The perfect date is rather ambiguous when you remember the man you're thinking of hasn't actually had one since the 40s.
Truth be told, Bucky Barnes doesn't have an awesome track record despite being the brooding quiet kind of hero women tend to gravitate toward. Perhaps most girls are scared they'll accidentally say his trigger words and end up on the evening news. Now, I'm not trying to brag, but if he did somehow forget who he was and reverted back to his hydra training, I'm confident in my ability to take him out.
Of course, I'd rather take him out in a more traditional sense. Seeing as there's nothing traditional about Bucky, I think I have come up with the perfect date night.
A night at my shop.
His metal arm is still branded with the enemy's logo. As I have the tools to reverse this, that's exactly what I would do on our date.
I'd have the man sit in a comfortable chair as I sanded away the red star he has been forced to parade around on his body. Just in case the paint contains lead, I would have us both wear masks. Hydra loves killing, so I wouldn't be surprised if the paint was another death trap.
As I scrape away the reminder of a life stolen away, maybe I'll get a laugh or a few jokes out of him. Maybe he'll forget a little of the heartache for a couple of hours. I'm not terrible at lightening the mood. It couldn't be misconstrued as one of my superpowers, but it is one of my talents.
When the red is finally scraped away and primer dried, I'll sweep the paint over his arm as if the star had never been there.
Once the last coat is applied, he'll take the brush from my hand and look me in the eyes. Touching my chin, he'll whisper, "You're a damn good artist."
Because he would sound muffled from the mask, I'd slip it off as he grinned at me.
"Language, Barnes." I would be grinning back.
"You aren't Steve." Despite his accusing tone, it's the most relaxed I've ever seen him. "You don't get to tell me not to cuss."
"I had to get you to stop somehow."
A flash of mischievousness and then his lips on mine would take me by surprise, but only mildly.
"Is that a good way?" He'd mutter as he slips his hands to my waist.
"It's pretty damn good."
"Ah, language. . ."
Then I would kiss him again.
