For the Love of the Game // Bucky Barnes

Part Six

You'd been kissed before, but never like this. Never with fingers threading into your hair, eliciting whimpers from your throat that were met with heavier breaths and teeth pressing against your lips. Never had your hands come up to find purchase in muscular arms, the action causing a deep, yearning groan to reach your ears. And when you pulled yourself closer, legs slotted between his, Bucky let his thumb press your chin up to kiss you even more—he would always want more.

It wasn't until your hips met his—desperate to relieve the ache building between you—that Bucky broke the kiss. His lips trailed to the corner of your mouth in soft touches, deep breaths huffing along your neck. The thumb against your chin brushed down to the juncture of your shoulder, and his forehead moved up to press to yours.

"I gotta do this right, doll. I gotta show you I mean it," he whispered, hands coming up to the back of your head to shift your eyes to his. "Let me?"

His pupils were blown—cheeks flushed and lips bruised from your own. His eyes shone with sincerity and an adoration that left your stomach dipping into unknown territory. All of this was unknown territory.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip as you whispered a quick okay into the air between you. You were dizzy, but it wasn't from the alcohol anymore.

"Tomorrow?" His question was laced with so much hope, you could hardly deny him.

"Okay, Bucky. Tomorrow."

His lips turned up in a small, pained smile before he tilted your head down to place a kiss on your hairline. His next words were spoken to your skin. "Are you sure you're okay, doll? Don't need anything?"

He'd asked you that so many times.

"I think I'm okay," you replied, hands coming up to rest on his forearms. "I'm hungry."

He pulled back, a playful glint in his eye for the first time that night. "I think I can handle that."

~~

Bucky could definitely handle that—better than you thought he could. He had you sitting on a stool in the kitchen as he worked away at the stove, flipping yet another pancake even though you insisted you'd be okay with something small.

I told you I'd make it up to you, didn't I? he had quipped, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders. Might as well start now.

"So where's Sam?" you asked. A comfortable silence had found its way into the kitchen; you could hardly believe your night started out so poorly.

"His sister asked him to watch her kids for the night. Somethin' about a date maybe? Wasn't really listening."

"It's rude to ignore your friends, Barnes," you smirked.

"I was a little distracted." He passed you a plate which you immediately dug into. His food was eerily good for not having a pre-packaged mix.

Your next words were muffled by pancakes. "Distracted by what."

He looked over at you, affection clear in his eyes as he took in your comfortable state. The blanket he gave you was sliding off your shoulders as you ate and your legs were swinging from the height of the stool.

"You, mostly."

You swallowed hard. "Me? I wasn't even there."

He shook his head fondly. "Exactly."

Your face burned. How did everything he say have that effect on you? When you didn't reply, he continued. "Was really worried about you, actually. But Nat said you were studying—" he sent you an accusatory glance "—so I felt better after that. Apparently I shoulda stayed worried longer."