Slow Dancing & Apple Pie

Twenty-one

Not for the first time, Bucky wished he could get drunk. However, thanks to the bloody serum running through his veins, it wasn't possible. Which means the drinks he's been ordering for the last hour is really just him pissing money away. He couldn't get drunk, but he could pretend he could drink his sorrow away at least.

He'd fucked up. Seriously, and possibly irrevocably, fucked up.

It was monumentally stupid of him to think you not only hadn't heard what he said during the fight with Steve but also that it wouldn't have hurt you. He didn't even know why he said it, it wasn't like he meant it. It might not have been his intention to claim you. But once he had, it felt right. You felt right.

Bucky wanted to blame the things he said to Steve on leftover alpha shit from his rut. He'd alway been the possessive and aggressive kind of alpha while in rut. But if he was honest with himself, which he really needed to be if he had even an atom's chance of fixing this, Steve confronting him about his claiming just pissed him the fuck off.

Because Bucky knew he should have done it differently.

But it was too late to go back now, a claim was a permanent thing. You and Bucky were mates. Which meant he had to figure out how to fucking fix this.

Disgusted with himself and the circular path his mind was on, he ordered another drink. Scowling at it, his back stiffened when he caught the scent of Sam approaching. A few seconds later, the man himself slid onto the barstool next to him.

"Having yourself a pity party are we?"

"Fuck off, Sam, I don't want your shit right now."

"Well that's too bad. Because you're gonna have to."

"I could just leave," Bucky says, still glowering at his glass.

"You could," Sam says with a thoughtful hum. "But you won't."

Bucky rolled his eyes, hating that he was right. So, instead, he didn't say anything. Maybe if he just pretended he wasn't there, eventually Sam would get tired and leave him the fuck alone.

No such luck.

After ordering and receiving his own drink, Sam trained his eyes on Bucky's profile and asked, "So, how long do you plan to continue moping like a big baby?"

Rich insult has Bucky's head snapping around with a low growl. "What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"Exactly what you heard me say."

Glaring at Sam with the same intensity he had glared at his drink, Bucky nearly snarled. "Don't fucking test me, Sam, it won't end well for you."

Sam scoffed, not the slightest bit ruffled by the angry alpha next to him. Bucky could seriously hurt him, what with all his enhancements, but Sam knew he wouldn't. And he knew enough about Bucky by now to know that often the only way to get him to stop being a moron like he was being–was to piss him off.

"You know what, I don't have to sit here and listen to you." Bucky said, standing and dropping a wad of cash on the bar to pay for his drinks and tip.

Sam caught up with him quickly, much to Bucky's annoyance. "Well, at least this is a step in the right direction."

Bucky stopped and wheeled towards him. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Leaning back on his heels, Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and said, "Well, instead of drinking your way through every bar you can each night like a coward, you're heading home. Which is where you belong."

"Did you just call me a coward?" Bucky asked, incensed.

"I'm just calling it like I see it."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."