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“God damnit, Y/N, we don’t have time for this shit,” Bucky’s harsh whisper carries across the room to where you are working.
“It’s fine, Barnes. You did your sniper shit; now it’s time for me to do my shit.” You continued picking the hidden lock in the ornate wooden desk. You grumble under your breath about how much of a dick he’s being and work your lock picking keys into the mechanism.
After a bit of wiggling, you hear a click. You turn the keys, and the sound of a drawer popping open above you confirms your suspicions. You slide out from under the desk and open the newly discovered drawer. Inside is a laptop, and judging by how much they had tried to hide it, that is what you have been looking for. You grab the computer and shoot a glare at Bucky. He is always doubting your abilities. “Let’s go, old man,” you say shortly, putting the laptop in your backpack and shouldering it on. Bucky rolls his eyes and starts leading the way back to the window you both had climbed in through earlier. His strides are longer, so he quickly gets farther away from you. You don’t bother trying to catch up.
Shots ring out from behind you, and you duck, grabbing your gun. You fire back, keeping behind a wall for shelter while Bucky continues on, already around the corner and probably far enough to not think anything of the shots. You are still too preoccupied with the agent attacking you to call for his help.
You quickly run out of ammo. You make a show of dropping your weapon and beg the man with your eyes to let you live. He does exactly what you want. The man approaches you, a wicked grin growing on his face. Your hand creeps slowly to the hilt of your knife at your waist. You let him get closer, waiting for the perfect moment. Right as he presses the trigger, you dive and stab the man in the leg, right in his IT band. He howls in pain and tries to shoot you again, but you are quicker, and you push the knife into his side. The man falls with a loud thud just as Bucky comes running back down the hall for you.
“Y/N, I--”
“Oh look, my knight in shining armor,” you say sarcastically, forcing the bile that’s rising in your throat back down. You wipe off your blade and push past Bucky. The window is still open from when you’d done the climb into the building, so you maneuver yourself out onto the siding and climb down. You are seething. How could he have left you like that?
You’ve been partners with Bucky for a few months, and missions have always been touch and go. The two of you are constantly bickering, picking on each other, and fighting about how to do stuff.
You only tolerate the man because Tony had quite the vision for you and the Winter Soldier. The whole idea was that Bucky would do his sniper spy stuff, and you’d go in and sneak around looking for hard drives or whatever you needed from that mission. So far, all your missions have been successful, but you can’t get past the smug look on that asshole’s face.
You stalk off to the car; a black SUV parked a few blocks from the building. You sit in the passenger’s seat, waiting for Bucky. He finally gets in the car, and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. It's palpable how pissed both of you are.
The drive back is unbearable, and the second you arrive at the Tower, you go your separate ways. You aren’t an Avenger, so you don’t live in the same wing as Bucky, and you are incredibly thankful for that.
Your neighbor, Lee, always makes sure to check on you after missions. You don’t know what you’d do without them. Lee knocks on your door 30 minutes after you get back, giving you enough time to change out of your tactical gear and into a pair of sweatpants with a comfy shirt. They don’t bother waiting for you to open the door; they know it’ll be unlocked.
“How’d it go today with the old guy?” They ask, placing a bottle and two shot glasses down on your counter. You huff out a laugh as you head over to them.
“It sucked.” Lee pours two heaping shots of tequila and offers you one. You take it and tap glasses with Lee before downing the shot. It’s a tradition. A few shots after a tough mission always make you feel better. “He left me alone while I was getting shot at. What kind of partner does that?” Lee shakes their head and pours another shot for the two of you.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. Why don’t you just ask to get reassigned? I get it was Tony’s idea and all, but if you two don’t work well together, it isn’t worth it.” You take the shot and wipe at your mouth, scanning the kitchen for a chaser.
“That’s the thing, we do well together on the missions. If you ignore the bickering, we actually are a great team. We just don’t get along very well the rest of the time.” Lee nods but doesn’t really believe you.
“He’s also not so not so bad to look at,” Lee says quickly before taking a shot. Your jaw drops, but you have to agree.
“I mean, you’re right but don’t tell anyone,” you laugh loudly and try to push the image of Bucky out of your head.
He frequents your thoughts, images of him working out, taking down an agent, or literally just standing there looking like a fucking greek god. “Jesus, Lee, please don’t tell anyone.” You take your last shot and shake your head at Lee. They laugh along with you; your secret’s safe with them.
It’s getting late, and you have to debrief with Steve and Bucky in the morning about the mission. You can’t afford to be late or hungover for that. Lee heads out, and you make your way to bed, still pissed with Bucky.
“You did what?” Steve shouts after hearing about Bucky leaving you to deal with an attacker alone. Bucky just stares at you, lips pressed into a thin line. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes say it all.
“It’s fine,” you say, standing abruptly from your chair. You can’t sit still anymore. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. Just don’t do it again.” The first part of your statement, you say directly to Steve. The second part, you spit at Bucky. It just fuels the fire.
“It’s not like I’d do that on purpose,” Bucky says, his voice getting louder.
“But you also didn’t come back for me. You were going to leave me there!” Steve looks between the two of you like he is watching a tennis match.
“I came back, Y/N! What else was I supposed to do? Magically sense that he was there and kill him for you?” You roll your eyes and open your mouth to respond, but before you can, he is speaking over you. “You’re a big girl,” he says, voice dripping with vitriol. “You can handle yourself. If you can’t, maybe you should rethink your profession.” He storms out of the room, letting the sting of his words settle.
Two weeks later, you are put on another mission with Bucky. It’s simple-- well, it was supposed to be. Everything is going wrong. There are more agents in the building than you originally planned for, and there are too many people guarding the hard drive you are after. You and Bucky are outnumbered. You take down as many of them as you can, but they just keep coming. While both of you and Bucky had called for backup, no one was coming to save you. You are in it alone.
The brief for the mission had been tense; you hadn’t spoken to each other since that day he told you to get a new job. He had no idea how much it hurt to hear him say that, literally the day before you had been defending him to Lee, and he just tore you down in an instant.
Ever since Tony had recruited you, you’d felt like you weren’t meant to be there. You didn’t have super strength, you weren’t bitten by anything, and as far as you knew, you hadn’t been injected with any super cool hero goo. You were just really good at stealing shit. It isn’t a superpower. It isn’t even something people could appreciate. But Tony saw something in you, so you had to believe that you were there for a reason.
Searing pain in your leg brings your thoughts back to the present moment. You dive out of the way and press yourself as tightly as possible behind a shelving unit, seeking cover from the onslaught of gunfire you are taking. Bucky is firing back, but his eyes are searching for you. He finds you pushing back against the wall, pressing on your leg. Blood seeps from your fingers out onto the floor. The click of his gun alerts him to the fact that he is out of ammo. He crouches down next to you, checking for more but comes up empty.
“Are you okay?” Bucky asks quietly, giving you a once over. He pulls a knife out of his pocket and flips it through his fingers. You nod and reach for your own knife, feeling it in your waistband.
“Help me up,” you say through gritted teeth, trying to push yourself up. Bucky shakes his head, but the men are approaching. You don’t have time to argue with him. “Right, I’m a big girl. I’ll just do it myself.” Bucky rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t have time for a snarky remark. The men are firing again. You force the pain in your leg out of your head and focus on the task at hand.
You pull the knife from your waistband and wait for the perfect moment to jump into the fight Bucky had started. The two of you make quick work of the agents, stabbing and slashing at them expertly. Once all the agents are down, pain floods your body. You have done a good job of pushing it away, but you don’t have the energy to keep it up. You fall back against the wall and press your hand to your gunshot wound.
“Are you gonna be able to get out?” Bucky asks, gesturing to the 8 flights of stairs you’ll have to descend to get out of the building.
“I’ll be fine,” you grunt, pushing off the wall and stumbling a bit. “Big girl, remember?” You walk past him, dragging your leg a bit. The thought of making the trek down the stairs makes you want to throw up, but you can’t let Bucky know that. He waits behind you, only walking down the stairs once you have gone.
“Let me carry you,” he mumbles, voice horse. You stop walking and face him, trying to keep your weight off your leg.
“Hell no,” you huff, laughing a bit at the proposition.
“Well, I doubt you could hate me more than you already do, so deal with it, I guess.” He passes you quickly on the stairs and goes to your side, sliding one arm behind your knees and the other on your back.
“Bucky, don’t--”
“You’re too slow on your own. I don’t want to be in this place longer than we need to be.” You can’t squirm out of his grip, and you can’t think of a witty response, so you just hold onto him as he carries you out.
You’ve never been this close to Bucky. You can smell his pine body wash mixed with his sweat; it is intoxicating. Finally, the two of you reach the bottom floor, but Bucky doesn’t set you down. He walks you all the way to the jet, putting you down in the co-pilot chair. A weird tension falls over the two of you, but it is different than the one that had been present earlier.
“Thanks,” you grumble, pushing through your bag, looking for your medkit.
“We’d still be up there if I hadn’t carried you,” he replies curtly as he readies the jet for takeoff. You find a large roll of gauze and wrap it around your leg to apply pressure. You don’t have the skills to do anything better, so that’ll have to do until you get back to the Tower. You try to get some sleep on the ride home. It’s about a two-hour flight, but every time you shut your eyes, you feel Bucky staring at you. After about 30 minutes, you get fed up with it.
“Can I help you?” You ask somewhat groggily. You turn your head and look at Bucky, raising your eyebrows to emphasize the question.
“I was just checking to see if you’re okay; I thought that’s what you wanted.” He huffs a little bit and focuses back on the flight.
“God, you’re infuriating,” you mumble, turning in your seat, so your back is to the man. The rest of the trip is spent in silence, and you can finally fall asleep.
“Hey, Y/N,” Bucky says gently, shaking your shoulder a bit to wake you. “We’re back.” You rub your eyes, trying to shake the sleep from your body.
“Okay.” You push yourself up from the chair but immediately fall, crumpling into Bucky’s body. He catches you and holds you up, but you try to push away.
“You can’t walk,” he says, pulling you back into his arms. Without asking, he picks you up and starts to carry you off the jet. Neither of you speaks, and the silence that falls over you is surprisingly comfortable. All you hear is the sounds of his heavy boots on the steel floor and the soft whirring of his metal arm in his jacket. You rest your head on his shoulder, and Bucky inhales sharply, holding his breath. He carries you into the elevator and down to the medical wing, dropping you off gently onto one of the open beds.
“Thanks,” you say to him somewhat awkwardly. One of the doctors walks over and quickly starts treating your wounds. You shoo Bucky away, not wanting him to be around for when you had to take off your pants. He makes himself scarce but can’t help but pace outside in the hallway until you are discharged. It is a quick fix, and you’ll be back on your feet soon, so you are able to hobble your way back to your room all on your own. A message from Tony on your phone alerts you to at least two weeks of desk work, but then you’ll be back in the field just in time for his next lavish party.
You have a love-hate relationship with Tony’s parties. You like getting drunk, but you don’t like the whole interacting with other people thing. Normally, most agents don’t go to the parties, it tends to just be the Avengers and the higher-ups, but since you are partners with an Avenger, you have to make an appearance. Tony insists that you and Bucky make your rounds and talk to all the important people. You will tolerate it, hooking your arm around Bucky’s, smiling and nodding along to what the man says to everyone. The second you are done with everything, you and Bucky will go your separate ways.
That’s the plan for tonight’s party as well. Get in, get drunk, get out.
Easy.
Lee helps you get dressed; they love doing your hair and makeup. You decide to wear a short lavender satin dress with a low back, the fabric pooling just at the base of your spine. It is a bit more skin than you are used to showing, but you don’t have many dress options. You’re somewhat wary of showing off your stitched-up wound, but it’s healing nicely, and you are set to get the stitches out in a few days. You slip on a pair of heels and take a shot with Lee for good luck before heading out. Perks of living in the Tower: no commute home.
You make your way to the 50th floor where the party is being held and are greeted by the loud sounds of dancing, mingling, and music. Stepping out of the elevator, you immediately look for the bar. You make a b-line for it and order yourself a vodka soda, taking it from the bartender, thankfully. A hand on your lower back makes you shiver, and you spin around to face the owner of the hand. Bucky.
“You look nice,” he says, leaning in close. You continue to sip at your drink and roll your eyes.
“Thanks, Grandpa,” you reply.
Suddenly, Tony’s voice pierces through the noise of the party, and you and Bucky visibly cringe. “Ah, my favorite broody pair. What’re you two doing hiding out over here? You know the rules, make your rounds and then get shit-faced.” He claps the two of you on the shoulders and you down the rest of your drink, earning a scoff from Tony.
You set down your glass and try to link arms with Bucky, but he has different plans. His hand slides into place on your lower back, gloved fingers reaching to your waist. You inhale sharply, but he’s already walking and pushing you lightly to stay next to him.
The two of you make your rounds, talking to investors and big-shot corporate people, but you can barely focus on anything other than Bucky’s hand pressing against your skin. Even through the leather gloves, you can feel the heat of his hand.
Finally, the two of you make your way back to the bar, but Bucky’s hand doesn’t leave your skin. He orders you another drink which you sip at, trying to ignore how close Bucky is standing to you.
“Why are you so grumpy tonight, doll,” he asks somewhat sarcastically. You lean against the bar and look up at him, glaring a bit.
“I’m not grumpy; I just don’t like parties. We’ve been to enough of ’em together. You should know that by now.” You down the rest of your drink and motion to the bartender for another.
“If you hate ’em so much, why do you dress up so nice?” You scoff; he keeps complimenting you. It’s weird.
“Because if I didn’t, Tony would have my head.” The bartender brings you a new glass, and you push the ice around with one of the little black straws.
“And here I thought you were doing it all for me.” He laughs and presses a little firmer on your waist with his fingers. You huff a little and shift your footing. “Aw, am I ruffling your feathers, pretty girl?”
“What’re you playing at, Barnes,” you ask, sipping your drink and trying to ignore how much you like it when he calls you that.
“Am I not allowed to compliment you?” He smirks, and you know you’ve been caught.
“It’s just that you’ve never been all that nice to me, so it’s just--” you take a sip as you try to find the word. “New, I guess.” Bucky laughs and sips his own drink, which you think is kind of weird considering the man can’t get drunk. The song changes to something more upbeat, and a woman makes her way to the bar.
“Hey, Buck,” she says, putting a well-manicured hand on his arm. “You wanna dance?” Bucky looks uncomfortable but forces a smile and walks out to the floor with her. You shiver in the absence of his hand on your back but push the feeling from your mind. So what? Bucky’s a dick, and you don’t care what he thinks or who he dances with.
You watch him dance with the scantily clad woman. She wraps herself around him, grinding against him, but his gaze isn’t on her but instead staring straight ahead. His jaw is tense, and his hands never touch her, only hover above her skin. You still hate the sight, but since when did you care?
“Y/N, right?” You tear your gaze away from Bucky and the woman, shifting it to the man who has approached you. It takes you a moment to remember his name, but after a few seconds, it comes to you.
“Yeah, Jon?” He nods and gives you a not-so-subtle once over, eyes lingering on your exposed skin.
“How about a dance?” You feel eyes on you, and over Jon’s shoulder, you can see Bucky staring daggers in your direction. It’s enough motivation for you to accept the invitation.
“I’d love to dance.” You grab Jon’s hand and pull him out onto the dance floor, still within Bucky’s line of sight.
You press yourself against Jon, who is happy to hold you close. You aren’t dancing as sexily as the woman with Bucky, but it’s enough to piss him off. Jon is pretty into it until Bucky approaches. He grabs your arm and pulls you away from Jon, much to your dance partner’s dismay. Jon makes no attempt to fight for you, though, and makes his way over to Bucky’s abandoned dance partner. You try to wiggle out of Bucky’s grip, but there is no escaping him. He pulls you into the elevator and jabs at one of the buttons.
“What the hell was that?” He asks, still holding onto your arm. His grip is tight. It’ll probably leave a bruise.
“The fuck, Bucky, I was just dancing,” you say, noticing that Bucky has pressed the button for the top floor. “Why are we going to the Avengers floor?” The doors open, and he drags you out and into the main room. It’s deserted since everyone is down at the party. It’s strange for it to be so quiet.
“I just wanted somewhere quiet to talk,” he replies, releasing your arm. You rub at the skin he had been holding onto. It’s sore from his grip.
“You could’ve just said that. I would’ve gone with you.” He scoffs a bit and rolls his eyes at you.
“You hate listening to me; we both know that.” He’s right; you do hate listening to him. But what you hate more is when he’s right.
“Oh come on, Buck, what’s wrong?” You ask, leaning your back against the wall. Bucky paces around in front of you, obviously thinking about something.
“What were you doing with that guy?” He takes his gloves off and tosses them onto a table a few feet away.
“We were just dancing; what were you doing with that girl?” You ask, voice a bit higher-pitched than you hoped it would be.
“She was dancing. I was too busy watching your display with that Jon guy.” He takes a few steps toward you, standing close again. You can smell his cologne; it makes your knees weak. “You don’t seriously like that guy, do you?” You don’t, but you kind of like how messed up Bucky is over this.
“So what if I do? It’s not like I’m with anyone right now.” Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket and drops it unceremoniously to the ground. You’ll never admit it, but he looks really good like that. The disheveled assassin look is very hot.
“You think that guy knows how to treat you, right? How to take care of you?” His voice drops toward the end of the statement, and he steps closer. He is inches from you, close enough to touch.
“Oh, and you think you do? That’s real funny, Buck.” He places his metal arm next to your head, leaning against the wall.
“Who says I don’t? It’s not like you’ve given me a chance to show you.” You suck in a breath; his face is so close to yours. It feels like his eyes are about to swallow you whole.
“What d’you mean? You’re always so mean to me. You hated me from the second I got here.” You feel yourself deflate a little at the thought of meeting Bucky, having him reject you instantly. He had even asked Tony for a new partner in front of you on that first day.
“I’ve never hated you, Y/N, it’s just--” He licks his lips as he thinks of what to say next. “I’ve never worked with someone other than Steve.” You don’t like his explanation. “I didn’t wanna hurt you or put you in a bad spot. Plus, you’re so cute when you’re all worked up.” You drop your eyes, unable to stare into his anymore. Bucky chuckles, stepping one of his feet in between yours.
“You should’ve told me you didn’t hate me,” you say, voice a bit raspy. “Maybe I would’ve been nicer.” You know that you probably still would’ve been snarky; it’s just the kind of person you are.
“I didn’t think I’d like you as much as I did,” he says, bringing his flesh hand up to brush a piece of hair out of your face. “So I kept it up, hoping that you’d distance yourself from me. I’m not much of a people person.” His hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, thumb pressing gently at your jaw.
“So what, is this your big confession?” You say, trying to hide your nervous excitement. You’d never said it out loud, but you’ve always had a bit of a crush on the man. You like how he teases you, and sure sometimes he takes it a bit far, but so have you. It isn’t a one-sided thing, but the day he told you to get a new job had been a new level. You really thought he’d hated you.
“Sure,” he says, and before you can respond, he presses his lips to yours. You gasp a bit against the kiss, but he angles your head with his hand to fit against him better. The kiss is hot, passionate, and full of everything you’ve been feeling for the past few months as his partner.
Your hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands find their way to your back, arching it off the wall. You moan softly into the kiss, face heating. You didn't mean to make that noise.
“God, if you wanted me that bad, you just had to say so,” Bucky says against your lips. He picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He holds you close, supporting your hips and back with his strong hands. Bucky walks you to his room, kicking the door open. He tosses you down onto his bed, and you land with a little squeal.
He’s on you in an instant. Kissing you, hands tangling in your once-styled hair. Your hands roam all over him, feeling his build through his thin shirt. Eventually, your fingers find the buttons on the front of his shirt. You make quick work of them and pull the fabric from his body, and he happily discards it on the ground. Bucky stares down at you, eyes hungry and dark. He looks like a fucking god, and it makes you want him that much more. His hands run up your legs, pushing your dress up and up until your panties are exposed.
His hand grazes over your gunshot wound, and immediately the fire inside you is doused. Bucky sees it, and you can tell his focus is entirely on your stitched-up flesh. His fingers trace the bandage; it’s something Banner had come up with. The stitches and bandages are clear, so observing the wound’s healing is easier. At this moment, though, you wish Bucky couldn’t see the damage to your leg.
“Buck,” you whisper, placing a hand over his, covering your stitches. “Where’d you go?” You ask quietly. It’s something he asks you when he catches you spacing out on the jet. You say it in an attempt to make him smile, but all he does is shake his head.
“This is my fault,” he says quietly. You push yourself up to sit and reach a hand up to Bucky’s face. He leans his head into your hand, but his eyes stay on your leg.
“I don’t blame you, Buck. It’s part of the job; you did what you could.” His eyes flit back to yours, and you see the storm clouds rolling in his usually bright blue eyes. Before that moment, you hadn’t gotten around to mentioning that you don’t hold a grudge about that day you’d been ambushed.
Shit happens. It’s impossible to be everywhere all at once. You know that.
“I’m a shitty partner,” he says with a dry chuckle. You know he doesn’t mean for it to be funny, but you laugh a little anyways. He stares at you in surprise, but you ignore the look. Instead, you push yourself to sit up. You crawl on top of him and push his chest back, so he hits the mattress with a little oof .
Bucky watches as you lean over him and press gentle kisses to his forehead, nose, cheeks, jaw, and collar bones. His eyes are wide with disbelief, and honestly, if you weren’t right here kissing him, you’d have a hard time believing it too.
Without realizing it, you’ve begun to focus your affection on his left shoulder, where skin meets metal. You’ve heard Bucky talk about how much his arm affects him. It’s a constant reminder of his past, of the person he tries so hard not to be anymore.
You show him how beautiful you think it is.
“Don’t talk about my partner that way,” you mumble against his skin. Though the words are quiet, you know Bucky has heard them. You continue kissing down his abdomen, planting one on each rib, on that little trail of hair that leads below his belt. As you’re about to unbutton his pants, Bucky grabs you and pulls you back up, so you’re face to face with him. You can feel his cock pressed against your center, and you shiver at the pleasant pressure it provides.
Bucky grips your hips tightly, and the pressure makes you want him even more.
“Fuck,” he mutters, shifting your hips to grind against him ever so slightly. Something snaps in him, and you practically see the shift. Bucky’s fingers find the edge of your dress and tug it up off of you before discarding it on the floor.
His eyes take in every inch of your exposed skin. Your first instinct is to cover up, but under Bucky’s gaze, you feel confident. You give Bucky a smile, and he flashes one right back, though his is much more mischievous than yours.
Before you get a chance to ask him of his plans, Bucky flips the two of you over, so he’s got you caged between his arms. He kisses you briefly on your lips before trailing his mouth down your body, nipping at your skin as he moves. When he settles between your legs, he looks like a man starved. Bucky whispers something to himself that you can’t hear then spreads his tongue along your core. His breath is hot on your sensitive skin, and you can’t help but grip his hair in your fingers.
He works you expertly, bringing you to your peak after only a few moments. No one has ever made you feel this way. Your thoughts swim; you can only think of Bucky and his talented tongue.
“Please, Buck,” you groan, not even sure why you’re begging. You know he’s going to give it to you; he’s going to make you come. And he does, he picks up his pace, focusing on what makes you squirm, and with a final tug on his hair, you come undone. Pleasure washes over you, and you moan loudly, not caring who hears.
When Bucky kisses his way back up your body, you feel warmth spread through your body. He smiles at you again, and you tug him down to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his lips, and it spurs you on.
“Can I fuck you?” He asks through gritted teeth. His question takes you by surprise, but you nod a few times, put in a trance by his eyes. They shine so brightly. He kisses you again quickly before grabbing a condom out of the nightstand drawer. Bucky mutters to himself under his breath as he rolls the condom then lines himself up with you. He swears under his breath, and all you can do is stare up at him.
“Please,” you whisper, gripping his arm tightly.
You watch him roll the condom over himself and try not to groan at the sight. You can’t believe that less than an hour ago, you were convinced he hated your guts.
Bucky positions himself between your legs, and the sight takes your breath away. “Fuck,” you whisper as he pushes into you. Bucky huffs out a laugh at your reaction; he can’t seem to get enough. He leans in to kiss you, reassuring you as he pushes into you. The stretch is perfect, and he fills you better than anything you could’ve imagined.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers against your lips. You can’t formulate words, so your reply is a jumbled mess of whimpers and moans. Bucky grins into the kiss, threading his fingers into your hair. Bucky uses the grip to hold you still as he ravages your mouth. His teeth scrape your lips, and you moan at the action, not bothered by how loud you are. He rocks into you, not pulling out but just keeping himself seated deep inside of you.
Your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting as electricity courses through you. Bucky sets a deep, steady pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head. No one has ever fucked you like Bucky is now; you didn’t know people could even be this good at it.
Somehow, Bucky can read you like a book. He kisses your lips sweetly and whispers that you don’t need to talk. Just let him do all the work. You’re not even sure you can move even if you want to.
Your hands wander over his back and shoulders, feeling his skin and scars. They explore his shoulder, the mechanism fusing skin and metal, and a shiver travels down Bucky’s spine. It spurs him to move faster, and waves of pleasure wash over you.
You get closer and closer to your release, the way Bucky is working your body, hitting all the right spots, is perfect. There’s just enough friction against your clit to make you see stars, and as you near your orgasm, Bucky kisses down your neck, sucking on the soft spot just below your jaw.
“Oh my god, Bucky,” you whimper, sucking in a breath. “I’m so close,” your voice is barely audible, but he can still hear you.
“I know, I know,” he comforts, pressing you further into the mattress. “I need you to come for me. You gonna do that?” You nod your head quickly, screwing your eyes shut. “Needta hear the magic word.” Frustration creeps into your thoughts, but it doesn’t stick around long. You want to come more than you want to pick a fight.
“Yes, Bucky,” you say through a groan. “Please.” The word flips a switch, and Bucky changes his approach, his pace speeds up, and his metal fingers find your clit. Your eyes flutter open for just long enough to see Bucky’s bright blues flash.
“Atta girl.” You can’t hold eye contact for long, your orgasm washes over you, and you lose any coherent thoughts in your mind. Bucky follows you a few moments later, collapsing on top of you once he’s spent.
When you finally come out of your post-orgasm haze, you find yourself combing your fingers through Bucky’s hair. He is tracing shapes on your abdomen and legs, tickling you but not in an uncomfortable way.
“Do we have to pretend to hate each other tomorrow?” You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace that has easily fallen over the two of you.
Bucky shakes his head. “No, they probably already know.” You furrow your brow and stick your hand out, feeling around for your phone. You find it shoved under a pillow, but you’re not sure how it got there.
You unlock it and find a few texts, but the one that stands out is from Lee, “Can’t say I didn’t see it coming… I expect a full report ASAP ;)” You roll your eyes and toss your phone toward the edge of the bed. Explaining everything can come later. Figuring out your feelings can wait.
Right now, all that matters is the feeling of Bucky’s skin on yours, of his whispered words on your lips.
Easy.