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It was the warm sounds of familiar voices laughing and talking over a grand piano’s soft lull that put him at ease. The atmosphere was comfortable enough to lose himself while enjoying one too many glasses of bubbly and sharing one too many personal anecdotes.
Sam had to admit, considering Tony Stark’s façade of ego and grandeur, he sure could put on quite an intimate get-together of colleagues-turned-chosen-family.
Considering the nature of their work, taking the time to travel to celebrate a holiday was a liability, and an impracticability for those who had family beyond the people present this evening. And, really, who would willingly pass up the chance to drink obscenely overpriced champagne paired with homemade cookies baked by Captain America himself?
The festive evening was even topped off with a gift from Tony - some orb-shaped gadget with oscillating rings and illuminated writing, not too unlike the core that powered Ultron, the undaunted Rhodey had pointed out. It wasn’t really a gift exchange sort of party, and Sam was relieved that Tony’s glitzy gadgets were the only things he could see under the gaudy tree. More than anything, Sam was appreciative for a low-key evening to relax and unwind while entertained listening to larger-than-life anecdotes told by fellow Avengers.
“Are you gonna open it?” Steve’s soothing voice caught his attention in between another cryptic story told in half-sentences by Natasha and Clint.
“Oh, yeah, I checked but I’m not sure I can figure that chunk of metal out.”
“No,” he laughed. “Not Tony’s gift. That.” He gestured toward the base of the tree, and Sam realized there was something else tucked beneath the opulent branches. A crumpled, brown paper bag sat discreetly off to the side, the top of the paper rolled in on itself. He could make out black scrawled writing on the corner of the bag. Sum, it looked like it read.
When Steve laughed again, Sam knew his confused thoughts must have been written on his face. “I gotta work on my poker face,” he sighed. “What are you taking about?”
With a coy smile, Steve sauntered off only to return with the bag in hand. The confusion was beginning to fade. Sum, he thought, Sum? And it didn’t take more than a moment longer to realize that he was in fact the ‘Sum’ in question.
“You didn’t-” he started, his suspicion giving himself away. But Steve only smiled as he offered the bag for Sam’s apprehensive hands to accept.
Maybe that third glass of slightly-too-sweet champagne was getting to him, but he swore that if he’d had a moment longer, he would have pieced it together.
“You don’t have to open that.” A soft voice pulled his attention to meet brown eyes and an unshaven face. Black leather-clad arms were folded tightly across the former Winter Soldier’s chest, and Sam realized he had no idea how long Bucky had been standing there. They’d been taking missions together for months now, and Sam had to admit he still wasn’t getting any better at tracking his stealthy movements, although this time he’d still really like to blame the champagne.
“No, no, it’s ok.” Sam tried to hold his gaze, but Bucky’s eyes shifted to inspecting something presumably more interesting on the floor. Anywhere else, he’d have known Bucky was avoiding him, but here, well, this was Tony Stark’s place, after all - maybe the floor really was that interesting.
As he expected, Bucky remained sullen, and said nothing more. Typical social cues were oft lost on the stoic soldier, and while most might describe his personality as abrupt or unsettling, Sam could barely suppress the genuine smile that tugged lopsidedly at his lips in response to what he now considered to be an endearing display of indifference.
“Alright, I’m just gonna, you know, open this, then.” He attempted one last time to catch Bucky’s gaze while teasing with the bag to no avail. Giving the bag one final inspection, he unrolled the top, granting access to the contents.
He reached in to reveal a thick maroon scarf.
“Oh, wow, you didn’t have to get me this.”
He wasn’t sure what he expected to find inside but it certainly wasn’t this. Hell, a few cans of soup or maybe even a cat would have been less surprising than the accessory that he now held in his hand.
Staring at the tight knit of the scarf yielded no further information about the random gift, and when Sam looked up, he saw Bucky studying him with a blank, unreadable expression. Typical, he thought, knowing he would gather more information about the brunet’s thoughts from observing moss formations on eastern-facing granite slabs than from looking directly at his face.
But Bucky just kept staring, eyes locked in an unwavering gaze, and Sam started to second guess himself. What the hell am I missing here?
He cleared his throat before saying, “Oh, wow, you didn’t have to get me THIS!”
He was a bit proud of himself. The added emphasis and enthusiasm had to have been the right answer. It was no small task to decipher the thoughts of one James Buchanan Barnes, and he was certain he had definitely read that right, even if it took two tries.
Bucky’s expression didn’t flinch. It wasn’t a menacing look by any means, but it wasn’t reassuring, either. In a matter of seconds the attention of most had shifted to a sloppy Tony bumping into a large display of Steve’s confectionaries, nearly toppling it over.
“You’re not even drinking, how are you so clumsy?” Steve chastised while bodily trying to steady the man.
“You know I get osmosis drunk, Steven!”
Sam let the commotion fade into the background as he settled back to his thoughts. He had a nagging feeling about what had just happened with the scarf in the paper bag. During the brief clamor, Bucky had wandered away, and Sam still couldn’t shake from his mind Bucky’s blank expression as he had opened the gift. While that in and of itself didn’t really mean anything - Bucky was, after all, the king of stoicism - Sam’s confidence in his second reaction had started to wane. Bucky’s behavior had been a little more unusual recently, which struck Sam as a strange thought, because, really, what wasn’t unusual about the guy?
But Sam had begun to notice these things, even if he didn’t always know what they meant. He was beginning to notice the mornings when Bucky had two cups of coffee, as opposed to one. And the days he spent hours alone in the gym until the daylight was gone. He noticed the mission debriefs when Bucky said nothing, and the debriefs when he said a thousand words with one derisive grunt. And, while he wasn’t entirely sure on this one, he noticed Bucky’s lips twitch almost as if to suppress a smile every time Sam made fun of him.
“Enjoying a moment of quiet?” Steve had returned, sidled up close to him now as they leaned against the back of a sofa.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, ‘m not meaning to be antisocial," he admitted.
“It’s always nice to take a moment alone in these sorts of gatherings,” he mused. “I didn’t mean to interrupt yours.”
“Nah, man. Thanks for pulling me out of it. Your boy alright?”
“Not sure there’s an easy answer to that.” Steve never missed a beat. “But he’s not in danger of knocking over any more cookie castles, if that’s what you mean. That’s nice,” he said, glancing at the scarf Sam still held in his hands.
“What the hell do I do with a thing like this?” Sam exasperated, becoming aware of the tension he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “I just can’t-” he stammered, holding it up and looking to Steve, at a loss for how to continue the thought.
“Bucky never was good with gifts, even before we enlisted.” Steve’s face was tight with a smug grin, and Sam was staring to find it obnoxious. "He's subtle."
"Subtle," he parroted flatly. “Okay...gonna need a little more information than that, Cap.”
“He’s trying, Sam. Trying to tell you how he feels.” It took a moment for the words to set in, and when they finally did, Sam let out a long groan.
"Of course he is. A crappy scarf in a paper bag would be his way of trying.”
“It looks like a pretty nice scarf to me,” he mused.
“C’mon, could you picture me wearing this?" Steve gave a shrug that seemed to concede that he was right. "This is what trying looks like for him? He could try thinking about things I’d actually enjoy, like, you know, not blasting the radio at 4 a.m.”
Steve looked contemplative. “What was he playing on the radio?” he finally asked.
“Trouble Man," Sam huffed.
“Isn’t that your favorite album?”
“Alright, I’ll give you that, but what former military man wants to wake up at 4 a.m.?” Steve shrugged again, and Sam felt like he could go on, listing his grievances. “He moved all my books.”
“He moved them? As in, now you can’t find them?”
“So, not exactly. I can actually find them better now," he muttered quickly. "But that’s not-”
“So, he organized them?”
“No, he moved them, as in he disrupted my system.”
“Was your system to throw them in the closet so you can’t find them?”
“Ok, what about when he comes over and uses up all my groceries?”
“Sam,” Steve sighed, “is Bucky cooking for you so you don’t have to do it throughout the week?”
“Ok, you know what, I see where this is going,” Sam said, “and you’re clearly not listening to my side of the story.” Suspicion was settling in while Steve’s smug expression was growing. Captain America’s hiding something from you, he thought. “Did he say somethin’ to you?”
“Bucky’s...never been very good with words. Or gifts, as we already established. And, especially now, he’s not too good at expressing his emotions. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Sam contemplated his friend’s words. He knew he wasn’t wrong. It’s just that Bucky was an enigma. He had to admit, working so closely with him and spending time together outside of missions was showing him more about the man, and yet, he was still elusive, and ultimately, confusing.
Which made this thing he had started to feel even more unknowable. It was a crush, or at least, he’d admit it to himself that it would be a crush in any other circumstance. But with Bucky, the unknowable element of what was or wasn't reciprocal was daunting.
“So, he did say something.” Sam stared into blue eyes, unintimidated, until the super soldier couldn’t conceal himself any longer.
“I think if you take a chance, you’ll like how it turns out.” He could hear a distant rumpus begin to grow somewhere in the vast room. Steve gave Sam a hearty pat on the shoulder before wandering away.
“What is it with you Avengers, walking away in the middle of a conversation? That’s rude, Steve! Real rude.”
“Don’t judge me, Sam, I'm just following the siren's song. You know what osmosis drunk Tony does to me!”
“Nice. That’s nice. Real subtle, Cap.” Steve shot Sam a sheepish expression as he continued to meander away.
Alone with his thoughts once again, the confidence to face it was burgeoning. He knew now that this little crush - because that’s really what it is, a crush - had started out as something innocuous, something fleeting, as only a small affection for a colleague who was guarded and stolid and unknowable. But it had changed. This feeling for a quiet soldier grew while he wasn’t even looking, becoming something more serious and threatening. And now, it no longer felt daunting - instead, it had become tempting, because he knew his feelings were requited.
Ok, so, the scarf was dumb, and the pitiable wrap-job was abject, at best. But it was also a little bit endearing, maybe even charming how unfortunate it looked. Bucky was, after all, unpolished and rough around the edges. Sam had grown to find that endearing, too. It felt authentic and genuine that he never tried so hard that he alienated his natural disposition. So, the gift and it’s sad packaging was really just an on-brand ‘Bucky thing.’ It wasn’t a bad gift, necessarily - ok, it actually was a bad gift, but it wasn’t a bad thing. It was just another slightly off-target manifestation of Bucky’s attempts to...to what, exactly? Show interest?
The realization the second time around felt even more seductive. This sad soldier boy was interested - and trying.
And Sam knew he liked it.
He liked the way Bucky was quiet, a balance to his own running stream of consciousness dialogue - something he realized he only did around very close friends and family, and now, Bucky. And Bucky wasn't just quiet, he really listened. He would quietly ask about something Sam said weeks ago when he didn’t even think the brunet was awake. He gave good advice, when you coaxed it out of him. He cooked weird food, on occasion, that was surprisingly healthy and different but that sat heavy in your stomach and warmed your whole body. Sam also liked how physical the man was, never hesitating to grab him out of harm’s way in battle, or to roughly place his hands on him any time he needed to move past Sam - a situation that happened more frequently than Sam could explain. He liked Bucky’s willingness to follow orders, fearlessly diving into battle, unquestioningly doing what's right. He even liked it when Bucky teased him back, playing the perpetual antagonist to his strategies, and threatening to not follow his orders, even though they both know he’d do anything Sam said, every time. He liked that he was disingenuous in the most sincere sort of way. He liked how his hair always looked like he hadn’t washed it in weeks, even when he just did. And, damn, he even liked that whole fugitive-meets-vampire aesthetic he had going on. Most of all, he liked how he felt when Bucky smiled at him with that easy, knowing sort of grin.
It had been blooming in his chest, little bursts of warmth and laughter, every time the soldier did something stupid, like tripped or accidentally ripped a door off its hinges, each time that feeling growing more and more undeniable. It wasn’t just a crush anymore - it was a chance he wanted to take.
Sam knew what he wanted to do.
He scanned the room and found Bucky, tucked away in the corner, sipping liquid from a clear glass, alone. Most of the attention of the room seemed distracted by Tony again, naturally, and Sam took the opportunity to surreptitiously stride to the spot where the man was hidden away.
As he neared the spot, a thought flashed across his mind - Bucky had been trying in ways he was able to show, but now Sam was burdened to show Bucky how he felt in a way that Bucky could understand. Of course, this was something the brunet had failed to do for Sam, but never mind that - Sam would just have to teach Bucky these things. It would probably take a long, long time for him to learn, but Sam was up for the challenge.
When he drew close, Bucky turned, and the way his eyes lit up almost made Sam falter. Emboldened with the confidence of his knowledge, he pushed forward, without hesitation. In one swift movement, Sam reached a hand to rest on Bucky’s stubbled skin, and pulled him near to bring their lips together. Had he given in to any apprehension, he probably would have missed the target, but once their lips met, it felt like the easiest thing he’d ever done. He kissed him softly, with a steady presence, and almost instantly, he felt Bucky’s lips reciprocate - equally gentle, equally eager.
The way Bucky kissed him back was not what he had expected. It grew warm and tender, but Sam felt a suppressed desperation behind those lips, as if the soldier was a man starved, giving in to sustenance for the first time after much too long an absence.
It felt good, so good, and in their quiet corner of the prestigious tower, the stillness almost convinced him that he and Bucky were the only two people in the world.
Sam’s lips began to set a slower pace, and eventually, the kisses lost movement, a gentle familiarity taking the place of action. They pressed their lips so affectionately together Sam wasn’t sure how this is the first time they’d done this. He couldn’t hold back any more, and finally, Sam broke their contact to pull away and hold the man in a warm stare. The air was still, but Sam knew he had to break it.
“A scarf? In a paper bag? Really?”
“Shut up,” Bucky all but growled, a smile lighting his face, as he reached his hand out to bring Sam into the second, of what he was sure would be many, kisses shared over the course of their future.