Krasivaya

Part 9

That fucking combat suit, the one which made his thighs look good enough to bite, along with the tight vest straining over his chest, sets you groaning into Steve's neck as he piggybacks you to the quinjet. The next two weeks were going to be torture.

"Deep breaths, baby doll," he says as Natasha chuckles throatily beside you.

"How does he make that look so good?" you wonder aloud, eyes wide.

Steve snorts. "Hey now, can't have my best girl ogling other men!"

Giggling, you give his shoulder a playful smack. "Ah, Cap, you look good enough to eat in that striped suit of yours," you purr into his ear.

He blushes deeply and Natasha guffaws louder. "Careful, sestra. You might break him."

Smiling down at your friend, you make to retort when Bucky's annoyed voice cuts through the jovial atmosphere. "We need to move," he states. His eyes, trained on Steve's hands gripping the back of your thighs to keep you steady, brings you crashing back to reality.

You untangle yourself from Steve, adjusting your hood, smoothing down non existent creases. "Alright then," you mutter, straining on your tiptoes to kiss Steve's cheek.

He smirks, pulls you in by the back of the neck, and plants a ferocious kiss to your lips. When he's done, he murmurs against your lips, making sure to keep the glowering visage of one James Barnes from overhearing, "Be safe. And this is your chance. Give him hell."

You sigh. Fat chance of that happening. He made his feelings for you crystal clear, and you were done pining for someone who was never going to be yours. You embrace Natalia, lingering longer than necessary in the embrace.

"Zabotit'sya o tvoyey sem'ye," she whispers into your hair.

"Always, sister. Don't worry overmuch for me."

She hold you at arm's length, gaze sweeping over your form, committing you to memory. Nodding once, she strides away from the jet.

Assassins, you think, snorting lightly at her behaviour. They're so dramatic.

Sparing a curt nod in Bucky's direction, you walk onto the jet. Strapping yourself into the seat, you stare fixedly at the wall, willing yourself not to glance his direction. To be as professional as you can. You have two weeks stuck in a confined room, doing surveillance, you do not need more tension.

He takes the seat beside you, the click of the seat belt drawing you out of your thoughts. He clears is throat as the quinjet takes off. "So, you an' Stevie are pretty serious, huh?"

You quirk a brow at the offside question. Nibbling at your lower lip, you try and formulate a plausible way to dodge the question. When you look up at him, his gaze is trained on your now red lips.

Trancelike, he reaches forward, gently runs his finger over it. "Don' do that," he says thickly.

You jerk away from the touch, stung by the familiarity in the action, the gentleness of it. You feel hot and cold at the same time, wanting to lean into the caress and run as far away as you can. "James," you husk out as he snaps back to himself.

"Sorry, you and Steve, huh?"

Feeling slightly whiplashed by the bizarre turn of events, you eye him warily. "That's really not your business, Sergeant. You should ask Steve," you reply coolly.

He rumbles out a growl. "I ain't asking him, am I, doll face? I'm askin you, and I want a straight answer!" he snaps.

You level him with an icy glare. "This has nothing to do with the mission Sergeant. I am happy to answer anything pertaining to what we are doing. My personal life, however, is none of your business. I would appreciate it if we kept things professional. Just like you wanted."

He sits back in his chair, head banging against the wall with enough force to make you wince. "So, this is how it's gonna be now? This is what ya want?" He lets out a humourless laugh. "Fine. I'll do what ya want, Agent."

You bite down on your anger, bristling at his tone. "If you knew what I wanted, James Buchanan Barnes, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

His brow furrows in confusion. "Whadda ya mean by that?" he asks, something akin to hope in his eyes.

You brush it off as fancy and reply, "We have a long flight, and I'm in no mood to fight with you." Pulling out earphones from your duffle bag, you place them in your ears, drowning out any response he may have made.

This was going to be a long two weeks. You had no idea how you were going to manage being so close to the object of your affection, and keep a lid on your emotions at the same time.