A/N: Hey guys! Sorry about the wait, but here's another request! It's two AM where I am and I have classes tomorrow but I stayed up just to get this posted. It was a dialogue request from one of my older chapters, with the prompt being "Truth or Dare?" This is for the AMAZING Danish_mermaid, and I hope she adores this as much as I adore her! 

Lots of love, 

Winnie

Warnings: suggestive themes 

Words: 3.7K

It's raining in Wakanda. You aren't sure if you believe it or not when you first hear the pattering of heavy droplets hitting your window, but one quick walk over from the bathroom sink shows a storm brewing just outside your balcony. You're brave enough to pop open the door and reach a hand out into the downpour. Water gathers into your cupped palm before slipping through your fingers.

"Knock knock," a familiar voice says.

Your head turns back towards the bedroom doorway. At the other end of your palace apartment stands Natasha. She's leaning on the frame in a zip up hoodie and yoga pants the same ashen grey color of the full moon.

"Oh hey." You flick the water from your hand, rolling back down your sleeve, and step all the way into the room. "What's up?"

"Wanna go downstairs and grab a drink with me?"

You glance at the time. "It's almost midnight."

"So?" Nat pushes up straight. "I don't see you sleeping."

You smile lightly. "Yeah, I guess I'm not." You look back behind you at the beautiful Wakandan landscape. "I'm not exactly tired these days." Briefly the rainy is blurred in your eyes and fast moving scenes that haunt your dreams replace it completely.

"Come on. I'll make you a Bloody Mary." Nat's come up beside you to tug your arm. Still sensing the unsureness on your face (which she's known and loved as your best friend and number one ally for five years), she slyly adds, "I think Barnes is down there."

"Really?"

Nat laughs at your non-discreet rise in speaking tone.

You clear your throat and try again, "He's, uh, here? I thought he and Steve were back in the states this week."

Nat shrugs. "I don't think you really care for the specifics, Y/N." She smiles smugly to herself as you follow her out of the dimly lit bedroom. "All you care about is getting more time to make bedroom eyes at him from across the room but then skitter away nervously when he tries to flirt with you..."

"Hey! That is not what I do!" you argue as the two of you follow the narrow hall towards the stairs. You seem to start a new word with every downward step. "That's... totally... untrue."

"What is untrue?"

Neither you nor Nat startle at Shuri's voice. She could be heard rushing to catch up down the stairs from a few floors back.

"Nothing," you mumble.

"Y/N's crush on Barnes," Nat replies easily. You gasp and go to smack her shoulder. She quickly evades the blow and laughs.

Shuri smiles. "Ah, I see. Well, if it makes you feel any better Y/N, everyone here knows that you have a thing for him already. It's not a secret."

You huff. "Yep. Makes me feel so much better, Shi-Shi."

Shuri cackles alongside Nat while you add, "What are you doing anyway? Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I'm seventeen, Y/N, not seven. I can be up however late I want to."

"Not last your brother told me," you argue lamely. Coming to the foot of the main floor you step ahead of the girls first. You glance around quickly, still hearing the rain, before turning towards them. "Please don't embarrass me."

Shuri nods. Nat replies, "Scout's honor," and lifts a mocking finger to her forehead.

The floor is rather quiet, even considering the hour, and for a minute you believe that Nat was lying to you about Bucky being home just to get you to come downstairs and drink with her. But then your ears catch onto a familiar noise from the lounge: laughter. Then, when you and Nat stroll into the room with Shuri right behind, you see that it's not just Steve and Bucky who sit around lazy, but the King of Wakanda T'Challa and the Prince of sass Sam Wilson.

Bucky's head turns back towards you. His eyes, big and denim blue, stroll from the tips of your bare toes to the top of your head. Your heart skips a beat as the cocky smirk tugs at his lip. The peachy pout is pulled taut before he picks up his tumbler and takes a long drink—the ice chiming prettily.

"Shuri, you should be in..." T'Challa begins a lecture for his sister before she pushes ahead of you to stick up for herself rather haughtily.

"Listen to me, brother, I am the backbone of this place and I can stay up as late as I want to be. Don't forget who makes your suits." She grins proudly back at Nat (who taught her to improve her fiery behavior) and is given a subtle smile.

T'Challa sighs. "Fine, fine." His eyes move to you. "Y/N, I haven't seen you in a few days. Are you well?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you." You ignore Bucky's lasting gaze on your back as you walk around the bar to fix yourself an alcoholic treat. Nat, it seems, has forgotten her offer to make you a Bloody Mary and now settles into the barstool beside Steve. Shuri's on one of the plush grey couches. She's messing around with one of the tablets that lie around and control different aspects of the room. The lights shift from bright white to a dark blue and music suddenly starts to play. You've been too busy saving the world and kicking ass to keep up with hits, but you're convinced this is a Beyoncé song that plays.

Sam turns back to finish what he'd been saying to T'Challa before you women walked in. Steve starts storytelling to Nat, and Shuri sways her head to the catchy beat. You, meanwhile, are bent over searching for your favorite bottle of liquor you keep hidden on the bottom shelf where no one else goes.

"Lookin' for somethin', sweetheart?"

All bent over, ass in the air, you feel someone lingering just behind you. Something hard brushes your bum and you stiffen in your place—wondering if your athletic shorts have ridden up as far up on your thigh as you can feel the breeze brushing through.

Peering over your shoulder, you see that Bucky's lingering there—body behind yours and eyes looking down at you bent over rather interestedly. Quickly his gaze jumps from your ass to your face as you notice him standing there. Your eyes though are bouncing down to the bulge in his jeans—wondering if, by some miracle, that was what you felt brushing briefly against you from the back.

It's an embarrassing amount of time before you realize that Bucky's holding your bottle of liquor in his metal hand.

You quickly rise. "You jackass..." and chuckle as you reach for it and he refuses to pass it back. "I was hiding that for a reason, you know."

"I do." Bucky smiles deviously. "It's good shit."

"Exactly. And expensive."

Bucky regards the label as if reading it carefully. You lean a bit on the counter beside him and watch the soft rise and fall of his chest. "It looks expensive."

"You can't even get drunk," you point out.

"And you never do. Funny coincidence, I think." Bucky expertly pops the lid off the bottle and takes a sniff. His eyes don't leave your face. "Smells pretty real to me though."

"It's called self-control," you jest lightly. You quirk up an eyebrow as Bucky angles the bottle towards your lips. "You wouldn't know a thing about it."

"I think I know a bit about self-control," Bucky teases. "I gotta use it whenever I see you comin' into the room. Especially when you wear cute little outfits like that." There he goes again: saying things that leave you dazed, turned on, and confused. But this time, Bucky doesn't give you the chance to run away or blubber out a stupid reply. "Here—we can share." He's careful to just barely brush the opening of the bottle along your plump bottom lip, making sure not to scratch any of your teeth, and almost seems to hold his breath as your lip-gloss smears across the foggy glass. When your lips part a bit more he tips it back just enough to send a drop of alcohol into your mouth. Your swallow but the only place you feel a burn is your lower abdomen as Bucky turns the bottle back towards himself. He makes sure to put his lips right where yours once were. His tongue darts out, looking ridiculously sexy, and he makes a show of subtly licking up the rim where your sweet gloss remnants hang. Then he takes a drink with his head tilted back slightly and eyes still locked on yours.

This fucker is going to be the death of you.

Unbeknownst to you and Bucky, Steve and Nat have joined Shuri at the other side of the room. Nat scoffs as she regards the back and forth of you little flirting game.

"I'm getting real tired of watching this," she gestures and says.

Steve glances to your side of the room. He sighs. "I know, me too. I keep telling Buck to man up and do something about it, but he's only brave enough to keep up the flirting."

"Same thing with Y/N." Nat leans her weight onto her knees.

Shuri pops up decidedly. "Leave it to me."

Steve and Nat glance to each other curiously as the young Princes leaves the scene—headed straight for the blue-light lit bar.

"Come on, losers. We're playing a game."

T'Challa looks back at his sister and so does Sam. Your eyes dart over to where she stands, in her pjs no less, but Bucky's stare is still on the side of your face.

"A game?" Sam repeats.

"You heard me right, Birdie. Come on: you all owe me, remember? Y/N promised me if I stayed behind on the last mission trip you'd all pay me back somehow. I'm cashing in."

T'Challa, who knows Shuri very well, fights a smile. He nods with eyebrows slightly raised. "Alright. What is it that we're playing?" He glances over the bar counter to where you stand: lips tilted curiously. You shrug in reply. You both know better than to fight the Princess on this. If it's a game she wants, it's a game she's going to get.

Shuri grins. "Truth or dare."

That's how the odd lot of you; two World War 2 vets, a former Russian spy, an American military man, a handsome Prince and Princess, and you: the enhanced SHIELD agent with alien-tech upgraded purple eyes, end up huddled on two crowded couches playing a rather sloppy version of a high school drinking game.

"Steve," Nat says Rogers' first name with a bit of a smirk on her lips. She's lounging with her head on your knees and her blonde hair sticking static to the blanket wrapped around your thighs. "Truth or dare?"

Steve gulps heavily. He's on the couch opposite of you with Bucky and Sam on either side. Shuri's on the floor by his feet. "Umm, truth."

Shuri groans and everyone else laughs. "You've said truth every time, Captain! That's not how the game works, you know."

Steve's cheeks are crimson. "I get the choice, don't I?"

"Yes, but it's implied you pick both at some point," Shuri replies.

Bucky jabs his metallic elbow into Steve's side. "Come on, Steve. Don't be a pansy. Pick dare."

"Whatever. You've only picked dare once," Steve pettily responds.

You can't help but smile. You'd been the one to dare Bucky that time: making him take off a piece of clothing. He picked, out of all things, his pants. Now he's left only in his navy blue boxers, socks, shoes, and t-shirt.

"Fine, fine. We'll go with truth," Nat secedes. She props herself up on the couch. "Who's the most obnoxious person in this room?"

Steve's eyes look over everyone carefully. Finally, he decides, and rather sheepishly admits, "Y/N."

The laughter that follows from the group is deafening.

"Why!?" you squeal.

"You're always getting yourself in trouble, that's why! And then there's the thing where you come up with new mean nicknames for me every other day—"

You interrupt with a huff, "Oh shut up, Perm-Pressed Fossil."

Shuri just then glances up at Steve. It's a suspicious glance, one that doesn't go missed by you, and then she's hopping up onto her feet. "Alright, I think that's it for me. I have things to do tomorrow."

"Really? It's been less than an hour." Sam chews on a piece of beef jerky. It stinks up the whole room.

"Keep playing without me. Goodnight guys!" she waves over her shoulder as she leaves.

The moment Shuri's gone it becomes more obvious that your friends here have something curious up their sleeves. Because it's then that Steve sits up straighter and says, "Okay—Y/N, I pick you."

You nod. "Give it to me."

Before he responds his eyes dart to Nat—almost as if searching for something. She only blinks as her head stays on your knees—but you can feel a sort of smirk rising on her lips.

"Truth or dare?"

Suddenly you're more nervous than you've been all night.

"Dare."

You're not sure what brings you to pick the more dangerous option out of the two, but it comes spilling from your lips nonetheless.

"I'm feeling a bit crowded over on this couch." It's a pretty reasonable statement, you think, because the whole thing is filled with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and T'Challa. "So I dare you to switch sides with me."

"Okay..." You have a feeling there's more.

Steve's smirk is your answer to that reasonable assumption. "But you have to pick one of these fine gentleman's laps to sit on."

Rotten bastard is setting you up.

Sam wolf whistles. You ignore him. Pushing up from your seat, you tug on your shirt sleeves and make the move to the other end of the coffee table. Steve's already on his feet, anxious to see if this plan of his is going to work, and takes the spot next to Nat eagerly. You, meanwhile, are wrestling with the decision. Surely it'd be best to sit there on Bucky's lap: you wouldn't be complaining. But would it be more fun to tease him and take a spot on, say, Sam's lap instead? You've always found T'Challa attractive, but Nakia would KILL you if she found out.

One look at Bucky's face gives you the answer you need. He's lounging there cocky and dangerously pretty—legs partially splayed despite the fact the only thing he has covering him from the rest of the room is a centimeter's worth of cotton fabric. The thought of lowering your body onto that sturdy, thick-thigh lap is convincing enough to move your feet in his direction.

"Make room for me, Sargent." You smile steadily and gesture in his personal space.

Bucky hides his enthusiasm with a clever grin. "Always room for you, darlin'." He pushes his legs a bit closer together and stretches his hands out on either side of the couch cushions.

The only noise that fills the room now is the sound of the rain and your quickened heartbeat. You swallow dryly and turn around. Then, while your friends all eyeball you interestedly, you lower and slide onto the White Wolf's lap. His thighs are stiff and heavy like planks of wood but fleshy enough to feel snug and invite you to sit heavier in his hold. You feel simultaneously out of place and at home. Your weight shifts from one hip to the other—rocking slightly on his lap and making him huff lowly. Sensing your unbalance, and maybe your hesitance, Bucky reaches his warm skinned arm out around your waist like a belt to keep you warmly cemented in place. His fingertips brush the bare skin of your waist beneath the end of your shirt. You shiver and sink further into his embrace, not missing how Bucky's grip grows tighter on you in the process.

"Damn, Steve," Sam chuckles. He shakes his head and averts his eyes from the scene just as you're comfortable.

"I cannot say that I saw that coming from you Captain. That was... out of character." T'Challa reaches for his drink with a soft chuckle. He's not usually one for games, but it seems that he's rather enjoying this one.

Steve shrugs. You and Bucky both know better: Steve's an ornery bastard who loves watching his friends blush and writhe, which is what you presently do.

Bucky's warm breath appears on the side of your neck. You jolt upwards in his arms at the sudden sound of his voice whispering into your ear. "Your turn."

"Oh, right." You hastily clear your throat. "Nat."

Nat rolls her eyes with a smile. She saw that one coming from a mile away. You've figured out that she's in on this whole get you to openly flirt with Bucky scheme, so this must be payback.

"Truth."

Your smirk is evil. "Have you ever had a sex dream about anyone in this room?"

Nat lets out a huff of air: humored, very slightly, but mainly annoyed with herself because she walked straight into this one.

"Yeah." She shrugs.

"Woah, woah," Sam interjects rapidly. "Who was it?"

You smile knowingly while Nat shrugs and says, "That wasn't a part of the question, Wilson." She picks up her tumbler glass and takes a swig of rum. Steve, who is completely oblivious to the fact that the dream was in fact about him (in the suit, of all damn things), blinks stupidly as he imagines the possibilities. A range of emotions from curiosity to considered jealousy run across his face. 

"Your Highness, I think it's been a few rounds since you got a turn..." Nat turns the attention to the broad shouldered, beautiful eyed man on the other end of your couch. What else she says though becomes lost on your part due to the rough skinned fingers brushing sneakily on your bare hip where no one sees but you can feel radiating throughout your whole form. The groups laughs at something said, even Bucky chuckles, but the only thing you're aware of is Bucky's skin on yours. He traces little patterns on your hipbone with his thumb. Your hands, meanwhile, are sitting innocent in your lap.

Sam's being questioned now. He picked truth, as far as you can tell. But all you hear is Bucky's voice again as he whispers at the back of your neck where no one else can catch the words. "Comfortable?"

You try to steady your heartbeat. Looking back at him slightly you catch the sight of the smirk drawing at one side of his pretty upper lip. "Are you?" you decide to toss the question back at him instead of answering.

"Very," he hums.

A smirk of your own is lighting up your eyes. "Maybe a bit too much so," you whisper softly. "I can feel it."

Bucky hums again—this time a bit deeper and gruffer than before. His blue eyes dart around the room, checking to make sure everyone's attention is turned elsewhere, before he once again tightens his grip on your hips. This time, though, he sinks you so far down that you nearly let out a gasp: feeling the hard mountain in his boxers rutting against the soft part of your thigh.

"I can make you feel a lot of things if you want me to, sweetheart," is his hoarse comment to feed your speechless reply. Your heart has shot up into your throat where it blocks all of your excitement from coming to light.

"Barnes' turn," Nat announces.

Bucky looks back at the group over your shoulder with such an innocent face no one would know what it was that he was just saying. In a normal voice as any, he says, "Give me a dare, Romanoff, and make it good."

Nat grins. "Kiss her, you stupid idiot."

Bucky's smile falters slightly. His blue eyes, pretty and bright blue in the indigo colored bar lights, look towards your face that sits in front of his. You've turned your head around to get a better view. He, for the first time, seems to be the more speechless one of you two.

You know he wants to. His thoughts suffocate the room: at least from your point of view. His eyes are on your lips in flickering motions between your purple pupils and pink pout. He swallows heavily, breath held in his throat.

"Do it," you whisper softly—affection flooding your voice. Bucky's gaze moves to your softened stare. "I dare you."

He needs nothing else but your command. Bucky's chin tilts down and his lips roughly press to yours. There's no hesitation now, only need, and the taste of your favorite liquor. Like he's stolen the end of a floating balloon and let it fly the air is snatched from your lungs and your head is lifted up to the sky. You're vaguely aware of Sam whistling and Steve laughing in the background but the noises of the real world are nothing compared to the feeling of Bucky's lips. He's so soft yet so rigid—pliant but possessive as he kisses you deeper and deeper with every passing breath. It goes on for almost half a minute before your common sense forces you to pull back for more room. Lips divided Bucky's eyes flutter open and his mouth parts in a silent smile. He's wearing licking away your lip-gloss for the second time tonight: this time, from his bottom lip with a long, pointed tipped tongue.

Out of breath, you somehow manage to say, "Whose turn is it now?"

Bucky smiles. "I pick you."

A smile crosses your face in return. It's as if you're the only two people in the room. "Dare me, Bucky." Silently you pray for you to get the chance to kiss him again.

Bucky shakes his head softly. "No." He swallows and speaks again. "I want to hear the truth." He can't seem to look away from the color of your eyes nor the shape of your cheeks and nose. "I think I'm in love with you, and I wanna know if you're in love with me, too."

The room's gone eerily still. All of your nosey friends, still listening to this encounter intently, wait to see what you'll say in reply.

You're afraid to tell the truth, but this time, you dare to:

"I'm in love with you, too."