Chapter Text
Daisies, daisies perched upon your forehead
Oh, my baby, lately, I know
That every night, I'll kiss you, you'll say in my ear
"Oh, we're in love, aren't we?"
They got back to the New Avengers Tower late that night, post-mission adrenaline coursing through everyone’s veins. Their mission of thwarting a subterranean alien invasion over in Jersey was an indisputable success. Not bad, for a newly-minted team of just three months’ old. Without discussion, they all got out of the elevator at the penthouse rather than at their living quarters, and Alexei and John headed straight for the bar.
“Shout if you have any requests!” John called out, as the rest of them made their way to the couches.
“A beer for me,” said Ava.
“And a Coke for me, thank you,” said Bob.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” said Bucky, because he was boring, and Yelena waited for Bucky to pick a couch before flinging herself down next to him, so exhausted she was almost giddy with it.
“I want the drink that looks like a sunset—what is it called again?” She prompted Bucky, because he had been the one who ordered the drink for her the last time the team went out, and he gave her an amused—and rather fond—look.
“Sex on the Beach.”
“Sex on the Beach, please!” Yelena shouted at John.
“Coming right up!” John hollered back.
“You’re such a kid,” Ava commented, rumpling Yelena’s hair lightly as she passed by to get to the couch on the other side. “Can’t believe a cutesy sweet cocktail is your drink of choice.”
“Well, Bob’s getting a Coke.” Yelena grumbled at the connotation, and Bob gave a shrug.
“Hey, don’t blame me for my alcoholic father scarring me for life.”
“Oh—Bob, of course not—”
“Just kidding.”
Bob grinned at her easily, and Yelena relaxed, tucking her feet up onto the couch and leaning tired against Bucky’s shoulder—over the past three months, she had figured out that his vibranium arm carried weight like it was nothing, so she took shameless advantage. He always let her, and this time he even moved his arm so that it rested across her shoulders, and she snuggled closer, happy.
In a couple minutes, Alexei and John returned with their drinks—the two of them deciding to share one giant bottle of vodka—and they all toasted to their victory in Jersey.
“To the New Avengers!” Alexei thundered.
“To the triumph of freedom over fascist aliens!” Ava added.
“To finally taking a goddamn break!” Bucky concluded with vehemence.
Everybody agreed. The alien invasion had taken place over the course of twenty hours—apparently, they had no respect for human schedules and had decided to invade at the ripe early hour of 4:28am—and so they were all knackered, though the adrenaline still meant that there was no chance they could sleep right away. Yelena would never admit it aloud, but this was always her favourite part of missions: just everyone in the penthouse afterwards, relaxing and chattering away, like a proper family.
“Are there any fun drinking games?” She asked the room at large, wanting to play something together.
“Never Have I Ever?” John suggested. “That’s an easy one.”
“How do you play it?”
“Just think of a prompt of something you haven’t done, and then whoever has done it, has to drink. Like, never have I ever been to Russia. So, you and Alexei, drink.”
Yelena sipped her orange-red cocktail—John did make a good one, perfectly sweet—and exhaled happily. Beside her, Bucky paused, then took a sip too. She caught that and reached for his hand, squeezing in sympathy; she knew what that meant.
Bob next. “Never have I ever…killed someone?”
Now everyone except Bob drank, and Bucky gave a little shake of his head.
“Something less grim please, for God’s sake. Never have I ever gone to a 21st century club.”
Yelena drank, feeling Bucky’s gaze track her as she did. The way he clarified the timing of the thing was hilarious to Yelena, and she wondered whether that meant he had enjoyed his 20th century clubs and was now looking for a chance to try some contemporary ones, but then it was Alexei’s turn.
“Never have I ever smoked meth!” And that was a sort of comeuppance, because now Bob was the only one drinking.
“Your turn, Yelena,” prompted John, and she hadn’t thought it through yet, so she just said the first thing that came into her head.
“Never have I ever kissed anyone before.”
Everyone raised their glass to drink—then did a double take.
“Wait, never?” Ava questioned, in disbelief. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-something, depends on if you count the Blip or not,” Yelena said, then her stomach dropped at the way everyone was staring at her. “Is that…bad?”
“It’s kind of weird—” started John.
“No,” Bucky cut in before he could finish. “It’s perfectly fine.”
“It’s just, I was in the Red Room all my life—”
“It’s okay, Lena.” Bucky said gently. “John, you’re next.”
And so the topic was brushed aside, and Yelena felt relieved that she didn’t have to justify herself in front of everyone, although her heart twisted at the way Bucky had been watching her all night but then just, all of a sudden, stopped.
Two hours later, empty bottles and glasses were strewn across the penthouse floor, and everyone else had tapped out, snoring or otherwise fast asleep. Only Yelena and Bucky were still awake, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the big, silver moon over the Manhattan skyline, quiet and companionable.
“It’s not that I don’t want to, you know,” said Yelena, following her own train of thought—and it took Bucky’s puzzled glance for her to realize that he had no idea what she had been ruminating about half the night. “Kiss someone, I mean.”
“…Oh?”
“I do want to be close to someone like that,” she admitted, and then flushed a little, glad that the penthouse lights had all been dimmed. “But it was only five years ago that I broke out of the Red Room, and since then it’s just been saving Widows and getting blipped and then doing dirty jobs for Val, and there hasn’t been a time where I’ve felt settled, you know? Because I only want to do it when I feel safe, with someone I trust.”
“That makes sense,” Bucky affirmed, his voice light. “Do you feel settled now?”
Yelena’s gaze drifted over their chaotic living room and sleeping teammates, and realized the answer for the first time, because she had never really thought about it before.
“I actually do.”
“So you want…?”
“I guess so. But it’s hard to find a partner now when we’re so busy with Avenging, and besides, I don’t know the first thing about kissing,” Yelena swallowed, and maybe it was all the cocktails she had been having, or Bucky’s steady, calming presence throughout the night, but it all came pouring out of her. “What if John and Ava are right, Bucky? What if—something’s wrong with me, and I didn’t practice it as a teenager and now I’ll never get it right, and no one will want me—”
“Hey.” Bucky stopped her rambling; physically grabbed ahold of her wrist to keep her from hurtling deeper into her thoughts. “Yelena, nothing’s wrong with you. What the Red Room did to you was not your fault.”
“I know…” And she did, because Bucky had said this to her about a dozen times since they had met, as if he wanted to hammer it into her consciousness by sheer repetition; but this time, he carried on.
“And don’t be silly. It’s the easiest thing in the world to want you, Lena.”
She frowned, his words tripping over in her mind, but before she had processed it—
“I mean, if you’d like to, I could—”
Bucky paused, reaching a hand towards her cheek, and understanding tumbled through Yelena before he had even said it, and her eyes widened.
“I could teach you,” he finished his sentence, then looked almost nervous. The hand that was touching her was trembling just the slightest. “Only if you want to.”
“Bucky—”
He was so close, and for the first time, Yelena was noticing how his cool blue eyes had darkened with intent, and he smelled like cedar and vanilla and it was getting to her head. Suddenly, she wanted, and the desire was so strong that she almost reeled back from it. Bucky had, for the past few months, radiated safety and strength and leadership, and she trusted him with her life, but—it had never occurred to her that trusting could lead to this, this quickening of her pulse, the way his eyes seemed to drag her into a whirlpool, deeper and deeper, and she wanted.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Alright,” he whispered back. “Not here though. Come.”
He stood up and turned immediately to the stairwell, not looking back, trusting her to follow. She did, and they took the two flights down to their living quarters. Bucky headed straight towards his room and unlocked it, holding the door open for her, and she stepped in and just breathed, dizzy all of a sudden. She had never been inside his bedroom before, and it was neat and his sheets were tucked in military corners, and the cedar-and-vanilla scent lingered in the air. It got stronger when Bucky locked the door again and approached her, both hands immediately cupped against her cheeks, gazing down at her. He was so much taller, and she had to crane her head to meet his gaze; she hadn’t even noticed it until now. Her heart hammered, and she wondered if he felt it too.
“Yelena,” Bucky just murmured, and then he bent and pressed his mouth on hers. It felt like nothing she had ever experienced before—oh, like honey, like daydreams, like moonlight breaking through an overcast sky. He kissed her until her lips parted, and then he sucked on her lower lip, his teeth scratching over her skin, and she shivered. He felt that and tightened his palms over her cheeks in response, bending her backwards a little, running his tongue experimentally along hers. She must have gasped, because then he pulled back, eyes as dark as the sea as he searched her features.
“Are you alright?”
She couldn’t speak, could barely even breathe—like the kiss had stolen all her will from her. Was that what all kissing was supposed to feel like, or was it just him? It felt so good, she thought she would die if he didn’t kiss her again. She managed a nod, but didn’t feel like that conveyed how she was feeling enough, so she grabbed ahold of the front of his shirt, squeezing.
“Oh, Lena,” he sighed earnestly, and ran a hand through her hair, tugging it out before cupping her cheek again. “You want more?”
“Yes,” she whispered, “please.”
“Well, sweetheart, since you asked so nicely.”
He tugged her face towards him, and she reached up onto her tiptoes, following her instincts this time round and sliding her arms around his neck. He made a soft sound, pleased, and moved his hands from her cheeks to her waist, just about grazing every inch of her body on the way down as if he owned it. Her lips parted for him again, and this time when his tongue slipped into her mouth, she played back, licking at him until he groaned, right against her lips—and that sound sent trembles down her spine, and heat coiled within her. She was tiptoeing so much she was almost not touching the ground, clinging to him as if he was the only solid thing in the world, and he pulled apart and laughed a little, watching her now, eyes twinkling in delight.
“Was it good?” Yelena asked, getting her breath back, wondering.
“Goddamned amazing, Lena,” Bucky said, swiping a thumb across her cheek. “You’re a quick learner.”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“We could use a better angle,” he mused, and then glanced around his room towards the desk, empty except for a couple notebooks and pens. He went and moved them aside, then came back to her, grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off the ground. Two strides, and then he had deposited her onto his desk. “Still alright?”
Yelena nodded, feeling very alright indeed—until he took her by surprise again and put his hands on her knees, pulling them apart so he could stand in between them. He reached one hand around to the back of her waist and tugged her closer, pressing their bodies together.
“There we go,” he murmured, before kissing her a third time. Yelena’s eyes drifted shut, lost in the sensation, which was slightly different now that the angle had changed. She was positioned slightly higher than him now, and had more leverage to practice on him everything he had just demonstrated on her—biting on his lower lip, running her tongue along the bite marks and then slipping it into his mouth. If he was as flustered by her sincere attention as she had been at his, he didn’t show it, matching her efforts with ease. He opened his mouth easily for her, making those soft, sweet sounds again, and sucked on her tongue. When she tried to move back, take a breath, his hands reached for her hips and held her still, not allowing it. She gasped again when she felt his body pressed right against her, hard and wanting—and all the theoretical knowledge she had about how things worked fell by the wayside to the sudden realization that he was enjoying this. He kissed harder, tilting her head back, and when she bit his lip again his hips jerked against her and then he just stopped.
Yelena panted as he broke apart from her, one step back, all that body heat leaving her and making her feel immediately cold.
“What is it?” She asked, her hands still clinging onto his neck.
“I think that’s enough learning for today,” said Bucky, his voice lower than she had ever heard it. “You’re picking it up quickly.”
“Oh,” Yelena said, a little proud, but mostly aching, wanting more but not knowing how to ask for it. She nodded, and then he let her go, hands moving off of her hips so that she could hop off his desk and stand up. She tugged at her Widow suit, feeling all hot inside. “Bucky?”
He had moved a few steps back, watching her, eyes cool and unreadable again. “Yes?”
“Do you do this often?”
“Kissing?” He gave a short chuckle, shaking his head. “Not since 1945.”
“Why not?” She asked, counting the years in her head. It had been nearly five years since the Battle of Earth, and she knew he had been recovered and active since then.
“Not a lot of people can handle this,” and he gestured at his vibranium arm and then sort of at everywhere else, meaning, she supposed: the brainwashing, the torture, the killing. “And putting a hundred and ten as my age on dating apps tends to turn most people off.”
“Well, you don’t have to be so honest, you can just let people take you as you are…” Yelena said, observing his features now more closely, the crinkle by his eyes, the wry quirk of his mouth, the twenty-four-hour stubble. “You’re pretty handsome,” and then because that felt like too much, she backtracked the slightest, “which is a good thing if you’re gonna keep teaching me.”
“Is that so?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, then came closer, touching her hair again like he couldn’t help himself, his vibranium hand cool against her scalp. “You want more lessons?”
“Well, you do have a hundred and ten years of experience.”
His fingers caught in her hair and he pulled her head back and gave her one, short kiss, hard and punishing.
“Seventy years of brainwashing doesn’t count,” he insisted, and Yelena smiled up at him, relishing the way she had riled him up with just one statement.
“I know. I mean, I really do. I had a decade of the same.”
“Right…”
He looked pensive, all of a sudden, which made Yelena worry that she had said the wrong thing, but then a mask fell back over his features.
“Well, if you do want more lessons, I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Now?” Yelena asked, trying to temper the hopefulness in her voice, and he shook his head.
“It’s nearly dawn and you still haven’t slept. Here,” and he turned to his closet and retrieved one of his T-shirts, handing it to her—though her own bedroom was just down the corridor. “Get changed, get in bed.”
Bucky disappeared into his ensuite bathroom while she changed outside, slipping her Widow suit off and putting his T-shirt on, all soft linen and scented exactly like him. It fell to halfway down her upper thigh, and she had nothing else to wear, so she just got into bed as she was. Untucking the military corners and leaving half the bed empty, her heart pounded at the sudden intimacy of this. Were they really going to spend the whole night together, after all that? Then Bucky re-emerged, still in his own tactical suit, and approached her. He dragged the covers up, tucked them around her shoulders, and then his hand hovered for a second near her cheek before he withdrew it and stood up.
“Get some sleep, Yelena.”
Before she could ask him anything, he unlocked his bedroom door and slipped outside, leaving her alone, wondering why he wouldn’t stay. She just lay there until her exhaustion took over and she fell asleep, wistful and aching, skin still tingling with the ghosts of him.
In the morning—or maybe it was even past noon, judging by the sunlight filtering into the room—Yelena woke, startling when her body registered that she was in a different room, immediately reaching for the gun on her bedside table that wasn’t even there—then last night’s memories rushed over her. She turned, and the other side of the bed was cold and hadn’t been slept in. He hadn’t come back at all.
Trying to stem her anxiety at what the hell that even meant, Yelena changed back into her Widow suit, leaving his T-shirt on his desk—it made her flush to even remember what had happened on that desk last night, yet a part of it still felt like unreality. She unlocked Bucky’s door and peeked out into the corridor, making sure that none of her teammates or God forbid, Alexei was out there before she left and went back to her room. A quick shower, and a change of clothes, then she went back up to the penthouse, heart stuttering when she saw that everyone was there having a late breakfast—even Bucky.
“Morning, Yelena.” Bob waved sweetly, like he always did, beckoning her over to her usual seat beside him. They had developed a sort of morning routine, whoever arriving at breakfast first always setting the other’s plate as well, two slices of toast and fried eggs and bacon, just like they liked it. Yelena went towards him, giving him a side-hug in thanks—and sat down all-too-aware of who was sitting directly opposite her.
Bucky was drinking his black coffee, slowly, eyes meeting hers over the rim of his mug. She swallowed, and his eyes crinkled.
“Slept well?” He asked, and she inhaled sharply.
“Yes.”
“Good, good.” He nodded at her plate of breakfast. “Eat up, we’re doing some more training today,” and she was glad she hadn’t started eating yet because she would have choked—were they letting everyone know about that just casually over breakfast?—and then he turned his gaze towards the others at the table too. “We’ll all meet down at the training center in an hour.”
Ava groaned a little, John nodded, Alexei did a little “aye, aye, Captain!”—and Yelena breathed out in relief, telling herself to get a grip, because if he clearly wasn’t thinking too hard about last night and could already act so normal, then maybe she should too. After all, it wouldn’t do to get all tangled up in feelings just because a teammate (leader? Or friend?) offered to help her out with something she was just entirely inexperienced in. She could be professional about it too; so she looked directly at him and nodded.
“Okay, Bucky. Will do.”