Average Sam Wilson Fan

The four of them--Steve included--were a strange constellation that Sam was still working out. It always surprised him to see a new side of Bucky every time someone else joined the conversation. Who he was on the couch with Sam watching baseball was not the same as who he was beside Nat or Steve. Sam hadn't been prepared to get all these pieces of the other man, or to have to lay them together like a stained glass portrait.

Nat didn't talk about the Red Room often, unless it was relevant to a mission or injury. But she had offered up the information on the Winter Soldier's tenure: his role as a trainer and a test, the ways he bested them or they bested him, what a sad thing he was when his handlers left him in a corner somewhere.

The ballet had been a passing thought. She never delved into it. Sam could only guess at its purpose--strength conditioning, enforced femininity and grace, lithe unassuming bodies to shove into gnashing jaws. She never spoke of dancing with the Winter Soldier, but she'd never said she hadn't.

Sam found, watching them now, he wasn't really surprised. Bucky was light and nimble on his feet. Sam had always given credit to gymnastics and tumbling, but he could see the dance now too. The contained strength of him, the way he read Nat's body and intention. Bucky could be an excellent teammate. He was intuitive and protective when he wanted to be. Now, while bullets weren't flying and nothing was trying to eat them, Sam could see it all on display as Bucky caught each of Nat's leaps and opened himself up so she could spin out of his arms again. The musculature on display beneath those tights had his mouth going dry.

It wasn't any dance Sam knew. He wouldn't consider himself well-versed in ballet to begin with, but he was almost certain they were just moving together. No music, no choreography, just the two of them.

"Do you dance?" Nat asked suddenly, stopping a spin by falling to her heels again.

Sam barked out a short laugh. "Definitely not." Sarah hadn't ever wanted to be a ballet dancer and it's not like Delacroix had been pushing kids into the arts. When she'd wanted to do tumbling, they'd had to drive all the way up to New Orleans for classes. "I would've told you if I did," he added. "I'd have loved to dance with you."

"Come," she said with a grin and an outheld hand. "Dance with me."

And Sam, knowing nothing about ballet, stood from the stack of mats and took her hand. "I really don't know what I'm supposed to do," he warned with a smile.

"That's okay, I already know you can catch me," she said. She raised their hands above her head and began to spin beneath their arms, using his hand as her pivot point. Their fingers tangled and untangled. She was like a dancer in a jewelry box, spinning and spinning in perfect form. He was pretty sure he'd never seen one this pretty before though.

Then she collapsed down to the ground and Sam immediately began to follow after her, trying to catch her, even though she'd fallen faster than he'd been able to see. But he realized what she'd done just a second later and saw that it was intentional.

"Oh, I can do that one." He copied her, sinking down with one leg folded beneath him and the other stretched out ahead of him, bending at the hips to lay his chest against his thigh. Above them, Bucky made a pitiful sound and Nat and Sam exchanged knowing grins. He was easy to tease and, though they didn't do it often, it was a shared hobby of theirs to do it every now and then.

But Bucky got his due back when he lifted Sam with an arm around the waist like he weighed nothing. Sam clutched at Bucky's arm before accepting that the other man wasn't going to drop him. Whatever surprised noise escaped him was only that. Surprise.

"That doesn't count as dancing," Bucky huffed, voice low and enticing. Sam had always been like a moth to a flame. Battering himself up against the heat no matter how many times it scorched him. Falling in with Bucky Barnes felt the same way. The warmth was worth the burn.

"Oh, 'cause you do so much more," Sam egged on. "Just a pair of strong arms to catch her while she does all the work."

Nat had risen from the stretch and was leaning back on her hands, legs folded like a 4, smirking at them. "A pretty face too," she added. "That always helps." And then, as if she was taking mercy on him, she asked, "Do you remember Spartacus?"

"Contrary to what you think, I haven't danced in almost forty years," Bucky said. He was still holding Sam like an afterthought, their hipbones almost stacked together at their sides, but Sam could feel the way his breathing stuttered when Sam shifted closer.

"But you're still so good with me."

"You make it easy. You're--"

Sam looked up at Bucky, searching for the reason he'd cut himself off so sharply. But he didn't find an answer. Bucky just put him back down and then took several strides away from them. Sam sank down to sit beside Nat again.

The floor beneath them was some kind of sprung floor, with enough give to cushion sparring sessions and the like. Even so, the way Bucky moved felt unreal. It began with a pass of spinning leaps and leaping spins. He got higher than Sam had ever seen him jump before, except when he was intentionally trying to leap into a second story window. Sam knew the kind of core strength Bucky had, but watching him control his body as he spun in the air wasn't like watching him brace himself against a raging combatant or out of control truck. The intention, the power, the restraint over his own body, the way he was clearly giving up the freeform dance to something he seemed to know down in his bones-- It was an entirely new side of him.

The next leaps, where his legs extended out or tucked upwards also shifted the context of fighting moves and positions Sam knew. It wasn't a flying kick. It was lighter and, again, so much higher. He was so far from the ground. There was no tuck-and-roll landing, no instant bounce into the next attack. He landed from one leap, then lifted into another.

Nat spun a finger, just for Sam's benefit. He only had to wonder what was happening for a second before Bucky began to pirouette rapidly. The strands of his hair that had escaped the ponytail he had tucked against the nape of his neck flew around his face too, creating a halo. The tight pirouettes opened into broader spins, but they didn't stop. Around and around and around. Then he stopped suddenly, perfectly centered to them.

Nat quietly clapped and Bucky gave a half bow. "See, I knew you'd remember it. Any excuse to show off," she said.

Bucky wouldn't have let it go if Sam had said it, but now he just ducked his head a little and pulled her to her feet. "There was a lift in this one."

"There are many," she agreed.

It was Sam's turn to lean back on the balls of his hands, legs stretched in front of him. This little group they'd formed had filled a space in his life he wasn't aware he'd been missing. He liked the noise and chaos of the four of them, but he liked this too--being quiet, watching, but not feeling left out.

And it wasn't a bad view either.

"Do you remember the back to back one?" Bucky asked.

"I was always scared you'd drop me. Your arms were too big to wrap around."

"You did fine." There was a fondness to Bucky's voice. Not quite soft, but warm nonetheless.

They stepped away from each other, long gliding strides, then came back together in a series of leaps and spins. Bucky stopped first, his back to them, arms raised and curled like a body builder. Natasha leaned against him, back to back, and dropped her arms over his shoulders. Without shifting the way they were tangled, Bucky began to spin and Nat raised her feet enough not to hit the floor. After a few rotations, when Nat was just beginning to get air beneath her, the spinning stopped and they leaned against each other again.

Bucky's right shoulder had gone a little red from exertion or friction, but he was grinning as he spun around to face Nat again. "How high did you get?" he asked.

It made her laugh and Sam sank into the sounds of them chattering and leaping and spinning. From what he could glean, the show had a lot of pointe work, but also plenty of leaps for the male dancers too. The pirouette sequence from earlier made more sense. The ballet was heavy on the athleticism of the dancers. The chemistry before him, though, was not scripted.

"You should do the big lift with Sam," Nat suggested, after Bucky had thrown her halfway across the room and she'd landed as lightly as if she'd been stepping off a stair.

"I can't do a lift," Sam objected.

"It's only impressive to people who know ballet," Bucky said at the same time.

"Sam knows all about the human body. He'll be impressed," Nat insisted.

"Sam knows Thor. He won't be that impressed."

"Sam is sitting right here," Sam interrupted. "What's the big lift?"

Nat tiptoed over to pull Sam to his feet, her strength at odds with her outward delicacy, as always. "All you have to do is jump, like you're swandiving off a cliff's edge. Like your wings are gonna open behind you. Don't think about it."

Sam wanted to point out there was no edge here. If he leapt up in the air, he was more likely to twist an ankle and make a fool of himself than he would with the wings, 40 stories in the air.

"Engage your core," she added, spinning him to face the right direction. she patted his ass encouragingly ("You can do that again," he offered) and then took over his spot on the stacked mats.

Bucky looked as skeptical as Sam felt. In the low light of the gym, he was the perfect image of the brooding, conflicted main character. His calculating eyes moved from Sam to Nat and then back.

"Come on," he finally sighed, half waving a hand. "Let's get this over with."

The first time Sam had strapped on the wings and been told to stepped off a diving board, there had been no hesitation. He'd barely let them finish buckling him in before he was free falling. The first attempt had been so short. His stomach had gone out from under him, then the wings snapped open and wrenched him painfully upwards again. He hadn't even touched the inflatable down below.

He had far more reservations now. He was going to look like an idiot or make some noise that they'd never let him live down. But, he realized, this time it wasn't an inflatable below him. It was Bucky. Bucky, who would catch him. Or at least pad the fall.

"Alright," he breathed. He gave himself two skipping hops before he leapt into the air as high as he could. Core engaged.

Bucky caught him at the hip with only his right hand. It wasn't as sudden and painful as the wings. It was almost like he wasn't there at all. Sam thought he should still be falling.

Sam let out a breathless laugh, clutching at Bucky's forearm as Bucky held him aloft, elbow locked. It was like flying. Every strained muscle was engaged in a familiar way. Even as Bucky began to move, with elegant, sweeping steps, Sam stayed stable.

"It's more impressive when it's not a super soldier doing it," Nat laughed when Bucky had walked in full circle around the little space they'd created for themselves.

"Still pretty damn impressive," Sam said. Bucky tossed him up a little, enough to free his hand, then caught him again to help Sam land on his feet gently.

"What do you mean you don't dance," Nat asked, a teasing lilt to her voice. "To hear Steve tell it, you can cut a rug well enough."

"He said cut a rug?" Bucky asked with fond derision. "People still say that?"

"My parents said it all the time," Sam offered. "Especially with their friends."

"Don't make me feel even older."

Sam and Nat shot the same grin to each other. "My parents are younger than you," Sam dug in, just because he could. "But, yeah, I can cut a rug," he admitted with a casual shrug. "I love to dance. You know that isn't what I meant. You just wanted me to say that."

Nat shrugged casually back. "I'm just saying, I've never seen you dance."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever they call dancing now ain't dancing anyway," Bucky piped up.

"Oh, you think I mean that kind of dancing?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. "I didn't, but I can show you that, if you want." He held out his hand to Nat, who took it readily. "The best part is, with the right partner, you don't even need to practice."

Nat easily spun into his chest, letting him tug her close, his arms crossing over her chest. "But the practice helps," she added, trailing her hand down the side of his face over her shoulder.

"Do you two have a lot of practice together?" Bucky groused. He was pacing in a long arc around them, arm crossed, faced pinched. Like a petulant tiger.

"Oh, a bit," Nat sighed. "A good partner is hard to find."

Sam smiled into her hair. He dropped his hands to her hips, feeling her move and letting his hips follow. "Yeah, we got pretty lucky, huh?" he asked, then spun her around so they were forehead to forehead, chest to chest, hip to hip. She slid a thigh between his and hooked her fingers behind his neck to keep him close. Like Sam was about to go anywhere else.

"This is not dancing," Bucky grumbled, still pacing, still staring. It had unnerved Sam at first--the constant attention--but he'd gotten used to it. Look up from a bowl of cereal and find a glower in the dark of the hallway. Turn around from the laundry and straight into judgement or curiosity or interest depending on the day. In the field, it was nice to have an extra set of eyes on him. Someone would ask his location and Sam rarely had to answer anymore. There'd be Barnes, barking out a last known like the person was an idiot for losing him in the sky.

He liked it right now. He liked it a lot right now.

"Don't be so civil, James," Natasha scoffed. "It's so 1940."

"I'm not civil," Bucky answered from between his teeth. Sam wanted to know what was uncivil in that moment. What wanted to break through the boundaries he'd so stringently set for himself.

"Maybe you're just boring," Sam suggested, glancing over his shoulder. He meant for it to be light and teasing, but when he found Bucky's heavy, hungry gaze, he knew it was only reflecting his own. Boundaries broke like a dam, fissures breaking loose in his chest.

Nat turned his face back with two fingers on his jaw, leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth, had him opening up on instinct.

The damn broke.

Faster than Sam was expecting, Bucky was behind him, holding onto his hips tightly, long fingers sprawling across the taunt span of his lower belly. His face was pressed to the back of Sam's shoulder, the beginning of his neck, like he wasn't sure he could. Even though he had before, even though he knew Sam loved it.

Nat was grinning, so close their noses were almost brushing. "We do make great partners," she said.

"Well, I've got good taste," Sam agreed. "And you are definitely good taste."

Bucky made a noise--maybe a scoff or a grunt or a whine--but Sam couldn't decipher it. Didn't want to. Bucky was moving his hips in a familiar way. The dance was familiar. The man was familiar. And here they were meeting seamlessly.

Sam let go of Nat's waist to reach over his shoulder for Bucky's hair. "You're pretty good for someone who doesn't think this is dancing."

"It's not dancing," Bucky repeated. "I'm good at a lot of things that feel like this that aren't dancing."

"Prove it," Sam challenged with a sigh.

In a dark gym, tangled together, they did.