"One-" Bucky lets out a sinful groan, out of breath. "At a."
"A little to the left," Nat says.
"T-uh-ime." The word barely escapes huffs, watching Nat bound on the mattress.
"You've got to do it with care." Steve pinches his ass.
Bucky huffs, repositioning himself. "Easy for you to say, Mr. I'm-just-going-to-watch."
"Focus!" She throws a mars bar at him, rocking her body back and forth, impatient.
"Tsk." She is dominant like that, and he can swear his body just went past overdrive 15 minutes ago. His heart jolting, his body contorting and his arms straining to get the picture set on the damn wall. What's worse, she won't let anyone see the painting- too personal, she says.
"Scoot to the right," Nat says when Bucky turns to face her for the zillionth time.
He strides to her, plopping on the duvet. "This is hopeless, Nat."
"Come on" Nat whines in protest, barely kicking him off the bed.
Steve chuckles, approaching the painting. "Yeah, come on grandpa."
Bucky rolls his eyes as he turns to Nat with her a half grin, who- lying on her back, eyes closed, with the mid afternoon rays of light stroking her face- looks almost gentle.
Ha, as if. "What do you have under there, anyway?"
"I told you it's-"
"Jesus, Nat." It isn't Bucky who interrupts her. It's Steve; confused, frowning Steve.
"Is that edible underwear?" Bucky tilts his head.
"What the fuck are you-" Her mouth forms into an 'o' like a deer caught in the headlights. "It's not what it looks like."
Bucky follows her gaze, toward a disbelieving, livid Steve. "He's got his own kids!"
"Uh-oh," says Bucky, now standing next to Steve, his fingers grabbing the cloth that once covered the painting. Steve looks like he is gonna lose it as he flails his arm.
"There you go again, yelling at me," says Nat, her forehead creasing and lips sown into a frown.
"Clint and you and- what is that?"
"A contorting toy?" Bucky says amused.
"A contorting toy!" Steve exclaims.
"Mmhmmm," she hums, rolling to her side and grabbing a pillow. "It's really not your business."
"Not my business?" Steve asks.
"What do you mean not my business?"
"Steve," Bucky starts, "she did say not to uncover the painting-"
"And now we know why, obviously," he continues, raising an eyebrow suggestively at Nat, who rolls her eyes, smirking. Glancing at Steve- his jaw now planted firmly in a clench and eyes raging ablaze with fire- Bucky squirms. "I think I'll let myself out."
Nat nods. "You tell anyone, you die." Bucky salutes her, chuckling to himself before walking past the treshold.
"Vibrators don't contort!" he hears Nat yell from two doors down. A crazy bunch, that lot.
Say he's inferred that the problem might be that we- human beings- don't listen to each other enough. We want people to listen to our rambles, but we shut our doors when anyone tries to explain themselves.
"Hmm.. Then is he an object of my desire- no, what's the word," a girl mutters, biting the end of her pen as she perches on the bottom of the stairwell. "The windows to his soul impenetrable?"
"Hey you!" she calls out and Bucky stops in his tracks. "What is this feeling when a man becomes- hardly an obsession, but barely a friend?"
Bucky laughs, not looking away when she catches his eye. "I would say stranger, but..." He touches his lips. "Since you're writing about him, I would say... an object of fascination."
"I like it," she says, flipping over her notepad to reveal a charcoal drawing of a man. Roman nose, soft tufts and a dazzling smile.
"Fuck, looks an awful lot like Steve."
"Oh yeah, he took my friend out once," she says. "A real gentleman that one."
"You know him?"
"We met at a dive bar." She glances at her drawing before stretching out her hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm (Y/N)."
"Bucky." He smiles, feeling like he's known her somewhere before as he shakes her hands.
"Ooh, buff hands." She smells so nice, he thought. Like flowers, the kind you'd pass on the way to the Union Stockyard. "You part of the whole super soldier thing too?"
"Uh yeah. Thanks, I guess?" She laughs as his face reddens, the smile reaching her eyes.
She glances at her watch. "Well, see ya later, stranger."
"Where are you going?" Bucky asks, his voice coming out hoarse trying to mask the desperation.
"I need to get my laundry." She walks into the laundry mat just a few paces away, and only then did Bucky notice the subtle mechanic whirrs.
"Can I come?" Biting his tongue after, he wanted to cringe so hard thinking, "Can I come? Is that the best you've got, bloody idiot you're so awkward. Where the hell is a wingman when you need one?"
"To get my laundry?"
Swallowing the lump in his throat, against the rapid beating of his heart, he forces out a "yes" and an awkward laugh the only left her more perplexed.
God, his groove is gone. Clearing his throat he says," Here let me help you."
"Knock yourself out." She let a smile escape her lips as he approaches the machine. Ah, his old enemy... the washing machine!
"Can you operate it?" It must have been a millennia of him staring at the washing machine. There's so many washes, the cold wash, calm wash and tumble dry- what foes that even mean.
"I was born during the second world war not the fifteenth century. Of course I can operate it," he exclaims, poking a button. Delay Start. Oh god, let it be the right one.
"Buck-"
"I've got this (Y/N)," he says. "It's a very complicated procedure but-"
"That things off." Bucky can feel his mouth go dry, cheeks burning like he's a mile from the sun. God.
"Oh, I knew that. I was warming up," he answers, pouting.
"Of course you do." She laughs, shoving him a side. "This is why my mom doesn't trust blue eyed boys, especially to do her laundry."
"I'll get that," he says, plugging the cable. "Well good thing I'm not blonde, then I'd be a real heartbreaker."
"My brother's blonde."
"Well I'm not your brother, am I? "
"I think I like you, soldier."
She gives him a curt nod before leaving with her laundry. Something about her smile makes his stomach tumble, maybe it's like the feeling Nat gets when she's riding a washing machine. That's why she does it all the time. Then it hits him, he's been trying to operate an unplug, empty washing machine when all she wanted to do was remove her clothes.
You've done it again, Bucky.
A/N:
Wow! It's been a year.
Thanks for the massive 3 K. WEW! We killed that milestone.
I really got discouraged about this at some point and I didn't think it was going to cut it, but I stayed up last night rereading the comments like a girl in love rereading her texts and I think you guys deserve a lil' something something, for Christmas.
Merry X'mas, Luvs.
Vote, comment, criticize and add to your library ;)