Touch-starved. Needy. Eager. Responsive.
Bucky Barnes hasn't felt this way since the 40s. He didn't know it was possible- he thought the Hydra experiments did away with this part of him once and for all. His wires were crossed, and desire was a dist...
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"You're sure?"
Water dripped from Bucky's hair onto your shoulder when he ducked down to speak against your ear. His low, husky words were almost inaudible over the spray of the shower, but he had to be quiet— Steve was just on the other side of the door. "You really want to?"
You looked up at Bucky and nodded, a glimmer in your eyes, and he wasn't sure which swelled more— his heart or his dick.
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"Steve? Oh, shit, what are you— Steve!"
Bucky had just slipped a clean t-shirt over his head when the ear-splitting shriek of the fire alarm filled the apartment. The two of you sprinted out to the kitchen to find Steve frantically fanning at the smoke detector, his movements doing little to disperse the heavy haze of smoke that filled the air.
"It's okay," Steve called hurriedly. "It's under control." He stretched up, jabbing clumsy fingers at the screeching box on the ceiling, though the alarm didn't stop no matter how many buttons he pushed.
It very clearly was not under control, and, being well-practiced in kitchen mishaps, you and Bucky quickly got to work. You flung open the window above the sink, inviting a rush of frosty air into the kitchen to dilute the smoke, while Bucky handled the source of the problem.
"What did you— how did you spill this much batter on the burner?" he asked incredulously as he shut off the knobs. "This is a goddamn mess."
A mixing bowl was upended on the counter, batter flowing outward across the quartz, but that mess wasn't enough for Steve. No, the mixture was spread all over the stovetop in globs and splatters, too— paint across a canvas, charred and smoking.
Bucky wet some paper towels and used his metal hand to wipe up the worst of the mess while he grumbled under his breath. "Even she doesn't..." he started, but he glanced up to see you glaring at him, and Bucky was a smart man, he thought. He shut his mouth.
With the smoke cleared and the alarm finally silenced, he turned to face Steve, who stood several feet away with his hand covering his pink face. "I'm sorry, I was... I wanted to..." he said, dragging his hand down over his mouth before shaking his head. When you and Bucky just stared at him, uncomprehending, he sighed. "Pancakes," he said dejectedly, thoroughly defeated by the breakfast starch.
