I've Got you Under my Skin

Chapter 1

Bucky leaned back against the bookcase while he kept a sharp eye on you. Sam and you were standing near the buffet table, chatting away. He was Natasha's new boyfriend and Bucky couldn't stand him. He disliked him for good reasons though. Sam was funny, easy-going and charming with everyone but him. He always mocked Bucky and it never failed to make you laugh, which infuriated Bucky even more.

Bucky had a complicated relationship with you. You had met in college but the only reason you still hung out five years later was because his best friend was married to your former roommate.

At first, he pretended you didn't exist, but it didn't last long. You were independent-minded and had a sharp tongue –something he admired but wouldn't openly admit. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to argue, fists clenched and teeth bared.

One day, the inevitable happened. You settled the argument up against a wall with your skirt bunched up around your waist and his jeans pulled down to his knees. It wasn't sweet, it wasn't soft. It was just sex, releasing pent-up energy, and it had calmed you both enough to make it through the rest of the evening.

After that it became a regular occurrence, an easy way to deal with hectic work days, family quarrels or anything that might have upset one of you.

Sam leaned forward and whispered something in your ear, all while stealing glances at Bucky who was pretending to ignore the two of you. You glanced furtively at him and snickered. Bucky had not realized his fly was open.

Deep inside, he was fuming. Immature jerks! He felt like he was back in high school after some girls made fun of him for only wearing sweatpants. "Everybody wears jeans now," one of them had said while the others laughed.

When Sam joined Natasha and Steve, Bucky grinned mischievously. Now you were alone, defenceless, and he knew exactly how to push your buttons. Oh, he could be childish too.

He strutted over to the buffet table where you were pouring yourself a glass of homemade sangria. Once he was close enough, he deliberately bumped his shoulder against yours, knocking you forward and making you spill the ladleful of sangria onto your hand instead of into the plastic cup.

"Oops, my bad," came his teasing reply.

You gritted your teeth and bit back a snarky comeback. He was standing close to you, so close you could feel his breath on your neck. You took a napkin and dried your hands, determined not to let him get under your skin.

But he made it so damn hard.

He could tell you were trying to ignore him. While you were pouring yourself a new glass of sangria, he shoved a few tortilla chips into his mouth and started chewing loudly with his mouth open.

You knew he was baiting you, but you were too annoyed to care. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you whirled around and threw your drink in his face.

"Oops, my bad," you repeated, mocking his tone.

The buzz of conversation quieted and Bucky could feel his friends' eyes on him. The look he gave you was positively feral but you didn't back away from him, instead, you kept your head high. "Your move," you seemed to say.

Bucky blinked, droplets of pinkish alcohol clinging to his eyelashes. You tilted your head to one side, faux concern shading your features. With a ridiculous pout, you dabbed at his soaked shirt with the napkin you had been using to clean your hands.

He was breathing hard, his shirt clinging to his shoulders and chest in the most sinful way. Bucky towered over you, tall and menacing. He wanted you so badly right now.

Peggy shouted your name in a scolding tone before she grabbed your hand and pulled you away from Bucky. Steve shot you a dirty look as he walked past you, holding a clean shirt in his fist.

Bucky took the shirt from Steve without taking his eyes off you. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

"You okay, man?"

Bucky turned to Steve and nodded. "All good. Mind if I use your room?" he asked, waving the clean shirt.

"Sure."

As Bucky crossed the living room, he overheard Peggy asking you to apologise. Though it was more of a command than a request.

Alone in the bedroom, Bucky unbuttoned his shirt and let out a sigh of relief when the soaked material was no longer clinging to his skin. His movements were slow, unhurried. He brought the shirt to his nose, the smell of bitter wine and orange juice filling his senses.

He slipped his arms into the sleeves of the new shirt and pulled the fabric over his shoulders when he heard a knock at the door.

"Peggy says I have to apologise," you said, closing the door behind you. "So here we go. My apologises."

Bucky stood there, his shirt unbuttoned, and cocked a brow at you.

"No really," you continued, "I'm sorry you're a jerk."

"You're hilarious," he deadpanned.

He walked slowly, backing you up against the door, his eyes never leaving yours. He pinned you with a look, one you knew well. Do you want to do this? You nodded.

You only had three rules: no kissing –it leads to feelings, always use protection –don't wanna catch something, and the most important one: consent –just because you piss me off doesn't mean I'm gonna have sex with you.

He felt your warm breath on his lips when he started trailing his fingers along the skin just above the waistband of your jeans.

"You had to wear jeans today," he sighed, sounding frustrated.

"I'm also wearing tights," you replied. He gave you an exasperated look. "What? Oh, I'm sorry if my winter outfit is getting in the way of your kinky fantasy but in case you haven't noticed, it's the middle of February. I'm freezing."

"Yeah, whatever," he said, shaking his head. "Just turn around."

"So romantic." You rolled your eyes, but got into position. You slid your jeans and tights down to your knees and braced yourself against the door. Looking over your shoulder, you saw him roll a condom down his length. "Thank you for making me feel special," you said sarcastically.

"Shaddap," he grumbled. His voice was gruff with a tinge of embarrassment, most likely due to his previous caveman outburst.

"You, shut up."

He grabbed your hips and entered you in one swift motion. Your gasp caught in your throat and you let your forehead drop with a soft thud against the wood.

Bucky's naked torso was pressed against your back, your soft jumper tickling his skin. He placed his hand over your mouth, keeping you quiet.

"I know I'm good, but please, keep it down," he taunted, rolling his hips. You tilted your head back to glare at him. "Quit lookin' at me like that! I know you like it. So wet," he hummed appreciatively, "it's runnin' down your thighs. Is that all for me?"

You reached behind you and pinched his butt cheek. Hard.

"OW!" The sudden flash of pain made him surge forward and you both groaned in ecstasy. The tension coiled tighter and tighter. Bucky thought he was going to explode.

"Saw you with Sam earlier," he grunted in your ear. "You two are best friends now? You enjoy makin' fun of me with your new best friend?" he asked in a breathless voice, his breath fanning across your neck. "Yeah, who's laughin' now?"

His nose scrunched up when he felt your warm tongue lick his palm. This could only mean one thing: shut up.

He picked up the pace, his confidence boosted when you arched your back and moaned against his hand. He wrapped his free arm around your middle and held you against him until your body became limp.

Bucky dropped his forehead to your shoulder, sighed, and then took his hand off your mouth.

"You talk too much," you said in a throaty whisper while you patted the top of his head. He snorted. "Next time, I'll gag you."

"Promises, promises," he replied with a smirk.