longing. [sambucky]

𝟏𝟏: awake

The hint of sunset spread out across the horizon at first, slowly rising in oranges and pinks until the whole sky was singing with colour. Due to the clear sea surrounding the pier, reflections of the sky sat upon water that Sam watched. It was peaceful now everybody had gone home and the movement on the water was limited to gentle ripples.

Sam's feet dangled off the edge of the pier, occasionally touching the surface of the water. He could see his own face looking back at him, acknowledging his droopy, red eyes and the ache in his back, his shoulders, his muscles. For a moment, all he could think about was the fact Steve Rogers would never feel such exhaustion. Of course, Sam didn't have the serum, but neither did John Walker and he was stronger than Sam. He didn't think Walker would be tired from a day of merely fixing a boat.

Sam fiddled with his hands in his lap, feeling his heart sink at the thought- the truth- that he'd never be fit to be Captain America. He wasn't fit for America's standards and he didn't bare enough strength for the job.

Jolting him out of his self-pitying spiral was a face he spotted in the corner of his eye. Bucky Barnes in the reflection of the water, looking down at Sam with a concerned furrow to his brow.

Sam's head turned to look at him. His hair looked lighter recently, perhaps it was the sun. Something as mundane as the sun lightening Bucky's hair made Sam's stomach flip, even before he focused on his blue eyes, like pools of fresh spring water.

Bucky didn't say anything as he knelt down, a few metres away from Sam. He hanged his legs over the wood of the pier, mirroring Sam's position. He looked down at the water, studying it with parted lips, clearly trying to figure out why Sam had been so mesmerised by it.

"You tired?" Sam asked, unsure of what else to say but beating himself up for choosing such a dumb question.

He used to ask Steve the same question after fights, forgetting he rarely got worn out. Bucky was bound to be the same.

"Tired..." Bucky muttered, shaking his head slightly. "Stupid word."

Sam raised a brow, watching as Bucky looked away from the water, eyes landing on the hand of his metal arm where he picked at the glistening plates.

"Oh?"
Bucky pressed his lips together and shrugged.

"I can't remember... not feeling tired," Bucky admitted.

Lifting his gaze to Bucky's face, Sam hummed in acknowledgement. He thought of his own life. Childhood; growing up in the South as a black guy, Riley, war, meeting Steve and all the chaos that followed.

"I can't remember not feeling tired, either," Sam said.

His voice was quiet, almost speaking in a whisper. Sam hadn't opened up to Bucky before, it felt oddly freeing. Especially knowing that, to some extent, Bucky could relate to him.

Silence spread between them. It wasn't heavy, but relaxing. As relaxing as something could be to two ex-soldiers suffering with different kinds of trauma. It was as if the silence was what brought them together. The space, the quiet between them was something so special. Sam had never met a person he could sit doing nothing with, but feel so close to. Silence was a significant part of Sam and Bucky's communication, they rarely needed words.

"Steve made me feel awake," Bucky said.

He didn't really continue conversations if they weren't absolutely necessary and he didn't have a point. And Bucky hated talking about Steve. Sam realised whatever he was going to say would be important.

"And- well, I suppose I lied when I said I always feel tired. Because I sort of don't anymore. Because- I- you," Bucky stuttered, the apples of his cheeks were turning pink like the sunset. "Steve made me feel awake. But you make me feel awake too."

A bird flew above them, singing beautifully to high heaven and Sam glanced at the colours of the sky dancing on the water, repeating Bucky's words over and over again in his head... Sam felt like perhaps he was in some kind of perfect dream, until Bucky ducked his head and shook it, cursing at himself.

"I didn't mean that," Bucky hissed, though the anger that laced his tone seemed more aimed at himself than Sam.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh with a roll of his eyes. It may have been insensitive, but Bucky's internalised hatred for his sexuality was growing irritating.

"What if you did mean it?" Sam deadpanned.

"Then I wouldn't be admitting it outloud," Bucky answered.

"Why?"

"Because you hate me."

"Jesus, Barnes," Sam chuckled, shuffling over to Bucky like he had wanted to do since he'd sat down. "You didn't ever really believe that, did you?"

"No. Yes," Bucky said, he kept his head down. "I wanted to believe it."

Sam squinted in confusion, trying to ignore the bubbling excitement in his chest at the feeling on Bucky's leg against his and their brushing shoulders.

Lifting his head slowly, as if it weighed tons, Bucky stared at Sam. He was meeting his eyes, those blue pools staring into his soul. Sam didn't ever want to look away.

"If I believed you hated me, everything would be easier," Bucky whispered.

"Because I don't want to go through it all again. I still can't do this."

Sam thought back to when Bucky had said that for the first time, on the night they'd sharing a bed, the morning Bucky had cried in his lap while Sam stroked his hair. He remembered that when Bucky said it, he thought he meant he couldn't be with Sam because he still loved Steve, that he would always love Steve. But, given Bucky's clenched fists and the way his teeth were digging painfully into his bottom lip, Sam realised that it wasn't that at all. Bucky was holding back, he wouldn't let himself love again. That was what he 'couldn't do.'

"You can," Sam whispered back, his hand coming up to rest on the side of Bucky's neck without much thought.

He felt the way Bucky's breath caught in his throat, watched the way his pupils dilated.

"I can't," Bucky gasped, even as he said it he moved closer.

"You can, Buck," Sam begged. "Please. Just let yourself have it. Stop holding back."

Sam's hand found Bucky's metal one, he pried it away from where Bucky was scratching at his leg through the material of his jeans. He was hurting himself for wanting Sam.

"Sam..." Bucky whispered, voice cracking in his throat as Sam lifted his hand up, placing it on his own cheek.

He linked his fingers with Bucky's metal ones.

"I've got you, Barnes," Sam nodded, closing the distance until their foreheads touched. "I've always got you."