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You’re not sure what to expect when you walk into the Christmas party, but knowing Tony’s love for theatrics, you should’ve been more prepared. A huge pine tree glitters with lights in the center of the room; glass ornaments reflect the rays and send bright colors all around.
In classic Tony Stark fashion, the room is packed with New York’s elite as well as Stark Industry Employees. Even the Avengers are present.
You step out of the elevator, a little wobbly on your heels, and make your way toward the bar. Liquid courage always helps you get through these parties. Your green satin dress shines nicely in the lights of the tree, and you compliment yourself on choosing it. Not like you had many options, though. After ordering an old-fashioned, you lean your back against the bar and watch everyone move in the large room.
Everyone invited to the party was allowed to bring a date, but you’d forgotten to ask anyone. That, and everyone you know was already going, so why even bother? Couples dance around the tree to classic Christmas music, and you spot a few of your fellow field agents. This is your third Tony Stark Christmas, marking three years of working alongside the Avengers and other Stark Industries agents. The parties never get easier; you’re not much of a people person.
Someone waves at you from the crowd, and you recognize Sam Wilson making his way toward you. The two of you have worked together on plenty of missions, and to be frank; he’s one of your favorite Avengers. You’d never say who your #1 is out loud. That’s private information meant only for your diary.
You scan the crowd and try to convince yourself that you’re not looking for the one person you should be avoiding. The one person who you’d let pull you out onto the dance floor—the one person who can look at you with his stormy blue eyes and make you melt. Before you have a chance to spot him, Sam appears in front of you.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says, wrapping you in a firm hug. Sam is the only person allowed to hug you, but you’re not sure when you started being okay with it. “What’re you doing over here alone?” You take a swig of your drink and roll your eyes. He knows why you’re alone.
“I’m doing what I do best,” you reply, “people-watching.” It’s true; people-watching is what you do best. It’s why you’re an agent; you’re a damn good spy.
“I wouldn’t call that people watching,” he teases as your eyes go back to searching the crowd for a hint of metal. “More like person-watching. Robocop is here, in case you were wondering.” Sam plucks your glass from your fingers and takes a sip causing you to scowl. It just makes him laugh.
“I don’t care if Mr. Terminator is here; it’s none of my business.” You and Bucky have been orbiting each other for a while but have yet to collide. Whenever you have a mission with him, you feel the tension building, the wanting, but then he always does something to extinguish the fire. It’s happened so many times that you’re starting to believe that it’s one-sided, that it’s all in your head.
“Sure, sure. Well, if you’re ever gonna make a move, you should do it tonight.” Sam places your drink back in your hands and squeezes your arm before making his way back out onto the dance floor. When he finds a dance partner, he turns around and shoots you a wink along with his perfect smile.
You can’t help but smile back, his energy is contagious, and you can never be angry with him for too long. After getting a refill on your drink, you make your rounds. It’s essential to make connections at events like these, so you go up to a few familiar faces and recall the names of spouses and children. Then, you come across some guests you’ve never met and make sure to butter them up. Investors are vital to Stark Industries and the Avengers; you wouldn’t be able to do half the work you do without them.
As you speak to a man you’re sure you recognize from some Forbes article, you feel eyes on you. Not just any eyes, you’d know these anywhere. Forbes man gives you a funny look; you must’ve made a face. You try to play it off with a laugh, and for a moment, you think you’re successful when the man’s face falls. When you feel someone move behind you, you understand why. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. But you do anyway.
“Hi, Bucky,” you say, gazing up at the mountain of a man. You teeter on your heels for a moment at the sight of him. He’s dressed to the nines and looks good enough to eat. His suit is perfectly tailored, and it highlights his broad shoulders. The reason you couldn’t spot any metal earlier is because he’s covered any evidence of his prosthetic arm. He’s even wearing gloves, but you can tell he thinks they’re uncomfortable from the way he’s flexing his fingers every few seconds.
“Sam said you were looking for me, is everything okay?” You resist the urge to scream a little and instead cock your head, pretending not to know what he’s talking about.
“Strange, I don’t remember saying that.” Bucky flexes his fingers then tightens them into fists, avoiding your eyes. You keep looking up at him, but his face is impossible to read. He seems conflicted, maybe even confused.
You open your mouth to speak again when Bucky takes hold of one of your wrists and pulls you toward a quiet corner of the room. You nearly faceplant, tripping on your heels, but Bucky holds you up. You can feel the heat of his hand through his glove, branding you.
“What’s going on,” he asks, running his other hand through his hair. Though you know it’s a nervous tick, you like the disheveled look on him. It works.
“You’re the one that pulled me all the way over here. I should be asking you that.” Though Bucky has loosened his grip on your arm, his fingers still wrap around your wrist. You don’t make a move to shake him off, though. This is the most contact you’ve gotten from him, well, ever. He makes a strange grunting sound, clearly frustrated with you. You lean back against the door frame and try to catch his gaze.
“Look, if you’re in on whatever this is with Sam, you need to tell me. I don’t like being the butt of his stupid jokes.” Bucky’s fingers tighten just enough for you to notice, but you’re more focused on what he’s said. A joke?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bucky, I’m not–” Your words die on your lips when you glance above Bucky’s head and see a sprig of mistletoe tied to the top of the doorframe. You’ve never seen it in person before. Bucky glances up to see what you’re looking at and pales at the realization.
You let your eyes fall back down to Bucky’s, and for the first time all night, he meets your gaze. His eyes bore into yours, and you nearly drown in them. His grip tightens more on your wrist, and you know he feels it. “We don’t have to do anything,” you whisper. Bucky shakes his head and takes a step toward you.
“What if I want to do something?” He asks, releasing your wrist. Both his hands travel up your exposed arms to your neck, cupping the sides of your face. Your breath catches in your throat, and you think for a moment you’ve died and gone to heaven.
He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Instead, he tugs you away from the doorframe and pulls you close. You’re pressed against the hard planes of his chest, and it feels like you’re coming home after years and years of being away. Bucky tilts your head, and you watch as his pupils expand.
Though your heels give you some height, Bucky is still quite a bit taller than you. You close the distance, balancing up on your toes, and press your lips to his. He sighs into the kiss as you wrap your arms around him.
It feels right to have him so close, to feel the heat of his body radiating onto yours. You fit together like two puzzle pieces; it’s almost comical how good it feels. Bucky moves his lips against yours, urging you to keep kissing him. Of course, you oblige.
When you finally pull away, there’s a buzzing energy surrounding you. Bucky keeps you close and leans his forehead against yours. He’s grinning like an idiot, but so are you. His hands travel down your sides, gripping your hips. He presses heated kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your neck. You lean into him, letting him hold you up entirely at this point. His lips on your skin sets you alight, and you feel like you’re floating. No one has ever had this effect on you.
You guide his face back to yours and kiss him again, this time with more urgency. You try to show him how long you’ve wanted this, how long you’ve wanted him. Needed him. He gives it right back to you, desperately holding onto you. For a moment, you forget you’re in the middle of a party. You forget that you’re surrounded by other people. At this moment, you and Bucky are the only two people on planet Earth.
“All wrapped up for me like a present,” he whispers into your neck. “Wish I could unwrap you.” His voice is low and gravelly, and it makes your head spin. His cologne surrounds you, and it takes everything in you not to take gulping breaths of him.
“You’re all bark and no bite, Sarge,” you tease, biting your lip to suppress your smile. Bucky scoffs and runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
“You wanna put money on that?” You shrug and don’t put up a fight when he pulls you to the elevator. As you wait for the doors to open, you catch Sam and Tony watching you. You don’t miss the exchange of bills between the men and Sam’s huge grin. Clearly, he’s won whatever bet he’d had with Tony.
You gasp dramatically, and Sam bursts out laughing, but you don’t get a chance to say more because Bucky tugs you into the elevator.
“Sam was betting on when we’d get together,” you say, putting the pieces together. Bucky laughs a bit and runs a finger along your jaw.
“I don’t think it really counts as a win,” he replies quietly. The way he’s studying you makes you want to bloom. “He told me to make a move, and I’m guessing he gave you similar advice.”
“Guess that’ll be our little secret.”