#barnesandashes

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Bucky muttered under his breath when he realized that you were spacing out, as if you were on planet neptune while he tanned in the sun. The soldier wore all black, you weren’t surprised nor disappointed– he looked devastatingly hot in black, the kind of hot where you’d be begging him to eat you out in the nearest bathroom available the minute his muscles flex and the plates of his vibranium arm whir. 

Meanwhile, you wore midnight blue, coincidentally one of your boyfriend’s favorite hues and coincidentally the same dress he haphazardly slipped you off in one of your heated makeout sessions. A touch of makeup that enhanced your features from beautiful to even more beautiful, but Bucky loved you either way— whatever you wore and if you had makeup on.

Bucky smelled great too, he always did. You took a whiff of his scent when he pulled you out of the backseat to give you a flirtatious hug, which was holding your waist by his metal hands and burying his head in your neck, leaving a lingering kiss. All the while looking up at you after with feigned innocence marked in his face. He looked the most insatiable to your eyes under the moon of this fine evening, and judging by the way his grip did not let go of your hands, you assumed he felt the same. 

“I’m good, baby.” Yeah, you were good. You felt great. Everything was fine.

He looked at you with suspicion laced in his eyes, but he did not pry any more, at least for now.

“If you’re feeling stuffy here, we could get out, y’know?” He replied effortlessly, like it was no problem to give up the reservation he booked probably weeks in advance, as if you did not catch him late at night figuring out the website of the establishment. All his hard work would go down the drain the minute you would say yeah, let’s get the hell out. But he did not bat an eye– no hesitation because he knew better to put what you felt first above anything else.

And fuck, was that so hot.

“I love it here! Plus, it was so nice of you to reserve.” You gave him a reassuring smile. Your eyes paced around the restaurant, with a warm ceiling light under each table, just far enough from each other to ensure there were no eavesdropping happening. The bar was three tables behind Bucky, jazz melody filled the air of the room in a sultry atmosphere. As the two of you waited for the food he picked out as a surprise.

“I knew you were busy with work, so… I hope you didn't mind that I booked it.” He gave back a grin, but it was filled with nervousness– deep set worry that you wouldn’t like his initiation. But he swore he had listened intently to Sam’s advice, and some of Joaquin’s weirder suggestions, something about making a t-shirt that had text ‘I LOVE MY GF’ with your face on it. 

He just said he’d reconsider. He also made use of your laptop when he slept in your apartment while you showered. Fifty tips on how to actually take women on a date! Post-Blip Edition (PS, asking if she got dusted is not a good conversation starter!)

“Well, thank you for initiating and I love you for it.” You gave him a chuckle as your hand reached out to intertwine with his, resting on the table as you crossed your legs and leaned back in your seat.

You didn’t mind at all. 

wyd rn? where u wanna eat? pick a cheap resto. im bored ;) wanna fuck after this? pull up. r u free tonite?

Those were the usual texts you’d get when the guy suddenly had divine powers and managed to remember your existence at night, after his shift at some other person’s tongue. It was so tiring to make decisions on dates again and again. Albeit shitty and fucked up, being treated badly was the new norm for relationships in the 21st relationship— or was it just your choices?

Either way, being treated like a goddess by the man who equally looked like a roman god sculptured by Michelangelo or whomever almost made you tear up. Whose eyes were always on you, never wandering because his hands would do that job on your body whenever you wanted to. Those failed hookups and situationships had nothing on the man in front of you, eyes dangerously locked in yours and lips turned into a small smirk as his head was slightly tilted in a teasing manner.

You were so fucking horny right now because he was doing all the things you ever wished for in a guy. And it wasn’t even fun anymore that he knew that. Maybe, a little.

You bit your lip as you titled your head. He took a quick sip of the red wine in front of him as he licked his, eyes never leaving yours. 

Suddenly, everyone was hyperaware of each other’s mouth. 

And you felt a certain patch of wetness in the middle of your thighs, start to ruin your underwear. You were fucked. The food hadn’t even come yet, but you were ready to be the sacrifice and be devoured by Bucky.

“I know what you’re doing, babe.” You whispered, didn’t need to be loud enough because he could hear it from a distance away. He leaned in closer to the table.

“What am I doing, babe?” His eyes furrowed in confusion, that had mischief as subtext.

“Oh my god, stop whatever you’re doing, Barnes.”

“Are we on a last name basis now?”

“Yes, if you don’t stop.”

“Stop exactly what, sweetie?” He rubbed his fingers on the inside of your palm, to which your legs wobbled in return. It was embarrassing, that he had you trapped under his gaze like you were under a microscope. On the brighter side, your embarrassment was being flushed away by arousal, he knew what he was doing— he also knew you loved it.

“T—That! You, whatever. I’m out of fucking words.” You rolled your eyes. You were not going to fall under one of Bucky’s effortless ragebaits anymore after you (regretfully) taught him that word. But this wasn’t just usual teasing, it was a test to whoever was going to drop the magic words first.

“I haven’t even started yet.” He laughed breathlessly, adoring how your lips puckered in annoyance, preferring it should on his instead.

You stayed silent, gulping the drink in front of you, trying to avoid his gaze like you’d die, god forbid it should happen— although you probably would.

“Don’t try to act like you’re the only one being tortured. I love that dress on you.” He added, slowly looking at your curves up and down, relishing the way no other men had the privilege to fawn over you like he did. You managed to hold back a smile at the compliment he snuck in, because a day did not pass by that he won’t compliment you with a shower of beautiful, pretty, and other synonyms for it.

That’s what you loved about Bucky. 

Because even though you were thinking of different ways to fight him because of his endless teasing— he knew his boundaries, gave you what you needed, and treated you so well you weren’t sure if you were deserving of this goodness. 

“So, you should see how hard I am right now, just for transparency.”

You also loved the fact that he was not afraid to show you how much you turned him on. You squirmed under your seat as he winked playfully, you didn’t need to look, he wouldn’t lie about things like that— painfully honest at how he also wanted to do the things swirling around in your head right now. If not, more— only if you wanted to, of course.

“Shut up! People could hear us, Bucky!” Your eyes widened as a warning, that if he did not shut the fuck up right this instant, people might be in for a show should you lose the willpower to not pounce on him.

“People wasted too much of their money here to care about other tables.” He responded as a matter of fact. You peered your gaze at them, at each table who were also in a conversation, sighing as a relief that if you could not hear them, then they probably could not also hear you.

Hopefully.

“What are we gonna do about this, huh?” 

“Nothing. We will wait for our food.” You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to avoid the need for Bucky’s fingers to be inside you right now, or his tongue, maybe his dick— whatever. You were starting to look at everything but his face, his hands, or peer under the table to look at his crotch and confirm the fact that he was, indeed, hard.

“Are you sure, baby? I’ll do whatever it is that you’re imagining right now.”

Your brain short circuited. 

Which scenario? The one where he ate you out on this table? Or fucking you from behind in one of the bathroom stalls? Maybe even riding him on his motorcycle seat. 

You were so wet at the thought of him that it flew you with a one-way ticket to insanity. Had you known it felt this majestic being treated good by a responsible man like Bucky, you would have time-traveled back to the 1940s and hunted him down right away. You were sure anything this man could do was a turn on, whether it was assembling furniture from IKEA or his tongue traveling down from the valley of your breasts to your pulsing clit.

As opposed to his sweet nature of remembering the little things you loved, like this restaurant, or the places you’d like to visit in your free time with him. He always had flowers on dates, and if that was not enough, he would help you set it up on a vase in your room. Bucky was the epitome of being a gentleman, and how he’d remain this tender and caring after all these decades— you did not know how, but you were thankful you had the privilege of being the center of attention.

Oh god, that did not help. You closed your eyes and shook your head.

How his hands were ridiculously big against your hips when he was under you, or how Bucky looked feverishly handsome when his head was in between your thighs, stubble wet with your slick, never stopping lapping up your juices until you were screaming his name.

He looked at you like he was remembering all of that too. Horny was an understatement when you could feel the tears running down your thighs.

You clicked your tongue in defeat.

“Let’s get the hell out.”