longing. [sambucky]

𝟑: stop. talking.

Bucky was glad the truck had showed before he'd confessed- come out- to Sam. He didn't know whether he'd have managed to get the words out. The ride, with John Walker's ugly face opposite him, was torture but better than revealing himself as vulnerable to Sam. After two minutes of sitting in the back of the truck with Walker and his sidekick friend, Bucky knew he didn't just dislike the man but hated him. John was sat there clutching that red, white and blue shield in his hands like it was a holy relic only he was allowed to touch. His furrowed brow and darting eyes suggested he was worried Bucky or Sam would snatch it out of his hands. Bucky wished Sam would.

This guy had no value to Bucky. Holding the shield didn't make him Captain America. The shield belonged to people who worked hard for it, people with worth.

Worthiness lived in good men. Men like Sam Wilson. He deserved the shield, just like Isaiah had deserved one in 1951. The reason why Sam gave it up wasn't hard to guess; Sam didn't think America was ready for a black Captain America. Well they weren't ready for Isaiah, so maybe they still weren't ready for it now. But it wasn't about what the government wanted. Sam would carry that shield for the people. Something that John Walker was not capable of doing.

"You hacked my tech?" Sam asked.

His eyes were wide and he had an adorable mix of an impressed and furious expression on his face.

"It's not exactly hacking," John Walker argued. "It's government property. I'm kind of government."

Of course he was, the very same lying government that had told Sam to give back the shield, only to give it away to some ugly, blue-eyed, blond, Steve-wannabe. To some stranger. Bucky narrowed his eyes, staring at John with a cold expression.

"Does he always just stare like that?" John chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bucky felt Sam move closer to him, only slightly, subtly pressing his thigh against Bucky's. It was warm but firm and Bucky's shoulders instantly relaxed. He lowered his stare.

"You get used to it," Sam said, briefly patting Bucky's thigh.

The conversation was awkward. But Bucky didn't glare or say anything rude, because Sam's leg was still touching his, relaxing him. The ride only lasted for a short while longer because Bucky couldn't bare to stay when he heard that John Walker's best friend called himself 'Battlescar.' These were children acting like life was an action film or comic book. These were actual children.

Bucky shouted at the driver to stop the truck and jumped off the back of it, temporarily missing Sam's warmth beside him as he walked away.

John was talking and Bucky was ignoring.

"I get it, Bucky," John called. "I'm-I'm not trying to be Steve. I'm not trying to replace Steve."

He kept walking, Sam stayed behind for a short while, being the mature one, but he soon followed Bucky down the lane. They fell into a rhythm of walking beside each other again.

"You didn't have to get off," Bucky said, he didn't even know the reason Sam had gone after him.

Were they a team now?

"You think I wanted to stay with them?" Sam scoffed.

"You hate me and I hate you so I don't know why you're still here."

Sam furrowed his brow, silent for a moment until he spoke again, "I'm not going anywhere, Buck, so stop trying to push me away."

Chewing the inside of his cheek, Bucky nodded. His shortened nickname on Sam's lips sounded so natural that he couldn't bring himself to complain.

"You didn't finish what you were saying, before," Sam said and Bucky's heart pounded in his chest.

"I can't remember what I was saying."
Sam narrowed his eyes as he looked Bucky over, clearly not believing him.

"Listen..." Sam let out a heavy sigh. "When I said Steve was your sweetheart, I was just joking. When I make jokes like that- gay jokes- don't take them seriously. If it really offends you then I'll-"

Bucky didn't think before he moved, cupping his metal hand over Sam's mouth hard and shoving him against some rusty bus stop sign. Their chests were flush together and Bucky could feel the warmth even through their tactical gear.

Lowering his hand from Sam's mouth, Bucky's eyes drifted down to his lips for the second time that day.

"Stop. Talking."

Sam swallowed, eyes hard and focused on Bucky's.

"What are you thinking? Those gears, they're still turning," Sam whispered.

A shiver went down Bucky's spine upon hearing Sam's deep voice up close, he bit his bottom lip so hard he thought it might bleed.

It was a invitation from Sam to be honest with him. For a moment, Bucky thought he'd just let the truth out and tell Sam of all the feelings he'd been repressing for years. How he'd been too scared to do anything about it. Too scared to even kiss a guy. But he didn't. He'd pushed it down for so long, he could carry on for longer. Perhaps he'd never tell another soul in his life.

"I'm thinking that... it's getting dark. We should get to the airport," Bucky answered at last, looking up at the sky that was now tinted with oranges and yellows.

He glanced back down and saw Sam, still pressed against the bus stop, his face was practically glowing in the evening light and his dark eyes were glossy and twinkling, lips parted ever so slightly.

"Okay, Buck," Sam sighed in defeat, standing upright and patting him on the arm before walking again.

The brief touch sent sparks of electricity down Bucky's arm. He didn't even want to imagine how good he'd feel if he got to be closer to Sam. Which would never happen. But, oh, how he longed for it.

Oh wait, Bucky was meant to hate this guy.

God, he was so screwed.