It's nearly Bucky's 100th birthday! Tell me Sam's going to be all over that (...hard mythical) dick? ;)
“Nearly your birthday,” Sam says one morning, mostly murmuring it into the tangle of Bucky’s hair. Bucky groans. Pushes his face into the pillow as if he’s still half-asleep and trying to ignore Sam. Sam ignores the hint. “What, you don’t wanna remember your birthday? Gonna hit a hundred, kid, that’s worth something.”
“Oh my god,” Bucky groans. “Do you gotta?”
“If you were in England, you’d get a card from the Queen,” Sam continues, cheerfully relentless. “You want a cake? I’ll bake you a cake.”
“I met the Queen, once,” Bucky says, rolling over like he’s giving up on getting any more sleep this morning. Sam’d feel bad, if it weren’t already at least nine; as it is he just drapes one arm over Bucky’s hip, lets himself stroke his fingers down the muscle of Bucky’s thigh.
“You did not,” he says, and Bucky shrugs.
“I fuckin’ did, okay, just ask Steve. I mean, ‘s not like I knew she was the Queen at the time, right. She was nice, though. Real straightforward, you wouldn’t have picked it.”
“So maybe she will send you a birthday card,” Sam teases. Feels Bucky nip at the column of his throat, just the quickest graze of teeth. “I’m serious, baby, what do you want? Cake? A party hat? We could ask SHIELD if they can brew you some kind of super-proof liquor, set you on your ass.”
“Nah,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m good.”
“Aw, come on,” Sam wheedles. “You know my mom’ll want to cook you dinner at least, right?”
“I do love your mama’s cooking,” Bucky admits. Kisses Sam’s throat again, lips soft against Sam’s skin. “It’s just. I dunno. I’m not actually a hundred years old, you know that, right? The last birthday I remember I was all of 27. It just, it feels like-”
“Like what?” Sam asks, when Bucky goes silent and still. Bucky hums under his breath like he’s thinking.
“Feels like I got cheated out of time. Or maybe I cheated, I dunno. Both.”
“Oh,” Sam says. Thinks about it for a few minutes, brushing kisses absently along Bucky’s hairline. “Well, you don’t have to be a hundred, right? How old you want to be, huh? Twenty eight? Thirty? You look like you’re all of thirty, you little shit.”
“Thirty seems reasonable,” Bucky agrees. “Fuck it, why not. A hundred, shit, I don’t even have any gray hairs yet.”
“Well,” Sam says, “I got news for you on that front, Barnes,” and feels Bucky freeze up as if he’s shocked. “Yeah, you haven’t noticed? A streak of them, right here. You’re gonna look older than me in no time, that’s just how it goes.”
“Goddamn,” Bucky laughs. “Well, you better get on with fucking me before I wither up, sweetheart.”
“Oh,” Sam growls, “I better, huh?” and pushes Bucky flat on his back, watches him go sweet and breathless and beautiful. It’s like I got cheated out of time, he thinks again of Bucky saying, and thinks, yeah, maybe he did, maybe he got years and years stolen from him, but this future, it’s theirs for the having.