dream | darcy/bucky, sleep talking
His hand was inches away from the pecan pie sitting out the counter when he froze, a soft moan drawing his attention.
“Mm…”
Trust and camaraderie aside, every person with access to the Avenger floors had a modicum of paranoia and PTSD that manifested itself at the most inopportune times – namely, the unwaking moments at night. For all that the Avengers were heralded as heroes and good guys, Bucky had no delusions about the natures of the people living with him. Everyone of them had their own demons, corporeal or otherwise, and as terrible as it was to say, he liked not being the only fucked up one wandering around.
Still, there was only one person innocent enough to fall asleep in a public area like the common room – and no, he wasn’t talking about Thor’s girl.
The mess of brown curls was fanned out across the sofa cushions, her normally expressive face soft and peaceful. Gently, he pulled the blanket from where it had twisted around her ankles, tucking the ends up over her torso and under her chin.
He should’ve pulled away – he should have, but he couldn’t make himself do it.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek, tucking the strands behind her ear. “You’ve got no idea, do you?” He lingered there, his flesh and blood hand just sitting there next to her face, and carefully he let his thumb stroke her skin once before pulling back like he was burned.
Huffing quietly, he watched her – just a few more seconds – until he forced himself to look away and turn his back on her.
“Bucky?” Her voice made him stop in his tracks, his shoulders hunching in tension as he felt a slew of emotions run down his spine. Shame, embarrassment, self-hate – he didn’t deserve her, not with what he had done, and just because she smiled at him and laughed with him and baked him his favorite sweets it didn’t mean that –
“Mr. Fluffypants needs a bath.” He stopped, and turned around to stare at Darcy’s form incredulously.
What?
“It’s your turn!” she said, half muttering and half slurring, and when she shuffled to bury her nose into the blanket Bucky let out a sigh of relief.
She was sleep-talking. Jesus.
“Bucky!” she called again, and this time she flailed her arms out, batting at something in her dream. He had to bite back his chuckle, lest he woke her – but there was something adorable about the way her nose scrunched up in frustration, and the way she scowled like an angry kitten. “Bucky, I have to go to work—mmph!”
His jaw dropped, and he could’ve sworn his mouth was hitting the floor. The sounds coming from her were something right out of his own fantasies and dreams, sounds that were way better than he’d ever imagined, but what in the world was going on?
“Oh God, Bucky—aaahh, aah!” He wanted to run from the room, but a tiny, selfish, hedonistic part of him planted his feet to the floor, keeping his eyes fixed on Darcy. She was writhing, her hands hidden under the blankets, and at a particularly high-pitched squeak Bucky had no question as to what was happening.
This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream. He bit his lips hard enough to draw blood, but the image of Darcy didn’t disappear in favor of his bedroom ceiling. This is not a dream.
She’s the one dreaming, that tiny part of him whispered, about you.
There was a prickling in his spine, a familiar stirring in his abdomen as those faint sighs and reedy little whines were shooting straight down to his dick – and while he could normally will away his physical reactions around Darcy, hearing her moaning his name was sawing at his tenuous control until it was a fraying wire.
“Fuck – ooh god, Bucky—!”
He didn’t even wait before spinning on his heels and near-sprinting out of the room, making a beeline for his shower.
When his footsteps faded, Darcy opened her eyes, sitting up and stretching with a pleasured hum. Pulling the blanket around her shoulders, she stood up and padded over to the pie on the counter, still whole and intact.
“Let’s see what you do with that, Barnes,” she muttered, breaking off a piece of the crust and picking out a few candied pecans. “Deactivate privacy mode, FRIDAY.”
“Privacy mode deactivated,” a cool voice chimed. “Have a good night, Miss Darcy.”
Darcy saluted the ceiling with her piece of pie crust and skipped towards the elevators with a spring in her step, humming to herself.