Stucky One-Shots (Angst, Fluff, Smut)

Eau de résistance

this was a request: strip game between Steve and Bucky in the 1930s/1940s to "help" Bucky learn French.

as a disclaimer, i do not know how to speak French, so if anything is mistranslated or has a weird translation, i apologize. i tried my best. (blame google.) plus, thank you to the user bucky_barnes_own_me for helping me with the translations. :))

words: 1.9k

Some princes don't become kings, even at the best of times I'm out of my mind, you only get what you grieve, are you smelling that shit? eau de résistance.

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Bucky groaned, dropping his head onto his textbook dramatically. He was about five seconds away from throwing the damned thing across the room.

He hated French. He hated that he was forced to take it. He hated that he didn't realize it was a requirement for graduation until his senior year. He hated that he was so fucking bad at it. He especially hated the class; he was the only senior in a class of freshmen.

He was going to fail his exam next week if he didn't learn the vocabulary from the unit, and he was struggling.

Looking up, he saw Steve across the dining table, working on some assignment for one of his own classes. Thin fingers danced along the page as he tried to find his spot; when he did, he placed his hand down as he glanced back and forth from his book to his writing assignment.

Steve was good at French, like, ridiculously good. He was almost fluent. That bastard. Steve was good at everything--well, maybe except breathing--and Bucky had an idea.

A brilliant, fantastic, disastrous idea. Then again, so were the rest of his ideas.

"Steve, help me," Bucky whined.

Not even tearing his gaze away from his book, Steve said, "And what do I get out of it?"

"How about a game?"

That question caused him to look up. He knew that tone; it was an 'I'm going to get us into trouble' tone. Steve didn't like the way Bucky's lips curled into a devious smile. He narrowed his eyes and said, "What kind of game?"

"Here," Bucky said, pushing his textbook and class notes toward Steve, "tell me something in French from this section, and I'll try to translate it."

Not fully trusting his friend, Steve hesitantly picked up the materials and quickly scanned the page. Picking an exercise sentence, he read aloud, "Ce n'est pas la peine que vous achetiez des journaux ou des magazines."

"You don't need to buy... journals or magazines?" Bucky sounded hopeful. He thought he got it right, maybe?

"Close, it's 'newspapers' not journals," Steve said, "but this doesn't explain how it's a game, Buck."

Bucky grinned and unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it aside. "There," he said proudly.

It didn't do much; he was left in his plain, white undershirt. Noticing Steve's confused expression, he said, "If I get something wrong, I take off a piece of clothing. If I get something right, you take off something."

Steve nearly dropped the book into his lap. Sputtering, he exclaimed, "What? No--no way, Buck--we can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Your mom--"

"Ma won't be home until late, remember? She's working a double." Bucky rested his chin on his hands, making him have to look up at Steve with those pouty eyes from the tabletop. "Dad's not going to be around either... you know how he loves going to bars. And my sisters? They're staying at Mabel's. It's just us, Stevie."