Slow Dancing & Apple Pie

Eleven

Bucky jolted up; panting and skin slick with sweat. On a frustrated groan, he shoved his hair back before scrubbing his hands over his face. Groaning for a second time, he pushed up from where he had been sleeping on the floor and headed out to the kitchen for water. Maybe it could cool the heat in his stomach. Snatching up a shirt from the ground he tugged it over his chest, not that he expected to run into you this late—but still. He was getting sick of this. Nightmares he could handle; these dreams were something else entirely.

Ever since he'd lost his mind last weekend and kissed you, Bucky had been avoiding you as much as it was physically possible to do. Even still, he had no idea what had even come over him in the first place. One minute, he'd been goading you, riling up that unexpected temper of yours and the next he'd been kissing you. There had just been something insanely appealing abut you standing there and yelling at him. The complete lack of fear in you when you poked him in the chest as if he couldn't essentially tear a person apart with his bare hands.

Avoiding and ignoring you wasn't doing much for him, because he was still waking up dreams that left him horny and aching. This wasn't happening because he wanted you; he didn't want any omega let alone you specifically. No, whatever was going on with him probably had something to with his body still adjusting back to normal after decades of HYDRA fucking with his systems as much as they fucked with his mind. That's what he had to keep reminding himself, that's all. Eventually, things would sort themselves out and he could go back to his regularly scheduled annoyance of you.

Unbidden, images from this latest dream popped into his head, his body reacting to it without his permission. His breath caught and his hand squeezed the glass he was holding so hard that it shattered. Wincing at the momentarily sting of pain, he cursed his stupidity as he opened his fist and shook the shards into the sink. There was already blood welling and pouring out of the gash in his palm. Rolling his eyes, he cursed again, reaching in with his metal hand and scraping up the glass and tossing it into the bin. Now he was horny and pissed off.

"Bucky?"

The quiet sound of your voice had him looking over his shoulder. He found you standing, hair messy from sleep, eyes heavy, and wearing something that looked silky and barely skimmed your thighs. Cursing for a new reason, he tore his gaze away from you and snatched up some paper towel. "Go back to bed, omega."

You winced a little at the harshness of his tone, but ignored the comment and moved over to him. Catching sight of the blood on his hand, you reached out and grabbed his hand. "What in the world did you do?"

"Nothing. Go away." Instinctively, he tried to tug his hand out of yours.

You huffed in annoyance, ignoring him and tightening your grip on his hand. "Stop being a baby and let me look at it."

The audacity of you calling him a baby, had Bucky blinking in surprise. You pulled his hand over and turned the tap on. He hissed quietly when the stream of water hit the cut, but didn't say anything as he watched the blood rinsing off his palm, mixing with the water and swirling down the drain. After a minute, when the wound seemed to temporarily stop bleeding, you pulled his hand back out and inspected it carefully.

Letting his hand go, you pointed at one of the kitchen chairs. "Sit down."

Scowling, he watched you disappear down the hallway. What the hell did you think you were going to do? Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he reached over and grabbed more paper towel to press to the wound, since it had started bleeding again.

"I told you to sit down." You'd come back into the room with a first aid kit.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, omega."