Chapter 1
Through the windows, you watch him reach up to run a hand through his brown hair, long and unruly — matches the ruggedness of the stubble on his face. His shirt rides up from the effort, exposing the v of his pelvis, making the material strain against his biceps. He smiles then at something Steve says — he doesn’t do that often — but it’s strange when he does, as if he’s forgotten how to move his face in this way.
God, you fucking hated him.
“You should wipe the drool off your chin,” Wanda smirks from beside you, bumping your shoulder gently with hers. “Before Buck sees and get the wrong idea.”
“Hardly drooling,” you scowl, refocusing your gaze so that it falls on the mug you’re cradling in your hands.
“I’m just teasing you.”
“Don’t you ever get tired of doing that?”
“Does anyone? It’s my favourite past-time.”
You shoot her a glare that’s full of daggers and she raises her hands in mock-surrender. Before she can open her mouth to say anything, Bucky and Steve open the door and come into the room which causes a veil of silence to fall over you two.
“There you are,” Steve greets you, offers a nod and a beaming smile to Wanda before he turns his attention back to you. “I was just going over your mission with Bucky.”
You shift in your seat uncomfortably, not enjoying the fact that you had been assigned to the one person you couldn’t stand to be around. You and Bucky would have to go undercover at a gala and figure out who was selling and purchasing illegal weapons. When you had realised that you were to be his partner… let’s just say that Peter had unfortunately had to deal with hours of your incessant complaining.
“If this goes well,” Steve begins, “we can find out who’s behind all of this and stop it.”
Steve continues talking and you just nod along with everything he says, your eyes shifting to focus on what is standing behind Steve only once.
Bucky is leaning on the wall at the back of the room, ever silent and ever brooding. You half-expect him to chime in at some point but unsurprisingly, the Winter Soldier is as cold and as distant as he always is.
“That sound good?” Steve asks and your attention snaps back to his instantly.
“Um… yeah, it’s perfect,” you say quickly, even though you have no idea what you are agreeing to. From the way Wanda raises her eyebrows and smirks, you start to think that ‘perfect’ is not the best choice of words.
“Great,” Steve concludes. “Someone will drop off your dress and name badge later tonight. Let’s go Buck.”
You watch them leave the room, chatting quietly amongst each other and notice that Bucky’s shoulders seem to be much tenser than normal.
“‘Perfect’, huh?” Wanda laughs from beside you, taking a sip from her mug.
“I have no idea what he was talking about,” you admit, feeling slightly sheepish.
“Distracted by the view?”
“Shut up.” You glare at her and wait for her to fill you in on the details. After a while, she obliges.
“He just told you what your cover for the mission is,” she explains.
You sigh dramatically, placing your hand under your chin to support it. “So, they finally decided that I’m going to pretend to be his assistant? I can’t even get into how sexist that—”
“Oh, it’s way better than that,” Wanda says and she can’t help the fact that she’s giggling as she speaks. “They thought that the assistant role wouldn’t be too convincing.”
You swallow, sudden nervousness settling in your stomach like a rock. “Well, then what is it?”
Wanda starts laughing.
“You’re going to be his date.”
—
Whoever had picked out your outfit is going to be a dead man. You are actually going to throttle them. Not only is it virtually backless, but the slit is so high that it shows off your entire thigh. This means that you can only conceal one gun under your dress (strapped to the opposite thigh, of course) and that makes you uneasy. If anything goes wrong, you hope one gun is enough.
Nat tsks at you as she zips up the back of it. “Stop sulking and walk with more confidence.”
“I hate this,” you mutter, folding your arms over your chest to hide the absolutely plunging neckline. “It’s way too revealing.”
“It’s hot,” Nat says and slaps your butt as you pass her for emphasis. You jerk away and yell a curse. “Come on, you’re the distraction, remember? The distraction has to be distracting.”
“Which dumbass thought this was a good plan?” you groan.
Nat shrugs. “It’s stupid, but it does work. Men always fall for that harmless, beautiful woman trope. They’ll immediately underestimate you, decide you don’t pose a threat and then they’re vulnerable. Bing, bang, boom and we get what we need.”
She pries your arms off of your chest and forces you to stand taller. “You have to ooze confidence though. You look absolutely gorgeous — so flaunt that, play the part.”
“Fine,” you sigh. You readjust the straps in the mirror and blink at yourself for a few seconds. The red satin of the dress shimmers under the lights and you realise that Nat isn’t wrong: you do look good.
“Alright so, Steve texted ten minutes ago and said Bucky’s waiting in the garage for you,” Nat announces, checking her phone before flashing you a smile. She pulls your hair to the side so that she can clasp a delicate, small pendant around your neck. It settles just in the valley between your breasts, the metal cold against your skin and glinting slightly whenever it catches the light.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you say exasperatedly, throwing your hands up and rushing around. “I don’t need to give Bucky any more reasons to be angry with me.”
“I didn’t want to say anything,” Nat snaps, handing you a clutch bag. “Because you clearly needed a pep-talk. He can wait, it won’t kill him.”
She leads you out of the room, chides the way you walk — says something about needing to sashay your hips more — and doesn’t stop grinning at her handiwork.
You almost stop in your tracks completely when you see him. If it wasn’t for Nat’s hand at your elbow guiding you along, you fear that you might have. Bucky is leaning against the car door, staring at his phone as he waits for you but he hears you nearing and looks up.
He’s wearing a suit, pristine and well-fitting — must’ve gone to Tony’s tailor — and his hair is tied neatly into a bun. Both of his hands are covered with leather gloves in order to conceal the metal prosthetic. You blush when his eyebrows raise as he takes you in, his eyes travelling over every inch of you until they stop on the pendant.
Bucky’s eyes snap up to meet your own and you half expect him to smirk at you but instead he just nods, straightens his back and becomes as stoic as ever.
“Pick your jaw up off the floor, Barnes,” Nat teases, her voice echoing around the room. “Tell her she looks good, she is your date after all.”
“Nat,” you snap, embarrassment flooding into your bloodstream.
“You look… nice,” he deadpans and you know he’s saying it as a mere courtesy. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s almost mocking you as he says it.
It makes you roll your eyes and walk over to the passenger side. “Shut up. Let’s just get this over with.”
You climb into the seat and readjust your dress, the already high slit coming up even higher as you sit. Bucky gets in beside you, doesn’t even shoot you a glance and wordlessly turns the engine on.
“Good luck!” Nat says through the window and shoots you a wink.
—
You’re acutely aware of Bucky’s hand resting on your lower back, guiding you gently from the car towards the doors of the gala. Because the dress is backless, you can feel the warm leather of his gloves directly against your skin. It sends goosebumps up your spine and you can’t stop the involuntary shiver that wracks its way through your body.
“It’ll be warmer inside,” Bucky says quietly and you realise that he interpreted that shiver as one brought on by the cold. You don’t correct him.
You want to squirm out of his grip, walk faster than him so that his hand can’t rest along your spine in this way. But you also don’t like the way some of the other men are staring at you, almost leering as both of you pass.
You know that the only reason that they’re keeping their distance is precisely because of that hand at your back. You know that Bucky knows this too, noticed the way his jaw tensed when he opened your door to help you out of the car and heard one of them whistle. That’s when he had planted his palm to your spine, almost daring them to say or do anything else. You figure he just doesn’t want to stir up any trouble.
You are actually grateful for it and more grateful that you hadn’t had to ask him to do this — even if you do feel slightly awkward.
Bucky presents your identification to the guards, his hand leaving you momentarily so that he can sift through his pockets for it. You start to think that this won’t work, that the two of you are going to be caught and barred from entry.
But the guards only nod and beckon you both inside. There’s no metal detector so the gun stays strapped to your thigh and you only wonder how many Bucky has managed to conceal beneath his own clothes. You walk in first, the guards asking a few more questions to Bucky about his status and other trivial things — utterly ignoring you. You just roll your eyes at it all, walking in and taking in the sight of all the people in this room.
Everyone is dressed in fancy, glittering outfits and are laughing languidly with one another. You know that everyone in here is filthily rich and won’t think twice about the money that they’re spending. The objective of your mission is clear: blend in and find out who is smuggling and dealing the weapons.
“Well, aren’t you a sight,” somebody breathes and you turn to face a man who’s well into his fifties, eyes wide as they rake you in. “Surely a beautiful woman like yourself deserves a drink and—”
“I’ll buy it for her then,” Bucky’s voice states firmly from behind you. He reappears at your side, palm to your spine once more and leads you away.
“I’m more than capable of handling myself,” you tell him. “But… thanks.”
“You’re my date,” he says monotonously. “I should act like it.”
You don’t say anything to that but walk over to the bar and order a glass of champagne to drown some of the nerves twisting in your gut. Bucky’s eyes are scanning the room, looking for anybody suspicious. He denies the glass you offer him so you decide to drink that one as well.
After about twenty minutes of idle mingling, you notice something that has your eyes narrowing.
“Down there,” you say and point to a window that shows off the gardens outside. “I think I recognise that man.”
“From where?” Bucky asks, both of you trying to inconspicuously move toward him.
“I’m fairly certain that he’s part of the Harkness crime family,” you murmur, watching the man carefully as he laughs and talks to his associates. “If anybody was doing anything shady, it makes sense that it might be them.”
But you can tell that he’s not listening to you anymore, his eyes having caught sight of something else. You follow his gaze and it lands on a different man, one wrapped in a fur jacket and pulling one of the waitresses closer to him.
“Stay here,” Bucky instructs you, tapping his index finger on your back. “I need to—”
“Where are you going?” you interrupt, pulling him back by his bicep as he makes to move away from you. “Who is that?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs then stops when your eyebrows furrow. “It might be something.”
You dig your nails into his bicep, not allowing him to budge an inch until he offers a real explanation. He heaves out a frustrated sigh at you, rolling his eyes.
“Fine. I know him from when…” He lowers his voice and steps closer to you, his face dropping towards yours. “… when I was… the Soldier. He deals in things. I had to… dispose… of a few people for him in the past. I think he’s a lead.”
You swallow awkwardly. You knew that he didn’t like to talk about this stuff, it was all from a different time when he was… when he was hardly himself. You let your grip on him loosen.
“Okay, but I’m going to come with—” you start.
“You’re going to stay right here,” he snaps at you, straightening his back so that he towers over you once more. His voice is firm, leaves no room for argument.
But he’s never argued with you before though.
“I’m your partner on this mission,” you try to reason, eyebrows furrowing with frustration. “Not your actual helpless little date.”
“I’m your primary on this mission,” he corrects you. “You will do as I say. This guy isn’t somebody to mess around with.”
“I’m not going to just stand here and do nothing.” You cross your arms.
“Fuck, you are such a stubborn brat,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation. “I don’t know how much clearer to be when I say that I do not want you anywhere near him.”
You open your mouth to say the words: “why the fuck do you care so much?” but Bucky’s eyes narrow into slits. Before you could utter a sound, he places a practically bruising grip on your hip and snarls, “I said, stay here.”
He leaves without another word, turning his back on you and weaving his way through the room. You can still feel the ghost of his large hand squeezing your hip in warning and you feel like your head is swimming.
You have no choice but to comply, slowly lowering yourself into a chair even though it feels like an invisible force is guiding you to. You stare at his form moving across the room, gracefully dodging other guests despite his large size.
The thoughts in your head are racing a mile a minute. The one that seems to be replaying over and over on a loop is the way that he had breathlessly uttered the word, “fuck”. You can’t stop yourself from thinking of all the other reasons why he would say such a word like that, the way he had snapped the commandment, the way you can definitely understand how he had been appointed the role of Sergeant in the war.
You are also becoming acutely aware that whenever Bucky gets riled up, his Brooklyn accent rolls out thickly. You have only heard it this intensely a few times in the past but it has never made heat lick its way up your spine like it has now. He’s never addressed you with it before.
You shift in the seat, dragging your gaze away from him and whatever he seems to be doing and refocusing your attention on the man you had recognised from earlier. You watch him through the window, he’s more relaxed — a little drunk, you realise — and definitely letting his guard down as he gawks at every other man’s date. He’s sitting alone now, the associates obviously having left to do something.
You just hope that Nat’s little theory is right, that he’ll see you and think you pose no threat. You decide that while Bucky chases his lead, you might as well chase yours too.
You’re careful, cradling a third glass of champagne in your hand as you make your way outside. You make a point not to look in his direction, instead walking to the edge of the balcony so you can lean against the wall and look out at the rest of the garden below. You’re going to let him come to you.
You can practically feel his gaze burning into the skin on your back, train your ears to listen for when he gets up from his chair and slowly makes his way over to where you’re standing.
“Now why is this little treasure all on her own?” he trills from behind you and you turn, letting the dress catch the light and glimmer with your movements.
“My date’s inside,” you say, “I just needed a break from him.”
He smiles then, stepping closer and coming to stand at your side by the wall. He’s not ugly; white-blonde hair and dimples in his cheeks, toned chest visible because he’s left some of the buttons of his shirt undone. He’s just not your type, is all.
“Hopefully, I can be a little more entertaining for you then,” he offers and clinks his glass with yours.
It’s darker outside, the lights from the room stream out the windows and cast everything out here in a warm, yellow glow. It’s still bright enough for you to make out the tattoo that’s resting above the man’s heart — jet black ink that’s illuminated every time he faces toward you. You recognise that tattoo, you know that it’s the Harkness family crest.
He catches you staring and adjusts his shirt so that it’s hidden again. “I take it you know what that means, then.”
You snap your eyes back to his, sipping from the champagne glass casually as you shrug. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
He grins, stepping closer to you. You immediately feel the urge to step back, increase the distance between both of your bodies, but you manage to stay rooted to the ground. Can’t blow this. Gotta get the information you need.
His fingertips stroke your elbow and you resist the urge to cringe away. “Hm. I knew there was something about you.”
Your eyebrows raise at that. “And?”
His head angles toward you, lips dangerously close to your ear as he whispers, “how about we get out of here?”
Your stomach twists but you manage to remain calm. “See, the thing is I’m here with my date because we’re after something very… specific.”
His fingers trace the curve of your hipbone, his breath is ghosting on your neck as he murmurs, “and what is that, beautiful?”
Before you can say anything else, a man appears in the doorway in a rush. “Boss, we got a situation.”
“I’m a little busy right now,” Harkness snaps back. “Can it not wait?”
“There’s some people asking about Monday’s next shipment at the docks…” the man trails off as he catches sight of you. “You — she’s with him.”
“With who?” Harkness yells, frustration taking over him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Mafia is inside stirring up trouble for us,” the man grunts, his hand reaching behind his back for something. Shit. You know what he’s going to do. “They’re trying to move in on our territory. Saw a man talking to them… discussing business. Saw her enter with him… they were arguing earlier.”
He pulls the gun on you in a swift motion and you curse, hands raising in surrender.
“Well that’s disappointing,” Harkness sighs from next to you, pinching your hip before grabbing the glass of champagne from your hand and tipping it all down his throat. He throws the glass on the ground and it shatters at your feet as he shrugs and steps away from you. “Alright, tell me who you work for.”
He says it calmly, decisively and goes to stand next to the man who’s pointing a gun at you. He gestures for the man to step out more onto the balcony, away from any prying ears and eyes. You know he’s probably done this thousands of times before, that neither of them would hesitate to shoot you.
You just need to wiggle into a window of opportunity long enough for you to draw your own weapon.
“Make this easy, love, and just tell me,” he says. “I’d hate to ruin such a pretty face. Although, that sentiment might change as my patience wanes.”
You’re immediately calculating in your head; how fast you could whip out your gun, how you could apprehend both of them, how you could put up one hell of a fight. You’re a good fighter, you’ve trained enough hours to be able to take these two in your sleep. If you could bring down super-soldiers, then what the hell were two random men to you?
All of this fight dies on your fingertips before you get to move even a muscle.
“I’m waiting—SHIT!” screams Harkness before he is slammed to the ground, face-first. The man who is holding the gun whirs around in panic but his jaw connects with Bucky’s fist, the gun wrenched right out of his grip. He whines in pain as his wrist is fractured, tries to throw a feeble punch which Bucky effortlessly blocks.
You dart forward, kicking the gun away and advancing on Harkness. He opens his mouth to scream but you slam his forehead into the pavement, knocking him out cold. Bucky has taken down the other man, holding him in a chokehold until his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps to the ground like dead-weight. You rifle through Harkness’s pockets and grin widely when your fingers close on a card.
You stand up quickly just as Bucky turns to face you.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he shouts at you, his accent thick. “Coming out here all by yourself where nobody could see you?”
“I had it handled,” you state, dusting off the front of your dress.
“He had the gun pointed right at you!”
”I was handling it.”
Bucky stalks toward you, his hands curling into fists by his side, the leather creaking with the effort. “I told — I ordered you to stay put.”
“I had a hunch,” you say, squaring your shoulders and refusing to back down. “I followed it.”
Bucky eyes flash murderously at you, “you could’ve just gotten yourself killed.” His voice is firm, sharp even as he addresses you. Something in you twists and wonders if this is the Soldier that’s speaking to you now.
“Well, I didn’t!” you argue. “I have a job to do and I was doing it. I’m sorry if I didn’t sit and wait for you like a good, obedient little dog.”
“Your job,” he grits, “is to listen to me: the primary on this case. You could’ve just cost us this entire mission.”
“If you just listen to me—”
“No, I’m done listening. I should have told Steve to reassign you,” he spits, coming right up in your face. “I knew you weren’t right for this job, Nat should’ve been here instead.”
“Well I wish you had told Steve,” you point your finger right into his chest for emphasis. “Then I wouldn’t have been stuck here with a glorified babysitter. But I’m sorry Barnes, next time I’ll do and say nothing and happily let you fuck up the entire mission.”
You don’t want to admit it — and you never will — but it stings slightly that he doubts you. All your male superiors doubt you and you always find yourself working double-time just to prove that you’re deserving of your rank. When you joined the Avengers, you hoped everyone’s criticism would dissipate but instead it increased tenfold. Now you felt that you had to deserve your spot amongst them.
“You’re a brat,” Bucky snaps at you, his accent slurring the words in a way that has your toes curling. But you ignore it, the anger inside of you taking control of everything else. “You—”
”I,” you interrupt him, driving your index finger into his chest as you speak. “Found out that the Harknesses have a shipment coming in on Monday. I know where it is, what dock number it is and what time.”
You produce the card between your fingers holding it up.
“What did you find out Barnes?” You know you’re tempting an eruption when you flick the card at his face for good measure. His temper only rises as you do that, his eyebrows knitting together in fury.
His reflexes are quick; so quick that they catch you off guard and you gasp. His hand darts forward, long fingers closing around your wrist and squeezing it tightly. You try to pull your hand away, but it doesn’t even budge and the card drifts gently on the wind before it comes to rest on the ground beside your feet.
His voice has dropped into a dangerously low octave. He pinches your jaw between his thumb and index finger and angles your face up to meet his absolutely murderous glare.
“You will not disobey my orders again.”
And you realise that it’s not the Soldier speaking after all.
It’s the Sergeant.
You swallow, your stomach starting to flutter with involuntary butterflies. But you’re not going to let him intimidate you, there’s nothing he can do to you no matter how angry you make him. Nothing he would do to you. Right?
“Because I disobeyed your orders, I learned valuable intel that might help us,” you don’t back down. “Even if it’s not the weapons, it’s still something. What I did—“
”What you did almost earned you a bullet between your eyes,” Bucky states, his shoulders heaving with his barely contained fury. “And that’s the best case scenario if they didn’t decide to kidnap you and do anything worse.”
He narrows his eyes at you as he continues speaking. “What you should’ve done, was wait for me and apprehended him together.”
“He wouldn’t have told me anything if you were there,” you snarl, trying to shake your face out of his grip but it doesn’t budge. “It only worked because I was alone!”
You suck in a breath to continue arguing but he invades your space, chest practically rising and falling against your own because he’s just that close to you. You can smell his cologne now, find yourself wanting to get drunk off of it. Can see the way his muscles are tensed from the anger that’s coursing through him, the way his eyes have darkened in a way you’ve never seen before. His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, keeping it suspended in the air while his other hand is still pinching your jaw.
He pinches harder when you attempt to start speaking. Something has changed between you both now.
”If you don’t shut that mouth right now,” he murmurs darkly, his eyes flicking down to your lips, “I’ll give it something else to do.”
You can feel the scratchiness of the wall against the bare skin of your back. He’s cornered you into it and there’s nowhere for you to run — if you wanted to, that is. You never were a runner though, you always had to stand your ground.
“Like what?”
Wrong. Thing. To. Say.
He tenses, clearly not expecting that to be your response. His eyes search through your face, looking for a drop of hesitation or regret. He finds nothing of the sort yet he still lets out a deep sigh, releasing his grip on you entirely.
He stands in front of you wordlessly and you smirk at him: you win.
“Exactly,” you continue pushing, “that’s what—”
“I’m going to fuck that bratty attitude right out of your system,” he interrupts and your legs do go weak at that. He catches you, arms circling your waist and pressing you up against the wall for support.
You’re breathless, staring at him with wide eyes because you can’t exactly believe that he’s said something like that to you. He’s amused with your response, large hands spanning over the expanse of your back, of your waist. The leather feels deliciously smooth on your skin but you can't help from wanting him to rip those gloves off, to touch you with his actual skin.
“Is that something you think you want, doll?” he asks smugly, his arms tightening around you in case you fall again. “For me to fuck you senseless?"
God, and suddenly that's all you want. You can't stop yourself from imagining how he'd be in bed, how you could spend hours together. You know that his muscles have already enticed you and you can't stop yourself from wondering what he'd look like shirtless.
Bucky grins - really actually grins triumphantly at you - and pulls you flush against his chest. "I think someone ought to put you in your place for once and as your primary… guess that’s my job.”
You just feel yourself nodding vigorously, heat starting to pool at the base of your legs at his words. You don’t know what this is, you’ve barely heard him say anything before but to know that he’s got a mouth like this on him? For someone who’s always quiet, always brooding you can’t believe that he’s talking to you like this — can’t believe how well it’s working too. Can't believe you want him so badly... that he wants you.
You can’t speak, you’re afraid your voice will betray you but your nods aren’t enough for him.
“Need to hear you say it,” he rumbles close to your ear, his breath on your neck making you shiver. He places a soft kiss to the skin there. “Use your words, doll.”
“Yes, yes, Bucky, yes,” you’re nodding, almost pleading, giving him all the permission he needs.
His hands are on either of your cheeks before you can register that they’re there, pulling your face into his own. His mouth crashes against yours, surprising you completely. He’s not gentle, he’s gripping your cheeks tightly and his kiss is rough. Your eyes widen before they flutter shut, your hands scrabbling to find purchase on him — purchase on anything that might ground you in this moment.
You ball the front of his shirt in your fist, the nails of your other hand digging into his bicep. His hands leave your cheeks, trail down your bare back, send shivers rippling up to your shoulders. Heat licks at your spine as he traces it with deft fingertips, as he runs over the curve of your ass.
You gasp involuntarily into his mouth when you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. He only smirks and uses it as an excuse to deepen the kiss. You find yourself tilting your head backwards, sucking on his bottom lip, hands roaming under his suit jacket across the rows of hard muscle under his shirt.
You can feel the moan ripple through you when he slots one of his thick thighs between your legs. The slit of your dress allows for his leg to go right under the material and suddenly you’re not cursing how high it is anymore.
You know that he knows how turned on you are now, the thin layer of your panties is hardly concealing anything. Desperate for any sort of friction, you roll your hips and don’t even stop to consider that later you might be slightly embarrassed that you’re grinding against Bucky’s thigh like this.
But his hands find purchase on your hips, he encourages your body to roll and you sigh into his mouth, sigh when his lips trail down your neck. You draw your bottom lip between your teeth when you feel his fingers tracing over the soft skin of your thighs.
He pulls away from you slightly so that his eyes can rake over your body hungrily.
“Who put you in this fucking ridiculous dress?” he curses, his gaze unashamedly dropping to follow the deep v at the front of your dress. “You’ve been driving me insane all evening.”
You want to melt under the way he’s taking you in, the way he seems to be memorising every inch of your bare skin.
“What are you—” you swallow, too breathless and can barely get the words out. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t pretend like you haven’t seen every man in this room staring at you,” he growls and you realise something. Is he jealous? Has that been the reason why he kept himself so close to you?
You want to kiss him again, can’t believe that you want to kiss him again, and pull his body to yours by his shirt. What the hell was happening? Was this some kind of dream?
Before the two of you can do anything else, one of the men that’s lying on the floor groan and stir slightly. That sound is what has the two of you crashing back to reality. You push Bucky away from you slightly and just stare at him in disbelief.
But when the Harkness man starts to stir a little bit more, you regain consciousness and reach down to pick up the card that you had flicked at Bucky.
“Let’s go,” he responds gruffly, stepping to the side so that you can walk in front of him.
And just like that, whatever spell the two of you were under breaks like shattered glass.
You pass him quickly, eyes trained to the ground as you practically speed walk to the car. You can’t believe it, can’t believe that the two of you just… what the fuck just happened?
Neither of you speak in the car, a thick curtain of silence drenched over you both. If Bucky even notices the fact that your thighs are clenched together for the whole ride, he doesn’t say anything about it.