A/N: Happy Holidays! Here's that little interlude-type part I talked about briefly before. This kinda came to me at like 6am one morning and I, for some reason, just had to write it down. It takes place sometime after the first weekend she stays at the compound with Bucky (I honestly haven't decided exactly when but I'm saying Early June just because).

It's just a fluffy little piece that helps me practice present tense since I'm not used to it. Think it turned out okay, so I hope y'all like it too, and again, sorry for the slow updates!

And thank you guys so much for the love on this story! It warms my heart. ❤️❤️❤️

BTW: The title of the chapter may be misleading; it's safe for work, as always!

REVIEWS

Fear the Pretty People: Nat's a lot of fun to write, and I'm sad that it took her this long to catch on to something, but she's a busy woman. And I hope this chapter is worth the wait! ❤️

wedontkilltheliving: Ahhh thank you so much! It makes me so happy that you think I'm keeping them in character! (insert happy crying emoji that I can't use on here) I hope this didn't distract too much from your studying, and I hope your finals went well! ❤️

juSTaAsomeone: Aw thank you! I'm definitely going to continue the story and have just a few more chapters planned before we get to the end, but I will complete it, I promise! I'll even have a couple more "deleted scenes" or just little extra one-shots to add on eventually. It'll just be slow updates for a while. Having multiple stories in the works will do that, lol.

Early June

"We are not doing that again."

"Tomorrow will be twice as long, then. Captain's orders."

A growl. "I'm gonna kill you."

"Tried that twice and failed both times."

"Third time's a charm."

"Well, good luck with that."

"Fuck off, Steve."

His shirt is peeled off the second the door shuts behind him. He's always hated the feel of wet fabric sticking to sweaty skin, and today is no different. Add the fact that it's muggy as hell outside with a longer-than-usual run and a very smug-about-the-whole-thing best friend, and you get one very sweaty and miserable Bucky. He's so miserable, in fact, that he actually forgets he's not home alone today.

He's just finished wadding up the now disgusting and smelly fabric into a wad when he hears a clunk as that plastic water bottle she likes to carry around hits the floor. His eyes dart towards the sound to find Paige in his kitchen, pupils wide, mouth agape, and empty hand floating in midair.

"Morning, sweetheart," he beams. At the very least, he's not expecting her to be out of bed at this hour. Or even awake for that matter. It's all such a fantastic surprise after a grueling morning. And though he entered the apartment tired and desperate for a nap, the sight of her sweet self wearing one of his loose shirts and her sleep shorts, hair still messy from sleep, makes him want to put off the shower and nap for just a little longer. Even if only to chat for a few minutes. Or complain about how much he wants to strangle Steve again.

This seems to pull her back to reality as she disappears below the counter, stammering a broken greeting back.

He tilts his head curiously and wanders towards her, but not before throwing the offending shirt into the open laundry machine. When he enters the kitchen, she's stood back up from cleaning whatever few droplets of water managed to spill from her bottle. She's beet red, and Bucky thinks it's the cutest thing, though she won't look directly at him, instead opting to fill her bottle. A wicked grin splits his face as he realizes exactly why. "You're up early." A little lower pitch than usual, but it gets the reaction he was looking for; he can see the tiny goosebumps forming on her arms.

Clearing her throat, she nods. "Yeah, surprised myself too." Her voice is scratchy, both from under use and embarrassment.

He knows that he can do this later, after his shower, and likely get the same reactions, but the moment is so enticing, so why wait? He winds his metal hand carefully around her waist and bites back a laugh when she stiffens slightly and almost drops her bottle again. They've done this before, so he knows it's okay, but it delights him that all he needs to do is disregard shirts to turn her into a fumbling mess. Gently, he turns her to face him.

Both of his hands come down to rest lightly on her waist while she clings to the water bottle in a near death grip. "Everything okay?" he asks, nose pressed to hers.

"Mhm," she mumbles. "You just… uh… don't have a shirt on."

Although he likes sleeping in just sweats and/or boxers, he's been sparing her from this kind of reaction. She's always staring at his arms when he wears tanks, so being shirtless seems like the right way to short circuit her brain. And it's working like a charm right now. That's filed away for later; he can use it as leverage to get out of mandatory public appearances. Or as payback for when she scrapes her nails across his left arm in that way that makes him dizzy.

"I don't. Got a problem?"

"Sort of." There's a short, breathy chuckle when he kisses her nose.

"Oh? So what are you gonna do about it?"

She leans back, the spell only partially broken, and sets her bottle off to the side, almost missing the counter completely because she's too busy trying not to break eye contact. Trying to regain composure. "Well, my love, I feel like whatever I tell you to do, you—"

The sentence hangs in the air, unfinished, her lips now too busy kissing him back. He was planning on letting her speak, get some more of their flirty repartee going, but he can't be held accountable for his actions when she calls him that.

The kiss is sweet—he can still taste her vanilla chapstick—though a little saltier than usual. But soft. So soft and wonderful. As he always reminds her that she is. Faintly, the sensation of her hands gripping his forearms registers. That, his biceps, and anywhere on his head are her usual spots, seemingly unsure if he'll let her hands wander. And he likes those places. But it's not where he wants her hands this time; he didn't stay shirtless for nothing, after all. And she's too shy to do it herself. Slowly he releases her waist, sliding his fingers down her arms and loving the goosebumps that follow before grabbing them instead. Guides them to his bare shoulders, then traces his fingers down them again before finally settling at her hips.

He's sweaty and smelly, he knows it, hates it, and he almost considers tearing himself away for a shower. Almost. The feel of her hands gently roaming the broad, hardened planes of his chest is so damn nice that everything else can wait. She's tentative, especially when she reaches his upper abs. A quick pause in the kiss to nod that yes it's okay, and she lets her hands continue their journey. It's a struggle not to laugh when she sighs pleasantly, fingers dancing over his abdomen and to his sides. But the trails of fire her touch leaves in its wake are enough to keep his mouth firmly pressed to hers, lest he find himself making embarrassing noises. Well, ones worse than the little huffs he gives every few moments. Which is likely to happen once she reaches back up to his left shoulder—

And it happens. An involuntary, throaty groan. He just can't help it. The scars are sensitive, and her hands are so tender and loving. Nothing like how he's used to being touched there. Nothing like how he's used to being touched anywhere between 1943 and now. Nothing like the medics of today, who are nice enough in their own right. But even that isn't the same.

No, this kind of touch is divine. A class all its own. And maybe that's just because it's Paige.

She laughs after a few moments and pulls away. She knows what she's doing; she's done it before, but usually his reaction isn't this bad. Even his knees are weaker now, which is embarrassing considering exactly who he is. Now's not really the moment to care about that, though. It's just the two of them. The sudden loss of her warmth is cause for him to whine. She only laughs harder and gently pats his left arm before whispering, "Go take a shower. You smell. And you're kind of sticky."

He cracks open his eyes finally and is met with her wonderful face. She looks almost as dazed as he feels, though her nose is wrinkled now. Another sigh escapes, although this time a dejected one, and he nods. Guess this is what he gets for trying to tease her. "Good idea." The thought of asking her to join crosses his mind, but they're not there yet. And that's okay. He'll gladly wait for her, especially if it means little moments like this. Where he can forget about the decades of bad touches, where he can melt into her touch, her laugh, her eyes. All things pleasant and loving and warm, where the only bad kind of cold in his life comes from how his bed feels the nights she's not there.

And if he has any say in the matter, those empty nights will end much sooner than later.

"Don't rush. I'll be here when you're clean again. After all, I'm not done with you."

She says that now, but he knows she'll turn back into that flustered mess when he comes out of the bathroom. So he just winks back at her and hides his smile when her bottom lip disappears and she turns red again. This is gonna be fun.