[ It's comfortable, this. Surprisingly so given the main task at hand. But bickering with Bucky, throwing quips and teases back and forth whether they're fighting aliens, buying and working on a cozy little fixer upper to move into, or getting down and dirty... it's second nature to them. It's where Sam feels comfortable and unguarded.
Still, Sam has to close his eyes for a moment when Bucky slides the delicate lace over Sam's ankles, up his calves and over strong thighs. There's something strangely intimate to the process that has nothing to do with the fact that Sam's naked.
And Sam feels more naked once he's as comfortably nestled inside the panties as possible, strangely enough. He can honestly say that in all his life he's probably never worn underwear as pricey as he imagines this must have been, nor anything at all remotely this delicate.
He finds it strangely difficult to look at Bucky, too. Is in no hurry to check if there's laughter in his eyes, because Sam knows despite the surprisingly good fit, he must look ridiculous... right?
Sam swallows, eyes trailing down to Bucky's fingertips stipp resting on the edge of black lace on black skin. It's not cold, but Sam shivers, just a little. Tries to crack a joke despite how dry his throat is all of a sudden. ]
See, now, I know half my ass is hanging out of these... but we ain't done yet, right?
[ There was more to the set than just panties, after all. ]
They're not boxer shorts, Sam. Your ass is just as covered as it's supposed to be.
[Despite the griping and the impatience, Bucky takes a moment to brush his thumbs over Sam's hips, as though smoothing invisible wrinkles out of the stretched-taut garment.
If Sam did look, he wouldn't see laughter in Bucky's face or shining in his eyes. The gleam there has a very different heat to it.]
And if you keep rushing me like this, I'm gonna think you're in a hurry. What's up, you think you might like this?
[There's a little catch in Bucky's own voice as he makes the accusation. Not so weird, is it? This might be a gag, but he's still running his hands over his... his what? His boyfriend? His lover? Whatever Sam is, he's Bucky's and he's very, very attractive. Underwear or no.
The cut lines of his obliques and the suggestion of definition in his abs make an interesting counterpoint to the delicate lace.]
Foot.
[Because if they're going to do this, they might as well do it, right?]
[ Sam sends a few desperate prayers to a variety of powers that be to thank them for his poker face, although he's half convinced Bucky must be able to hear that faint uptick in his heartbeat, and the way his breath almost catches in his throat, but doesn't quite. As it is, Sam remains outwardly calm. Unable to look away from the way Bucky smoothing his thumbs over the delicate lace. As if it ain't just the lace that's delicate.
As if Sam is...
He scoffs, suddenly self-conscious. Still can't make himself search Bucky's eyes even as he places a foot in his lap for the stockings.
Feels like he is what's delicate about the situation, and doesn't understand why that doesn't seem like a bad thing. ]
You ain't exactly running to the hills at the thought. How annoyed are you that you're just gonna prove me right? This is gonna end with you admitting I look damn fine, even in this.
[ Maybe especially in...
No. He's not letting himself go there. Absolutely not. ]
Never said you didn't look good. I wouldn't put up with you if you didn't.
[Turning the jab around on Sam.]
I'm not fucking you because you're troll, Sam. Keep up.
[The words come out brusque, the same shit-talking patter that he's engaged in since he was a kid, picking fights with Steve in Brooklyn, and that he'd exercised in the army. Of course, he was never sleeping with the guys he talked shit with then, but the skill was the same. That particular kind of male single sex intimacy.
It's at odds with how gentle his hands are as he caresses Sam's leg, unrolling the smooth stocking over the other man's ankle, over his calf, stretching across firm muscle and rich, dark skin.
Bucky's throat tightened.
Why wouldn't it? Nothing to do with the stocking specifically, it's just that having his hands all over Sam like this, of course the blood was going to go south.
He sucked his teeth discreetly, working some moisture back into his mouth.]
You didn't think your personality was your best feature, did you?
How you gonna judge a personality when your cyborg gears keep rusting, Buck?
[ Sam wobbles a little, but catches his balance quickly. Absentmindedly rubs his foot against Bucky's thigh a little. Tries to avoid implying that Bucky doesn't have a personality, because some things toe the line to cruelty a little too hard, and he never wants to go there with Bucky. The needling works because he treats Bucky like a person with it, doesn't show him endless buckets of fear and pity. Doesn't reduce him to the worst things that have happened to him - and that he did, as a result.
The needling is to remind Bucky that he's just a dude, at the end of the day. An annoying dude with a staring problem who somehow wormed his way into Sam's heart like a persistent weed.
Stockings feel strange, Sam decides. Has the very weird thought that this might be better with shaved legs, but even with a hair here or there catching oddly, mostly he can feel how surprisingly cool and silky smooth they feel on his skin. Bucky's touch helps that sensation, of course.
There's a strange intimacy here, in this supposed joke. Sam wonders if they're taking it too far. Worries about how okay he feels with it all, when he's not sure what Bucky's endgame is here. ]
If you mostly put up with me for my looks, I'll have you know you're not bringing enough flowers and money home to earn yourself a trophy wife. That's a put up or shut up kinda deal, man.
C'mon, Sam, we both know you're not interested in my fat veterans pension.
[It is a little different from a woman's legs. The shape is more muscular than any girl Bucky's been with, and Sam's hair is thicker, catching here and there, but the little snags, the interruptions add a certain character.
Bucky wouldn't say it's better than a woman, but it is better than he expected.
Sexier.
But he'll be damned if he'll out and admit that here. He focuses on pulling the stocking up Sam's thigh, smoothing the top edge over skin.]
But it is rude pretending I don't bring you any gifts. See this? This is a gift.
[Running his hands down Sam's stocking leg pointedly as he releases his foot.]
Even if I'm pretty sure the real reason you like me is because no one else could ball your brains out like I do.
Yeah yeah, Buck. I'm more interested in your fat veteran penis than the fat veteran pension. Happy?
[ He makes a face somewhere between a grimace at how happy he is to join the vulgarity to hide softer emotions. They say I love you by discussing just how hard and long Bucky can fuck Sam, and how much Sam loves it. That's just how they roll.
Sam hesitates for a moment, doesn't pull away to offer the other leg just yet. ]
You're lucky I'm really into bad ideas.
[ Meaning Bucky. Perhaps also meaning...
Sam reaches out, catches Bucky's hand before he can pull it away fully. Guides it back to his leg. To the edge of the stocking, until he feels fingertips at the top edge of the silky fabric. Just looks down at Bucky's pale hand on his dark skin, the stockings adding a level of dizzying, unspoken potential that Sam can't pinpoint yet. Feels a bit like freefall, and when has he ever shied away from that? ]
You ain't laughing at this yet.
[ Just a careful observation, that as he lets go for Bucky's hand again. Leaves him to decide if he wants to run his hand over Sam's leg again. ]
[What part was supposed to be funny? He's having a little trouble remembering what the joke was here, exactly.
He knew Sam's face when he saw the lingerie was part of it, and that had been funny. The challenge. After that, it was all a game of chicken, pushing each other, seeing when the other would turn.
We'd pull away first.
Just they were both too stupid for that, to know when to swerve...
And Sam looked damn good. Bucky smoothed his fingers over the lace again.]
Because neither of them is laughing. There's just this nervous but not entirely unpleasant energy between them. Like they're both waiting for the other to flinch first. Like they both aren't sure whether they want the other to flinch at all.
Sam's mouth feels dry. ]
Yeah. I mean, wouldn't wanna half-ass it.
[ And perhaps he shivers a little when Bucky smoothes his fingers over the lace again. Perhaps he doesn't hide it so well. There's something about the way this feels on his skin. Something about the way Bucky's touching him right now.
There's something here he's not sure how to put his finger on. ]
[Bucky licks his lips as he reaches for the belt—the last bit. Then he frowns a little, taking in the image—not just taking, but drinking, really letting it sink into his brain.
Should Sam look so good in these?]
Should have got you a pair of heels too.
[He mutters the words, not quite making the comment stick like be wants to.
He loops the belt around Sam's waist, narrow in relation to his shoulders and chest, and above the curve of the other man's ass. Careful as he manipulates the flimsy material, closing the tiny hook-and-eye closures one at a time.]
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[ It's comfortable, this. Surprisingly so given the main task at hand. But bickering with Bucky, throwing quips and teases back and forth whether they're fighting aliens, buying and working on a cozy little fixer upper to move into, or getting down and dirty... it's second nature to them. It's where Sam feels comfortable and unguarded.
Still, Sam has to close his eyes for a moment when Bucky slides the delicate lace over Sam's ankles, up his calves and over strong thighs. There's something strangely intimate to the process that has nothing to do with the fact that Sam's naked.
And Sam feels more naked once he's as comfortably nestled inside the panties as possible, strangely enough. He can honestly say that in all his life he's probably never worn underwear as pricey as he imagines this must have been, nor anything at all remotely this delicate.
He finds it strangely difficult to look at Bucky, too. Is in no hurry to check if there's laughter in his eyes, because Sam knows despite the surprisingly good fit, he must look ridiculous... right?
Sam swallows, eyes trailing down to Bucky's fingertips stipp resting on the edge of black lace on black skin. It's not cold, but Sam shivers, just a little. Tries to crack a joke despite how dry his throat is all of a sudden. ]
See, now, I know half my ass is hanging out of these... but we ain't done yet, right?
[ There was more to the set than just panties, after all. ]
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[Despite the griping and the impatience, Bucky takes a moment to brush his thumbs over Sam's hips, as though smoothing invisible wrinkles out of the stretched-taut garment.
If Sam did look, he wouldn't see laughter in Bucky's face or shining in his eyes. The gleam there has a very different heat to it.]
And if you keep rushing me like this, I'm gonna think you're in a hurry. What's up, you think you might like this?
[There's a little catch in Bucky's own voice as he makes the accusation. Not so weird, is it? This might be a gag, but he's still running his hands over his... his what? His boyfriend? His lover? Whatever Sam is, he's Bucky's and he's very, very attractive. Underwear or no.
The cut lines of his obliques and the suggestion of definition in his abs make an interesting counterpoint to the delicate lace.]
Foot.
[Because if they're going to do this, they might as well do it, right?]
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As if Sam is...
He scoffs, suddenly self-conscious. Still can't make himself search Bucky's eyes even as he places a foot in his lap for the stockings.
Feels like he is what's delicate about the situation, and doesn't understand why that doesn't seem like a bad thing. ]
You ain't exactly running to the hills at the thought. How annoyed are you that you're just gonna prove me right? This is gonna end with you admitting I look damn fine, even in this.
[ Maybe especially in...
No. He's not letting himself go there. Absolutely not. ]
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[Turning the jab around on Sam.]
I'm not fucking you because you're troll, Sam. Keep up.
[The words come out brusque, the same shit-talking patter that he's engaged in since he was a kid, picking fights with Steve in Brooklyn, and that he'd exercised in the army. Of course, he was never sleeping with the guys he talked shit with then, but the skill was the same. That particular kind of male single sex intimacy.
It's at odds with how gentle his hands are as he caresses Sam's leg, unrolling the smooth stocking over the other man's ankle, over his calf, stretching across firm muscle and rich, dark skin.
Bucky's throat tightened.
Why wouldn't it? Nothing to do with the stocking specifically, it's just that having his hands all over Sam like this, of course the blood was going to go south.
He sucked his teeth discreetly, working some moisture back into his mouth.]
You didn't think your personality was your best feature, did you?
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[ Sam wobbles a little, but catches his balance quickly. Absentmindedly rubs his foot against Bucky's thigh a little. Tries to avoid implying that Bucky doesn't have a personality, because some things toe the line to cruelty a little too hard, and he never wants to go there with Bucky. The needling works because he treats Bucky like a person with it, doesn't show him endless buckets of fear and pity. Doesn't reduce him to the worst things that have happened to him - and that he did, as a result.
The needling is to remind Bucky that he's just a dude, at the end of the day. An annoying dude with a staring problem who somehow wormed his way into Sam's heart like a persistent weed.
Stockings feel strange, Sam decides. Has the very weird thought that this might be better with shaved legs, but even with a hair here or there catching oddly, mostly he can feel how surprisingly cool and silky smooth they feel on his skin. Bucky's touch helps that sensation, of course.
There's a strange intimacy here, in this supposed joke. Sam wonders if they're taking it too far. Worries about how okay he feels with it all, when he's not sure what Bucky's endgame is here. ]
If you mostly put up with me for my looks, I'll have you know you're not bringing enough flowers and money home to earn yourself a trophy wife. That's a put up or shut up kinda deal, man.
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[It is a little different from a woman's legs. The shape is more muscular than any girl Bucky's been with, and Sam's hair is thicker, catching here and there, but the little snags, the interruptions add a certain character.
Bucky wouldn't say it's better than a woman, but it is better than he expected.
Sexier.
But he'll be damned if he'll out and admit that here. He focuses on pulling the stocking up Sam's thigh, smoothing the top edge over skin.]
But it is rude pretending I don't bring you any gifts. See this? This is a gift.
[Running his hands down Sam's stocking leg pointedly as he releases his foot.]
Even if I'm pretty sure the real reason you like me is because no one else could ball your brains out like I do.
[Would Bucky hide behind vulgarity?
The answer to that should be obvious.]
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[ He makes a face somewhere between a grimace at how happy he is to join the vulgarity to hide softer emotions. They say I love you by discussing just how hard and long Bucky can fuck Sam, and how much Sam loves it. That's just how they roll.
Sam hesitates for a moment, doesn't pull away to offer the other leg just yet. ]
You're lucky I'm really into bad ideas.
[ Meaning Bucky. Perhaps also meaning...
Sam reaches out, catches Bucky's hand before he can pull it away fully. Guides it back to his leg. To the edge of the stocking, until he feels fingertips at the top edge of the silky fabric. Just looks down at Bucky's pale hand on his dark skin, the stockings adding a level of dizzying, unspoken potential that Sam can't pinpoint yet. Feels a bit like freefall, and when has he ever shied away from that? ]
You ain't laughing at this yet.
[ Just a careful observation, that as he lets go for Bucky's hand again. Leaves him to decide if he wants to run his hand over Sam's leg again. ]
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[What part was supposed to be funny? He's having a little trouble remembering what the joke was here, exactly.
He knew Sam's face when he saw the lingerie was part of it, and that had been funny. The challenge. After that, it was all a game of chicken, pushing each other, seeing when the other would turn.
We'd pull away first.
Just they were both too stupid for that, to know when to swerve...
And Sam looked damn good. Bucky smoothed his fingers over the lace again.]
There's still the garters.
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Because neither of them is laughing. There's just this nervous but not entirely unpleasant energy between them. Like they're both waiting for the other to flinch first. Like they both aren't sure whether they want the other to flinch at all.
Sam's mouth feels dry. ]
Yeah. I mean, wouldn't wanna half-ass it.
[ And perhaps he shivers a little when Bucky smoothes his fingers over the lace again. Perhaps he doesn't hide it so well. There's something about the way this feels on his skin. Something about the way Bucky's touching him right now.
There's something here he's not sure how to put his finger on. ]
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Should Sam look so good in these?]
Should have got you a pair of heels too.
[He mutters the words, not quite making the comment stick like be wants to.
He loops the belt around Sam's waist, narrow in relation to his shoulders and chest, and above the curve of the other man's ass. Careful as he manipulates the flimsy material, closing the tiny hook-and-eye closures one at a time.]
Don't wiggle.