My Name Is Bucky [FemBucky&Sam]

Gentleman

Sam is awoken by the stiffness in his neck and he slowly stretches, smiles before he even turns his head. He doesn't want to be creepy by staring, but as he slowly pulls himself up to his feet, his eyes never leave her. Bucky's hair is all over the place now that she's lying on her back, and the sight tugs at Sam's heart. Her breathing is almost as soft as Sam's face, but her pretty (sinful) pink lips are parted ever so slightly and he can see the imprints of her nipples (Christ!) pressed against the black tank-top every damn time her chest rises. Sam instantly squeezes his eyes shut, just as instantly scolds himself. He takes a moment to breathe, slowly opens his eyes and at all costs avoids looking at her chest.

The blanket is bunched up around her waist, and for the first time, Sam actually notices the angry red scars all bunched up around where the metal meets the flesh of her shoulder. His fingertips itch slightly then and he forces himself to stand there for a moment, forces himself not to reach down and run his hands over the scars. He understands now, why she always covers herself. And it doesn't mean a thing to Sam, he meant it when he said she's perfect.

Sam composes himself, mainly because he suddenly feels how tired he really is. He stretches again, turns the TV off and (Jesus, please help him) treads very carefully as he reaches down to scoop her up. He pulls the blanket back up around her shoulders, his heart hammering as he slides one arm slowly under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. He lifts her easily, but just as slowly, watching her face the entire time, when really, he knows he should be watching out for her metal fist. He relaxes only very slightly when she doesn't move, not even a little, not even when he pulls her to him. He ignores the feeling of her skin pressed to his, ignores the hammering of his heart, even when he's scared it will beat so fucking loud it will wake her up.

Sam breathes, his heart fucking expanding (he swears) when she presses her cheek against his shoulder. He slowly walks down the hallway, peeks into all three doors until he finds her room. He nudges the door open with his foot, notices the bed, the small wardrobe and the bookshelf, because that's all there is to notice and he tries not to let his heart sink. This place feels lonely, he thinks. He ignores the feeling, lowers her just as carefully, watches her roll onto her left side again, pulling the blanket over with her.

Sam almost chuckles, closes his eyes briefly, because at least this time he was a little prepared before she literally showed him her ass in those cute little kitten shorts. He is absolutely going be asking her about those. Sam opens his eyes, pulls the covers from the bed over her instead and grabs one of the (literally several) pillows (he swears she was a cat in a passed life.) He smiles to himself at the thought, makes himself comfortable and finally closes his eyes for some real sleep.

×

For once in her life, Bucky is awoken, because she feels too comfortable. She's scowling before she's even opening her eyes, because the floor underneath her feels a lot softer than usual. She glances up at the apple green ceiling, knows she's in her room, on her bed, smiles softly, because she knows who put her there. Nice try, she thinks, almost chuckles, but she still hates sleeping on real beds.

Bucky purses her lips to keep from laughing when she hears an anguished groan then followed by an equally desperate, "Sarah, don't... Don't flush it!"

Flush what? Bucky needs to know. Bucky will absolutely know.

But first, Bucky slips off the bed, grabs a pillow, pulls off the covers and walks over to Sam, tries not to laugh again when he falls into a soft rhythm of snores. She should probably just lift him onto the bed and go back to the living room, but that doesn't stop her from placing her pillow beside his.

Doesn't stop her from lying down beside him.

Doesn't stop her from gently tossing the covers over them both.