Sebastian Stan Short Stories

Bucky Barnes [4]

"Cheers"

Post Civil War, alternate and non canon ending to the story line. Minor spoilers possible.

*

I sat the bottle on the table, followed quickly by a quartet of shot glasses. I sat down in an arm chair across from Natasha with Bucky to my right and Steve to my left. We each took a glass, and Natasha began explaining the game while I cracked open the vodka.

"We take turns asking everyone else a qurstion, then whoever asked the question picks the best answer and the losers drink," she said simply.

"Sounds easy enough," Bucky agreed.

"Better than some army drinking games," Steve pointed out.

Natasha took off with the first question, pouring three shots of vodka for the rest of us.

"First kiss," she directed. She leaned back in her chair, rubbing her hands together maniacally. No one moved to answer. Of all the questions a master assassin could ask, and she plays the middle school sleepover angle.

"Age before beauty, boys," I said. Bucky leaned forward and Steve began to smile. I was sure he had already heard this story.

"That's me I guess," Bucky mumbled. "Uh, I was twelve, she was fourteen. Her house was on the corner at the end of a paper route I rode, and one day she was waiting for me outside. I came around the corner and nearly ran her over, but she thanked me with a kiss anyway. Never spoke a word to her after that. I was a little embarrassed and asked for another route."

"The great James Barnes getting embarrassed by a girl," Steve teased.

"Let's hear yours then, Mr. My-last-growth-spurt-was-in-a-science-lab," Bucky returned flawlessly.

"Fourth grade, Frances Hubbard. She cornered me during recess, said she thought I was cute, and kissed me. We got caught and spent the next week in separate classrooms during recess," Steve told us. Before he and Bucky could get into another brotherly argument, I offered my story.

"It was all very cliche. He was sixteen, I was fifteen. We went to the movies, he drove me home, walked me to my door. It would have been great if he hadn't missed my mouth," I laughed. The others laughed quietly and Natasha decided Steve the winner, declaring it was because he was the youngest. Bucky and I clinked the miniature glasses together and tossed them back simultaneously.

"You shoot vodka pretty well," Bucky noted. I shrugged coolly and refilled our glasses.

"It was always my strong liquor at SHIELD Academy parties," I informed him.

"Isn't alcohol banned from Academy grounds?" Steve asked.

"At an academy for super spies and geniuses, nothing is banned."

*

"Okay. Worst nickname you've ever had and who gave it to you," Steve prompted. Besides a little pink on his cheeks and a very willing smile, he wasn't drunk in the slightest. Bucky was still sitting perfectly straight and ever observant despite the numerous shots he had taken. Natasha's Russian genes had only helped so much. She and I were both at a disadvantage to Cap and Bucky's enhancements. Our speech clarity had taken a nose dive and neither of us were brave enough to try walking after two hours of vodka shots.

"Charlotte," Natasha began. "Clint, obviously. He'd always ask what my word of the day was and if I knew anyone named Wilbur."

"Can I call you Charlotte?" I asked, grinning as she glared. "Fine then, I guess that's a no. I never had any bad nicknames. Everyone has always called me short stack or shorty or mini me. Nothing very creative."

"I'll give you creative," Bucky announced. "Some little punk in Brooklyn thought James was too boring and couldn't pronounce Buchanan, so he started calling me Bucky and hasn't stopped since."

"Jerk," Steve responded. The pair of them grinned at each other like only old friends could. Steve only seemed slightly offended.

"Well, as fun as dis has been, I am going to bed now," Natasha announced, her latent Russian accent making an appearance. She pushed herself out of the arm chair only to overestimate her drunk strength and nearly fall into the coffee table. Steve stood up in time to catch her by the arm.

"Buck, I'll get Natasha to her room," Steve decided. "Oh, you can have that losing drink. Just for that little jab about your fantastic nickname."

"When did the rules change?" I asked Bucky. Steve began walking away with Natasha, who swore up and down she could walk on her own.

"Steve is just being mean to me and nice to you," he explained to me. "Come on, I think it's your bed time too, kid."

"You know, biologically speaking, I am older than you," I argued. "I should call you kid."

Bucky stood up, still steady as a rock, and helped me up. Once on my feet I promptly fell into his chest, hands flat against him. In my drunken stupor I just stared at my splayed out fingers on his t-shirt.

"I didn't do that on purpose," I told Bucky stupidly. I still didn't move my hands.

"It's okay," he said. He turned me in the right direction and put his hands on my hips while I tip toed the narrow space in between a couch and a table. Why he had steered me to the drunken equivalent of a tight rope, God only knows.

We alternated positions as we walked through the building to my personal rooms. For a few minutes I held onto his metal arm and stumbled at his side. Then he wrapped an arm around my waist, supporting most of weight while going up a flight of stairs. Eventually I pushed his arm up to my shoulders so I could hug him around the middle until we came to my door.

"Think you handle getting in bed on your own?" he checked.

"I can, thank you," I informed him. I put my hands back on his chest as I slipped out from under his arm. His hand fell gently onto my him, still making sure I wouldn't fall. "So why didn't you and Steve get drunk like us girls? Me and Nat can barely talk, and you're just hunky dory."

"It's the super soldier serums. Sped up our metabolisms so we don't get drunk," he explained. "Now if you're so confident you can get in bed on your own, go."

"I said I can, not that I wanted to," I corrected, tapping his chest with my pointed finger after each word. I pushed myself onto my unsteady toes and surprised Bucky with an unfortunately misaligned kiss, right to the corner of his mouth.

"And how long were you with that guy who kissed you crooked?" Bucky asked when I pulled away.

"I don't remember," I admitted. "Just kiss me again."

I tried to get another kiss from him, but he took a small step away, just enough to slow me down.

"If you remember this in the morning, I will happily kiss you again," he bargained. With a pout on my lips I left him outside my door. After changing into the nearest clean t-shirt, I wrote myself a drunken note.

Kiss Bucky.

*

Author's Note:

That crooked first kiss was inspired by a true story (mine coincidentally enough.) Then two years later, I kissed that same again in the school parking lot. Très romantique.