The plasma draw is relatively quick and painless, both Steve and Bucky finishing up in less than the typically allotted two hours. But, of course, it still feels like forever to them, unbearable boredom setting in just about four minutes after the needle is inserted.
Tessa spends the entirety of that time holed up with Bruce, poring over the nearly endless data pulled from the sites in Canada while also methodically piecing together this – according to Bruce – hairbrained scheme to somehow enhance her hypothalamus so it can heal itself. She's met with more banal, I don't know and I think that's a stretch arguments than she ever remembers hearing from the oh-so-cynical doctor when they've spitballed projects in the past.
"I'm about to ready to trade you in for Tony," she says at one point, running an exhausted hand through her hair as she leans back into the arm of his small – terribly uncomfortable – sofa.
He glares at her from behind his glasses, reflection of the fluorescent overhead lights burning into her retinas when she looks up at him. "Tony doesn't know anything about any of this. He'd be no help."
"Right now, you're no help," she gripes. "At least Tony would encourage me to keep thinking, instead of just shooting down everything I suggest."
He shuffles some papers back into their folders and returns to the giant computer screen in front of him. "Yeah, well… like I said, he doesn't know anything."
Her face falls into deep pout, bottom lip jutting sullenly as she drops her pensive gaze back to the laptop wobbling precariously on her outstretched legs. "Fine," she mutters to herself. "Guess I'll just sit here and wait to die then."
"Guess so," he returns blithely, never turning back to face her.
The two fall into an almost meditative silence, each working raptly on their own piece of this ongoing puzzle – Bruce intent on figuring out just what had happened to her to begin with, assuming that needed to be discovered before any sort of healing measures could be attempted. And Tessa eager to just move on and fix this thing already… by whatever means necessary.
By the time Bucky enters the office and taps Tessa on the shoulder, pulling her from her intensive contemplation and receiving a short, startled gasp in response, it's already nearly six in the evening. "You ready?" he asks gently, looking down at her with a worried, puckered brow.
"Yeah," she says simply, her voice crackling at the edges, laced with fatigue. "Yep, let's go." She slams shut her laptop, gives Bruce a quick nod of later, and accepts Bucky's hand so he can haul her up off the sofa. She rises with an exaggerated groan, some piece of her body popping loudly enough to reverberate through the small room.
"That sounded good," Bucky laughs as he tugs her out into the hall.
She rolls her neck, releasing another – albeit much subtler – crack from her spine. "I feel so old," she laments, her pathetic tone and equally pitiful shuffle causing a teasing smile to pull at the corners of his lips.
"Well, you are officially in your thirties now," he mutters, winding his fingers with hers as he gives her a small jerk into the elevator. She shoots him an utterly unamused look and he releases a short chuckle before changing the subject. "What are you thinking for dinner?"
She lets out a long yawn and leans heavily into his side, dropping her head to his shoulder. "I wasn't," she mumbles into him, the words getting lost in his deep blue Henley.
"I'll give you the choice of Ensure," he muses with a grin, "or mashed potatoes."
Her head pops up from his side, tired eyes suddenly wide with palpable enthusiasm. "From the box?" she asks excitedly.
He merely rolls his eyes – "What did I tell you about even talking about that shit?" – and steps out onto their floor, once again, tugging her behind him. "Mashed potatoes don't come from a damn box."
She steps swiftly in front of him and swings open their apartment door, sauntering inside and tossing over her shoulder as she goes, "Someday you'll see the error of your ways."
"I doubt it," he mutters, turning the corner into the kitchen and nearly colliding with her suddenly stilled body. He grabs her shoulders to steady himself and looks past her to see just what has her so eerily stagnate. There on the corner of the breakfast bar, seemingly dwarfing everything else in the room, is a ridiculously gigantic display of what must be at least two dozen long-stem, bloodred roses.
"Babe," she breathes out slowly, reaching out a single finger to trace along one absolutely perfect bud.
Bucky's shoulders drop, jaw clenches. "You have got to be kidding me," he seethes, any and all enjoyment he'd been feeling on the walk back to their apartment quickly draining from his body.
She glances over her shoulder at him, a hint of surprise pulling at her otherwise gleaming face. "You didn't do this?"
"No. But I know the son of a bitch who did," he mutters, voice thick with animosity.
Tessa steps forward and pulls the card from amid the long stems, sweet, crooked – perplexed – smile on her face. And she reads it aloud. "Because you deserve it. Happy Valentine's Day, sweet pea. Sam." She presses the tiny car to her chest, just over her heart and lets out an-all-too precious, "Awwww."
Bucky rolls his eyes and swipes the card from her hands. "I'll kill him," he mumbles as he stares down at the calligraphed note. Sweet pea? A low growl pulls from his chest, the corner of his lip tilting in an irritated snarl. How the hell did he even get these delivered so fast?
"Don't kill him," Tessa gripes, snatching back the card and replacing it in the thin plastic holder of the vase. "He's my valentine."
"You don't send flowers to another man's wife," he states bitterly, his petulant tone putting a terribly amused smirk on her face.
"Maybe it's because I'm married," she muses, grin growing. "Maybe now I'm this beautiful, mysterious, unattainable, forbidden fruit!"
He spits out a harsh scoff. "None of this is about you. He's just trying to piss me off."
Her brows shoot up in a quick expression of dismay – and annoyance. "Well… good to know it's not about me."
"He's just being a dick because… well, because he is a dick," he says with a low sigh. "I never should've let him follow me to the store." She cocks her head curiously, an invitation for him to go on, explain further. "They had all their cheap Valentine's Day crap out, and he practically started skipping down the damn aisle."
Tessa snorts out a quick chortle, picturing Sam prancing happily about red and pink teddy bears and trinkets.
"Should've seen his face when I told him we don't do that," he goes on with a laughing huff as he pushes past her and into the kitchen, over to the counter where a small bag of potatoes is waiting. "Thought he was gonna shit himself."
Her forehead crinkles, eyes narrowing as she directs an inquiring look at the back of his head. "What do you mean, we don't do that?"
He lets out an irritated moan and turns to face her, flashbacks of his earlier conversation causing his temper to flare once again. "We don't do Valentine's Day." Her eyes narrow further, brow creasing in confusion. "You and me," he issues out, hands flailing in exasperation. "We don't do it."
She shakes her head slowly. "But… what do you mean?"
He gives her a wide-eyed, utterly disbelieving stare, lips parting, but no words coming out.
"I mean," she starts slowly, trying to work things out in her own mind. "We don't always celebrate it. But – "
"We've never celebrated," he cuts her off casually before grabbing a peeler from the drawer to his side and turning back to his potatoes.
A pensive scowl rolls over her features as she thinks back. "I think we just… forgot," she muses simply. "I remember being in Seattle last year. I remember that someone brought in red velvet cupcakes. And I got really excited because… red velvet cupcakes. And when I asked what the occasion was…" She trails off briefly, emitting a small chuckle as she recalls, "I snuck away and called you. And I grabbed you a cupcake."
Now it's his turn to scowl, a confounded expression pulling at his face as he spins to face her once again. "No you didn't," he argues.
"I did. You were training so you didn't answer. But I left a voicemail."
He shakes his head dismissively. "I don't know how to work that," he admits blandly, not for the first time. "And there was no cupcake."
"Well, yeah. I ate it on the plane the next morning," she admits with a shrug. "But still…"
His expression softens, small smile cracking as his head slowly moves back and forth, a fond sort of sigh falling from his lips. "Well, thanks for the thought." And he moves over to the sink to make quick work of peeling the potatoes.
She stares at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed once again at the back of his head as she silently assesses him. "You were surrounded by valentines," she starts slowly, pensively. "And Sam reminded you that it was this week. And you told him that we don't do that?"
"Yeah," he utters with a casual shrug. "So?"
She points lazily back at the giant bouquet on the counter, not that he's able to see the gesture, so consumed with his prep work. "He said I deserve it," she goes on, tone a bit stiff. "Did you tell him that you don't think I deserve a valentine?"
The peeler drops to the sink with a clatter, naked potato slipping from his grasp as well. "What?" he asks, incredulity pouring from his wide blue eyes as he turns to face her. "No, of course not!"
"So you did get me something then?" she asks, a smug – somewhat teasing – lilt to her voice. She works to stifle a smile, clearly entertained by his sudden defensiveness. She had never really thought that he would say such a thing. Of course she wouldn't think that. And yet… her face falls, the burgeoning amusement slowly dissipating as she waits for an answer that doesn't come. "Did you really not get me anything?"
His jaw clenches and clicks to the side, an irritated smolder building as he grits out, "No. Because we don't do Valentine's Day."
She nods slowly, her gaze falling from his face to the floor, long dark hair billowing out in a curtain to conceal her disappointed grimace. "Oh. Okay."
"Tessa," he bites out, her name hitting her ears with a short, annoyed drawl. She looks up, sees that he's still somewhat fuming, but more than that he seems to be just plain annoyed… and confused. "What?"
She shrugs, frown tugging at her lips. "I just… I might've forgotten. I mean it's not exactly an important holiday, sure. But… I've never thought about… about doing something nice for you, and then just decided nope, not worth it." Her bright green eyes connect with his, a wounded quality shining through them. He feels a painful twinge in his gut as she asks, "You know how… hurtful that is?"
"Baby," he almost whines amid an irritated huff, his gaze quickly flitting away, all too eager to disconnect from those sad, disappointed eyes. "I didn't say you're not worth it. I'd never say that. It's just… it's just some stupid holiday that doesn't even mean anything. And that we've never… done. And… fuck. I can't believe Wilson actually got you those ridiculous damn flowers!" He launches abruptly forward and grabs the giant vase of roses off the counter, intent on getting rid of their offending beauty.
"Don't you dare!" she shouts after him, seeing him head for the front door. She steps out into his path and struggles to pull the bouquet from his grasp, water sloshing up over the lip of the vase. "These are mine!" He lets go and snorts out a tiny laugh when the weight of the display knocks her off-balance and sets her to stumble. He reaches out to steady her, but she immediately shakes off his helping hands, turning her back as he grasps at her. "You're an asshole," she mutters, pulling away and struggling to place the heavy flowers back up on the bar by herself.
"Oh, come on," he grumbles vaguely.
She leans into the counter and reaches up to gently pull apart the flowers, arranging the roses delicately, her fingers moving slowly, eyes tracking every subtle movement as her mind starts to whir. "I wonder…" she begins, tone soft but harsh as words spill unbidden from her lips. "If I weren't here right now, if I hadn't come home…" She pauses briefly as a voice inside cautions her to shut her damn mouth. But it quickly whips through her consciousness, leaving an unrepentant void in it's wake. Which allows her to go on to say, "Maybe you would do this stupid holiday with someone else. Maybe you would get Sarah Atkinson a ridiculous display of flowers."
His brain screams to a halt. The entire apartment – save the soft hum of Eddie's purrs from the other room – goes utterly silent, the air growing thick with a newfound tension. Before he can utter a word, a wave of tumultuous energy slams into Tessa's back and she blinks her eyes shut, a soft regretful sigh oozing out of her.
"What did you say to me?" he finally breathes out, words edging through tightly clenched teeth. When she doesn't turn to face him, nor make any move to answer him, he repeats, fury slowly simmering, "What the fuck did you just say to me?"
Still, she does not turn, just issues out a halfhearted shrug. Inside, she's screaming at herself to take it all back, to just apologize and blame the fatigue, the frustration, the lack of real food, the hormones, the cabin fever, the hurt feelings… But outside, her lips continue to carry on with a mind all their own, moving leisurely to say, "It would've been six months. Maybe that would've been enough time for you to finally be able to let go."
Again, silence. Still, rage and disbelief and bitterness swirl around him, pinging into her. But she's also able to discern regret and sorrow and pain. "That one of the memories you saw?" he asks, voice calm yet clipped. "Her telling me to let you go?"
She gives a single definitive nod – back still turned – before reaching up with an air of faux-nonchalance to pet at the deep red rose petals once more. "And others."
"Others?" he asks, taking a cautious step closer to her.
"I saw the way you looked at her," she announces, finally spinning around to face him. "When you were in Brazil. She was doing yoga. And I saw the way you looked at her."
His lips pinch tightly together, brows scrunching furiously. "You saw how she thought I looked at her, how she remembered things. Right?" He shuffles the tiniest bit closer, his hulking body looming over her. "You saw what was inside her head."
"Oh, come on James," she intones with a scoff. Her body leans further back into the counter in retreat, even as her chin juts defiantly forward, voice rising as she stares heatedly at him and demands, "Tell me you never wanted to fuck her. Tell me you never even thought about it."
He returns her fiery glare for a long moment, tense silence radiating between them as he breathes steadily through his nose, working to calm his aflame nerves. He cocks his head to the side, light blue eyes squinting and roving her face, studying her closely, carefully. "You're out of your fucking mind."
Her eyes blow wide. "I know what I saw!"
"Yeah?" he asks, taking an unsteady step back. "A look, huh? You wanna talk about looks, sweetheart," he issues out, tone rising in volume. "How 'bout the way you look at Thor every time he comes around?"
"What?" she shoots back, utterly incredulous. "That's… it's not the same thing."
Another step in retreat, backed up until his hip hits the countertop behind him. "How is it not the same?"
"Because Thor never sold you out!" she thunders, her face turning red. "Thor never… Single White Femaled you! Or…" Her brows knit together as she almost immediately begins to lose the thread of her tirade. "Or… me!"
"I don't know what the hell that means," he bites out, leaning forward, his stare callous. "But for the record, I didn't know she sold you out. I didn't know she had anything to do with… with anything!" His bright blue eyes begin to grow glassy, barely formed tears of both guilt and frustration slowly taking the place of anger and disbelief in his fiery stare. "You think – for even a second – that if I knew…" He trails off, lips pinching firmly shut.
Tessa's posture relaxes, her shoulders drooping as she takes in his just plain hurt energy… as she takes in his thoroughly pained and desperate stare. "I know," she murmurs softly.
"I trusted her," he issues out, voice thick and low. "I trusted her… and…"
"I know," she repeats, gaze dropping as her head nods stiffly.
"But I never wanted her. What she wanted… that was never gonna happen."
She looks back up at him, locks onto his stormy eyes, now brightly glistening with unshed tears. "I know," she says again tone reticent. "I'm sorry."
His head pivots slowly back and forth, face pulling into a tight grimace. "How could you say that to me?"
Her eyes blink tightly shut. "I'm sorry. I just… I…" She slowly opens her eyes, stares right at him, long and hard, fear and insecurity showing in her muddled deep green gaze. "Sometimes I don't get… I don't understand how…" She lets out a short, wet laugh. "She's so pretty. She's hot. And she's… she was… I don't know… perfect for you."
His face twists into an expression of utter bewilderment. "What?"
She shakes her head back and forth, stare dropping to the kitchen floor, blurring with sudden tears. "I… I just worry…" she breathes out amid a sniffle. "It's just… it's happened before." A quick and dismissive shrug is followed simply by an altogether evasive, "I don't know."
"What do you mean it's happened before?" he asks, forehead furrowing even deeper, brows knitting tighter together. "What happened?"
She sniffles again and reaches up to scrub at her eyes, gruff, irritated groan falling from her lips. "Forget it," she mumbles, blinking the final remnants of tears away before looking back at him and putting on an appeasing – and entirely unconvincing – smile. "Never mind. Just… I'm sorry."
His eyes narrow suspiciously. "No. What did you mean?"
Her shoulders drop, brows rise, and a deep sigh pulls from her chest. "I've been cheated on," she confesses, tone casual. "Kind of a lot. So…" She shakes her head back and forth and quickly directs her gaze up at the ceiling in an attempt to stave off another wave of pitiful tears.
Bucky blows out a long, deep sigh and leans heavily into the counter behind him, reclining into it. "Baby," he breathes out, head shaking slowly back and forth. He shifts awkwardly, foot to foot, his eyes trained on the small movement for a long moment while he thinks. When he finally looks up and meets her gaze, his earnest stare is filled with such sweet tenderness that it causes something in Tessa's chest to catch. "I love you more than anything. You have to know that. And I would never – never – do that to you. I'd never cheat on you. I'd never leave you. Not for anyone. Not for anything."
She stares into his painfully sincere gaze for a long moment, before issuing out, "I told you before," amid an evasive shrug. "Everyone leaves."
"No," he bellows out, pushing off the counter and pulling himself to his full height in front of her. "Not me. I would never do that to you. I love you. But – damnit, Tessa – I'm so tired of trying to get you to see things that you just… won't see."
"What the hell does that mean?" she asks, brows pulling together in dismay.
Again he shakes his head, lobbing it slowly – incredulously – back and forth. He takes a single, deliberate step closer to her, his hands fisting at his sides to keep from reaching out and touching her. "I just want you to believe me, doll. Just believe me when I tell you that you're beautiful…"
She lets out a dubious snort.
"And that I love you," he goes on, smirking a bit at her ugly dismissal.
A small pout stretches across her face. "I do," she argues dully.
He releases his fists and reaches between them to gather her hands in his, twining their fingers together. "And that you're the only one for me," he says, cocking an almost challenging brow at her.
She rolls her eyes and leans into him, dropping her head to his chest. "Fine," issuing from her in a short scoff muffled by his shirt.
He wiggles his fingers from her grasp and uses them to pivot her chin up until she meets his gaze. "I mean it, baby," he tells her, the words tumbling naturally into the small space between them. "You are perfect for me. You are the only one I want to be with. Ever."
She gives a single, firm nod before her head falls once again to his broad chest. "Okay," she mutters into him, skepticism still roiling in her gut. "Okay."
000
The next day – which just happens to officially be Valentine's Day – begins with an ass-kicking.
Bucky was supposed to go back to running all the morning drills with the support team, but he decides instead to postpone their regular sessions and give them all an impromptu sparring lesson. There's no practice on their part, no interaction at all, in fact. Instead, the team is ordered to simply sit back and watch as he displays as many convoluted moves and techniques as he can think of… all using Sam as his demo dummy.
"Send my wife flowers again," he tells the groaning man at the end of what feels like twelve hours in the ring, "And I'll stop pulling my punches."
Sam's face drains of color, save the deep blue-black collecting beneath his left eye. "You mean to tell me that was going easy on me?" He hugs his bruised ribs as he lumbers from the gym, turning to Bucky on his way out, sputtering pathetically, "Next time… I'm gonna get ya next time." He almost trips over his own two feet, letting out a rather high-pitched squeal as he painfully regains his balance. "I'm gonna go rest up now. But… you better watch out!"
Bucky just shakes his head, a small, mollified smile pulling across his face as he turns back to the team, finally ready to get back to work.
When he arrives home that evening – pleasantly exhausted and eerily tranquil following hours of training sessions and workouts – it's to a delightfully sweet smell flooding the apartment. He follows his nose into the kitchen, biting back an unbidden snarl at the giant bouquet of roses still mocking him from the breakfast bar. And he cocks his head curiously at the neat rows of cupcakes on the counter, each alternating with white and pink icing. He steps closer and narrows his eyes suspiciously. The kitchen is clean – no dirty dishes piled high in the sink, no flour and sugar sprinkled across the countertops – but the oven is still a bit warm, so it would seem that these little delights are homemade.
"How was your first day back?" Tessa asks from the doorway, her voice causing Bucky to jolt in surprise. She sniggers a bit when he turns to face her. "I thought no one could sneak up on you."
He shrugs – "I was distracted." – and peers back down at the tiny desserts. "You did this?"
She nods, folding her arms across her chest as she leans casually in the doorway. "Mm-hmm. Red velvet."
He grins, lips curling and eyes crinkling at the edges. "And they're… edible?" he teases lightly.
She rolls her eyes, dropping her hands as she steps into the room, gliding over towards him. "Yes, they're edible. I'm not completely inept." Her eyes shift away down toward the cupcakes, a bright blush peppering her cheeks. "Sam may have helped," she admits with a noncommittal shrug. She raises a single, accusatory brow when looking back up at him. "Not that he was that much help, what with his eye being swollen shut."
He scoffs loudly and drops his hands to her hips, gives her a quick tug to pull her against him. "He took a couple of rough shots is all. He's fine."
"Sometimes I think you forget what it's like to be a weak, fragile, non-super soldier like the rest of us," she tells him, nestling against his chest as he winds his arms lazily around her middle. "Things like fists hurt."
"Psh." He pulls back just a bit, reaches up with his right hand and winds a loose lock of her hair around his fingers. "You're sure as shit not weak," he muses as he wraps the tendril round and round before letting it spring back into a loosely coiled curl by her shoulder. "And Sam can hold his own too. Mostly. Sometimes."
"Mm-hmm," she hums, a reprimanding note to her voice.
He shifts closer to her, drops his face a bit lower until his nose is buried in her hair, lips lingering just above the shell of her ear. "You don't trust me, dollface?" he whispers with a smirk, arms tightening around her to keep her in place as she tries to wiggle away.
"Ugh," she moans, struggling to pull back. "I knew that wasn't gonna end. And to think, not only did I make you cupcakes, I even cleaned up after myself!"
He releases his hold, just enough for her to be able to lean back and look at him, though his fingers remain laced behind her low back to keep her steadily in his arms. He gazes down at her for a moment before a short laugh escapes him. "I think you missed a spot," he mutters with a wide smile as he looks down to see a swath of pink icing trailing along her jaw.
She tilts her head to the side to better show off the partially dried buttercream. "Nope, I didn't miss that. I'm saving it for later."
"Oh, really?" he questions lightly. Delight pools in his gut, flickers in his chest, as he leans down and licks the long line of sweetness from her skin. What he doesn't get in the first pass, he gently nibbles off, pulling a soft giggle from her. His lips and tongue trace their way along her jaw, up to her ear, then back down her neck before finally coming to rest near her collarbone. She lets out the softest, sweetest little moan, and he responds by nipping her flesh.
"Ow!" she squeals, jumping back with a laugh.
But she doesn't get far, his arms locking around her and swiftly pulling her back to him. "You taste good," he mumbles into her neck as his palm rises to the middle of her back and presses her closer.
Her left arm wraps tightly around him, right mysteriously absent as she says, "I was going to make you dinner. But if you really want dessert first…"
He pulls back a bit and looks her in the eye. "Dinner? What, toast and eggs?" he teases with a smirk.
She snakes away and gives him a little shove, chuckles when he feigns being hurt. "Mac and cheese," she intones with a wiggle of her brows. "Straight from the box."
"How'd I get so lucky?" he asks, eyes pulling away to glance in his periphery where he sees her right hand wrapped around a rather large, pink-frosted cupcake, fingers absently dipping into the icing. He lets out a small sigh. "You'll be sick if you eat that."
"Nonsense!" She pulls swiftly away, shuffling back in a hurry, until her hip collides with the far counter. The cupcake is nestled tightly against her chest, pink buttercream pocking her sweater. "Don't look at me like that," she warns, noting the crazed quality to his gaze. "This one is mine."
He looks ready to pounce, posture steeled, face painted with amusement. "You're not gonna share?"
She almost squeaks, her voice so high pitched when she thrusts a single finger forward to indicate the rows of cupcakes behind him – still cradling her chosen one close – and says, "Get your own!"
He takes a slow, deliberate step towards her, smile splitting his face as he watches her vibrate with barely contained glee. "Maybe I want that one."
She eyes him suspiciously for about half a second longer, her jaw ticking to the side as she works to suppress a grin. Then she leaps back, soaring out into the hallway before barreling into their bedroom, a long-winded, "Nooooo!" trailing behind her.
By the time he steps into the room, she's already got half of the cupcake shoved into her mouth, pink icing glazing her lips as she sits curled protectively around herself up near the headboard. Her naked heels slip on the pillows as she tries to somehow climb further up the bed and burrow deeper in.
Bucky shakes his head back and forth, small chuckles rumbling up from his chest as he steps over to the foot of the bed, knees butting up against the comforter draped over its edge. "That's not very nice," he reprimands with a sultry smirk. "Sharing is caring," falling from his lips in a soft growl as he slowly climbs atop the bed and begins inching his way towards her.
She swallows the mound of cake in her mouth, nearly choking on it, and glances down at the rest in her hand. Narrowing her eyes and leisurely licking her lips, she says to him, "Where's my Valentine's Day present?"
He sneaks closer, moving purposefully on all fours until he's a breath away from her, hovering above her. "You told me once that you didn't need any more cheap crap," he says with a raised brow.
She shrugs. "Maybe I was lying."
His lips pull into a crooked, smug smirk. "Said it while you were hauling bags of junk to the trash chute."
"So?"
He quirks his head at her. "I bought you pearl earrings once, and you lost them."
Her shoulders stiffen, voice taking on a defensive edge as she argues, "I didn't lose them. I just never wear them."
"The last time I gave you flowers, you forgot to put them in water and then cried when they wilted overnight."
Her lips slam shut, pulling into a tight pout. "I made you cupcakes," she mutters pathetically. Then, looking at the mess of icing and cake still in her hand, she asks, "What do I get for my trouble?" He leans in and takes a bite from the heap in her hand, slowly pulling his tongue across her palm to lap up the frosting. She snorts out a laugh despite herself and whines, "Heeeey."
He looks up at her from beneath heavy-lidded eyes. "What do you want?" he asks, savoring the sweet treat on his tongue before taking another mouthful.
"Hmm…" Her head flops back dramatically, pensive expression taking over her face as she continues to leave her filthy hand raised between them, seemingly oblivious to the fact that her husband now has his lips puckered around one of her icing-clad fingers. A sly grin grows as she watches him from the corner of her eye, his mouth sliding from the final finger with a wet, sticky pop.
With the cupcake gone and her hand licked mostly clean, Bucky moves on, scooting closer and pressing his face back into the crook of her neck. "I can go run out and buy you a teddy bear," he mutters into her as his fingers slip beneath the hem of her sweater.
She shifts a bit to let him tug the sweater up and off her body, her hair flying out in a staticky mess as he grips the shirt and chucks it across the room. "Hm," she hums again, tilting her head so his lips can slide easily along her neck, down to her shoulder. "A Bucky Bear," she muses just as his tongue curls beneath the strap of her tank top, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Whatever you want, baby doll," he whispers. His hands snake up beneath her tank top, the tickle of cold metal fingertips causing her to giggle and twitch beneath him.
"A Ducati," she states plainly, voice firm despite the stifled giggles still peppering at the edges.
"Fat chance," he mumbles into her with an unamused snort.
"A new playmate for Eddie?" she tries next, the words hitching a bit as she reclines her head back even further to give him more access to her neck.
He sucks a single rose red mark into the flesh just below her hairline, lips sliding off with a slow, wet smack. "No way in hell."
She wiggles beneath him, sliding down the pillows just a bit. And she turns her face into his, capturing his lips with her own for one long, languid kiss. As their lips melt together, he makes a move to pull her tank top off, fingers winding in the soft, stretchy fabric and slowly tugging upward. But she jerks away, kiss quickly forgotten as her hands fly down to lay atop his, halting their action. Her voice is small, sheepish, shy. "No."
He leans back a bit, fingers never moving from her waist, and stares at her long and hard. "I want to see you," he says, his voice low and sincere, deep and amorous. "I wanna see my girl."
She ducks her face away, but says nothing.
"Please, baby," he mumbles into her, dropping his face to her shoulder as his palms – still buried beneath her top – pull forward and cup her ribs. "It's been so long since I've seen you." He lazily traces his thumb over the thin surgical scar at her core from her nephrectomy, the feel of the slightly raised cord of flesh still sparking in him a feeling of absolute gratitude. Still – always – serving as a reminder of how close he came to losing her, how lucky he is to still have her… here… in his arms. He pecks idly at her neck. "You're so beautiful."
She snorts a bitter laugh in his ear, her nervously clenched muscles relaxing just a hair at his continued touch. "Lies."
"I wouldn't know how to lie to you if I tried," he mutters, lips smiling as they press into her skin. "Thought you were gonna start trying to believe me."
She lets out a low, disgruntled moan. "But I'm not," she whines. "Not now. Now, I'm ugly."
He pulls swiftly back and gives her a reprimanding glare, his fingers tightening around her ribs. "Nobody talks about my baby like that."
His grip tickles and she snorts out a laugh before giving him a small shove. Then she scoots as far back as she can to put some distance between them. A single look, just one quick, assessing gaze is all it takes for her inhibitions to melt away. She swings around towards the nightstand and grabs the small box of condoms from atop it. "I'll take it off," she intones with a sly brow raised, "if you put it on."
She tosses him the box and watches him glare at it almost resentfully from the corner of his eye as it sits in his open palms. "You gonna help?" he asks her, small frown tugging down on his plump, pink lips.
She shakes her head, chewing on the corner of her own lip to bite back a grin. "Nope," she declares, popping the P purposively. "You're an Avenger, James," she intones playfully, slinking closer to him. "You should know how to suit up by now."
He rolls his eyes. She wiggles her brows. And not another word is uttered about that damn, stupid holiday that they most assuredly do not do.
Ta-da! I know... it's about a week late. But I figured you wouldn't mind just a bit of a wait to get some nice - sticky - sweetness. So much love! Anyway, thanks for reading, and feel free to drop a review, if you so desire. Thanks!
