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“You okay?” Sam asked, eying him warily. Bucky was getting sick of hearing that question. For one, he was very much not okay, not in any sense of the word, but he wasn’t about to tell Sam that. Also, this was far from new, he hadn’t been okay since the 40’s, maybe even earlier, and he doubted he ever would be again. That wasn’t what Sam was asking about, though, they both knew this question had nothing to do with his steadily declining mental state and everything to do with his shoulder.
Bucky sighed, studying his friend for a moment. It would help, he knew it would help. It might even be pleasant. Sam had offered before, like two or three times, actually, so it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think he may still be willing. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even need to ask, just to nudge Sam into offering again, take him up on it this time.
“Yeah, just my shoulder.” He rolled it slowly, fighting through the pain the movement caused. His left shoulder was sore frequently; he fought with that arm more, there was the added weight of the metal pulling on the muscle, and he avoided touching that side if he could, so the kinks he didn’t work out turned into knots that he couldn’t work out. This was a different story though. Whether it had been some battle injury that didn’t quite heal, or a knot that wasn’t letting up even under the harshest of shower sprays, something was making it hurt way more than usual.
“Is that still bothering you?” Sam asked, sounding dumbfounded. It had been nearly a month since Bucky first admitted it was causing him pain, and he’d only admitted it to get Sam to quit asking. Lot of good that did him.
“It’s always bothering me.” He huffed, rolling it again. The movement brought no relief, but this particular ache was nestled in a spot Bucky couldn’t quite reach, not on his own. Rubbing at it wasn’t an option, so rolling it would have to do.
“Here, let me help.” Sam stood, then paused, clearly looking for permission. The last few times he’d offered, Bucky had given him a pretty firm “no”. He was far too touch starved to accept something like this so casually, and his shoulder was a tight bundle of pain on a good day, so letting Sam help had been pretty far off the table then. But that was a month ago. This time, he gave a small nod. Sam seemed almost delighted by that.
“Alright, take your shirt off. Let’s see what we’re working with here.” He disappeared into his bathroom and emerged with a bottle of massage oil, unscented and half empty. Bucky wasn’t about to ask why he had that, he could probably guess if he let himself think about it for more than a second. He didn’t, he very firmly pushed any and all thoughts about his friend and massage oil out of his mind in favor of pulling his shirt off. He paused, then shifted forwards in his chair so Sam could reach his shoulders better.
“Okay, well if I’m gonna help, you’ll need to relax. Start working on that.” Sam instructed, studying his back. Yeah, he supposed he was pretty tense, but he couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched him for more than a second, so Bucky wasn’t sure how to react. Not to mention he was well aware how many scars were back there, and Sam was getting an eyeful right now. Lovely.
“Looks like you’ve got a pretty big knot, probably more than one. I can massage it out for you, if that’s alright.” He sounded confident, and normally Bucky wouldn’t have let him anywhere near his shoulder, but it hurt so fucking much, and he was sick of being in pain. The painful part of his life was supposed to be over, he was supposed to be healing now. He nodded.
“Mind the scars.” Bucky said roughly.
“Sir yes sir.” Sam joked, spreading oil over his skin. He was gentle, and even though it had been years since someone had touched him gently, it wasn’t the jaw-dropping, life-changing moment Bucky had sort of expected. It felt nice, though, warm and slick, letting Sam’s hands glide as they moved over tense muscles. Right, he was supposed to relax. Bucky forced his shoulders to drop, untensing as much as he physically could right now.
“There you go.” Sam encouraged, digging his thumbs in lightly. He was definitely starting slow, which Bucky could appreciate. This was all pretty new to him. Had he ever had a massage before? He couldn’t remember. It was good, though. Sam’s hands were warm, and that alone was enough to make his brain melt.
“If anything hurts, speak up.” Sam was starting pretty far from the actual problem, maybe waiting for Bucky to relax more before tackling that. He hoped it didn’t hurt, or at least if it did, that things would feel better afterwards. His shoulder was sensitive, some days he could barely stand the feeling of fabric covering it. Today wasn’t awful, despite the aches. Sam’s touch wasn’t making it worse. In fact, it was slowly easing him into a more relaxed state, relieving pain he hadn’t even noticed before. Maybe Sam was right about him needing to take better care of himself. He doubted aches that the serum couldn’t touch were the sign of a healthy, well-adjusted person.
“Moving towards that knot.” Sam warned, shifting his hands. It took everything Bucky had not to tense as Sam dug his fingers in right above one of his scars. It didn’t hurt, but the memories that surged to the forefront of his mind were far from good. Bucky was about to say something, ask him to stop, but Sam moved his thumb in a circle and pure bliss sang through his nerves. Instead of fighting himself to stay relaxed, he was fighting not to moan.
“I told you I know what I’m doing.” Sam laughed. Clearly he’d picked up on the reaction. “I used to help some of the vets at the VA. The PT crew taught me a thing or two.” He circled his thumbs again, adding a bit more pressure, and Bucky could actually feel the knot loosening. Fuck, that was good. Sam’s skilled hands eased his muscles into a state of relaxed bliss like it was nothing. Why was he so good at this? It wasn’t fair.
“Your back is a mess, by the way. I should’ve known it would be. You’ll need to lay down for me to sort it out, and we’ll need at least an hour, knowing you.”
Bucky was only half listening, his other half trying to contain the pleased and frankly inappropriate noises threatening to escape his throat. He had been given a massage before, he remembered one of his handlers giving him one as a reward. It had been nice, but it hadn’t felt this good, fuck. His brain was leaking out his ears, he was sure of it. Bucky’s mind was quiet, something that hadn’t happened in nearly a century.
“Guess I finally got you to shut up. I’ll have to remember this next time you’re being annoying.” Sam teased, snapping him out of it.
“If you gave me a massage every time I annoyed you, you wouldn’t have time to do anything else.” Bucky shot back. The statement was slightly undercut by his eyes fluttering shut halfway through it, but Sam was behind him and hopefully hadn’t seen that.
“Can I move a bit farther out?” Sam asked, pausing his movements for a second. “There’s a lot of scar tissue there, but I think I can avoid it.”
Bucky nodded, anything to get Sam’s hands back on him. He’d been dreading having to sit through this, but now he never wanted it to end. How long had it been since someone had touched him like this? Not even a massage, just gentle touch with no real purpose other than making him feel good. It must’ve been decades, if his reactions were anything to go by. Bucky was glad Sam was behind him, tears were welling in his eyes now. Everything just felt so nice, he could barely stand it, but he couldn’t get enough either. He was somewhere between “not enough” and “far too much”, and he couldn’t make up his mind.
“Still okay?” Sam asked, and good lord, his hands were heavenly. He nodded quickly, feeling the touch shift away from his scars again, moving up to his neck. That was good, safer at least.
“I don’t know how you live like this. You’re nothing but tension, I’m shocked you can even move.” Sam dug his thumbs in hard, and trying not to whine was one of the hardest things Bucky had ever done.
“I manage.” He said, somehow making it sound coherent.
“We might have to make this a more regular thing. I don’t know how I’ve survived this long with this mess as my backup.” Sam dug in his thumbs again, shit. He didn’t quite hold back the sound this time, but Sam didn’t comment on it. Bucky refrained from saying anything about Sam’s suggestion of making this a “more regular thing”. He was pretty sure if he tried to say anything about it, all that would come out is “please”. He wasn’t that desperate, or at least Sam didn’t need to know if he was.
They continued on like that for a while, Bucky holding back noises that he’d only heard in porn up until now, and Sam massaging him within an inch of his life while giving him the good grace of pretending not to notice. He kept going until Bucky had somewhat gotten used to the sensations, though how could he ever get used to this? And he’d somewhat collected what was left of his mind and forced it to start thinking thoughts again.
“Alright, how’s that feel?” Sam asked, pulling back. Bucky rolled his shoulder again, this time meeting no resistance and feeling no pain. It didn’t even catch, and something that had been pinching for at least the last year was now gliding smoothly.
“Good. Thank you.” He meant it. He meant it more than Sam could ever know.
“Want me to do your back, too?” Sam asked.
“I don’t know if I’ll survive that.” And it was a bit more honest than he’d intended to be, but Sam laughed like he was gonna fall over, then guided him to the back bedroom. To Sam’s bedroom, to Sam’s bed.
“Won’t the oil get on your blanket?” He asked, eyeing it warily.
“It’s okay, I’ll wash it. Come on, lay down.” Sam patted the mattress and gave him a soft smile. “I promise you’ll survive.”
He did lay down, turning his head towards Sam and looking up at him a little helplessly.
“Perfect. You can shut your eyes, and you probably should. Don’t make it weird.”
Bucky laughed, the movement shaking the bed, and closed his eyes. Normally he didn’t like having them closed, didn’t like being unaware, but he felt strangely serene in this moment. Sam applied more of the oil, slicking all the way down to the hem of his pants this time. The contact was dizzying, especially now that Bucky had nothing else to focus on. The birds outside, the clouds, that awful painting Sam had hanging, and even the steady drip of the faucet had been ripped away. All that was left was the warmth of the touch.
“There’s gotta be pinched nerves in here and everything.” Sam scolded, starting to massage in earnest now. He balled his hands into fists, gliding them along Bucky’s spine and practically making his toes curl. How could this feel so good? He didn’t know anything could feel this good, let alone something Sam could provide at the drop of a hat. Not that Bucky would ask, he hated needing things, but it was so blissful that he was reconsidering his ways.
“Is there anything like this for the metal arm? What do they do if that gets too tense?” Sam asked casually, as if he wasn’t completely rocking Bucky’s world right now.
“It doesn’t get tense, there’s no muscles.” He managed. “They can fix the wiring, repair the plates, that sort of thing.”
“No metal massage, then. You can still feel that arm, can’t you?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.”
Nothing came of the question for a while. Sam worked on his back until he felt like he was melting into the mattress, putty in Sam’s hands, and at a loss for thoughts again.
“Stop me if this hurts.” Always a great phrase to hear from the man standing over you armed with massage oil. Sam placed a hand on his left shoulder, gliding it out, then down over his arm. Bucky could feel it, he had fairly normal sensation in that arm, minus pain of course. Hydra wasn’t about to equip him with more weakness than he already had. Sam kept going, moving up and down his arm, spreading his metal fingers and stretching them out, aligning plates that had been knocked out of place, and generally making something in Bucky’s chest build up until it snapped. He found himself crying openly into one of Sam’s pillows, praying Sam wouldn’t notice so he wouldn’t have to explain that no one had ever touched that arm so tenderly. It was a weapon, he was a weapon, and Sam was treating it like it was something to be cared for.
He made his way back to Bucky’s shoulders, then down to his back. Once the tears started, they never really stopped. He cried under the gentle touch until Sam let up the pressure, slowly easing to a stop. Bucky felt the bed dip beside him.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Sam asked. He didn’t have to answer. The tears streaming down his face probably told the whole story.
“I guess you don’t have a lot of people left to do this for you. Sorry, that’s kinda insensitive.” He mumbled.
“It’s fine. It’s true.” Bucky sniffed, sitting up and scrubbing at his face.
“Have you ever had this before? I mean-?”
“Once.” Bucky cut him off. “An old handler, as a reward.”
Sam nodded like he’d expected that. “Well now you’ve got me. I’ll help whenever you need me to, no reward needed.”
Bucky didn’t tell him that Hydra withheld touch from him for decades and rationed it out like meals. He didn’t tell Sam that his last massage was a reward after a mission had gone horribly wrong, resulting in him taking out over fifty witnesses and nearly breaking out of his conditioning. He didn’t say that the gentle touch brought him to tears, had him sobbing and begging them not to stop, had him so far deep in the conditioning that he would’ve killed a hundred more people just for another second of blissful contact.
He simply said “thank you”. Maybe he would ask for this again.