3. Cookies and Heat Waves
Eve has had a tough week and so she rewards herself with cookies. Lots and lots of chocolate chip cookies. If she'd been even mildly proficient in the kitchen she'd be eating a lot more than just cookies; she's spent the past hour and a half scrolling through Facebook baking videos. But Eve is the sort of young woman that knows her limits, and she can very clearly recall that even at a young age she'd managed to start a fire with her Easy Bake Oven. So she settles on premade chocolate chip cookies (extra chocolate chip chunks, obviously) that she simply has to stick in the oven. That she can handle.
For the first time in a few days (if she bothers to count properly, it's since the last time she saw Bucky. She doesn't. She blames her body in a different type of way for her irritability and frustrations) Eve is finally relaxed. Cookies are melting in her mouth and more are baking in the oven, filling up the kitchen with their sweet aroma. She's bent nearly double against the small kitchen's island, her elbows planted against the granite countertop with one hand holding up her phone and another reaching for her quickly diminishing plate of cookies. She starts humming along to the music blasting out of her speaker, head lolling to the side occasionally as she runs a hand over the sweaty apex of her shoulder and neck.
"Did you turn the oven on, you complete psycho?!"
At the shriek, Eve glances over her shoulder at Kayla. The blonde has just arrived home, blonde hair pasted against her forehead and neck as she wrestles a few shopping bags into the apartment.
"Cookies?" says Eve around a mouthful of chocolate-goodness.
"You're a madwoman!" exclaims Eve, fanning herself with one hand as she kicks the door shut behind her. "We're going through a damn heat wave and this apartment has no air conditionin'!"
Eve shrugs. It's not her fault she's this close to getting her period any day now and her body is rebelling against her by giving her raging cramps and a back ache. It's not her fault either that cookies are the cure, or that it's a heat wave in a late New York winter. They should be staving off snow and rain storms and slush, but instead it's been steadily creeping up towards a stuffy eighty-something degree for the past day or so.
That's just completely weird, and while a lot of people have been screaming about global warming and green house gases and whatever the hell else, even meteorologists and scientists are baffled. Either way, that's definitely adding on to the stress of the week.
Kayla frowns, coming around to look her over. Her frown deepens as she watches Eve pull out the last batch of cookies and set them on the stove to cool.
"You all right, Eve? You're lookin' a little down," says Kayla, southern drawl thickening with her worry. "Have been all week,"
Again Eve just shrugs. She sets her phone down against the flat of the island, quickly opening up one of those games that she hates so much. It's simple and infuriating and practically impossible to actually move through the levels and the ads make her want to chuck her phone, yet it's been on her phone for a few days now.
"Oh dear, Eve's got boy trouble," says Kayla. Her heart skips a beat—how the hell does Kayla know?!—and her head shoots up to meet the blonde's knowing blue eyes.
"Why would you assume—?"
"Don't play coy with me, missy," smirks Kayla. "I saw you reposted a few things on Facebook—rare for you—and now you're playin' those games ya hate so much? You're waitin' on a text. It's all so obvious now. I ran into Lewis yesterday after my dance class and he was all askin' 'bout cha and trying to find out if you were seein' anyone. I told him he should text ya to find out," Kayla said brightly.
"Ugh, Lewis," says Eve. She'd had a thing with Lewis almost two years ago, only there had been something of a messy parting: she thought they had been casually dating, seeing other people. He had not, and had been under the impression that she was his girlfriend. It had all gone downhill from there and –
Eve pauses as she's about to jam the thousandth cookie of the day into her mouth. She's sort of starting to pick up a pattern involving her and her sexual partners. She's a fucking writer; why is communication so goddam hard for her then?
"You're right, I am waiting for my phone to ring," says Eve, smiling crookedly at Kayla Kayla squeals excitedly. "But from a literary magazine. I submitted a short story some time back,"
Kayla visibly deflates, then smiles apologetically at her. "I mean, I'm sure they'll get back to ya—I just—never mind,"
Eve smiles in amusement at her roommate. Kayla is constantly torn between cheering her on for being a "modern girl who don't need no man" but also encouraging her to be on the lookout for "the one". She is glad, however, that Kayla has decided not to open that particular disgusting can of worms.
Instead the southern belle bustles around the kitchen, making conversation as she put away groceries. She's chattering about nothing in particular and Eve doesn't bother to point out she can't hear half her words as she moves around over the music. Her thoughts have returned to what she'd been trying to avoid.
Bucky.
She feels weird about how they left things last time, especially knowing that it was just before a mission. Eve wouldn't go as far as saying that he'd be stressing over her during such a time; he's proven to be a rather focused individual when he has a task at hand—but more than once, lying alone in bed as she tried to fall asleep, the though crossed her mind that if that was the last time she ever saw him it would crush her.
She jerks out of her thoughts when a hand is placed over hers.
"I'm headed out. My God-blessed, super hot boyfriend has AC over at his place and doesn't know how to use an oven. His roomies are makin' margaritas. You wanna tag along?" she asks. Eve thanks her and shakes her head.
When Kayla is gone, Eve realizes that it really is hot in the kitchen. She grabs her phone and speaker and plate of cookies and heads into her bathroom. She starts filling up the bathtub, not for first time thinking about how happy she is to have gotten the master bedroom with the adjoining bathroom.
As the claw footed tub fills up with cool water, Eve opens up the little foldable side table she keeps nearby and places her speaker and cookies there. When she goes to fetch her book and catches sight of the clock she decides that oh hell, three in the afternoon isn't that early for a glass of wine.
It's just after she's comfortably tucked into the tub that her phone vibrates. She makes quite a splash as she lunges to get it.
Let's pretend I'm in the neighborhood and want to stop by. Are you home?
She stares down at the text, a little impressed with it. It's pretty casual, and he's given her an out if she wants. Instead of asking her if it's okay to stop by, he's giving her the option of simply telling him she's out. She bites on her lip. She already knows what her answer is, she just doesn't want to fuck up how she says it.
I'm in the tub and you have a key.
She hits send, hoping that it sounds casual and a dash suggestive. Ultimately its up to him to interpret it, but she hopes that he takes it as is and they an pick up like last time didn't get awkward or passive aggressively weird.
When he enters the bathroom, he stares at her for a moment.
"No bubbles?" he asks, corners of his mouth tugging upward. She stares back at him, wondering how this is going to go.
"Nope,"
For a minute he stands there. She's not sure what she wants to happen right now, and he doesn't look like he does either. She's pretty she he's here to talk, and though she does want to straighten things out with him to avoid any future weirdness, she also doesn't actually to have the talk. She'd rather skip to the part where it's all resolved and they have sex.
He opens his mouth to say something, and then thinks better of it. Instead his hands fall down to the belt at his hips. He catches her eye like he's waiting for her to tell him to stop. She doesn't. Her hand only tightens on her wineglass as she bites into the pillow of her bottom lip.
She stares at him unashamedly as he peels off his shirt. Her eyes roam over his chest, over the juncture at which his bionic arm meets the flesh of his shoulder. He's quite aware of her staring, but if it bothers him he says nothing. He steps out of his jeans and then his boxers. Now that he's standing naked before her, she feels an odd flutter of disbelief course through her.
How is it that this, this part man, part machine, part god is someone that she sleeps with one a regular bases? She's just a regular college girl—the most interesting thing about her is that she published that one thing, that one time—and yet here he is, a living piece of history, a man, a soldier, an assassin, a weapon, an honorary Avenger.
All at once, Eve feels very foolish. She's been stressing that he'd have feelings for her, simply because prior experience had taught her that might happen? He wasn't like anyone else that she knew or had ever been with, and it was stupid to assume that things would be the same. No, now she felt foolish because she'd played into her own fears and read into his every gesture and nearly fucked it all up because she was an idiot.
This was just sex, and she couldn't forget that this was just as convenient for him as it was for her. She knew that he could be rather paranoid—that she couldn't blame him for after all that he had been through—and he'd never be the type to walk into a bar and pick up a woman. He also didn't strike her as the type to jump into a relationship, not with all the Avenging and whatnot he had to do. No, he might have been fond of her because of their shared history, but this was just sex.
This little epiphany has her more relaxed, and Eve is all too happy when Bucky comes around the tub to stand behind her. She moves forward so that he can slide in behind her, and he does.
"Jesus, Eve, ever heard of hot water?" says Bucky.
"Bucky, we're experiencing a goddam heat wave—what next, you wanna turn on the oven?" she sasses as she leans back against his chest. She's never taken a bath with him before—she's never taken a bath with any man, before actually—and she quickly finds herself wondering why the hell not.
The feel of Bucky's hard body cradling hers is amazing. There's something to be said about the feel of cool wet skin against cool wet skin, and she finds herself reveling in it now.
"It's getting taken care of," Bucky says, reaching up and brushing her hair out of his face. She chuckled and then reaches up to take her afro of curls with a hairband. Once it's wrestled into a topknot, she settles back against his chest. "Appreciate that," he says teasing.
Eve smiles. "You were saying? What's getting taken care of?"
"The heat wave,"
His hands come around to rest on the edges of the tub. Noticing the bruises on his right hand, she takes it into hers, bringing it close to her face for inspection. It looks like he'd definitely punched his way through a small army. Then she realizes what he has said. She twists around a little to face him, jaw-dropping open.
"Wait—the heave way, it's getting taken care of? Like, you mean this is something up your…Avenger alley?"
He smirks and nods once. "Yeah, but sorry doll. It's classified,"
"I don't know that I want to know anyway," she mutters, turning back to inspect his hands. She likes his hands a lot, both for different reasons. She's never told him of course, mostly because if she ever does get that one short story, Hands, published, she doesn't want him to think it's about him.
Because it isn't, of course. Like, at all. Maybe subconsciously she had been looking at his hands when the story had started taking root in her mind, but it isn't actually about him.
Duh.
"So your mission was a success? Or is that classified?" She asks lightly, brushing the pads of her fingers over the bruises and broken skin. "When did you get back?"
"Success, yes. Classified…also yes. Got back last night," he tells her. Mentally she perks up; he'd gotten back last night and come by today? Maybe he'd wanted to patch things up with her, too. "And I'm sore as all hell, which means you'll be doing all the work,"
She rolls her eyes as he unknowingly ruins that moment she had going on in her head and hums in agreement. "Should probably get to that soon, because I don't know when Kayla's getting back,"
"Maybe we should talk first, about the last time I was here,"
Just like that he dives right into it, and she tenses against him. He definitely feels it, because his hand gently pulls out of her hands and comes to rest against her stomach. It travels to rub circles under her breasts, though he never quite touches them. If he'd meant to relax her, he's doing a shit job of it. Now he's got her frustrated in a completely different sort of way.
"Please, after you," she says. Somehow she knows he's rolling his eyes even though she can't see him. Bucky tugs her body to lean against him again. She does. She'd been starting to feel cold anyway, and she appreciates the heat of his body.
"Fine. I was upset when I left last time," he says. His chin rests atop her head, and she thinks that the fact that she can't see him head on is actually helping make this all much easier for her.
"Uh-huh…"
"I was upset because I think we need to take a moment and define what this is," he pauses for a moment, and she holds her breath. "I realize that you might have misconstrued what I wanted this to be, that I might have wanted something…that I might have wanted a serious relationship. Or an actual one. I know we haven't talked about it, but I've picked up that you're not to relationship type—and that's fine. I wasn't looking to start one with you. The sex is great—real, real great—but I do like you enough that I don't want just that. I want us to be friends, too,"
Eve purses her lips. That can't possibly be it. Is it really that simple? Has she really been worrying all this time for nothing? Is Bucky Barnes the perhaps the perfect man? Can she have her cake and eat it too? Admittedly, his speech sounds a little rehearsed, a little scripted, but she can't find anything in the way he says it to convince her he's lying. And why would he?
"Well, you're not wrong," she finally ventures. "I'm not in a place in my life where I want to be in a relationship. But I am a big fan of sex, and I'm a big fan of it with you. So, friends with benefits? We can shake on it," she says, reaching a hand back towards him. He chuckles against her ear, and she shivers when his lips touch the shell of her ear.
"I was thinking of sealin' the deal a little differently…"
She doesn't stop him when his hand wanders down between her legs. And, twenty minutes later, when he's using both metal and flesh fingers to make her come undone and his mouth his whispering dirty things in her ear she's glad they had this talk.
