Archive of Our Own

“Can I ask you a favour?”

Shit, he hadn’t meant to ask yet.

Sam paused halfway through sitting down, glancing at him with a question in his eyes and Bucky would give just about anything to snatch the words out of the air and jam them back down his throat.

He’d only just gotten here, condensation hadn’t even had the chance to form on his beer and he’d wanted to wait. He’d wanted to get Sam in a good mood first, relaxed and a few beers deep so he had an excuse if this backfired; even if both of them knew it would be bullshit.

He’d been tense long before he’d arrived at Sam’s place, running the question over and over in his head and he just wanted to get it over with. Sam would either help or laugh him off and either option was better than this oppressive limbo.

Sam shrugged a little and leaned back in his seat. “Sure, man.”

Bucky’s hand tightened on his beer until he heard the glass creak and quickly set it on the coffee table before he shattered it. He ducked his head, wishing, not for the first time, that he still had his hair to hide behind. His tongue darted out to wet his lips; there wasn’t really a way to lead into it so jumping right in it was

“Will you fuck me?”

He winced at the sound of Sam choking on his beer. Okay, maybe I should’ve tried sugarcoating it a little.

“What?” he croaked, coughing into his hand.

His hands clenched together, the knuckles of his right hand turning white. “It’s a simple question, Sam,” he forced out.

“I’mma need a little more context before giving you an answer,” he returned as he sat forward, putting his beer beside his. “Where’s this coming from?”

Bucky took a deep breath and focused on relaxing his hands, trying to scrounge together an explanation through the mess of his mind. Of course it was too much to expect Sam would just go for it without question but he’d really been hoping to skip this part.

“The other night, I went out to a bar. It was quiet, not that many people. I was relaxed,” he started then scoffed. “As relaxed as I ever get. This guy came up to me and we started talking. It was obvious what he wanted and I figured, why not, you know? Lately, it’s been... I’ve been...”

Lonely.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud; to admit that that absence was getting to him just as much as the nightmares. The bar had been a desperate move, an attempt to surround himself with noise and life as if he wasn’t going to spend the entire time searching for a voice he wouldn’t find.

He chanced a glance at Sam, his shoulders tense and ready to see that horrid pity... but it wasn’t there. Instead, he only saw understanding.

He saw a similar grief.

Bucky cleared his throat. “We went into the alley and the second he touched me...”

Sam went rigid, apprehension and budding rage filling his eyes. “Did he do something?”

“No,” he was quick to answer but Sam still didn’t relax. He cringed and raked a hand through his hair, slumping back. “No, he was fine, he didn’t do anything wrong. It was all me. I was fine when he was grabbing my jacket but once he touched my skin, I just... I freaked out. Panicked.”

He could still feel the phantom imprint of his hand on his cheek, the drag of his fingers along his hip that may as well have been an iron brand for how sharp it felt on his skin. The soft touch suddenly became clawing, digging in and dragging him down.

He was harmless, probably had never thrown a punch in his life. He still didn’t know if that was better or worse; if it was better that he didn’t register as a threat or if it would’ve been reassuring to pretend he could protect himself if Bucky snapped. If the blood spilt over from his mind into the waking world.

“And the guy?”

Bucky blinked; the dim light of the alley - and much darker places - washed away by the gentle warmth of Sam’s lamps. “He backed off, apologised. I went home.”

He hadn’t even been a dick about it, didn’t act entitled or aggressive. No, he was perfectly polite, almost too much for a stranger (too much for what he deserved). He kept his distance as he asked if he needed help getting a ride home, if there was anyone he could call for him.

That was definitely worse.

He let out a ragged breath. “I just... the only time I’ve touched someone in the last seventy years has been to kill them.”

Sam’s face went lax with understanding.

“Any time I even think about it, all I see is the people I’ve hurt. I can’t even shake someone’s hand without... I just want...” he trailed off as his voice began to shake, biting his cheek as he shook his head.

He ran his hand over his hair, dragging it down the back of his neck as he shifted closer. “You’re dealing with over seventy years of skin hunger and that’s on top of everything else,” he said gently. “I’m not surprised you’re having issues with this.”

He swallowed, his shoulders hunched around his ears. Skin hunger… hell if that wasn’t an accurate descriptor. He felt it constantly, a yawning chasm in his gut that seemed to grow with every passing day. Yet the thought of it made his skin crawl, like a stomach rejecting food after months of malnutrition, unable to accept the very thing that would end its suffering.

“You’re the only one I’ve got left,” he confessed in a whisper. “If I lost control, I know you can make me stop.”

“And,” Sam ducked a little and caught his eye, “you know that I will stop.”

Bucky bit his lip and looked down before giving a stuttering nod.

He tried to suppress his pounding heart, to force it out of his throat but he could do nothing for his racing mind as the silence stretched out between them. He’d expected a bark of laughter, ridicule, disgust even but this quiet contemplation was somehow worse.

Maybe… maybe this wasn’t a good idea. He didn’t know if Sam liked men, didn’t know if he could even see him that way at all. If he would even want to touch him. The plates in his arm shifted as he tensed.

What the hell was he thinking? He’d tried to kill him - had destroyed his wings - and now he was asking him to have sex with him? How selfish could he be, to ask Sam to make himself that vulnerable with him, after everything he’d done-

“I’ll do it.”

Bucky’s head snapped up and he looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”

Sam looked back at him evenly; face open and so compassionate he almost couldn’t stand it. “I’ll do it.”

“I won’t be upset if you don’t want to,” he rushed out. “I’m not gonna force you into this just to help me.”

“Hey, you’re not forcing anything,” he assured and smiled at him. “You think this will help you. You’re actually reaching out; I’m not gonna shoot you down.”

Bucky stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, for any sign of unease but he just kept smiling. He took a steadying breath before nodding, shrugging off his jacket and moving to unclasp his belt.

“Whoa, hey, hang on man.” Sam put a hand on his forearm and he froze. It was still covered by his long sleeve but he could feel the heat of it burning an imprint into his skin, like he held summer heat in his palm. “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

He barely heard him over the sudden rush of blood roaring in his ears. “What, you gonna fuck me through my jeans?” he quipped with forced levity but he wasn’t swayed.

“Can you look me in the eyes and say you’re ready to go right now?”

Look him in the eyes… Bucky wavered for a second but he couldn’t take his eyes off his damn hand; so easily laid on his arm as if it weren’t pinning him in place. His hands shook over his belt; the thought of a body covering the entirety of his own, completely unimpeded sent his mind screaming but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

“I don’t need you to wine and dine me, Sam,” he said stiffly.

“Nah, but I prefer a little entree before my main course,” he teased before his tone softened. “Rushing through this won’t make it any easier.”

He clenched his jaw and dropped his hands, glaring in betrayal as they immediately steadied.

“Hey,” Sam got his attention. “That doesn’t even have to be what this is about. It’s about touch, right? It doesn’t have to be that kinda touch.”

He thought about it. Thought about summer nights when even his threadbare blanket had been too stifling, a light weight pressing him down as he cupped thin hips and kissed prominent ribs. Thought about breaths mingling as they hid every sound, terrified of being found but too proud to hide. He’d never felt safer than in those moments.

Back when he didn’t know what it was like to lose the only person that felt like home.

Bucky finally lifted his gaze to Sam’s. “I want it to be,” he murmured.

He nodded, something achingly soft and knowing in his eyes. “Okay, but let’s start slow, alright?”

His tongue darted out over his bottom lip. “How slow?”

Sam telegraphed his movements as he slowly slid the hand still on his forearm down to his gloved hand. He looked up and when he didn’t protest, gently pulled the tips of the glove, freeing his flesh hand. Bucky swallowed as he dropped the glove on the table next to their forgotten beers.

He turned back to him and instead of taking his hand like he expected, he flipped his over; resting it on his thigh, palm up beneath his. He met his gaze and waited.

Bucky felt his breathing quicken as his eyes flickered between Sam’s and his hand resting so simply on his leg that it almost felt like a trap. His jaw jumped as he lifted his own, holding it above his. He tried to put it down, set it on top of Sam’s but it stilled in the air.

It was such a simple movement. All he had to do was lower his hand and it would meet Sam’s. He just had to drop it; just a little. It would barely be a real touch; it was just the back of his hand so why couldn’t he move?

“It’s alright, Bucky,” Sam’s voice cut through the fog he hadn’t even realised had encircled him. He heaved a sharp breath, filling his starved lungs and forced his eyes back to Sam’s. “You’re okay.”

Bucky kept his eyes locked on him, didn’t let himself look back down at his hand and finally made himself drop it those few inches. He flinched as his skin touched Sam’s but he still didn’t look down.

Sam’s eyes were warm as he smiled at him. “There we go.”

They sat there, unmoving, for a few moments and he relaxed minutely at each second that passed without red seeping into the edges of his mind. He uncurled his fingers, lining them up and letting them rest on top of Sam’s; his breathing deepening as he took in the warmth of his hand on his. It was...

Nice.

For so long, he’d been cold; the only warmth stolen from the blood he shed as it rapidly cooled on his skin. There was one moment, one bright spark of heat when Steve had embraced him, but instead of fuelling him, it had left him chilled to the bone. Because he knew what it meant. He knew it was a goodbye, knew he’d never feel those arms wrap around him again like he’d longed for; even when he hadn’t known it was what he craved.

But Sam...

Sam was warm.

Bucky blinked as he felt his thumb gently rub his palm; his fingers coming up to curl around his own. “Still with me?” he asked lowly.

“Yeah,” he replied just as quietly. “I’m here.”

“Okay,” he smiled and brought up his other hand. He hesitated and Bucky nodded. He settled it on top of their clasped hands and he tensed as the weight pressed him into his gentle grip. His eyes fluttered shut and he fought not to pull his hand away as he was assaulted with flashes of colour; images passing by too quickly to fully grasp but he still felt them.

Felt nails clawing at his hand as a man tried to pull it away from his neck, felt hands like chains around his wrist as a woman desperately tried to stop him from getting closer to her brother, felt tiny fingers clinging as he brought his blade down-

“Bucky, come back to me, man. You’re okay, you’re in my apartment and you’re safe,” Sam’s voice brought him back again, even and strong; holding him above the surface as his mind drowned.

Bucky heaved a sobbing breath and desperately clutched his hand even as his nausea begged him to tear it away. “I- I can’t,” he stuttered; he didn’t even know what he was trying to say.

“Yes, you can,” he soothed, irrefutable in its surety. “You’re here with me, Bucky; all of that is over and done with. You’re here now and I need you to stay here.”

“Sam,” he breathed. I want to stay here…

“I’ve got you,” he promised and it felt more real than words had any right to be; his eyes capturing him and holding firm. I’ve got you, they begged, let me catch you. “I want you to feel my hands, okay? To really feel them. You’ve never felt them before so I want you to take them in. Can you feel my calluses? How rough they are?”

Bucky could; they caught on his skin as the shivers wracking his hand moved his fingers. He jerkily nodded.

“Good,” Sam praised. “What about the lines of my palm? Can you feel those?”

Let me catch you, let me, let me…

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered.

“What can you feel about them?”

… There was something… something interrupting the natural flow of his palm lines. Bucky focused hard on it, ignoring the blood pounding in his ears, the electricity lacing through his skin, and pressed harder into his palm.

“You... you’ve got a scar,” he answered haltingly. “A thin one, towards the heel.”

“I do,” Sam replied. “I got it when I was a kid. I used to take as many shortcuts home from school as possible and I slipped hopping over a fence. Which hand is it on?”

It was beneath his, curving ever so gently around the back of his hand. It would’ve been so easy to overlook if Bucky wasn’t fixating on every ridge of his palm. “Your left. It’s on your left.”

For a heartbeat, a heaviness soured the air; a different - shared - past trying to haunt them.

“That’s right,” Sam said, holding them steady; his smile oozing with pride. “Only I have that scar. That placement, the length and width of it; one hundred percent pure Sam Wilson. I want you to focus on that, okay? If you start to drift away, remember that’s there and use it to bring yourself back.”

Bucky let out a stuttering breath and pressed harder into his hand, willing the slight ridge to indent his skin, to leave a permanent anchor to keep him ashore. He loosened his desperate grip and tried to just feel; to picture the lines of Sam’s palm so clearly, it became the only image in his mind.

Catch me.

Sam wore fingerless gloves with his uniform; his palm soft compared to the calluses on his trigger finger. The part of him that he desperately tried to suppress, the part that still thought like the Soldier, thought it was foolish to cultivate such softness; to allow weakness in place of rigid - pained - strength. The rest of him relished that a man as capable as Sam could still be soft.

“How we doing, man?” Sam asked quietly.

Bucky kept the map of his hand clear in his mind, latching onto it tightly, willing it to lead him to salvation. “I’m good.”

He smiled again and it was so different to the taunting smirk he usually shot him, full and warm and he wanted more of it. Wanted it enough to not give in to his instinct to rear back when his hand came up to cradle his cheek.

He thought he was going to use it to bring him closer and he readied himself to be pulled in. Sam had been patient, more patient than he deserved. He got nothing from this, these chaste touches; Bucky could do it, he could make that jump, he owed him that much. He forced the steel out of his shoulders, letting his body go lax and pliable… but Sam just held him; slowly stroking his cheekbone.

He didn’t move in closer, didn’t tug him towards him; he just sat there, steady, like he could sit on this couch with him all night if that was all Bucky wanted.

His eyes fluttered and he sank into his hand like a starved man, focusing on the heat and unexpected - foolish, inexplicable, kind - softness of it. The scar curved against his jaw, gently holding him in the present.

It felt so good. It felt... he wanted… “More.”

“Okay.”

Sam stood, shifting so he didn’t loom over him before he could match his height and it was so little, so instinctual and thoughtless… it brought him up short, freezing him in place before he could step away from the couch. Sam was good; was warm, was light. No matter how much he craved it, he didn’t deserve to have his radiance snuffed out by his cold, dark, dead. He’d already gotten what he wanted, more than he’d ever expected. What Sam had already given him, it was enough; he would make it be enough.

But then Sam gave him that smile and Bucky was just selfish enough to follow it.

He led him into the bedroom, the city lights cutting through the curtains and bathing them both in a soft, cool glow. He was glad for it, for the way it softened the room, muting Sam’s edges until he was vaguely dreamlike. It was almost a reassurance; that this could all be in his head and if he just tried hard enough he could rip himself back into consciousness, back to the real world where he hadn’t risked the only connection he had left with his greed. For once, he didn’t want to wake up.

For his own sake, he kept his back to the bed. He couldn’t think about that yet, not without the threat of rats skittering beneath his skin and he held onto Sam’s roadmap hand so tightly, he worried he’d break it.

Sam stopped at the foot of the bed but he didn’t look at it either, didn’t tug his - anchor - hand away. “Don’t lie down just yet,” he told him, eyes firmly on him.

Bucky didn’t look away and the rats ran, chittering in fear of the light.

“I’m not gonna reach out and I don’t want you to, either,” he said. “I want you to just lean forward until you rest on me, okay? Sound doable?”

He swallowed heavily. “Yeah.”

“‘Kay,” he returned, his feet moving wider to brace himself and waited.

Bucky’s jaw jumped as he stared at Sam’s chest, the gap between them suddenly becoming a yawning chasm. He wavered forward, drawn to the other side like the pull of gravity before going rigid; his body locking in place.

He let out a long breath through his nose, frustration squeezing his eyes shut.

All he had to do was fall.

He was getting good at falling.

Bucky inhaled and let himself tip forward.

It was getting harder to believe he’d be caught.

His shoulders gently butted up against Sam’s and he nearly flinched back; instinctively fleeing from the heat of his skin before it could sink into his own. Instead, he ducked into his shoulder; the smooth scent of his cologne and the oil he used to maintain his wings soothing a part of him he didn’t even know was aching.

“When you’re ready, wrap your arms around me and I’ll do the same,” Sam prompted lowly and Bucky felt the rumble of his voice through his chest.

His arms were leaden at his sides, their weight fighting against him as he slowly wound them around Sam’s waist; their shirts a flimsy barrier between their skin.

“There we go, that’s it,” Sam murmured, his arms slipping around him in turn.

He ignored his trembling; arms loose enough that he could easily pull free if he wanted to, but firm enough that he felt secure in the hold; like he was being welcomed instead of restrained and he slumped into him with a near-pained whimper. He felt like a doll with its strings cut, letting him bear his weight as he stole his warmth.

No. He wasn’t stealing it.

It was being given.

Static worked its way up his body, strongest where it followed the lines of Sam’s arms, his mind screaming at him to run from his touch as much as he craved to stay close to it; soaking it up like the first rays of dawn after polar night.

Then Sam started running his hands up and down his sides, carving trenches of heat deep into his body like he could keep the chill from ever capturing him again. He arched into his hands, wanting them deeper, wanting his touch to linger under his skin, drowning out all others.

Bucky lifted his head, stepping impossibly closer to make up for the loss; his eyes flittering down to Sam’s lips.

“Remember what I said; it doesn’t have to be that kind of touch,” Sam reminded him softly but the tease of his breath over his lips just made him all the more certain.

“I want it to be,” he repeated and pressed his mouth to his.

He felt almost clumsy, nervous desire stealing hard-earned grace. Even his first kiss - was it his first? Did it still belong to him if he knew little more than that it happened? - hadn’t been this tender, this hopeful; tentative without being hesitant and he was lost to it as it was returned and he settled deeper into Sam with a bitten-off whine.

His mouth might have been covered but beneath his lips, Bucky felt like he could finally breathe; like Sam was breathing warmth and life into his frozen lungs until they cracked open, expanding after decades of frostbit rigor mortis.

Sam’s lips moved easily against his, coaxing them to part; his tongue twining almost playfully around his before pulling away just so he could chase it. He almost had to stop because he couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching into a smile and he felt the same curve from Sam’s. It felt like them; stable and grounding and teasing and… safe.

Bucky didn’t even register his hand slipping under Sam’s shirt, running over his waist and the dip of his back; climbing higher and higher until Sam was suddenly pulling back to shrug off his shirt.

He froze, lips buzzing as he stared at his bare chest. He had the body of a soldier and for once, the thought of it blanketing his didn’t fill him with pins and needles. No, here, now, looking over the whorl of hair over his chest, the clusters of freckles over his shoulders… he wanted to lick him; run his lips over his skin and eat him alive.

“Your call, Buck,” Sam broke through the sudden haze. “However much or little as you want.”

It would be easier, familiar, to do it like this; pants around knees and rucked up shirts, quickly fixed at the first breath of sound. There was always an undercurrent of anxiety, a need to rush through the afterglow because there was always a risk; always ‘just in case’. There were only distant daydreams of a full body of bare skin against his, of lazy exploration in the open air.

‘This is a marathon, not a sprint.’

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head and shucked off his jeans, kicking them aside. He turned and finally acknowledged the bed, running his fingers over the waistline of his briefs and carefully didn’t look as he heard the answering clink of Sam’s belt.

He didn’t let himself think as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and pushed them down, leaving them to drop at his feet. He crawled up the bed and laid down on his left side; tucking his arm under his ribs for good measure. The thought of touching Sam with the arm filled him with nausea. It wasn’t that arm, hadn’t been that arm in a long time but that didn’t make it any less foreign; any less dangerous.

Shuri and the Wakandan doctors had changed the entirety of the prosthesis instead of just the planned arm when scans showed how it had been anchored to his spine. She’d told him with a protective - undeserved - rage that his serum-enhanced muscles strained to correct the bend from the constant weight of it; vertebrae and ligaments forever in a stage of healing and re-damaging, explaining the enduring pain he shouldn’t have been able to feel.

He remembered every second of the surgery; endless sense-memories of cryo prep still too fresh for him to stand being put under. He remembered the watchful eyes of M’Baku and the Dora Milaje; their vigilance a reassuring promise to both defend him or against him should the time come. He remembered the numb, tugging pressure of Shuri disconnecting the machinery buried deep inside his body, the sudden nauseating weightlessness as she lifted his shoulder away. How, when her work was finished, she’d sat on the floor in front of him, running a quiet commentary as the surgeon installed the new port.

Her soft voice was the only thing that kept him from drowning in the memories of shackles and electricity; of chairs and the frigid dark. It was easier when the base plate was finally set, when they moved on to cutting away the bulging scar tissue surrounding it until the whole thing laid flush against his body.

The iron scent of his blood hadn’t been the issue he’d feared it to be. He’d expected it to trigger a wash of blood-soaked memories, to force every death on him in violent technicolour but… his blood had smelled different. Wrong. Maybe it was a side effect of the serum, so imperceptible that only one that shared it would notice. Maybe it was just him; nature giving humanity another warning of what he was.

Poisonous to the touch.

Rotten.

The mattress dipped as Sam settled beside him, relaxed and reclined against the pillows like he saw nothing wrong with getting in bed with a monster.

He kept his eyes on his face, smile never faltering as he offered up his hand. Bucky stared at it, at the guileless ease of reaching out to the darkness hoping for something to reach back.

And what else could he do but let him? Let him twine their fingers back together and hold him in the warm and steady present.

Sam’s pulse wasn’t racing, unease didn’t sour his eyes; he was just as comfortable here, completely bared to him as he'd been in the living room. There was no rush, no expectation, just an easy acceptance of whatever Bucky wanted next. His breath fell into sync with his; slow inhales, easy holds and long releases and he was struck again that Sam would do just this if it was what he wanted. Would just lay in bed with him and breathe, the press of their hands the only contact between them.

How is this so easy for you? he wanted to ask, wonder warring with disbelief. How can you let me do this?

Bucky swallowed it down and shifted closer, enough to feel the line of heat coming off his body and slowly let his eyes drift down.

He’d never taken the time to look at Sam beyond his involuntary threat assessment, beyond height and weight and expected hit strength. Now he saw him in an all-new light; the breadth of his shoulders and swell of his pecs, how toned and strong his core was to keep him horizontal in flight. The nicks over his arms from bullets dodged too late, light scarring from where the straps of his gear had worn down his skin, the knot of scar tissue at his shoulder betraying a reconstruction. All of him was strong, enduring.

And painstakingly human.

Bucky followed the line of his abs down to the coiled hair of his happy trail, down further and further…

Sam hung half-hard against his hip. He bit his lip and looked away.

He was still soft.

He waited. Waited for the laugh. For the, “Really? Am I not good enough for you, Barnes?” For Sam to scoff in offence before getting up, walking away from him like he should’ve six months ago.

Warmth shocked his skin and Bucky flinched, his eyes darting up to Sam kissing his finger; his gaze steady and patient. He shivered as he worked down his knuckles one by one, gentle presses of his mouth against each knuckle and leaving lightening it its wake until his entire hand was tingling.

“Slow and steady, Buck; I’m not in any hurry,” he assured lowly, lips brushing his skin. “What do you usually do?”

Bucky hesitated. I’m never going to live this down. “I don’t.”

Sam’s entire face twitched; eyebrows struggling not to rise, eyes widening then overcorrecting and going narrow, practically pulling facial backflips. “What?”

I am not saying it again. “It’s kinda difficult to clear my mind in case you hadn’t noticed,” he drawled, ignoring the very unwelcome heat rising in his cheeks. “I haven’t exactly been in the mood the last few decades.”

He didn’t say anything and the longer the silence stretched out, the more Bucky just wanted to sink into the mattress and vanish. He ducked down, half burying his face in the pillow, his hand jerking in Sam’s as he tried to decide if he wanted to pull back or grip tighter.

“Hey.” Fingers tapped the edge of the pillow and he didn’t pull away as they slowly cupped his chin. Sam let him stay buried in the pillow as he tilted his face up enough to catch his eyes, his thumb lightly brushing the corner of his mouth. “Then let’s build the mood.”

“If you try to sweet-talk me, I swear…” he trailed off half-heartedly.

“Keep fighting it and I’ll flirt with you ‘til you’re pink,” he threatened playfully, wiggling his eyebrows and everything.

Bucky bit his cheek, barely holding back the smile wanting to spread over his lips. “But what’ll the boys at the factory think if I show up all twitterpated over some flaming youth?” he simpered.

“Mm, lucky guy?” Sam suggested, all faux gloat and leering as he leaned closer.

“Yeah, you think that highly of yourself?” he shot back, grin breaking free.

“It’s called knowing what you’re worth, Barnes,” he boasted and Bucky rolled his eyes as he kissed the laughter off his lips.

Sam sucked his bottom lip, nibbling with the barest hint of pressure and he would deny the whimper that crawled out of him to his damn grave. He’d take it to them both; he was pretty sure the first one was still stuck on a hill somewhere, empty casket and all.

He let it go with a light snap and Bucky ran his tongue over it, feeling the lingering buzz; his tongue just brushing against Sam’s lower lip. Sam hovered his other hand over his chest, so close he could feel the warmth of it and just like before, he waited.

It took nothing to breathe deep, expanding his chest to press flush to it; the breadth of it setting goosebumps to his skin. Sam pressed his forehead to his and he tasted his proud, sunlight smile as he ran his hand in slow caresses over his chest. His fingers didn’t even stutter over the border between flesh and metal before he cupped his pec; thumbing over his nipple until it formed a hard peak.

He shuddered as his hand continued to explore; following the lines of his abs, curving over his ribs and circling the divot just before his pelvis. He pulled back slightly and Bucky chased his mouth, lost until it met his jaw, working down his throat. He shivered at the tease of his tongue over his skin, tracing his tendon down to the hollow of his collarbone.

“Can you... w-with your teeth,” he stumbled.

Sam grinned against his skin and he gasped as he nipped his chest. His hand curved around his hip and he fell back against the bed, pressing up into his mouth with a muffled groan. Sam followed him, his hand braced beside his bicep.

He ran his tongue over his scars; left behind by blade and teeth and nails digging into his shoulder, where did it go, what is this, get it out get it o u t-

Sam leaned further into him as he shook, layering his body over his own and-

Pinned means you’re trapped, trapped means you’re dead, dead means the ice, “Вставай, Солдат,” weak, weak, trapped, dead, cold, “Он становится неряшливым, мы должны перепрограммировать-“

“Hey, Bucky, talk to me. What’s going on, man?” Sam’s concerned face hovered above him and Bucky blinked away the phantom visage of a disgusted sneer. His hand cupped is bicep, warm and real against his skin.

He hadn’t even realised he’d started panting, pushing into the mattress to hide from Sam’s weight. “I... I can’t... o-on top of me, I can’t-“

“Hey, that’s okay,” he soothed and immediately rolled off to the side. He followed him, shoulders curling in as he chased his warm, real, safe- “I won’t get on you again. Do you want to-?”

“No! No, I can’t hold you down, Sam,” he shook his head harshly, face scratching against the sheets as his voice broke.

“Okay, okay, just breathe.” He brought his hand up to cradle his cheek. “We won’t do that either.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, shaking a little as he pressed into the contact; willing himself to stay grounded and connected to the few inches of scar tissue lined against his skin. “Why the hell can’t this just be easy?”

“‘Cause it’s us,” he replied and he could hear the wry smile in his voice. “When has anything ever been easy?”

He huffed a small, bitter laugh and dropped his head onto Sam’s shoulder; breathing in the faint scent of almonds and vanilla. He focused on letting it surround him, forcing out the bite of snow and iron. Long minutes passed before the shaking stopped, before effort became ease and Sam never pushed, just kept rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone.

Bucky sighed and felt him shiver as it played over his skin. It made the remaining sour acidity in his gut fade and he shifted, lightly running his lips over his collarbone and pulling another shiver from him. He slowly lifted his head, dragging his nose up the slope of his neck, mouthed at the hinge of his jaw and nudged his temple with his own; his tongue wetting his lips. He looked up at Sam’s eyes; his pupils so dilated, only a thin ring of brown remained.

“Where’re we at, man? Still want to keep going?” he checked but Bucky wasn’t imagining the heat in his voice.

“Just kiss me again,” he breathed and swayed forward.

Kissing Sam felt like the easiest thing in the world; there was no fear nudging him to impress or perform like he remembered from hazy one night stands. He didn’t falter beneath his unpractised lips; met him push for push, hunger with hunger, keeping to his pace as he coaxed him to life with tongue and teeth. His hair scratched against his palm as Bucky tilted his head, the new angle pulling a whine from him and leaving him breathless as he felt himself filling out.

“I want more, Sam,” he whispered against his lips.

“Yeah?” he checked and he let the hunger in his kiss be answer enough. “Yeah, okay, Buck.”

Sam half turned to reach the side table and for a second, Bucky superimposed a different image on top of him; lighter skin stretched over a larger frame, the once so familiar scars and marks missing in the wake of unearthly perfection. He almost wanted to hang onto it; wanted to pretend that when he turned around, the eyes he would look into were the powder blue that had always meant so much to him.

But he couldn’t do that to Sam.

It was Sam helping him; he couldn’t taint that by picturing someone else.

Not even him.

Sam rolled back and flicked the cap off a tube, squeezing out a generous amount onto his palm. He dropped the tube behind him and Bucky took a shaking breath as he watched him spread the lube with his fingers and letting it warm in his hand.

“Still okay?”

His tongue felt too large for his head so he just nodded, tucking his head in close to Sam and clutching his other hand like the lifeline it was.  Nerves chased anticipation, apprehension chased hope until he couldn’t tell what was causing the adrenaline flooding his veins; all he could focus on was Sam’s hand lowering to his cock.

He closed his hand around him and Bucky’s breath hitched. For a blissful second, he felt nothing but heat; his wet grip gentle around him. He waited for the touch to change, for the acrid scent of blood and frost to fill his senses again but... nothing happened.

It was so anticlimactic that he couldn’t help his slightly manic laugh and Sam looked at him with concern. “Bucky?”

“It... feels good,” he breathed with wonder.

For so long, he’d been nothing, less than nothing; he was barrel and scope and trigger and it had been so long since he’d felt human. His hands, his arms, legs, everything about him had been weaponised; perfectly utilised to take someone down and not falter when he was clawed at in an attempt to get away.

When they’d permitted him to wash, they’d just hosed him down from a distance; barely giving him time to wipe off the blood and bile he was covered in before dragging him to be debriefed. The last touch he’d felt there was in a threadbare tent in the middle of the European countryside; huddled against a body that was so different from his memories but still caressed him so sweetly.

Bucky’s laugh turned into a sob as he pressed his forehead to Sam’s. “It feels good.”

The tension slipped from Sam’s shoulders; a tiny, proud smile he’d go into battle for curving his lips. He slowly worked his hand up and he shivered at the wet drag of it spreading the lube over his cock; his hand coming up to cup Sam’s neck. All he could do was hold on as he quickly swelled to full hardness like he never had trouble getting it up at all.

It was almost mesmerising watching his cock sink into Sam’s dark fist, the lube smearing on their skin and making them shine in the dim light. He kept a slow pace; long, full drags ending with a twist of his palm over the head and he didn’t know where the line between consideration and teasing was but he was rapidly billowing over it.

Sam’s other hand dropped to roll his balls in his palm and Bucky let his leg fall back to give him more room; arching up into the gentle pressure. A finger reached lower, circling the soft skin behind his sack and his hips jumped with a choked-off gasp as he pressed down on it; lightening shooting through his core.

“Like it?” Sam asked with just enough smugness to buffer his sincerity.

He rolled his eyes with a huff. “You know I do, I’m not stroking your damn ego.”

“Nah, I got the stroking on lock,” he bragged, pairing another firm rub with a twist of his wrist and damn him for making his dick twitch after such a shitty pun.

“You’re awful,” he grunted, ducking forward to kiss him to hide the smile tugging at his lips.

His hand hovered over Sam’s hip, shaking from how much he wanted to grab hold of him and pull him closer. He felt like he was going to shake apart and Sam was warm and solid and too far away.

Sam’s hand curled over his own, bringing it down to his hip and lightly pressing his fingers in as he curled his palm over the head of his cock; rubbing in close, maddening circles. Bucky whined, his hips twitching forward as his hand fell to grip his ass; unconsciously kneading the flesh there.

“That’s it, Bucky,” Sam hummed, his tongue playing over his bottom lip.

His arm slipped higher, wrapping around the small of his back and he dragged him in; his body a wall of heat against his front. Sam’s hand bumped against his own cock on every upstroke, smearing precum over his skin and fuck was he really that turned on just from watching him?

He bit his tongue on an animalistic whimper and his head fell into Sam’s neck as he rutted into his hand; his breath leaving him in a rush as he twisted his wrist. “S-Sam,” he stuttered. “It’s- I’m… hah- ‘m close.”

“Good, that’s it; just let go,” he told him. “I gotchu, Buck.”

His other hand dropped between his legs again and Bucky reflexively widened them, ready and wanting that electric press but Sam passed over it. He went lower, passing his fingers in a dry rub over his hole and a sob ripped out of him as his chest bowed and all-encompassing heat exploded within him; his thighs clenching around Sam’s arm and locking it in place as his cock pulsed, cum covering them both.

His mouth hung open, formless cries and moans falling unbidden from his lips as he bucked wildly into Sam’s fist still working him as he wrung out every drop; his fingers still playing over his tingling and twitching hole. He was saying something, muffled words of praise trying to carry him through it but they were drowned out by the blood rushing through his ears.

Bucky finally slumped, chest heaving as his heart pounded and Sam’s hands finally stilled; the one on his ass moving to hold his hip, pulling him closer. He let out a cracking whine as the hand on his cock loosened. He didn’t even think, his body moving on its own as he caught it and tugged it back.

“Loud and clear, Buck,” Sam’s voice blanketed him, vague and far away like his ears were stuffed with down. He adjusted his hand to cup his cock in a gentle hold as he began to soften. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

All Bucky could do was try to breathe as his entire body shook like a leaf on the wind, simultaneously wrung out and energised; adrenaline and pure contentment washing through his blood. His mind completely empty, the sun under his skin, he wanted to stay in this moment forever; to let it gently take him under him in a way cryo never did.

Sam held him close until his shaking finally stopped, his cum-wet hand still holding him. “Hey, wellness check; how you doin’?”

Bucky slowly blinked the wetness from his eyes and sluggishly dragged his head up. The way he was looking at him, his eyes warm and blown wide, it was almost like he was sharing his bliss.

“Hunky-dory,” he croaked and the way Sam’s eyes crinkled as he snorted filled him with a whole other kind of slow pleasure. He smiled back and caught his mouth in a kiss, lazy and formless.

But he could still feel his cock, hard and heavy against his thigh and the eclipsing peace in his mind made room for hunger.

With more reluctance than he’d care to admit, he pulled Sam’s hand away, missing the comforting weight of it the moment it was gone; the air almost too cool against his skin. He scooted down the bed, shivering at the sensation of his cum dripping down his thighs, and rolled between his legs; head positioned over his cock.

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, he went to duck down when Sam’s hand pressed against his chest and he froze; ice-edged fear threatening the quiet serenity he’d sunk into. It didn’t shove him back or dig in, more of a suggestion of pressure and it held him in place with more strength than any restraints could ever touch. Had he asked for too much? Touching someone else was one thing but being touched was another, did Sam not want-

“Hey, slow your roll, Bucky; we don’t have to do everything at once,” he cautioned; still warm, still real. “I don’t want you pushing for something you’re not ready for.”

Bucky rocked back slightly and swallowed a relieved noise when his hand followed him, running in aimless strokes over his collarbone. “I know,” he promised and looked up at him; something almost shy pulling his chin down. “I always liked doing this. I want to know if I still do... still can.”

They were distant memories, old and simple enough to be buried beneath far more prominent pain, but they were still there. Quiet sighs, the shake of thighs bracketing his head, a sense of satisfaction when wetness coated his lips and throat. The hardwood beneath his knees didn’t matter, nor the gravel or rocks; not when lace skirts tickled his neck or hands held him close to the delicate warmth of their body.

Some of that must’ve reflected in his face as Sam’s eyes softened. “Okay. What do you need from me?”

“Just... don’t pull my hair?” It came out uncertain. “Or push me down.”

He lifted slightly and the bob of his cock near his lips almost made Bucky miss Sam going to push his hands under his back.

“Not like that,” he interrupted. He swallowed as Sam looked at him. “It... looks like you’re tied up.”

He moved his hands to rub up and down his biceps. “How’s this? No grabbing, promise.”

Bucky thought about it, taking in the repetitive motion like the push and pull of the tide against his body, and he wanted it; wanted him to wear down his sharp edges until he was smooth and remade. He nodded and this time when he ducked down, Sam didn’t stop him.

He pressed a kiss into the hollow of his hip, his cock hot and hard next to his cheek but he ignored it; following the arc of his pelvis out, dropping chaste kisses as he went until he hovered above Sam’s hip. He met his eyes and slowly dragged the tip of his tongue up along his hip dip, finishing the lick with a flick before nibbling at the smattering of freckles there.

Sam’s abdomen tensed beneath his lips as he worked his way back to his navel, sucking lightly as he went. He kept his touch light, letting his breath ghost over his spit-shiny skin. How would hickies bloom on his skin? What kind of gentle bruises could he leave behind in place of long-healed marks born of his own cruelty?

Bucky hooked his thumb just under his cockhead, pinning it against his stomach and his broken gasp sent a warm roll of satisfaction through him as he dipped down to lap at his balls; watching slow drops of precum form a puddle on his abdomen. He mouthed at him, never quite taking it into his mouth before letting go to bury his nose against the root of his cock, breathing in the deep musk of his scent.

He hovered over his cock again, let his chin bump the shaft as he lapped the pool of precum up with a long, slow pass of his tongue; his eyes locked on Sam’s as his jaw dropped, dark eyes flaring.

“God, Bucky,” he pushed out and Bucky smirked as another drop beaded from his slit. Yeah, he still had it.

He slid his hand down Sam’s shaft, dragging out every inch until he wrapped him around the base in a loose hold, angling him up towards his mouth. He let out a settling breath, hoping Sam would take it as another tease and wrapped his lips around him.

Sam let out a groan above him and Bucky sat with it for a moment, letting his cock fill his mouth as he weighed the head on his tongue. He let out an almost absent-minded hum, focused on his mouthful until he felt an answering twitch in Sam’s thighs. The heady taste made his mouth water and he worked his mouth lower.

He was longer than he’d once been used to, already nudging the back of his throat and the thickness pulled a wanton noise from him. He tried to push down and take him deeper, his throat already protesting when Sam’s hand caught his jaw; pulling him back up and controlling his mouthful. He swallowed around him, looking up through his lashes in confusion even as his jaw thanked him for it.

Sam’s eyes were dark as they took him in, his thumb running along the bulge in his cheek, tracing the press of his cock inside his mouth. “Didn’t know you could be this pretty, Buck,” he murmured absently, almost like he didn’t mean to say it and Bucky felt his whole body flush. Pretty…

He blinked, eyes growing clearer, concentrated. “This is for you. You used to enjoy it; let yourself enjoy it,” he continued then flashed a smirk. “Not like I’m getting nothing out of it.”

Bucky’d regained a lot of his memories. He’d forgotten even more. But he could say with damn near complete certainty he’d never rolled his eyes with a mouthful of cock before.

Sam snickered above him and he narrowed his eyes, running his tongue around the head and smirked around his cock as the noise cut off with a strangled grunt.

He kept his rhythm shallow, letting himself get used to the thickness on his tongue and the stretch of his jaw before trying to go deeper again; stopping just shy of taking him down his throat. He pulled back up, mouthing at his cockhead; loosely jerking him off as he traced the vein along the underside with his tongue.

“That’s it,” Sam praised, voice thick and husky with pleasure. “You’re doing so good, Bucky, feel so good.”

He sunk back down and got a pure flash of want; so bright and bone-deep, it had him keening hungrily around his cock, making Sam bite back a curse above him. He wanted to know how it would feel to have Sam filling him up properly; to sit and sink down on his cock inch by glorious inch while he gripped his hips, his hole twitching and pulling him in to the hilt until they were both panting messes, until he just couldn’t hold back anymore and began to ride-

Bucky moaned again and bobbed deeper, his hand working what he couldn’t fit in his mouth. It would be too much; the very idea left him aching and set an itching flame to his skin. He was happy with this; with Sam’s twitching thighs beside his head as he gave him pleasure instead of pain.

Sam’s hands started to get restless; drifting up and down his arms, his fingers following the metal plating on one and the twisting scars on the other.  Bucky hooked a thigh over his shoulder, running his hand up along his side to rest on his stomach; a comfort and an offer all in one. His hand left his arm, his fingers blindly locking with his own and pulled his other off his arm to fist the sheets; twisting them as his thighs shook with the strain of holding back.

“Bucky- Buck, ‘m gonna cum,” he warned. “I’m- shit, p-pull back.”

Bucky started to, but the thought of losing the twitching flesh between his lips filled him with emptiness. He wanted Sam, all of him. He tapped his side and waited until he met his eyes before relaxing his throat and taking him down all the way to the hilt.

Sam’s eyes rolled back, his body tensing beneath him and Bucky hummed in time with his guttural moan, swallowing with every pulse of his cock and basking in the heat of his cum filling his throat. He kept swallowing until moans broke off into broken whimpers, until the grinding against his face changed to twitching retreat and he pulled off Sam’s cock with an obscene slurp.

He licked over his bottom lip, catching the last few drops and let his forehead fall to pillow on Sam’s thigh still thrown over his shoulder; breathing in his musk and the salt of his sweat. All at once, it was too quiet; the air still without any moans to break through it and he felt the damning flush in his cheeks as he tentatively looked up through his lashes at Sam.

He was nervous. He was one of the greatest assassins the world had ever seen - he’d fought aliens - and he was lying between his friend’s legs worried if he liked the blowjob he just gave him.

How times change.

Sam panted at the ceiling, slumping into the bed as the seconds ticked by until his mouth curved in a loose smile. “I don’t know if you enjoyed it as much as you used to… but you sure as hell are still good at it. Damn.”

A snort ripped out of him and Bucky muffled his involuntary chuckles against Sam’s thigh, all of the hesitation draining out of him as he lay there listening to his unashamed laughter above him.

Clean hands eventually slipped under his arms, fingers insistently kneading his biceps like a demanding cat as he tried to pull him up. He followed his tugging and crawled up the bed, draping himself over his chest without second thought.

Sam tilted his face up and he let his eyes fall half-lidded as he wiped the mess of saliva off his face with a tissue. He chuffed his chin, catching him in a slow, chaste kiss before doing the same to his legs and the sensitive flesh of cock.

Tossing them aside, he tipped them both onto their side, and Bucky went with him, his head still tucked under his chin. Neither of them pinned the other, neither held the other down, they just… held. Sam’s arms wrapped easily around him, as if he’d held him close a thousand times. Like his arms belonged around him.

Like he belonged in them.

“How you feeling, man?” Sam prompted.

Bucky breathed against his neck, his body still thrumming while his mind floated in a pleasantly exhausted haze. He still felt the echoes of Sam’s touch rippling over his skin and he waited for them to change, to become claws that ripped and tore... but they stayed just that; echoes. Sam’s fingers drifting up and down his spine remained his own.

Where the guy from the bar felt like he’d trapped bullet ants under his skin, it was as if Sam had left fireflies; the soft wings and pulsing light warming him from within.

“They didn’t take this from me,” Bucky whispered, voice thick. He exhaled hard and pressed closer, tangling their legs and Sam softly squeezed him. “Thank you, Sam.”

“My pleasure,” he replied before snorting a little. “Literally.”

He snickered under his breath; the oppressive air trying to settle around his shoulders at such a heady realisation expertly broken. “You’re so lame.”

“And yet you still wanted a piece of this,” he crowed and he felt his chest flex beneath his head. “Can’t fool me, Barnes.”

He rolled his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips; safely hidden in the crook of Sam’s neck. I never could…

Bucky breathed him in, letting almonds and vanilla chase the sulphur from his lungs and the poison from his mind until all was quiet. Sam’s fingers traced the curve of his back, leaving fissures of tingling heat beneath his skin and pulling him deeper with every pass until he felt weightless; his muscles unwinding, body loose and warm.

“Do you think you can sleep?” Sam murmured.

He paused but didn’t tense, still following the bright trails left by his fingertips; his scarred palm curved over his ribs. His dreams were always a place of ice and blood; he was no safer there than when he was still with Hydra. But with Sam as a guiding light through the tundra...

“Yeah,” he whispered and felt Sam’s arms gently tighten around him, sending bright sparks scattering along his skin as he held him together. “I think I can.”