AVENGER IMAGINES

Steve - Treat You Better pt3

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Steve.
>>>>
Treat You Better pt3.
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A quiet knock at your bedroom door stirred you from your drunken slumber.

You rolled on to your side and rubbed your eyes hard with the palm of your hands. You sobered up quickly.

"Come in." You croaked.

The door slid open silently and with ease. Bucky's frame appeared out of the shadows and into your very dimly light room.

Thanks to the hotels lighting across the street you were just able to make out his face.

"Whats up?" You asked as you sat up a little more in your bed.

"Just wanted to make sure you were alright doll." Bucky's voice was soft. The bed dipped as he sat down next to you.

"I'm.. I.." You sighed. "I've been better. How about you? I'm sorry for all the shouting earlier. You didn't need to hear that." You were ashamed of how you acted yet you were more ashamed of Steve.

"That's fine. Honestly... I just don't have the right words to make this better. I sent Steve away. He's staying at a hotel across town." Bucky smiled sadly.

He had loved you just as long as Steve - maybe even longer - but you only had eyes for Steve. Bucky understood why.

Before Steve had the serum he was a different man. All though he could hardly breath, he was a good guy. In more than one way. Well in fact in more than five ways. Steve was a golden man. Small but big hearted.

Bucky couldn't believe Steve - his best friend - would of done this to some one they both loved so dearly.

You mulled over what Bucky had said. Alcohol was still clouding your mind, and apparently you judgement, considering you could not for the life of you stop checking out Buck.

The way his face structure cast shadows on his face was lovely. Giving him an untone of dangerously sexy.

"Thank you. Hey, Buck.. You wanna join me for another drink? I have more whiskey in the cupboard." You smiled slyly.

"Yeah. Sounds good, doll." Bucky smiled widely at you before going to retrieve the other bottle of your cooking whiskey.

The first bottle you had polished off by yourself. Not a drop was left in it.

As the night dribbled on slowly and the whiskey went down quickly you found yourself resting your head against Bucky's lap as he read a passage from your favourite book. The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah.

His voice mulled over the words smoothly. His rough yet velvety voice made your ears ring and your head spin. It was soft like the sound of a purring cat but had undertones of something dangerous, something sexy, like the sound of a motorbike starting up and racing away.

You had never thought of Bucky in this way before. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the way his voice pronounced the words of your favourite book. Or maybe you were just seeing a different side to Bucky all together.

Whatever it was, it was different. And different is always good, right?

"How come I have to read for you? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Bucky chuckled lowly, his chest vibrating.