#call me a snowflake and im aware times were different I just think the writers should have been eaten

[ferdieinceladoncity]

the epic highs [detour] and the epic lows [post-modern prometheus] of the x files :) Like fr though. 'What if there was a rapist but hear me out!! What if he was kind of like a funny guy? Like a silly guy?" dude this plot was barely salvageable the FIRST time you did it (small potatoes) let's not DO that again

[stormyoceansmain]

[im very much NOT a writer - i cannot stress this enough - but i truly mean it when i say sambucky is making me go insane. i find no other explanation for ending up writing 3.8k words of sambucky, alpine, and movie night. thank you if you decide to read this, i hope it's not too terrible]

Sam shows up at Bucky’s place for movie night with a case full of beers and ten minutes to spare.

Sarah makes fun of him for this Friday tradition they’ve been carrying out for the past few months, says he should just muster the courage to ask Bucky out on a proper date already. It doesn't matter how many times Sam told her he is just helping Bucky catch up to the 21st century, she always ends up giving him that Look that says she's not believing any words coming out of his mouth, which is kind of unfair, if you ask Sam.

Well, fine, maybe Sarah is right. Maybe Sam does want to take Bucky out on an actual date and hold his hand and kiss him goodnight and do all those sickeningly romantic stuff he used to daydream about when he was 16. Turns out former assassins who are incredibly annoying but also surprisingly kind are very much Sam's type. Go figure.

Still, they worked hard to reach the kind of friendship they currently have, and Sam doesn't want to lose that. He's also not blind to the way Bucky flirts with Sarah, and despite her insistence that Bucky does it more to rile Sam up than for any real interest in her, he’s not about to risk it all on a whim.

This resolution almost crumbles into dust a moment later, when Bucky opens the door wearing sweatpants and a blue shirt that matches his eyes. He is barefoot and his hair is getting longer, losing the harsh edges of the cut and curling slightly behind his ears. He is still all chiseled jawline and defined muscles, but he looks softer, more comfortable in his own skin, and the easy way he smiles at Sam makes a heavy warmth pool around Sam’s stomach.

“Hey,” Bucky greets him, sliding his metal arm around Sam's shoulders to pull him into a brief hug.

This, too, is something of a novelty. There's always been a sort of intense physicality about Bucky, both in how he carries himself and in how he is always aware of the bodies moving around him, but the casual affection, the playful abandon with which he touches and lets others touch him these days, feels like a wonder. Sam would have never expected it, and he had come to love and hate it at the same time.

“Hey yourself,” Sam greets back, splaying his free hand across Bucky's back, allowing himself to hold him there and breathe him in for a second, a fresh lemony smell coming off his hair, before giving him a quick pat on the shoulder and putting a respectable amount of space between them.

He buries his hands deep into the pocket of his jacket and follows Bucky inside, trying to resist the urge to slide his fingers under the hem of Bucky's shirt and feel the warm skin underneath it.

It's the first time Sam steps into Bucky’s apartment since Bucky took home the stray kitten he found on the side of the road three weeks ago, and the changes around it are staggering. Sam was used to empty spaces and few, essential furniture, but now the space in front of the window is occupied by a giant cat tower, and lots of smaller scratching posts are scattered all over the living room, along with different kinds of cat beds and toys.

“I see you redecorated,” Sam says with a grin.

Bucky shrugs, opening two of the beer bottles with a quick twist of his metal hand. “Cats need stuff.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I'm glad.” Sam grabs one of the bottle and clinks it against Bucky's. “Pets are great company and the place looks much better like this. I wouldn't have pinned you down as the crazy cat lady type, but it's always better than Robocop.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his beer. Sam catches the smile he is trying to hide anyway.

Sam knocks their shoulders together, asks, “So where is she?”

“Hiding, probably,” Bucky says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “She doesn't like strangers.”

Sam stops with the beer halfway to his mouth. “Excuse you,” he exclaims, outraged. “I very clearly remember accompanying you to the vet the first time you brought her in. I also sacrificed two of my shirts for her and have scars on my forearms where she scratched me to death. I think I deserve more than being considered a stranger. We basically co-parented that cat for the first few days!”

“That's nice,” Bucky deadpans. “Why don't you go tell her that? I'm sure the speech will convince her to keep the claws to herself.”

Sam glares at him and Bucky pats him on the arm. “Just relax,” he adds, turning to open the fridge and taking foods out for dinner. “If we let her be, Alpine will come out eventually.”

Bucky is right, of course. Sam had a few experiences with strays growing up, cats and dogs alike looking for shelter from Louisiana's storms under their porch, and no amount of treats he and Sarah tried to give them had been able to lure them out from their hiding spot. The best course of action in these cases was to wait, letting them come out when they felt safe enough.

It still weirdly feels like a rejection of some sort, but he tries not to let it show.

Sam takes a swig from his beer and asks, “Alpine?”

Bucky turns on the stove and shrugs again. He remains silent for a moment, a distant look on his face that Sam has learned to associate to memories better buried and forgotten. He is about to start telling Bucky about the science fair at the boys' school to change the subject, when Bucky speaks again, low and careful.

“She reminds me of the snow on the Alps.”

He doesn't elaborate on that, but Sam nods anyway, like he understands. He doesn't, like Bucky will never be able to fully understand what it means for Sam to carry the shield, but it's okay. They have each other, and that's still something.

Sam taps his foot against Bucky's bare one, watches Bucky's entire being exhale and relax. “Couldn't you have named her Snowflakes or something like that?”

Bucky levels him with a stare that tells him he would rather jump off another plane rather than calling his cat ‘Snowflakes’, and Sam laughs.

The far off look in Bucky’s eyes melts away and they fall into an easy rhythm, Sam sitting at the kitchen table and talking about some renovations he and Sarah would like to do to the house, Bucky cutting the vegetables to sauté.

They have moved on to argue about the best way to season chicken breasts – you cannot leave cayenne pepper out of the spice blend – when Sam catches a flash of white out of the corner of his eyes, and interrupts himself mid-rant.

A second later, Alpine jumps on the kitchen counter, sniffing the air.

It's been only three weeks since Sam last saw her, but she's already grown a lot, and looks much better too: her fur is shiny and clean, her eyes bright, and the slight sprain that caused her to limp around seems to be completely healed.

Alpine lets out a soft chirping sound and headbutts Bucky's arm, rubbing her head against him.

The smile Bucky turns to her is blinding, and Sam has to look away before he ends up doing something stupid, like climb over the table and kiss him.

“I know you're here for the chicken,” Bucky tells her, scratching her behind the ears. “But you can't eat this one.”

He scoops her up with a single hand, ignoring the disapproving meow that follows, and deposits her on the table right next to Sam's arm. Sam freezes, unprepared for the sudden proximity and recalling how quickly she can turn around and scratch, but as soon as Bucky's hand retreats, she is moving away, giving Sam a wide berth. She doesn't go back into hiding, though, just settles on the corner farther away from him and stares him down in a way that reminds him so much of Bucky, Sam doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry.

He is also struck by the sudden need to make Alpine like him.

“Is she gonna maul me if I try to give her a treat?” Sam asks.

Bucky tilts his head, considering, which does very little to reassure Sam about the safety of his fingers.

“I wouldn’t try hand-feeding her,” Bucky answers, fishing out a bag of treats from one of the cupboards. “But she likes to chase them.”

Alpine observes with quiet intensity as Bucky dumps a few treats into Sam's hands, and when Sam tosses one a few feet away she jumps down the table and runs after it, grabs it with a paw.

“Alright,” Sam declares, “that's pretty cute.”

Sam spends the next few minutes throwing treats at Alpine, inching them closer and closer to himself to test how willing she is to get near him with the proper incentive. The last one he places right in front of his feet, then he sits back and waits. Alpine hesitates, eyes flitting between him and the treat as to evaluate if it's safe enough, until finally she starts to move, slowly, slowly. She gets close enough to stretch her paw out, pull the treat towards herself and take it out of reach to eat somewhere else. Sam still takes it as a win.

Bucky clears his throat and announces that dinner is ready, so Sam leaves Alpine alone and helps him set the table.

Dinner is nice. Bucky makes a glazed chicken with honey and garlic that it's to die for, which Sam finds utterly unfair, considering he comes from a time where spices were believed to be a menace to the public.

He still goes back for seconds, and by the time they move to the living room to watch the movie, Sam feels full and content.

He finds Alpine curled up on one end of the couch, and while he believes they made some progress in their relationship, he doesn’t think either of them is ready to bring it to the next level, so he takes the seat on the other side, careful not to disturb her.

Bucky doesn’t say anything about it, just flops down between Sam and the cat with ease, his knee bumping into Sam’s.

This week they are watching the second movie in The Hobbit trilogy, if only for the horrified look in Bucky’s face when Sam told him that not only they made a movie out of the book, but that they actually managed to stretch it into three. Bucky, it turns out, is one of those people who notices every little changes from the original material, disapproves of them on principle, and is very vocal about his displeasure, exactly like the old man he actually is.

Sam had almost fell off the couch laughing during the first movie, and it had taken him a while to convince Bucky to give the other two a chance. Maybe it was a little assholey of him, knowing that it only gets worse, but just because he likes the guy it doesn’t mean Sam doesn’t want to subject him to some bad cinema for his own entertainment. After all, that’s what friends are for.

It doesn't take long for the comments to start up again. Bucky holds up for thirty minutes, rolling his eyes and grumbling under his breath from time to time, but then Legolas and Tauriel show up and Bucky turns his head to look at Sam, face completely blank, says, “Who the fuck are these people.”

Sam bursts out laughing, and it only gets worse when they reach the scene between Kili and Tauriel in the Woodland Realm: Bucky throws his hands up, exclaims, “Oh, come on,” and starts complaining about how they made the dwarf hot just to add a romance. It has Sam in stitches, and he has to grab onto Bucky's shoulder to stay upright and not end up falling into Bucky's lap.

The tirade ends with Bucky sulking and shaking his head, and Sam is glad for the temporary reprieve just so he can catch his breath. He feels flushed and warm, cheeks hurting from smiling, and the quiet is comfortable, familiar.

After a while, his eyes grow heavy, and he realizes he nodded off only when a light weight sets on his shoulder, jerking him awake.

The movie has ended, screen back on the Netflix title page, and Bucky fell asleep as well, head drooping until it had come to rest against Sam’s body.

The metal arm is glinting gold and blue in the light, and Sam stares down at it, then up at the lines of Bucky’s face, the soft waves of his hair. It always surprises him how vulnerable Bucky looks like this, how younger, and it’s so hard to remember there was a time Sam had actually been scared of him, of what he could do. Now, he would trust Bucky with anything. His life, his family, his home. His heart, too, if Bucky ever wanted it.

Sam knows he should wake him up, send him to bed so he can sleep comfortably there while Sam stretches out on the couch, but he also knows that Bucky still has trouble sleeping sometimes, and Sam doesn't have the heart to wake him up if it isn't really necessary. He’s well aware it's also a little bit selfish, because it's nice, having Bucky this close, warm and solid and smelling of lemon.

Sam takes a deep breath and rests his head on top of Bucky's. He thought he could handle this thing he has for Bucky, keep it under control, but he’s starting to realize he might have actually underestimated the size of his own feelings, which could become a serious problem in the future.

For now, though, Sam closes his eyes and lets himself have this.

The next time Sam wakes up, it's to something walking all over him. He blinks against the sudden light and when his vision clears, he finds Alpine sitting on his lap.

Sam stares at her, wondering for a moment if he is still asleep and dreaming all of this up, but his neck is sore, his arm heavy from Bucky resting against it in his sleep; there’s the beginning of a headache pulsing behind is eyes, and a pressure in his bladder telling him he should probably get up.

Alpine sniffs at his shirt and Sam tentatively raises his free hand, strokes a finger between her ears. She leans into the touch, head tilting up and guiding Sam's hand under her chin. Sam tries really hard not to shriek with delight.

“Oh, you're a sweetheart,” he says, a grin spreading out across his face. “Just like your owner. All tough and fierce on the outside, but adorable and charming on the inside.”

Alpine meows back at him, like she agrees with that statement, and Sam tenses up, glances at the steady rise and fall of Bucky's chest.

“We gotta be quiet,” he tells Alpine, petting her down her side. “We don't want to wake him up.”

“I'm already awake,” comes Bucky's voice next to him.

Sam's entire body jerks in surprise, and Alpine leaps off him, startled.

“Man, don't you do that ever again,” Sam says, a hand placed over his chest. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Bucky hums, sounding way more amused than he has any right to be, and sits up.

Blood rushes back into Sam's arm, and while Sam is glad to start feeling it again, he's already mourning the loss of contact between them. Except Bucky doesn't go far, just adjusts his position to angle his body towards Sam and rest his head on the back of the couch. It's easier to look at each other, like this, but they are now so close that Bucky's soft breaths are hitting the exposed line of skin above Sam's shirt, the hollow of his neck, making him shiver.

“So,” Bucky says, dragging the word out, lips tilting up at the corner. “I'm adorable and charming?”

Shit.

Of course Bucky would hear that, that's just Sam's luck. God, he is never going to speak again. He will take a vow of silence like in one of those monastic orders and move some place far and secluded where he won't be able to embarrass himself anymore.

He swallows, makes himself let out a laugh. It's meant to be mocking, but it sounds more nervous than anything else. “I think old age is making you hear things,” Sam still tries to deflect, “I clearly said annoying and self-centered.”

Bucky jabs him in the side with a metal finger. “Nice try, Samuel,” Bucky says, grinning widely. “But I've been told I'm a sweetheart.”

Sam's cheeks heat up. “I was talking about Alpine!”

He wonders if maybe T'Challa would let him hide in Wakanda for a while, just long enough for Sam to regain some kind of dignity. He hopes against all hopes that Bucky will have mercy of him and drop the subject, but of course Bucky doesn't. Sam wouldn't either, if their roles were switched.

“You said she is like her owner,” Bucky points pout, eyes bright and so very blue. He pokes Sam in the ribs again. “Which means, you think I’m a sweetheart, too.”

Sam bats his hand away. He may have embarrassed himself and he's lucky if he ends up this night without Bucky realizing Sam has feelings for him, but he is Captain frigging America. If he has to go down, he will go down fighting.

“What you are, it’s a nuisance,” Sam says. “And a creep. Who the hell pretends to be asleep when they are actually awake?”

“I wasn't pretending, you just assumed I was still sleeping.”

“Anyone would assume that, if you don't say anything.”

“I thought you were going to move as soon as you woke up, it's not my fault you didn't.”

“I was trapped between your heavy ass and your cat. What's your excuse for not moving?”

The argument comes to a halt, an awkward silence stretching between them as Bucky lowers his eyes, scratches the back of his neck. He clears his throat, shrugs.

“Your shoulder is nice,” he says in the end.

It's Bucky's turn to blush, a darker pink dusting his cheeks, and Sam feels like he missed something important.

“My shoulder?” Sam repeats.

Bucky doesn't answer him for a moment, then he straightens up on the couch, rolls back his shoulders like he is bracing himself. He looks up at Sam, and all Sam can see are his eyes.

“It’s comfortable,” Bucky whispers. “And I always sleep better when you’re around.”

Sam's mouth is suddenly very dry, and his heart is drumming against his chest in a way he has come to associate with diving down in midair, or dropping from a high place before his wings open up. This, too, feels a little like falling.

“Buck,” Sam says, because he thinks they are on the verge of something here, but he needs to be sure, doesn't want to mess this up and do something he's going to regret just because his head wants so desperately to see what's not actually there. “You gotta tell me if I'm reading this wro--”

Bucky kisses him.

It's a short kiss, just a soft press of Bucky's lips against his own and he's already gone, moving back to look at Sam with wide eyes, face open and vulnerable.

“Okay?” Bucky asks, and if he didn't sound so uncertain, like he's expecting Sam to push him away at any moment, Sam would laugh at how much of an idiot they both are.

Instead, he holds Bucky's chin between his fingers and pulls him back in. The kiss is deeper this time, turns into a wet slide of tongues and a harsh grate of stubble that makes Sam's insides feel tangled and hot. Bucky's arm slides around Sam's waist, and Sam moves his hand from Bucky's chin into his hair, grips it in a way that makes Bucky exhale sharply into his mouth. Sam wants to touch him everywhere, and he moves his free hand to do just that when a long, loud meow interrupts them.

They break apart just in time for Alpine to jump on the couch and sprawl in the space between them.

Bucky huffs out a small laugh, pets her from head to tail. He looks lovely, with his hair sticking up in odd places from Sam's fingers raking through it, his lips red from kissing, and Sam itches to go back for more, to lay him down and map every single part of Bucky's body with his mouth. He has, however, a horrible feeling about this.

“We will never be able to do anything with her around, won't we?” Sam asks, voicing his thoughts out loud.

Bucky sends him an amused smile. “Someone feels confident.”

Sam rolls his eyes, bumps their knees together. “Says the one who was about to climb on top of me.”

He's pretty sure he was the one grabbing and pulling Bucky closer, actually, but it doesn't seem like Bucky is going to call him out on it.

“It was a good kiss,” Bucky says, smile going soft at the edges, turning shyer.

“It really was,” Sam agrees, and because Sarah is always right, even if he'll never admit it in front of her, he adds, “Wanna go out on a proper dinner, see a movie? Maybe do the kissing part again?”

He's not expecting the way Bucky's lips drop down at those words, and Sam's heart sinks. Maybe he did read this wrong, after all. Maybe Bucky wanted to keep things casual, no string attached, and Sam just ruined everything. He tries to tell himself it was better to know that now, before things got too serious on his side, but it gives him very little comfort.

Bucky takes a deep breath, lets it out in a huff. “I don’t know, man,” he says. “If you make me watch another one of these godawful movies I’m afraid I'm gonna have to break up with you before this relationship even starts.”

Sam blinks at him, then bursts out laughing, sudden and loud. “God, you're an asshole,” he declares, but there's no heat behind it, and when he searches for Bucky's hand, Bucky intertwines their fingers together, places a kiss on the back of Sam's hand as an apology.

“I’m lucky you have terrible tastes, then,” Bucky says.

Sam really has questionable tastes, and if you had told him a few years ago that this was how his life was going to turn out, he would have probably laughed, or worse, tried to stop it from happening. But now, sitting there with Bucky grinning at him and Alpine purring between them, he feels lucky too.