Flowers in the Darkest Parts: Bucky Barnes X OC

Bucky

My eyes open as the morning light streams through the window. It takes me just a second to remember the events from last night and to remember that you're here with me. In my bed. I look down my chest to see your hand resting on it. You're tucked right up next to me, your golden hair sprawled out behind you. My arm wraps around you and holds you against me, my hand falling on your waist. I feel your chest move against me as you breathe, still fast asleep. You must have found your way over to me in the night, needing me as much as I need you.

I lay my head back onto the pillow as gently as I can without waking you. I smile to myself, I can't remember the last time I've slept that good. It's been too long. Far too long.

My body and mind are completely at peace. There's no buzzing that clouds my thoughts. No feelings of dread or death. I could stay here forever with you.

Just as I'm about to drift back into sleep, you start to stir. Your eyes flick open and you realize how close you are to me. Your eyes find mine, big and blue and beautiful. I smirk down at you, "Good morning."

You sit up flustered, cheeks turning pink. You're all ruffled from sleep, but still look absolutely gorgeous. You blink a few times. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lay so close."

I raise an eyebrow at you. "You think I'm mad that I have a beautiful woman curled up next to me in my bed?" I let out a small laugh, "And not just any beautiful woman, it's you." There's a smile that peeks through your lips.

I pull you into my chest again, monitoring for any sign of resistance. From here on out, everything will be your choice, everything will be on your terms. Especially physical contact. I melt as you lay your head on me. Sighing I say, "I don't remember the last time I slept the entire night."

"You probably wouldn't have been so tired if you weren't out chasing women and capturing them in the late hours of the night."

"But it's one of my favorite hobbies," I drawl. You let out a little laugh, punching me in the shoulder. I smile. It feels so good with you. So natural. I feel one of your legs curl around mine and I have to focus on controlling my body. I play with a piece of your hair, twirling it around my finger. It's so soft, I want to bury my face in it.

"It's still so weird to me. It feels like just yesterday you were taking me dancing and walking me down the streets of New York." You run your hand over my chest to my shoulder, where my metal arm attaches to my flesh. "But so much has happened since then." I tense as you touch the scar, my stomach pitting with guilt and the memories that come with it. I wait for you to pull away in disgust, but you continue to rub your fingers on it. "Does it hurt?"

"Sometimes," I close my eyes and let you touch me. "It's just sensitive." I melt down into my pillow as you continue to rub my shoulder. How can one person's touch feel this good? I barely let anyone see that scar, let alone touch it. It comes with too many questions, questions I don't want to answer. But your touch is different. It doesn't feel threatening or judgmental. It feels good.

You run your hand down my arm, examining every inch of the metal. When you reach my hand, you pull it up and press your hand against mine, palm to palm. "Can you feel with it?"

I open my eyes and look at you. You stare at our hands, your forehead wrinkled in thought. I lace our fingers together, "Yeah, I can still feel a little. That's the only good thing about it."

There's silence between us. I rub my thumb against the back of your hand, the cool metal grazes your warm skin. Everyone always wants to know how powerful it is or to show them how strong I am with it. No one's ever wanted to know how gentle it could be.

"Bucky?"

"Yeah."

"Will you take me dancing again?"