Avengers' Tower Friday Night

Bucky slammed his keys onto the counter, too hard. The sharp crack echoed through the quiet halls of the Tower, a violent punctuation to his mood. His blood was still running too hot, his grip too tight, his pulse hammering a fraction too fast.

Steve was already there, standing in the kitchen with his hands braced against the counter, jaw tight. Waiting.

Bucky paused, exhaling hard through his nose as he ran a rough hand over his jaw. He was trying to rein it in, to be the picture of restraint—but the drive back had done nothing to settle him. If anything, it had only made it worse.

Finally, Steve broke the silence. "Dinner was nice."

Bucky, without missing a beat, replied flatly, "Bet it was."

Steve exhaled slowly, the sound thick with patience. Bucky braced for it, for the steadying presence that had always been Steve Rogers—a man who liked his battles clean, his conflicts logical. But there was nothing clean or logical about tonight.

"What does that mean?" Steve asked, his voice edged with something carefully restrained.

Bucky grabbed a glass from the kitchen, shrugged. "Nothing."

Steve sighed. It was such a Steve thing to do. And maybe it was the fact that Evie had gotten under his skin, or maybe it was that he'd left her apartment feeling like he was crawling out of his own body, but suddenly, Bucky couldn't take it anymore.

He turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossing over his chest as he closed his eyes and forced himself to take a slow breath.

"Did something happen?" Steve's brow furrowed.

Bucky exhaled through his nose. "Nope."

Steve's eyes flickered up. "You sure?"

Bucky yanked off his jacket, jaw clenching. "I just drove her home. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

Steve's fingers curled against the counter. "Didn't say it wasn't."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

Steve pushed off the counter, stepping forward, voice clipped. "Because I know you, Bucky." His words were sharp, precise. "And you're acting like—"

"Like what?" Bucky cut in, voice rough.

Steve's eyes flashed. "Like a guy who wanted a hell of a lot more than just to drive her home."

Silence. Bucky's shoulders tensed. Steve wasn't wrong. And that pissed him off even more.

"So what?" Bucky shot back. "You think that just because you took her out once, it means you've got the right to dictate what I'm allowed to want?"

Steve's brows pulled together, offense flickering in his expression. "That's not what I'm saying."

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head. "Sure as hell sounds like it."

Steve's frustration boiled over. "For God's sake, Bucky, we can't let this happen to us again."

Bucky froze.

Because there it was. The thing neither of them had actually said out loud. Not until now.

"She's not Ginny." Steve's voice was rough, like the words were made of something heavy. "But history is going to repeat itself if we don't act differently this time."

Bucky's jaw tightened.

"I like her, Buck." Steve exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. "And I know you feel it too, so don't stand there and act like—"

Bucky cut him off, voice tight. "You don't know what I feel."

Steve stilled. His blue eyes flickered with something restrained. Something just as dangerous.

"You're right." Steve's voice was calm now. Too calm. "But I know what I saw tonight."

Bucky's stomach coiled. Steve's next words were soft. Measured. Unforgiving.

"You're losing this time."

The words hit like a gunshot.

Bucky took a slow, steady breath…and then he smirked. Slow. Mocking. His voice was low, edged with something sharp.

"Funny," he murmured. "I was just about to say the same thing to you."

Steve's jaw tightened. Bucky's smirk didn't fade. The air between them stretched. Too tight. Too sharp.

And then—their phones vibrated at the same time.

Both of them paused. Steve reached for his first. Bucky, slower, pulled his from his pocket.

They both looked down.

One message.

From Evie.

Seven days is too long. Are you both free tomorrow?

The silence between them shifted. The heat, the hostility? Gone. Replaced with something else. Something worse. Steve was the first to look up. Bucky lifted his gaze a second later. Suddenly, they weren't fighting each other anymore. Because neither of them had won. Neither of them had lost.

The game was still being played.

Evie had just made her next move.

Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Are you still mad?"

Bucky stared at the phone for half a second longer. Then, after a long beat, he muttered, "Not at her."

Footsteps sounded from across the room. Then Sam's voice, dry and unimpressed. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Both men turned.

Sam stood in the doorway, wearing sweatpants and an old Air Force t-shirt, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed. He squinted at them. "Y'all fighting? Over a girl? At this age?"

He shook his head as he crossed the living room and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. Taking a sip, he strolled up to them. "I shouldn't be the one telling you two how to act. How bad could this possibly be?"

Neither of them answered.

Sam looked between them. Then his gaze dropped to their phones. He saw the text. Paused.

"Oh, shit." He grinned, shaking his head. "You're both fucked."

And with that, he took another sip, clapped Steve on the shoulder, and turned toward his room. "On that note, I'm going back to bed. Try not to break anything until morning. I need my REM."

A moment of silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city outside.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, his heart rate finally slowing, rational thoughts filtering back in. "So, what do we do?"

Steve's voice was low, deliberate. "We go."

"Steve, are you out of your mind? She's a kid." Bucky hissed.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, looking more uncharacteristically disheveled than Bucky had seen in years, before jabbing a finger into Bucky's chest. "Don't act like you haven't had the exact same thoughts I have. I saw you at the arcade. I saw you look at her tonight. For God's sake, Buck, you came home ready to rip someone apart. I haven't seen you this—" He paused, searching for the word. "Frustrated," he settled on, though his eyes said he meant something stronger. "In years. You can act like you're above this but we both know if she'd invited you in tonight, you wouldn't be here having this conversation with me."

Bucky set his jaw, rubbing his hand along it as he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment, sighing heavily. When he opened them, something had shifted. His voice was quiet, but firm. "She's only twenty-five."

"She's still an adult. She's made it clear what she wants." Steve countered, his voice unwavering. "Don't tell me you saw her in that dress earlier and thought about her age."

"We're a little more than adults, Stevie." Bucky huffed, pacing around the dimly lit living room. "We're decades older than her."

Steve's eyes darkened. "It doesn't seem to faze her. Quite the opposite, I'd argue."

"Jesus, Steve," Bucky muttered, shaking his head. "Aren't you supposed to be the one talking us out of this? The voice of reason? The morality compass?"

Steve exhaled, running a hand down his face. "I'm having a really hard time thinking of any reason I shouldn't pick up the phone and tell her we'll be there tomorrow." His voice was calm. Too calm.

Bucky dropped down onto the couch next to him, rubbing his face. "Okay," he sighed. "Say… you do that. We go. Then what?"

Steve stared blankly ahead, absently reaching for the half-empty beer that had been forgotten on the counter.

"I don't know." He exhaled, his composure cracking just slightly.

"I mean," Bucky ran a hand down his jaw, voice edged with something heavier. "I get it. Believe me, I fucking get it. But let's look at this rationally. She's twenty-five. We're… not. She's the spitting image of a girl we knew when we were teenagers. She's Stark's prized fucking pony, whatever the hell kind of engineering program he's running." He let out a slow breath. "And as if all of that weren't reason enough to forget this whole thing… there's still the most glaringly obvious issue."

Steve chuckled dryly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What's that?"

Bucky leaned back against the sofa, letting his head drop against the cushion.

"There's two of us… and one of her."

A moment of silence stretched between them.

Steve's voice was low, cautious.

"Why does that have to be a problem?"

Saturday Morning Training Room

The dull thud of fists against pads echoed through the training room. Steve exhaled sharply, throwing another controlled punch. Sam absorbed the hit, pivoted, and shot him a pointed look.

"Alright, man. Out with it."

Steve frowned. "With what?"

Sam scoffed. "Don't play dumb. You and Bucky were acting up last night."

Steve threw another punch. Harder. "We were fine."

Sam laughed. "Oh, you were fine? That's why you two were talking like you were one step away from throwing hands in the living room?"

Steve's jaw ticked.

Seeing he was onto something, Sam smirked. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

Steve threw another punch. Harder. Faster.

Not missing a beat, Sam shifted his stance, blocking with ease. "So. Who pissed off who first?"

Steve exhaled through his nose. "It wasn't like that."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so it wasn't about Evie?"

Steve stilled.

"Bingo." Sam's smirk widened.

Steve huffed, stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

"Alright. Let's hear it." Sam dropped his gloves, grabbing a water bottle.

Steve shook his head. "It's complicated."

"Yeah? Well, lucky for you, I love complicated." Sam took a sip.

Steve exhaled, stretching his shoulder. "It's just… Evie."

Sam scoffed. "Right, that's been established."

Steve ignored him. "She's—" He hesitated. "—I haven't felt this way in a long time."

Sam leaned against the ropes. "That's a nice way of saying you're down bad, Rogers."

Steve sighed. "I'm not—"

Sam raised a hand. "Man, please. You took her to dinner last night, got all dressed up, probably gave her your best old-school charm, and then you let Bucky drive her home? I don't even need to see the game tape to know that was a bad play."

Steve's jaw tightened.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "What, too soon?"

Steve exhaled, rolling his neck. "You don't get it."

Sam shrugged. "Then make me get it."

Steve was quiet for a second. Then—finally—he spoke. "It's not just about Evie."

Sam tilted his head. "What else is there?"

Steve's voice was measured. "There was a girl. A long time ago."

Sam's eyebrows raised slightly.

Steve exhaled. "Her name was Ginny."

Sam leaned in. "Ohhh. Do tell."

Steve gave him a look.

Sam held up his hands. "I'm listening. Go on."

Steve sighed, running a hand down his face. "She was our friend. Bucky and I—we both liked her. Really liked her. And it was bad."

Sam frowned. "Bad how?"

Steve hesitated. Then, quietly, "We almost ruined everything."

Sam's expression shifted. Because Steve wasn't one to be dramatic. This was really weighing on him.

Steve rolled his shoulders, voice low. "She didn't want to choose. We weren't ready to share. Couldn't handle it. We let our feelings with her overshadow the friendship we had with each other. We got so…territorial that she decided she was done with us. We realized we screwed up too late, tried to fix things, say we could be friends like we all used to be, but then the draft came, and we lost it all anyway." He exhaled sharply. "It's the only time I've ever seen Bucky as an enemy. Even when he wasn't…Bucky."

Sam was silent. Then— "Damn."

Steve huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah."

Sam processed. His eyes narrowed.

"So, wait. Let me get this straight." He pointed at Steve. "You and Bucky fought over a girl back in the day."

Steve nodded.

Sam pointed at him again. "And now, all these years later… a girl who looks exactly like her shows up out of nowhere?"

Steve hesitated. Then, reluctantly— "…Yeah."

Sam blinked. "Oh, that's messed up."

Steve sighed. "Tell me about it."

Sam, ignoring him, leaned forward. "So, what's the game plan, Cap? You gonna learn from the past, or you two gonna crash and burn again?"

Steve exhaled, dropping his head and sending sweat droplets shooting for the floor. "I don't know."

Sam lifted his hands. "You don't know?"

Steve raked a hand through his hair. "She's not Ginny."

Sam folded his arms. "But?"

Steve's throat worked. "But we weren't ready then." His voice was quiet. "And I don't know if we're ready now."

Sam considered that. "Well. I do know one thing."

Steve looked up.

Sam grinned. "Based on that text, she sure as hell ain't waiting for you to figure it out."

Evie's Apartment

Evie tossed her phone onto the nightstand and collapsed onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her heart was still racing, her pulse still thrumming in her ears. She felt wild. Like she was balancing on the edge of something. Like she was one step away from toppling into an abyss—and the worst part?

She liked it.

Tonight had been...intriguing.

Dinner with Steve had been dangerous in an entirely different way—soft, easy, slow-burn tension that made her feel safe, warm, wanted. He made her laugh. He listened. He looked at her like she was something to be admired, something to be kept.

Steve made her want to prove how good she could be.

Bucky had made her want to do the opposite.

That car ride? The elevator? The way his metal hand had felt against her spine—cold, deliberate, possessive? He unraveled her one breath at a time, one touch at a time, until she wasn't sure if she was still standing on solid ground. He didn't just make her feel wanted. He made her feel claimed.

Fuck it.

Evie sat up, grabbing her phone, thumbing through her texts, rereading the last one she'd sent.

Seven days is too long. Are you both free tomorrow?

She had sent it on impulse. On instinct. On wine-drunk desire.

Because she needed to see them again. Both of them. And she wanted them to know it.

Her phone buzzed. The screen illuminated in the dim room, casting light against her sheets.

Steve: We're both free. Who do you want to pick you up?

Evie grinned, pulse spiking.

She didn't hesitate.

Evie: Both. Meet at my door. I trust you both remember the way.

She hit send.

Tossing her phone back onto the nightstand, she leaned back against the pillows, grinning to herself.

This game was no longer a game.

Tomorrow night, someone was going to break.

Saturday Night Steve's Car

The drive was tense.

Steve's knuckles flexed against the steering wheel, his jaw tight, eyes locked on the road ahead. Bucky sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, his fingers tapping impatiently against his bicep. Neither had spoken much since leaving the Tower.

Because they both knew exactly where they were headed and what they were walking into.

Steve exhaled, grip tightening as he flicked on the turn signal. "This is a mistake."

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You're the one who said we should go."

Steve didn't argue, didn't even look over. "Yeah. I did."

Another stretch of silence. The city lights blurred past the windshield, the quiet hum of the tires against the pavement doing nothing to fill the space between them.

Steve cleared his throat. "You think she's playing with us?"

Bucky's fingers stilled. His voice was even. "No."

That admission should've made Steve feel better. It didn't.

He adjusted his grip, his thumb brushing absently over the worn leather of the steering wheel. "So what happens tonight?"

Bucky didn't answer right away. He let the question hang between them, let it settle in the space filled with too many unspoken thoughts. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. "Guess that depends on us."

Steve glanced over. "Meaning?"

Bucky turned his head, meeting his gaze, expression unreadable. "Meaning we need to decide if we're done fighting this."

Steve swallowed, looking back at the road. He already knew his answer. He'd known it the second she'd sent that text.

Bucky sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know how this works, Steve."

Neither did he. Not really. But he knew one thing for certain. Neither of them wanted to turn around.

The streetlights cast sharp shadows through the truck as Steve pulled onto Evie's street, slowing as they approached her building. Bucky shifted, glancing toward the entrance, where the doorman was already eyeing them with recognition.

Steve put the truck in park, exhaling slowly. "We go in there together."

Bucky's hand hovered over the door handle. "And then what?"

Steve didn't hesitate. "We find out if she's playing games or if she really wants this. Us. If she does…"

He let the words hang, heavy with unspoken possibility.

Bucky nodded once, a slow, measured movement. Then, with nothing left to say, they both climbed out of the truck.

Saturday Night Evie's Apartment

Evie opened the door to both of them standing there.

Steve was all polished charm. A crisp button-down, sleeves rolled up to the forearms, looking impossibly put together. Bucky was all dark intensity. His black Henley stretched across broad shoulders, jaw already set, eyes sharp. They were both watching her. Not moving. Just taking her in.

And fuck. She felt it. Right down to her bones.

A slow smile curled at her lips. "Seven days was too long," she murmured, leaning against the doorframe like she wasn't already unraveling.

Steve's jaw ticked. "Yeah. It was."

Bucky's gaze didn't waver. "You gonna let us in, doll?"

Evie tilted her head, dragging out the moment—watching the way they waited for her, the tension in the space between them so thick it was practically tangible. Then—stepping aside, opening the door wider— "Depends. You boys play cards?"

The snap of the deck shuffled between Steve's hands.

Bucky sat across from Evie, rolling his shoulders, casual but always watching. The apartment felt different tonight. Warmer. Heavier. Evie poured three glasses of wine, the scent of aged oak and dark fruit curling into the air as she handed them out. She wasn't even sure they needed it—the night was already buzzing.

Steve dealt the first hand, the snap of the cards against the table filling the quiet between them. "You know," Steve said, grinning slightly as he picked up his cards, "the last time I played poker, it was with a bunch of guys in my unit who thought bluffing meant yelling really loud."

Evie smirked, lifting her glass. "And how'd that work out for you?"

Steve shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. "I won. But mostly because I had the best poker face."

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "That's because you had the best face, period."

Evie laughed softly, watching the way Steve ducked his head, that boyish blush creeping in.

"See," she said, tilting her head as she glanced at Bucky, "I always thought you were the card shark."

Bucky smirked, flicking a glance at Steve before looking back at her. "That's 'cause I cheat."

Steve rolled his eyes. "He doesn't cheat. He just gets in your head until you forget how to play."

Evie grinned, setting down a card. "Sounds like a cheater to me."

Bucky leaned back, resting his arm along the back of the couch. "Sounds like you're looking for trouble."

Her pulse kicked up. Just a little. Just enough.

The touches started small. Steve's knee brushed against hers under the table. Bucky's fingers slid over hers when he passed her a card. Steve leaned over to grab the deck, his shoulder pressing into hers just slightly longer than necessary. Bucky placed a hand on her wrist absentmindedly, holding her still for a second before letting go. And Evie felt it all. Every single one.

By the time they were three rounds in, the air was shifting. The wine was making everything looser.

The conversation lowered, slowed. Evie could feel Steve watching her. She could feel Bucky waiting. And so, she set her cards down. Picked up her wine.

And said, "I had an interesting dream earlier this week."

Steve's hand stilled on his glass. Bucky's fingers stopped mid-shuffle. Both of them looking at her now. Focused. Locked in. Evie took her time as she set the scene, relishing how they hung on every word.

As she finally reached the part they'd been hungrily waiting for, Evie paused. She tilted her head, watching them, the way tension coiled between their shoulders. "One of you was behind me. The other—" she trailed off, letting the words hang, letting their imaginations fill in the rest. She swirled her wine, eyes flickering between them. "I was helpless. Warm. Surrounded." A slow pause. "I couldn't tell whose hands were on me. I didn't care."

Bucky exhaled, sharp and controlled. Steve's jaw flexed.

She took a sip of wine, voice softer as she slowly explained the rest of the dream. "It felt inevitable. Like it had always been leading there."

Bucky leaned back, his jaw tight. Steve's grip on his wine tightened so much she feared for the integrity of the glass.

And when she finished, there was only silence. Thick. Heavy. Alive.

Steve's voice came first. Low. Hoarse. Like he had to drag the words out.

"Was it a good dream?"

Evie smirked. Didn't blink. Didn't hesitate. And said, "I've gone to sleep every night since hoping to have it again."

Steve and Bucky looked at each other. A silent exchange. A decision.

And then—

Bucky tilted his head, voice low. "Think we'd be more comfortable on the couch, Rogers?"

Steve, watching Evie carefully, smirked. "Yeah. I think we would."

Evie exhaled slowly.

This wasn't competition anymore. This was collusion. This was them deciding, together, to take control.

She stood first, walking to the oversized sectional and intentionally sinking onto the small corner cushion, perpendicular to the longer side where she knew they'd sit. Right where she could look at both of them. Feel both sets of eyes on her.

The table had been a buffer—small, but present. But here? Here, there was nothing.

The warmth of the wine lingered in her bloodstream, heightening everything. The scent of Steve's cologne—clean, masculine, something subtly old-fashioned—drifted in as he settled in front of her. Beside him, Bucky leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees, an intensity in his eyes that made her pulse jump.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Steve, eyes still on her, smirked slightly. "So, tell me something, Evie."

She glanced at him, tilting her head. "Something like what?"

Steve took his time. His voice was smooth, but edged with something deeper. "What do you think really makes a good poker face?"

Evie smiled. "Not giving yourself away."

Steve hummed. "Hmm. And how are you at that?"

"You tell me." Evie raised an eyebrow.

Steve didn't break eye contact. "I think you like playing games."

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, leaning back. "No shit."

Steve grinned, but his gaze didn't waver. "I also think you like winning."

"Doesn't everybody?" Evie took a slow sip of her wine.

Steve's voice dropped just slightly. "Not like you do."

Something about the way he said it sent a flicker of heat down her spine.

Bucky watched them both, his expression unreadable. Then, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, as if amused. "You two gonna keep dancing around it all night?"

Evie turned to him. "Dancing around what, Barnes?"

Bucky tilted his head, studying her, his metal fingers tapping idly against the glass in his hand. "You said seven days was too long."

She held his gaze, trying her best to look innocent. "It was."

Bucky's eyes darkened slightly. "Then quit stalling."

Evie's breath caught. The air thickened.

Steve's arm was draped along the back of the couch now, the faintest brush of his fingertips against her shoulder blade making her hyper-aware of every single movement. Bucky, still leaning forward, was close. Close enough that she could see the sharpness in his gaze, the way his chest rose and fell just a little slower than before.

She swallowed.

Steve leaned in, tilting his head slightly as he murmured, "You wanna play another game, Evie?"

She exhaled slowly. "What are the rules?"

Steve's lips barely parted. "I think we're past rules."

Bucky, watching her carefully, smirked. "And I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you invited us here."

Evie's stomach flipped. Because they were right. She had known. She had invited them both. She had waited seven days, and then another agonizing twenty-four hours, because she'd wanted this.

Now she was here. Pressed between the only two men who had ever made her feel this alive. The air was suffocating. She could still feel Bucky's eyes on her, like he was waiting. Holding out. She could still feel the ghost of Steve's fingers against the exposed skin of her shoulder, featherlight, patient.

It was her move.

And she always played to win.

So she let herself break first.

She lifted her head—slowly, deliberately—meeting Steve's gaze. His jaw flexed slightly. Her pulse hammered. And then, just as she leaned in—

Steve's fingers brushed her chin. A featherlight touch. A silent command. And his voice, quiet, devastating, "Not yet."

Evie stilled. Something hot curled in her stomach.

Because suddenly—they were the ones in control. And the way Steve was looking at her? The way Bucky was watching her from the other side? She was going to break. And they knew it.

Steve's fingers curled, the only sign that he was feeling the palpable tension in the room. Bucky exhaled slowly, like he was fighting something off, his fingers flexing against his knee.

Evie's breath was uneven. She could feel it, the way the night was shifting, the way the power she had so confidently wielded before was slipping right through her fingers. And the worst part? She had no desire to take it back.

Steve, still leaning in, unbearably close, spoke without letting his gaze leave hers. "You wanted to play a game, Evie," he murmured, voice quiet, smooth. "We're just making sure you're ready for it."

Evie's pulse jumped.

Bucky scoffed softly, low in his throat. "She was ready the second she invited us here." His voice was rough. Almost gravelly.

Steve smirked slightly, tilting his head. "Maybe. But she's not the only one who gets to set the pace."

Evie's lips parted. Because fuck.

Bucky leaned back slightly, eyes sharp as he looked between them. Then, his smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. "Alright, Rogers," he murmured. "How do you wanna do this?"

Steve turned to him, expression unreadable. Then, after a long moment—he grinned.

Evie suddenly understood what it felt like to be completely and utterly outmatched.

Steve glanced at Bucky. "We make her wait."

Evie's stomach flipped. She opened her mouth—to argue, to push, to say something—but before she could, Bucky was already shaking his head, exhaling through his nose like he couldn't believe what was happening.

Then—his voice lower, rougher—"You're stronger than me."

Steve just smiled.

Bucky ran his tongue along his teeth, then turned back to Evie, tilting his head. His stare was blistering.

Evie's heart pounded. She knew that look. She knew what it meant. Her grip on the stem of her glass was too tight. Her breathing was too shallow. And fuck, they were enjoying this.

Bucky leaned forward slightly, voice dangerously soft. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Evie hated how much she felt it. The sharp, dizzying heat in her stomach. The weight of their attention, heavy enough to drown her. Steve brushed a knuckle against her knee, absentmindedly, like it wasn't sending her pulse skyrocketing. Bucky just watched.

Evie had never wanted to break more in her entire goddamn life.

But never ever lost. So instead of crumbling, instead of giving them what they wanted—she smirked. Tilted her head. And, lifting her wine glass to her lips, she took a slow, deliberate sip before setting it down on the coffee table. She leaned forward, resting her hands on her knees, mimicking their positions facing her. As she leaned forward her dress hung open enough to pull both of their eyes down to her collarbone and below. The exact reason she'd chosen the ill-fitting slip dress from the back of her closet as tonight's attire.

Bucky cursed under his breath.

Steve—steady, unshakable Steve—dragged a slow hand down his face, exhaling through his nose.

She smiled, syrupy sweet. "Something wrong, boys?"

Neither of them moved. Neither of them answered.

"Alright, Rogers." She angled her head, pretending to think before lifting her eyes to him. "Truth or dare?"

Bucky huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. "Oh, another game, huh?"

Steve didn't blink. Didn't hesitate. "Truth."

Evie tapped her fingers against her wine glass, studying him. Then, her voice smooth, deceptively light—"What was going through your mind when you knocked on my door tonight?"

Silence. Steve's jaw flexed as he sat up straight and ran a hand through his hair. Bucky's smirk disappeared. The air in the room thickened, pressing in from all sides.

Steve exhaled slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then, finally, he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, gaze locked onto hers. "If I tell you that, Evie, you're not gonna sleep tonight."

Her stomach dropped.

Bucky shook his head. "Jesus, Rogers."

Evie hated how warm her face felt. She swallowed hard, pretending like that hadn't just wrecked her. "If you say so," she tried to summon her normal bravado, voice just barely even. "Your turn, Bucky."

Bucky considered her for a long moment, then, without looking away, asked, "Truth or dare?"

Evie leaned forward slightly, lips curving. "Dare."

Bucky's fingers drummed against his knee. Then, with devastating ease—"Come sit with us."

Silence. Not because it was unexpected. But because it wasn't. Because this was where it had been heading the whole time. Evie exhaled through her nose, slow, steady. Then—without breaking eye contact—she stood. Steve and Bucky both watched her move. Watched the way she took her time, deliberate, like she knew she had all the power in this moment.

And then, just to see if they'd stop her—She settled herself right between them.

Steve's arm was already along the back of the couch, and as she sat, his fingers just barely brushed against her bare shoulder. Bucky turned just slightly, body shifting toward her, his knee pressing against hers.

And then—Steve, voice low, warm, right by her ear— "You comfortable?"

Evie's stomach dropped. Her pulse skipped. And when she turned her head, Steve was closer than she expected, his blue eyes sharp, unreadable. Bucky was watching them both, and God help her, it wasn't jealousy in his eyes—it was something else entirely.

Evie wet her lips, heart hammering, and then replied, "Getting there."

Bucky's smirk lingered. His blue eyes flickered between hers, amusement simmering above dwindling self-control.

Evie held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. "Truth or dare?"

Bucky, predictably, smirked. "Dare."

Evie tilted her head in consideration before grinning. "Refill my wine."

Bucky scoffed, but reached for the bottle, the glass clinking against his metal fingers. "That's the best you got?"

"You said dare. I dared." Evie shrugged, her smirk growing as she regained her footing.

Bucky muttered something under his breath but stood, taking her glass and moving to the counter. The sound of wine pouring filled the silence, but when he returned, Evie narrowed her eyes. He had filled her glass nearly to the top.

She raised an eyebrow. "What is this?"

Bucky's face was borderline impatient as he set it in front of her. "What you asked for."

Evie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she picked up the glass, tilting it toward him. "Trying to get me drunk, Barnes?"

Bucky didn't waver. He leaned in slightly, voice low. "Sweetheart, you could be stone-cold sober, and you'd still be exactly where I wanted you."

Evie's stomach dropped, and when she met his gaze, blue and sharp and waiting, she knew—he wasn't playing anymore. Neither was she.

The moment stretched. Tightened.

Steve cleared his throat. "My turn?"

Bucky didn't look away from her immediately. Didn't move. But finally, after a beat, he leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. Your turn, Rogers."

Steve picked up his wine, considering his next move. Then—"Truth."

Bucky smirked slightly before shifting his attention to Steve. His voice was slow, almost lazy. "What's stopping you?"

Steve exhaled slowly, setting his glass down. Then, finally, his voice steady—"Nothing."

The room went silent. Evie's pulse pounded.

Steve leaned forward. Slow. Deliberate. And, voice smooth, devastating, "Your turn, Evie."

"Dare," she breathed, before she could think better of it.

Steve lifted an eyebrow. Evie arched hers right back, daring him to make it good.

Bucky, smirking, leaned in slightly, gaze flicking between them. Then—his voice smooth, lazy, dripping with something unspoken—"I've got one."

Steve glanced at him, lips twitching slightly. "Go ahead."

Bucky turned to Evie, expression all slow, predatory amusement. "I dare you," he murmured, voice almost too quiet, "to sit still."

Evie frowned slightly. "That's not a—"

But then Bucky reached out. Slow. Deliberate. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered. His thumb grazed the side of her neck, barely there, just a whisper of touch against her pulse. Her breath caught.

Steve exhaled through his nose, his own gaze darkening. Then he reached out, mirroring the movement, sweeping the hair from the other side of her neck.

His knuckles dragged along her shoulder, fingers barely ghosting over her collarbone.

And fuck. Evie could not sit still. Not when every nerve in her body felt like it had just been set on fire. A shiver ran down her spine and she tilted her head back despite herself.

Steve smirked slightly, still tracing his hand down the back of her arm. "You lost."

Bucky tilted his head, grinning slowly. "Too bad. I was hoping you'd last a little longer, Ev."

Evie swallowed, her pulse hammering.

Steve, still watching her, smirked slightly. "Our turn, then."

Evie raised a brow. "Our?"

Steve's smirk widened. "We're playing together now."

Bucky shifted closer. "That a problem?"

Evie swallowed.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, knuckles white against the deep red fabric. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, but she refused to let them see her falter again. Not after that. Not after she'd lost.

She lifted her chin, voice smoother than she felt. "Not at all."

Bucky exhaled a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking between hers. "Then let's keep going."

Steve leaned in slightly, like he was considering her. Like he was seeing just how far she was willing to go. "Truth or dare, Evie?"

She should've picked dare. She should have picked something physical, something that would keep her moving, anything but the trap she knew they were about to set.

But Evie didn't back down.

She crossed her legs, voice measured. "Truth."

Bucky hummed, tilting his head. "Dangerous choice."

Steve, ever the gentleman, let her sit with the tension for a moment before delivering the killing blow.

"How do you choose between two things you want?"

The room went silent.

Evie inhaled sharply, throat dry, eyes snapping to his. And Steve just held her gaze, blue eyes unwavering, as if he had all the time in the world to watch her squirm.

Bucky, next to him, wasn't smirking anymore. He was waiting. Watching.

Because they both couldn't wait to see what she'd do next.

She reached for her wine glass, but her fingers were unsteady—whether from the heat of the moment or the question she couldn't answer, she didn't know.

The glass slipped.

She tried to catch it—a stupid, instinctual reaction—but the moment her hand gripped the shattered glass, a sharp pain lanced through her palm.

Shards hit the floor. Blood bloomed instantly across her skin.

She hissed, flinching, but before she could even process the pain, Bucky swore.

"Shit—Evie."

He was right there. His hand covered hers, pressing his sleeve against the cut, grip firm but gentle.

Evie blinked up at him, heartbeat pounding in her ears, thrown by how fast he'd moved, how genuine the concern on his face was.

Steve, who had been standing in stunned silence, snapped out of it and immediately started cleaning up the shards from the carpet. Glancing up at them, he spoke to Bucky. "You got her?"

Bucky didn't even look up. "I got her."

Evie was still in a daze as he kept pressure on her wound with one hand and guided her up and into the kitchen with the other on her lower back. This was not the same man who had just been toying with her minutes ago. This wasn't the cocky, slow-burning Bucky who had taunted her through the truth or dare game.

This was the soldier. The protector. The good man.

And the way he was looking at her...brows drawn, mouth pressed into a tight line, sleeve already stained with her blood...it was softer than she ever expected.

"Does it hurt?" he muttered, pulling his hand away to examine the wound.

Evie huffed, still slightly breathless. "Not as much as my pride."

His mouth quirked, just slightly, but his focus didn't waver.

"C'mon. Up."

Before she could even question it, Bucky lifted her. Hands firm at her waist, he effortlessly set her on the counter, like she weighed nothing. And suddenly, Evie was eye-level with him.

She swallowed.

His vibranium fingers brushed her wrist as he turned on the faucet, guiding her injured hand beneath the water. The warmth soothed the sting, but she wasn't sure if it was the water or the way Bucky was touching her that sent a shiver down her spine.

She pursed her lips. "I can handle—"

"Just let me."

It wasn't a request. His voice was gruff, his eyes unwavering. And for once, Evie didn't argue.

The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between them, before he finally said, "Where's your first aid kit?"

Evie blinked, feeling slightly dazed. "Bathroom. Second cabinet."

Bucky barely turned his head before calling out, "Steve—go grab it."

Steve, having just swept the last shards of glass into the trash, nodded sharply. "On it."

And then, for a moment, it was just them. Bucky's vibranium hand rested lightly on her knee as he pressed a towel to her palm, holding the pressure steady. For the first time all night, he wasn't smirking. He wasn't teasing.

Evie tilted her head slightly, voice softer now. "You do this a lot?"

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Not lately."

Something about the way he said it made her chest feel tight. Bucky's grip was firm, steady. His sleeve was already soaked with blood, but he didn't seem to care—his focus was entirely on her.

Evie swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way her pulse skipped at the way he was touching her.

"I can handle a little blood, you know," she muttered, voice softer than she meant it to be.

Bucky just huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Yeah, Evie, I know," he said, still pressing the towel against her palm. "But you don't have to."

Her breath caught. It was the way he said it. Like it wasn't just about her hand.

She frowned. "You're getting your sleeve all—"

"Don't care." His voice was low, final.

Her eyes flicked up to his. He wasn't smirking anymore. Wasn't teasing. There was something unguarded about him now.

Evie exhaled slowly. "I think you just wanted an excuse to pick me up."

Bucky's mouth quirked just slightly. "That obvious?"

She smirked. "Maybe."

For a second, neither of them move. Then Steve walked in. His footsteps were brisk, but his voice was calm.

"Alright, let's get that wrapped up."

Just like that, the moment shifted. Bucky didn't let go right away. Neither did Evie. But when Steve set the kit down, the two men moved in sync—like this was something they'd done a hundred times before. Steve pulled out gauze while Bucky finally released the pressure, handling her with care, his vibranium fingers brushing her skin as he adjusted the towel.

Evie let them work, let them fuss over her, let herself feel warm under their attention. It wasn't until Steve was tying off the bandage that he finally said, "You should get some rest."

Bucky nodded, stepping back just slightly, his eyes lingering on her. "Yeah. Let us take care of the mess."

Evie should have argued. Should have insisted she was fine. But between the gentleness of Bucky's hands and the solid warmth of Steve's presence, she couldn't quite find it in herself to fight them. Instead, she just sighed. "Fine."

Evie barely had time to blink before they had moved into started gathering the cards, stacking them in precise, military-perfect order, while Bucky moved to collect the glasses, dumping the leftover wine into the sink.

"You don't have to—" she started.

Bucky just cut her a look. "Go to bed, sweetheart."

Evie narrowed her eyes at him, but she was too tired, too warm, and too flustered to argue properly. She sighed instead, pushing off the counter and heading toward her bedroom, one of them following.

It wasn't until she reached her door and turned around that she saw it was Steve. Bucky had stayed behind to finish cleaning up. Steve moved past her easily, switching on the small lamp beside her bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The glow cast warm shadows across his face, his expression unreadable as he gave her a once-over, checking one last time that she was okay.

Evie leaned against the doorway, voice quiet. "You guys worry too much."

Steve exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. "You make it easy."

Her stomach flipped. Before she could respond, Bucky appeared in the doorway.

He leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, eyes lingering on her for a beat too long. "Door's locked," he murmured. "Windows, too."

Evie raised a brow. "Wow. Full security detail tonight?"

Bucky smirked slightly. "Guess so."

Steve gave her one last, long look, his voice gentle. "Get some rest, Evie."

Bucky tipped his chin. "Night, Ev."

And then, just like that, they were gone.

She heard the front door click shut. Heard the lock turn. And still she didn't move.

Because suddenly, it wasn't just the night that felt too quiet. It was everything.

Evie collapsed onto her bed with a sigh, the warmth of the evening still clinging to her skin.

Her phone buzzed.

Jade [12:47 AM: WELL?

Evie let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head.

How the hell was she supposed to explain this?

She stared at the screen for a moment before typing:

Evie [12:49 AM: I think I just got medically tended to by two super soldiers who almost set me on fire with a truth or dare game.

Evie [12:49 AM: Also pretty sure I blacked out for a full five minutes when Bucky Barnes lifted me.

Jade [12:50 AM: DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT I AM ALREADY ON MY WAY TO YOUR HOUSE?

Evie laughed, shaking her head.

Then—her fingers hovered over another message.

Not to Jade.

To them.

For a long moment, she just stared.

Did she?

…No.

Instead, she tossed her phone onto the nightstand, pulled the blanket tighter around herself, and just let herself feel it.

The apartment door locked behind them.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way down the hall.

The elevator ride was silent.

By the time they stepped into the garage, the night air cutting through the warmth still lingering in their skin, neither had said a word.

Steve slid into the driver's seat of his Jeep, Bucky into the passenger side.

The doors shut.

Steve started the engine.

They pulled out onto the road, the glow of streetlights passing in long, golden streaks.

For several minutes, the only sound was the rumble of the tires against pavement.

And then—

"What the hell just happened?"

Steve exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I was hoping you'd tell me."

Bucky let out a dry, humorless chuckle, running a hand over his face. "I mean—did we—was that—" He broke off, shaking his head.

Steve's grip tightened on the wheel.

Bucky huffed. "I mean, it was just a game, right?"

Steve flicked his eyes over to him. Flat. Unamused.

Bucky exhaled. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

The silence stretched again, but this time, it was charged.

Because they both knew the answer.

Steve tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, staring out at the road.

"The cut… snapped us out of it."

Bucky nodded slowly. "Yeah. Guess it did."

Neither of them pointed out that they hadn't wanted to snap out of it.

That they had wanted to keep pushing.

That it was getting dangerous.

Steve exhaled through his nose. "She okay?"

Bucky nodded, jaw flexing. "Yeah. Yeah, she's fine."

Steve stayed quiet for a beat too long.

Bucky noticed.

"Spit it out, Rogers."

Steve didn't answer at first. His fingers tapped against the wheel again, slower this time.

Finally, he spoke.

"We have to be careful."

Bucky's head snapped toward him. "You think I don't know that?"

Steve didn't look at him. "I'm serious, Buck."

Bucky's pulse ticked in his throat.

Steve kept his gaze ahead. "We can't do this."

Bucky swallowed. "We already are."

Steve's jaw ticked.

His hands tightened on the wheel, but he didn't argue.

Because Bucky was right.

They were already past the point of stopping.

Steve exhaled sharply. "How the hell did we get here?"

Bucky huffed out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "You tell me."

Steve's grip flexed. "I should've never agreed to that damn game."

Bucky scoffed. "Yeah, 'cause that's the problem."

Steve shot him a look. "It didn't help."

Bucky's lip curled slightly. "Nah. It just made us stop pretending."

Steve exhaled through his nose. He was trying to stay calm, but Bucky could see the tension in his shoulders, the weight in his eyes.

Bucky rolled his neck, staring out at the passing lights. "You gonna say it?"

Steve didn't answer.

Bucky's jaw tightened. "You gonna say we should stay away?"

Steve's fingers drummed against the wheel.

Bucky shook his head, voice lower now. "That we should back off? That it's not right?"

Steve's silence was loud.

And that pissed Bucky off more than if he'd just said it.

Bucky turned to him fully. "Say it, Rogers."

Steve's knuckles went white on the wheel. "You think I want to?"

Bucky's pulse ticked. "You think I can?"

The words landed like a gunshot.

Neither of them spoke.

The Jeep rolled to a stop at a red light, the glow of the streetlamp catching the tightness in Steve's jaw, the tension in his posture.

Bucky's voice was quieter now. "You think we can just—what? Go back to normal?"

Steve exhaled.

No. They couldn't.

Not after tonight.

Steve stared at the traffic light, shoulders rising and falling with forced breath.

Bucky watched him carefully.

Steve spoke. "We have to make a choice."

Bucky's brow furrowed. "What the hell kind of choice?"

Steve swallowed. "Either we stop this now…"

Bucky clenched his fists.

"…or we figure out what this is."

Silence.

Bucky let that settle. And then he laughed. Low, almost disbelieving.

"Figure out what this is?" He shook his head, huffing. "You think there's a version of this that works?"

Steve stayed quiet.

Bucky turned back to the window, tapping his fingers against his knee. "What do you think she'd say?"

Steve exhaled slowly. "I don't know."

Bucky scoffed. "Bullshit. You know exactly what she'd say."

Steve gritted his teeth. "She wouldn't run."

Bucky stilled.

Steve glanced at him. "Would you?"

Bucky didn't answer.

The light turned green. Steve pressed the gas. Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the ride.

The Jeep rolled into the Tower garage, the tires humming softly against the concrete. Neither of them moved to get out right away. Steve exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. Bucky just stared ahead, flexing his fingers, like he still felt Evie's skin beneath them. Finally, they climbed out.

The elevator doors slid open, and Steve walked out like a man on a mission.

Bucky followed, silent, brooding, and generally radiating a 'do not engage' energy.

They were almost free. Almost.

"Well, well, well."

Steve stopped walking.

Bucky groaned immediately.

Because there, lounging on the couch, beer in hand, smirking like he'd been waiting all night, was Sam.

He kicked his feet up on the coffee table. "Look who finally decided to come home."

Steve sighed, already too exhausted for this. "Sam."

Sam ignored him, glancing between them. "Y'all been out late." His eyes flicked down. "Rogers, you're tense as hell. Barnes, you look like someone just ran you over. And…" He squinted. "Wait. Is that blood on your sleeve?"

Bucky didn't answer.

Sam's grin disappeared immediately. "What the hell happened?"

Steve sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's not—"

"Not what? Because I'm looking at you two, and I see a war crime and a moral crisis."

Bucky exhaled sharply. "It's Evie's."

Sam blinked. "Excuse me?"

Bucky rolled his shoulders, jaw tight. "She cut her hand."

Sam held up a hand. "Okay. Back up. Let's run this from the top, because right now, I have zero context, and I'm at a solid eight out of ten on the 'should I be concerned?' scale."

Steve muttered, "It was a game."

Sam blinked. "...A game?"

Steve nodded.

Sam turned to Bucky. "A game?"

Bucky just stared. "Yeah."

Sam paused. He studied them both, tilting his head. His grin returned, slowly."Oh, hold up."

Steve closed his eyes. "Sam—"

"No, no, no. Y'all don't get to drop 'she cut her hand' and 'it was a game' like that makes sense. Because I know that face, Rogers." Sam smirked, leaning back on the couch. "That's your 'I am currently in an emotional crisis and I don't know how to process it' face."

Bucky grunted. "You got a PhD in analyzing him now?"

Sam pointed at him immediately. "And you? You're all clenched jaw and broody silence, which means one thing—"

Bucky glared. "Don't say it."

Sam's grin widened. "You got it bad, Barnes."

Steve sighed heavily.

Bucky groaned. "Jesus Christ."

Sam crossed his arms, full smug mode activated. "So. Which one of you is gonna tell me what happened?"

Silence.

Sam blinked. "Oh my God. Y'all don't even know, do you?"

Steve exhaled. "Not now, Sam."

Sam just chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, I'm gonna enjoy watching this train wreck."

Bucky strode towards his bedroom, footsteps heavier than necessary, muttering, "Shut up, Wilson."

Sam, grinning like he just won the lottery, raised his beer to his lips.

"Oh, don't worry. I won't say a word."