Trying Your Luck - Bucky BarnesxOC

Part 8: Brooklyn Baby

Sunlight pours in from the large window in Shannon's bedroom. It's slightly open, a reprieve from the early summer heat at night. He's groggier than usual, but happier. It takes him a few minutes to realize where he is. Soft sheets, a feather pillow tucked beneath his head, and a cool blanket draped over top of him. Definitely not his apartment.

He slept over again. It all comes flooding back. This time, he asked. Shannon was thrilled. She brought him a hoodie and sweatpants to sleep in. The hoodie is oversized and says NYU on the front. She said she stole it from a career fair when she first got to the city. The memory of the story makes him smile and Bucky rolls over, expecting to see her, but finds the bed empty. He frowns. A strange scent wafts into the bedroom. Earthy, herbal, skunky.

Pot. It smells slightly better than he remembers. Steve used to call joints "giggle-smokes". Bucky always thought it was a stupid name, but hearing those words pour from his best friend's mouth always made him laugh. The stuff they had back in the 40s is, apparently, shit compared to what can be produced now — or so Sam says. He's never tried it. What's the point?

He straightens up.

"Shannon?"

"Balcony," he hears her call.

He stands, stretches, and pads out into the living room. He spots Ace in the kitchen, happily munching away at a bone. She's cooking something - he smells savoury notes and spices. Man, he could get used to this. Bucky spent so many years jumping from fight to fight and place to place. Shannon has made this apartment a home, not like his darkened sad little box back in Queens.

He turns to see her lounging in a patio chair in a pair of very short shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. She has a bright pink tank top that's rolled up just below her bust line, exposing a soft belly that he finds himself very much wanting to kiss and caress. She has a big pair of sunglasses attached to her face - the kind movie stars wear. There's a thick book in her lap and a joint dangling precariously from the tips of her fingers.

She looks... cool. Effortless, like something out of a magazine. He could stand there all day just watching her exist. Her hair is piled up on top of her head, sort of like it was last night, but much messier. The sun kisses her skin, making her look almost angelic. Bucky gulps, standing there as he drinks in the sight of her. He really has to thank Sam for installing him that app. Dammit.

She turns to him, sets the book down on the ground and grins, pulling her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. Her eyebrows wiggle.

"You sleep late."

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"You talked in your sleep a lot," she says.

Bucky panics.

"What did I say?"

"Mostly incoherent mumbling. Something about someone named Steve. You got a secret boyfriend I don't know about?"

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

"No. I don't. Steve's my best friend — well, was."

"What happened?"

"Long story."

She nods, letting it go, much to his relief. He sits in the empty chair beside her. It's bright out, but the sun feels good on his face. He turns to her.

"I didn't know you smoked pot."

"Shhh," she whispers. "Don't tell anybody. Especially not my landlord with no sense of smell."

He smirks.

"Your secret's safe with me." He looks her up and down, eyes trailing along her legs until his gaze reaches her toes. They're painted cherry red, wriggling and basking in the warmth of the sun splashing against the patio.