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“You could just talk to him, you know?” Sam says nonchalantly, scrolling through his phone.
Bucky knows he’s right, knows there has to be an explanation why things have been so off with Joaquín the past two weeks. Kisses have been shorter or avoided, invitations for sex dodged, cuddles after sex nonexistent. And every time Joaquín looks at him, it’s always a heartbreaking and confusing mixture of sadness, anger, and thinly-veiled hurt.
Bucky doesn’t want Joaquín to feel any of those things, directed at him or otherwise.
But talking isn’t his forte. He cleans, he builds, he runs errands, he fixes boats. He crosses items off his honey-do list with fervor, spends hours and days planning steamy nights at home, shows his partners with his hands and his lips and his body exactly how much he loves them.
Bucky’s great with his mouth, sure, but not in the way he kind of needs to be right now.
He sighs and looks over at Sam—currently pointedly still staring at his phone screen—and nods to himself. “Yeah, I probably should. I see my therapist tomorrow; I’ll ask them about how to approach the subject. I’m not so great on my own.”
He gets some good advice from his therapist about how to make Joaquín comfortable before they talk, how to be an active and engaged listener, and how to work on effective and continual communication to ensure everything is working between them, especially given their polyamorous relationship, their busy lives, and Bucky’s fairly new semi-retirement.
But the next time he sees Joaquín, he freezes before he can ask. He initiates sex instead, hopes they can figure out something at least with the chemistry they’ve never lacked before. The sex is as good as ever, except when Joaquín makes an excuse to leave immediately after.
Fuck, Bucky thinks, lying there all alone, entirely too aware that this isn’t going to get better without a conversation.
But he’s afraid of it. Afraid he’ll say the wrong thing, afraid whatever he does and says won’t be enough, that this talk might just be the official end. This half-relationship they have now is better than maybe having none at all, he figures.
He almost manages to convince himself they’ll be okay staying like this, at least until stops by the compound to drop post-rough-mission food off for the whole team and catches the edges of a conversation between Kate and Joaquín.
“I just don’t know, Kate,” Bucky hears as he hurriedly backs away from the open door, quieting his breathing. “I thought this thing with Sam and Bucky was going to be the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me. And it was, you know, for a while.
“And Sam’s still great. We’re more in sync in the field than ever, we go out on dates when we’re away or when Bucky’s busy with therapy or amends, and the romance is still alive, you know? There’s a growing connection there. And I want that with Bucky, I just. I don’t know if Bucky wants that too.”
Bucky’s heart is rapidly sinking in his chest, but he keeps listening, unable to pull away despite his guilt as listening in on a private conversation.
Kate’s voice is surprisingly serious, not something Bucky’s really heard from her before. “Why do you say that? I haven’t seen him in a while, but back when he was around more often he looked at you the same way he always looks at Sam, like you both took a joint venture to hang the moon.”
Joaquín sighs, and Bucky can see him running frustrated hands through his hair in his mind’s eye. “It’s just, sometimes I feel like he just wants me for sex? Like the sex is great, it’s amazing, and having so much of it was what I wanted at the beginning, you know? A passionate love affair with two guys I was really into that both know what they’re doing. But things have settled with Sam now, you know, and I feel like we’re actually progressing as a couple.
“But with Bucky it’s just, not? We don’t talk much, and I know that’s because we don’t work together like Sam and I do, and we don’t live together like he and Sam do, but it still feels off. He puts so much thought into going to bed together, makes me feel so taken care of then, but he has given me absolutely zero signs that he wants more of a relationship than that.
“And it’s killing me because I really, really do. I want to hear about his day and his therapy sessions and his amends. I want to hear about the cat he goes to visit at the shelter that he keeps pretending he’s not going to adopt. I want him to ask me about my day, and plan silly picnic dates to the park, and cuddle up on the couch to watch shitty B-list horror movies with me from the 1980s. But even as sad as not having that makes me, the thought of asking him about it and him confirming he really does only want sex sounds so much worse.”
“You can’t keep yourself in limbo forever, Joaquín,” Kate says, a little sagely, voice tinged with sympathy. “Sometimes you’ve gotta rip off the band-aid, but I honestly think you two are gonna be fine if you talk to him about it.”
Bucky hears Joaquín chuckle, a sort of broken, watery noise. “If I ever manage to talk to him about it, I’ll let you know if you’re right.”
Bucky hears the lockers they use slam and footsteps recede, both of them thankfully heading to the exit on the other side of the room. He thinks about following after them, setting Joaquín straight on just how much he wants all of that too, but he pauses to collect himself, grabbing his phone out of his pocket to text Sam.
Can I borrow J for the evening? he sends, his screen a little blotted from the couple of tears he let fall. Or is he needed for super important Avengers business?
Sam replies only a moment later in the affirmative. You better talk to him, is tacked on to the “yes.”
I promise, sweetheart. We’ll both see you tonight, hopefully.
Bucky gets to work.
Bucky’s got a picnic blanket laid out in the best place to watch the sunset in the park he’s chosen, a spot secluded from everyone else with a wide open view of the sky not hindered by nearby trees.
He’s got a basket full of ingredients to make fancier sandwiches: prosciutto, lettuce, ciabatta, heirloom tomatoes, Havarti cheese. He’s got a bunch of fresh fruit from the farmer’s market, and a bottle of Joaquín’s favorite red wine sitting in an ice bucket all ready to go.
He’s idly doodling both of his partners in the little sketchbook he keeps with him for times of boredom, figuring he’d put those old drawing classes with Steve to decent use, when Joaquín walks up to him and asks, “What’s all this?”
Bucky had texted him the location about thirty minutes after he overheard the conversation with Kate, telling him to meet him there in an hour. He had sped to the nearby market to grab everything he needed, practicing what he’d wanted to say in his head the entire time.
Now that Joaquín’s actually here, the urge to back out of the conversation rears its ugly head again, but Bucky forces it down, knowing he’s got to do this, that he’s hurting Joaquín by not talking to him.
He gestures to the spot next to him and waits for Joaquín to sit down, pouring him a glass of wine before he starts.
“I, uh, overheard you talking to Kate today.”
Joaquín pales, and he grips the wineglass tightly enough that Bucky’s almost afraid he’s going to break it, so he hurries to finish his speech. “I wanted to apologize, Jay. Talking isn’t really my thing, and it took me and Sam an equally long time to really settle into a relationship because of it. I tend to show my affection in other ways, namely taking care of my partners both in and out of the bedroom, but even that was difficult since we see each other so little, and it’s not like I can just let myself into your apartment when you’re not home to fix that squeaky floorboard you hate so much. So I put more effort into sex, into making you feel good, and instead I just made you feel worse.”
Joaquín looks like he’s about to interject, but Bucky knows he’ll never finish what he has to say if he stops now. “I should’ve talked to you about this whenever I noticed something was wrong, but I was terrified I’d make it even worse and then I was terrified if I did talk to you, it’d all be over. I realize now that I was just making you feel bad about yourself, and making you second guess where we stand, and for that I’m truly sorry. More sorry than I think I could actually put into words.
“I want more with you too, Jay. Dates and romantic walks and nights spent in watching shitty TV or just reading a book next to each other. Coffee chats about whatever both of us are going through. Attempts by me to make dinner followed by whatever jokes you have when I manage to burn a pot just by boiling water. I want all of it, too.”
Joaquín doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes a little watery, face blank. Bucky’s worried when he doesn’t respond, but he eventually sits his wine glass next to him and scoots over on the blanket, pressing himself up against Bucky’s side, cuddling him the way he hasn’t in almost a month.
“I should’ve told you when I started feeling this way,” he says, more into Bucky’s neck than anything, but Bucky can make out all the words. “I was just afraid of how it might end, didn’t want it to end. And I don’t really think it would’ve ended per se, I just couldn’t shake the feeling that it might.”
Bucky kisses the top of his head, winding his arm around Joaquín’s shoulders and squeezing. “This isn’t on you, baby boy. You needed me to start the conversation, and I knew that, but I still didn’t. But I’m not gonna let it happen again, okay? If it means scheduling regular dates through busy Avengers season just to make sure we’re on the same page, we’re not gonna let it get there again.”
He pulls back, ignoring Joaquín’s adorably tiny noise of protest, just so he can look him in the eye. “I promise to talk to you if something’s going on if you will?”
Joaquín nods, pulling Bucky in for a fast, chaste kiss. “I promise.”
Bucky smiles and grabs the picnic basket, handing Joaquín a beautifully made sandwich before he cuddles back into his side. “Now, you wanna tell me about your day, baby bird?”
Joaquín grins. “Only if you show me the pictures of that kitty cat that is definitely going to be yours within the week, babe.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
Sam’s got Joaquín’s toothbrush laid out on the sink alongside both of theirs when they get home that night.
Their bed’s just the right size for three, Bucky thinks.