Words: 3.3K

Warnings: kissing, that's it.

I plop down onto the couch of the Avengers' badass new facility with a pint of ice cream in one hand and the telly remote in the other. A grunt, sort of pleased yet irritable, comes from my mouth when my ass hits the seat. Then I'm scrolling through the DVR trying to find something worth my while.

"Damn, how many war documentaries does Steve really need?" I question aloud to no one—since no one else is even in the room. I suck on the back of my spoon and keep looking. "Ah and here's Nat's section: all the stupid foreign films. What a waste of DVR space." I shove my spoon into the hard pint and keep on. "Oh—here we go. What's this?" I pause and read the film's description. "Nah, just another one of the stupid movie's Tony's scored a cameo in and we're not allowed to delete."

"Who the fuck are you talking to, Y/N?"

I don't bother turning my head back to greet my guest. "Welcome, Barnes. You're just in time for an episode of "how bored can Y/N be before she resorts to watching one of Clint's documentaries on birds"." Now I turn back to see the view. "Standby, we're drawing close."

Bucky grunts—his form of a laugh—and then strolls into the room. I'm always surprised to see him dressed in anything other than the all black tactical gear. Now he's in a pair of loose jeans and a dark grey t-shirt that really is much too tight in the arms. But I don't know if they make sleeves that big—the dude is fucking ripped. I've seen him shirtless, actually, and I'm very impressed.

"Does Clint really have bird shows recorded?" Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets and comes around to join me on the couch.

"Nah, just made that up," I admit. "It'd be funny as hell though if he did."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "So you're just talking to yourself and eating ice cream?"

"And watching TV. Don't make me sound like a complete loser." I take another chilly bite and eyeball his low hanging man-bun. "I'm multitasking."

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Bucky snatches the remote from my lap before doing some intent scrolling of his own.

"Shouldn't you be out telling little kids that Santa isn't real, killjoy?" I mock.

Bucky fights the urge to grin. He hates letting me know I'm funny, which makes it even more fun to tease him (but I'd never tell him that). "I just assumed you'd be at work or with that pompous lawyer boyfriend of yours."

I scoff in attempts to hide my real misery. "Who told you about my boyfriend?"

Bucky, who's already taken my remote, now grabs my ice cream. "Clint did."

"Loud mouth brother," I gripe. "Hey, that's my ice cream, jackass! Give it back."

Bucky uses my spoon to take a lethargic bite. "Not until you tell me why you're down here pouting like one of the drama queens in Wanda's Telenovas."

I really shouldn't be surprised that he's attentive enough to notice my shift in overall mood. Totally not helping my case, my arms cross indignantly across my chest. "I'm not pouting."

Bucky takes a stupid huge bite of my favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry's. I want to punch him. "You are."

"Not."

"Are."

I growl, "Not."

"Are."

"N-"

Before I can finish, someone's cut me off.

"Are you two bickering again?"

Bucky and I both look to see who stands at the doorway at the same time. Lucky for me, he's distracted long enough for me to take the ice cream. Unlucky for me, Bucky's a trained assassin and much faster than I am. I try to lunge but he easily draws the pint away and out of my reach at lightning speed. I let out an animalistic whine and slap his rock-hard chest. Bucky only lets out a bit of rumbling laughter in protest.

"Sorry, Clint. Your little sister here started it."

Clint shrugs and comes into the room with Nat at his tail. "I believe that."

Nat stops just behind where I sit on the couch to ruffle my hair. I hate it when she does this, but that's what makes her do it again and again. "I heard about what happened, kiddo. If you need anything let me know."

I want to puke. Instead, I glare at my rotten older brother. "Seriously? First you go around announcing that I'm dating, then you update 'em with the news he dumped me?"

Bucky stares at me with wide blue eyes. "Wait, wait, wait." He holds out a hand. "That's why you're pouting? The lawyer guy broke up with you?"

"Makes me feel so much better to have it repeated back to me, Bucky, so thank you for that. And yes, that's why I'm 'pouting'."

"She deserves a bit of a pout," Clint says while taking my ice cream away from Bucky to have for himself. He perches on the arm of my chair. "That guy was a real catch. Rich and good looking, too."

"Thanks, dear brother. I can always count on you for a pick-me-up." I roll my eyes and try to shove him off his perching point.

"He couldn't've been that fuckin' great," Bucky grunts.

"He was pretty smart, too." Clint goes on. There's something devious stirring in his eyes...

"Not smart enough to stay with Y/N," Bucky protests.

"Clint would you please—" I stop myself cold as it dawns on me what Bucky's just said. Wide eyed I look to the metal armed man across the way. "What?"

"I'm just saying that a guy's gotta be either dumb or blind to dump you." Bucky must realize that this is a compliment and not another one of our jesting fests so he quickly tries to cover it with, "Unless you really did something stupid, which is totally possible."

"I didn't do anything wrong. He just decided that he'd rather be with someone else." I make grabby hands for the ice cream my brother holds. He sighs before ultimately passing it back. "But I don't even care anymore. He's irrelevant and I'm over him."

Clint chuckles. "Tell that to the Ben and Jerry's and fuzzy socks."

I frown. "The socks were a gift from Steve, okay? It'd be rude not to wear them. And ice cream can be eaten outside of an emotional breakdown. It's great for the days in between, too."

"Well," Bucky clears his throat, "In that case." I'm slightly surprised as he stands and then walks in front of me. "I think I might go out for some real ice cream. There's an old fashioned parlor about thirty minutes from here." He raises a dark eyebrow. "If anyone would like to join me?" His steel blue eyes stay glued to me.

Clint speaks up before I have the chance. "Oh I'd be down to get some..." Nat stops him with a smack to the back of the head and a strange little glare. My brother takes a moment to register the expression she wears before going, "Oh." And stopping right there.

Ignoring Clint, I say to Bucky, "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get out of the compound." I look to my almost empty tub. "Besides, you ate almost all of what I had."

Bucky chuckles and holds out a hand. "Well come on then. We'll go together and it'll be my treat."

Bucky gives me fifteen minutes to meet him in the garage. He's already in his BMW with the radio on. I knock on the window next to his face before jogging around to let myself in on the passenger side.

"Country music?" I stutter in complete shock.

Bucky nods.

"Wow," I sit back and buckle as Bucky pulls out of his parking space. "I didn't know you even listened to music—let alone hillbilly tunes."

Bucky smirks with a bit of a twinkle to his steel colored eyes. "There's a lot you don't know about me, darlin'."

Darlin'? Now that's a name I've never been called before: especially by Barnes. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't make my heart skip a beat.

The drive off the compound property is pretty quiet at first. Then I catch Bucky humming along to a song and I start giggling. He only rolls his eyes and keeps going—metal hand clutching the wheel while the other one lingers on the seat just two inches from my leg.

"You're as smooth as Tennessee Whiskey..." the song goes, "As sweet as strawberry wine."

The driveway of the little sweets parlor is dusty and deserted. We climb out of the car and then Bucky's walking slightly ahead of me up the porch to open the front door. He gestures me inside first and I give him a proper little bow. He chuckles.

There's no one else in the shop besides the elderly owner. He cleans the counter with a rag and waves when we step inside.

"Good afternoon, kids."

I almost laugh at the idea of Bucky Barnes being a kid. Instead, I reply, "And you, sir. How you been today?" I peer into the refrigerated case from my tip toes. Bucky stands slightly behind me, not really looking at the flavors.

The old man grins wrinkly. "I've been well. What can I get for you lovebirds?"

My eyes widen. "Oh—us?" My hand touches my chest. "No, no, no. We're not together."

The man chuckles. He winks to Bucky then says, "Not yet, maybe."

I want to die. Bucky merely laughs. I feel him nudge my side with an elbow. "What're you gonna get?"

"Well, I'm getting one of everything as long as you're buying, Sargent." I wiggle my eyebrows and he smiles. "Nah, I've made up my mind on one flavor." I step back and gesture to the display. "Can you guess?"

Bucky turns to the tubs. Eyes narrowed, he looks very serious. He scours the flavors and purses his lips in deep thought. "Strawberry?"

I shake my head.

"Pistachio?"

I wrinkle my nose.

"Damn," Bucky breathes. Then he must figure it out, because he's grinning. "Birthday cake."

I laugh, "How'd you know?"

Bucky shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets, but not before nodding to the owner. The man walks off to get my flavor. "I dunno. Just seemed like something you'd pick out, sunshine. Playful and sweet, I suppose."

I roll my eyes to keep him from noticing my blush.

"And for you?" the man asks Bucky.

"Just chocolate, thank you."

"Boring," I cough into my arm. Bucky digs out his wallet from his back pocket.

"Yeah, I guess I am a bit boring." He takes out a wad of cash. "But that's why I brought you along. You're plenty of enough excitement for me."

I stand on my toes to reach the cone that's being handed to me from across the counter. I thank the owner, and then say to Bucky, "Apparently I'm a bit too much excitement for most people's taste."

"Says who?" Bucky questions. He grabs his own cone then follows me to one of the tables by the window.

"No one important," I sigh. I slide into the chair that Bucky holds out for me. "Thanks, Buck. And thanks for the ice cream. I really needed this." I don't know if I'm talking about the sugary treat or the good company.

He seems to know that I mean both. "'Course, darlin'."

Together we indulge in our ice cream treats to the sound of Frank Sinatra tunes. Giddy with sugar, I laugh at every joke he throws my way—and he can't seem to stop smiling. We're there for an hour before we decide it's time to leave, then the whole drive home we tell stories. I do most of the talking, but Bucky really doesn't seem to mind. He appears content to simply listen. Then we're home and going our separate ways: until I see him a few hours later in the gym, that is. I join him over by the treadmills. He grins when he first sees me.

The next mission I get sent on is a few days later. I'm grateful for something to do, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't over the lawyer now.

I've moved on.

Bucky's on the mission with me. The first time he calls me darlin' in front of other people is over the comms, and I'm so shocked that I nearly get shot in the leg by the distraction.

Then we're home and going out to ice cream every few days. Sometimes he asks me to coffee on the days in between, so we ride the elevator to the compound lobby where Stark had the Starbucks built.

I'm a little unsure how it got so complicated. Honestly, it's not complicated at all: it should just be two friends enjoying good company. But these past few weeks have been so much more than that to me. I've been harboring these growing feelings for James Barnes like heavy cinder blocks that crush my chest whenever he glances my way. Now here I am; sitting on the same couch where this all started and staring at the blank TV screen with a Ben and Jerry's tub in hand.

"Oh no," I hear my brother giggle as he walks into the room, "What is it now? Honesty, sweetheart, I'm surprised you're still so skinny after all the ice cream."

"Rude," I joke, but don't put much effort into my tone.

Clint appears on the couch next to me. "Seriously, kid. What's wrong?" His eyes pick me over as if he can dissect my problems.

I let out a long sigh. "I'm having another emotional breakdown." I take a hearty bite to compensate for my internal struggle.

Clint sighs, "Ah, yes." He leans back with arms crossed behind his head. The smirk that covers his face is terribly rotten. "Does this have anything to do with the super soldier you've been secretly pining over these past few months?"

"Months?!" I repeat. "I—what?"

"Don't play dumb, kiddo. I know you've had eyes for Barnes for a lot longer than you'd care to admit," Clint chuckles. "But I guess that answers my question."

I try to take another bite, but Clint snatches it away. "No. You can't expect Barnes to like you if you're fat," he teases mercilessly. I can't help but laugh. Clint smiles and says, "But seriously, sis, you need to talk to him."

"And say what?" I question.

Clint leans back to get cozier on his seat. Our legs tangle together, and I remember being a kid and building forts with couch cushions much like these. "Well, if he was here right now, what would you do?"

I scoff, "Probably say something stupid and meaningless because I can't bring myself to say anything more than that."

Clint leans closer. "But what would you want to say?"

I'm growing very irritated at my brother's pestering, but I go with it anyhow. I let out a breath, the words stringing together quickly and hardly understandable. "I'd want to tell him that I've got these—these gross, girly feelings towards him that I don't even know how to stop. But even if I did, I probably wouldn't want to."

Clint frowns. "This is why you're single, Y/N. You don't make any sense." He pats my cheek. "Be blunt, Y/N. Boys like blunt."

I roll my eyes with a tired smile. When Clint leans back, I decide to try again. The words are hard to say, but I spit them out anyhow. "I'd want to say," I begin before swallowing, "You don't always talk much, but I kinda like that. You're quiet but funny and my favorite part of the day is listening to you hum stupid hillbilly music in the car." I smile to myself a bit before going on. "And I don't know what else to say but," I pause, taking a breath, "I'm falling in love with you, Bucky."

Clint's face breaks out in the biggest, giddiest grin I've dared ever see. And before I can say anything more, his eyes are darting to the doorway back behind me. "Oh hey there, Barnes!" he chirps happily.

My blood runs cold. Out of my mouth comes a cursed little gasp. I cover my mouth with both hands, refusing to turn and see if my brother's lying or not.

I have a sick feeling that he's not.

"Clint," Bucky's voice is dry and deep. It's void of emotion.

Clint smirks at me before standing. "I totally forgot I called you in here!" He chuckles to himself before leaving the couch. "Anyway, I was just gonna tell you that Nat's birthday is next week. So don't forget to buy her something."

I hear Bucky scoff, "Sure."

"Well!" Clint claps his hands. I'm still refusing to turn away from facing the blank TV screen. "I gotta dash." He taps my head. "See you, kiddo."

"Fuck you," I hiss between gritted teeth.

Clint only laughs—skipping all the way out of the room.

The air is dangerously, delicately quiet. I can feel Bucky's presence. I know he's watching me. I don't want to say anything. Me: the girl who never shuts up, is now mute. My heart races wildly with embarrassment and fear.

I decide after about a minute that I really should be the one to say something. I need to apologize, or-or, lie or something. I can't let him walk out of the room without explaining myself.

I turn—propping myself on the back ledge of the couch. I see the man standing there. Bucky wears his slightly sweaty workout clothes and his hair all messy and loose. I want to whimper when I see the emotionless scowl on his face. I don't know what this means. I don't know what anything means anymore.

"Bucky..."

I never get the chance to finish. Because before I can speak, Bucky's strode over to me on long legs. His hands—both the metal and flesh—have gripped my neck on either side. Then his hot, searing lips are pressed to mine and his fingers are in my hair.

I gasp into his mouth. Wide-eyed I stare at his closed eyelids for a moment. His eyelashes are long and tan skin soft around his sharp jaw. Then I feel his tongue swiping against my bottom lip and I'm closing my eyes, too, and relishing on the long dreamt of feeling of his kiss. The flavor of cinnamon gum mixes with the chocolate sorbet I've already had on my tongue. While it sounds gross, it's actually exhilarating.

My shaking hands reach up to pull at Bucky's hair. I get his soft brown locks between my fingers—winding them up like ribbons—and angle his head closer. My mouth opens and his tongue dominates the kiss in a possessive, loud way that his words never do. I feel the gesture all the way in my bones and to the tips of my toes. His touch travels down my shoulders and along the lengths of my sides until he's clutching my hips in both hands. Easily he plucks me from the sofa and into his arms. I wrap myself around his broad shoulders and my legs lock onto his waist.

I hold Bucky's jaw, shivering at how good it feels to have his face in my hands. "Wait," I gasp. Bucky's eyes dart open. His lips are plump and damp—pink like strawberries. I swallow and force my gaze into those beautiful steel blue eyes. "What the hell does this mean?"

Bucky chuckles. He leans his face closer to softly kiss at the corner of mouth. I sigh. "It means that I love you, darlin'." Bucky kisses me hard and slow before adding, "I'd have to be dumb or blind not to."