𝐒𝐀𝐌 & 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 : 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔

31; 21 Guns

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Fingertips traced over the blindfold, sliding under the fabric to trace his face. Bucky sucked in a deep breath as light entered his vision. The cloth fell to the ground and he blinked a couple times. Sam was blurry, even after three full blinks, but he was there.

He was right there.

Bucky was brought back to reality as two hands grasped him by his cheeks. A thumb rolled along his teary cheeks, wiping away the hot tears. The sooner they were gone, the sooner they could both feel some relief.

Bucky felt his eyes start to focus; like a camera capturing a clear image of it's subject. He was a beautiful subject. Sam. Maybe in another life, him and his lover were together. Living peacefully. No supervillains, no mind control, and no Russian spies. Bucky would have a shitty camera, and he'd take pictures of their best moments together. Memories, printed out and made pocket sized so he could lay them out like little stories when they were both old and tired.

Polaroids would turn into home movies on VHS tapes. They'd have all their best moments documented. Maybe, even, a couple children running around, putting their grubby hands all over their photographs...

" It's okay," Sam promised.

It was an empty promise. He didn't know if they would get out of this alive.

He knew one thing; he'd die before he let anything else hurt his lover.

" Is it?'

" I don't know."

Sam's voice didn't sound calm anymore. He was looking at the rope engulfing Bucky, searching for the weak points. It's what he did best. Sam wasn't sure if he was trained that way, or if it was a natural talent.

Maybe it was both.

He stood up, keeping a hand on Bucky, stroking his skin. A crack spilled through the air, and Sam tried not to groan. His knees were aching and his head was pounding but it didn't matter. Sam could have a gaping wound and none of it would matter. Hell, a couple limbs missing was no problem either. No. Bucky needed him.

His sweet boy needed him.

Sam reached up. His hands followed the ropes up, where they were hanging. He found it. The weak point. One tug and the whole structure fell apart, intricate knots coming down to the floor, leaving Bucky in a sea of rope.

Both men shared a sign of relief.

Bucky Barnes was shaking like a leaf. He was on his knees, muscles screwing themselves into hard knots. Shoulders weighed heavy and he lolled forward, hands catching him from smacking into the concrete. Brown locks fell over his eyes, head sunk like he couldn't keep it up.

Sam looked around for their escape.

His breath was quickening and his throat was tight; something was off. There was nothing around them. It was like a lot of darkness, with one dim light over them. He leaned down, tilting Bucky's head up, pushing strands of hair behind his ear; "we're almost out."

Bucky nodded. He gathered himself and started to stand, with his lovers help.

Before they could do anything else, there was a soft hum, the kind you heard on the intercom before school started. Usually it was principle, listing off useless information. A voice boomed from a speakers hidden around them. It was a familiar voice..

"longing,"

A pause.

Bucky felt horror crawl up his body, and he turned his head to look at Sam, brows furrowed. He knew, deep down, the winter soldier was gone.