𝙲𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝓑𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓑𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼 [2]

6. {Arizona}

James Barnes had no idea how he had ended up in this situation with her. He couldn't fathom how they had transitioned from arguing in front of their commandeered vehicle, stranded in the middle of the Arizonian desert during an infiltration mission, to their current predicament. He had no recollection of how they had ended up inside the gas station restroom, the door slamming open as he propelled them both inside. How had they gone from wanting to tear each other's throats out to now desperately trying to tear off each other's clothes?

Bucky couldn't fathom how her lips had transformed from shouting at him to crashing against his in a frenzy of passion. He didn't understand why he was equally fervent, his lips voraciously seeking hers. One hand was entangled forcefully in her hair, gripping her scalp, while the other fumbled urgently with the buttons on her fucking, infuriatingly tactical gear she always wore on these missions, desperate to remove them.

They had been fighting. Yes, that's right. Y/N was berating him about the fuel, and he retaliated, matching her hostility. She went to punch him. Oh, yes... He intercepted her fist as it aimed for his jaw and reflexively caught her other hand when she launched a second punch in her fury. That only intensified her anger; he remembered that. He recalled how, in that moment, he couldn't decide whether he wanted to throttle her or fuck her. Apparently, she opted for the latter. They both did.

Her lips were fierce and demanding, just as much as her fists had been moments earlier. Their bodies collided with an intensity that mirrored their arguments, the fervent clash of passion replacing the heated exchange of words. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling her head back to deepen the kiss, while his other hand finally managed to undo the buttons of her pants, yanking them down impatiently.

Y/N's hands were equally busy, her fingers sliding under his shirt, nails scraping against his skin with a mix of urgency and desperation. She broke the kiss to let out a gasp, her breath mingling with his as they paused to catch air. The moment was electric, a charged silence filled with heavy breaths and the undeniable pull between them.  What the fuck had happened? 

"Barnes, we don't have time to refuel!" Y/N's voice nearly escalated to a shriek as she shot him a glare cold enough to freeze hell over. He didn't need to look her way to feel its intensity.

His grip tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching at her sudden outburst to what he thought was a simple suggestion. Okay, maybe it wasn't so simple—they had been bickering for quite a while in the vehicle before she erupted like this.

They had been on this mission for three hours already. So much for 'simple,' Steve. Y/N had taken charge, using the tracking interface to monitor the cartel they were tailing, needing to intercept the truck before it reached the border. It was meant to be straightforward, but they had already lost twenty miles on the truck due to their incessant clashing.

The drive had started in silence, which initially relieved Bucky. However, the vehicle they had borrowed—yes, borrowed—had only half a tank of fuel remaining. He knew they wouldn't make it to the border in time with such little fuel. That's why he had asked her, or rather commanded her, to locate the nearest station along this seemingly endless road. Now, they found themselves quarrelling over the imperative need to refuel the car.

"Y/N, we won't cover another eighty miles. The truck is twenty ahead and the border is at least another hundred away. If you want me to increase the pace, we absolutely need to fucking refuel!" he growled, his gaze fixed on the road, disregarding her restless shifting in the seat beside him.

"The nearest station veers to the left, fifteen miles away!" she exclaimed, her eyes alternating between her phone and him. "It's a detour that takes us off course, and by the time we loop back onto this road, we'll be thirty miles behind that damned truck!" Y/N argued passionately. It was clear she believed the fuel would hold out, but the car had already burned through most of the first half-tank in sixty miles—he knew it wouldn't last.