Firefight ⍟Bucky Barnes⍟

Sandwiches and Sweat

Chapter 1: Sandwiches and Sweat

June 22, 1943; Brooklyn, New York

"Come on, soldier, you can do better than that." 

Pinning the man below her, Marcy giggled as he effortlessly flipped them over, raising his hand to run a finger along her cheek. His previously perfectly coiffed hair was matted with sweat, beads falling down his skin. The uniform fitted to his body was ruffled, a pant leg pushed halfway up his calf as he used the leg to keep her trapped. He looked perfect. 

"I don't wanna hurt you, doll." 

"I'm not that fragile." She grinned, but otherwise stayed in her immobilized position, allowing Bucky to wipe the sweat from her brow. "I have a big, strong soldier to teach me how to fight." 

Face transforming from sweet concern to delight, that bit of familiar cockiness outlined Bucky's expression. He knew damn well how good he was and Margaret never stopped stroking his ego. In her eyes, he easily lived up to his reputation and exceeded it. He should know that for all the times the confident persona fell and his insecure nature came out to play.

"You keep talkin' like that, it'll get to my head." He told her, lips upturned in a boyish smirk as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. A knowing laugh bubbled up from her chest, shaking her head. 

"It got to your head many many years ago." 

Head cocked, Bucky pretending to think for a moment before nodding in admission and leaning down to kiss her unexpectedly. The responding giggle was cut off with a content hum, hand raising from his hip to envelop his cheek, thumb rubbing against the light stubble coating his chin. The reminder made him groan, knowing he needed to fix that when they got home. 

Allowing himself to forget about it once again - something that was never hard in Marcy's presence - his head tilted, deepening the kiss, tongue lightly grazing her lower lip. Before it could go any farther, he pulled away entirely. 

Head dropping to the mat, Marcy groaned, glaring at the much too pleased man above her. He was always such a tease. 

"C'mon. Steve will be home soon." 

Jumping up from his position, James' uniform fell back into place, still mussed up. Marcy grabbed the hand he held out for her and squealed as she was quickly pulled up, being wrapped in a pair of straining arms. Lifting her chin, lips were pressed to hers for a quick moment before the arms released her, replaced with a hand in her own pulling her to the edge of the dirty boxing ring. 

The two walked through the familiar gym, waving at patrons they knew, one of them clapping Bucky on the shoulder when he passed. While Marcy changed back into her day clothes, the good soldier waited, having no need to change his own. He always made a point to train in his uniform and Marcy always reminded him it was necessary whenever he didn't want to. After all, if he ever got orders to ship out, he'd be fighting in that uniform every day. 

As they left, they waved at the owner, an older dark-skinned man with thinning hair and overalls that Marcy was certain were glued to his body. He watched them go with a smile; they were his kindest customers. 

The walk home was normal, the pair's intertwined hands swinging between them. Men were trying to get others to enlist, women were bustling around doing daily chores, and children were running around playing their favorite games, practically unaware that the entire world was fighting. When they passed a disheveled veteran, Marcy frowned with a crease in her brow before reaching into her bag to give the man some food. He thanked her profusely, waving them off with a toothy grin, and the woman's sunny disposition soon returned.