Chapter Text
“Bucky,” Sam says sharply, and Bucky inhales, turning to face him, looking away from the open space of the mall, the noisy, bustling groups of people. (So many people. And any of them might be looking for the two of them, ready to fight, ready to shoot. Ready to kill.)
“What?” he whispers, even though there’s no possible way anyone can hear them over the echoey white noise.
“I think… I think I see them,” Sam says, just as quietly, and Bucky looks at his eyes, looking up at him as the escalator they’re on moves down, slowly. (So fucking slowly. Neither of them move to make a run for it, to push past the strangers standing idly by, so they don’t draw attention to themselves. Sam is looking past him, down to the ground floor. “Shit.”
Sam looks down, turning his face away and adjusting his hat as Bucky moves so he faces Sam completely, hiding him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Bucky inhales deeply, breathing out slowly, looking into Sam's eyes as Sam glances down at him. There’s a pit in his stomach, a cluster of dread, and it grows as he listens to the sounds of people talking. He hears a child’s voice, and his brows furrow.
He just wants to get out. He just wants to leave the building, maybe have the fight in the parking lot, or an abandoned building, where no one will see, where no one will be scared or traumatised.
“Shit, Bucky,” Sam says, sounding panicked, and Bucky looks at him, into his shining brown eyes.
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
Bucky stops, looking up, positive he misheard. Sam glances past him again before looking into his eyes intently.
“...What?” For a second, all his panic and anxiety go away, replaced by pure confusion.
“People are uncomfortable with public affection,” Sam mutters quickly (so no, Bucky didn’t mishear him, which makes that same pit in his stomach grow and grow as he thinks about it). “They won’t look at us, or they’ll look away. Plus it’ll hide our faces.”
Bucky stares at him, his heart beginning to pound relentlessly until it’s all he can hear.
“But…”
He glances around, at all the people.
“Bucky,” Sam says firmly, desperately.
“I…” Bucky mouth moves as he searches what the fuck to say. What about? What if? What about?
“Kiss me.”
Bucky glances down at his lips as he says it, his eyes impossibly wide. Scared. But Sam’s hand comes up and grips the lapel of his jacket, pulling him close without pulling him too close. Just firmly, just… there.
It’s Sam. I can trust Sammy.
He nods, just barely, and Sam glances past him again before tugging him in and leaning down, pressing their mouth together.
Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut, and he stands stiffly, teaching forward and grasping Sam’s hoodie in clenched fists, holding on like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.
Sam is gentle, his hands sliding up Bucky’s chest until he gets to the hood that’s pulled over Bucky’s head. He pulls at it, and even though Bucky’s eyes are shut, he knows Sam is pulling it to hide their faces.
Sam pulls away until their mouths separate and Bucky gasps, staying close enough that their lips brush as he whispers, “It's okay,” softly.
Bucky nods again, his grip tightening on Sam’s hoodie, and Sam kisses him again, softly, his lips catching Bucky’s lower lip even though Bucky's lips are pursed, his eyes still squeezed shut, his hands clenched, his whole body tense as his heart pounds in his ears. He feels the way he always does right before an explosion, the way he does before stepping into oncoming traffic.
A noise escapes Bucky, a scared, desperate noise just between a whine and groan, and he realises his chest is rising and falling quickly, moving with every rushed breath.
Fuck, not now.
Sam tilts his head, pulling Bucky’s hood and carefully sucking Bucky's lower lip into his mouth, and then Sam’s hand is sliding under the hood, his fingertips skirting across the warm skin on his neck, sending chills down his back.
Bucky tries to lose himself in it, tries to let himself get lost in Sam’s mouth, but his shoulders can’t relax, feeling like the very beginning of a shiver is stuck on them, like every eye in the building is watching him.
Sam pulls away with a soft gasp, and Bucky’s eyes fly open, looking away and around , his legs tensing, ready to run, ready to fight.
“Okay, come on,” Sam breathes, tugging at him and jerking his chin to beckon, and Bucky turns to see the end of the escalator.
Bucky steps off, still gripping Sam’s hoodie, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, looking around as Sam puts his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and guides him toward the exit.
“Fuck, Sammy,” Bucky gasps, the noise in the mall suddenly becoming overwhelming, and he stumbles, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as he tries to take a deep breath. The breath cuts off in his throat, choking him.
“Sa— Shit, Buck, come on.”
Sam’s arm tightens around Bucky, pulling him outside until they’re in the parking deck, and he tugs him into a corner, into the dark that covers Bucky like a blanket. Bucky’s eyes close even though they really don’t have to, and his legs give out.
Sam helps him onto the ground, moving and murmuring to him (Though Bucky can’t really hear the murmurs, the quiet “I’ve got you,” and the soft, “Breathe, baby.”), until Bucky’s face is hidden in Sam’s chest, his hands gripping his hoodie tightly as Sam pulls his hood down and runs his hands through his hair, cradling his head gently.
“Bucky, you gotta breathe, man,” Sam says, leaning down to press his cheek to the top of Bucky’s head.
“I ca—” Bucky cuts himself off with a gasp.
“You got it, Bucky, breathe in.”
He tries.
“All the way, come on.”
Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut and he presses his face to Sam’s chest, breathing in deeply, focusing on the feeling of Sam’s fingertips on his head, in his hair. He shudders as he exhales.
“There you go,” Sam says gently. “Go again.”
Bucky does, humming quietly.
Sam holds him, even when his legs become sore from crouching on the ground, even when his eyes sting as he listens to Bucky’s breaths shake.
He holds him even after his breathing is completely calm, even as they sit in complete silence, until Bucky’s hands loosen on his waist and he leans back.
“Okay?” Sam asks, brushing his hand over Bucky’s face, pushing his hair back.
“Yeah.” Bucky’s voice breaks and he grimaces, clearing his throat.
“I have water in my bag,” Sam says gently, and he lets go of Bucky, though part of him (most of him) doesn’t want to.
He sits on the ground as Bucky drinks it, watching his throat move as he swallows small sips. When the bottle is empty, by which time the sky is beginning to dim slightly, Bucky stands, pausing for a second before dropping it in a nearby recycling bin as Sam stands.
“Do you want me to drive?” Sam asks awkwardly, and Bucky shakes his head.
“No, I’m good,” he says, “I’m not like… dizzy or anything.”
“...Okay.”
They get in the car silently, and Bucky drives, following other cars out of the lot, and Sam watches the surrounding areas warily, watching for anyone suspicious.
He relaxes as they drive away from the mall, and he pats his pocket, feeling the lines of the flashdrive through the fabric.
“Buck,” he says after a few silent minutes, turning his head to look at him, and Bucky glances at him, pressing his lips together with a “Mhmm.”
“You know…” He hesitates, unsure of how to say what he needs to say. Bucky inhales, biting his lip like he knows what Sam wants to say. “You know it’s not… very likely that someone’s gonna jump you for kissing a guy, right?”
He watches Bucky swallow, his lips pursing as he drives around a turn in the road.
“But not entirely unlikely,” he says quietly.
Sam looks at him, tapping his fingers against his leg restlessly, biting his own lip as his silence answers Bucky.
“Even if someone did try something,” he says finally, “you know we could take them.”
Bucky scoffs, a dry smile spreading across his face.
“Yeah.”
Sam looks back out the window, watching the setting sun reflect off of windows on buildings and cars, the glass shining bright gold. He sighs, leaning back against the headrest, his fingers still tapping his legs before he touches the flash drive again absentmindedly.
The air still feels tense after a few minutes, and he looks at Bucky, rolling his head on the headrest lazily. Bucky is chewing on his bottom lip, his brows furrowed.
“What are you thinking?”
Bucky glances at him, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. (Sam noticed a while ago that Bucky always drives with both hands on the wheel. Always.)
“I, uhm…” Bucky sighs, his eyes jumping around, and Sam wonders for a second if he’s about to cry. Bucky bites his lip again, looking like he’s thinking intensely, like he’s working out a long equation.
“I’m queer,” he says finally, shortly, firmly, with a slight nod of his head, and Sam’s eyebrows raise. “Which,” Bucky continues before Sam can say anything, “I… recently… learned can be a positive thing, or a neutral thing. Just a… Just a thing.”
Sam swallows, nodding at him even though Bucky isn’t looking at him.
“That’s cool,” he says lightly, and Bucky nods.
“I didn’t…” Bucky takes another breath, and Sam holds back from reaching out and pressing a hand to Bucky’s leg, from reaching out and just holding him, holding him until his breathing is normal. Even though he wants to. (Jesus fuck, he wants to.)
“I didn’t know I wasn’t… w— weird, or broken, or… anything, until after everything was over,” Bucky says as they pause at a stop sign. “It’s not like Hydra had crash courses on sexuality and gender identity.”
“Yeah,” Sam laughs lightly.
“I’m still, like, learning to… accept it,” Bucky says. “Shuri actually helped me out.”
Sam smiles.
“She helped me figure it all out, and she’s just, like, so supportive.”
“She’s a good kid,” Sam says, and Bucky nods, smiling.
They’re quiet again, and the tenseness is gone. Bucky seems to relax, even as Sam continues to watch him. One of his hands falls to the bottom of the steering wheel, still holding it, but loosely.
Queer.
It sounds beautiful in Bucky’s mouth.
Sam sighs, smiling softly. Everything sounds beautiful in Bucky’s mouth. Everything he says sounds nice.
Sammy.
Sam blinks as he remembers the gasped word, and he looks at Bucky again.
“I’m bi,” he says without thinking, and he looks away as Bucky turns to glance at him. “I’m not out because… the world’s nicer to us, but… not all the time. Especially to Black people.”
He hears Bucky hum quietly in acknowledgement.
“And, like… Jesus, I hate saying this, but celebrities, I guess. Backlash and criticism and…”
He looks at Bucky to see him nodding, chewing his lip again.
“I’m not trying to put you off anything,” Sam says hurriedly. “I’m not trying to scare you.”
“No, I know,” Bucky says, laughing. “You’re fine.”
“I’ve been fine with it for a while,” Sam continues, and Bucky nods. They drive down an empty road, and the sky is pink and purple and orange and yellow, vibrant and glowing like it's splattered with paint. “I’ve known since, like, middle school. I had a boyfriend in high school. Well, I guess we weren’t really boyfriends,” he says with the tilt of his head as he leans back into his seat, relaxing. “We just sucked each other's dicks under the bleachers and in janitors’ closets, and prayed we wouldn’t get caught.”
Bucky laughs, giggles, and it’s a juvenile, squinty-eyed, scrunched-nose laugh that makes Sam’s heart erupt into butterflies.
“I never saw him again after graduation,” he says when Bucky’s laughter stops. “I didn't care, I didn’t really like him. I just liked his mouth.”
“Hm.” Bucky pauses, looking hesitant, before he says, “You’re the first man I’ve ever kissed.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam says, ignoring the swoop that all of his organs go through. “I’m honoured, how was it?”
“Eh.” Bucky tilts his head, making a face that’s barely disguising a smile as he looks both ways. “Four out of ten.”
“Four?”
Bucky laughs again, glancing at Sam as he spins the wheel.
“I did all the work!” Sam argues, turning to face him in his seat.
“Okay, fine, six.”
“Six? Damn,” he says, leaning against the seat in disappointment as he ignores the fact that they’re, definitely flirting. “I can do better, I swear.”
“Okay,” Bucky says lightly, and Sam’s smile falters.
The car slows to a stop at a yellow light, and Sam glances up in time to see it turn red. When he looks back at Bucky, Bucky is looking at him, and he looks… soft.
He’s smiling, and his eyes flicker down to Sam’s mouth as Sam’s heart almost beats out of his chest.
Sam watches as Bucky’s tongue swipes across his lower lip, and his eyes dip lower as Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows.
Bucky’s eyes flick back and forth between Sam’s.
The blue of his eyes looks like it’s glowing, like stained glass with the sun setting behind it. Sam’s mouth falls open in awe as Bucky’s face comes closer, and Bucky’s eyebrows raise slightly, a question.
Sam nods.
Bucky’s lips curve into a smile before they press against Sam’s. Sam's eyes drift shut as he feels Bucky’s hand press to his cheek, so gently that Sam turns into it, pressing closer and letting his mouth fall open.
Sam reaches up, leaning across the center console as his seatbelt presses into his neck, pushing his fingers into Bucky’s hair, drawing a soft sigh from him.
Sam pulls away, licking his lips before leaning back in as Bucky’s hand slides down Sam’s neck, his fingertips pressing under the line of his jaw, skimming over his throat.
“Sammy,” Bucky murmurs as they pull away for a short gasp, and Sam smiles against his mouth, humming quietly and tugging gently at his hair. Bucky presses closer, and Sam revels in the sound of their lips separating, the sound of Bucky’s breaths, the feeling of Bucky’s skin against his.
When Bucky pulls away, Sam tries to follow, leaning forward absentmindedly, and Bucky smiles, pressing another chaste kiss to Sam’s mouth.
Bucky turns away, still smiling, and looks at the light (that’s now green; Sam doesn’t really care), and drives down the road, both hands on the wheel. Sam bites his lip, skimming his eyes over Bucky’s profile, over the bridge of his nose, the stubble on his cheek and jaw, the curve of his eyelashes.
“Nine,” Bucky says finally.
“What?”
Bucky lets out that laugh again, and Sam just laughs with him, shaking his head in disbelief before facing forward as they drive down the street. His hand drifts until it finds Bucky’s leg, and it lands on his thigh, his thumb tenderly brushing back and forth. Bucky lets go of the wheel to squeeze his hand softly for a second.
“I’ll show you a ten when we get home,” Bucky says, and Sam grins. Home.
“Okay.”