Unsupervised
You grunted from exertion; strands of your hair had worked themselves loose from your messy bun and now tickled at your cheeks and nose. Bucky, beneath you, was strong and steady; his muscular arms and broad shoulders were locked solidly. His thick thumbs pressed against your pelvis whilst his other digits wrapped around your hips, holding you tightly in his secure grasp.
You moaned inarticulately as your arms and legs finally gave out and flopped weakly; evidently your body strength unable to match his. Amusement twinkled in his eyes and he gave you a toothy grin. You refused to admit defeat. In a final burst of determination you willed your fatiguing body into giving it one more try; your thigh muscles burned and your arms quivered.
“Come on, baby, I know you can do this.” He encouraged teasingly.
You tried not to giggle at his words and instead focused your concentration. It paid off and, finally able to corral your limbs, you were flying. A pleased cry bubbled from your lips.
A throat cleared somewhere to your right and your head turned swiftly in it direction. Caught. Steve stood in the doorway, arms crossed over the broad expanse of his chest with an eyebrow raised at the scene before him. Your limbs wobbled.
“This is what you two get up to when I’m not around?”
Behind where you stood, the television paused on the image of Baby and Johnny at Kellermans talent show.
You frowned at the accusation.
“Not just this,” you defended. “Show him the other thing, Buck.”
Bucky smiled and rolled his eyes but indulged you nevertheless by lowered his arms, removing you from your prone position dangling over his head. You shimmied into position. Your arms and legs wrapped around Buckys metal forearm as he held it up parallel to the floor. You tilted your head back until an upside down and highly amused Steve came into view.
“I’m a sloth,” you squealed gleefully.