A/N: This was a request for a bit of clean-smut action, both perspectives, and a few other great details that I got a few weeks ago over DM! Thanks again requesting and I hope you like it!

Winnie

Warnings: making out, light pre-smut-- not much to say beyond that, really.

Words: 4K

READER'S POV

I have no idea how we ended up here.

One second everything is going as planned: Steve and Nat are upstairs—we know they're doing fine sneaking around the Hydra base because we haven't heard otherwise. Then it all goes to shit: the sirens start blaring, boots go thundering across the ceiling of the garage where me and Sargent Barnes are waiting in hiding, and before I can think twice about it: I'm grabbing Barnes by the hand and tugging him out of the line of sight of the Hydra agents who go barreling past—storming into the building.

"What happened?" Bucky hisses into his mic. He looks down at where I hold his hand with a quirked eyebrow. Quickly I let go of his hand while still keeping close to where he's crouched in the shadow of a big truck.

"We're good. Got out," Nat answers in a normal speaking tone. "Idiot Rogers tripped an alarm, though."

"It was an accident!" Steve whines.

Barnes looks at me with "let's get out of here" in his eyes. I nod, making to stand, before hearing strange voices speaking German a few feet away. I gasp and drop back down to my knees as Barnes yanks on my hand and sends me to the cement. Out of instinct (and maybe because he knows I have a large mouth after working with me for so many months now) his metal hand comes around to block any noises from leaving my lips.

We wait impatiently, like statues, as the Hydra agents pass. Only when they're gone does Barnes release me once more. That's when he pops up from the ground and jogs to where the big garage doors were just opened a few minutes before...

Now: the metal barricade has fallen shut and is securely locked.

"Shit," Barnes curses lowly. He rushes to the door and lays his hand gently on it—feeling for weaknesses.

"What's going on?" Nat's voice is on the line.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "For lack of better terms, we're screwed."

With the sirens still blaring my head is beginning to throb. Barnes looks over his shoulder at me. "They're too solid to break through. I could hotwire one of the trucks, but it wouldn't do us any good."

"I'm not going upstairs," I say. I'm an agent, but I'm not trained in combat—only intellectual affairs. The only reason I'm on this mission is to help Nat and Steve, Black Widow and Captain America, identify the right atomic device they were stealing from the laboratory up there.

Sargent Barnes grits his teeth. He nods—he knows I can't hold myself in a fight, and there's no way he could protect both of us against the three hundred Hydra operatives. Then, as he comes to the same conclusion that I have, he realizes that our best bet is going to be to hide until the doors open once more. "Where was that closet? The one you were sending messages from?"

"Forget the closet." I jog over to one of the cars that sits idly in the back of the garage. Barnes follows me. "The closet is always the first place people check in the movies. No one ever checks the trunk of the car." I drop to my knees and start fiddling with the lock with one of the bobby pins from my hair. I point at the car beside the one I'm knelt at. "Hurry—you take that one."

Barnes shakes his head firmly. His dark hair sways. "No way. We're not splitting up." He catches the trunk lid just as it pops open from my endeavor. "If we're hiding, we're hiding together."

I open my mouth to argue: the space is too small, the risks of us being caught greater, and so many other reasons to protest flood my brain. But before I can say anything Barnes is hearing something coming that I don't—which causes him to push my unwilling body into the trunk and throw himself in afterwards: carefully closing the trunk that locks us inside.

I never would've imagined myself so close to Sargent Barnes' body. But here we are—chest to chest, face to face, with noses brushing in the centimeter of space we have between huddled forms. His metal arm is holding onto my mouth—keeping my mouth shut yet again—as footsteps echo outside. He keeps direct contact with my eyes as the noises grow louder. He must sense that I'm afraid, because it's then that the quiet soldier shows me a bit of comfort that begins to lead my mind away from the life or death situation and to much more sentimental places: he reaches down with his other hand, that he lies on sideways, to squeeze my wrist softly.

Steve's trying to say something over the earpiece, but it only crackles a few times before going completely static and then dark.

Barnes' hearing is much better than mine. He must be convinced that we're alone, because after some time he lets go of my mouth and sighs. "Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

I nod gently—careful not to bump the top of my head into his chin. "I'm—I'm fine."

It's insanely dark. All I can make out is the whites of his eyes and a bit of the shine from his hair as a small stream of light bleeds in from where the headlights are.

"We'll wait here until everything calms down out there. Then I'll figure out a way to get us out," Barnes says.

I nod—afraid to speak.

I can feel the burn of his blue eyes on my cheeks. I don't know if he can actually see me, or if he's simply trying really hard to. "What? Never hidden in a trunk before?" his attempt at a lame joke only makes me smile slightly. While it's true this is my first time doing something this dangerous, it's also my first time laying so close to a man: our bodies pressed together—practically cuddling. But... as much as I hate to admit it, it's not the first time I've thought less than pure things about the handsome, dangerous Sargent Barnes.

The man has invaded innocent mind like the plague. In the last few months I can't go a single day without wondering what it'd be like to have him touch my hair, pull me into his lap, kiss me roughly...

"We'll be fine," Barnes says—misreading my panicked features for being scared for our safety. "I'll keep you safe here."

Oh Jesus: he's just made it worse!

"Thank you, Barnes." I clear my throat awkwardly after saying.

Barnes sighs. I can smell the peppermint candies on his breath—the ones he carries in his pocket and remind him of being a little kid in Brooklyn. "How many times to I have to tell you to call me Bucky, Y/N?"

"It's just... it's not very professional," I admit shyly.

Bucky attempts to shrug before finding he has no room to do it. "Neither is this," if I'm not mistaken, his voice is nearly bashful sounding.

My resolve breaks. "Okay, Bucky," I whisper.

Barnes—I mean, Bucky—shifts his attitude very quickly after that. He becomes quieter, nodding quickly before shutting his eyes to the dark room. "Okay. Okay." He tries to shift to get himself more room before realizing the effort is futile. "Let's just, umm, try and be quiet."

I nod in agreement before realizing that he can't see me—his eyes are still closed tightly. I let out a deep breath and decide that he's right on the whole deal about trying to get himself more room. I'm practically ironed onto Bucky's chest—my breasts squished against his flat torso and my foot between his calves. I wiggle backwards but find there's a barrier that keeps me positioned against Bucky's body—which means I'm only moving my body against his in an accidentally erotic way.

That's when I discover something I thought I'd never discover:

Barnes' hard bulge in his jeans pressing tightly to my thigh.

"Oh my god, I—" the apology and the gasp slip out of my mouth before I can stop myself. I quickly try to back away from the man in order to release the pressure I'm putting on his manhood. "I'm sorry—so sorry—"

Bucky huffs loudly into the quiet space. His metal hand suctions on my waist to keep me still. I freeze at the intense pressure of the cool metal digits digging into my skin.

"Just—just sit still," he manages through gritted teeth.

"I'm so sorry," I repeat in a hush. "I don't know—I didn't mean to—" I don't even know what I'm supposed to say.

Bucky nearly laughs, it seems, before stopping himself. "Of course you didn't mean to, it's not your fault. Just—just try not to move around anymore, okay? It's not exactly helping my... situation." I feel bad at how embarrassed and coy he suddenly sounds.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." I sit ridiculously rigid.

"Stop apologizing. I'm the one who should be apologizing." Bucky loosens his grip on my hip before finding that there's really no other comfortable place to lay his arm. "Is this okay?" he squeezes my waist gently as if for emphasis.

"Um, yeah." My voice is squeaky and hoarse.

"Okay." Bucky closes his eyes again and lets out a long sigh through his mouth. A few moments pass like this—his hand on my waist, mine tucked in front of me where I can feel his diaphragm moving through the washboard abs of his lower torso, and his erection still pressing hard into my upper thigh.

Bucky pops open an eye. "Breathe, Y/N. I can't have you passing out on me."

I take a deep breath suddenly at his command. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath—not until he pointed it out.

"This is my fault," Bucky lets out quietly. "I guess it's been a while since I've been attracted to someone and, well—the feeling is new. I'd control it if I could but it's... out of my hands."

I stop breathing once more. This time, not out of fear or uncomfortableness, but out of shock. "You're... you're attracted to me?"

Bucky looks down at me. Well, he tries. It's dark and our faces are much too close for him to get a proper view. "I am," he admits. He pauses. "Is that so surprising to you?"

"Honestly... yes." I don't offer any more explanation than that. I've never felt attracted to by any guy: let alone someone of Bucky's build, style, and speed.

Almost as if thinking he's made a monumental mistake Bucky scrambles to collect himself and say, "Sorry, sorry—that's not what I should be saying right now. That's... wow, that's so creepy. I shouldn't've... Listen, Y/N, I'm sorry: I respect you and I just... ah shit, I'm messing this up."

This time it's me that places a hand over Bucky's mouth. I silence him and the small space we share. "It's okay, Bucky," I softly say. "I... I like you, too."

Bucky blinks quickly. "You do?" The words are muffled behind my palm but I get the idea. Gently, as to not head butt the man, I nod. When my hand slowly slides away from his lips I'm unsurely replacing it with my own pair of lips: tilting my head up just enough to give him a brushing taste of my mouth to see if he wants more.

He wants more, and he wants it feverishly.

His hand on my waist screws tighter. The vibranium gears whir gently in the stuffy air. The rest of our little oxygen is being sucked up by my lungs as I'm drawn deeper into him by his touch, taste, and smell. He pushes harder against me as his tongue traces the corners of my mouth. I don't hesitate in letting him in: reveling in the shiver that rakes down his spine when I reach out to curl my fingers into his shirt—nails fruitfully scraping along his rock hard abdomen.

Bucky's always been a distraction for me. From the first day I met him and I was caught staring at the way he nibbled on his bottom lip during meetings, to training sessions when I'd come in to tell something to Steve and end up tripping over my own two feet after catching a glimpse of Bucky shirtless and sweaty in the corner of the room—the man has had my brain scrambled like soggy eggs. And now, as we hide away from the world's most dangerous organization in the dusty trunk of a BMW, all I can think about is the smell of his musky cologne and the taste of peppermint that dances around my tongue like candy canes on Christmas.

That is, until the car roars to life and begins to move.

...

BUCKY'S POV

I have no idea how we ended up here.

Okay, okay: I should've seen something bad comin' from the start. First of all, Steve was real confident that everything was going to be easy goin' today. I should've known the bastard was going to jinx us with all that positive energy. Then there was the moment that Y/N waltzed happily into the room for the pre-mission briefing—hair teased up in a high bun with little curly bits hanging around her perfectly glistening face. The early morning light glowed in her pretty eyes as she looked up at me, smiled, and said sweetly, "Looks like it's you and me today, Sargent Barnes."

God damn—if only she'd call me Bucky, I'd be the happiest man alive. I can't help but feel like there's always been a slight disconnect that she purposely places between us by using my professional name. What I really want—and have wanted for a long time now—is to have her on her pretty body on my lap moaning my real name...

Sorry, sorry. Back to the story.

I have no idea how I thought having her sexy little body pressed against me in a confined space such as this would result in anything other than me poppin' a hard one and making her uncomfortable. Shit, I was already turned on from when she first called me Bucky. She'd never said my name before, and hearing it was like getting a whiff of crack cocaine after forty years sober.

"Okay, Bucky."

It hits me like a freight train. It sounds so pretty—so sweet, so sincere—but with the hoarse-potentilal on her pretty pink lips to be absolutely sinful. And me, being the lovestruck guy that I am, want nothing more than to reach down there and steal the name right off of her tongue.

I swallow stiffly. "Okay, okay." I try moving backwards to give the poor woman more room. I'm practically on top of her—our bodies pressed together like rye sandwich bread with nothing in between but our thin, sweaty clothing. "Let's just, umm, try to be quiet." Every moment that I spend thinking about how close she is, how pretty she smells, or the way her voice sounds I feel myself growing dangerously more aware of how tight my trousers are growing. I can't expose Y/N to this: god, how awful of a person would I be if she noticed that I have a...

Fucking hell. She's moving around. The woman is wiggling, like a worm in a can, to try and place herself away from me. When she freezes suddenly I know it's game over: she's feeling it pressed up against her thigh, and my worst nightmares come true with her gasping.

"Oh my god I—I'm so sorry, so sorry..."

A puff of hot air slips out of my chapped lips. Without thinking I reach down to hold a hand on her hips. If she stops moving, maybe there's hope of salvaging this whole situation (and most likely her opinion of me, because that's probably gone to shit right about the same time she felt my wood jabbing her thigh). "Just—" I can't believe the shit I get myself into. "Just sit still," I try to get it out softly but it comes out sounding gritty due to the fact that I'm grinding my teeth.

Y/N rushes out, "I'm sorry. I don't know—I didn't mean to..." she doesn't quite have the right words that she wants to say. I feel immeasurably miserable to have made her feel this way.

Her sweetness nearly has me chuckling softly despite it all. "Of course you didn't mean to, it's not your fault. Just—just try not to move around anymore, okay? It's not exactly helping my... situation." I feel awful and it comes out in my voice.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." She turns into an uncomfortably rigid statue suddenly.

"Stop apologizing. I'm the one who should be apologizing." I go to remove my grip on her hip, but there's not much space to move it completely. "Is this okay?" My fingers brush into her skin just gently enough to gather her attention.

"Um, yeah."

I close my eyes. "Okay." I sigh. I try to focus my mind on things outside that I don't like: things unlike how Y/N looks so cute in skinny jeans and how her hair smells like strawberries.

But I can't stop thinking about her: not now, not at all. And when I focus my attention back on her like my heart wants to, I find that she's nearly stopped breathing. "Breathe, Y/N. I can't have you passing out on me."

Suddenly she takes a deep breath. Her chest presses closer.

I feel so damn awful. I can't stop myself from saying, "This is my fault." Her eyes peer upwards at me in the dark, crowded space. "I guess it's been a while since I've been attracted to someone and well, this feeling is new. I'd control it if I could but it's... out of my hands."

Her bottom lip falls open slightly. "You're... you're attracted to me?"

I want a good look on her face, but there's not enough room to move. I look into the color of her eyes instead. "I am," I say. I'm sort of shocked by her shocked reaction. Sure, maybe she wasn't expecting this today, but it can't be that unimaginable that I'd have developed feelings for her over the last few months. We get along so great, she's insanely talented, has the most brilliant and beautiful mind, and has been there for me through thick and thin. "Is that so surprising to you?"

"Honestly... yes." She doesn't say any more than that.

Ah, shit! I've just made her even more uncomfortable. I cannot believe I've done this... "Sorry, sorry—that's not what I should be saying right now. That's... wow, that's so creepy. I shouldn't've... Listen, Y/N, I'm sorry: I respect you and I just... ah shit, I'm messing this up."

Y/N shocks me by silencing me with a soft, fragrant smelling hand over my lips. I gawk down at her stupidly and silently thank god she can't see the stupid expression on my face. "It's okay, Bucky," she whispers sweetly. "I... I like you, too."

My eyes blink rapidly as I digest the sounds her pretty lips just made. "You do?" My words don't make sense behind her hard pressing hand but she gets the gist of what I've said and gently nods in reply. Her hand slowly slips off of my face. Then—dear god, you'll never guess what happened next—she tilted up her chin and gently brushed her lips across mine. A shiver jolts down my spine and my mind spins on a dime. It's a soft invitation: a question as to if I want more.

I want more. Oh god, I want more of her.

My hand on her waist pulls her tighter. I feel the air leave her lungs and taste the flavor of her breath on my tongue. My metal arm makes strange noises as I curl her into my embrace. I pull her body and push mine until I can feel nearly every bit of her on me. My tongue eagerly traces the corners of her mouth and she's just as eagerly letting me in: making me hold back an embarrassing cheer. Whatever thoughts I have on my mind at this time though fly right out one side when her little hands reach down to curl into the fabric of my shirt—nails grazing my hot skin and making the stuffy trunk a billion times muggier.

This is the single best thing that's ever happened to me. Forget about the rehab, the new arm, the new friends: everything. This: this moment here, with Y/N and the smell of her perfume in the air, is the best moment of my life.

That is, until the car comes to life and takes us on a drive.

...

READER POV

The drive takes ten minutes—ten long, treacherous minutes and a few miles that leave me unsure and afraid. Bucky's moved his body around until he's covering mine: holding his gun in one hand and my wrist behind his back with the other. I keep my forehead pressed between his sharp shoulderblades—taking deep breaths of his cologne that bring me security in this forthcoming calamity.

I take in a sharp breath when the car purrs to a stop. The keys are pulled out of the ignition. The ride has stopped.

Bucky doesn't say anything, but his fingers trail down to entwine through mine and squeezing gently, almost as if telling me everything is going to be alright.

I have hope that whoever has taken us on a ride is oblivious enough to leave the trunk closed until we have the chance to pop out and run away. But when footsteps near outside, and keys rattle in the lock, I'm acutely aware that we have no such luck today.

The sun is blinding. Bucky's arm raises with gun drawn. Thank god he had enough sense not to fire immediately, because standing outside beneath the sun is Steve Rogers in a brown wig and Natasha in a wrinkled pantsuit.

"Easy there, soldier," Nat scoffs.

Bucky lets out a long breath and I smile against the back of his neck. "You couldn't give us any warning?"

"Sorry we were too busy saving your stupid asses," Nat replies with a snap. She steps back as Steve reaches in a hand to help Bucky stand. Before Steve can help me, though, Bucky's quickly turned back to grab me by the arm and lift me to my feet.

"Oh my god. I cannot believe you two." Nat rolls her eyes with a hint of smile playing on her lips. She crosses her arms firmly. Her stare darts down to the space between and above Bucky's knees quickly before winking at me.

"What?" Steve asks—always oblivious.

Neither Bucky nor I reply. I simply rub the back of my arm uncomfortably as Bucky shifts his weight.

"Let's get out of here," Nat says before tossing me a bag—the bag with the explosive device inside. I catch it awkwardly before holding it carefully to my chest. "The sooner we get back to base, the sooner you two can get back to making out."

"What!?" Steve squeals in a near ninny. His blue eyes dart from Bucky to me before he flaps his lips up and down rather stupidly. "What—what happened back there?!"

Bucky looks down at me for an answer: as if letting me be the one to decide how much we're going to say.

I smile, pat Steve's arm, and say, "It wasn't very professional, that much I'll say." I walk past to join Nat.

All I can hear behind me is Steve whispering to Bucky discreetly, "Did you two...?"

"Calm down, Rogers. We kept it PG." Bucky pauses. "Okay, maybe PG13."

"Oh good god." Steve can be heard heaving a sigh.

I assume that's all to be said on the matter until I hear Bucky jogging up behind me and feel a hand on the small of my back. I watch as he gently pries the bag from my grasp—nearly laughing as I pass it over and let him use it to cover his still rather prominent lower half. He winks at me discreetly before grabbing my hand. "Sorry, doll. I promise from now on I'll be a total gentleman."

I can't help but grin. "I'll hold you to that one, Bucky Barnes."