THE LEFTOVERS

78. Marriage?

"Marriage?"

A slow smile tugged at your lips as you rolled onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows. Your fingers played idly with the edge of the pillow while your gaze lingered on the wall.

Marriage.

The answer felt simple to you. But after all the times Bucky had teased you, pushed you, played with you—you weren't about to make this easy for him.

"Like, in general?" you asked, feigning confusion.

His brows furrowed. He sat up slightly, clearly not expecting this reaction. "Yeah?"

"Well, as a social construct, marriage is a fascinating concept," you mused, shooting him an innocent glance.

Bucky blinked. "As a social construct?" His expression was unreadable, but you could tell he was already lost. Probably also slightly annoyed.

You nodded, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "Yeah. Some people argue that marriage was constitutionally designed to benefit the patriarchy. You know, to trap women."

The second the words left your mouth, you felt the confusion radiating off him. It was almost too easy. Biting back a grin, you reached for a discarded piece of clothing, lifting it over your head—only to be stopped by the firm grip of his vibranium hand.

"Oh, no, you don't," Bucky chuckled, pulling you right back into bed. His other arm wrapped around you effortlessly, pressing you against him.

You let out a laugh, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "I actually have work to catch up on. We can't just stay in bed naked all day."

Bucky groaned dramatically, his lips brushing your shoulder before he playfully nipped at your skin. Then, without warning, he stood up.

You frowned. "James... what are you doing?"

He didn't answer—just walked out of the room with purpose.

Suspicious, you scooted to the edge of the bed, only for him to return moments later, a smug smile tugging at his lips. Before you could react, he gently pushed you back onto the mattress, capturing your mouth in a deep, teasing kiss. Then, mid-kiss, he placed your iPad on your stomach.

You blinked up at him, utterly baffled.

"It's my last day off, and in two days, you're starting a new job," he murmured against your lips. "So today..." His smirk grew as he locked eyes with you.

"We're staying in bed. Even if it means you working from here."

He stole another kiss before settling beside you, looking completely content, the kind of peace that came so rarely to him.

You let out a dramatic sigh, feigning exasperation, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. With a playful shake of your head, you pulled the duvet over your legs, propped your iPad on your knees, and tried—really tried—to focus.

Your fingers scrolled absently through files: literature lists, event dates, meetings, all the small details of your life waiting for your attention. Yet, despite your best efforts, the words blurred, the screen faded into the background, and your mind wandered to the man beside you.

Bucky.

He lay sprawled across the bed, one arm resting behind his head, the other draped lazily across his stomach. His thick brown hair was a mess, strands curling slightly where your fingers had been. His blue eyes, usually so sharp, held a soft, sleepy warmth, like the morning light had woven itself into them. He looked content, truly at ease, and something about that made your heart ache in the best way.