longing. [sambucky]

𝟏𝟗: tonight

The temperature was gradually decreasing to something more bearable than the scorching Italian heat that left Sam and Bucky inside their rented flat, unable to do much else. They could have probably afforded somewhere more expensive, but Sam didn't want to overwhelm Bucky. After all, he was travelling to see the world for himself and sugar-coating it with golden doorknobs, velvet curtains and swimming pools wouldn't allow him to experience the true nature of a place.

Sam believed somewhere like Italy was to be experienced in the small villages, where Italians lived. Somehwere where the divide between poor and rich was evident, because why stay in some overly-americanised hotel when they could do that back in New York? It was better to experience everything: the cobbled streets and cathedrals as well as the back streets, the cheap bars, the family-run businesses and the fields of oranges and lemons where the poorer people worked.

Sam hadn't explained this all to Bucky, but suspected he'd got the jist.

The incident on the kitchen floor left something peculiar lingering in the air, a sense of familiarity and comfort between Sam and Bucky that didn't need to be justified with words. Sam supposed it had always been like that with them, Bucky told him that was what made Sam different. At first, he hadn't quite understood what Bucky meant by that but after a long-winded explanation with Bucky's endless blushing and stuttering, he told Sam how Bucky used to try and communicate with Steve.

He used to try and send signal across the room, loving smiles and lingering touches, but Steve's response was always radio silence. As if Steve and Bucky didn't, and never had, spoken the same language as each other. Bucky had all this love and affection that he had been trying to give to Steve, the sad reality was that he was effectively trying to communicate with a brick wall. Sam, Bucky said, was different. They were on the same wavelength, aside from their occasional miscommunication. The signals Bucky sent to Sam were understood and he sent them right back.

"It's never been like this for me before," Bucky said, one muggy afternoon when they sat out on the fire escape, cradling cool glasses of water like they were something precious.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning... requited feelings," Bucky muttered.

Sam bit back a teasing smile, nudging the brunette's knee softly.

"Bold of you to assume this is requited," Sam raised a brow.

Bucky rolled his eyes, head lolling to rest against the pale, off-white wall of the outside flat. He had a funny little smile playing on his lips, one that grew brighter as he placed his glass down, the ice clanking softly against the sides with a somewhat melodic sound. Or perhaps Sam was simply romantisizing everything.

"So... Bi?" Bucky asked.

"Do I have to explain-"

"Nope," Bucky popped the 'p' with a smug grin. "Bi, meaning two. Like a bicycle has two wheels. So it means you are attracted to two genders, I presume?"

He imagined that if Bucky had been born into Sam's generation, or even this general era, he'd be one of those annoying smart kids that skipped a year because they were too smart and already knew everything. Sam surprised himself, considering Bucky in high school had his heart pounding a bit, because he'd definitely be a teenage heart throb, like the countless jocks Sam had always admired from a distance during his own years in education.

"Yeah," Sam smiled, despite himself. "I mean, women are usually my go-to. But I think that's something to do with heteronormative standards. Either that or boobs."

Bucky's nose twitched as he comically winced. Sam threw his head back laughing like a little kid, eyes crinkling as he held his chest to try and slow his laughs.

"Never bedded a lady, then?" Sam's giggles lingered as he finished his glass of water.

"No," Bucky pouted, taking a sip of his drink as his eyes darted aside.

The thought of Bucky bedding anyone had Sam's mind reeling. It made him consider what Bucky was like, how he liked it... It wasn't that he'd never thought of Bucky that way before, because he had, it was the daunting fact that, without trying to be too presumptuous, there was a possibility he'd get to see Bucky like that himself.

"When was the last time you got laid?" Sam asked bluntly.

He tried to sound casual rather than curious, speaking how he would if he'd asked Steve or another male friend the very same question. Though Sam suspected his voice had wavered when asking Bucky. Bucky with the pale expanse of his neck exposed as he swallowed... well, tried to. He started choking upon hearing Sam's question.

"Sorry?!" Bucky squeaked, nearly spilling the water from his glass.

"You heard me," Sam raised a brow suspiciously at Bucky's response.

"Jeez, could ask me on a date first, Wilson," Bucky laughed awkwardly.

Sam wasn't sure if Bucky, for some odd reason, was trying to dodge the question or whether he was subtlely reminding Sam of his promise from a few days ago.

Either way, the matter was dropped.

"I actually already asked you on a date," Sam smirked.

The predictable blush crawled up Bucky's neck, tinting his lightly freckled cheeks that had a faint sun-kissed glow thanks to the Italian sun.

"That wasn't a joke?"

"No. Tonight," Sam replied.

"Tonight?" Bucky asked anxiously, voice going up an octave.

God, he was so fucking cute, Sam couldn't help but think.

"Yeah," Sam stood up, taking his empty glass with him. Before he went back inside, he shot a smirk over his shoulder at Bucky. "Dress code is formal."

Sam could see the cogs turning in Bucky's mind. He was undoubtedly trying to think of what he would wear, or wondering where the hell Sam would even take him. Well, Sam had his surprises, and he hoped Bucky wouldn't be too opposed to them.