Captain America and Bucky Barnes Imagines

10. BUCKY: Sweet as Ice-Cream

Words: 3.3K

Warnings: kissing, that's it.

I plop down onto the couch of the Avengers' badass new facility with a pint of ice cream in one hand and the telly remote in the other. A grunt, sort of pleased yet irritable, comes from my mouth when my ass hits the seat. Then I'm scrolling through the DVR trying to find something worth my while.

"Damn, how many war documentaries does Steve really need?" I question aloud to no one—since no one else is even in the room. I suck on the back of my spoon and keep looking. "Ah and here's Nat's section: all the stupid foreign films. What a waste of DVR space." I shove my spoon into the hard pint and keep on. "Oh—here we go. What's this?" I pause and read the film's description. "Nah, just another one of the stupid movie's Tony's scored a cameo in and we're not allowed to delete."

"Who the fuck are you talking to, Y/N?"

I don't bother turning my head back to greet my guest. "Welcome, Barnes. You're just in time for an episode of "how bored can Y/N be before she resorts to watching one of Clint's documentaries on birds"." Now I turn back to see the view. "Standby, we're drawing close."

Bucky grunts—his form of a laugh—and then strolls into the room. I'm always surprised to see him dressed in anything other than the all black tactical gear. Now he's in a pair of loose jeans and a dark grey t-shirt that really is much too tight in the arms. But I don't know if they make sleeves that big—the dude is fucking ripped. I've seen him shirtless, actually, and I'm very impressed.

"Does Clint really have bird shows recorded?" Bucky stuffs his hands into his pockets and comes around to join me on the couch.

"Nah, just made that up," I admit. "It'd be funny as hell though if he did."

Bucky rolls his eyes. "So you're just talking to yourself and eating ice cream?"

"And watching TV. Don't make me sound like a complete loser." I take another chilly bite and eyeball his low hanging man-bun. "I'm multitasking."

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Bucky snatches the remote from my lap before doing some intent scrolling of his own.

"Shouldn't you be out telling little kids that Santa isn't real, killjoy?" I mock.

Bucky fights the urge to grin. He hates letting me know I'm funny, which makes it even more fun to tease him (but I'd never tell him that). "I just assumed you'd be at work or with that pompous lawyer boyfriend of yours."

I scoff in attempts to hide my real misery. "Who told you about my boyfriend?"

Bucky, who's already taken my remote, now grabs my ice cream. "Clint did."

"Loud mouth brother," I gripe. "Hey, that's my ice cream, jackass! Give it back."

Bucky uses my spoon to take a lethargic bite. "Not until you tell me why you're down here pouting like one of the drama queens in Wanda's Telenovas."

I really shouldn't be surprised that he's attentive enough to notice my shift in overall mood. Totally not helping my case, my arms cross indignantly across my chest. "I'm not pouting."

Bucky takes a stupid huge bite of my favorite flavor of Ben and Jerry's. I want to punch him. "You are."

"Not."

"Are."

I growl, "Not."

"Are."

"N-"

Before I can finish, someone's cut me off.

"Are you two bickering again?"

Bucky and I both look to see who stands at the doorway at the same time. Lucky for me, he's distracted long enough for me to take the ice cream. Unlucky for me, Bucky's a trained assassin and much faster than I am. I try to lunge but he easily draws the pint away and out of my reach at lightning speed. I let out an animalistic whine and slap his rock-hard chest. Bucky only lets out a bit of rumbling laughter in protest.