You keep rejecting Bucky's dance offer (oneshot)

You keep rejecting Bucky's dance offer

The first time Bucky Barnes asked you to dance, he was smiling like it was already decided.

The band had just struck up something lively, trumpets bright enough to drown out the war for three whole minutes.
He crossed the barwith the confidence of a man who had never been told no in his life, boots polished, sleeves rolled, grin locked and loaded.
"Care to dance, doll?"

You looked up from your beer. Looked at his hand. Looked back at his face.
"No."
Just like that. Not rude. Not flustered.
Calm. Final.

He laughed, sure you were joking. "C'mon. Song just started."
"I know."
"So?"
"So I'm staying here."
He waited. You didn't move. "...You're serious."
You nodded and took a sip.
Bucky blinked once, recalibrated, then tipped an imaginary hat. "Alright. Rain check."

He walked away amused, not bothered. Yet.
——————
The second time, he tried charm with a little extra polish.
"You sure you don't want to dance?" he asked, leaning against your table.
"Band's good tonight. Floor's solid. I won't step on your toes."
"No."
He squinted. "You don't like music?"
"I love music."
"Me?"
You looked him up and down, thoughtful.
"You're fine."
"Fine?" he repeated, wounded. "Just fine?"
You smiled into your glass.
He danced anyway, stealing glances at you between spins.

——————

By the third night, the soldiers had started placing bets.
Bucky approached with mock seriousness.
"Alright. New angle. One dance. Just one. I'll owe you."
"No."
He groaned. "You're killin' me, sweetheart."
"You look alive to me."

——————

Fourth time, he waited until you were mid-sip.
"Dance?"
You shook your head without even lowering the glass.
He laughed, incredulous.
"You didn't even hear the question!"
"I did. Same answer."

——————

Fifth time, he brought backup.
Steve Rogers stood awkwardly beside him, hands in his pockets.
"Uh. Bucky says you won't dance with him."
"That's correct."
Steve nodded. "Okay. Just checking." He turned to leave, then paused.
"He's been unbearable about it."
"I can imagine."

Bucky scowled. "You're supposed to help me!"
Steve shrugged. "She said no."

You smiled at Steve.
Bucky stared like he'd been betrayed by democracy itself.

——————

By the sixth, no, it was personal.
The bar buzzed. Nurses twirled. Laughter spilled everywhere.
Bucky danced with every woman in the room except you, spinning them extra dramatically, dipping them just a little deeper whenever he passed your table.

You applauded once. Slow. Sarcastic.

He broke off mid-dance and marched over.
"Alright, that's it. What's the deal?"
"There is no deal."
"You don't hate me."
"I don't."
"You're not waiting for someone."
"I'm not."
"You come here every week."
"Yes."
"You drink the same beer for three hours."
"It's a good beer."

"You don't hate me," Bucky said, ticking it off on his fingers.
"You're not waiting for anyone. You like the place. So why won't you dance with me?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
You looked down at your beer, thumb tracing the rim.
"I can't dance," you said.
Bucky laughed at first, out of habit.
"a Lady who can't dance?"
You didn't smile. "I really cannot dance."
That stopped him.
The music kept going.
"You're serious." he said finally.
You nodded.

Bucky leaned closer, voice lower now, stripped of performance.
"You're at a bar," he said slowly.
"You don't dance." A beat.
"And you are singularly self-possessed," he continued, almost to himself.
"And yet you do not feel as if you fit in."
The question slipped out before he could dress it up with a joke. "So who are you?"
And for the first time since he'd asked you, you didn't have a quick answer.
The band carried on.
The war waited outside.
And Bucky Barnes forgot how to flirt.

You shrugged. "I love reading..."
He blinked. "You... read?"
"Yes."
"Instead of dancing."
"Yes."
"And no one ever taught you?"
You shook your head. "They assumed."

For once, Bucky Barnes didn't have a clever line ready.
"Well," he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's a real lousy assumption."

——————

After that, he stopped asking you to dance.
Instead, he sat with you.
Told you ridiculous stories about basic training.
Let you correct his grammar when he exaggerated too much.
You teased him about his reputation.
He pretended not to like that you saw through him.

——————

One night, during a slow song, he stood and held out his hand.
You raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were past this."
"Not a dance," he said quickly. "Just... standing."
You eyed him. "You're lying."
"A little."
You sighed, but you stood.

He didn't spin you. Didn't show off. Just placed one hand at your back and pulled you closer.

"Okay," he murmured. "All you gotta do is sway. l'll do the rest."
"I warned you."
"I've been warned many times."

You stepped on his foot accidentally. He winced.
"Alright. That one's on me."

Then again.

"Oof. You sure you don't hate me?"
"Positive." he said with a grin.

By the end of the song, you were smiling, forehead pressed to his shoulder, moving just enough to count.

When the music faded, you pulled back,
"I still can't dance," you said.

Bucky grinned, softer than anyone else ever got to see.
"Yeah," he said. "But you make it worth asking anyway."