Faking It

Three

When she took his hand, he froze.

He could sense her anxiety. It was obvious to him. He had it too, but he kept that part of his life as private as possible. That was something he preferred others didn't know. Besides, it was easy to fake it. Just like everything else in his life.

They walked the rest of the carpet, answering questions, posing for photos. Conversing with his co-stars. Easy. Fake that smile, Barnes. Just a few more hours and you could go back to the hotel. Rest for the night before jetting back to New York.

He took the seat beside her in the theater, noting how she refused to look at him once they were away from the press. She hated him, he figured. That was only fair. He'd done all he could to push her away. He only had a few months left. No use in getting attached.

****

Alex remained quiet in the car. She tried to focus on other things. Anything but the faint scent of his cologne. The heat radiating off his body. How fucking good he looked in the velvet tux. She needed to reel it in or it would be a disaster.

Separate hotel rooms. Different floors.

No use in pretending behind closed doors.

She closed the door behind her and reached back, unzipping the gown and hung it back on the hanger to return to the designer in the morning. She washed her face, changed into a loose tank and leggings. Reached for the remote once she climbed in the bed.

Do not think about Barnes. Don't do it.

It was useless. For fuck's sake. His hands on her waist. Hot breath on her neck. God damned James Barnes and his perfect face. His gorgeous blue eyes. His strong hands...stop it, Pierce. Don't think about his hands. Think about something else.

Fuck, anything else.

That was a bad, bad idea. Because it left her mind to run to...other body parts. No. No. No. Too late. Fuck it, she groaned and shimmied out of her leggings. No one needed to know, right? Certainly not Bucky. Oh god, definitely not Bucky.

She'd die of sheer embarrassment.

His name fell from her lips at the first touch.

Yeah, Alex was completely fucked.

****
The cold shower was doing absolutely nothing for Bucky. He could still feel the soft silk. Wondering what was underneath. She didn't strike him as the prudish type. No, not Alex. He'd seen those scenes, the ones she'd filmed with him on set. They'd honestly gotten him through a few lonely nights.

Her moans, breathy. Soft. Like the sweetest song. And fuck, he wanted to make her make those sounds. He wanted to be the reason she moaned like that. He wanted to coax those beautiful sounds from her perfect lips. Wanted to taste her, know how she felt wrapped around his cock.

Fuck it. Wasn't like he'd ever tell her. Not like she'd ever find out, right? So it just didn't matter.

He fisted his hard cock in his hand. Those sounds filled his mind. Images of her underneath him. On top of him. Her mouth taking every inch of him. He bet she'd look absolutely perfect on her knees. In this moment, she wasn't out of reach. No, he had her. She was his.

****

The flight home was excruciating. Alex just wanted to sleep. But it was pointless. She could never sleep on a plane, even when she traveled overseas. Which, of course, she'd be doing soon. All the while, keeping up the facade of this 'relationship.' Alex was burnt out.

Closing the door, she threw her bag on the floor and kicked off her shoes. She just wanted to climb into bed and sleep for a fucking week. Ignore all calls. Bury her head under blankets. Tune out the world.

Yeah, right.

"I don't wanna," she whined into the phone. "I just fuckin' saw him, Jane! Give me like, a week or two before I have to deal with his ass again." She did not need this shit. She just got home. Barely in the door.

"It's just one night, Lex. Just one. Just an hour. Take some photos. Kiss for the cameras. Pretend you're in love. One fucking hour. Please. It's all I'm asking. Then I swear I'll leave you alone for a week."

Yeah, sure she would.

****

Bucky dreaded shit like this. Everything in this industry felt fake. Forced. Everything was a performance. He needed a vacation. A real one. Away from everything. Maybe call up an old hookup and take her to an island. He needed to get fucking laid. He was tired as hell of his hand.

His eyes flickered to the door of the small theater, her hair was windswept. A figure hugging black dress. Black Louboutins. Fuckin' hell. He thought about fucking her in nothing but those shoes. God, he really needed to get some ass soon.

He held out a hand and she took it graciously, letting him pull her into a soft kiss on the cheek. "You look stunning," he told her, making her blush a bit. Well, that was adorable.

The theater was packed. Wall to wall with people networking, trying to make their way up. Business talk filled the air. Cameras everywhere. He knew their faces would be all over the internet by midnight. She held onto him as they navigated the crowd, a smile never leaving her red lips.

"Wanna step outside?," he asked her, "get some air?" She nodded, thanking him once they'd reached the balcony that overlooked the New York skyline. The moon hung high in the black sky. He could actually pick out a few stars out here.

"I hate this shit," she muttered, leaning against the railing, looking out. He couldn't help but admire her, the way the moonlight lit her features, making her look almost ethereal. How did he miss just how truly beautiful she was? "This industry garbage. It's so incredibly fake. Everyone in there is full of it."

He chuckled at her words. She was right though. Nothing but sharks in the business. They only cared about what you could give them. How much money you could make them. How good looking you were. No one really gave a shit about genuine talent anymore.

He moved beside her, turning his head to look at her, drinking her in. She tilted her head a bit, an amused look on her stunning face. "What's on your mind, Barnes? What's goin' on in that head?" He grinned and leaned in closer.

"You wanna get outta here?"