Work Text:
—
“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?”
Bucky’s voice carried like a shot, smooth and shameless. He was leaning back in his chair, smirk ready, like he was auditioning for trouble.
John didn’t even look up from his coffee. “Buck.”
“’Cause these,” Bucky gestured with both hands, “these are the hips that could repopulate the fleet.”
The espresso machine hissed like it had opinions. Somewhere, someone coughed into their latte.
John exhaled through his nose. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re pretty when you’re embarrassed,” Bucky said, all grin and danger. “All mine, Doll.”
“Buck,” John muttered. “There are people.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, grin widening. “Let ‘em learn what longing looks like.”
John groaned, muttering, “I’m never bringing you out again.”
“Sure you will,” Bucky said, smug as ever. “You love me, Sweetheart.”
John’s answer was lost behind his cup, too quiet to catch.
Before he could say anything else, Bucky reached across the table, caught his chin, and kissed him—slow, deliberate, and devastatingly confident. John’s breath caught, and by the time he started to pull away, Bucky’s hand came down with a playful slap to his ass.
John yelped. “BUCKY!”
The café burst into applause.
Bucky stood, bowed low, and winked. “Thank you! We’ll be here all week!”
John dropped his face into his hands, laughing despite himself. “You’re the worst.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, leaning in, voice low and amused. “And you keep me anyway.”
—
Later that night, the house was quiet. No little footsteps, no Alpine mewling—just the creak of floorboards and the hum of the fridge.
Bucky leaned in the doorway, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair loose around his face. “We’re alone this week,” he said, voice warm and teasing. “Olivia’s got the kid.”
John looked up from where he was rinsing mugs, one eyebrow raised. “You planning something, Congressman Barnes?”
“Finishing what I started,” Bucky said, crossing the room in three slow steps.
John’s protest barely left his lips before Bucky’s mouth found him again—deeper this time, hands curling around his waist, guiding him back against the counter. The kiss built like it always did: slow at first, then sure, then hungry. John’s fingers slid into his hair, tugging until Bucky groaned low in his throat.
“Buck—” John started, but the word got lost between kisses.
“Let me,” Bucky whispered against his mouth, voice softer now. “No audience this time. Just us.”
John sighed, the sound half surrender, half affection. “You’re lucky I love you.”
Bucky grinned, brushing their noses together. “I’m lucky you put up with me, Peach.”
They made it to the bedroom with unhurried urgency, laughter and kisses tripping between rooms. The bed met them like an old friend, sheets tangling as they sank into each other’s space.
Bucky ended up half on top, one arm braced beside John’s head, the other tracing slow, absent patterns down his ribs. Their kisses turned quieter, deeper—less show, more meaning.
John’s hand found his cheek, thumb stroking the edge of his jaw. “You good, Honey?”
Bucky nodded, voice thick with something that wasn’t just want. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.”
John smiled, pulling him closer until they were nothing but breath and heartbeat. “Good,” he murmured. “Then stay.”
“Always,” Bucky said, and kissed him again—slow, sure, no applause needed.
By the time the night settled, the only sound left was their breathing, limbs tangled together, Bucky’s head tucked beneath John’s chin like peace had a shape and a name.
—
