❝ A DAUGHTER stands here, bathed in blood and christened by her loss. Who, despite her pain, watches demons reign and fights the noble cause. Beside her there, stands a poisoned SON, to hiss his mighty roar. For the devil is real and with his zeal, he REIGNS forevermore. Humble born, the next adorned HER blue and black colours, she stood beside all with pride but those who damned her brothers. Last, there was a SOLDIER that does love her country quite fiercely, she placed no one ABOVE the laws of gov, except those she cared for so dearly.” ❞

INÐ. DC/MARVEL/TMI/OC RP

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

    AS MUCH AS Bucky wants to look away, to drop his gaze off to one side so he can avoid any pitying or sympathetic expression that might cross her face. But he can’t bring himself to remove his attention from her face and he merely resigns himself to brace for impact as her eyes slip downwards. An impact that never comes, so why is he left breathless? His hands have resumed their previous post at her waist and seem to have glued themselves there as he lets her do as she pleases; suddenly it’s not completely about her learning the confidence to let go anymore, it’s also about him learning to accept her wandering gaze and wandering fingers. He should never jump to conclusions, that he would see in Steph’s face what he saw in many a doctor’s face when they saw the mess of the metal sunk into his body. But her judgement is far more important, it outweighs anyone else’s opinion and he will treat it like gospel. It’s why he’s held off for so long, why he’s kept covered up; if she were to recoil or react with disgust, that was game over. There’s nothing he can do to hide the massive lump of metal embedded into his side, so when she blatantly ignores it and instead goes for his tags, he can’t help but breathe slightly easier.

      Then his heart sinks as he catches her whisper and his gaze falls away, resting on where her fingers play with the metal tags. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” His reply was at the same volume as hers and he doesn’t bother elaborating on the ambiguous ‘here’; it meant everything, that he didn’t tell her sooner, that he took so long to get them at this stage, even that it took him seventy years to return from the dead. It still doesn’t feel like enough. He doesn’t deserve the love he sees in her eyes, not after what he’s done, but he’s going to take it anyway. “I’ve always been yours.” Maybe not formally, maybe not spoken out loud, but in essence. Why else would he willingly accept being ostracised by the other kids by hanging out with her? Why else would he burn through girls like matches but keep returning to her side time and time again? Why would he work three jobs just to keep food on the table and medicine in the cabinet when he was frequently told that if he was to just ditch Rogers then he’d have a stable job and likely a wife and family of his own by the time the war came? Surely she had to realise that he’d chosen her from the moment they met on the schoolyard? In the end, Bucky doesn’t suppose it matters and he’s merely content in letting her find her own way, flesh fingers merely making soft circles on the soft part of her waist, just above her hips. 

     His words are taken with a great manner of delight, a release to what little tension lay left in her bones. It’s the assurance, the understanding that maybe the sweet dreams of yesteryear had NOT completely abandoned her. For two years in this new world, she had slowly come to the realisation that she was utterly alone. She could have no happy ending like she had pictured as a child, and the world of Captian America was all she would abide until her death. Bucky was the catalyst in removing that sullen train of thought. A match that sparked the deep passionate fire in her, coaxing the inferno that was always there to blaze brightly in sight for all to see. Suddenly her life was no longer about the mission, it was about protecting him. It was about making him HAPPY, and somehow the further they fell into a rhythm, the happier they both became. Bucky saved her, in ways she imagined he did not understand, but she couldn’t be more grateful. He always had been her protector, her friend, and yes -- the more she considered his prose -- hers. It was a giddy feeling really, one that moved through her like a ripple from fingertips to toes. Bucky Barnes was hers. Mind. Body. And Spirit. “And I was ALWAYS yours,” She breathes against his throat, brushing back more of the dark locks as she nuzzled the tender flesh with some manner of appreciation. 

     Steph could forgive the time that had separated them, perhaps in some ways, neither of them was ready for this yet. Maybe rushing into things as children could have ruined what they valued so dearly. God works in mysterious ways, she thought to herself, and maybe this was how she was SUPPOSED to find her way to him. Messily, violently, but in the end of all things, happily. He was worth any struggle. Which was why she took such care in her actions, such tender lips to press against his throat as she inched closer to the more foreign aspect of his body. Steph had often wanted free reign over this, her curiosity an unending pursuit, but more so to establish an understanding she often worried they didn’t have. That his arm, despite its maker, was still HIS arm. She saw it no differently than the other, if anything, she knew which she could count on being the more uncomfortable to lay on. So she pauses when she meets the edge of his collar, brushing her fingers back through the longer waves of blonde and tucking it behind her ear. The wait, however, was purposefully short, and rather quickly, she returned to her ministrations. Pink lips reach first the line of puckered scaring, and ever so gently, Steph gives the same tender care she started from the beginning. Impartial, and unreserved, only this was conjoined with the caress of her fingers down the plating to the conjecture of forearm and upper arm. A painters touch, so keen to see every detail, and she WORSHIPPED it all the same. It was a point, a promise, that she was making right any insecurity he might reserve to the best of her ability. 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

    THE LOOK THAT Bucky gives Steph at her question is unimpressed even though he doesn’t quite trust his tongue enough to speak. His answer is obvious, bra clasps were the enemy at the best of times but trying to do it one-handed (the metal being useless on such a fiddly task even if he wasn’t holding her steady with it) was a bit much for even his skillful dexterity. For a moment, Bucky has to wonder if she’s oblige; she doesn’t like seeming weak or vulnerable but bearing herself to him is probably the most trusting thing she could possibly do - and, in his opinion, the bravest. She’s new to all of this, he reminds himself as he watches her lean back enough to unhook the clasps he couldn’t. His eyes follow the bra as she throws it in a small arc to land on the sweater just away from where they were sitting, a reflex action more than anything. When his eyes return, he doesn’t make a big show of staring but he does note how the slightly chill air in the room causes the fine hairs to stand on end and gooseflesh to pimple across her skin. 

      Gently his fingers run up her stomach, smoothing across the soft skin of her breasts before his thumb ghosts across the nipple that the cold air had raised. He moves slowly, deliberately, with motions that are akin to awe and worship than base carnal desire (though there was that too, bubbling in the background and causing a pressure to start to build at the base of his spine that he hasn’t felt in decades). Steph’s touch distracts him, the skin under her fingers twitching slightly at the foreign touch. It had been so long since someone other than a doctor had touched him that he’d forgotten what such kindness felt like. The initial instinct is to withdraw and there’s a flutter of panic that causes his pulse to spike for a moment before he forces himself to stay exactly where he is. The hesitation that comes after her question is far too long for his liking but no matter how much he’s fighting his own instincts he can’t make himself move faster. She had only ever seen him with his shirt off briefly before he covered up, he had always hidden away his vast tapestry of ugly scars before she could get a good look. But he trusts her, he has to forcefully remind himself of that as he sits forward just enough. Both hands reluctantly leave her skin to pull his long sleeved shirt up over his head and toss it in the opposite direction of her sweater. Dog tags rattle as he sinks back into the cushions, suddenly aware of the soft but slightly itchy material the couch was made of. Part of him doesn’t want to maintain eye contact but he forces himself to anyway, he just hopes he doesn’t see too much pity in those baby blues of hers.

      She’s been touched before, by her mother, by doctors galore, and each time it was a foreignness that made her uncomfortable to the bone. There was an inner SHAME that ran deep with her in regards to her physical form, and even though her body had changed -- her health had improved and everything filled out twice that of what she used to be -- there was still a part of her that didn’t find completeness. That was until HE touched her, and each hair of her body stood in harmony. Her lips parted in a sweet exhale as eyes fluttered shut, revelling in the feeling of calloused hands brushing against her pale chest. Each nerve lit to flame, and there she was so ready to douse them both in gasoline. By the time he moves again, heeding the beckoning of her words, the warm blues were darker still. Still lost in a fog, she see’s the expression change briefly, minute was his hesitance, but enough to catch her attention. Before she can even think to repeal or change her request, the OFFENDING shirt was tossed away leaving only the clinking of tags to fall against his chest. Then they sat a pair, both naked from the belt up hopelessly staring at one another both lost and edging closer to another leap towards oblivion. So why wasn’t she scared?

     Just like him, her eyes found a different path than what would be expected. Instead of falling to the more apparent injuries or even the wandering of her hands, she took notice of the tags still reflecting specs of the pale moonlight. Slowly, her hand travelled to encapture the set, engraved both with his own name and on the opposite hers. It made her pause, and furthermore, it made her SMILE in reflection. Her thumb so tenderly strokes the engraved name, satisfied to some degree that hers would fall next to his. Like it was always meant, a matching set. “I waited so long for you,” She whispered, so soft she imagined no one could have heard her had they not been as intimately close as he was. Steph returns her eyes to his own, sharing that warm and loving smile that seemed bathed in the silver moon, “Every second was worth it though to call you MINE.” The tags are released back to his chest, her body leaning forward as her hands return to their favourite position around his neck. Glossing over his hair, she kisses him briefly, returning to the previous actions which had gotten her teased -- but now free to go much further than before. If he wanted her to lead, she would try, even if it was messily done. But hell, as long as he didn’t stop her from fulfilling this worship, she was FINE by messy. Lips return to the underside of his jaw, opposite hand sweeping away the dark hair so she can work her way down to the softer skin of his throat. Inch by inch, the further she made her way down the closer her body seemed to press against him. Like a wave after wave, she was happily doing as she promised, switching off the kisses with both tender care and possessive enthusiasm.

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

     THERE’S A HUM that resonates low in Bucky’s throat in response to Steph’s words, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the slightly raised bump of marred flesh under his fingers. There’s a form of reverie in his touch that goes beyond admiration; he feels as if he’s got his filthy, bloodstained hands all over something holy and it’ll only be a matter of time before it’s removed from his grasp. He’s taking the time to learn her anew, committing to memory every freckle and blemish, wrinkle and curve; he’s seen her in crop tops and shorts before but this is different. Before he hadn’t let himself linger too long for fear of being accused of staring, but now he allows it until she pulls his attention upwards. He can’t help but lean into the touch, the gentle brush of her fingers along his jawline bringing him around. There’s questions that dance on his tongue, a flicker of confusion that crosses his features and he longs to ask her what possible scars she could’ve put on him that were worse than the very minor physical scars that had long since faded. It’s not the time, nor the place, however, and he lets the questions remain unsaid; they’re banished as she runs her hand back, nails gently scraping his scalp and drawing a sigh from his lips.

      He lets her guide his hand away from the scar, her kisses successfully distracting him from his previous, much darker train of thought. Outside the window, the heavy bass of the party thumps on, the occasional drunken whoop filtering up but Bucky doesn’t really hear it. He’s aware that his heartbeat almost matches the bass, he’s aware of the steady pulse of the woman in his lap as he slides his hand gently up the back of her ribcage. His fingers work in slow spirals, touch feather light and soft; his thumb runs along the seam of her bra, slipping under it to try and subtly gauge the tension of the material. He manages to do undo one hook out of the set before he lets out a frustrated grunt against her lips followed by a huffed swear. Bra clasps have never been his strong point, no matter how nimble his fingers were. He pulls his hand away from the clasps and leans away from her slightly, wordlessly dropping his gaze down to the dip between the cups. A finger hooks down the front, tugging gently before he catches her eyes again, a single eyebrow raised in a silent question of if she was going to remove it or not.

     Steph couldn’t be bothered by whatever was happening outside. No doubt the mayhem would finally leave several people with headaches come morning, but the throbbing under her flesh was a DIFFERENT kind. An echo of her heartbeat that rang louder with each touch. She’s violently aware of how delicate she is in his grip, how hardened muscle morphed when pressed with tenderness and care. He makes her vulnerable, but he holds her close enough so she couldn’t be bothered to care. Steph’s too busy inhaling his scent as she steals kiss after kiss from his lips, humming between breaths at the feeling of rough hands against her flesh. There’s a KNOT in her belly, a tickle at the back of her throat, and god she doesn’t know what to do with either feeling but push for more. There’s an obvious sense of him, a shiver as he moves to slowly work at the clothing her chest. For a moment, she’s almost nervous -- familiar to the feeling of cold exposure but never as much as the chill that made her flush from head to toe. His frustrations are quickly realized, a small smirk turning across now predominantly reddening lips, “Having difficulty, Sergeant?” She muses against his kiss, blue eyes finding his own in his question before all so willingly obliging him.

     Her hand escapes his hair, reaching back behind herself to undo the final clasp with ease before tossing the bra towards the sweater already crumpled on the floor. The biting air in the room was enough to bring GOOSEBUMPS all over, head ducking down in what could only be read as meekness quickly morphed into a determination. Steph didn’t want to be seen as uneasy, but what woman in her position wouldn’t have some insecurity? She wasn’t used to this, nor did she know what he would expect. So she tries not to linger on the thought, or the minuscule urge to hide away. Instead, she allows her hand to drop back down to his stomach, thumb brushing along the bottom of his shirt that sat crumbled against her own jean line. Fingers move below the material, caressing the wayward hairs that sat just above the belt before following the contours of his abdominal. “It would be rather difficult to honor that promise of kissing you ALL OVER if you still have your clothes on,” Steph murmurs, glancing down almost briefly to her wandering hand before back to his own gaze to watch his expressions. “You don’t want me to break my promise, do you?” 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

      BUCKY CAN’T HELP but huff out a breathy laugh at Steph’s honestly, fingers gently sweeping the blonde locks behind her ear before his hand drops back down to her hips. Fingers slide under the hem of her shirt as he rises to meet her kiss, more gentle and soft than the previous ones now that the pace had been established to be an easy and slow affair. “Even I don’t know Greek,” he murmurs against her lips, nose brushing against hers with an amused hum. “But this language is an easy one to learn, if you’re willin’.” He can’t help but tease her slightly, nipping at her bottom lip playfully before kissing her briefly and flopping back into the cushions to watch her expressions easier. In addition to talking to much, Rogers always had a problem of overthinking too much as well. It’s something she’s always done and it’s something she’s clearly doing now. Bucky notes the way she plays with the hem of his shirt but then hesitates and withdraws; his head cants slightly as he watches her mind change. She’s treating him with kid gloves, even when he’s giving her freedom to choose, and he’s not entirely sure how he’s supposed to take that.

      She lifts slightly when her sweater comes off, resettling on his lap in a position that was just a fraction off from where he’d settled her initially and within seconds he can feel a tingle creeping down his right leg from where she’s cutting off circulation. He rolls his hips once, lifting her just enough to free his thigh from going numb, it also settles them both into an easier position from the slightly off-center way he’d landed on the couch. The friction of jeans rubbing together when he could also feel himself getting more sensitive was also noticed, but he tried his best not to physically react. Instead he took his time admiring the pale skin now exposed, flesh fingers running up Steph’s side again. He traces the line of her simple bra, following the seam towards her breastbone only to pause in the motion as he reaches the spot just above that ugly exit wound. His fingers hesitate, a faint tremor causing them to twitch as he diverts his attention. With a profound gentility, he traces the puckered flesh which he caused and the Hydra goons made worse, a lump firmly lodged in his throat. “I still don’t understand how you can forgive me,” he murmurs, voice low and barely there. He doesn’t understand because he certainly hasn’t forgiven himself for it; no matter what she may say, it was still his finger on the trigger. 

     She’s enthralled in their rhythm, pale flesh singing beneath his touch, goosebumps emerging on her arms to make blonde hairs rise. A part of her wondered if they could do this ALL night, this level of intimacy, seemed to satiate the bigger demons in her belly. Steph liked the way he looked at her at first, liked the tracing of his fingers, learning her all over again from a new perspective. The same she wished to do with him, know every inch -- good or bad. They had so much of both, so when fair features turn just so when the wounds past inflicted are met? Blonde hair falls again, shifting to grasp his jaw with equal sweetness and clarity. “I have many scars Bucky, some you made, MOST you didn’t,” She murmurs, her thumb running along his chin but not daring to stop him from his own movements. They HAD to meet this boundary, there was no avoiding it or ignoring it. It was a part of them now, and their past as complicated as it was brought them to this future. “I’ve put scars on you too, some physical -- some worse,” Her own voices softens too, near mirrors his own as she tries to beckon his eyes to her. 

     “I’ll have to live with that, all my life -- but I can’t change the past. All I can do is LOVE YOU the best of my ability, hope it’s enough, hope to....make the wounds less painful to bear,” Gentle fingers brush back through his hair, her touch holding him with a fragile but powerful emotion. Yet despite the severity of the topic, she doesn’t feel any different in her passion. A smile slowly returns to her lips, and she lets her legs fall into a comfortable position of either side of him while she leans to capture his lips again. Once, then twice, and a third time, beckoning him back from the shadows as her free hand finds his own, pulling it carefully back to her side inching towards her back. Breaking off the kiss just briefly, her nose brushes against his own as she returns back the brief nipping of his lip -- trying to mimic his early action without laughing at herself. By then her arms had settled around his shoulders, chest leaning in to allow him ANYTHING he may want. 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

     THIS WAS ALL new territory for the both of them, thrilling and very nearly terrifying. Neither of them were able to get drunk anymore but Bucky found a form of intoxication on her lips, an addiction that there was no treatment for; one he wouldn’t be willing to accept even if there was. He can feel the smile under his lips, the way she practically thrums with happiness and he can’t help but wonder if this is what she was missing for all those years when her sobriety was palpable. He’s not sure if anyone else, beyond Natasha, can see a difference, but he certainly can. In private, if not in public, she’s almost a different person. The drag of skin on skin, the feeling of her fingertips smoothing gentle circles over the marred skin on his back, it feels as if she’s slowly setting him on fire; the first few sparks which threaten to turn into a raging forest fire. He does, however, manage to keep up the facade of being calm and collected even when faced with the overwhelming urge to just fall into her. As much as Bucky doubts his own humanity at times, right now he couldn’t feel more human.

     The hesitance doesn’t escape his notice, a naivety that reminds him that this is newer for her than it is for him. She doesn’t give him chance to question her answer as her lips silence him before he gets the chance to speak. His own hands have slipped under her shirt, calloused pads running over the smooth skin of her sides as if she were something holy and fragile. She wanders too much, her mouth and her brain, it seems, as she kisses a burning trail down his throat. He tolerates it for a little while until she migrates towards his nose and temple and he finds himself leaning away from her, nose wrinkled and a near-playful grimace on his face. 

      “You talk too much,” he says, voice a low timbre with a distinct growl to it as he looks her dead in the eye. The smirk is small but no less devious as both of his hands slip out from under her shirt and down over the curve of her bottom. It’s a swift movement as he lifts her up, pulling her legs around his waist as he steps backwards until his calves hit the couch behind them. Then he drops, not ungently, down into the cushions with her sat neatly on his thighs. His metal hand braces her hip while the other trails a slow path up her side, snagging on her clothes until he reaches her collar. The backs of his fingers brush her cheek as he takes in the flush of colour darkening the freckles across the bridge of her nose, the deep pink of her lips and those brilliant blues made dark thanks to dilated pupils and low lighting. “Just do what feels natural, china doll. Go with it.”

     He’s playful in her affections, pulling away with a grimace that looked far TOO close to an itching smirk. Her cheeks flush at the expression, a small matter of sheepishness turning over her as she can’t help but feel silly. Yes, she talks too much. It’s her frequent desire to do the right thing, say the right thing, make everything perfect. However, this was not the time for anal temperament, she had to ‘go with the flow’. So when the growl tears through his throat, her eyes are back to his almost as if she was answering an unspoken command. How amusing it would be to others, or rather how SHOCKING, to see the face many knew to be stern and unwavering, soften and melt upon command. He had her in the palms of his hands, first in expression -- but all so quickly reality. 

     She’s in his grasp, lifted into the air with a possessive grip before she can even blink. A laugh can not be helped from falling in his actions, soft and sweet, as blue eyes stayed locked on the others. Suddenly they’re moving, dropping down to the couch with her snuggly sitting atop his lap. His touch soon brushing up from its tight grasp on her hip, her lips parting in an exhale that only stops when he strokes along her cheek. Steph can’t help but LEAN into that touch, ever so slightly, lightly humming before a smile replaces her more sheepish expression. “This is Greek to me, Bucky,” Her words soft, honest, knowing it was far better a path to take than trying to hide it. Yet no matter how far away the right and wrong seemed to be, she knew there was NO turning back now. She wanted to fall, she trusted no one else to catch her. “Not all of us know twenty odd languages,” Steph teases, moving in to kiss him softly before her hands began to settle along the edge of his shirt. 

     There’s a desire, to remove his shirt and let her wandering continue, that rampant desire to have access to what she felt DEPRIVED of for so long. The man she loved, the beautiful -- gorgeous creature, that had her heart completely. Yet she’s hesitant to push, whether by her wish to have HIM lead or a worry that he might change his mind. So her fingers leave the edge of his shirt, deciding to take the next move for herself -- and pray it was what he wanted. She snags the bottom of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head in a single motion before the familiar tags and golden locks fell back down around her naked collar and shoulders. Tossing the clothing away, she moves to swept her hair singularly over her left shoulder before glancing back up to gauge his expression. Nothing was left save the nude bra, UNSPECIAL in a feminine regard save its functional purpose. Maybe she should have changed, she thinks, teeth sliding over her bottom lip at the thought. 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

     IF ANYONE HAD ever dared to say to Bucky that patience was one of Rogers’ strong points then he’d laugh in their face. She’s impulsive, recklessly so, and highly impatient (most of the time, at least, there were always exceptions). There’s a reason why they’re different military classes, after all - Steph could never be a sniper, not when it requires sitting around, waiting, for hours on end. Hell, she could barely get through a party. Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t rush up the stairs like she does and merely follows through the door at a casual pace. His boots, once removed along with his socks, aren’t stashed in the cupboard like hers - instead they’re merely tossed in the half-open door of ‘his’ bedroom (the bed of which hasn’t been used since they moved in a few weeks ago). He can still hear the beat of the music from the party downstairs, it thumps through the floor and only gets louder when he uses the control panel on the wall of the hall to crack open some of the windows. The apartment was always prone to being stuffy and Bucky can’t stand stagnant air, it reminds him too much of the Hydra bunkers they’d wake him from cryo in. 

     As he turns away and heads towards the sunken living area, he lets himself admire the woman in front of him; loose hips swaying as she walked, but there’s markers in her gait that cause him to brace for impact. Sure enough, she pivots to face him as soon as she’s on the edge of the step. Slender fingers rumple the front of his shirt and tugs him with enough force that would send a lesser - or less prepared - man toppling into her as she drags him down the step. Bare feet step carefully so as not to land on hers even as she all but crashes into him. It may have been expected, but the hunger of her kiss still catches Bucky by surprise somewhat; it lacks the pent up frustration of the first time he caught her and the near desperation of the past couple that felt more like confirmations or validations that yes, this was real. It’s still passionate but there’s something more there, something confirms his previous suspicions. Eventually the training wheels had to come off. 

     His hands rest on her hips, thumbs brushing her stomach as she finally comes up for air. All he can see is those baby blues, pupils dilated, golden hair framing her face. “Well, Captain,” he begins with a breathy laugh, “where do we go from here?”

     She doesn’t know what is right and wrong, the lines between friendship and MORE were long since smudged. They were falling into a territory she had never in a million years dreamed would come true. Stephanie loved him, far more than she imagined she could ever love anyone. He was it, he was all she could ever want, her other half. As he comes to meet her she can’t help the smile that emerges from her kisses. It’s full of WARMTH and joy, a true gladness that enlightened every fiber of her. When his hands find her hips, she hums again before her fingers duck under his shirt to lazily draw circles into the small of his back. He asks her a question, one she knows that has to be asked, and yet the only thing she can think of is the way his lips look soft and shiny in her direct view. The sound of his shaky breath drew goosebumps to her flesh, and it made her heart flutter within her chest. “I want you,” Stephanie admits in a whisper, too gentle for anything other than the most apparent intimacy.

     “All of you, however -- whenever,” The words trail off, and there is an evident NERVOUSNESS to her speech. An innocence perhaps, given how little she knew or understood. Her lips returned to his own, this time with a more gentle approach. With him in her arms, it now became a building rhythm as she returned her body to his own, molding perfectly into his chest. When she stops her kiss, it morphs to fall to the corner of his lips stretching down to his jaw before she’s pushing back his hair to kiss along his throat. It’s a SLOW precession, unlike her, but more telling that she was trying to go a more mutually agreeable speed. She wanted romance, she wanted love, but god almighty, she wanted to kiss every inch of him. “Just tell me what to do, what you want, what you like...” Her brow furrows briefly, unsure how to do....well quite a few things. Yet she turns her gaze back to his before kissing his lips again. Stephanie smiles, trying to EASE whatever discomfort he may face, “You’re so gorgeous, you really have no idea, it’s so hard not kissing every inch of you, you know,” She mumbles, her mouth getting ahead of her as she kisses his cheek, then nose, then temple, stretching to envelop him however she could in her mildness affections.  

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

     HE’S EXPECTING A protest because Bucky knows that Steph would rather slip away unnoticed rather than make a show of saying goodnight - but he doesn’t let her. It’s a gentle but insistent movement that means she can’t get away with vanishing; a firm confirmation that no, he’s not going to let her just poof into thin air. Besides, just leaving was not only rude, but something which would raise questions later on and by formally announcing her departure it sidesteps further interrogation about where she disappeared to, which would no doubt occur at a later date. He hangs back by the still well-stocked buffet table, snagging another handful of grapes from the fruit bowl to snack on while he watched the blonde begrudgingly head towards Pepper and Tony. The band, having finished their set, had left the stage to mingle with the crowd and instead of the crooning vocals there was now started up music with a bouncy beat and thumping bass which seemed to be the normal party music nowadays. The crowd which had gathered to listen to the band was now mostly dancing - if anyone could actually call it that - and there was evidently more than a little alcohol flowing among the guests. Bucky would be more than happy to get away from it, even if the music was now starting to get loud enough that they’d be able to hear it from their apartment.

      It’s a mistake, catching Sam’s eye after Steph moves away from him; the shit eating grin and the loud thumbs up causes Bucky to fix the man with an unimpressed stare and an unspoken promise that Wilson was gonna get his ass handed to him the next time they trained together. Wanda, he noticed, just looked between them confused - evidently she was still in the dark, something Bucky was thankful for. It didn’t take him long to find Steph again, stuffing the last of his handful of grapes into his mouth as he wandered to her side and followed her inside the now largely deserted common room. He said nothing as he kept pace beside her determined stride towards the stairs - the elevator having been locked down to discourage drunk guests from heading into restricted areas. It wasn’t like they had far to go, the west side of the second floor of the complex was theirs and biometric locks on the doors of the stairwell kept riffraff out. If anything, it seemed eerily quiet on their way back up as normally there would be some form of life around. But everyone else was downstairs and they basically had the building to themselves. Even so, as Stephanie opened the door to their quarters, Bucky couldn’t help but feel relieved at the immediate privacy.

     It’s not quick enough for her, the awkward procession away from the party only to tuck back into the main building and to the stairwell. Luckily the private quarters were already off limits to anyone not in the system, it takes nothing for the biometric scan to allow them back into the private stairwell and begin climbing the stairs. She climbed two stairs at a time, head turning back to check on him once or twice until they made it to THEIR quarters. The biometric scan allows them in again, doors pushed open before she begins to pull off the sneakers from her feet and proceeding to toss them towards the small closet in the corner. Fingers then turn to card through her long hair, unkinking any knots that the mild wind from outside whipped together. However, she doesn’t manage to get far, turning on her heels as they made it into the small living area that attaches the two rooms. A smile is on her lips, as she reaches out to grab him by the shirt and tug him down the small step that separated the hall from the inlaid living area. 

     Her lips are quickly on his own, soft but FIRM, not nearly as violent as the kisses that framed her memory of weeks past. It was a kiss that knew what it wanted, and she wanted him. Her left arm drapes over his right shoulder, returning to that all too familiar position of carding through his hair. The other now sinking around his waist as she wraps her arm around his lower back. She kisses him gently, once, twice, a third time -- a peck that melts into parted lips as she inhales him. He was her high. God only knows what would happen if ANYONE ever found out how much control he had over her. How Captian America could be made weak in the knees and lost to the whims of the heart. He had her. Heart and soul. Sometimes she wondered if he knew what he held so vulnerable in his hands. Stephanie pulls away, just enough to catch a breath before her eyes open to glance over him. A silent question that was posed between them, a call for a cue or instruction as she ghosts her fingers along the edge of his shirt on his back. “Sergeant?” She murmurs against his lips, nose brushing against his own.  

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

     STEPH WAS WALKING on very thin ice the longer this went on and all it would take was one misstep, one false move and they’d both end up in deep water. It’s why Bucky has to keep his head, for both of their sake. There’s a very good reason as to why he insisted they keep their relationship low-key and a secret from the rest of the team - he knows they have to let them know at the right moment or else situations could go downhill very fast. He also knows that giving the game away at a Stark party of all places was absolutely the wrong time and place. They’d never hear the end of it. But Rogers didn’t make it easy, not when her lips were searing into his skin as they brushed across his pulse point and pressed against the soft, sensitive flesh around his ears. It’s not a feeling that he’s familiar with this side of the war, it’s an old and base desire that he recognises as something that happened before the war; a tightness that knots in his stomach that’s got roots of a carnal nature and he has to clear his throat before he tries to speak to maintain the more sober appearance. “You really don’t need to seduce me, Captain.” He manages to keep his tone surprisingly calm despite the sparks that seem to ripple across his skin as she pinched his earlobe between her teeth. 

      If she got any closer, he’d end up peeling her off of him soon enough and even as her arm snakes around his waist he does his best to maintain the outward appearance of being completely unaffected by her over-affectionate display. Subtlety was never Stephanie’s strong point. “You’ll get better,” he replies, tone soothing even though he doesn’t exactly specify that he means dancing. It’s short lived as the song drawing to a close and the applause, complete with drunken hollering, puts Bucky back into a state of high alert and his attention leaves the limpet that had attached herself to him to give the crowd a quick once over to make sure the focus still hadn’t turned their way. He slowly switches his grip, gently prising her off him as she’s talking in a sentimental babble which he finds very endearing but also very ill-timed. “You’re such a sap, Rogers.” Finally free after having untangled her from around him like some creepvine, he lifts the hand he’s still got in his before he presses a kiss to the back of it. The tug is gentle but insistent, aiming to guide her away from their secluded corner and back towards the main complex. “Time to go say your goodnights to our hosts an’ bid adieu, I think. This party’s gonna go on for another couple of hours yet an’ I think we’ve got other matters to attend to.”

     She wasn’t exactly using the better part of her head tonight, maybe it was the stress of the weeks long cleanup following the incident in Sokovia and New York. Maybe it was the sleepiness in her bones that curled her up around him like a ragdoll, or maybe, as she suspected, for the first time in a long time she wasn’t caring what someone else thought or saw. While she doubted anyone would particularly care what they were doing, she didn’t BOTHER with the worry even though she knew it was far more logical and frankly right to. Stephanie was tired of hiding, tired of pretending to FEEL less than she did, it was an impatience that perhaps was spurned greater by the nights turning haze of carnal need. When he remarks on her not needing to seduce him, she can’t help but laugh softly -- unable to wrap her head around the idea. Yet he continues encouraging her on the topic other than what she had intended to progress in skill. At least, that was how he made it sound. 

     Alas, he pulls away, causing bright blues to turn over him with a faint confusion until he pulled her hand to his lips. Before she could speak or feign some protest -- almost rathering to sneak away -- she’s marched back into the CENTRE of the party to say goodnight. His voice, however, hints of more, and thus, earns little fighting back from her. She hummed, giving his hand a tight squeeze before releasing it and moving to say her quiet goodbyes to first Pepper and Tony, then Wanda and Sam. By the time she got to Sam, she noticed him grinning ear to ear on her reproach, quietly he pursed his lips into what she could only describe as a kissy face, earning him a near immediate glare from the blonde as she bypassed him. There were a few more goodbyes to some familiar faces, although one particularly she AVOIDED was the agent awkwardly standing near the stage glancing her way. Not bothering to look back, she waited for him to catch up to her, slowly ducking into the main facility and starting the trek back to their quarters. 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

    OUT OF EVERYTHING, it’s the little changes that floor Bucky. Once upon a time she would’ve reacted to him calling out her blush with a pout or maybe a shove because he’d drawn attention to it - she’d still end up blushing harder but the way she responded would’ve been different. Now she almost seems bashful and embarrassed by him bringing attention to it. His mild bemusement is evident. “Never said I didn’t.” There’s a laugh in his voice and the ghost of a smile on his face that borders on teasing. He’s always been able to make her blush and never quite understood the reason why - he’d always assumed she was just easy to pull the response from but now it’s more obvious. There are new signals now the genie’s out of the bottle, of course; lingering glances, dilated pupils, increased heart rate to name a but a few. There’s a strange sense of pride that comes in knowing he’s the source, coupled with an almost confused amusement and not a small amount of shame that he’d waited so long. 

     To the uninformed looking in, it wouldn’t be hard to conclude at least one of them was as tipsy as some of the other guests and as Steph leaned into his shoulder, Bucky took it upon himself to remain upright and somewhat unfazed by it all even when the opposite was true. There’s a resonance between them, an electricity that dances where skin meets skin and it’s only because he’s got such high levels of self control that he’s not kissing her right now. “Natasha already knows everythin’ so she doesn’t count,” he counters, still sounding more amused than anything. “’m pretty sure Sam’s worked it out too.” Though if he has, the man’s said nothing. “But the one person you don’t want figurin’ it out is Stark. Not at his girlfriend’s party at least. We’d never hear the end of it.” If he’s the one that has to keep some sobriety until they get back to the apartment, then so be it, it’s not like he hasn’t played the straight man before. It’s very hard though, when her breath is setting his skin on fire and the sensation of her pressed into the crook of his neck is making it harder and harder to concentrate. Still, he persists, clearing his throat and defaulting to amusement. “An’ there was me thinkin’ you were wantin’ to dance.” A pause, merely for dramatic effect. “Unless you had some other kinda dancin’ in mind.” 

      She couldn’t help the feelings that bubbled within her stomach, a mixture of nervousness underlined with a deeper pull. Like two puzzle pieces, they seemed to fit together perfectly and she couldn’t bear to be APART. If she was drunk, it was likely off of the buzz of his smell and the tingle from his hands along her hips. God, she thought, how much she loved his smell. A mixture of leather and gunpowder, musky yet warm. It sucked her in and made her feel drowsy as well as wide awake. Her fingers card through his hair, nails digging a little against his scalp if only to push her face deeper into his neck. Lips briefly brushing over his pulse point before moving up to KISS the underside of his ear with a lazy hum, “Can you please not talk about Tony while I’m trying to seduce you,  Sergeant?” A smile turning up her lips before she nipped at his ear, chest pressing against his own in her stubborn defiance. Yet it was but a taste, her nose returning to brush along his neck again in rhythm.

      “I know I’m not very good at it,” She mumbles against his flesh, hand abandoning his neck as it snaked down around his waist into almost a hug. And she didn’t imagine she was, Stephanie was still awkward when it came to these things. Inexperienced and unpracticed, IGNORANT in a majority of its complexities but yearning deeply and urgently. Finally, her head pulls back, blues searching for his own again as she hears the band drifting to the close of their song. Sooner after mild applause rang out, with a few intoxicated hoots and cheers, Stephanie paused in her sway, eyes still locked with his own. She didn’t know the words yet, maybe it would take time and practice, but she knew the feeling that tightened in her belly. “You’re so --” She tries, lips pausing as she seems to taste a multitude of words in her mouth and yet, none seem to fit. “I’m so lucky, to have you,” She runs her tongue over her bottom lip before a small laugh follows. “Without you I’d never know how to, dance. And there’s certainly no one I’d ever want to teach me than you, no one I trust more. Love more. No one.” 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

     IT’S STILL NEW, the touching beyond friendly reassurances. He’s grown used to her casual touch; holding his hand, her knee resting against his when they were sat side by side. Now there was a different angle, a different meaning, and it was like he had to get used to it all over again. Bucky is acutely aware of the way her hand trails up his chest, the feeling of her breath on his neck as she huffs out that small laugh, the tone of her reply. It’s a heightened state of awareness and it’s something he’s not felt for a very long time - at least not so openly. There had been flashes which caused him to doubt, both since his return and in the past, but he’d done his best to ignore them. But since that confession it was moments like this one that made him seriously doubt his own self control. And hers. The sky overhead was now an inky shade of blue, dotted with stars and pale clouds; the area that he’d retreated to earlier in the evening was dimly lit, most of the lights having been switched to around the stage area - they weren’t invisible by any means, but they weren’t overly obvious unless looked for. Yet, despite the waning light, Bucky could see those brilliant baby blues as clear as day. He also recognises the look deep within them and it leaves him slightly starstruck.

    “You’re blushin’,” he comments, noting the faint tint that rushed over the bridge of her nose and onto her cheeks despite her attempts to hide it. Normally he’d tease her but there’s nothing but fondness in his voice, a genuine smile tugging his lips lopsided at the sight. There had been such a dramatic shift in the dynamic that it caught Bucky blindsided; where once there would’ve been little more than playful banter, now he finds himself letting his attention drop to those lips as her teeth worries them red. He lets out a hum that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest as he considers her question for a moment, biting his own lip in semi-serious thought before he huffs out a laugh. “People will talk, Rogers. You think that somethin’ like that’d go unnoticed?” He’s more amused than chastising and he knows better than anyone that if Steph really wanted to do something she’d just do it anyway. Still, he does sober slightly. “Last thing anyone needs is for gossip about us overtakin’ the reason this party’s been thrown. This is Pepper’s occasion, lets not steal the spotlight.” He pauses, leaning forward just enough so that his breath can ghost across the shell of Steph’s ear, a devious smile in his voice as he whispers. “Besides, wouldn’t lovin’ me like you want be better left for a bedroom?”

     She can’t help but feel the heat on her cheeks deepen at his comment, prevalently exposed before him was her thoughts and feelings more than ever before. “I thought you LIKED my blushing?” Steph quips quietly, eyes flickering away if only for a moment to inspect what the crowd's attention lay towards. The energy between them was electric, humming and buzzing like static between their skin. All she wants is to sink her face into the crook of his neck and melt into his arms. The NEED for contact was never more than in the weeks following the incidents of Sokovia. There was a part of her that relished in it, the need and attention, like she had truly been starving for so long until he quenched her. Stephanie wants to kiss him, wants to card her fingers through his hair possessively and pull him into her like a freight train smacking into a car. Yet he falters, thinking things through far better than she was, and how could she be blamed? It was all new to her, every touch and every glance, every intimate moment shared in secrecy. It was a rush, like an addict's high, and every time it brought her further and further AWAY from the world around them. 

     “Natasha already figured it out,” She mumbles again, chin tucking under as she presses her lips briefly into his shoulder, unnoticeable to any that may see them as anything other than close dancing. But she listens, she understands, knowing it would be wrong to distract from Peppers night even though she was sure no one was watching them. The woman was always pleasant to her, friendly if only at a PROFESSIONAL degree, and more so, she didn’t want to hear Tony’s complaints afterwards. As much as she wanted to think less of Bucky for it, the words that fell from his lips soon after brought goosebumps to her arms. Her breath catching in the back of her throat as she hummed back her reply. Her face turned into the crook of his neck, her nose running along his pulse point before she can manage to find her words again. “Well then maybe you should take me there, as I’m itching to love you, James Buchanan Barnes,” Her voice soft, tender and heartfelt, but stitched with the same passion she had offered before. 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

      HE’S TAKING A risk here, being so bold. It’s only been a few weeks since he thought he’d lost her to Ultron and the emotionally charged argument - and subsequent confession - that followed. They had both agreed to keep it quiet to give them time to adjust to the shift in the status quo outside of the spotlight, but since then things seemed to have pitched onto a knife edge. No one had been told about the shift in the dynamic (though he’s certain that Romanoff knew anyway) and for the most part, everyone seemed oblivious. Bucky wanted to keep it that way for a little while, certainly the last place he would want the truth to come out was someone else’s event. And yet, as he stood with his hand offered, he’s risking it. It’s a tightrope their walking, it wouldn’t take much for them both to fall off. There’s a lump in his throat that he just can’t swallow because his mouth has suddenly gone bone dry; it doesn’t take her long to react, but it feels like forever. He can hear his heart hammering in his chest and seconds feel like minutes; for a moment he almost convinces himself that she’d say no. 

     His eyes don’t leave her even tho she’s glancing around at the gathered crowd; Bucky wants to do what she’s doing but forces himself to remain laser-focused on her. Logic says that no one’s going to pay any attention, there’s been far too much alcohol flowing and the atmosphere is far too buoyant for anyone to notice what was happening on the edge of the gathering. And anyway, it’s not like he’s going to drag her into the middle of the courtyard - he fully intends to stay right where they are. Bucky doesn’t allow the sigh of relief when she finally takes his hand. Instead she’s given a subtle smirk. “Then we’re just gonna have to take it elsewhere, Captain.” Voice low, his tone is playful but there’s a darker edge to it, a rumble that promises something more than just dancing - but only away from others. A flash of devilment dances across his features and he pulls her sharply forward, metal fingers coming to rest on her hip. “Remember, we’re just two friends sharin’ a dance.” The wicked grin is accompanied by a wink and he does his best to completely ignore the rest of the party except for the band.

      She can’t help the ease that melts the tension within her when that playful smirk returns. It was like a glow of LIGHT, flickering beneath a hazy fog that gave her hope that any discomforts were temporary. His hand in her own, tight but comfortable grasp, settles her as she allows her timid smirk to melt into honest grins. His words were different in tone, more engaged than she would have been before, she feels the heat prickle against her throat at the thought of what he could mean. Blues breaking from the others as she gives a small breathy laugh, “Promises, promises.” Steph murmurs, her free hand moving absently up his chest and over his shoulder before her gaze returned to his own. This new sight burned with a DIFFERENT tone, more fiery and passionate, a heavier intimacy than what they used to share. His hand moves to her hip, and she’s vividly aware of their proximity as she breaches the close space between them. Golden waves fall back over her shoulder, and for the first time that night, she realises she was thinking through the many features of her body and his own. 

     The warmth flashes mildly over her cheeks, head dipping as she tries to quiet a laugh to her own messy thoughts. God, she didn’t realise how MUCH would change, how everything would seemingly melt into this giant array of emotions and physical need. Bucky had never played both roles in her life before, no one had. Yet she couldn’t completely hide the more innocent parts of herself beginning to YEARN for his company. Teeth slid back over her lip, shoulders faintly rolling as she flashes him a tender glance, “What if I want to kiss my friend while he dances with me? Am I to be blamed if I can’t help myself?” One brow rises, almost challenging the faint line between them as she allows the music to shift their movements into a gentle rhythm. Stephanie knows they should watch themselves, understands the importance of being careful -- especially when they were both learning this together. Still, the desire still LINGERED, the emotion still lingered, thick between them like a haze of smoke. “’Just two friends dancing’ seems to make it rather hard for me to love you like I want,” She mumbles, hand resting on his shoulder absently stroking the lines of his hair until it rested behind his neck.   

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

    BUCKY GETS THE reference, he remembers taking Steph and Becca to see it at the theatre when it first came out, about the excited way his baby sister sang the songs for weeks afterwards. Somehow, he highly doubts that Asgard was anything like the Land of Oz but he huffs out a laugh anyway, shaking his head as he watches the band play. The smile fades slowly, however, as he listens to her talk. He doesn’t remember any of what she’s saying but doesn’t argue with her simply because she has no case to lie; he accepts it as truth because she’s got that picture perfect memory, he accepts it because it sounds like him. He doesn’t remember prom, the girl that she described as gorgeous, the friend he’d supposedly convinced to take Steph but it’s obvious from the multiple memories he does have that the same thing has happened over and over again. He has no reason to doubt, and that fact makes him feel awful. Especially at the bitter tone that creeps into her voice even if she doesn’t mean it. 

     Bucky curls in on himself slightly, gaze dropping to the floor and avoiding her own as she looks towards him. He chews his tongue, respectfully keeping his mouth shut in a sign of submission. He has nothing to say, no words of protest or self defense; even if he did remember the event, even if he was slightly drunk and caught up with this  gorgeous girl that he supposedly took…what he did was wrong on all levels. Especially considering what he’d admitted a few weeks ago. Her attention leaves him and his turns to hers, a heavy, thoughtful frown deepening the crease between his eyebrows as he sees through that smile she forces. From her, his attention returns to the band who have returned to a slower song; he’s silent for a long while, the crooning, smokey vocals of the singer barely registering as he contemplates. Then, silently, he slips off the table he’d been perched on practically all night, straightens his shirt and turns back to Steph. “Dance with me, doll?” He offers his right hand, palm up in invitation. “In public, for one night only.”

      She knows now that everything she had assumed of Bucky and their past relationship to be muddled and unclear. What to her had been a charming and caring friend, now underlined with EMOTIONS that were kept secret. It would be a lie if she didn’t admit she was angry in part when things came to light. Mostly due to the terrible guilt and emptiness she had felt for so long, the insecurities and -- a darker feeling she had not only towards herself but everyone else. It wasn’t his fault, she hadn’t spoken up either, but they clearly were still working out the kinks. When his head drops, Steph can see his expression change. Often missing memories would frustrate him, but this was clearly different. It was guilt. She knows it doesn’t matter now, what they were -- was still messy and uncertain but at least they were trying not to HIDE anymore. So when he rises from the picnic table, hand outstretched with a face of pure and deep admiration, her heart clenched in her chest. 

     There’s a spark in her eyes, relit beneath the hazy fading sky, and her brow knits only faintly as she tries to muffle the emotion that stirs at the action. “Bucky,” Steph breathed, legs untangling from the top of the table before teeth slid nervously over her bottom lip. Blue eyes flicker around, glancing at the medley of PEOPLE wondering what they would think. A part of her worries more than she ever did before. How did it become so much harder to hold his hand in public? How did it become such a tug at her stomach every time they stepped too far apart? She thought love, this kind of love, was supposed to be easier. Yet it wasn’t, it was scaling a mountain of uncharted territory, but there he was outstretching his hand to help her. She takes it, moving back to the ground before a smile moves back to her lips. “And if I want more than ONE dance, Sergeant?” She poses, her tone returning to the more playful innocence. “If you’re planning to sweep me off my feet, it would be mighty rude of you to leave me with just one.” Her fingers tightening around his hand, warm and solid, as blue eyes bathed in the others. 

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

    BUCKY CAN’T HELP the look of uncontrolled cynicism that crosses his face at Steph’s idea of hooky and he fixes her with an expression that doesn’t need any words to go with it. They both know that there’s no way that either of them could play the sickness card and neither could they say they were too busy because everyone at the compound knew everyone else’s actions - and despite it being Pepper’s birthday, everyone knew this was a Stark event. It would’ve required either a miracle or a disaster for them not to attend. Her comments about being drunk caused him to almost physically cringe. As much as he didn’t really want to, he remembers a near-comatose drunk Steph that time they’d discovered his father’s moonshine when she was 14. He also remembers the tongue lashing he’d got from both his parents and her mother for being so irresponsible. To the day, he’s not even sure she’s aware of telling off he’d received. He has to admit though, he misses being able to get drunk and has done since Rogers pulled him off Zola’s slab. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t tried. “You should’ve got Thor to leave you a cask of that Asgardian mead before he flew off on his rainbow.” Because he’s tried drinking a bottle of 98% vodka and the only result was mild dizziness that lasted for ten minutes. 

     He swirls what’s left of his beer around in the bottom of the bottle in his fingertips, watching the white foam cling to the inside of the glass as it’s sloshed around. He downs it in one and thumps the bottle on the table beside him with a stifled laugh at her mention of a dance. The mouthful is swallowed and he leans her way slightly. “Sorry doll, I don’t dance in public.” His grin is wicked as he refuses to rise to bait. “You have fun with tin tits or fly boy though, I ain’t gonna stop you.” He adopts the most innocent of expressions, a blithe smile on his lips as he turns back to watch the stage where the band was picking up the pace into something more bouncy and more people had wandered into the space that had been left for dancing. “Since when have I owed you a dance anyway?” The question is a genuine one and he shifts to rest his forearms on his thighs, knotting his fingers together in front of him. He heard that she owed Peggy a date, though that was via Nat and he couldn’t verify it and given the state of Carter he doubted that it was even possible now. But his memory of his own unkept promises was shoddy at best and while he didn’t doubt her, he couldn’t help but draw a blank.

      His comment about the mead gets a small laugh, half tempted to check and see what was left of Thor’s belongings that were stored in the facility. “I’ll have to ask him NEXT time he comes back from Oz,” She chirps, nose crinkling at the joke knowing it was something he’d understand. Her cheery smirk falls slightly at the next comment, not expecting, or rather hoping, that the temptation would push some manner of response other than this. Was it so wrong for her to want to dance with him? So wrong to hope like the other charming couples, even if the hope was small and timid still. Eyes turn down to her hands which had settled in her lap, the nail of her thumb sliding under the other as posed a question she was not as CHEERY of remembering. However, she had made him a promise before, that she’d tell him anything if he couldn’t recall it, not wanting him to go without the memories they had -- even if he’d be a little intoxicated that night himself. “We were seventeen, you were taking that gorgeous girl from two blocks over to the prom,” Steph starts, brow furrowing as she can nearly picture the day in crisp and perfect clarity. “I didn’t want to go, I mean, I knew how it would end. I always knew, but you were so sure your friend would take me. Hell, even convinced me.” She scoffs out a breath, layered almost in a laugh but far more bitter in tone. 

      “Asshole shows up with ANOTHER girl, there I am in my hammy down dress miserable, and you --” She does finally turn to regard him again, silent for the shortest of moments as she gauges the many features of his face, drawn in as if she could paint the reflection of seventy years past atop him. “You felt so bad, you said once you’d had a few dances with your date you’d make sure I’d get one, but you know, one thing led to another and you were swept up like any other boy. I left after awhile, so I can’t tell you if you DID try and find me later in the night or not. I just couldn’t stay, I couldn’t watch --” Her voice trails off, once again trying to find words to fill in the many emotions of her past she’d spent years bearing. The reality that she couldn’t watch him go off and have his happy loving night, she couldn’t bear to be alone when he wasn’t. Alas, she shakes her head, almost trying to clear the cobwebs from her foggy thoughts before pushing a smile to her lips, “It was fine, nothing I hadn’t been used to.” Her hands outstretched to grab a handful of berries, drawing her other leg up finally before sitting crisscrossed atop the table.  

▒▓ ◉ BUCK  

    IT’S WITH HALFHEARTED attention that Bucky watched the singer and her band as she mentioned the title of the song they were playing and the saxophonist started up an almost melancholy solo to which the woman soon began singing to. There was a certain nostalgia to it, and he’s sure that he recognises the tune from those days in smokey clubs from before the war but he can’t quite put his finger on it. More guests gravitate towards the paved area in front of the stage, lingering in small groups to continue their conversations. There’s a giggle from a younger woman as she hauls what Bucky can only assume to be her boyfriend out to dance and he huffs a faint laugh into the neck of his beer bottle before taking a mouthful. He may feel out of place, but people watching isn’t a bad way to spend his time at a party he didn’t want to be at in the first place - provided he wasn’t bothered by any of the other guests overmuch. 

     He’s more than aware of Rogers’ movements as she managed to escape the clutches of Stark and exchanging pleasantries with Pepper, keeping a note of her location as she approaches the table with a bowl of fruit. He was half expecting her to tell him off for sitting on the table and not the bench but instead felt the shift as she joined him in his uncouth position - something which earned a few puzzled glances of some of the closest party goers. His attention rolls her way, bottle resting on his lips for a moment before he takes a sip. It’s only then he notices her own gaze was off towards the stage and her expression had turned…rather odd. With a frown, he follows her line of sight to land upon a blonde woman who looked familiar. He’d seen her earlier that evening and got a nagging sense that he’d seen her before but he’s not sure where. When Steph elaborates and mentions him shooting up her apartment, the final puzzle piece slotted into place. She was the woman with the gun that appeared to tend to Fury; the information that Romanoff was trying to play matchmaker didn’t really surprise him, but he raised an eyebrow in Rogers’ direction anyway before he shifted slightly enough to look for the fruit she’d brought back.

     “She’s CIA,” he says, casually stealing a handful of grapes and blueberries from the bowl. “Heard one of the SHIELD types talkin’ about a woman named Carter earlier,” he talks around the grape in his mouth, adding another before he’s swallowed the first. “I think she’s moonlightin’ for Fury.” He shrugs, stuffing the rest of his pilfered fruit into his mouth before returning his attention to the stage. At least he tries to keep it on the stage, but he finds himself glancing back at the blue eyes fixed on him - a sure sign that she wants his attention. “Be honest Steph, we did kinda have to. An’ leavin’ early wouldn’t exactly look great on either of us.” He shrugs, eyes turning skyward at the brilliant red streaked with pinks and purples as the sun set behind the trees. “Give it another hour, by then folk would’ve had enough to drink not to give a shit who leaves.” He finds her eyes again, a ragged and lopsided grin on his face. “’Sides, the band’s only just started.”

      She’s surprised by his knowing of Sharon Carter, blues finding his expression as he began to munch away at the contraband food she’d smuggled. Stephanie knew that she wouldn’t be able to AVOID the woman forever, but she didn’t have half a mind to deal with her now. Besides the odd flirtation and an even more awkward conversation after the events off Fury’s ‘death’, Steph didn’t really know the woman all that well. Maybe she had wanted to, given how lonely she was before Bucky came home, but now? Her eyes fall to the food as she picks through until the strawberries were found. Always brilliant and plump, her favourite. “Wouldn’t surprise me, I KNOW Maria Hill is working for him despite everything she does now with Tony,” Steph added to his comment before her face fell slightly at his next. While there was still many faces she had to wear, Captian America being one, she hadn’t had the heart lately to engage with many people. Her mind had been so caught up in the new revelations of their relationship, or -- rather what she assumed was a relationship. 

      “Could’ve played hookey,” She mumbled, twisting off the top of the fruit before popping it into her mouth. Once she was done, she pulled one of her legs up to the table's edge, still keeping the other against his. It was his comment about people indulging in the drink that made her more solemn expression purse with a smile, “What I wouldn’t give to be piss drunk one more time, it was so much easier, even if I nearly DIED the next day.” Her lip twitching at the memories of Bucky hauling her around the apartment when they were younger, the scorn he’d show at her acting like a literal moron seemed so innocent given what they’d recently gone through. When he regards the music, she glances back briefly before looking at him, nose crinkling as she tried to laugh at the thought of The Winter Soldier spinning Captian America around a dance floor. The SHIELD reps would faint, surely. “You still owe me a dance, Sergeant,” She murmurs, eyes searching for his own in what could only be an unspoken question. Steph wasn’t sure if he was ready for something like that, but the more she thought about it the more her heart could swell. “But if you’re not interested I’m sure Sam or Tony would oblige me,” A smirk replacing her smile, arm nudging him softly in the ribs before moving to grab another strawberry.

▒▓ ◉ BUCK

    THERE’S THE SIZZLE of grilled meat in the air intertwined with the smell of burning coals and fat-laced smoke; a background noise of idle chatter over a distinctly jazzy soundtrack coming from a pair of large speakers set up by the open doors of the common room. It’s a small crowd, completely informal - as cookouts usually are - mostly made up of faces Bucky knows by site but not by name. Stark employees, for the most part, those that hold jobs in the upper offices; managerial roles in various departments. People he’s seen around the Tower in passing but has never had any reason to speak to. Likewise the recognisable SHIELD personnel - all of whom seemed to be both giving him a wide berth and Maria Hill cautious glances as they passed where she stood talking with Coulson off to one side. There wasn’t a lot of people present, but there was more than enough to make Bucky keep away from the main swell of where people were clustered. It was also enough to get him called out more than once (by both Clint and Sam) that he seemed on edge, uncomfortable, and distracted. 

     He had taken up a perch on the picnic table furthest from the grill, one foot restlessly tapping on the bench that he was supposed to be sitting on (but no one was willing to ask him to sit properly when he seemed so on edge). The warmth from the patio heater by the main group of tables barely reaches where he’s sat anyway and given the chill to the mid-May air as the sun starts to set, people aren’t too willing to leave the warm bubble that’s been set up in the courtyard. Off to one side, there’s a buzz around a band that’s getting set up, Bucky doesn’t know who they are but apparently they were mostly jazz - given the current background musing he’s not overly surprised. 

       To his left, on the next table, he can half-hear the conversation between Wanda and Sam but he pays no real attention. The half-drunk bottle of beer in metal fingers is swung lazily, chin resting on the palm of his flesh hand, elbow propped up on his knee; his focus is solely on the blonde up the front, talking to Pepper by the grill. It simultaneously feels as if it’s been both forever and days since his…the closest word would be confession, the final hammer blow that seemed to shatter whatever wall had been separating them for decades. To everyone else, they were the same as they’ve always been; a mutual agreement to keep things low-key until they could both figure things out, but even he’s now acutely aware of how their proximity in public had started to give them away. He’s not sure how long their act would last. 

     As the sky starts to turn a warm pink-red, the music from the speakers cuts out as the singer from the band, a brunette woman with an hourglass figure in a clingy black sequin dress who vaguely reminds him of Peggy Carter, introduces herself and her players. Bucky tunes her out and takes a mouthful of beer as people start to wander over to the small stage, attention drifting to the bottle instead of returning to where Steph was.

     She didn’t realise the ‘small’ gathering would be bigger than the immediate party of friends they had become accustomed too. Tony had tried to bring in the more EXTENDED members of their acquaintance, and Stephanie figured it made Bucky even more uncomfortable than she was. Pepper had managed to gather her attention for awhile, discussing some improvements on Tony and herself’s living arrangements while underlining some manner of gossip. She tried to avoid it, tried to make herself more useful elsewhere -- or rather try and wander back to the dark haired man avoiding everyone on the edge of the party. Luckily Tony reappeared after a short while, jumping into the conversation and thus ending her peril. When the two made some playful banter, she excused herself after catching Bucky’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. 

     As she turned to head back over, she felt a hand grasp her forearm, glancing back there stood Stark with his traditional gleaming smirk. “Why don’t you tell ‘Mr. Dark and Ominous’ over there to get another beer and join the party? He’s making some of the guests a little jumpy, you know,” His eyes flickering over to the SHIELD representatives and Maria, only earning a more forced polite smile to emerge on her lips. “Why don’t you go spend time with YOUR girlfriend, so she doesn’t feel the need to gossip to me about your drapes and dirty drawers,” Steph returns shorter than she meant, blue eyes falling for a second as he released her arm and shrugged her off. She huffed under her breath, bypassing the food table and grabbing what she imagined to be a GROUP portion of fruit and a fork before wandering over to him. 

     Once she made it back, moving around the tables that still dawned bright red table clothes, she sat the food down before climbing onto the table top to face him. Just as she parted her lips, ready to release the FRUSTRATIONS inflicted, she heard the band behind her. Blonde wavy locks spun over her shoulder as the stage was setting up for a bounty of music, as the singer took her place she noticed Sharon Carter for the first time in ages. Carefully standing off to the side with other SHIELD associates, she looked trying to get through the evening. Steph wondered what she had been doing for the past few years, after the fall of SHIELD many of the operatives scattered to different branches and services. She never saw Sharon around Phil’s facility, nor at any other function or mission. For a brief moment, she glanced over directly at Stephanie, holding her gaze for a questionable amount of time before looking down in what could only read as uncomfortable embarrassment. Teeth sliding over her lip, she turned away from the band as the announcements started, her legs settling on either side of his relaxed stance before turning her attention to him. “That’s....Sharon,” She murmurs, arms crossing over her chest as the thin sweater she adorned wasn’t quite as beneficiary away from the heaters. 

     “Natasha was trying to set us up before,” Her eyes squint, head tilting slightly at the memory, “Well you shot up my apartment in Washington. Fury had her stationed their undercover, I thought she was a nurse -- nothing happened,” She quickly added as she had begun trailing the story, almost nervously trying to make sure this awkwardness they were already dancing around didn’t become worse. “Just...I was fairly rude when I found out. Kind of, another issue of TRUST and all,” She laughed, although it didn’t ring in humour. Teeth returned to her lip, legs tightening slightly around his one almost in self-comfort before she glanced up at him again. “We didn’t have to come, we could go back to the room, watch a movie..” Blue eyes find his own, trying to see where his head was when so often she couldn’t find it.      

▒▓ ◉ BUCK

     THERE’S ALMOST A wave of relief that washes over him when Steph confirms that Rebecca’s suitor is the one she ends up marrying. He’s not sure how long their courtship lasts or when exactly they marry but given that Becca’s not a teenager anymore and despite the fact that she’ll always be his baby sister, she’s a grown woman - and a Barnes no less - he trusts her to be able to defend herself. Still, he’s grateful that Steph’s looking out for her while her Bucky is away, even if there’s very little she can actually do. “There’s no need for you to go to prison for Becca, she’s fully capable of lookin’ after herself.” He huffs out a brief laugh, though it’s somewhat lacklustre. “Anyway, she’ll end up marryin’ this…Proctor guy eventually. Has two kids, a tribe of grandkids - even great grandkids at the end, a comfortable life. They end up in some leafy suburb of New Jersey, can’t remember exactly where.” He never told his Steph in so many words that he’d looked up where his sister had ended up, mostly because he assumed that she herself had looked it up under her own steam before he was back in her life. 

     He omits the part of Rebecca’s later life, there’s nothing anyone can do about it anyway so there’s no need to get hung up on it. “Ma’ll get swept up in Becca’s life, once her grandchildren come along.” He’d like to think it would end up helping his mother forget him, or at least ease whatever grief she held; the house would be filled with happiness again. He doesn’t make comment about the religion, his own belief having been lost to an endless erosion of torture and death - but he knows his mother was religious and if it brought her comfort then he’s not going to say anything. “Her and Pa, they live good lives as far as I can tell. It’s all I could ask for, really.” His death - and Steph’s - didn’t stop the world from spinning and he’s more than glad of it, they were just two more names to engrave on the memorial wall.

      “Think about it Steph,” he responds to her question about her being territorial, a faint smile on his lips “You lose everythin’ an’ get woken up in some strange future, you build up your own little circle of friends that you call family an’ the world tries it’s hardest to rip you apart. Is it any wonder you’re territorial? You’re like a mother bear protectin’ her cubs.” It’s a diversion, of course, she’s only really territorial of him and he knows it, though there is an element of protectiveness around the little group she calls family. To be fair, he’s equally territorial over her which has only gotten stronger since they became an official item (and only grew when the squabble with Stark happened). He’s not going to readily admit that, however, and if he’s being honest he’s not in any rush to tell her the full extent of their relationship. Not yet, anyway.

     She seems to light up at the mention of being a godmother, one side of his lip curling at the glimmer of hope that he sees dancing in her eyes. The ‘family’ of the future were such a ragtag bunch that it was almost laughable but Bucky never really classed himself as part of it, not completely. He was only attached to it via Rogers, if she wasn’t there he’d be in the wind again. As it stood, he was the black sheep, sat on the outskirts mostly out of his own choice. He doesn’t feel worthy to be part of the group so he sidelines himself by design, just in case something happens. Again. “I have you, that’s more than I need.” He pauses, tongue running over dry lips as his gaze falls to his knotted fingers resting on the tabletop. “Look, Steph, I’ve done a lot of…unpleasant things - including to you an’ your friends. I don’t think they fully trust me an’ I really don’t blame ‘em, to be honest I sometimes wonder about your sanity for puttin’ so much faith in me. That ain’t to say I don’t get along with them because I do.” He would call Sam, Nat and Clint friends but he’s nowhere near as close to them as Rogers is. “I actually think Sam’s taken over my old title as your best friend.” The smirk that dances across his features is devilish and teasing, if slightly bashful, of all things. “But that don’t bother me so much, I went one better anyway.”

     The news about Rebecca’s future painted a calming canvas for her. The fact that she would get married, have children, grandchildren, and live out her days with the American dream? It was a BLESSING. One Becca rightly deserved, being the sweet little troublemaker she was. When he talks about his folks, she can see there’s a wall of uncertainty built around his features, emotions she doubts he’ll share with her without further prompting. Instead, she gives him a small be a reassuring smile, “Jersey? The horror.” Nose crinkling in amusement, reaching out her hand across the table and briefly brushing her fingertips along his own before offering a gentle squeeze. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to show she UNDERSTOOD what he couldn’t say, was glad at least the ones they loved ended up okay. Yet when he mentions her territorial nature, she can’t help but retract her hand with a less than enthusiastic look. It was one of doubt, one of curiosity, and as she sat her chin into the crook of her palm, her teeth slid over her bottom lip trying to paint the picture. 

     “I don’t lose everything though, I mean -- I have you?” She prompts, looking at him carefully wondering whether there was more to this than he was telling. “I’ve NEVER doubted you before, hell -- how could I then? I know you wouldn’t leave me,” Stephanie assures him, uncertain whether she liked this version of herself. Insecure, even though she had seemingly gotten everything she could have ever wanted? She had friends. She had her health. She had a dream job with success and admiration. She had the family she always wanted. What else did she need? It’s his next words, that he has HER, that maybe even frighten her. Stephanie wanted him in her life, but she didn’t want to isolate him from everyone else. He deserved a happy life. With someone he loved -- with a family of his own, a life of his own. His mention of unpleasant things doesn’t sway her thought process either, knowing that regardless of what he had done, she would have complete faith in him. “Of course I have faith in you, you’re my hero,” Her voice falls again, face meek in expression although shrouded in a seemingly upset projection. It was distressing in a way, and she DIDN’T even know why. 

     He mentions this Sam, for the second time, and she can’t picture a single Sam she may know. Maybe he too was from this future a hundred years from now, but if Bucky was there? Yet he answers her question, with a smirk on his face, and all she could do is stare at him. One better? One better in what? In life? With, her? Stephanie blinks a few times, eyes dropping down to his hands before her own fold back across her stomach. Her chest was tight and aching, but she didn’t think it was the moist air and horrid cough that ailed her. Was Bucky, with this NEW version of her? Romantically? Intimately? Her head shakes despite never saying a word, rising from the chair she clumsily peels off the heavy jacket and chucks it over the chair, trying to BOLT before the stinging in her eyes became clear to see. “Must have been some HELL of a cure,” She mutters, although throat catches the words hoarsely. Stephanie makes it out of the kitchen, ducking into the tiny hallway heading for her room.

     As she slides into the room she quickly shuts the door behind her, wishing that they actually had locks so she could avoid the coming storm that was likely to trickle after her. Yet with her back against the door, she peers over through the dark room to the window that sat next to their fire escape, quickly wiping her eyes she can see a CRACK in the window allowing a pool of water to drip in. Pulling away from the door, Stephanie walks over to bend over and wipe the mixture up with the tail end of her blanket, it is only then that she catches a glimmer of red out of the corner of her eye, A DOT flashing from one side of her face to the other and then landing dead center of her chest. Whether it was instinct or just dumb luck, she jumps frantically to the side just as a bullet comes crashing through the old window. Her voice tears through her throat as she scrambles up from the floor, body screaming in pain, “Bucky!”