CALL HER | Bucky Barnes

9

BROOKLYN

Turns out, Grace wasn't kidding about throwing herself at me.

The moment she swung her apartment door open, her weight crashed into me, and she threw her arms around my neck. I caught her easily. I'd specifically carried the wine in the vibranium hand so I could grip her waist with my other one, just in case she really did it.

My heart rate picked up when she wrapped her legs around me, too, clinging onto me tightly. She did all of this in a dress, which meant her legs were practically bare and spread open around me—I wasn't even through the fucking door yet.

"Hi," I managed to choke out.

"Hi," she said happily. I could feel her breath on my neck.

"Is this you being shy?" I asked. "I thought you said you'd need to warm up to me."

Her sweet little laugh was in my ear, and it wasn't even coming from my phone this time. She pulled her head back to look at me, our faces close together. She was beaming. I wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt. "I missed you," she said.

"I missed you too," I told her.

"I have dinner in the oven, but it'll be another half hour or so."

"I don't want to have to put you down yet anyway," I admitted.

"Walk us over to the couch, then."

"Yeah, okay." I entered her apartment and shut the door behind me with my heel. Her living room looked a lot like her office did, exactly how I figured it would. Full of color and art and gadgets and books and personality. I thought about my own bare walls and empty rooms. I preferred her place.

I put the wine on her coffee table and sat down with her still wrapped around me. She shifted so she was straddling my lap, and I could've groaned with content if I hadn't stopped myself. I'd been imagining her like this ever since I first called her. I ran my hand up her waist slightly, wanting to feel the curve of it. She cupped my jaw with her soft little hands and studied my face intently.

"You can touch me with both hands," she said, frowning down at my now unoccupied vibranium hand, which I'd rested beside us on the couch.

"I wasn't sure," I muttered, and held the other side of her waist with it.

"Are you nervous?" she asked, tilting her head adorably. Her hair shifted, and I caught that same scent that I'd liked so much when I first met her. I thought it might be floral.

"Maybe a little," I said, gaze flickering down to the bottom of her light blue dress that was pooled on my lap, riding up her thighs. Nervous wasn't really the word. Dazed, maybe. Trying my best not to think about anything that would make blood rush to my cock, maybe. Suddenly very aware of the fact that I hadn't touched a woman this way in 80 years, maybe.

"I can't believe it," she said. I was focused on her hands as she moved them to my shoulders and then trailed them down to my chest.

I swallowed thickly. "Me neither."

"So you need to warm up to me? Not the other way around?" she asked, her hands slipping back up to my shoulders. "How do I get you to do that?"

My first thought was that I just needed to kiss her, but I kept remembering what she'd said about this not being an invitation for sex. I didn't want her to think I had the wrong idea. I really didn't want to fuck up.

"Honestly, it's hard to think when you're on me like this," I said finally.

"Oh, sorry. I can move, I just thought you wanted—"

"I don't want you to move," I said.

"Okay," she said slowly. Her right hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and I noticed a tattoo on her wrist for the first time. It was a long, complicated looking equation in thin, handwritten lettering.

I caught her wrist to look at it. "Tell me about this?" I asked. It usually only took one question like that to get her going on a long explanation.

"Oh, that's for Tony," she said fondly, looking down at it with me. "It was in a note he left for me. One of those 'in the event that I die' notes. It's the special relativity formula for time dilation. He wrote 'TIME IS WEIRD HONEY! WORRY LESS' under it, so it makes me think of that. He'd have me think he was being glib, but I know he meant it. He wanted me to remember that."

She blinked, like she might have gotten choked up if she hadn't remembered something else. "He also wrote 'MY DYING WISH IS FOR YOU TO BUY BITCOIN' and a bunch of other dumb shit, so I try not to take it too seriously."

I paused, knowing I had to say something now. "I wish you never had to be sad," I said quietly, aware of how stupid that sounded.

She smiled and cupped my face again, leaning in to kiss my cheek, lighting up my skin underneath her lips.

"Thank you," I breathed out. Jesus Christ. Sam was right. No fucking game.

"Did you just thank me for kissing you?" she asked like it was endearing.

"I think I was thanking you for a lot of things." I was. For talking to me, for worrying about me, for wanting to see me, for cooking for me. And yeah, for touching me.

"You're welcome."

I let my hands run up and down her waist again. She was so soft. The feeling I got touching her after the past week I'd had (or the past 80 years I'd had) must've been how other people felt collapsing into bed after a long day.

"You feel so fucking good," I muttered.

"So do you," she said.

I snorted, but didn't challenge her on it. I probably felt like I was made of jagged pieces of scrap metal, but maybe I was lucky and she was into that.

"What? You do. You feel so good." She was pouting, the way she always did when she argued with me. Fuck. It was a whole different thing when I wasn't just hearing it, but seeing the pout on her face while she told me I feel so good.

"Doll," I said, exasperated.

"Aw, yay," she said. I had to hold her still when she bounced a little. "I was waiting for you to start calling me pet names again."

"You're killing me."

"Close your eyes," she told me.

"Why?"

"You're gonna like it. Trust me."

I actually didn't trust her not to do something devastatingly sexy, but I closed my eyes anyway because she wanted me to.

"You look like you think I'm gonna murder you," she said.

I opened my eyes. "Are you?"

"No!"

"You know I'll be able to tell what you're doing even with my eyes closed, right? If you pull a weapon, I'll know."

"Oh my god, just close them again."

I did. I felt her weight shift on my lap as she leaned toward me. Then I felt her breath against my lips as she laughed. "Can you tell what I'm gonna do?" she asked sarcastically. "I feel like I'm being really subtle about it, so—"

I kissed her before she could do it instead. Yeah, okay, I thought—maybe I did remember how to do this. I wrapped my arms around her waist to tug her closer to me. She let out a little whimper at the movement, which made me think I'd done it right.

She gave up control easily, letting me deepen the kiss, her lips pliant, opening for me. She even fucking tasted sweet. I moved my hands to her thighs, just below the edge of her dress, relieved when she didn't stop me. Her skin was so smooth and warm, and I wondered if it bothered her that one of my hands was probably rougher than she was used to and the other one was definitely cold.

She pulled back. I thought she just needed a breath, but she moved away when I tried to catch her lips again.

"I need to check on dinner," she said. She didn't seem upset. If anything, she seemed a little breathless as she stood up. All I could do was nod as I tried to get my own breathing under control.