The Number One Rule

Chapter Eight

The next morning was hell for anyone who had consumed a drop of alcohol the night before. But Sam, being the good friend he was, prepared a high-protein breakfast for his hungover friends.

Bucky was up before Steve and dragged himself into the kitchen, which was an open concept to most of the house. He pulled out a chair at the dining room table and immediately threw his head into his hands.

"Fuckkkkk," he groaned. "Can someone turn down the brightness on the sun?"

"I can't do that, but maybe you should make a cup of coffee. That or inhale a whole gallon of water to start your day," Sam suggested as he moved fried eggs around in an oiled pan in front of him.

"Any other day that would smell amazing, but I want to throw up right now. In fact, I think I threw up all the contents of my stomach last night, and what little bit was left this morning."

"So that was that sound. I thought a rabid dog had somehow snuck in and died in your bathroom," Sam laughed, putting two eggs on a plate along with some toast. "Eat. It'll help soak up the alcohol."

"I thought that was a myth," Bucky groaned, looking through his fingers at the fresh eggs.

"Eh, if you believe it, maybe the placebo effect will help you out," Sam shrugged, going to the pot of coffee next. "So, how much do you remember of last night?"

Bucky took a second to recollect the night before. After a few seconds of wrapping his brain around the event, he groaned again.

"Oh, shit... Mother-!"

"There it is," Sam said expectantly. Walking back over with two mugs filled to the brim, he placed one in front of Bucky and held the other close to him as he sat down. Leaning in his chair, he peeked down the hall, seeing Steve's door still closed. "He won't be up for a little. Give me the details."

"I'm so screwed," Bucky moaned, leaning back and throwing his head back in the chair.

"Oh, I know. I just want to know how bad Steve's going to kill you so I can start measuring my furniture to see if it'll fit in your room," he grinned, taking a sip of the coffee and getting a glare from the blue-eyed man across the table. "Well, I guess since your room is bigger, and my furniture does fit in mine, it should all fit. So, really, I just want to know where to put everything."

"You're an ass."

"And you're a dead man. So tell me the story before we lay you to eternal rest so at least one person knows what all happened," Sam pushed on, leaning forward.

"Ugh," Bucky groaned, taking a long sip of the coffee and then checking for himself that Steve was still locked in his room. "I don't really know, ok? I was wasted. She was wasted. We were dancing in the middle of the crowd, and for one second, I was just admiring her jumping around and moving like no one was watching. Then the next she was bumped into me, and we were chest and chest," he paused, thinking back to the sensation. Honestly, if he was a dead man, he would be fine dying after experiencing that moment.

"And..." Sam egged him on, wrapping his hands around the mug like a high school girl reading the latest gossip article.

"And we kissed!" Bucky said a little too loud in annoyance. He flinched, holding his head from the headache and turning to look down the hall again. "We fucking kissed, and I'm not mad about it. I don't regret it and I think that's what's going to get me killed at the end of the day," he turned back to Sam.

He just had a goofy grin on his face as he looked at Bucky.

"Stop looking at me like that. It's creepy," he said, screwing his face into a frown.