Ripping the plastic tag away from warm material, he pointedly avoided the price, passing it over to the woman beside him. "You know, uh, you didn't have to buy me so much," he mumbled, leaning back on his haunches. "I could've done with only a couple shirts and some pants."
Samara beamed, and it was the same smile that had convinced him to let her spoil him. "I'm too lazy to do washing often, so no, you can't do with only a couple shirts and some pants," she explained, folding the shirt neatly and stacking it at her side. "You know, I really like these. You may be old as shit, but as least you have style, even if your haircut was frozen somewhere in the nineties."
Bucky made a disagreeing sound. The darkly coloured shirt in her hand – a henley or something? – seemed awfully plain to him, with only a few buttons and longer sleeves, but every person who'd served them had gushed over it. It was branded, which meant it was important, which made him hip.
Great. He was now a deadly, renowned, fabulous assassin.
"Besides," Samara continued, biting her lower lip. "I wanted to do something nice for you. I know it's not really a nice thing to do, since you needed these things anyway, but I guess it's the thought that counts? I don't know…" she sighed, reaching around him to grab another bag.
Bucky managed a short frown. "You didn't have to do anything for me," he soothed, clasping one slim hand in his own and squeezing. "You're enough."
Golden eyes warmed slightly, but the woman still let out a quiet sound, lifting his hand to brush a kiss over his knuckles. "Maybe I didn't have too," Samara allowed, shrugging to show she was only humouring him. "But I wanted too, so shut up and help me unpack this crap. You owe me and – and I know that look, bloody hell, now you think you actually owe me something," she groaned, head tipping back.
"You've done so much for me," Bucky grumbled. "I've barely done anything in return."
Samara sighed, shaking her head. "You don't owe me anything, and in relationships, you don't have debts. In a relationship, which you know, we're in, you have things called brownie points. All you gotta do is surprise me with something cute, like roses or a nice date, and boom, brownie points."
Bucky rolled his eyes, leaning more comfortably back against the bed. "It sounds a little too easy," he murmured, watching her through narrowed blue orbs. "If it's too easy that means there's a catch. You're keeping something from me, aren't you?"
"There's no catch," Samara snorted. "Do something nice, and you get points – those points however are key to your survival."
"And I found the catch."
Samara whacked his shoulder. "It's not that bad, you big baby," she defended, poking out her tongue when he gave a contradicting look. "You know what I mean. If you buy me roses every once in a while, maybe take me out to the movies - when you fuck up, I won't be so mad. For example, you've forgotten our anniversary, and while I'm sitting here planning your murder, I look down and see that very expensive charm bracelet you brought me. It reminds me how much I love you, and you make it through the night. Everybody wins."
"Brownie points buy me time?" Bucky felt his eyebrow climb up towards his hairline, curiosity managing to twist his lips. "I need to start stockpiling them then," he admitted, pressing forward to kiss pouting lips. "You know how bad my memory can be, darling."
The pout dissipated into a smile, and the woman moved to hug him tightly. "If you want to get a head start, I have something for you to do," she whispered in his ear, breath tickling his neck. "I made some reservations at this little restaurant tonight, nothing too fancy – will you come with me? I promise it won't be crowded, and you don't have to wear a tie."
Bucky gave an obedient chuckle, swallowing down the instant refusal when it built on his tongue. Public situations weren't something he looked forward too, and the shopping mall had been more than enough for one day, but… but saying no to those eyes wasn't something he was capable of doing just yet. "It sounds great," he murmured, smoothing a hand down her back. "What's the occasion then? We've only been home a week, you can't be sick of cooking already?"
Samara pulled back, hands on his shoulders, and made a face.
"What?" the assassin defended, brow coming down when she only continued to stare. "What did I say?"
The doctor cocked up a brow. "What's the occasion?" she mimicked, nodding slowly to spurn him into remembering. If there was something he was meant to know, he didn't know it. "Oh god, come on, are you serious? How are you drawing a blank right now? You know what day it is right?"
Bucky blinked slowly, staring at the ground like it held all the answers. "March tenth?" he offered tentatively. "Right? Darling, if I've forgotten something already, I'm sorry. Give me twenty minutes and I'll get you flowers – five, if you don't mind me tearing through your garden."
Samara wrinkled her nose, patting down the less than tame bangs framing his face. "It wasn't important," she shrugged, smile genuine. "Can you get the rest of the tags and fold all this? I need to clear out some drawer and cupboard space for your ass." The sudden lack of warmth in his arms made him frown, leaning back to watch her wander towards the other side of the room. "You have no idea how much I'm giving up for you boy."
The words made him wince, eyes dropping to take in the untouched bags. He had a rough idea.
The shirt scratched a little, feeling rough against the vulnerable skin of his neck, and he barely stopped his fingers from tearing open the buttons. It was nothing more than material, sewn together and made to fit – he knew that, he did – but it felt too restricting. It felt like he couldn't breathe, even when he was, like he couldn't pull away and – the button finally popped open, rewarding him with a few more inches of space but it still wasn't enough.
Heels clicked on the hardwood flooring, muted when they hit the carpet. "You okay there?"
Bucky grunted, pulling the shirt as far as he could without tearing it. "The damn thing is as tight as – " Peering up when warm fingers brushed against his neck, the words caught somewhere in his throat, lost to the whirlwind in his head. "My god."
The smile he was hit with was shy, pale cheeks tinged a pleasant shade of pink. "Does that mean you like it?" Samara asked, smoothing her free hand down the length of her stomach. His own fingers itched to follow the same track. "I've never really had reason to wear it, and I figured you wouldn't mind if we matched tonight," she shrugged, bending the material of his collar.
Breath returned to his lungs only to escape again, disappearing somewhere in the air around them as he took his companion in with a pleased expression. "I don't remember seeing you buy that," he rumbled, hand floating down to crush the softer material between his fingertips.
The dark green shade was almost the perfect match for his shirt, like she'd said, but the woman wore the colour better than he ever could.
Samara bit her lip, tugging on the small triangle cut into the neck line. "You don't think it's too much?" she asked, continuing to play with the material like she could change it into something new. "I bought it years ago, on a whim, because I thought that – " Pink cheeks darkened all the more. "I thought that I'd need it one day, you know? A gorgeous dress to wear for a gorgeous someone."
Bucky grinned. "You cheesy little shit, you," he scolded lightly, stepping back and pointedly looking the knee length dress over. "It's not too much, it's absolutely perfect. Neckline is a little low, but from what I've seen, that is all the rage now. You won't get cold?"
Running her hands over bare shoulders, the woman shook her head. "I have a cardigan," she promised.
Bucky nodded, pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck – she had dark red lips, and he knew he'd get in trouble for messing with the colour – before he looked to the clock. "Are we gonna leave now? You said six, right?" he wondered, trying to mentally prepare for the next few hours while he still had the time. It was better than going out into another mall, he figured, but a restaurant was more personal, more intimate with low lighting and hushed conversation.
He spared silver fingers a curious glance. If he wanted too, he could slip leather over the metal. If he wanted too, he could easily hide the flash of colour from prying eyes and melt into the crowd like everyone else.
Lips teased the clean-shaven plane of his cheek, nothing more than a fleeting second of contact. "Yeah, we probably should. Did you wanna drive?" Samara questioned, running a lacquered finger over her mouth. It was a careful action, like she was making sure the makeup was still there. "You've been getting better with the road rules and all, plus it's only a short drive to the restaurant once we leave the suburbs."
He wondered if the colour was now pressed against his cheek? Bright red like a burn and possessive as all hell.
Bucky gave a limp shrug, shoving both hands into the pockets of his dress pants. "The drive might be short, but it's not like I know the way," he pointed out, gesturing to the keys for their beloved vehicle. He never should've asked the billionaire for the damned thing – the woman was starting to love it more than she loved him. "Besides, I know how much you love that stupid thing."
Gold lit up yet again, holding the new weight in her hands. "Stupid thing? You mean you?" she taunted, tugging lightly on his arm in a bid for attention. He gave it without complaint. "Hey broody, you okay?"
Bucky nodded, confused. "Yeah, I'm fine."
"Oh, wow, don't sound so honest next time."
Snatching up bare arms, he spun the woman to face him, offering a cocked brow. "Sammy, really, I'm fine," he promised, punctuating each word with a kiss. He didn't care much for where said kisses went – be it her hair, her brow or her lips. "But I'm starving, can we go eat now? It's almost six."
Samara grimaced when she saw the clock, hurrying to grab her purse and cardigan. "You're right, shit, we don't want to be late," she hissed, throwing the material around her shoulders before empty fingers grabbed him next. "Come on, it's adventure time! You ever eaten a steak that costs more than a house? Drunk wine the price of a year's wage? It's fun, you should try it."
Bucky laughed as he was led from the house, skipping down the steps that put him beside the gleaming paint. "Your saying my dinner is going to cost as much as the car?" he questioned. "Is it going to be as ugly too?"
"Insult the Lamborghini and you'll never eat again."
Bucky ran a hand over the hood. "It's damned gorgeous, I've said that right?" he cooed, clicking his tongue. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen, bar you of course, my stunning lover. Have I told you how edible you look tonight?"
Samara snorted. "Nice try amigo," she called, already dropping her weight into the leather. "Nice try, but nope. There ain't enough brownie points in the world to save your ass if you insult the car again – or if you like, destroy my coffee maker or something? Look, the real key to your survival is actually caffeine and motor oil from here on out. Keep me stocked."
Resting his hand on her thigh, he grinned wolfishly. "Whatever she wants," he purred.
The woman shifted her weight, eyes flicking down to take in the flash of skin, before her throat moved in a quick swallow. It was enough to coax another rumbling laugh out of him, and he got a glare for the sound, the doctor now throwing the car into reverse and starting them on their way.
It was about now that he realised he still wasn't quite sure what day it was yet. He knew it was important – important enough she was dressed rather delectably and taking him out for a real meal – but he didn't know who it was important too. It could've been the day he died for all he knew, or it could've been the day she graduated university. It could be a day that matters only to them, or it could be a day that matters to everybody but them. He didn't know.
There was the temptation to ask, of course, but he didn't want to irritate her by admitting he hadn't figured it out yet. Samara had seemed amused when he'd confessed to drawing a blank, but his antics wouldn't stay funny for long. Eventually she was going to get sick of the holes in his memory, of the way he studied everything, of the way he tensed in surprise when the phone rang.
Eventually, she'd get sick of him.
Bucky gently took back his hand, using it to ruffle through his bangs. It was bound to happen eventually – she'd accepted everything she knew about him so far, he'd give her that, but one day there was bound to be something that crossed the line. Maybe it wasn't something he'd done, but something he'd do.
"Hey, earth to deadly assassin? Hello in there?" Her voice rolled over him, fingers following not long after and filling up his field of vision. He turned his head to acknowledge her, taking in the edgy smile and the awkward way she reached out for him. "Where did you go? You left me for a minute there."
Bucky looked past her, taking in the lights and playing dumb. "We're here then?"
Samara watched him, eyes alight in a way that made his spine itch. "Yeah, yeah, we're here," she murmured, hesitating with her hand on the door. "Bucky, did you still want to do this? It's okay to say no to me, you know?"
He wanted to back out, but one look at the downcast eyes made him shake his head. He could manage this much if it made her happy. "If you make me wait any longer for food, I won't be held accountable for what happens," he teased, shaking away the dark cloud from before. There were later hours to dwell on the future, hours where the woman was snoring beside him and unable to read his thoughts through his eyes.
The doctor stared again, like she was looking for something, but whatever she found only brought forward a snort. "You're in love, aren't you? Not with me, but with rump steak and curly fries, I swear," she grumbled, finding her footing on the smooth pavement.
Bucky followed her example, fixing the creases in his shirt awkwardly as a young man came to take the keys. "What's he doing?"
Samara spared him a look. "Parking the car, gorgeous, he's a valet," she murmured, holding out her hand patiently. "He keeps the keys, and when we want to leave he drives the car to the front for us. Customer service is better now than it was in the forties."
Tucking her hand around his elbow – he remembered that much – Bucky opened his lips in understanding. "That it is," he allowed, smiling down at her with teeth glinting in the low light. "I was just wondering… you said this place was nothing too fancy, didn't you? I'm not that well versed in the culture now, I'll admit, but burger king doesn't park our car for us. I'm gonna guess this is a little higher end?"
"You caught me," Samara drawled, every step causing the length of her dress to brush his leg. "This place might be a little bit more – wait, I'll be damned, look over there. There's that actor you like so damned much. Stan or something, right?"
Bucky's eyes widened, head spinning to find said actor in the crowd. "You said nothing too fancy," he protested weakly.
The doctor winked, biting her lip to supress a too wide smile. "Did you want his autograph? It's not hard, stroll up and make a meme joke," she teased, slowing as a man bowed with menu in hand. His appearance seemed to sober her up, and the smile turned sickeningly polite. "Oh, good evening, I'm here under the reservation winter wonderland? It was at six?"
The waiter straightened and smiled. "Ah yes, follow me, please," he requested, turning sharply on his heel and leading them further into the murmuring restaurant. There were glass chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, only brightening the room a small degree while candles dealt with the rest using flickering flames. It was almost irritating to see he'd been right in thinking the atmosphere would be intimate.
Bucky pressed a kiss to her hair, hoping he didn't muck up the elaborate braid. "Winter wonderland?"
They were led past the tables and out the back, a staircase greeting them. "Whoops?" Samara grinned, lacing their fingers together as they climbed the polished wood. Every step taken was echoed by a sharp click of heels. "Don't give me that look. I couldn't resist and I refuse to apologize."
Another kiss, and his first genuine smile since leaving the house. "You should learn to swallow your pride, darling."
"What is it with men and swallowing?"
The waiter announced their location with a flourish, adding on another bow and a dramatic sweep with his arm. "I will be in momentarily to take your orders," he promised in a smooth voice. "If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to call me."
Bucky watched the man leave, brows high before he followed the insistent tugging on his arm, the woman demanding he obey without words. It was an edge he was used too. "I'm coming, hell," he growled, snaking silver around her waist and stealing another kiss. The scandalised sound that echoed was masculine, instead of feminine, and slowly he lifted his eyes, taking in the room and all of its occupants.
Tony was covering his eyes. "Are they done? Is it over? Am I safe?"
Bucky released the woman, taking a pointed step to the side but not leaving her space. "I thought…" he blinked, taking in the smiling faces before looking to his doctor. "I thought you said it was going to be… just us?"
Across the room, the genius uncovered his eyes only so they could see him roll the brown orbs skywards. "Oh please, like we'd miss this," Tony drawled, saluting them all with an almost empty glass. "I mean, it's a special day for you, buddy ol' pal. It's a celebration. An occasion I'm only part of because a certain captain threatened certain parts of my anatomy if I missed it."
"A celebration?" Bucky wondered slowly. "For me?"
Samara was looking decidedly guilty beside him. "He doesn't know," she murmured, staring at the ground and then at the others. It was a good way to avoid his glare, he'd give her that much. "I didn't know how to break it to him."
Bucky practically felt the blood drain from his face with the words. Break what to him? What the hell were they all gathered here to celebrate? He shifted his weight from foot to foot, swallowing down the automatic desire to retreat. If they were all smiling it wasn't like they were gathered here to kill him. Steve had the decency to at least frown when murder was incoming.
"Didn't know how to break what to me?" Bucky asked, turning to face the woman. Feigning calm, he slipped both hands into his pockets. "Samara?"
It was the billionaire who answered him, lumbering forward and clasping both of his shoulders in calloused hands. Wait, where the hell had he put his drink? Tony closed his eyes dramatically. "Bucky, I don't know how to tell you this but…" he sighed, shaking his head sadly, almost like he was announcing happiness was dead. "You're old as fuck. Happy birthday."
Happy what?
Bucky blinked. "Huh?" he managed, barely able to stop from starting back when something exploded near his face. The team was laughing loudly, batting at each other as more booming claps sounded and coloured paper went flying. "What the…"
Warmth bloomed along his side, and gold looked up in apology. "Steve wanted to do something," his doctor whispered, a blue string of confetti dangling from her shoulder while another danced up her neck. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I figured you should be christened into the new generation with a good ol' surprise birthday party. You haven't lived if you've never had one."
Bucky licked his lips, circling both hands around her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin. "Damn punk knows I hate surprises," he breathed, carefully cooling down after the initial shock. The woman helped to calm his heart. "But I appreciate the thought, beautiful, I really do. Can't believe I forgot my own damn birthday."
"You want a party popper?" Samara questioned, pulling back before something plastic was thrust into his hand. "They're fun, go on."
Taking the coloured plastic, he quirked up a brow. "It makes a tiny explosion," Bucky noted, watching the others to learn how it worked. "You don't give these to your kids or anything, do you?" he wondered, pulling hard on the string and getting yet another surprise. "Son of a bitch, what the fuck was that?"
"Hey, birthday or not, language," Steve came up, clapping his shoulder and giving him a one-armed hug. "Also, its confetti," he panted, grinning boyishly. "Check this out. I don't know what it is, but it's awesome. Tony brought them."
Bucky eyed the thrust out can nervously, accepting it only when the blond pushed it into his hand before escaping back to the others. It had some animated kids decorating the front, and they seemed to be aiming the can at one another, smiles wild and clothes dirty in a way only children could ever manage. It was safe then, maybe even another toy? Humming, he turned and lifted it to eye height, barely pausing before pressing a finger down and releasing –
"Silly string? What the hell, Buck?" Samara choked, swiping away the pink foamy strings. It looked like she was fighting an unseen attacker, hands perfectly flat and form almost perfect as she batted the colour away. "We're in a fucking five-star restaurant, who the hell brought silly string?"
Tony piped up from across the room. "Guilty!"
Bucky felt the laugh bubble up before he could stop it, taking in flashing golden eyes hidden beneath strings of pink. "Darling, that colour really suits you," he purred, leaning forward to give her a placating kiss. It managed to kill some anger, her cheeks still a stunning shade of red but her eyes finally calm. "Come now, don't pout. It's revenge for the surprise party, and it's perfectly justified."
The can was snatched from his hand. "The server is going to be back any minute," she mumbled, taking in the chaos and ignoring his very true words. "If he sees this we'll probably be kicked out on our asses."
"Oh, loosen up princess," Tony grinned, popping up beside the woman and leaning against her carelessly. There was a stumble from heeled feet before she found her footing again, holding up the billionaire's weight with a glare. "I've never been kicked out of a restaurant in my life. You'll find that money gets you a lot in the world – be it silly string or tolerance."
Samara lifted her hand and sprayed the last of the can into the man's face.
Tony didn't even seem chastised. "Okay, we'll read the menus then," he allowed, lips nothing more than a black hole through the pink foam. "Alright guys, we better sit down. If you don't cooperate, the dreaded doctor here will literally unload an entire can of whoop ass all over your face and – and good god, what is this, it tastes like someone left the milk out."
People found their seats in record time after that, watching the genius struggle to wipe pink from his lips. Bucky, personally, was far too pleased watching the spectacle. There was something about the way pink stained the thousand-dollar dress shirt, something almost poetic. It wasn't until he looked down, opening the menu, that the pleased warmth faded into confusion.
What the hell is this?
Samara managed to sense his doubt without needing words. "Did you want the steak? They're famous for it, it's why we're here rather than that meatball place. Italian has nothing on prime rib," she smiled softly from beside him, one hand fixing any errant curls.
Bucky took in the impressive meals, features twisted. "You think?"
"I do," she promised, smoothing a hand over his arm before frowning at her own menu. "I might get the chicken…"
Natasha made a sound across from them, pale eyes glued to something on the paper. "I'm not gonna eat anything until dessert," she decided with a groan, pointing uselessly at the page. "I'm not the only one who likes the sound of that cheesecake, am I?"
It took less than a second for the doctor to moan. "Oh hey, uh guys, do diets count on special occasions? I'm asking for a friend."
"Your diet never counts," Bucky muttered.
Samara sent him a betrayed look. "Oh please, like your waistline is anything impressive," she managed, faltering only a few beats later and giving him a sideways look. "Actually no, I take that back, I know how impressive your waist is. Got that hourglass figure, am I right?"
Tony muttered something suspiciously – probably something about not needing to know – before he piped up; "None of you are eating that cheesecake, because I had a cake made especially for today. Before you ask, no I didn't fly it in from another country or something like that, I actually made it," he announced proudly, throwing the menu down and stretching. "Well, I made the first one."
"I appreciate the sentiment, but…" Bucky felt his brow climb. "First one?"
Brown eyes twitched. "Yeah, wanna know something I learnt today?" Tony questioned, looking around the table. "You can't fit ninety or so candles on one fucking cake. The damn thing looked like someone had taken a machine gun to it. Poor cake, may you rest in peace."
Samara's amusement was written only in her eyes, her lips perfectly set. "You made the first one, but what about the second one?"
"The second one? Yeah, it's from this guy I like, some baker dude," Tony waved a hand dismissively. "French, but his chocolate ganache is heavenly, so I figured why not pay a little extra for postage, you know? I own a private plane anyway and the guy's television show doesn't start til next week. He had the time."
Bucky tilted his head, giving his doctor a stunned look. "He had the time," he whispered, grinning when she hid her own smile behind painted nails.
When the waiter came to take their orders, he looked over the mess and didn't even blink. It wasn't until a few minutes later, when he called the genius by his first name, that the room realised it wasn't the first time the poor guy had walked in on such chaos. He was probably surprised there was less booze and more confetti lying about, in all honesty, and woman who were clothed rather than butt naked.
Bucky leant against his chair almost thirty minutes later, drink in hand and one arm slung around his doctor as he appraised the room. Everybody was laughing, grinning, sharing stories that sounded fake as hell and then calling each other out on their bullshit. It was brilliant, and he was a part of it.
Samara wasn't surprised when he kissed her cheek, used to the affection, but she still eyed him. "What was that for, soldier?"
"Thank you," Bucky answered without pause, tapping her chin once. "Really."
Gold took him in happily, lashes brushing against her cheek with every lazy blink. "You're very welcome," she allowed, grabbing his fingers and kissing them lightly, almost as though it was second nature. "I got you something too, but it's at home so you'll have to wait. If you're not too tired after this freak show, maybe we could watch a movie too? I got that popcorn you love, and I want some one-on-one time. Just you and me, yeah?"
Bucky hummed. "Thank you very much," he declared again. "Best birthday ever."
It was then, seconds before he could claim her lips properly, that the startled squawk came from across the room. Plates were gently placed onto the table, but the genius wasn't haven't any of it. "Goddamn it, I ordered a steak not the whole fucking cow!"
He hit the couch hard, bouncing lightly on the cushions.
Never again.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy it – the night was possibly the most fun he'd had in years – but he was exhausted from it all. It felt like, between the food sitting happily in his stomach and the constant remarks keeping him on his toes, he'd fought in another world war rather than through a three-course meal.
Bucky rolled over when the footsteps sounded, revealing the woman was back from their shared room, no doubt with birthday present in tow. He personally didn't see the point of a gift – he would've been perfectly happy with her playing the part of his prize – but she seemed nervously excited about the whole thing, either because the gift had meaning, or because it was something personal.
Either way, he'd love it.
Samara dropped her weight onto his legs, knowingly avoiding his very full stomach. "How are we feeling over here then?" she taunted, one hand snaking under his shirt and spreading out over the skin of his navel. "Tired, hmm?"
"I'm bloody exhausted," Bucky replied honestly, cracking open an eye. "What have you got there?"
Samara bit her lip and straightened up, waiting for him to do the same before thrusting the gift his way. "Here, I hope you like it as much as you liked that damned chocolate cake," she mumbled, awkwardly shifting when his legs remained under her person.
Bucky let her place what looked like a bowl in his hands, eyes interested and roaming over the design. It didn't look like a bowl, it was a bowl? He turned it over in his hands, studying it, noting how it almost looked to be made from scrap metal of varying shades of silver. It was distinctively charming, something she probably needed help making, but it was what it held that piqued his curiosity the most.
The key chain and wallet seemed oddly innocent as he scooped them up. "It's the key to the house, and uh, to the cars," Samara explained softly, not willing to break the mood with loud words. The wallet did that for them however, snapping open under his hands with a loud crack, and letting gleaming cards greet him like old friends. "Tony had to help me with those. It wasn't too much trouble, but it's hard to get identification for a man who apparently died in world war two, you know? It was almost like we needed to make you a new life."
He recognized the bowl now – an artistic rendering of the wooden one she kept to hold her own effects. It wasn't smooth oak like the one currently sitting by the door, but it was smooth silver and if anything, it suited him better. It was something to toss his keys in when he got home, something to hold his wallet so he'd never lose the card that brandished his real name rather than some fake identity. "Sammy…"
"You like it?"
Bucky turned, taking in the gold eyes glued to his hands. He'd been right for the second time that night, right in assuming his gift would have meaning – everything the woman did had meaning, nothing was ever pointless. "I do, yeah," he promised, happy he could meld their lips together without her reprimand. "I like it very much. Thank you again."
Samara chased his lips when he pulled away, blushing when she realised what she'd done. "You, uh, no comment on the ninja key chain then?"
Bucky frowned, eyes snapping down. He hadn't bloody noticed that.
Warmth pressed against his clean-shaven cheek – with how fast his facial hair seemed to grow, he was surprised he didn't have a beard already – and the woman was next, shifting to lounge against his side. "I'm glad you like it, Buck," she murmured, a yawn splitting the words. "Anyway, bed or movie? Fatal Attraction is on and I have to see you watch that movie."
Bucky looked to the woman, taking in the sleepy golden eyes and soft lips. "Movie sounds good, I understand that whole attraction is fatal thing," he allowed, gently placing the bowl on the table. "But I demand we change. This shirt is killing me."
"Oh dude, pyjama party."
"Precisely."
Less than an hour later, clad in sweats and almost passed out while using a full chest as his pillow, he heard a soft murmur of; "happy birthday," sound from above him. For the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he let the word happy apply to how he felt and smiled against a familiar red shirt. It suited the woman better than it would ever suit him anyway.
Happy 100th Birthday Bucky Barnes!
I had to do something, you know I did, and what better something than a quippy one-shot? I hope you've all celebrated this glorious day somehow, I personally, ate an entire chocolate cake – diet, smiet, fight me – and did nothing but write this all day. It was glorious.
Taila xx
P.S Fatal Attraction has Hank Pym in it technically – I shouldn't find it as funny as I do.
