Words: 5.6K

Warnings: Language

A/N: This one is about a month in the making. I don't know why it took me so long, but I think it's one of my favorites now. Hope everyone likes it!

"What the fuck is this."

It's not so much of a question but a sassily spoken statement that I hear ricocheting out of Tony's mouth and into the wooded wilderness. We're standing at the edge of our campsite with bags on our backs and a whole troupe of us outside of the van.

"It appears to be about an eighth of an acre of land just thirty seven yards aside from a lake. The lake itself is rather beautiful, if I do say so. And the foliage is quite captivating..." Vision quickly stops talking as everyone turns to stare at him.

The only person who doesn't look utterly peeved to be in this situation is good ole Steve Rogers. Captain Loser is wearing a stupid Yankees baseball cap and some seriously ugly dad-style Keen shoes. "Well, kids, we should set up camp before it starts getting dark."

"Dark?" I repeat. "It's only noon."

Steve carefully sets down his pack at the center of the dusty campsite. Everyone else is still rooted next to where the van is parked. "Yes, Y/N, but I have a feeling that our little ragtag group here is going to take a long time to get all our ducks in a row. So it'd be best to start now," he says, "Unless you want to be sleeping out in the open tonight." He raises an eyebrow at me with a small smile.

Tony's face visibly pales. "You mean there's not a cabin?"

Nat whirls around on a Nike shoe heel. "Do you see a cabin out here, Stark?"

Tony shakes his head. "That's it." He holds his hands into the air. "I'm leaving." He goes to head for the car.

Steve doesn't make to stop him, but his voice is loud. "None of us are going anywhere. Fury told us we had to do this. We need the bonding."

"Listen here, Boy Scout," I grunt. From behind me I hear Bucky snort. "I spend enough time with you losers at the compound. I don't need to roast marshmallows and sing 'kumbaya' in order to do my job any better."

Steve walks up to me. He rests a hand on my shoulder, saying, "No, Y/N, but it may help you learn how to relax." His smile is soft and almost fatherly. "And maybe learn to trust some of us a little bit more."

It's no secret that I've got some trust issues. I'm the newest member of the team, but they don't seem to have any problems with me. It's my own damn fault that I'm not exactly fitting in. It's just that in my line of work, having to kill people I mean, it's been difficult to form real connections. I have a hard time believing that all of these people here actually care enough about the rest of us to make the sacrifices we're sworn to make. I don't know—maybe I'm just a pessimist, or maybe I'm the only one being real here when I say there's no way the Avengers could all really be such good friends.

"Let's get this shit show over with," Sam grunts and tugs a box of tent parts out of the back of the van. It makes a loud noise when it hits the rocky ground, and I realize that I'm getting the first of many headaches that'll last this whole week.

Yes: I said week. This trip is going to be the longest, most painful experience of my life (and I was once water-boarded and had my fingernails ripped out by the Egyptian government).

We take the rest of the afternoon to unpack and settle into our campsite. We've brought along four tents: which doesn't seem like nearly enough. Bruce, Peter, and Tony are going to share the one in the corner. Apparently Vision, Nat, Clint, and Wanda are going to have the one beside theirs. Then the third tent is going to go to Sam, Bucky, and Steve. Thor gets his own because he's an entitled douchebag. He's a prince, so apparently that makes him special.

"Where are you sleeping, Y/N?" Wanda asks me over dinner that first night. The camp is all set up and we're seated in our color-coded chairs around the fire. I've got the eerily silent Bucky Barnes to my left and the overly chatty Peter Parker at my right.

"Don't know," I answer rather curtly. I take another bite of my hot dog and grimace at the taste. It's pretty charred. I can't believe I managed to burn two of them (Tony wouldn't let me try for a third—he said at this rate, I'd have us starve by the end of the week). "I may just sleep outside."

"Outside? Aren't there bears and shit?" Peter gasps. He's got ketchup all over his face.

"And you think a tent's going to protect you from a bear?" Bucky questions with a raised eyebrow. I look at the man and how the light from the fire is rather beautifully reflected along the surface of his metal arm. There's a slight ding in it now from our last battle. He hasn't gotten it repaired yet.

Bucky catches me staring. He doesn't say anything, but I still feel awkward and look away.

"Well if you change your mind, you're always welcome in our tent." Wanda gives me the sweetest smile I've ever seen. I nod, smiling back, and turn my eyes to the fire. I love how it burns my retinas just enough to make the world disappear around the outside of my sight.

Bruce clears his throat. "Is this the part where we sing Kumbaya?" he quotes me from earlier—making everyone laugh. Even I manage a chuckle.

I don't sleep that night. I lay awake staring at the stars on the uncomfortable ground. The only thing shielding me from the frigid air of the mountain landscape is my cheap sleeping bag. I regret coming along, and I regret not having a tent like the others. But both of those things are my fault, so I don't bother to complain.

Bucky is the last to sleep and the first awake, I notice. He walks out of his tent just before dawn. His steel blue eyes dart to where I lay. He gives me a quick good-morning before walking over to start the coffee. I think he's going to make it over the fire, because he's getting out the matches and a blue camper kettle.

I watch how his body moves and strides with every motion and step he takes. He's a purposeful man, I've come to realize, whether it's with his words or actions. He hardly does or says anything that isn't meaningful or necessary. I appreciate that about him. Even more, I think it makes him a bit mysterious. Where most people go around announcing their opinions or feelings, his are very closely held to his chest. I don't even think I know when he was unfrozen last. All I know is that he's been on the team longer than me, and he was once Hydra.

"Coffee?" Bucky's voice is calm—nearly soothing—when he speaks. It intertwines with the chirping birds and sloshing lake water like silky ribbons gently braided.

I sit up. I grunt at the pain in my back. If he notices, Bucky doesn't say a word about it. "Sure. I'll take a cup." I slither out of the sweaty bag and add, "Thanks."

"No problem." This is as deep as my conversations with Bucky get. Not that I'm much closer to any of the others, but he and I are especially distant. It's not that I want to be unfriendly; I just have a bad habit of not trusting people.

I paddle over to my colored chair by the fire. Bucky glances to me quickly before asking, "Why'd you pick that color?"

I say, "My favorite color when I was a kid." I shrug. It's weird that he's asking, but I don't question his efforts at conversation.

"But not your favorite anymore?" Bucky questions me further. He settles into his grey chair and watches me. We sit side by side.

I purse my lips in thought. "I don't think I have one."

Bucky nods. Then he adds, "Mine's green. But Banner called the green chair. So I was stuck with grey."

My lips peel up a bit at his off-put tone. It's humorous to hear an assassin moaning about the color of his camping chair.

Soon everyone is awake and drinking coffee alongside us. Bucky refills my cup once and our hands brush together. I shiver but excuse the sensation as the chill from his metal fingers.

"Are we swimming today?" Wanda asks eagerly.

"I don't believe I know how to swim," Vision comments.

"Neither do I." Thor frowns.

Sam pops up out of his pink chair. "I can teach you! I'm the best damn swimmer you'll ever meet."

"Wilson'll let you drown," Bucky warns everyone. "If you want a real teacher, ask Romanoff. She's a pro." He takes a careful sip of his morning brew in between sentences.

"What about you, Y/N?" Steve makes a painfully obvious attempt to get me involved in the conversation.

I raise an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"Can you swim?"

"Sure. Well enough not to die."

Tony sniggers. "Such an enthusiastic thing, aren't you?"

He doesn't say it in a mean way, but I still have to fight not to take offense.

Everyone goes down to the water later that day. I'm the only one to stay back up at camp at the top of the hill. I blast 90's music and lazily throw knives into the thick barks of the trees all around. When Bucky and Sam come up for beers they're laughing like goobers. They grow a bit quieter when they see me, then share knowing glances to each other like they've got some juicy secret. I roll my eyes and look away.

I throw another dagger into the bark of the nearest tree. Out of the corner of my eye I see Bucky approaching. He stops just four feet away from where I'm knelt on a rock.

"Are you gonna come down, Y/N? Water's great," he hums.

"No. Not really in the mood."

"When are you?" Sam jokes dryly. Bucky shoots him a stern glare. "Just kidding, I was kidding."

"It's fine." I throw another knife. "I'd rather be alone." It feels like a lie as the words come from my lips. It's almost too painful to say.

Bucky nods, lips pursed in a knowingly way. He takes a single step back. His swimming trunks are laden with water and his toned chest dotted with moisture.

"Alright. Just let me know if you change your mind."

After grabbing another pack of beer the two are gone again. I'm a bit saddened when their laughter fades away.

That night I retire first. I don't even stay awake long enough for s'mores. Well, I'm actually not asleep when I hear them break out the marshmallows. I'm just lying behind Thor's tent in the dark in my lonely sleeping bag. I stare at the sky until spotting a falling star. A tear stumbles down my cheek in sync with the plummeting ball of fire.

It's dark, so I don't notice Bucky standing there until he clears his throat. I lurch upright and hastily dry my cheeks.

"What, Barnes?" I snap mercilessly. I feel bad, but he doesn't look the least bit offended.

"I brought you a s'more," he explains his presence. He holds up two cracker sandwiches. "I figured you might be awake."

"Oh. Well, thanks." I cross my legs and look up to where he stands. Then Bucky surprises me—gently lowering onto the ground next to where I sit. Quizzically I regard the strange yet startlingly pretty man as he passes over one of the treats to me. It's still warm.

We're both silent for the first minute or so. I stare at the marshmallow for a few moments before tentatively taking a bite.

"Are you okay?"

I look to Bucky, who is now regarding me closely.

"Yes."

Bucky doesn't look convinced.

"I'm fine," I say.

"You're lonely," Bucky surmises.

It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. "I'm perfectly fine how I am, thank you." I uncross my legs to stretch them out ahead of me like Bucky does. His are much longer than mine. "I don't need any buddies, if that's what you think my problem is. I've survived a long time without anyone."

Bucky finishes his dessert then wipes his sticky hands on the denim of his trousers. "I did, too." He stares up at the same sky I was just silently crying to. "I did it for a long time, actually. And it's not as easy as you're making it sound." His blue eyes roam back to my face where he examines my expression closely. I'm very passive, but the façade is starting to crack.

Lamely I shrug. "It's not that hard."

"Really? So why were you crying?"

I want to punch him. But he's right. I can't argue with the truth.

Bucky sighs. "Listen, Y/N, I know how you're feeling. Trust me; I really do." I really look at him now: the long swoops of dark hair, the slightly unshaven cheeks, and the relaxed brow. He offers me a small smile. "It gets easier."

"It won't." My voice sounds so small.

Bucky tilts his head to the side. "Once you stop fighting it, it becomes easier to let people in. You'll be a lot happier that way."

A lump has formed in my throat. "I don't know if I even deserve to be happy."

Bucky regards me with pity. Sadness radiates from his voice as he says, "I thought the same thing for a hell of a long time. But things are different now for both of us. We're different people now than we were."

"You may be, but I'm not." I shake my head. "I wasn't brainwashed, Bucky. I killed people for profit. I didn't have some Nazi terror organization over my head. I was a monster, and I still am."

"You're not," Bucky sternly disagrees. "The moment you admit what you've done is wrong is when you start to change. And by the looks of it, you've changed a hell of a lot from when Clint first found you."

I don't know what to say. "Maybe," is what I decide upon.

I'm absolutely startled to shit when I feel Bucky's hand gently rest atop my knee. He gives my leg a comforting little squeeze. "I'm here for you, Y/N. I may not be as good at this thing as Steve is, but I wanna try for you." His blue eyes are bright in the moonlight. He offers a small smile. "Okay?"

My mouth's parched. All I can do is nod.

Bucky gives my leg one more squeeze before drawing away. I feel a lot colder without his warm palm. Then he's standing, saying, "I'm going to go back. You should think about joining us." He gestures back with a thumb. "I think Clint's taking out the guitar."

I smile softly. "I think I'll probably pass on that tonight."

Bucky shrugs. "Alright, but if you change your mind..."

"I know where to find you," I finish softly for him.

Bucky smiles. "Good. Well, goodnight Y/N."

That night I can hardly sleep again, but for very different reasons. I can't stop thinking about all that Bucky had said. It bubbles around my brain like a boiling pot of stew.

The next morning I rise with very little sleep behind me yet again. Then I tiptoe back around to the main hub, seeing that Bucky's the only one awake. He doesn't even have to look around to see that it's me, but he does so anyway—smiling sweetly.

"Good morning," he greets. He's wearing long grey pants and a sweatshirt with Russian words on it. "Nice pants. I didn't notice those last night." His eyes glitter playfully.

I look down to what I wear. I've chosen my fluffy red Santa sleep trousers even though it's mid-August. "Thanks. I like Christmas."

"Really?" Bucky hands me a cup of coffee.

"Mhm," I hum and take the mug gratefully. "It's my favorite holiday."

Light shines in Bucky's denim colored eyes. "Why's that?"

I settle into my chair and he takes the one beside me. "I like the weather. Snow and rain and the like. And I'm a big fan of presents." I smile a bit into my brew.

Bucky's grin is quite adorable as he replies, "It's pretty nice hearing you talk. I knew you had something to say in there somewhere."

"Strange to hear coming from a man who hardly speaks at all," I reply. I'm trying not to dwell too much on the compliment. It burns my cheeks like a rash.

Bucky chuckles. "The truth?"

I nod.

He scratches the back of his neck. "I'm quiet, yeah, but I'm also pretty damn intimidated by you."

I frown. "Oh." So he's afraid of me just like everyone else?

Bucky shakes his head as if reading my mind. "Not like that," he quietly tries to explain. He clears his throat then continues on. "More in the way of I know you don't trust any of us, so I never wanted to say the wrong thing."

"You said the right thing last night," I say. I stare at the low fire and how the smoke is a soft grey.

Bucky almost grins. "Really?"

I laugh a bit at his proud expression. "Don't get too cocky, Dr. Phil."

Bucky's eyebrows nestle together with confusion. "Dr.Phil? Is that the green eggs and ham guy?"

My head falls back with a laugh. "No, but I'd love it if you'd rhyme."

Bucky's grin is spread across his face. I can nearly see all of his pretty white teeth. "If I did, would you laugh like that again for me?"

I settle deeper into my chair, feeling myself itching all over the arms with little shivers. "It depends on if you're any good or not, I suppose." I bite the inside of my cheek. Why is this conversation making me feel so giddy all of a sudden?

This morning it's not the smell of the brew but the sound of my laughter that wakes the rest of the team up. They rise from bed with very confused expressions and knotted hair. Clint's jaw even drops when he sees me smiling.

"What the hell did you do to her, Barnes?!" Sam gasps when he stumbles out into the daylight. Steve whaps him along the back of the head.

Bucky's sitting tall and proud. He winks in my direction, making me laugh again. "I guess she just likes me, Wilson."

"Aww damn. I was hoping to be the first to win her over," Clint sighs.

"I like you, too." I give the man a smile. He was the one who brought me in and saved my ass, after all.

"Do you like us enough to swim today?" Wilson questions eagerly. He's got a granola bar and a cup of milk as he comes to sit next to me in Parker's chair.

"Now I didn't say I liked you..." I slowly speak. Wilson's face is wiped clean of a reaction until he finally catches onto the sarcasm in my voice. Then he laughs, and so does everyone else: even me.

I don't end up swimming, but I do agree to go to the waterside. Bucky stays with me on the beach all afternoon. We play cards in the sand and take turns naming favorite movies. Sam joins us after a while and we end up talking about Star Wars. Then Wanda comes around and asks if I'd want to go on a hike, which she's never done before, and I cautiously agree. Bucky says he wants to come too, but I wonder if he just wants to come along to make me feel better.

Surprisingly, I'm more grateful than annoyed when Bucky doesn't leave my side for the next four days. It's on our last night of the trip that I finally loosen up enough to drink a bottle of beer. I sit close to Bucky while Peter sniffs the neck of my drink.

"Go on," I urge him quietly when Tony's not looking. "Try some."

Peter's eyes are wide. He looks to where Bucky is chuckling at the situation.

"Are you sure?" He eyes the drink skeptically. "Does it even taste good?"

"It's not too bad. I've had worse."

Peter begrudgingly takes a chug even though he seems to want to. He shivers and quickly thrusts it back to me before Tony sees. Bucky and I laugh like losers about the whole thing—especially when Peter starts gagging dramatically.

"What the hell did you two idiots do to the kid?" I can hear Steve questioning us from the other side of the fire.

Bruce comes over to hand me a hotdog. He's already roasted it for me. I was complaining earlier about my roasting skills, so he offered to make me one. He's very scientific about it and manages to perfectly cook them every damn time. I thank the doctor before looking to Steve and replying, "I'm giving the boy life experiences, Steve."

"Not ones that I appreciate," Peter moans.

It's between Peter's words and the ones Thor bellows that I first notice Bucky's arm draping across the back of my chair. His fingers just barely brush along the bare skin of my shoulder and leave little goosebumps in their wake. I try not to shiver as I sit there so close to the man I hardly even knew at the start of this damn trip, but now I would consider my closest friend.

"I propose that for our next reunion we shall travel to Asgard. I will take the best of you to my home and show you the finest the cities have to offer."

"The best of us?" Clint repeats. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means he's not taking Tony," I fill in the blanks with a point to the Iron Man. Everyone laughs, even Thor.

"What about sassy pants Y/N over here? Does she get to go?" Tony questions playfully.

Thor seems to consider this deeply for a moment. Then he says, "Yes, she would be welcomed in my home. She introduced me to Midgard's most majestic animal."

Nat looks to me with the most amusing expression. "What the hell did you show him?" She swallows a swig of beer.

"He really likes chipmunks, apparently." I think back to when I'd set out a trap for the rodents with peanuts the day before and Thor nearly squealed when he'd seen them. I chuckle a bit to myself in thought, which Bucky notices. Barnes smiles at me in a sort of distant way. He looks happy.

"Ah, yes! Chipmunks. That was the name. They were spectacular."

We talk and drink for a long while more and then one by one people start to head to bed. Steve's going to wake us all early in the morning, he says, so that we can pack and get on the road before traffic's bad. So by two a.m. everyone is cuddled up in their sleeping bags except for Bucky and me. We still sit by the fire—trying to keep warm. It's August, but at night in the mountains that doesn't matter. It's freaking cold.

"I should probably go to bed, too," I say after one conversation ends. "I have a feeling Steve's not going to let me sleep on the car ride home." I chuckle and stand—wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm. My breath hangs in front of my face.

Bucky stands after me. "I should, too." He reaches for the bucket of water to douse the flames. I move out of his way and watch how he doesn't strain at all in lifting the heavy bucket. After all that's left of the fire is ash and smoke, Bucky turns towards me a bit in the darkness. I can't see him at all, really—just the outline of his body from the dim light that hangs from the stars.

"It's really cold tonight, Y/N. You should sleep inside."

I shrug, but he probably doesn't see it. "I should've thought about that earlier, but it's kinda too late now."

I hate not being able to see Bucky's face, because I've grown to like it so much, but I can hear his velvety voice as he says, "It's not too late. Just come bunk with me. There's plenty of room in our tent."

"Really?" I try not to sound too excited. I feel like a little girl being invited to a sleepover, or a teenager being asked on a date. "I mean, as long as you don't care."

"Not at all. Go get your stuff and I'll meet you in there."

I smile, and then I hear him chuckle. He must be able to see me. "Okay, I'll be there."

Cautiously kicking my feet out ahead of me, I walk around the chairs to where I know the path to my sleeping spot is. I hear Bucky shuffling off towards his tent to wait for me there. Each step I go I become less and less sure that I'm not going to run into something.

Then I trip on a rock—landing on my knees in the dry, dusty dirt.

"Bucky!" I hiss in a whisper. A little laugh leaves my lips with the next part, "I can't fucking see!"

I hear him walk closer. A hand on my shoulder startles me. I relax to feel the metal fingers slightly brushing my neck. "Come on. You can skip the sleeping bag and we'll just share mine." He chuckles as I still stay splayed on the ground. "You really can't see anything?"

"Sorry I don't have night vision, super soldier," I grunt sarcastically.

Bucky's grabs my hand and pulls me off of the ground. He keeps his hold on my fingers and tugs my body close to his.

"Just follow me."

We take a few steps, me walking extra slow.

"Why are you moving like a snail, Y/N?"

"I don't wanna fall!"

Bucky snorts, "I'm not gonna let you fall." His hand tightens on mine then I feel his metal arm wrap loosely around my waist to help guide me even more. "There—even if you do fall, I'll catch you." Jesus Christ, his mouth is right next to my ear. His breath is warm and makes my whole body sweat despite the frigid air surrounding us. "Okay, doll?"

"Oh—okay."

I take a hard swallow and hope to god Bucky's vision isn't good enough to see the gob-smacked, blushing expression I wear on my face. I close my eyes and let him lead us forward, gripping his hand and praying to god that the feeling of never wanting to let go will fade.

"Right here," Bucky's voice is beside my ear again. I stop—letting him move slightly away so that he can open the zipper door. Then his hand tugs mine. "Come on now, watch your step."

"I can't very well watch what I can't see, asshole."

Bucky chuckles quietly, "It's too late at night for your sass, Y/N."

"It's never too late for my sass." Successfully climbing inside the tent, I hear Bucky zip up the door partially behind us—not caring to do it all the way. I guess if a bear wants to wander in, Steve and Bucky will be enough to keep it away.

"My spot's right in front of you. Try not to step on Sam." His whisper makes me want to laugh some more. I can hear Sam's loud, obnoxious snoring ringing from right below me. I suspect I've almost stepped on him when Bucky guides me more to the left. "Okay, go ahead and lay down. I can pull the blanket out flat and we can use it that way."

"Do you have an extra pillow?" I whisper.

Bucky hesitates. "Shit. I didn't think about that."

"That's okay. We can just share." I lower to the ground and feel Bucky do the same a moment later. He must find that I'm too far away, because he softly pulls me closer so that the blanket perfectly lays over me—only partially covering him.

"I don't get very cold, so don't worry about me."

"So you'll keep me warm then, Sargent?" I tease lightly.

Bucky's smile is apparent in his voice. "I'll try, doll."

I'm surprised with his actions when he tucks the fluffy sleeping bag around me. Then he nestles down onto his side, but I can't tell which way he's facing. It's hard to share a pillow unless you're both on your side, so I pick a side too.

"Goodnight, Bucky." I whisper.

I'm sort of surprised when I hear his words—feel them—radiating just a half an inch away from my mouth. "Goodnight." He's facing the same way.

Oh fuck. He's so close. He's so... soooo close to me. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to move. Any movement and I'll touch him. But why do I WANT to touch him? I shouldn't be itching to trace his face or his hands or his arms! I shouldn't be restraining myself from closing that little centimeter space between our lips.

That's when I feel it: his lips, so fucking soft, just barely brushing across mine. It's so gentle; it could totally be an accident. There's no way he'd do it on purpose... right? But he doesn't apologize. He doesn't say anything, actually, but his hand slides along my waist under the blanket and he doesn't have to say anything at all.

I think he's waiting for me to push him away or pull him closer. I could do either, but I really only want to do one.

My head tilts forward and I'm pressing my lips to his. Bucky immediately responds by kissing harder—metal fingers lightly but effectively digging into my hips. I touch his hair—fingers curling into the locks—just as he takes in a staggering breath and kisses me deeper. There we stay: tasting and feeling each other like we've never done for anyone else before. It's exhilarating and feels so wrong with Sam and Steve on either side of us, but it feels too fucking right to care. He tastes like peppermint and the coolness of his flavor makes little shiver erupts along my skin. The way he cradles the side of my head has me spinning, and when his teeth graze my bottom lip I have to force myself not to moan.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?!"

We've been too involved in making out that we hadn't noticed Sam stopped snoring. His little outburst is followed by a swift whack of a feather filled pillow to our heads. We break apart from our kiss with wide eyes.

"Are you two for fuckin' real!?" Sam whinnies.

Steve's groan makes me blush. "What the hell is going on?" This is only going to get worse.

"These two horny teenagers over here are fucking between us!"

"We are not!" I screech.

"You sure as hell would've been if I didn't stop you! Y'all are nasty! You seriously couldn't wait until we got home!?"

I get whacked again by a pillow. But before it can retract, Bucky's snatched it. He whacks Sam twice as hard—making the guy stumble back into his bedding. I hear his body thump.  "Leave her alone, Wilson."

"Oh my god—it's already starting!" Sam wails dramatically.

"Will you all just please shut up and go to bed?" Steve sighs tiredly. I can hear that he's turned away from us.

"WHAT!? You don't even care what they were doing?!" Sam tries to tattle on us again.

"Not really. They're quiet and not bothering me—but you're doing both of those things right now, Sam. Can we all just go to sleep? Please?"

"Hell no! I'm not sleeping next to Romeo and Juliet here! Who knows what kinda shit's gonna go down tonight."

"It's fine, I'll just leave." I don't sound mad about it, just embarrassed. I get up and just so happen to run into Sam's flashlight on the way. "I'm stealing this."

Sam grunts and falls back into his sleeping bag. "Whatever, man."

I'm too mortified to make eye contact with Bucky on my way out of the tent. Quickly I scurry off to my own little spot in the freezing air outside. I'm just about to settle into the plush material when I see Bucky walking over.

"What are you doing out here?" I question—feeling awkward about what happened before.

Bucky takes the flashlight from my hands. Replacing the torch with his fingers, he settles down onto the ground next to me. Actually, he moves over me—hovering as my head is on my pillow. His handsome, smug face being the last thing I see, he switches out the light.

His lips press to mine hard and deep before he pulls away. I feel his body closing in on mine from all sides. My heart picks up speed. I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning.

Bucky's voice is dangerous and hot—like wildfire. "I told you I'd keep you warm tonight, sweetheart. And I don't plan on leaving you alone."

I guess this camping trip wasn't such a bad idea after all...