The Sharpest Lies [Bucky x ReaderxSteve]

Eleven

It feels weird, sitting in the back seat of the town car while Steve drives you to your apartment. You didn't understand why Bucky insisted on this, you were more than capable of taking a cab. In an attempt to break the awkwardness, you lean forward to talk to him.

"Tell me something Steve," you say.

"What's that?" Steve asks.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Your chin rests on your arms as you ask the question.

Steve's eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror, crinkling at the corners as he smiles. "Are you offering?"

You straighten, sputtering as your face turns crimson. Laughing, Steve shakes his head. "Relax, sugar, I'm only teasing. No, there's no one I'm seeing. That's not really my thing."

Clearing your throat, ignoring your embarrassment, you ask, "Not your thing?"

"Nah, relationships complicate things," Steve tells you, his eyes flicking to the mirror to see your forehead wrinkling in confusion. It was cute. "Relationships have certain kinds of expectations."

"Like what?"

"Like trust and honesty."

"And you're not honest?"

Steve meets your eyes with a lifted brow, and you realize why quickly. Considering their line of work, dishonesty tended to run along with it. You give him a rueful smile and shrug. Steve turns his attention back to the road and explains, "Let's just say that I've yet to meet someone who makes the mess of a relationship worth it. So, when I want sex I find someone to have sex with and leave it at that."

"And sex isn't messy?"

This time Steve looks at you and sends you a wink. "Oh, sex can definitely be messy, especially really great sex. But I'm talking more emotional mess, ya know. I keep things casual, no strings attached, they like to call it."

"So, does that mean you use professionals?" you ask. You have no idea where your curiosity is coming from, or the boldness to ask something so brash. But Steve doesn't even blink at it, just continues to answer your questions.

"Nah, when it comes to that I prefer it the old fashioned way."

"Don't they say that prostitution is the oldest profession in the world?"

Steve laughs, the sound deep, warm and rich that fills the car. This time when he looks at you, you swear there is fondness in his eyes. "Jesus, no wonder Bucky's so gone over you. You're a pistol."

The compliment warms you, and Steve's hand comes up and pats your arm lightly as he says, "I just mean I prefer the good ol' catch and release. Meet someone, hit it off for a while, go somewhere to fuck and then part ways. Maybe, if it's especially good, have a few encores, but that's that."

"So a 'wham, bam, thank you ma'am special'?" you ask and make him laugh again.

"Ma'am. Sir. Whatever. Doesn't matter much one way or the other to me," Steve says as he pulls into a parking garage near your apartment. He hops out and comes around to open the door for you before you have a chance to do it yourself.

"You know, you don't have to come with me. I can do this myself," you point out when he falls into step with you. "I'm sure you have plenty of important things to do."

"Sugar, you're the only important thing in my life right now," Steve says lightly. His posture, his tone, it all says he is relaxed, but he's not. His eyes keep moving, assessing everything for potential threats. Or more specifically, in this instance, one very specific threat.

"Excuse me?"

Steve looks down at you, seeing that wrinkle in your forehead again. "Bucky told me to take care of you when he can't. So, I'm sticking with you."