbed a glass, taking in half the serving of wine in one gulp. He took note of James' eyes widening in his periphery as he grabbed a bottle and made his way to a balcony overlooking the gardens.
And of course, James followed.
They stood side to side, with Sam leaning against the railing and James watching their entrance back into the ballroom. A worried wrinkle between his eyebrows made their home on his handsome features as Sam lay his head on his arms.
"Is everything okay, Your Highness?"
"James."
"Sir."
"Enough," Sam exhaled, taking the rest of the wine in his glass down in another gulp.
"What do you mean, Your Highness?"
"That!" Sam couldn't help but turn on him, a crazed look taking over his features. He raised a finger and poked the hard metal that sat on James' chest, protecting his heart.
"Stop calling me by my title. We spend almost every second of every day together, the least you can do is call me my name."
"Sir, you know I can't–"
"I'm telling you to," Sam interrupted, popping open the bottle of wine he brought along. He poured a glass and took a smaller sip, to James' delight.
"It feels… improper."
Sam leveled him with an unimpressed look, eventually huffing his disapproval and dropping his head against his arms once more.
"Tell me about yourself."
"What?" James retorted, confusion laced in his tone. He maintained his physical composure, however, which Sam found he did not like.
"Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets. You're already privy to mine. Maybe then it won't feel improper."
"I'm not privy to your personal business, Your Highness. I stay outside a room when it would be–"
"Improper. I get it."
A silence fell over the two men. Sam continued to sip at his wine, pouring another glass when it got low. James hummed before turning ever-so-slightly to make eye contact with Sam.
"I hate being called James," he offered, eyes lingering on Sam's as he turned back around.
Sam sobered up in that moment, standing straighter.
"What shall I call you then?"
"I don't mind when you call me James."
"Ja– Barnes." Sam stammered out. James laughed lightly, locking eyes with Sam once again. It made Sam's stomach swoop.
"My friends call me Bucky. Your Highness is free to call me whatever pleases you."
"Your Highness is going to send you to the dungeons if you don't stop that."
A small smile grew on Bucky's face. It was well worn, with dazzling teeth and plump limps and a lived in ease making themselves known on his features.
"…Sam."
"Sam?" Bucky repeated, the smile on his face growing to take up more of his face.
"Yes, Sam."
Bucky hummed in approval, letting the warmth in his chest taper out before he spoke again.
"Samuel means 'name of God' in some religions," Bucky spoke into the night, unable to look at Sam anymore. The warmth in his chest moved to his cheeks and ears and neck, and he was sure it showed.
"Really?"
"Yes. Samuel, in some scripture, was given to his mother as a blessing after she prayed for a child." James cleared his throat, finding himself warm all over. "I see why, going off of you."
Silence stretched between them, unbroken even as Sam eventually took a swig from his bottle of wine instead of pouring it into the glass. The ball inside was still lively— a welcome party for the guests who came from far and wide to watch Sarah's introduction to congress— but Sam was tired. He wanted to stay exactly where he was, watching Bucky's face from the side as he stood guard against a threat that would not come.
He also wanted to drag Bucky back to his room and see what the young knight would do.
If he were less drunk, he might have not let his temptation lead him down that road, but the now empty bottle of wine at his side was proof that he was not entirely in his right mind.
"Bucky."
"Sam."
"Take me to bed."
Bucky's head snapped to look at Sam concernedly fast, a dusting of pink covering his cheeks as he did. He took in Sam's state and cursed under his breath. It was the loosest version of him Sam had experienced so far, and he drank it up with fervor.
"I'll notify Her Highness, Sarah."
Sam hummed, his half open eyes raking over Bucky.
"You'll come back for me, won't you?"
Bucky sucked in a breath, his hand clenching at his side.
"I'll be back before you can even think to miss me."
Bucky slipped back into the ballroom, bee-lining towards where Sarah sat on the throne. Her eyes lit up as he approached, and it took every ounce of willpower he had to see her as a person rather than the one thing that saved him from withering away with no use. She assigned him to her brother, gave Bucky purpose once more, and would now be his ruler. He was forever grateful to her, and now possibly forever embarrassed if he didn't handle Sam with enough grace.
"Your Highness."
"Sir Barnes. I see my brother has escaped your line of sight, for once."
Sarah smiled as Bucky floundered, though he composed himself quickly and cleared his throat.
"I'm here on his behalf. His Highness is… intoxicated, and will be retiring early."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
Sarah hummed her agreement, smiling into her glass of wine as she raised it up to her lips, her second to Sam's fifth.
"Very well. Please take good care of my brother, Barnes."
"With pleasure, Your Highness."
Bucky made his way back to the balcony to find Sam, ignoring the lingering stares on him. He didn't fit in with the wealthy, privileged parties that roamed the ballroom floor looking for suitors, conversation, or power to steal. He fit in the balcony where Sam had forced him to ignore his higher instincts and let himself be comfortable around the prince he became more endeared to as the days passed, the angel who gave him meaning when he thought his life was over.
As Bucky turned to exit onto the balcony, Sam stepped into his space.
"Your Highness."
Sam scrunched up his features in disapproval, but didn't say anything.
"Are we fine to leave?"
"Yes, Your Highness. I have notified Her Highness the princess."
"Good."
Without another word, Sam began his swift exit out of the ballroom. Bucky was helpless to do more than follow in his wake, watching as the people they passed smiled and revered in Sam's light. It scratched at a greedy part of Bucky's brain to know that he got to experience Sam, even if only in passing glances, more honestly than these powerful people.
Bucky watched Sam's back and triple checked their surroundings for any possible harm that could come Sam's way as the prince walked towards his chambers, slowing as they rounded a hallway.
"Sam? Is everything okay?"
"Kiss me."
Bucky froze in place, making Sam walk towards the knight with a determined stance.
"It's not befitting of you to–"
"I've let myself be bossed around my whole life," Sam spoke, tone firm as he took sure steps into Bucky's personal space. "I want for nothing— I'm not picky with food, or drinks, or company— and the one time I let myself want, I lost. And then Sarah assigns you to my service, and I find myself wanting again. The odds feel stacked against me. I don't know how to want something in little bits.
"And I don't know how to stop myself from wanting you," Sam breathed out, gripping onto the soft, cotton sleeve of Bucky's uniform that peeked out from under his simple armor.
"Sam…"
"Let me finish."
At Bucky's silence, he continued, whispering it as though he were scared to hear it himself.
"I want you, Bucky. I want you to kiss me. Please, don't deny me this. Unless you truly don't want to, if you cannot bare to, please kiss me."
And who was Bucky to deny his prince, his gift from God, his Samuel, a single thing? He was a knight, and his job was to provide his prince with everything he desired.
"You're tipsy. Drunk."
"I wanted you before a drop of wine landed on my tongue, Bucky. Please."
Bucky walked Sam back into the wall, watching the prince wet his lips and dart his eyes across Bucky's face. With the barest tilt of his head, Bucky's lips were pressed to Sam's.
It started slow, their only points of contact being Sam's hand grabbing onto Bucky's sleeve and the soft brush of lips against each other. But Bucky was a greedy man, and he couldn't help himself now that he finally had Sam.
Sam let his bottom lip fall, and Bucky took the opening to kiss him deeper. Nothing mattered in that moment except swiping his tongue along Sam's lips, feeling Sam's little gasps between kisses, and holding up the prince in his arms.
As Bucky began to pull away to give the prince some air, he was pulled back by the fist in his hair.
"Needy," Bucky mumbled between a kiss, doing his best to not laugh as Sam groaned in response.
Bucky's senses were entirely focus on the man in front of him— Sam's soft lips, the gap in his teeth, the soft puffs of air Bucky elicited from biting on his bottom lip— were his focus. He barely noticed the hand he had shoved under his prince's shirt, nor the thigh he had wedged between Sam's own, nor the slow dampening on his undergarments.
"Bucky," Sam groaned, tugging lightly on the man's hair as Bucky swiveled to kiss his prince's neck.
He started at the juncture of Sam's jaw, traveling down his neck with slow, open mouthed kisses. Never lingering in one place for too long, and rubbing the other side of his neck with his thumb. Sam continued to whine under his touch, and Bucky moved impossibly closer.
"Bucky," came the exhale from Sam, having grown threadier.
"Sam," Bucky whispered back, voice hoarse.
"Bucky," Sam pleaded, grinding down on Bucky's thigh.
It was only then Bucky took in what was in front of him. A needy Sam, grinding on his thigh with kiss plump lips and gripping onto Bucky's shoulders like he was a lifeline. Bucky felt drunk off the sight alone.
"What do you need, angel?"
"Say that again."
"Angel, baby, tell me what you need."
"Fuck," Sam groaned, dropping his head to Bucky's shoulder, his hips stuttering in their motions. Bucky grabbed onto his hip, desperately wishing for both of his arms more now than ever before, and moved with Sam.
"Keep going," Sam breathed out, and Bucky couldn't do anything but follow his command. He kissed any part of Sam his lips could come in contact with (his neck, his jaw, his cheek, his lips) and hoped he was conveying every feeling he'd bottled up since the start of his assignment.
Did Sam know just how attractive Bucky found him? Was he aware of the nights Bucky spent wishing he were noble, just to have the chance of winning Sam's hand? Did he know of the nights Bucky spent with his hand down his pants, wishing it were Sam's? Did he know of the guilt he felt for spoiling his angel's image, for daring to show up to protect him day after day?
Did Sam know Bucky was willing to get on his knees and pray to his alter?
Bucky figured that, no, he didn't, and decided this had to change.Bucky shushed Sam as he pulled back, quieting Sam's whines. He pressed him to the wall, dropping a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, before lowering himself to his knees. Bucky kissed his way down until he found his home on his knees between Sam's legs.
Sam's hand moved to rest on the side of Bucky's head, his breathing hard and labored now. There was a glossed over look in his eyes, but he snapped to attention the moment Bucky's knees hit the floor.
"What…"
"Do you want me to?" Bucky asked, leaning his head on Sam's thigh, his breath ghosting over the wet patch in Sam's pants. Sam arched into the sensation, his groin brushing against Bucky's lips. Bucky dropped a soft kiss on Sam's length, praying to anyone that could hear his thanks.
"Bucky," Sam stuttered out, breathing more labored now. His fingers on one hand flexed in Bucky's hair, the other gripping onto the waistband of his own pants.
"Tell me to and I will. Anything you want, Sam."
"Bucky-"
"Anything." Bucky punctuated it with a firm kiss to Sam's groin, and was surprised to find his suddenly face being pushed into Sam's crotch as the prince arched off the wall and came.
"Bucky, Bucky, Buck," Sam breathed out, voice just above a whisper, overcome with the sensation of Bucky surrounding him. Bucky watched from his place between Sam's thighs, eyes full of wonder. He had never been a religious man, but he realized now that these were the types of views that drew people to the church. Salvation at the hands of a beautiful man.
As Sam caught his breath, Bucky made his way back to his feet, feeling dizzy and drunk off the sensation of Sam coming on his face without any mess on his face. He almost wanted to ask him for a repeat performance. He was sure he could be better, if he could just–
"Bucky," Sam groaned, snapping the other man out of his daze.
"Hi."
"Hello."
After a beat of silence, Bucky tightened his grip on Sam's waist. He had a million worries of what was next, what would happen to his assignment, whether he could show Sam a better performance of his abilities, but they all faded from thought as Sam dropped his head on his shoulder.
"My bed is just in there, if you're interested."
"Oh?"
Sam smacked his shoulder.
"For sleeping."
"That's what I had in mind. What else? Maybe you're dirty minded, hm?"
Sam laughed, clear as a bell, and Bucky felt something in his chest loosen.
"Let's go in and I'll help you clean up."
"I'd like that."
"…You'll have to move, my prince."
Sam groaned in displeasure from his new home in the juncture between Bucky's neck and shoulder.
"Don't want to. And I preferred the other name."
"Angel?"
"Yeah. Angel."
They swayed for a few long seconds until Sam's discomfort started to become more prevalent than his need to press into Bucky.
"Okay, definitely time to clean up."
Bucky huffed out a laugh as he pulled back, keeping Sam within arm's reach. He pulled the door open for his prince, watching as the man turned around as he passed the threshold.
"You coming?" Sam asked, laughing as he watched Bucky's eyes widen, almost tripping over himself to get to Sam's side.
Sarah watched as Sam shuffled into the dining room, darting between staff to get to his seat. James followed not too far behind, though he exchanged pleasantries with the staff he passed.
As Sam sat down by her side, Sarah couldn't help the smile that took over her face.
"I see you told Barnes how handsome you found him last night," Sarah commented casually, ensuring only her brother would hear.
Sam tensed, just barely noticeable. But Sarah could always read her brother, and it made her smile grow wider.
"How can you tell?"
"Well, the mark on his neck isn't helping his case."
Sam was halfway to snapping his head back to see for himself, stopping himself before he could embarrass himself.
"He doesn't have a mark."
"No."
"You were just guessing."
"Yes."
"I hate you."
"Tell it to your knight."