Soapy♡︎ ⚢

…

“Buck. Bucky.”

Bucky jolted awake. He processed Sam’s warm smile and gentle touch quickly enough to avoid drawing the gun hidden in the couch cushions.

“Mmm. Hey.” Bucky stretched, reaching for Sam’s hip. Sam squeezed his hand.

“C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

“Wha? What time is it?” Bucky fumbled for his phone on the coffee table. The screen brightness singed his retinas.

“It’s only 8:30.” Bucky frowned.

“It’s past your bedtime, gramps.”

“Fuck off,” he said without any heat.

“You’re drooling on my throw pillows.” Sam huffed. Bucky’s gaze trailed over him—he was still wearing the bottom half of his Captain America suit. It fit him very well, and Bucky let himself admire this, as he could not be seen fawning over the good Captain in public.

How lovely it was to open his eyes here, the first place that was really starting to feel like his own, and see Sam there. Changes, indeed.

“I’m not coming to bed yet. Did you even—“ Bucky wiggled around so he could see Sam better— “Did you eat?”

“Yea, baby. I’ve been talking to you this whole time. I thought you were ignoring me, but then I heard you snoring.” The corner of Sam’s mouth lifted just slightly, but it still brightened his whole face.

“I don’t snore.” Bucky frowned.

“Like a freight train.” Sam gave Bucky’s chest a fond pat. “At this point, X-Files is watching you. C’mon.”

Sam extended his hand.

“I’m not going.” Bucky sniffed petulantly and settled down into the cushions.

“I’m not asking. We’ve got an early morning with the Secretary tomorrow and I don’t wanna hear you complaining.” Sam wiggled his fingers. Bucky turned up his chin. Sure, this was a stupid hill to die on, but he’d already planted his flag.

“Buck. Give me the remote.”

“Come and get it.” Bucky folded his arms behind his head, dropping the remote beside his pillow.

”Next time I ask you, I’m gonna kick your ass. Give me the remote.” Sam’s voice sent a shiver down his spine. Not unpleasantly.

”You’re gonna kick my ass? You, America’s Sweetheart?” Bucky smirked. He squinted at the TV, trying to suss out how many episodes of X-Files he’d slept through.

Sam lunged. Bucky rolled backwards over the arm of the couch, landing with the remote in hand like one of his favorite knives. He expected Sam to stop. Reevaluate, at least. Instead, Sam swept his legs, caught him, and hefted him bridal-style into his arms.

Bucky’s mouth forgot the shape of all the words he’d learned over the years, even the snarky ones he so badly wanted to launch, leaving him spluttering out nonsense. He’d never been…carried before. Not like this.

He flung his legs up and went to wrap them around Sam’s neck, fully intending to bring him down—even at the cost of another coffee table— but Sam smoothly blocked and flipped him. Bucky laid draped over Sam’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes for several stunned moments. Sam locked his arm across Bucky’s legs, and it may as well have been a steel bar. He started moving them towards the bedroom, whistling all the while.

When did this happen? Sam had always been a good wrestler—good fighter, really—but he never contested Bucky’s strength directly. He moved with Buck, or around him, the wake to his tide.

He tested his legs against Sam’s grip, fully planning to somersault out of this, as he did most things. A strong hand dug into his thigh and all of Bucky’s logical thought fell out of his ears.

“What are you dOIHING?” All the air rushed from Bucky’s chest in a great squeaky torrent. He couldn’t even—god, he couldn’t even pretend to be unbothered, not with Sam tickling the shit out of him.

“Bullshit deterrent. Since you’re so damn determined not to cooperate.” Sam gave his ass a conciliatory pat, then went back to tormenting him. Laughter fell easily from him, what with Sam shaking it out.

So unbelievably stupid. One man had turned over a century of carefully-built reputations and walls. One man who’d apparently found the spot behind Bucky’s knees that made him hiccup—again, so deeply stupid.

“You’re so cute.” Sam murmured, and Bucky probably wasn’t supposed to hear that, but he did. It made his whole chest buzz. He growled.

“I am not—“

“Shut up, giggles.” Sam reached up to pinch at Bucky’s hip and he shrieked.

“S-Sam!” Bucky fisted the back of Sam’s shirt. God, this was all so much. Sam’s presence in his life shook him up like a soda can. Bucky didn’t know what to do now with the fizzing in his chest.

“Going down.” Sam flipped Bucky hard over his shoulder, sending him bouncing down onto the mattress. His laughter flew with him. He tried to launch himself at Sam, but his partner yanked his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could think, Sam had one of his legs in an armlock and was tickling the shit out of his foot.

“I’m gonna kick you! You asshole!” Bucky cackled madly.

“You better not!” Sam threw himself on top of Bucky likely to prevent it—Bucky had accidentally put him through a wall before. They rolled around for a while, all half-huffed laughs and wide smiles, until Sam got his hand under Bucky’s arm and he screamed.

Bucky rolled them and caught Sam in a searing kiss—a transparent distraction, but a functional one. Bucky tangled their legs together and pulled him close. Sam hummed into his mouth, pulling Bucky up towards him. Sam’s hands wandered, eager and grateful to touch every damaged inch of Bucky without pause. This, mercifully, had not changed. Bucky hoped, despite the voice that delicately crooned falsehoods in Russian in the back of his head, that it never would.

Bucky broke the kiss with something between a giggle and a yelp, his hand flying to his ribs. He grabbed Sam with the other. Sam grinned like an imp, pinching fingers arrested in a metal grasp. Bucky could only imagine what he looked like right now. If he was even a quarter as red-faced as he felt, he was going to fling himself into the Potomac.

“You’re so annoying! Cut it out.” Bucky tried to kill his nervous smile. It evaded him.

“Why? Because you’re a congressman?” Sam crawled on top of him.

“No, because you love me.” Bucky pressed Sam’s captive hand to his heart. Sam kissed him sweetly between his brows.

“Nah, sorry, you should’ve gone with the congressman thing.” Sam’s hands shot down to Bucky’s ribs again. He recoiled just in time to avoid a broken nose—he’d learned his lesson from last time, apparently.

“A-Alright! I’ll go to bed, just quit it!” Bucky grit his teeth through a vicious giggle fit in hopes that his dignity would return to him. Sam relented with a final squeeze to his side, then rolled off of him.

“I’m gonna kill you tomorrow.” Bucky groused, pulling Sam closer by the arm. Sam snuggled up behind him as requested. He flung the covers messily over both of them.

“With how you sleep? I’ll be at the White House before you’re even in the shower.” Sam kissed his shoulder.

“I’ll be at the White House before you’re out.” Bucky pinched Sam’s arm. Sam pinched his hip, and the resulting flail was enough to get them both in line.

“Go to sleep, old man.” Bucky could hear Sam’s smirk. He could let it lie. He could go to sleep and make sure they were rested for an incredibly important meeting tomorrow. He could choose peace.