Work Text:
“Why are you walking funny? Were you hit?” Yelena’s voice is the first thing to greet you as you walk onto the jet. There’s a note of concerned curiosity as she eyes you up and down.
You release a soft groan and try to correct your gait. “Not hit, just uncomfortable. It’s laundry day,” you provide the minimal explanation while pulling open your weapon locker and starting to pull off all the guns and knives you have stashed all around your person.
“Ah,” Yelena smirks knowingly.
“I’m confused,” Walker pipes up from the other side of the jet. “What does laundry have to do with the way you’re walking?”
Before you can tell him to mind his own business, Ava cuts in, grinning wickedly. “Means she’s got sexy panties riding up her bum.”
You shoot her an accusatory glare and flip her off, which only makes her laugh. “The only thing riding up my bum is all of you pains in the ass.” You make a circular motion with your hand, indicating to everyone on the jet.
“Who are you calling a pain in the ass?” Bucky asks from behind you, making his way up the loading ramp.
“You, especially.” The sass in your tone does not go unnoticed.
He shoots you a conspiratorial smile as he walks past. He then moves to the front of the jet and activates the touchscreen console. “Data package secure. Returning to base,” he sends off the transmission and starts running through the takeoff procedures.
You settle into your seat and clip in, releasing a sigh of content now that you’re heading back home. Your relief is short-lived when you realize the conversation isn’t over.
John leans forward in his chair to catch your attention. “I thought women usually saved their granny panties for laundry day.”
You, Ava, and Yelena all scoff in unison. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but in our line of work, comfort usually outranks fashion.” The smile on your face is feral at best and deranged at worst.
“Yeah,” Yelena agrees. “Have you ever tried to dropkick someone with a thong so far up your crack, it felt like it was flossing your asshole?”
John winces and shifts in his seat, looking incredibly uncomfortable. “Can’t say that I have…”
“This conversation seems incredibly work appropriate,” Bucky interjects, eyes focused out the windshield as he initiates the jet’s vertical ascent.
“Well, this one thought it would be work appropriate to wear lingerie today,” Ava points at you over her shoulder.
You roll your eyes. “Jesus, Ava. It’s not like I’m going to take them off and start waving them around on my finger.”
“Actually, I would pay good money to see that,” Yelena grins.
“You couldn’t afford me,” you smirk back.
“I’m just saying,” she shrugs. “If you are already wearing them, you may as well show them off.”
Bucky keeps his eyes focused through the windshield as he reaches a hand up to flick a few switches and then engages autopilot. “No one is showing off anything.”
Yelena pouts, “Party pooper.”
You laugh and pull a tablet out from under your seat to get a head start on your mission report. You want to have it done before landing back at the Watchtower, that way you can go straight to your room immediately upon arrival.
You hit Submit on the tablet right as the jet touches down on the tower landing pad. Everyone clips out of their seats and prepares to disembark. With it being such a short mission, you just have your bare essentials. You grab your tactical bag with your emergency rations, first aid kit, and a few personal items, and toss it over your shoulder. Your eyes catch Bucky’s from across the jet. His gaze flashes with a look that makes your blood hot. You have to look away to keep your body from reacting.
This little cat-and-mouse game between the two of you is getting harder to keep concealed from the rest of the team. In the beginning, all the sneaking around was sort of fun, in a way. It was thrilling to see what you could get away with under the noses of literal assassins and enhanced individuals. But the problem with Bucky Barnes is that once you get a taste, you can’t help but crave more. Heated glances turn into feathered touches. Words whispered like secrets in empty halls change to incomprehensible cries of ecstasy. Stolen kisses in darkened corners become a frenzied exchange of body heat behind closed doors. The more he gives to you, the more you want of him. Like an insatiable hunger and an endless thirst. You’re very quickly approaching the limit of your ability to keep the secret of how much you want him.
Walker has already hit the mechanism to lower the back ramp, and you’re all but running off the jet as soon as it’s down. Bob and Alexei are already waiting for your return.
“How’d it go?” Bob asks, eyes darting between each of you to assure himself you’ve all returned safely.
“Fine,” Yelena gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Easy extraction, minimal complications.”
“Where are you off to in such hurry?” Alexei prompts as you breeze past them with only a nod of greeting.
“She has a date with her laundry hamper,” Ava smirks, vigilant eyes tracking your every move.
Alexei frowns in confusion. “If this is joke, I don’t get it.”
The rest of their conversation is cut off by the automatic doors shutting behind you once you’ve stepped off the landing pad and entered the building. You take the elevator to the dormitory level. A heavy sigh of relief bursts from your chest while the tension leaves your shoulders. Yelena was correct in saying that the mission had been easy, but you never take for granted being able to come home unscathed. In this line of work, there are no guarantees, so any time the whole team makes it back all in one piece, you can’t help the grateful relief that floods you as soon as you’re off the jet. You might all be one bad day away from an emotional trainwreck, but this dysfunctional family is yours, and you wouldn’t trade them for anything.
You step out of the elevator and walk down the hall to your room. Your laundry basket is sitting just behind the front door. Exactly where you left it before getting called into this last-minute opp. You glare at it with your hands on your hips, like it’s the basket’s fault you were put into your current predicament. With a huff, you unzip your tactical vest and hang it on a hook on the wall, then you kick off your boots and shrug out of your uniform, tossing it into the basket. You add your sports bra to the pile and pull on the oversized sweatshirt that had been tossed over the back of your couch.
You hike the laundry basket up onto your hip and step back out of your apartment. The dormitory level is still blissfully empty. Bucky is likely giving his post-mission debrief to Valentina and handing over the data package. Yelena and John always hit up the cafeteria after returning from missions, and they probably took Bob and Alexei with them. Ava tends to wind down after missions with a run on the treadmill in the gym. Your bare feet pad quietly on the polished floor as you make your way to the communal laundry room.
There are rows of washing machines on one side of the room and dryers lining the other, with a folding table and cabinet against the back wall. You set your basket down in front of one of the middle machines and go to grab your detergent and fabric softener from the cabinet. You’re bent over, loading your clothes into the front opening of the washer, when you feel the sudden brush of cool metal fingers against your lower back.
“Are these the panties that had everyone in a tizzy today?”
You hadn’t realized, but the way you were bent over caused your sweatshirt to ride up and put your barely-there lacy thong on full display for whoever happened to be passing by. You gasp and attempt to dart up, not realizing that your head is still halfway in the opening of the washer. Pain explodes against the back of your skull when it hits the lip of the machine. You yelp from the pain, one hand clutching the back of your head, while you slowly extract yourself from the opening and stand back up.
The deep laugh behind you is both exasperated and amused. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
You rub at the sore spot and glare at him over your shoulder. “I find your lack of concern disturbing.”
His eyes actually sparkle when he grins. “Was that a reference from The Star War?”
You roll your eyes. “You know that’s not what it’s called. Also, no one says in a tizzy anymore.”
“I do.”
“Thanks for the reminder that I’m dating an old man.” You finish loading the last of your laundry and shut the door to the machine. You feel him press against your back while you get the machine into the correct setting and start it up.
“I’m young in all the ways that matter.” His words flutter against your ear, full of sin and promise.
You can’t help the shiver that runs through you, awareness creeping into your veins. “Yeah, and what ways are those?”
His hands come around you, pulling you even more against his chest before dipping under the hem of your sweatshirt, ghosting up your thighs and over your hips. “In the ways that make these work inappropriate panties damp.”
Your core throbs at the implication of his words. A needy whimper escapes you before you can stop it, your head falling back against his shoulder. His stubble tickles your skin when he places a kiss on your temple.
“You gonna tell me why you’re wearing date night panties on missions now?” There’s no accusatory inflection in his tone, just gentle curiosity and tender amusement. “Hoping to get lucky in between stealth crawls and shootouts?”
“No,” you scoff indignantly. “But someone keeps shredding or losing all my normal underwear, so I don’t have enough to get through a full laundry cycle.”
He hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping a rhythm only he hears against your lower abdomen. “Have you tried checking between the couch cushions?”
“Yes, actually. I found two of mine and one of yours.”
His laugh vibrates against your back. “And you didn’t return them to me?”
“They’re my sleep shorts now. Also, you still haven’t returned the ones that landed on top of your wardrobe.”
“Oh, I’m keeping those.” His voice dips low. Dangerous. “When you’re on missions without me, I wrap them around my cock and think about you while I fuck myself.”
“Jesus Christ.” If he wasn’t holding your body against his, you probably would have fallen into a puddle of goo on the floor. You turn around to face him and pin him with a glare. “You’re not playing fair.
He gives you a cheeky grin, entirely unashamed. “You’re the one wearing lingerie and waving your sexy ass in front of my face.”
You jab at his chest with your pointer finger. “You’re the whole reason I had to wear them, and you’re the one who snuck up on me. Now, not only are they uncomfortable, but they’re also wet, and it’s too late to throw them into my laundry.”
His eyes glow with pure male pride and wicked satisfaction. “If they’re that uncomfortable, then there’s a very simple solution.” His hands flexing against your hips is the only warning you get before he’s hoisting you up and onto the washing machine. He kicks your basket out of the way and stands in front of you. His fingers curl against the thin scrap of material before he pulls them down your thighs, revealing your glistening, pulsing folds, and the embarrassingly large wet patch on the inside of the fabric. After he’s pulled them completely off, he balls them up and shoves them, soaked and all, into the front pocket of his tactical pants.
He divested himself of the upper portion of his uniform before seeking you out, leaving him in a tight, navy undershirt with his dog tags hanging out. You hook your fingers around the chain and pull him in closer. “You going to keep those ones too?” You spread your knees to bracket his hips as he slots himself against you.
His eyes roam over your features like he’s trying to memorize you. “Maybe,” his mouth tilts into that adorable half smile that makes your knees weak.
You huff out a short laugh. “You’re staring,” you mutter quietly, as if speaking any louder might break the spell of this moment.
“I know,” he whispers back.
“Why?”
His gaze turns soft. “Because you’re beautiful.”
Your heart skips a beat. Only Bucky Barnes could have you literally dropping your panties for him one moment, then make your heart flutter with words so sweet, they make you want to cry, in the next. This is exactly why being with him is so dangerous. If it were just sex, that would be one thing, but when he says stuff like this, you can’t help but fall in love with him a little bit more.
“You know, you’ve gotten way better at flirting,” you tease after wrestling your wayward heart back under control.
He gives you an amused smile. “I wasn’t trying to flirt.”
You reach up to cup his face and pull him even closer to you. “Well, either way, it’s working.”
His chuckle ghosts over your lips. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, eyes falling shut moments before his mouth slants over yours.
You moan into his mouth, one hand sliding into the hair at the nape of his neck while the other curls around his shoulders. He sighs like he’s been waiting for this all day. His flesh hand grips the edge of your jaw, deepening the kiss. His metal fingers press into your lower back, holding your body tight against him. You feel the hard seam of his tactical pants against your unprotected pussy and whimper when the rough material catches against your clit. He sinks his teeth into your lower lip and grinds against you, either uncaring or utterly delighted by the mess you’re making against the fabric of his uniform. Probably the latter.
The washing machine vibrates under your ass, sending tremors right to the place where you’re grinding against Bucky’s clothed erection. His tongue slips into your open mouth, hot and wet and tasting like spearmint. He devours your moans like they’re sustaining his lifeforce. He kisses you like his very existence depends on leaving you shaking and wrecked and begging for more. It’s intense and makes your head spin.
When he pulls away, you’re left panting for breath and blink up at him blearily.
“Still uncomfortable?” he questions with a tilted smirk.
Your pussy clenches in hunger. “Yes, but now for entirely different reasons.”
He looks down and shifts his hips back enough to see the mess of slick and needy wetness splattered across the front of his pants. “Fuck, I love this messy pussy.”
You place your hands behind you against the washing machine and lean back, spreading your thighs even further, and tilt your hips up, your body moving on instinct. “Bucky… please touch me.”
His responding chuckle is dark, laced with heavy want and yearning desire. “Now, how could I possibly say no to that?”
Vibranium fingertips drag across your skin, moving from your lower back to curl around your hip and down to your dripping center. The metal plates are no longer cold, having absorbed the body heat from your burning flesh. His fingers swipe over your slick folds, causing the simmering heat to bubble up low in your belly. He circles teasingly around your clit, never quite touching it, but close enough to have you keening. You’re so fucking wet, so fucking desperate, so fucking needy. And he relishes in it. In the way you beg for him, not only with your words, but with your eyes, and your body, and every fiber of your being.
Your lips part with a guttural cry when he finally pierces you with his middle finger. He sinks in all the way, without resistance, your body welcoming the intrusion with squelching fervor. He gives a few experimental thrusts, feeling how you squeeze and flutter around the single digit. After a few seconds, he adds his index finger. “Ah!” you gasp at the way his thick fingers stretch you out.
He watches your face closely, eyes lidded, pupils blown, while he fucks you with his metal hand. He shoves them as deep as they’ll go, then curls them against your upper wall. “Fuck—Bucky—!” Your hips jolt against his palm of their own accord. That tight coil of pleasure deep in your gut thrums with energy.
He looks utterly delighted by the way you’re falling apart in front of him. “Careful, sweetheart, or you’ll alert the whole floor.”
Your wide eyes dart to the open doorway of the laundry room. Literally anyone could walk past and they’d have a front row view of you getting finger fucked by a metal-armed super soldier. Your breath hitches in your throat with a flicker of panic, but then your nipples tighten and your pussy clenches hungrily around Bucky’s fingers. Is it bad that you kind of want to get caught? Not because you want someone else to see you in this depraved state, but because then it would mean that being with Bucky would no longer be a secret. No more sneaking, no more waiting for a moment alone, no more trying to be quieter than the humming machine vibrating under your ass.
He must recognize the direction of your thoughts, because he tsks his tongue. “Someone’s having naughty thoughts.” He punctuates his words with another solid thrust of his fingers into that spongy place that shoots a jolt of pleasure directly up your spine.
“God—Bucky!” You can’t help but cry out his name again.
“You tryin’ to get caught?” He asks, that slow smirk spreading his lips. His wrist tilts a little, and then you feel the hard edge of his thumb press against your clit. He circles directly over the tight bundle like he’s trying to polish a penny.
Your teeth clamp down hard on your lower lip as you try and fail to keep your whimper inside you. “M-mm,” you shake your head in denial.
“Hey, only I’m allowed to bite that.” His voice is more tender than teasing as his other hand eases your lip from between your teeth. His thumb rubs gently over the swollen flesh, then pulls away. “Here.” His fingers then grip the bottom hem of your hoodie and drag the material up to your mouth. “Bite this.”
You’re so used to trusting his commands on missions that you don’t even question the order; you just do as he says. You don’t realize the dual function of his actions until he flashes you a satisfied grin and dips his head low over your freshly exposed chest. He sucks one peaked nipple into his waiting mouth and pinches the other between his thumb and forefinger. The fabric in your mouth muffles your groan of pleasure, but just barely.
The fingers inside your pussy don’t stop. If anything, they seem to work you even faster, curling into you like they’re holding down the trigger of an assault rifle. Expert marksman that he is, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows right where to press and how much pressure to apply to get you primed and ready for ignition. His thumb continues its barrage on your aching clit, occasionally swiping down near his other fingers to collect more of your slick. You’re so wet at this point that there’s an audible squelch with each movement of his fingers. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on by it.
Bucky devours your breast like it’s the most delicious thing to ever pass his tantalizing lips. His tongue laps at your stiff bud as he sucks it deeper into his mouth. Leaving one of your hands back to keep you propped up, the other sinks into the hair at the nape of his neck. You cradle his neck, nails scratching encouragingly at the back of his scalp as you arch against him. He plucks, pulls, and tweaks at your other nipple in a way that shoots straight to your aching core. Your cunt practically drools from all the attention he’s showering over your body. The fabric in your mouth grows damp from your saliva.
The machine under you shifts into a higher gear, the drum spinning even faster, the vibrations kicking it up a notch. Bucky takes it as a personal challenge and increases his own pace. A third finger enters your body; your drenched, quivering walls, greeting it like an old friend. At this point, you’re not sure if the wet sounds filling the laundry room are coming more from you or the washing machine.
“Ngh!” Your teeth clamp down on the bunched fabric as a tremor travels down your legs. Bucky’s fingers thrust and pulse against your G-spot, the stimulation becoming too much to bear. They press and curl against that spongy tissue inside you, over and over, pushing the height of your pleasure further up with every overwhelming touch. Your brow furrows, muscles twitching in other parts of your body from the overstimulation. Something feels different this time, but you’re too overloaded with pleasure to be able to concentrate on anything long enough to figure out what. There’s almost too much pleasure that you feel like you’re about to burst. It presses against the inside of your skin, making it feel too tight, like there’s not enough room to contain it.
Your thighs shake, hips convulsing, breasts heaving. Every place that Bucky touches you feels like sparks scattering across your skin. You can’t take it anymore; it’s entirely too much. You have to let it out somehow, or you’re going to explode. Just as that thought crosses your mind, you feel the pressure intensify between your legs, before it bursts out of you like a broken fire hydrant. Liquid sprays in an arc, past Bucky’s fingers, and soaks immediately into the front of his shirt. The bottom of your sweatshirt falls out of your mouth as your jaw slackens, no longer muffling the wail of your pleasure in acoustic form. Your back arches and your hips jerk into his unrelenting touch. He makes you squirt again with a perfectly timed thrust into your sopping cunt.
“Fuck! Oh my God—Bucky!” Your entire world has tilted off its axis. Gravity is skewed; physics is off balance; hell, even the law of thermodynamics could be reversed, for all you know. There’s only you, Bucky, and an endless ocean of pleasure and release.
His mouth gives a parting suck to your breast before he lifts his head to watch you fall apart. His eyes sparkle with wonder and awe, like he’s witnessing something holy and sacred. Like the offering he’s provided to his deity has been met with all the answers he was looking for. He’s been baptized in your pleasure and come out the other side as a new man.
Your legs still jolt with the aftershocks of your orgasm when Bucky carefully extracts his fingers. Wet metal leaves streaks against bare skin where he rubs soothingly against twitching muscles in your thigh. His flesh hand is a steadying weight against your rib cage, just under your pounding heart. Your sweatshirt is still bunched up to the armpits, leaving your heaving breasts on full display, one shiny with spit, the other still achingly hard. You look like a downright mess, but by the look in Bucky’s eyes, you’ve never felt more beautiful. In an unhinged, debauched sort of way…
He glances down at his soaked shirt, then back at you. “Didn’t know you could do that.” His mouth curls into that half smile again.
The embarrassment hits you nearly as hard as the orgasm. “Didn’t know either. I’m so sorry!”
“Don’t be.” He cuts in before you can spiral into your mortification. He cups the back of your neck, flesh fingers massaging the base of your skull. “I’m already coming up with 37 ways that I can get you to do it again.”
You scoff, half incredulous, half in relief that he’s not mad or disgusted. In fact, he looks quite pleased with himself instead. “Only 37?”
His grin turns positively feral. “I’m sure more will come to me in time.”
“That’s not the only thing coming.” The two of you share a laugh at the innuendo. “We should probably get out of here before the team comes back.” You try to be the voice of reason, but with the way you’re still clinging onto him, your mind and body appear to be at odds.
His eyes flicker between yours. “Mine or yours?” Clearly, he’s not done with you either.
You smile back. “You have a bigger shower.”
He lifts you off the washing machine and carries you down the hall to his personal suite. You’re grateful that the dorm level is still empty, since your bare ass is definitely in full view. Discarded clothing litters the floor of Bucky’s bathroom, steam making the air thick. Hot skin presses to cold tile, both slick with water and soapy suds. He kisses you long and slow, like someone who doesn’t need to worry about their water bill. Your fingers card through his wet hair, made soft by conditioner and smelling of rosemary and peppermint.
He hikes your knee higher up against his hip and rocks into you like he has all the time in the world. Rivulets of water drip down his chest and mix with the wetness from where he’s buried inside you. All the tension from the day has melted from his shoulders and now circles the shower drain. Your heady moans and breathy mewls echo around the space, making him feel like he’s entirely surrounded by you. He kisses your neck and shoulders reverently, worshiping the body that means more to him than his own. He thrusts into your moist heat, feeling every shudder, clench, and squeeze of your cunt around his cock.
There’s no rush. No frenzied urgency to reach the end. Just two bodies moving as one, skin hot, eyes glassy. Shared breath, nimble kisses, lingering touches. It’s more than sex. It’s souls intertwining. He doesn’t say it with words, but you feel his love, breathe his devotion. He’s attentive and careful, making sure you’re right there with him, every step of the way. He doesn’t treat you like a tool. He thrives off your pleasure as much as his own.
He sinks into you, as deep as he can get, and grinds his pelvic bone into your clit. He recaptures your mouth, tongues tangling, tasting, and consuming your pleasure. Your next orgasm rolls into you like rumbling thunder, not quite as sharp and sudden as lightning, but no less powerful. Bucky grunts low in his chest as your pussy clamps down around him. A few sloppy thrusts later, and he’s spilling into you, thick milky cum painting your walls white.
He continues to hold you close, chin resting against your damp hair, his skin turning pink from a combination of the hot water and postcoital bliss. You press your cheek to his chest while you attempt to catch your breath, fingers tracing the gold patterns on his shoulder. You listen to his heartbeat as it steadily evens out; his recovering much faster than yours. Words aren’t needed to fill the silence. Everything’s already been said in other ways.
Metal fingers slowly lower your lifted knee off his hip, then travel up your outer thigh and settle at your waist. They follow the trails of water droplets in reverse, like they’re jealous of the tracks those droplets have left behind and want to cover your skin in traces of their own. His fingers leave behind marks that can’t be seen physically, but they’re painted on your soul.
You’re not sure how long you spend wrapped up in each other. And thanks to the great mind of Tony Stark, the hot water in this building is practically limitless. The bathroom is starting to turn into a sauna by the time you and Bucky finally part and finish cleaning yourselves up. He wraps a large, extra fluffy towel around your shoulders and makes sure it’s secure before casually wrapping one loosely around his waist.
A cloud of steam billows out as soon as the bathroom door is opened. You follow Bucky into his bedroom, using the edge of your towel to scrunch your hair dry. He opens one of his drawers and pulls out a Henley he knows is your favorite. Then he opens a different drawer and pulls out a set of boxer briefs and a pair of undies. He casually hands you the shirt and undies, then drops his towel and pulls on the briefs.
Your brow furrows in confusion. You lift the panties up, leaving the fabric to dangle from your fingers. “These aren’t mine…”
He bends down to grab his towel once more and dabs at the water droplets on his chest, barely even glancing at the underwear in question. “They’re new.”
You blink several times in shock, probably looking a little too much like that one guy in the meme. You look at the drawer Bucky pulled these out of, then back at him. “You bought me new underwear?”
He smiles, half sheepish—half cheeky, all charming. “I figured you were getting low.”
You give him an incredulous look, but have to laugh. “And you couldn’t have told me earlier?” You pull his Henley on and then drop your own towel. You step into your new panties and pull them up your legs. They fit perfectly. Comfortable, soft, just the way you like it.
“I’m telling you now.” Humor makes his eyes sparkle like gemstones.
You reach for the side of his face and pull him in for a kiss. “Thank you,” you mumble against his lips.
“My pleasure,” he breathes before kissing you back. He cradles your face between his hands, holding you so gently, you’d never guess what sort of gruesome things those very hands had been forced to do in another life. His nose brushes against yours, lips ghosting across your cheek. There’s a brief moment when you feel him seem to hesitate before his lips part and he speaks. “I want to tell the team.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. “What?” You search his eyes, wondering if he’s truly saying what you think he’s saying.
He looks back, like he’s searching for the same thing in your eyes. “I want to tell them about us.”
You suck in a harsh breath. Yes, he is definitely saying what you thought he was saying. You stare up at him, eyes wide, and suddenly you’re envisioning everything you’ve been desperately trying not to for months. Cuddles on the couch during movie nights. Giggling at the breakfast table, stealing each other’s toast and coffee. Flirting openly during sparring sessions. No more hiding, no more sneaking, no more dark corners.
“…Or not?” Bucky frowns when you don’t respond to his proposal.
“No!” you shout unnecessarily loud, given your proximity. “I mean, yes—I mean…” You take a breath and try to steady yourself. You place your hands on his chest and meet his gaze straight on. “I want to tell the team, too.”
His mouth lifts into a tilted smile, eyes going soft and tender. “Yeah?”
You smile back, your heart pounding in excitement. “Yeah,” you confirm.
“We should probably prepare ourselves then. The teasing is about to become insufferable.”
You laugh openly. “Well, then we can just start making out obnoxiously until they all get uncomfortable and leave.”
He chuckles back. “I like the way you think.”
You share another heated kiss before you pull away with a groan. “I need to go move my laundry.”
“I’ll go with you,” he offers immediately.
You shoot him with a dubious expression. “I’ll be back in like five minutes.”
He looks back solemnly. “That’s entirely too long.”
You scoff in amusement and begin heading for the front door of his suite. “Who knew metal-armed super soldiers were so needy?”
“The neediest,” he confirms.
You push open the front door and stumble out into the hall with Bucky’s arm around your waist and half glued to your back. You’ve barely taken two steps when the ding of the elevator has you freezing in place. There’s no time to react before the doors open, revealing all the remaining members of the team. They stare at the two of you, and you both stare back. Time suddenly comes to a screeching halt. A beat passes, then two.
Bucky’s arm tightening around your waist snaps you out of it right before he lifts you up and turns his back toward the team, shielding you from view. “Don’t look. She’s indecent.”
You gawk and sputter for words. “You’re wearing even less than I am!” you protest, fidgeting in his hold.
“I knew it!” Yelena screams in validation. Her hand darts out to stop the elevator doors from closing as she points at you both accusingly with the other. “I knew you were making kissy faces at each other when you thought we weren’t looking!”
“Ah…” Ava makes a sound like she’s just reached a profound conclusion. “Now the box of women’s underwear that was delivered to Barnes makes more sense.”
“You looked through my packages?!” Bucky glares incredulously over his shoulder.
She shrugs casually. “More like phased through them. Security protocol. And personal curiosity.”
Everyone pauses for a second, minds scrambling to figure out what packages of theirs might have been discovered by Ava.
Bob clears his throat and raises his hand before speaking. “I accidentally heard the two of them in a compromising position through the wall once.”
Ava narrows her eyes and points toward him. “Noise canceling headphones?” She guesses, recalling the purchase he made a few weeks back.
He flushes in embarrassment and nods. “Yep… got those after it happened.”
You want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
Alexei laughs heartily and goes next. “I saw lipstick stain on Barnes’ neck at fundraising gala. Same shade as what she was wearing,” he gestures toward you.
“Wait…” John looks around the group. “So, am I the only one that didn’t know about this?”
“Yes,” they all collectively respond.
“Oh my God…” you groan behind your hands as you cover your face in mortification. So much for thinking you were getting away with this the whole time.
“Well, on the bright side,” Bucky starts, whispering directly into your ear. “Looks like we don’t have to tell them.”
“Yeah, you think?!”