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It starts out by accident really, in passing, like most things do when it comes to Bucky and Sam. They’d just finished getting thrown off a train by a little girl, and they’re lying, out of breath, in the field where they’d landed. Sam turns his head to find Bucky already staring at him.
“You really gotta fix that staring problem, Buck.”
Bucky ignores him but looks away anyways.
“What a fucking meatball.” He says, it seems like it’s more for himself then for Sam.
“Excuse me?” Says Sam, because meatball?
“That goddamn loathsome joe corn thinks he can just pick up the shield and become Captain America? Fuck, I’d like to give him a knuckle sandwich right in his stupid kisser.”
A hint of a Brooklyn accent is almost audible in his voice, and Sam is reminded with a bang that Bucky Barnes is an old fuck. He wants to tell him that he didn’t understand a word he said but that would mean admitting that Bucky knows more words than him and that’s not happening anytime soon.
-
Sam doesn’t really expect it to happen again, especially since it doesn’t for awhile. He won’t say a part of him isn’t curious about seeing more of that side of Bucky, and he may or may not have been extra annoying to see if he’d snap and say something like ‘roll up your flaps knucklehead’ (preferably on camera), but all in all it’s better for Sam’s comprehension when he doesn’t.
Anyways, they’re out on a stake out somewhere, the kind of stakeout that requires getting dressed up in nice suits instead of heavy armour. Sam is slipping on his suit jacket, which by the way is a bit too small, because apparently the gouvernement can’t even get his size right, when he hears an angry grunt from Bucky’s designated side of the room.
“Fuck, I popped a button!” He says, and Sam turns around to find him glaring at the buttons on his shirt.
“You don’t happen to have a housewife on you, do you?” Says Bucky with an angry sigh, looking directly at Sam as if the intention of his words is clear, all Sam can do is blink at him in confusion.
“A… housewife?”
“Yeah, do you have one or not?” He’s clearly getting impatient.
“Oh sure, of course man, let me just pull out the tiny housewife I keep in my pocket!” Says Sam, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I keep her in there so she doesn’t get cold.” Bucky looks at him blankly,
“Why the fuck would you care if a sewing kit gets cold?”
“A sewing- you want a sewing kit?” Laughs Sam,
“Yeah! A housewife, a sewing kit, call it what you want I don’t care, now do you have one or not?” He looks extremely confused, and it’s only a little bit adorable.
It turns out that Sam actually does have a shitty sewing kit he stole from a hotel room awhile back, so he hands it over to Bucky who starts sewing back his button with surprising precision, considering the metal arm.
“Thanks sweetheart.” He says absentmindedly, which makes Sam feel nervous for some reason.
-
The third time it happens, Sam is ready.
“Fuck, I think I might have broken her heart.” Sam watches at the devastatedf girl who’d just asked him out walk away with her head hung low.
“She looked like she was 16, breaking her heart was very much the right decision.”
“I know that! But I could’ve been nicer about letting her down, I probably came off as a total dick.”
“One time I was at the passion pit with a dame and she tried to start monking so I spilled my shake on her.”
For a second, Sam is silent, he swears to god he can see a small smirk on Bucky's face but it’s gone as fast as it appeared. Finally, he remembers his plan for the next time something like this happens, smoothly and quickly he pulls out his phone.
“Would you look at that,” proclaims Sam loudly, “I’ve got a text!”
Subtly, he opens his phone and quickly directs to the link he’d saved a few days prior ‘dictionary of 1940s slang’. Drive in theatre, making out, got it! He mentally congratulates himself on his subtlety before turning back to Bucky.
“Sorry about that! Anyways, where were we?”
“The passion pit.”
“Right! The passion pit, and Steve said you had game.” Teases Sam, he’s sure he doesn’t imagine Bucky’s smile this time.
“What can I say, we all make shitty decisions, don’t feel too bad about being a bit of a dick sometimes.”
For a man who probably killed JFK, purposefully spilling a milkshake on a girl he didn’t want to kiss might not qualify as a shitty decision, but Sam’ll let that one slide.
-
It happens more and more often as the weeks go by, a casual ‘sweetheart’ tinged with irony here and there and a whole lot of ‘swell’s. Sam has managed to improve greatly in terms of speed and agility, he’s proud to announce that he can now open the 1940s dictionary page in 2.5 seconds, and he knows the definitions to Bucky’s most frequently used sentences. He’s pretty sure that Bucky doesn’t suspect anything, but there are times, when Bucky will go out of his way to sound as old as possible, where Sam wonders if he’s messing with him, just a bit.
They’re in the middle of a fight when it happens, honestly Sam can’t even remember who they were fighting, it was pretty inconsequential. Bucky’s standing off to the side, having tied up the guy he was fighting, Sam finally pushes the jerk he’s in charge of up against the wall, knocking him unconscious.
“Golly Gee,” exclaims Bucky, exaggeratingly patting Sam on the back, “that sure was the gunkles uncle!”
For once Sam is the one staring at Bucky. As quickly as he possibly can, he pulls out his phone and desperately tries to find something, anything about the gunkles uncle, to no avail.
That fucking bastard must have made it up, right?
“Okay, now I know you’re fucking with me.” Says Sam, pointing an accusatory finger at the other man.
“Tsk, that isn’t very gunkle of you Sam!” He says in faux disappointment, flashing a too-pretty smile.
He’s going to fucking murder him.
-
“What’s buzzin’ cousin?” Says Bucky, sitting down next to Sam on the docks.
That’s the moment that Sam realizes he needs to change tactics, no more subtly looking up definitions for his weird old person slang, it’s time to fight fire with fire.
“Not much bro, this view is highkey just hitting different TBH” he says, casually looking out at the water.
There’s a beat of silence and then,
“That’s swell doll, I just ate some four-o cackle jelly with side arms, and I’m looking for some kicks, you dig?
Oh, this means war.
It only gets worse from there, but Sam sure as hell isn’t going to be the first to give in. The worst part is that somehow, they seem to understand each other, and at this point Sam is sure neither of them is using any words the right way, In fact he only realizes just how nonsensical they’ve become when he goes on a rant about ‘yeeting the vibe check’ while Torres is around and he looks at them like they’re both insane.
He goes up to Bucky’s apartment on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, recently it almost feels like it’s his apartment too, with the amount of time he spends there, but that’s a stupid thought.
“Hey bestie, will you stop being lowkey a simp and yeet me that bag.”
“Hot digity dog, don't snap your cap cookie, you’ll get your clams.” Says Bucky without hesitation, handing him 2.50$ so he can get some ice cream.
“Omg thanks, hashtag girlboss.” He retaliates, staring right back at Bucky with the same intensity.
“No problem, ace.” He punches Sam’s arm lightly, finally breaking eye contact.
Sam thinks distantly that they might’ve managed to invent a pretty efficient secret code in case they ever get caught in a situation where it comes in handy.
-
Sam loves dancing, he loves the flashing lights, the pounding music and the mass of people, beating as one, it just feels so fucking alive. But he can tell, as he looks over at Bucky’s slouched position, all folded in on himself in the darkest corner of the club, that tonight the lights are too bright, the music is too loud and the people are too much. He doesn’t say anything once he’s made his way to the other man’s side, he just leans against the wall and waits. Sam expects to be ignored, or maybe to be told to leave him the fuck alone. What he doesn’t expect however, is for Bucky to lean down, his mental hand grazing Sam’s flesh one, and whisper, far too quiet for a crowded club, ‘wanna cut a rug, dollface.’
Now Sam wants to say something cool and witty, he wants to say something like ‘sure, we be flossing bae’ but all he can manage is a weak ‘okay, bestie.’
Music nowadays isn’t meant for the kind of dancing Bucky seems to want to do, it’s all about baseline and percussion, not the slow ¾ melodies old people like. But Bucky is the one who asked Sam if he wanted to ‘cut a rug’ and Bucky is the one with his hand around Sam’s waist, so it doesn’t really matter what the music is meant for now does it?
It’s surprisingly quiet for a while, normally the two of them can’t go two seconds without being at each other's throats, but for once they don’t talk, they just sway to music that isn’t meant to be swayed too.
But of course Bucky has to ruin everything.
“You know, you’re a real cloud walker, Casanova.”
“Thanks sugar boo.” Says Sam, with as much venom as he can muster.
“Dreamboat.”
“Bae.”
“Glamour puss.”
“Duckling.”
“He-pal!”
“Fire lily!”
“Yes Sokka?”
“Sweetie-pie.”
“Hunk of heartbreak.”
“Step bro!”
“Step bro?”
“Are you lost baby girl?”
“Hi sugar, are you rationed?”
“Bucky.”
“Sam.”
They’ve stopped dancing, somehow, along the way, and Sam is extremely grateful for the blaring music drowning out their aggressive exchange of pet names, if word got around to Sarah he’d never hear the end of it. They stare at each other for a second, and then, like it’s planned, they both go in for a kiss. It’s a bit terrible, considering that they basically smashed their mouths together at the exact same time with way too much force, but it’s a long time coming.
“Bestie vibes only.” Says Sam when they finally stop.
“Oh my fucking god, I hate you so much.” Says Bucky, but he’s smiling wider than Sam has ever seen him smile before.