longing. [sambucky]

𝟕: lay next to me

The bed was a double. At least it was intended to be. It was not often that two fully grown men shared beds. Or perhaps it did happen often, and Bucky just wasn't aware of it. The fact same-sex couples were allowed now still baffled Bucky... Even so, most of the time it wouldn't be a supersoldier and a very well-built man bed-sharing.

Bucky was so close to the edge that he could feel himself slipping off. Sam hadn't even got on the bed yet, Bucky just lay there fully-clothed on top of the covers, waiting for Sam. He was the one who'd suggested it, after all. Much to Bucky's surprise. He'd actually suspected Sam would try to get another room after Bucky had told him about his old feelings for Steve. After Bucky had told him the truth about his sexuality. Though, Bucky hadn't specified anything.

"I don't need that much space," Sam said, pointing at the bed.

"Right."

Bucky shuffled over by a few centimetres. Possibly less. Sam let out a huff of amusement at the abundance of space Bucky had left him.

"You calling me fat?"

"No! I-" Bucky stood up straight, face flushed. "This is stupid. I won't sleep anyway."

Sam's eyes softened, as did his voice.
"No, Buck. Lie down," he insisted, gesturing at the bed.

If it was anybody else Bucky would snap and tell them to stop bossing him around. But it was Sam.

"Can you get on it first?" Bucky whispered, eyes on the ground.

Sam didn't hesitate before he sat on the bed, shuffling up to rest against the headboard where he patted his thighs, then pointed to the space beside him. Bucky glared at the worn pillows and the hideous flower pattern on the duvet cover. He eventually sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from Sam. He still couldn't believe Sam had agreed to this, no, he'd even asked for this, he was the one who'd suggested it.

"Gears turning," Sam sang teasingly.
"Shut up."

Bucky turned, slowly, pulling his legs up onto the bed and laying down. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to focus on the sounds of the motel room. But all he could hear was his own rapid breathing.

He chewed his lip hard, his hands that had rested by his sides were now digging into his thighs, causing a pleasant sting of pain. Sam was silent so Bucky assumed his thoughts had gone elsewhere, that Sam wasn't paying attention to him and that he was going to sleep sitting upright in order to avoid being any closer to Bucky. He was wrong.

"Have you told your therapist about that?" Sam asked softly, always softly.

He really was terrible at hating Bucky.
Bucky loosened the painful grip he had on his thighs. He swallowed.

"About what?"

Bucky didn't have to look up to know Sam was rolling his eyes. His new talent of knowing what Sam Wilson was thinking had progressed, he didn't even need to see his face to assume his thoughts. He knew exactly how aware Sam was, how he responded to situations. Bucky had probably spent an unhealthy amount of time in the past few months studying Sam. He couldn't help himself. And right now, Bucky knew Sam was worried.

"Hurting yourself? You dig your nails into your legs. I've seen you do it loads."

"Don't be dramatic," Bucky laughed.

Sam let out a long sigh, rolling over to switch the beside lamp off because he realised Bucky didn't want to continue with the conversation.

He had his arms crossed tightly against his chest. What Sam was implying was incorrect, Bucky just needed a little pain to concentrate or calm himself down sometimes. It wasn't anything serious.
Bucky opened his eyes and they focused on the dark room, everything was still visible with his supersoldier eyesight. He felt the familiar twist of guilt in his stomach because the second he knew Sam and he were to share a room, he knew he wouldn't be able to help himself.

Bucky shifted as quietly as he could, tilting his head up to look at where Sam was leant against the headboard, chin on his chest. It didn't look very comfortable but his eyes were closed over and Bucky didn't want to disturb him. Not when he looked so peaceful, with his dark lashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones and his lips that were pulled into a pout.
Using his hands as a pillow, Bucky watched Sam breathing softly. Alive. Here. With him. Accepting him, trusting him. He could have been staring for hours.

Bucky felt his heart race when there was a sudden movement; Sam's eyes flickered open. Sam couldn't see in the dark but he squinted in Bucky's general direction. Bucky squeezed his eyes tightly shut, fearing he'd been caught staring.

Then Sam shuffled down, onto the bed properly. His head rested on the pillow beside Bucky. He was so close, Bucky could feel his warm breath that smelt like something sweet and cheap toothpaste.

Biting his lip, Bucky dared to move closer. He hadn't registered how close he was until he realised Sam's nose was brushing his. Bucky was paralysed. That innocent touch sent sparks through him, just a little shift closer and their lips could be brushing...

The world stopped spinning on it's axis when Sam pressed his forehead against Bucky's. The touch was intentional, whether Sam was half-asleep or wide awake. It was intended. He wanted to be closer to Bucky.

His breath caught in his throat at the overwhelming sensations: Bucky's curls tickling Sam's forehead, their breaths mingling, sharing each other's warmth. In that moment Bucky didn't think he'd ever felt so close to a person. Nothing could compare to it; the way Bucky's heart was beating like a drum against his ribcage, his forehead pressed against Sam's and... and Sam's hand reaching up, brushing the sensitive skin of his neck and cupping the back of it.

His fingers threaded through the short hair at the back of Bucky's head. Sam wasn't half-asleep. Sam was wide awake, aware, trusting.

They didn't speak, they didn't need to. Bucky would never speak again if it meant he got this kind of communication, this closeness. His mind was empty for the first time and with his eyes closed, wrapped up in Sam's beautiful, gentle touch, Bucky could finally sleep.