Archive of Our Own ^beta

Bucky had been sitting on the couch when it happened.

Bob had been out running errands for the team that day, despite the fact he, and most of the team, stressed that Bob didn't need to run around doing chores for them. Except for Alexei and Walker, who were happy to accept assistance from Bob whenever he asked if they needed anything. Sure, he wasn't being worked to the bone, and Bucky could respect his willingness to help everyone out as it obviously got him active and off on his feet. But it felt a little mean to have him run around when Bob was a part of this team just like the rest of them. 

Yelena also never accepted any of Bobs requests for errands, instead she made them into group activities for the two of them. If Bob asked the team if anyone wanted coffee from the Cafe down the block, Yelena would accompany him. When Walker asked Bob to go fetch him something from the store the other week, Yelena whacked John over the head and scolded him for being lazy, but still settled on joining Bob when he insisted on going because Ava was having issues with pain and he also wanted to get her some snacks that he knew she liked.

This time, Bob had been asked by Alexei to get him some cheap off-brand deodorant from the corner store. Bucky had heard that conversation from down the hall actually. Apparently, Yelena had been avoiding him because he kept using the buildings gym then insisted on not showering afterwards due to being "too tired." He had finally given in as a result of the cold shoulder, and quietly requested Bob to acquire deodorant for him while Yelena was using the gym that day. Despite the main issue was that he didn't shower as much as he should, something was better than nothing.

Bucky did agree with Yelena, and he briefly considered bringing the topic up with Alexei earlier that week, but the last thing he wanted to do was get stuck in an un-skippable interaction with the man about hygiene and whatever else happened to be on his mind at the time. 

Bob strategically timed his departure to the corner store for twenty five minutes after Yelena left for the gym. The quest went smoothly for the most part. Bob had bought the deodorant and was apparently about a couple minutes from the tower when a teenaged boy behind him accidentally spat gum into his hair while laughing at his friends joke. The two had both apologized profusely when they realized what had happened and tried to get the gum out which spread the mess into other sections of the hair. Of course, Bob had been very understanding about the situation, he waved them off and reassured them that he was close enough to home that it wouldn't be an issue. 

When he got back to the tower he immediately went to the bathroom to scope out the damage, and tried to pry the gum out himself. That was how Yelena found him ten minutes later, when she got suspicious of his whereabouts after her workout. Bob's attempt of getting the gum out had only spread it further into his hair, with multiple pieces in different sections. A result of Bob unable to properly see the backside of his hair. By all means it was a disaster. 

After a small commotion between the two, Bucky watched Yelena drag him out to the common room. She sat him down on the floor in front of the couch before she made her way into their shared kitchen to rummage around until finding peanut butter. Bucky eyed her curiously when she strode back around to the couch with the jar, as he didn't really understand how peanut butter would be useful for the gum situation. He quietly watched from his side of the couch with curious interest as Yelena sat behind Bob on the couch, opened the jar of peanut butter and begun to massage a glob of it into the affected sections of Bob's hair. Slowly, she worked through the strands to ensure they were properly lathered in the substance, and eventually started to pull the gum out piece by piece with little difficulty. She chattered with Bob during the process and scolded him for not getting her earlier, while Bob explained the story of what happened.

The thought struck Bucky while he absentmindedly observed Yelena and Bob. It was nothing phenomenal, a simple but brief thought that happened to cross his mind as he watched the two. Mostly Yelena, as she worked her fingers through Bob's hair and slowly pulled out even the smallest pieces of gum, even though it would've been quicker to snip off the small piece of affected hair with scissors without it being noticeable, or just pull out the gum quicker to speed up the process. 

She's so gentle with him was the thought prompted by the display. He didn't give it much consideration at first, but as he continued to watch the two, the idea of gentleness reoccurred in his mind. He knew that Yelena was being gentle, it was obvious. But he didn't understand what exactly it was that gave him that impression. He ran it over in his head. From a logical standpoint, Yelena was being gentle in the way she extracted the gum from Bob's hair slowly. Was it the lack of harshness in the action that made it gentle? Surely not.

Bucky pondered for a moment as he watched Yelena remove the last bits of the gum from Bobs hair. He reflected on himself for a moment, but couldn't recall an instance where he was gentle in the same way. Did being gentle imply intention behind the action? or was it more so defined by the action being subconscious as it occurred naturally instead? The more Bucky contemplated the topic, the more bothered he felt by his inability to draw a proper conclusion for it. 

Yelena, finished with the mess, sunk back into the couch cushions as she tipped Bob's head forward playfully with her pointer finger. "You go wash your hair," She ordered. Yelena shuffled back and pulled her legs up onto the couch so she could swing them to the side of Bob's lanky figure to get up on her feet without trampling the poor guy. She nicked the jar of peanut butter off of the coffee table, along with the paper towel she used to place the gum on. "I need to wash this peanut butter off of my hands...gross." 

Bob nodded and quickly scrambled onto his feet to follow Yelena. They both circled around the couch together, but parted ways as Bob headed to the bathroom followed by a string of grateful thank you's which Yelena brushed off with a disgruntled "Yeah yeah" as she trudged into the kitchen. But Bucky could tell she was not only amused by the situation, but she was also happy that Bob appreciated what she did for him. 

"You were doing the staring thing." Yelena announced loudly from the kitchen over the sound of the running tap in the kitchen sink. Bucky turned towards the sound a little bewildered. He watched Yelena emerge from around the common room kitchen island with a glass of water and clean hands, not at all phased by Bucky's lack of answer to her observation. 

She briefly paused next to the kitchen island. "Water?" She asked with a small tilt of her head in the direction of the sink. 

Bucky shook his head, which resulted in a shrug from Yelena. She walked back around to the couch. This time, she sat a little closer to Bucky and set her glass of water down on the coffee table before she settled into the cushions and threw her arms around the back of the couch. The TV wasn't on, so it was just the both of them accompanied by silence. Bucky felt a little rigid, but he had no excuse to move anywhere else without it being at least a little rude.

"I would have just cut the gum out honestly." Bucky said in attempt to break the silence that hung in the room. He glanced toward Yelena, which caused them to lock eyes as she had already been looking in his direction. 

She tilted her head and hummed in response with a slow nod. "Just because a solution is quicker does not mean it's the best one." She said matter-of-factly with a relaxed shrug. "Plus," She continued with a faint smile. "I knew Bob didn't want to cut his hair, so I worked around." She said with a small sway of her hands. "If it were Walker I'd shave it off, or give him a skullet." She added. 

Bucky shot her a puzzled expression. "A skullet?" 

"You know-" She waved her hands around. "Where you shave off the top so it's bald, but leave the back." She explained with a lazy hand demonstration that he assumed represented shaving the top of your hair off. 

Bucky thought about the concept in his head for a split second, followed by a pained expression." I don't know if I like the sound of that." He muttered.

Yelena showed him a photo of the hairstyle. He in fact did not like it. 

The unanswered question of gentleness loomed over Bucky that night. 

He made the decision to go home as opposed to staying the night in the tower. Something he did most nights. The tower was too spacious for Bucky, not to mention quiet, and personally he preferred his own space. His apartment was decently sized. Not too small, but not too big either. However, it was still pretty empty, which Sam always made a point to comment on the few times the man had actually been around the place. Except for when he showed up the last time a couple months before (uninvited). Bucky had acquired an old wooden bookshelf earlier that week, along with numerous old books at second hand stores in his area. He had haphazardly shoved them all on the top shelf with little care for presentation, alongside a potted plant he had found abandoned worse for wear in an alleyway. When Sam had come over, as usual he had been leading up to some joke about how bare Bucky's house was as soon as he walked through his front door, but was interrupted by the sight of the new bookshelf in his living room. He eyed the thing with a soft fondness that Bucky didn't know how to feel about.

Bucky eyed the ceiling from his bed with a frown. He had finally gotten around to actually sleeping in his bed, which he managed to do semi consistently despite the nightmares that still haunted him in his sleep. The mattress did improve his quality of sleep when he managed to actually fall into slumber. He sighed, at the very least, the deep rooted anguish and aching stress that constantly simmered beneath his skin were not the things that were keeping him up for once. 

To satiate his curiosity, he had done a little research on his phone when he had arrived home, but none of the answers he found were satisfactory. He knew that he was probably doing research in the wrong places, but he couldn't help but feel mildly frustrated about it. He liked to think of himself as pretty knowledgeable in regards to technology, but obviously researching a vulnerable topic that related to mental health happened to not be a strong suit of his. He went over the interaction between Bob and Yelena in his head, and played over certain moments again and again. He couldn't help but cringe, it was definitely a little invasive to dwell on an interaction between two of his teammates, of which he had little personal connection to outside of maybe mutual yet distant friends. 

But over that embarrassment, one question specifically continued to pop up in his mind.

Could he be gentle? 

Each time the question popped up in his head he felt an pang of dread from deep in his gut. He knew what he was capable of, reminded every time he looked at that arm of his. The scarred ring of skin where flesh met metal served as a constant reminder of the things he could do, the things he did do. Sam could tell when Bucky felt particularly anguished over his perception of himself, and would sometimes tell him healing was a process. Two steps forward, one step back. When Bucky looked back to how he was in the past, when he had just broken free of his brainwashing, it really put in in perspective how far he had come. But gentleness still felt a world away.

Bucky sat up in his bed and carefully grabbed the pen from on top of the notebook on his night stand beside him. The moonlight illuminated the item in his hands, and he eyed it for a moment before he maneuvered it around with his finger tips. He didn't use excessive force to move the pen around as he knew he was more than capable of breaking it with very minimal effort, yet he wouldn't call the action gentle. It was more so careful, calculated, delicate. The use of any more force would have probably flung the pen out of his hands. It just made sense that an action as simple as moving a pen between his fingertips only required a small amount of force. So he acted accordingly based off of that premonition. Consistency in terms of carefulness was something Bucky was familiar with. He knew he did many things carefully, especially in reference how he carried out missions. But there was definitely a difference between being gentle and being careful.

Something about whether or not he was capable of gentleness struck Bucky in a way he couldn't explain. Especially since he felt like he couldn't exactly explain gentleness in itself. He didn't understand why he was so hung up on the topic, why it felt so personal to him. A deep rooted feeling of yearning had decided to crawl its way out from the darkness inside of Bucky and wrapped him up in its aching grasp. It's immense weight suffocated him, and he had no clue how he was supposed to address this newfound vulnerability. 

Did he crave to understand gentleness? or to experience it, to give it? He didn't know what he wanted exactly, he just wanted to know. And it made zero sense. 

He could ask somebody.

Except he absolutely did not want to ask somebody. Sure, he had gotten a lot better in terms of socializing in the past year or so. But for a topic like gentleness? Immediate no. 

But he couldn't help but consider it.

There were a couple of people Bucky thought he could potentially ask. To his embarrassment, Sam was the first person to come to mind. He quickly shook his head and moved on to the other potential candidates he had lined up in his mind.

Dr Raynor was the next option on his list, until he pictured how that conversation would go and quickly nipped that at the bud. He wanted an answer to his question without someone reading between the lines of his words and starting to pry into aspects of himself he didn't know existed thank you very much.

Yelena was the third option on his list, which he made a pained expression in response to. Because of her tendency to lay it down straight, she sounded as perfect as someone could get to explain a topic like gentleness for someone as avoidant as Bucky in theory. But when he pondered it a little longer, he wondered if Yelena even knew how to explain gentleness herself due to her background. Not to mention, she would probably drill him for the reason as to why he wanted elaboration on gentleness of all things, and what led to the topic being brought up in the first place. She was smart enough to put two and two together, and the last thing Bucky wanted was for Yelena to be aware of how much he had been thinking of her and Bob having physical contact with each other. It was creepy, and weird, and Yelena would drill him about it for ages.

Which moved him onto Bob, who asked less questions. But his tendency to talk, especially to Yelena, quickly made him reconsider his eligibility to be a hard no. Also, Bucky could count on one hand the amount of times he had properly talked to Bob one on one outside of interactions that involved multiple of the Thunderbolts team members. So overall, he honestly believed he was saving both of them the awkwardness of such a conversation.

The rest of his list was so bleak that he circled back to the option at the top of his list before he could stop his train of thought.

He felt his face heat up. The image of having such a vulnerable conversation about intimacy with Sam Wilson of all people caused him to shudder. Well, when he thought about it more, that sort of conversation sounded exactly up Sam's alley. As a counselor, he probably had experience supporting veterans who had difficulty with intimacy, which he believed fell under the gentleness umbrella in some way, shape, or form. But something held Bucky back from pursuing that route. At first he assumed it was the awkward state of their friendship at the time, since they had been unable to see each other for a while, which while mostly had to do with vastly different and busy schedules, Bucky's avoidant nature definitely had a play in it. He still hadn't replied to the text message Sam had sent about half a day ago, which happened to be a follow up to the message that Sam had sent the day before.

But that wasn't the problem. Something particularly specific about Sam prevented Bucky from seeking him out. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the nervous feeling that had settled in his gut had been enough of a sign it was probably a bad idea.

Bucky absentmindedly twirled the pen around with his fingertips once more, then carefully placed it on the night stand. He checked the time on his phone with a defeated sigh before he settled back under the sheets of his bed and closed his eyes. The sound of the street life outside served as white noise while he attempted to sleep.

He never expected to sleep well at all that night, but on average, he usually managed to get two to three hours of sleep per night at least. So when he abruptly woke up exactly fifty eight minutes after he put his phone down and closed his eyes he felt a little irritated to say the least. Based on how long it took him to fall into slumber he estimated he got around thirty minutes, and that was being generous. 

He really tried to go back to sleep. He buried his face deep in his pillow and shut his eyes as tight as he could. He listened to faint ticking of his next-door neighbors clock for about eight minutes before he gave up on sleep altogether. He groaned and groggily emerged from his mattress, not bothered to untangle his legs from his blanket, he swung both of his legs over the edge of the bed and sat upright, which ended up with him angrily kicking the heap of fabric around his legs onto the floor a couple of seconds later. 

Bucky could not comprehend how such an insignificant concept like gentleness had kept him so wired. 

Bucky wallowed on the edge of his bed for another half minute. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation that had finally caught up to him, because he abruptly stumbled to his feet, causing him to slip a little on the blanket he had kicked onto the wooden floor. Bucky strode through his apartment like he was on a severe life or death time crunch. Not bothered to change out of his sleepwear, he slipped on his work boots, not bothered to tie them up, and tugged his leather jacket off of his coat hanger so fast it knocked the whole thing over. Bucky decided it was a problem for his future self, and grabbed his keys before leaving through his front door.

He didn't care much that he left his phone behind, he knew where to go anyway. Out of all the people he knew, Sam was objectively the best candidate to ask such a question to. And while he was bound to face some scrutiny from the man, he also believed he was likely to obtain an answer he'd be satisfied with.

As he walked down the sidewalk he also ran through many different calculations in his head regarding the best possible ways to communicate his request without it coming off absurdly and unseriously strange and awkward. He wanted Sam to explain gentleness to him in a way he understood. What it was specifically that made a touch gentle. When he felt the small droplets of rain hit his head, he considered turning back for a brief moment, an excuse he had to turn back and forget about the whole ordeal. But against his better judgement, he figured he was close enough to Sam's house that there wasn't a point in turning back.

When it began to pour down, Bucky just walked faster. It wasn't as if he could get sick anyway, and he had experienced worse than rain. Plus the leather jacket protected him adequately even if his sweatpants started to get a little damp. Worse case scenario, Sam picked on him a little, cracked one or two jokes of his before he moved on. He could handle that. The downpour was insignificant at that point anyway as he saw Sam's residence come into view. As he walked up to Sam's doorstep, he barely waited a second to consider his appearance before he firmly knocked on the door three times. He paused to consider the volume of the downpour from inside the house before he knocked again, louder than before.

A moment passed, and eventually Bucky heard the sound of confused mumbling, alongside footsteps that grew progressively closer until they stopped at the other side of the front door. Bucky shifted a tad so he knew he was visible in the line of sight of the doors peephole. After a couple of seconds, Bucky heard a curt and muffled "The hell-?" followed by the unmistakable rattle of the doorknob being grabbed. Another pause, which Bucky assumed was for Sam to do a double take to be sure that it was actually Bucky on his doorstep and not some strange hallucination, before the front door slowly swung open.

Bucky suddenly had never felt so nervous in his life. 

Sam looked perplexed at the sight of Bucky. Which made sense, this was probably the first time Bucky had shown up at Sam's house of his own accord, not to mention how early in the morning it was. Sam had a simple dark grey long sleeved shirt on, accompanied by black pajama shorts. He looked a little groggy, like he had just been woken up, which Bucky noted with a pang of guilt was certainly caused by his abrupt appearance 

"Bucky?" Sam questioned suspiciously with furrowed brows. He eyed him up and down and blinked twice. "What...the hell are you doing here?" He asked carefully. His eyes scanned Bucky's figure again with a frown. "Are you okay?" He added as he took a step forward out onto the porch.

Bucky had the question ready in his head. He had mulled over it multiple times on his way to Sam's house. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask and how to ask it. It wasn't a difficult question by any means outside of it's obvious vulnerability, which was definitely not one of Bucky's strong points based on multiple sources. Yet despite his preparation, in that moment, it felt like he was chasing multiple words in his head to try and form a proper sentence. He unintentionally met Sam's gaze for a split second and felt like he was going to choke if he didn't say something.

"Can you touch me?" Is what Bucky blurted.

"W—Come again?" Sam gawked, baffled. Obviously he hadn't expected such an upfront request. Bucky didn't blame him, because he could not have possibly worded that any worse. It definitely didn't help that it was one twenty seven in the damn morning, he was running on about thirty minutes of sleep, and he was standing on Sam's porch drenched in rainwater.

He felt so ridiculous.

It didn't help that Sam, despite being visibly bewildered, had a hint of amusement in his expression, while Bucky knew he 100% looked one twig snap away from dropping off of the face of the earth indefinitely.

Bucky took a tentative half step back. He felt unsure whether or not this confrontation was worth the hassle just to answer a question that honestly, objectively, held little significance in his day to day life. If he had come to that realization ten minutes before, he probably would have turned tail and ran. But since he was already at Sam's house, right in front of the man, Bucky felt frozen in place. He was unable to meet Sam in the eye, and instead actively avoided his gaze to peer into the extremely fascinating wall next to the man who patiently waited for Bucky to continue.

When it became painfully apparent that Sam was not going to say anything until Bucky elaborated, he cleared his throat to try again. "Um-" He started. A brief and honestly agonizing moment of silence passed between the two of them. Unable to locate the words to explain himself, Bucky gave up. "I'm...confused..." He trailed off, defeated. 

"You think?" Sam mocked sarcastically with an amused grin.

Bucky groaned and looked up towards the ceiling of Sam's porch. He took in the sound of the rain that hammered on the roof of the house. A rather futile attempt to regain his composure. He looked back down. "I-look Sam-" He tried.

Sam shook his head. "Just-" He interrupted and reached out to grab Bucky firmly by the arm. "You're soaked, come inside." He demanded as he dragged him through the doorway of his house. Bucky stumbled inside awkwardly. He glanced at Sam for a moment before he started to kick off his boots while Sam closed the front door, his hand still wrapped around Bucky's bicep. 

"You're lucky you wore that jacket of yours, but take that damn thing off." He ordered and tugged against the wet fabric for a moment before he let go. "I know you super soldiers don't get sick, but that doesn't mean you have to go hang around outside in the rain.." He muttered. Bucky complied and shrugged off the jacket rather ungracefully to his embarrassment. Sam watched him mildly struggle to remove the article of clothing with a faint amused smile. When the jacket had finally come off, Sam shot him a subtle raised brow at the obvious sleepwear, but chose not to mention anything. Which Bucky didn't know whether to be grateful for or not. With Sam's eyes on him he felt rigid. On a better note, he realized he wasn't really cold anymore. He hung up his jacket on the coat rack beside him.

He turned back towards Sam who gave him a curious look before he quietly walked off, which left Bucky alone for a moment. He progressively grew more mortified as he soaked up how comically awful this interaction had been so far. He shuffled awkwardly, and felt the fabric of his pants with his flesh hand for a moment. They were a little damp, but dry enough to not warrant him to change out of them, thank god. He caught something quickly moving towards him from the corner of his eye and caught the warm towel that Sam had just hurled at him from the doorway of the bathroom. He nodded as thanks, unfolded the rest of the it, and threw it over his head to towel at his hair.

He heard Sam approach him. "Something on your mind Buck?" He teased as he nudged his side lightly with his elbow. 

Bucky frowned. He ruffled his hair with the towel one last time before he dragged it off of his head using his left hand. With his free hand, he brushed through the damp strands of his hair with his fingers in an attempt to smooth out the parts he knew had stuck up from using the towel. He turned to face Sam, his face as neutral as he could possibly muster. "I came here to ask-"

"For me to touch you?" Sam cut him off with a sly grin. 

Bucky couldn't help the way his face heated up. He frantically scrambled to explain himself. "Wh—No I didn't-"

"Really?" Sam mused with a raised brow. "You are not gonna believe what I just heard from you earlier then—"

"Wilson..." Bucky stressed. 

"Barnes." Sam mocked. He tilted his head and crossed his arms.

Bucky shied away from Sam's gaze. His eyes trailed down to the towel in his left hand as if it was going to offer a magical solution that would get him out of this mess. He sighed. "Look—I dunno why I thought this was a good idea..." He trailed off. He waited for Sam to ask for some sort of clarification, or make a joke, or something. But after a moment passed, he looked up to find Sam still watching him. He had Sam's full attention.

He let out a pained sigh. "I don't really understand what being gentle is" He admitted. Bucky caught Sam's expression shift ever so slightly. He hesitated a little before he continued. "I just thought..." He shook his head and stepped back. "Forget it—it's stupid—" 

"I'll do it." Sam cut in, completely sincere.

Bucky's head snapped up. "Huh?" He asked, taken aback. 

"Touch you, gently." Sam confirmed with a shrug. He paused before he added. "If you want me to-" He couldn't help but grin. "I mean, you did ask." He teased.

"I asked you to touch me, actually" Bucky corrected. He didn't really know what point he was trying to prove. 

Sam rolled his eyes, but rose to the bait anyway. "Yeah but the gentle was implied" he argued with a sly smirk. "Unless you have something you wanna tell me Barnes, I don't think this is the hill you want to die on." He added in that know-it-all tone he knew irked Bucky. 

He scoffed. "You know that's not what I meant, Wilson." He retorted.

Sam let out a small laugh. "Yet you wanted to bring up the difference as if I couldn't read between the lines—" 

Bucky scoffed. "Yeah, because—"

"Are we doing this or not?" He interrupted. 

Bucky went quiet. He looked away for a moment, hesitant. Overall, a hands on experience was a practical way of exploring gentleness with someone and would probably yield results that would satiate Bucky's yearn for knowledge. But was an approach he had immediately benched for obvious reasons. He knew Sam was more than capable of enacting gentleness, and probably the only person who initiated physical contact with him semi-regularly. Yet, he felt like there was a line that he wasn't supposed to cross. A feeling that drove him away like two wrong ends of a magnet being forced away from each other. 

In a way, Bucky was drawn to Sam. He liked being near Sam despite how Bucky was avoidant by nature. But he could only be so close to him without that need to flee that thrummed under his skin. He didn't exactly understand why, and he didn't want to think about the why either. The way he felt towards Sam was—complicated to say the least, and he didn't know how to navigate those feelings. To allow Sam to touch him in such a manner, Bucky would have to be the most vulnerable he had ever been with Sam of his own accord, or with anyone for that matter. 

He didn't know what exactly it was that he was afraid of, but the fear still clung to him. 

Sam shifted so he was in front of Bucky. "I'm serious, Buck," He said earnestly. It tugged at the edge of his heart to see Sam so willing to be of service to him without much question. Especially when he considered that they were both both exactly on speaking terms. 

Bucky swallowed. "What...would we do...?" He asked quietly. 

"Anything you're comfortable with." Sam answered. "Simple touching all the way to cuddling. You set the line and I won't cross it. If you change your mind, or something is too far, I back off." He added.

Bucky nodded along. Sam had just offered him a variety of things to try with no pressure to go too far too fast. He could start small and build his way up. "I—Could we try—" He thought for a moment. "—My face?" He asked. Almost like asking permission.

"You want me to touch your face?" Sam asked for clarification. 

Bucky nodded sharply. 

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah man, we can try that." He replied. He took the towel out of Bucky's hand and walked over to the dining room chair to hang it over the back, Bucky tentatively trailed behind him, unsure if he was supposed to follow along or not. An uncertainty that was cleared up when Sam glanced back to make sure he was behind him. Sam continued to lead him from his kitchen/dining room to his living room until they made it to the couch.

It was one of those sleek, L shaped couches. A warm brown colour with differently patterned and coloured pillows. Sam sat down in the middle of it. "Come sit." He suggested, patting the space next to him. Bucky, a little too eager for his liking, complied. He plopped himself down right next to Sam, who made no mention the close proximity. He shuffled away to make a little bit of space between the two. Bucky tried not to look embarrassed.

"Hey" Sam said softly, his voice led Bucky to look up and meet his line of sight. Sam eyed him for a moment. He shifted around so his body faced towards Bucky, one leg hooked over onto the couch, which Bucky copied, their knees brushing ever so slightly as they settled into the position.

A moment passed, both of them staring at each other. Bucky couldn't stand it. He looked away and closed his eyes, tense as a bowstring. "Can you just—" 

"Sam coughed. Yeah I know I know." He murmured. Bucky heard him shuffle a little more before he let out something between a sigh and a scoff. "Open your eyes Buck, you're acting like I'm about to hit you." He added. 

Bucky huffed defiantly, but complied. Eyes open and ready. Sam slowly began to reach up. He tried his best to relax his shoulders as Sam's hands inched closer and closer to his face. He subconsciously started to move to bridge the gap between him and Sam. But just as they were about to meet, Bucky felt a pang of dread when he realized that a lock of his hair had fallen in the way of his face. He was about to pull back so he could fix it, but froze as Sam's thumb and pointer finger briefly brushed the skin on his cheek, before it hooked underneath the lock of damp hair that had fallen over the right side of his face. Gently, he brushed it behind his ear. His hand smoothly trailed down his ear and traced the overgrown stubble alongside his jaw to cup his cheek. 

Bucky hitched a breath. He leaned into the touch for a moment. Slowly, with his left hand, Sam touched the pads on his fingertips onto the other side of Bucky's face. Almost feather light, he repeated the action, tucking Bucky's hair behind the other ear. His hand wandered to cup his other cheek, and with his thumbs, he decided to brush the skin of Bucky's cheeks in a slow, circular motion. It was a mix between soft and firm strokes that alternated with no clear timed order. 

Bucky closed his eyes to really soak in the feeling. He pictured Yelena and Bob in his head, and ran over how they had acted with each other. He compared it with how Sam touched him. It felt nice, the gentle brush of fingertips on his skin. Slightly calloused, which told him that Sam had been actively busy doing something-probably labor intensive-over the last couple of weeks or so. His touch was soft, but it wasn't out of pity or out of need. Bucky wasn't something fragile about to break, but Sam still traced his face with his finger tips like he was precious. Despite this, Bucky still wasn't able to pinpoint what exactly made Sam's action gentle.

Sam noticed a slight change in Bucky's expression and started to slow down a little. "Is this alright?" He asked to check in.

Bucky hesitated a little, and Sam immediately began to move back, pulling his hands away from Bucky's face. Quickly, Bucky reached up to snatch Sam's right hand with his own, opening his eyes. "Don't stop." He pleaded. 

Sam wasted no time to comply. He returned his hands to Bucky's face without any argument. Bucky hummed contently in response, which caused Sam to huff a short laugh. He began to move his hands further, from the top of Bucky's hair down to the beginnings of his neck. He brushed his fingers through the strands of hair every so often, not intentionally but a result of his fingers straying along where his hair was. Bucky considered asking for Sam to touch his hair more, but decided against it as he wasn't quite sure how to ask.

The movement continued for a minute or two before Bucky spoke. "Sam?" He asked.

Sam continued the slow motion of his hands and hummed attentively. 

Bucky swallowed. "What does it mean..." He paused. "To be gentle with someone...?" He asked. 

Sam tilted his head. He appeared to think about it for a moment before he spoke. "Elaborate?" 

Bucky took a slow breath in, then out. "I don't think I—I don't really understand what it is that makes an action gentle." He explained. Before Sam could reply he continued. "I know you're being gentle with me, I just don't understand what it is about you touching me like—this—that makes it gentle..." He clarified. Bucky briefly caught Sam's eye, he felt justifiably exposed. Sam had slowed down his strokes as he put more focus on processing the words that had come out of Bucky's mouth.

"And you want to understand this because...?" He asked. 

Bucky swallowed. He could tell him about Yelena and Bob, and that he was simply curious. But Sam would be able to tell there was more to it than that since it landed him on Sam's doorstep. Bucky didn't act on things unless they really bugged him, and even then he usually preferred to isolate himself as a response when it came to those sorts of things anyway. "I don't know if I'm capable of being gentle like that..." He admitted.

Sam hummed attentively. He made a brief face of realization, and abruptly pulled away, which sent a brief wave of panic through Bucky who hesitated between recoiling and chasing the contact Sam had been giving him. Sam stood up from where he was seated on the couch and turned to face Bucky. He eyed him thoughtfully, then reached out a hand. "Come on," he said. 

Bucky was quick to comply with Sam's request. He slotted his flesh hand into Sam's before he thought about his hand placement too much. Sam said himself that Bucky drew the line at what touch was and wasn't allowed, and he didn't act surprised at Bucky's decision to hold his hand instead of Sam's wrist like he usually would when he was being pulled upward. 

When Bucky was on his feet, Sam didn't let go like Bucky expected him to. Instead, he led him through his living room and down the hallway. 

Bucky had an idea of where Sam was taking him. From an logical standpoint, with the context of Bucky's study on gentle touch it combined with them both leaving the living room, it just made sense. Yet he still found himself surprised and equally anxious to be led into Sam's bedroom. 

Sam obviously didn't feel the same nervousness that dug into Bucky's core. He gestured to his queen sized bed with the tilt of his head. "I'm thinking—that you can lay on top of me, and I can play with your hair like you've been wanting me to do this whole time." He explained, calm and casual.

Bucky went rigid. "How did you—? I didn't even ask" 

Sam gave him a sly smirk. "You know how cats lean parts of their heads into your hands to let you know they wanna be pet in a specific area?" He teased.

Bucky frowned, unimpressed by the comparison. "I'm not a cat Wilson." He said dryly. 

"Could've fooled me Barnes." Sam replied with a shrug. 

He finally let go of Bucky's hand and hopped up onto the bed, kicking the blankets out of the way. Bucky watched as Sam shuffled back up against the pillow against the headboard. He eyed the blankets bunched at the end of his bed for a moment like he was considering tucking himself in, but decided against it and got himself comfortable instead. Settled into his position, Sam reached out to Bucky, beckoning him over with his hands. "Pspsps" He called, wriggling his fingers a little. 

Bucky scowled. "Don't call me over like a damn cat." He hissed. 

Sam chuckled. "Are you coming over or not Barnes?" He asked. 

Bucky's frown deepened. "Not if you're calling me over like that Wilson." He grumbled. 

"Okay okay I won't make another cat joke I swear." Sam surrendered rather insincerely with a lazy gesture of his hands. 

Bucky eyed him with suspicion before he sighed and stood up. He trudged over to Sam's side of the bed and stopped to eye his position with a raised brow. "So...What do you want me to do?" He asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "What do you think?" He replied and gestured to the rest of his body like that was supposed to mean something. 

Bucky went over his position again. When the answer finally clicked he stared at Sam with a bewildered expression. "You're serious?" He asked. When he pictured him laying on top of Sam it was less-intimate. Something more akin to him maybe laying his head in his lap or something along those lines. This was a big step up from Sam touching his face.

"If you're alright with it, it's on the table." Sam answered in earnest. "I just want to see something." He explained. 

"See what?" Bucky asked suspiciously.

Sam rolled his eyes at Bucky's defiance. "I'll explain after you lay down." He said dryly. 

Bucky huffed. He lifted his left leg and kneeled on the edge of the bed with his right foot still situated on the floor. He glanced at Sam, unsure where he was supposed to move from his position. Did he just expect Bucky to flop on top of him? Surely not. He used the headboard as a brace to prevent him from slipping on top of Sam as he hovered over the man, still uncertain.

Sam looked unimpressed at the attempt. He rolled his eyes and threw his head back into the pillow like he couldn't stand to watch. "Come on man—you're like a vampire looming over me like that, have you ever laid on top of someone in your life" He groaned.

"What does it look like I'm trying to do Wilson." Bucky argued back. Displeased at Sam's sass.

Sam reached his right hand out towards Bucky and beckoned him over. "Just—come here." He told him. 

Hesitantly, Bucky let go of his hold on the headboard and leaned closer to Sam. When he was within reach, Sam grabbed Bucky by his vibranium forearm and abruptly dragged him further onto the bed. Bucky stumbled onto the mattress, clumsily hooking his right leg between Sam's, his other leg situated on the left of Sam's waist. Bucky gave Sam a defiant glare, but still moved his left knee over Sam's leg so it was situated between Sam's thighs instead of on the edge of the bed. He settled it next to his other knee and Sam moved his legs further apart to accommodate. 

Bucky frowned. "Where should I..." He trailed off.

Sam thought about it for a moment. "Just lay down on my chest and we can readjust from there." He replied.

Bucky calculated where he would be if he laid down from the position he was in before he shuffled back a bit to give himself more room over Sam so he'd be spread out evenly when he laid down. With faux confidence, he settled both of his arms on the sides of Sam's chest, trying not to think about how the position was a couple of clicks away from looking quite indecent. Confidence short lived, he loomed over Sam, unsure of where exactly he was supposed to settle down in a way that looked natural. Impatient, Sam raised both of his hands to grab hold of Bucky's forearms and guide him closer. 

Bucky followed Sam's guidance, and lowered himself down until he made contact with the middle of Sam's chest. He started to stretch out his legs, but didn't know how he was supposed to position his them. He spent a moment adjusting them until he felt more comfortable, laid straight between Sam's own. His arms were bent a little uncomfortably to hold up a bit of his weight, hesitant to set all of it down in one go. 

Sam shuffled a little to reach over and grab Bucky by the shoulders and pull him up so he was positioned higher on his chest. Sam hummed, content with the position he was in, and lifted his arms to wrap around Bucky's shoulders and pull him closer. 

Bucky eased into the soft contact. A little more confident, he shuffled a little to arrange himself more comfortably over Sam. His face remained rested on Sam's shoulder, facing towards his neck. He properly tucked his left arm in next to Sam's torso and stretched out his right slowly onto the remaining space of the couch. Satisfied with the weight distribution, he settled into the position he had adjusted for himself. Slowly, so he wasn't dropping all of his weight on top of Sam in one go. 

Sam took that as his cue to start softly running his fingers through Bucky's hair.

To his embarrassment, Bucky couldn't help but sigh softly at the contact. He waited for a snide comment from Sam, but the man below him remained silent and continued to massage Bucky's scalp. 

It felt really nice. He sunk deeper into Sam as he carded his fingers through his damp hair. He detangled a couple of knots as he went, working his fingers through slowly and carefully as to not pull his hair too hard. Bucky closed his eyes to focus on the feeling. 

Sam continued to fluctuate between massaging Bucky's scalp and running his fingers through his hair. Absent-mindedly, with his other hand, he started to trace around Bucky's neckline softly. 

"What's going on in that big cyborg brain of yours Buck?" Sam asked. 

Bucky tilted his head upwards despite not really being able to see Sam's face regardless. He slowly traced the seam of Sam's shirt up and down with his finger.  "What's the difference between being gentle as opposed to being delicate...or careful..." He questioned. 

Sam pondered for a moment. "I like to think it's the intention. When you're being delicate it's usually to avoid breaking or ruining something that's quite fragile. Touching or moving something with only the required amount of strength because you know that using too much could cause it to break. Being careful is...like having control over an action so you can do a specific task, for example, carrying out a mission can require you to be careful." He explained. 

Bucky made a confused expression. "How is that any different from being gentle?" He asked. 

"What exactly do you think being gentle means?" Sam shot back. 

A moment of silence passed. "I uh...Like touch? Touching someone—or something...softly, so it doesn't cause...pain" Bucky explained with little confidence. 

Another stretch of silence passed, just the very faint sound of tousled hair moving through fingertips filled the room. Sam hummed. "I think being gentle is similar, definitely, but it's more than just acting softly towards somebody to not cause harm." He spoke. 

Bucky thought about it for a moment, then gave a half-hearted shrug, still unsure. 

Sam caught his confusion. "For example, when it comes to an avoidant super soldier who I may or may not know." Bucky let out a noise between a scoff and a huff. "Sometimes he gets himself into these stupid ass situations, and I don't exactly need to be gentle when I have to swoop in and save him because I know he has a crazy high pain tolerance and he heals annoyingly fast, so most injuries aren't that big a deal." He added with faux annoyance. "But I do treat him gently because I want him to feel cared for, to know that I care." He elaborated. 

Sam continued to pet Bucky's hair with one hand, and gently cupped the back of his head with the other. It was a welcomed weight. Firm but not harsh enough to dig into his skin painfully. It was nice, grounding. Combined with the fingers working through his hair. He took in the information Sam gave him, and mulled over the instances where he could identify experiencing moments of softness with Sam. He briefly recalled the truck fight during the Flag Smashers debacle. When Sam dove underneath the truck to grab him from where he struggled to cling on. Bucky is a super soldier, durable enough to survive most harsh falls and landings. Yet Sam still shielded his head for their landing and took the brunt of the fall like an idiot. 

Or the times he'd insist on patching him up, even though his injuries would be gone by the next morning. Sam would make him sit down so he could fuss over him, taking his time to softly wipe around his bloodied wounds with a wet cloth or wipe. He would use bandages and plasters even when Bucky insisted it wasn't worth the hassle.

Sam cared. Bucky knew he did. But it was different when he thought of it directly. It was different when Sam told him directly. 

He curled a little tighter into the embrace. He noticed that Sam's heartbeat hammered in his chest a little too fast for it to be natural. It comforted him in a way, that he was also nervous in this situation.

Sam absent-mindedly started to massage Bucky's neck. Amused by how he keened into the contact. "I'd say gentleness is taking other peoples feelings and state into consideration. Conveying that you value them enough to make changes to things you would otherwise do differently, or doing things you don't actually need to do just to make things easier for them because you care about making them feel cared for." He said.

Sam ran his fingers smoothly through Bucky's hair. "Like how I could have detangled your hair way faster if I brushed quicker, but I didn't." He added on to his previous statement.

"Because it would've hurt a little bit." Bucky mumbled, more so thinking out loud than an actual response to what Sam said.

"See? Exactly." Sam chirped, satisfied with Bucky's response. 

Bucky hummed as he put the pieces together in his head. "The inconvenience you experience to help others is a form of gentleness." He stated absentmindedly, akin to taking a note on a piece of paper. His voice muffled as half of his face was smushed into Sam's chest.

A moment of silence passed, and Sam pulled him in a little tighter. "You're not inconvenient." He muttered. "Not to me." He added quickly. "An annoying pain in my ass? Definitely. But an inconvenience? Never." Sam said fondly. Reflected in the soft touch he had enveloped Bucky in. 

Touch wasn't something Bucky dabbled in often, if at all. Definitely never to this degree, not in a long time at least. He never really understood what he was missing out on, and was apprehensive about physical contact more often than not. A brief pat on the shoulder was fine, sometimes a half-hearted side hug was accepted as well. But something like this was never something he thought about experiencing or needing. After being touched with such care, with a pang of dread, he realized that it wasn't something he was likely to experience again.

"What you said earlier" Sam started, cutting off Bucky's train of thought. 

"What?" Bucky asked warily. 

"About not thinking you're capable of being gentle." Sam clarified.

Bucky deflated a little. "What about it?" He questioned a little apprehensively.

"I think it's stupid." He stated matter-of-factly.

Bucky's brows furrowed and he scowled. "You think the way I feel is stupid?" He argued.

"I think your though process is a little stupid." Sam shot back. 

"Why?" Bucky asked, not bothered to hide the irritation in his tone. It was a little funny in a way, being mad at somebody while you were literally cuddled in their arms. 

Sam definitely did not miss his attitude, but opted to ignore it. "Because you can be gentle. You have been gentle before, probably a lot more than you think." He chided in a know-it-all tone that really irked Bucky.

Because what did Sam know about him? Sure they've known each other for a while, but he definitely didn't consider the two of them super close to the point Sam just happened to know shit about him that he didn't know about himself. "Well you're obviously seeing something that I'm not." Bucky said incredulously.

He got a scoff in response. "Yeah because when has someone like you ever had a good and reliable perception of themselves?" Sam retorted sarcastically with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

"Prove it." Bucky demanded. 

"Fine, I'll bite. Why didn't you put all your weight down on me when you first laid down?" Sam asked.

Bucky scoffed. "That's a stupid question, obviously I didn't want to hurt you." He stated like it was obvious.

Sam twirled a lock of hair with his fingers. "Yet you know damn well you wouldn't have actually hurt me. Maybe cause some discomfort, but nothing that would actually cause any damage." He replied.

"So?" He exclaimed, baffled. "It's not astonishing that I don't want to cause you physical discomfort." He argued defensively.

"Yeah it isn't." He agreed. 

Bucky made a confused expression. "Then what's your point Wilson?" He asked.

"My point is that you cared enough to consider how I'd feel in this position. Even though you knew I'd be able to handle your heavy ass flopping on top of me you still took your time to lay yourself down gently. You cared about how comfortable I felt before you made yourself comfortable." He explained.

Bucky blinked. "Oh." He whispered. It was like something had finally clicked in his brain, and the dread he had been feeling in relation to himself lifted a little. It appeared that gentleness when applied to himself and his capabilities wasn't as difficult an idea to grasp as he made it out to be. Through all the noise that battered inside his head, he overcomplicated something that had no need to be so troubling.

Gentleness was caring. He was capable of being gentle because he cared about things enough to change the way he did things, he had things he wanted to protect and cherish.

It was so-undeniably human.  

"Are you picking up what I'm putting down, or do I have to hammer it into that thick skull of yours?" Sam teased, but he could tell that his message had finally clicked in Bucky's mind. He continued to stroke his hair, not bothered by the silence in the room. 

After a minute, Bucky faced upwards into the crook of Sam's neck. "Thank you, Sam." He whispered. 

He felt Sam chuckle underneath him. He wrapped his arms around Bucky and gave him a firm squeeze. "Anytime Buck." He replied. And despite everything that had happened between the two, and the complicated state of their relationship, Sam meant it.

Bucky felt his exhaustion creep up on him. With a smile, he let himself doze off to the sound of Sam's fast paced heartbeat.

Bucky woke up enveloped by warmth that he groggily recognized as Sam Wilson. He was positioned a little differently than he remembered when he fell into slumber. His body was tilted a little on his side, half laid on top of Sam. His legs had tangled up with Sam's, one leg hung over his hips while the other leg rested in-between his thighs. His flesh arm had wrapped itself around the mans torso, while his metal arm laid out towards the other end of the bed. A hand cradled his head like it was precious into his neck that radiated a comforting heat. Another hand scratched at his scalp in soft strokes. He sighed into the contact, and nosed more into Sam's neck.

With a pang of embarrassment, he realized how close he had clung to Sam while he was asleep. Surely there was something inappropriate about this. "Sorry-I fell asleep..." Bucky apologized and moved to get up before Sam moved to wrap his arm around Bucky's back to keep him in place. 

"You're fine, Buck." Sam reassured as Bucky settled back down. "Plus, I dozed off as well, I've only been up for ten minutes." He added. 

"How-What time is it?" Bucky asked tiredly.

"About six—almost seven in the morning." He answered. "I usually get up earlier to start off my day, but I'll make an exception." He said with amusement as he flicked a stray lock of hair on the side of Bucky's head. 

Bucky shook his head the best he could from where he was basically pressed into Sam's neck, but didn't move to get up. "I can go-" He tried.

"Don't-" Sam cut him off. "—It's nice, I don't really get the time to do this sort of thing" He admitted. 

"Neither..." Bucky mumbled. "I don't actually remember the last time someone touched me like this..." He said sadly. It wasn't like men particularly cuddled like this back when he was in his youth, and despite his charming nature with women, cuddling wasn't something he ever stuck around for when he used to seek them out for some casual fun.

And men never wanted to stick around after they'd gotten themselves off, and he didn't really blame them either. It wasn't a time for people to nurture such relationships.

His experience with familiar gentle touch was laughably little. Probably almost exclusive to the 21st century alone, which was nothing short of depressing.

The two settled into a comfortable silence, Sam gently running his hands up and down through Bucky's hair down to his neck and upper back. Bucky listened to the steady beat of Sam's heartbeat. It had settled down from it's speed earlier. Yet his own heart still couldn't help but beat quickly, and he wondered anxiously if Sam was able to feel it thumping due to their close contact. 

That anxious feeling of dread he had though he had managed to get rid of when his question on gentleness was answered had steadily begun to crawl back into his insides, where it tug on his heart like it threatened to drag it down to an abyss he couldn't escape from. At first he didn't understand what the problem was. He felt almost at home in Sam's warm embrace, more comfortable and well rested than he had felt in a long while. 

But then it him him.

It was the same dread he had felt when he was younger. When he gazed at another man a little too long for it to be normal. That crushing fear of exposure that suffocated him.

He hadn't wanted to seek out Sam because he knew the way he felt about him was complicated. But he had chalked that up to the tense state of their friendship. That what he longed from Sam was for things to go back to the way they were when they could look at each other without that crushing tension. Which was why he had avoided him, ignored his calls and texts. 

But now that he was locked in Sam's embrace, it was undeniable.

Fear started to crawl underneath his skin. That fear of rejection that he knew it was a little nonsensical. It was hard to wrap his head around at first when he had come out of his brainwashing after the fall of Hydra, he didn't exactly have the time to worry about his attraction to men while he was on the run. But around six months after the hellicarrier battle, Bucky was on his way back to his safehouse one night from destroying an old Hydra base. It had been a long day, the mission he sent himself on didn't exactly go to plan. He was beyond tired, and it didn't help that his safehouse at the time was located in a prime nightlife area. Probably for the best since he was partially covered in blood, and drunk people were none the wiser. But the sound of screeching music combined with the mild thump of bass from the different nightclubs in the area was close to driving him nuts. 

So Bucky decided to take a detour. 

He slipped through an alley that was the most void of drunk people doing god knows what. He knew his way around the area, and only had to loop around through the alleyway for about five extra minutes and he'd be back on track to the safehouse. Only then he could go straight to sleep and forget about the past fourteen hours he spent running around that damn Hydra base.

The sound of glass shattering caught his attention. Somewhere down the alleyway he had just passed. It lead out to the main street where most partygoers were, so he didn't know why he felt compelled to investigate. He mostly kept to himself, aside from the few times he felt like he needed to step in to help a stranger out. Plus he was tired, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught up in some random mess.

But he still peered into the alleyway anyway.

It looked like two men, probably drunk, in some sort of scuffle at the end of the alleyway. One guy was pressed up against the wall by the other, and they were arguing about something Bucky couldn't make out. Which was a bit of a relief as it didn't look like one of them was about to kill the other, and it seemed they were both familiar. Numerous people walked past them without a care in the world. They probably knocked over some glass bottle during their struggle. 

Bucky was about to slink away and leave the two to their own devices to sort out whatever they needed to sort out when out of nowhere something between the two men shifted like a switch flipped. They locked eyes for a moment, then started to make out. Needy and tender all at the same time. Something intimate, that he felt was too personal for him to witness despite being in a public space.

For the first time since he was captured by Hydra, he felt that ice cold fear of exposure wash over him. The fear of the two being caught and punished. They were practically right out in the open after all. He was about to intervene in some way, when a group of drunk girls passed by caught sight of the two. Bucky froze, expecting the worst, but the passing group started to cheer them on, which shocked the two men out of sucking face. Instead of fearful they looked embarrassed.

Bucky found out something new that night. The first thing he did when he got back to the safehouse was go down a rather enlightening rabbit hole of research. 

It was easier for Bucky to push aside his feelings for other men when he knew he would never be allowed to love a man the same way a woman did. When anything remotely related to queerness was shot down and demonized. It was difficult, but he made his peace with it because he had no choice but to do so. But then he was seventy years into the future, and all of a sudden he was allowed to love a man with little restrictions. He was allowed to be with a man if he so wished. Marry a man if he so wished. 

Bucky wanted Sam, and oh god he yearned. 

Compelled by a force he couldn't begin to explain, he spoke. "Sam?" He asked nervously.

Sam hummed attentively. "Yea Buck?" 

Bucky let out a strained breath. "I'm not-I've never been...normal." He mumbled. 

Sam huffed a short laugh. "I'm not gonna tell you otherwise." He joked.

Bucky shook his head lightly. "No, not like that." He muttered.

"Then like what?" Sam asked curiously. So open to whatever he was about to say that it almost hurt to voice it.

Bucky went quiet for a moment. "Is this..." He paused. "Is this-queer?" He tried.   

Sam's hands stilled in his hair and he felt him sit up slightly. Bucky felt his gaze bore into him, and felt a little rigid underneath it, briefly worried he didn't get the right message across. He didn't know what exact expression Sam was making as he refused to move to look up at his face. However, based on the disgruntled sigh Sam let out, like he couldn't believe what bullshit he just heard, he assumed it was one that looked mildly befuddled. 

His head tilted to the side. "Do you want this to be queer?" Sam asked thoughtfully. 

Not the response Bucky wanted to hear. He didn't want to think about what he wanted. In fact, it was probably the last thing he wanted to think about. Because he knew what he wanted, and wasn't sure if he could have it or not. Sam had turned Bucky's question back onto himself, and the pressure of answering such a direct question overwhelmed him. More than any form of rejection, Bucky feared Sam's the most. 

But he couldn't hide. Not like this. Not when he was so tangled up in Sam's limbs it was as if they were one whole person.

"I just-" Bucky paused. "I just want you, Sam." He admitted. The however you'll have me went unsaid. It felt excruciating. Like he had laid himself bare for Sam to do whatever he pleased to him. Every part of this morning being him reaching new levels of vulnerability he didn't know he was capable of reaching. 

He waited for the condolences, the rejection. But got nothing but an agonizing silence, which felt even worse than a bad response. Sam's quickening heartbeat was deafening, like a leadup to a drop Bucky knew was due to occur but had no clue as to when exactly he would plummet. 

Then Sam's hands cradled the back of his head oh so gently, and the painful weight on his heart lifted just a little. The drop never occurred.  

"I want you too, Bucky." Sam whispered so quietly, so carefully. As if they were in a crowded room and he only wanted Bucky to hear him, and Bucky heard him loud and clear.

Using his arms, Bucky pushed himself up off of Sam's chest. The arms that cradled his head transitioned to hang from his neck. He met Sam's gaze and couldn't help but return the smile he was given. Hesitantly, he asked. "Can I...?" Still unsure, but eager regardless.

Sam nodded, and moved his hands to Bucky's cheeks, the touch so gentle it almost overwhelmed him. After a short moment, Bucky started to inch closer to Sam, who followed his lead, using the hands that cradled his face to guide him closer. 

It was Bucky's first kiss since the 1940's, so he didn't expect it to be enjoyable from Sam's end as he was way out of practice. But then their lips met, hesitantly at first. Then they melded together like there was nothing more natural that could have occurred. Sam keened into the kiss, and pulled him in like a man starved, like he had waited for this moment for a long time. Bucky felt just as desperate to soak up anything Sam would give him. 

When they separated, they locked eyes for a moment. Sam's hands trailed down from Bucky's face to his shoulders. He looked at him like there was nowhere else he wanted to be but with him. 

It was almost perfect, but one question still felt a little unanswered. "Are we-are we dating?" Bucky couldn't help but ask him. He didn't care if it was a stupid question, he was beyond embarrassment at that point.

Sam let out a tired sigh. "No. I just kissed you because you piss me off—" He said sarcastically. "Yes Buck, we are dating." He clarified, obviously done with stupid questions.

Bucky gave Sam a soft smile as his confirmation. He settled back into Sam's embrace, who despite being annoyed, sighed contently into the contact, and wrapped his arms back around Bucky's neck.