The enemy hits the wall with what should have been a loud sickening crunch of bones, but the protective vest he’s wearing does its job as he only slumps down against it, looking mildly disoriented. That is, up until Bucky reaches him and finishes the job by planting a metal fist in his face. Seconds later, Steve is grabbing Bucky by the same arm to spin him around in order to plant his lips on Bucky’s face in a swift, ardent, and very much promising kiss, before returning to the still-raging battle once more. Bucky doesn’t give it much thought, even as he raises his rifle to take aim at a new target, smiling with the taste of his patriotic lover still fresh on his lips.
Bucky kicks aimlessly at one of the mercenaries lying on the ground, and the soldier grunts when he’s turned over onto his back by the bloodied tip of Bucky’s boot.
“Amateurs…” Bucky mutters dryly.
He gives the now-unconscious body another nonchalant kick with his heel, and turns around.
“You good?” Steve asks, and Bucky scoffs while tucking his knife back into the sheath strapped around his thigh. There’s sweat forming on his brow, but it’s the good kind of sweat – the kind that makes you feel like you’ve actually been productive.
“Of course,” he says. He tries not to make it sound like he’s smug about it. He might be, though.
“Good,” Steve says, smirking while he pulls Bucky in by the hip, and Bucky lets him, humming when Steve mouths at his jaw. “You looked hot,” Steve murmurs. Bucky frowns a little, but decides not to comment on the cryptic praise when Steve begins to nip at his bottom lip.
Another fight; another incompetent enemy. Bucky snorts as he watches their unrefined technique while they flail around, trying to land a hit on him. It’s ridiculous. Three steps, and he’s got five of them down, the sixth and final one staggering back with eyes nearly bulging out of his head when Bucky turns his gaze on him. One, two, three, four steps, followed by the muted thud as the stock of Bucky’s gun connects with the asshole’s face. It all goes ludicrously quick, and by the time Bucky turns around, the rest of the fight is already over.
Steve is heading his way, striding towards him with that look on his face. Bucky braces himself, because that face could mean that he’s about to get the biggest scolding of his life, or kissed within an inch of it.
Turns out it’s the latter, and Bucky groans with surprise when Steve drops his shield to the ground by their feet to cup Bucky’s face with both hands, mashing their lips together with a low snarl that travels all the way down to Bucky’s toes.
Slowly, Bucky begins to sense a pattern.
It’s ten minutes past midnight, the warehouse is nearly pitch black apart from the flickering fluorescent lights above their heads, and Bucky is pissed off. As the target makes a break for it, running down the narrow hallway leading towards the loading docks out back, Bucky is already looking forward to the punch he’s going to land on the bastard’s face when he gets to him. He’s not even going to use his enhanced arm.
That had been Bucky’s good gun, dammit! He spent days tuning that thing, and now it’s gone, all thanks to this bastard!
Up ahead, the man throws a panicked stare over his shoulder just as he slams against the door leading to the loading docks out back. The door remains firmly closed, and Bucky’s lip pulls up in a snarl as he stomps his way forward, boots beating hard against the concrete floor.
“No!” the man wheezes. “No, no, please!”
Bucky doesn’t listen. The man cowers when Bucky’s hand clasps around the back of his neck, hauling him up and throwing him back the same way they’d come. The coward lands on his back, sliding over the floor like a shuffleboard piece. “I’m sorry!” he wails when Bucky stalks after him, although Bucky knows he has no idea what he’s apologizing for. It’s a wild chance, a final resort, and for some reason that makes Bucky’s anger flare up in a blazing rage, only to die out just as fast. He looks down at the human being huddled up into a ball on the floor, shaking like a child while Bucky looms over him, and slowly, Bucky uncurls his fists by his sides.
“You’re pathetic,” he hisses. Then he gives the guy a swift kick to the face, and the man goes out like a light.
Bucky straightens up, lifting his gaze, and he’s already expecting it when he sees Steve standing there at the end of the corridor, looking at him. Steve’s eyes are dark, his breathing rapid, and Bucky decides that it’s time to put his theory to the test.
He pulls his shoulders up, canting his head down, and walks. Firm, determined steps, eyes on the target. He puts his entire body into the motion, using it to put additional weight to his gait, and he can see the effect it has reflected on Steve’s face, clear as glass.
When he stops, his chest is just an inch shy from Steve’s own, and he doesn’t have to wait long before Steve’s hands are grabbing around his shoulders and shoving him squarely up against the wall behind them. It knocks the breath out of Bucky’s lungs in the best of ways, and Bucky gasps when Steve’s mouth lands on his with a predatory growl.
The kiss is rough, fierce, and Bucky melts into it with a moan, like butter in a frying pan.
“You jerk,” Steve breathes against his lips. “You know I love it when you strut like that.”
Bucky grins, gasping a little when Steve moves down to suck a bruising kiss over the skin of his neck. “I sure do…” he pants, closing his eyes.
He tries not to sound smug about it.
He might be, though.