I couldn’t sleep last night, because my cats are assholes, whatever. Anyway.
All I have is this:
A drunk Bucky clutches a McDonalds bag to his chest. Under his breath, he keeps repeating “I have 36 chicken nuggets. That means I’m a good person.” And Sam is trying to keep him upright, which Bucky appreciates because Sam is warm and handsome and Bucky is lucky to have such handsome friends and Bucky is lucky to have 36 chicken nuggets.
“You’re like chicken nuggets.” He slurs to Sam. Sam quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Cos I love chicken nuggets and I love you.” He pauses. “I would give you my chicken nugget children. All of them.”
He tries to hand Sam the bag, but when Sam goes to take it, Bucky finds he can’t let go.
“Nooooo, don’t take my chicken nuggets.” He whines.
“You are giving off some very mixed signals here.” Sam says, because he is Responsible™ and has not had half as much to drink as Bucky.
“You are giving off signals too.” Bucky manages.
“Like what, exactly?”
“You’re really pretty and I wanna kiss your face sometimes but you don’t want to kiss mine.” Bucky is very proud that he gets the sentence out in one go. He’s like Shakespeare. Fuck yeah.
“I suppose in that way, at least I differ from the nuggets.” Sam thinks aloud.
“I bet you taste good like nuggets.”
“Is… is that a cannibal thing or a sex thing because… I’m concerned.”
Bucky stumbles and giggles. Sam hoists him upright again.
“Not a cannibal Sam. Sammity Sam Sam. Saaaaaaaam.”
“Okay, it’s a sex thing. Good to know.”
Bucky leers. Or tries to. He sort of looks vaguely constipated.
“Sam I want to go to bed now. You can come too. That’d be really good actually.”
“You are going to bed. Alone. And if in the morning you remember any of this, we will Talk.” Sam promises.
Sam guides Bucky to his room, where Bucky faceplates elegantly (not so much) on the bed like an intoxicated starfish. His nose rumples against the pillow and before long, snores not dissimilar to whale song start to fill the room. Sam stands in the doorway and watches for a moment and considers his life choices.
The next morning, Sam wakes up to find Bucky jabbing at the microwave whilst cradling his head.
“Question.” Sam says.
“No questions, only silence.” Bucky whimpers.
“Okay, but are you by any chance reheating chicken nuggets right now because that’s probably a bad idea.”
“If they kill me then it will be a welcome relief.” Bucky groans.
“You’re my favourite undead hot mess.” Sam smiles fondly.
“That’s why I love you. For the compliments.”
“You were pretty full of them yourself last night.” Sam hints.
“If you’re going to be mean can you do it later because I might actually vomit.”
“Why would I be mean?” Sam asks, genuinely.
“Because I had Feelings and you don’t have Feelings and now it’s Awkward.” Bucky mumbles and Sam can hear the capital letters at the beginning of the words.
“Bucky, you smell like a brewery and I still have Feelings. Is that Feelings-y enough for you?”
The microwave interrupts them with a shrill set of beeps.
“I die.” Bucky declares, squeezing his eyes shut.
“If you don’t die, I’d take you out to get proper food and maybe even dig out my secret stash of painkillers.”
“Will you hold my hand?”
“You’re not great at this are you?”
“I am fragile, Sam. Now is not the time for mocking. Now is the time for comforting.”
“I will hold your hand.” Sam promises.
“I think you’re even better than nuggets.”
“You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“You make it so easy.”
Bucky pouts, his plump bottom lip sticking out in such a way Sam just can’t resist. He leans forward and presses a kiss there. Bucky returns the kiss in earnest, before breaking away.
“You taste as good as I thought you would.”
“Oh my god.”
Bucky grins. Sam tries hard to keep his face neutral, but Bucky feels the slight squeeze of Sam’s fingers wrapped around his, and smiles wider.