Eyes of Fire | Bucky Barnes

39

Bucky should've pieced it together: that if his sleep had improved from just having Uxolo beside him — curled up in an uncomfortable chair with her hand reached out in case he ever needed real contact — than he would sleep like a damn baby with her pressed up against him, from head to toe.

He'd made a stick about laying on the left side of her bed; he'd told her that it was because that way, he'd be closer to the door. But they both knew it was because he'd lay on his left, vibranium arm if he were to face her. So, when he reached out to hold her, reciprocate the gentle hand she laid on his neck, it was with his flesh hand.

Despite all of this, despite the raw joy he felt at having her this close, both mentally replaying the new update to their relationship, he'd been riddled with nerves and guilt, desperation to avoid having a nightmare for just one night.

And he'd managed it, somehow.

Uxolo had woken up first, a fact he was not at all surprised by. When he gained consciousness — eyes blinking open carefully, body shifting as he grew accustomed to waking up peacefully — she'd already been looking his way.

She was looking at him in that soft, fond way she always did, that made him so warm inside. "Good morning, Bucky."

He smiled back at her, as best as he could, nuzzling his face into the hand she reached up to cup his jaw. His arm was thrown around her hip — comfortable, secure, but by no means possessive, as something inside of him called for.

"G'mornin, Uxolo."

If it was even possible, her smile grew wider, fingertips pinching his cheek softly. "Have I ever told you how much I love it when you say my name?"

Bucky shook his head, sheepish. "Only every day."

It was true. Even though he didn't say her name as much as she probably would've liked — didn't talk as much as she probably would've liked — she always seemed to glow extra bright whenever he said her name. As foreign and new as the sounds were in his mouth, she loved it nonetheless.

Uxolo leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Slow, sweet, gentle, the way he hoped to be kissed in the golden morning for the rest of his life — however long that would be.

"I am glad you are aware." She murmured against his skin, pulling away before crawling out of the bed.

"I'm glad that you do," He called after her, lacking any of the smooth flirtation that would've been his staple 100 years prior.

It only took another moment for the spray of the shower to hiss to life. Bucky could hear her movement, her quiet humming as she did whatever it was that she did in there. He tried his best to tune it out, but Bucky found her immensely distracting. His enhanced senses weren't completely to blame, either; he found himself watching her, listening for her, all the time

For safety.

For her safety, he listened to her sing under her breath as she worked around in the kitchen. For her safety, he watched out of the corner of his eye when she chewed on her snacks, eyebrows furrowed, hard at work in front of her computer. For her safety, he listened to her breathing at night, waiting for the exact moment when her breaths slowed and he knew she was peacefully asleep. Even when they were separated by walls.

He didn't know when it had happened, but he felt an immense responsibility for her.

Bucky relaxed on the bed for almost twenty minutes with her quiet movement as a peaceful soundtrack before her humming stopped. He closed his eyes, willing his ears to pick up something, anything, but all he heard was the water.

Then there was a bang, followed by a garbled yell.

Bucky jumped up, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he raced toward the bathroom. She had slipped and fell. Hit her head on the tile. Broke a leg, broke an arm, broke the mirror and it shattered. Or maybe someone had been hiding in the shower, waiting to hurt her. Bucky cursed. He had let his guard down and now this happened, now she was hurt—

He lifted his knee and rocked back, ready to kick the door off its hinges, but noticed the tiny crack of light in the door frame just in time. She hadn't just left the door unlocked, she left it open. Bucky didn't have time to think about how good that made him feel.

He used his shoulder to force his way in, the bathroom wall pitting from the impact of the doorknob.

He could see her shadowy outline. She was okay. She was safe. She was... bent over in the walk-in shower, the clear glass doing nothing to block Bucky's line of sight. She straightened up and spun to face him, her eyes wide with shock, a shampoo bottle in her hand and something small and white pinched between the fingertips of that same hand.

Her hair was weighed down and dark with water, and he could see skin— so much skin. She crossed her arms to cover herself and Bucky clenched his eyes shut, too late.

He heard her clunk the bottle down on a tiled ledge. Bucky peeked one eye open. She had angled her body away from him, a backfiring attempt at modesty because now he could see where her hair tickled her shoulder, dripping water down to the two dimples on her lower back, the curve where her ass met the tender skin of her thighs.

"Bucky," Uxolo acknowledged, laughing. "Did you want to join me?"

Bucky's skin flushed, pinpricks of sweat forming on his forehead from the combination of steam and his all-encompassing embarrassment. He screwed his eyes shut again and swore he would not open them again until he was out of the bathroom.

"heard you yell," He mumbled. "was worried." He clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides, chewed his lip between his teeth.

"You are incredibly sweet, Bucky, but I'm fine now." She clarified.

Bucky shook his head, could feel a different emotion beginning to swell over him.

This feeling would've been easier; this feeling he knew what to do with. But he didn't want to snap at her, didn't want to be harsh at her, as much as he was sure that his anger could overwhelm his embarrassment.

"Okay, sorry, uh— I'll be in the living room."