One Night Stand (A Bucky Barnes Fanfiction)

Mr. Metal

I am never drinking again .

I was suddenly conscious and quickly decided that I did not want to be. My head was pounding with an intensity that let me know that I was past hungover, I was hungover and nauseous and regretting waking up. I kept my eyes closed and prayed that I drifted back into darkness where I didn't have to deal with the nausea or my throbbing skull or my sore body.

What the hell did I do last night?

It didn't matter. I'd deal with it later. I was going back to sleep now. It was my day off. I could just sleep the hangover from hell away. I rolled over carefully, mindful of my throbbing head, snuggling into the pillow and stretching out my limbs to-

I jerked when I felt some cold and hard beside me. There was a piece of metal in my bed, when there definitely should not have been one. I blinked my eyes open, come face to- metal arm? I froze, following the length of the arm, starting at the relaxed fingers, up the forearm over the bicep accented with a red star, to its owner. The large, and very naked, long haired man with the sheet barely covering his pretty nice ass, laying face down in my bed.

Oh wait, this is not my bed.

My bed was queen sized, with soft white sheets and a blue comforter and way too many pillows. This was a much larger bed, king sized, with deep red sheets, a black comforter that was bunched up at the foot of the bed and just two pillows

I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb my bed companion or my head, taking in the sight of the large room that we were in.

It was a mess.

Clothes, mine and his I assumed, were strewn across the room, a lamp lay broken on the floor, the chair meant for the desk sat against the opposite wall was toppled over, small composition notebooks scattered around it on the floor, the items on the desk askew and knocked over.

Did someone come in here and rob the place while we were passed out?

I looked back down at my bed companion.

The stranger.

More importantly, who the hell is this guy?

I tried to recall the chain of events that had led to me ending up in bed with this stranger. A stranger whose face I still couldn't see hiding under his long hair, but I could tell worked out cause holy muscles Batman . I came up with a big fat blank.

The last thing I could recall was clocking out of work, going home to find my roommate already dressed for a night out on the town and listening to her beg me to come along. I had refused, adamantly, and yet here I was, naked in a stranger's bed, hung over like I was back in college and it was a regular Friday night, with no idea where I was or who I was with.

I have got to get out of here.

I eased out of the bed with ninja like finesse. I didn't want to wake the stranger, the last thing I wanted was to deal with an awkward morning after, where we had to pretend like we remembered each other's names and would see each other again. I tiptoed around, first retrieving my under garments from the foot of the bed, my skirt from under the desk, my blouse from behind the nightstand, and my heels from behind the couch. I pulled on my clothes, quick and quiet, and then had to get on my hands and knees to search for my clutch, which I found under the bed, thankful that my phone, keys, money and cards were still inside.

My phone buzzed as I pulled it out, alerting me to the twenty text messages that I had missed during my drunken night. All of which were from my best friend and ranged from encouragement and praise to worry and panic, starting at two am with the most recent one having been sent five minutes ago.