Dance With Me
Characters: Bucky x Reader
Summary: Fulfilling @tearsofthepoppy‘s lovely request with the prompt “Dance with me… and pretend the world doesn’t exist”. Thank you so much, hope you enjoy! 💙💛
Warnings: Fluff, angst if you squint
Words: 822
Stark’s parties were never fun. He dreaded having to stuff himself into a scratchy, uncomfortable suit with a tie that felt like he was being choked. The gloves he used to cover his prosthetic were restrictive and made him sweat. Stark insisted on them, though, lest his metal appendage scare away a protentional supporter.
The only good thing about these parties, Bucky thinks, is that he gets to see you. He saw you every day in the tower, of course, but not like this. Not all dressed up, champagne flute in hand as you schmooze and charm your way through a long list of donors. You look radiant, and he cannot fault the men that trail after you as your flit across the room. He watches you from his seat at the bar as you throw your head back and laugh at something a guest said. He turns away stiffly as you rest your hand on the man’s bicep.
He has no claim on you, not really. He has no right to feel jealous at your antics when he has never found the courage to ask you to be his. He used to be better at his, he thinks, but the life he was forced to live robbed him of whatever charm he used to have. He had hoped that the late nights you two spent together, pressed chest to chest as you whisper to each other in the darkness, was enough to let you know he loved you. When he asked you in the mornings not to leave, almost pleading, he hoped you knew he meant forever.
It appears not.
The room is suddenly too stuffy, his shirt too tight, and he muscles his way through the party goers to get to the elevator to make his escape. He glances back at you as the elevator arrives; you are bent in close with a different man, a pretty blush on your cheeks as he murmurs something to you. Bucky slams his fist on the button to the roof. Breathing deeply, he reminds himself that you had every right; no matter what he thought was between you two. He has never spoken anything aloud; never fully communicated what you meant to him. Never told you he wanted you to be his and his alone.
He’s brought this on himself, he thinks as he steps onto the quiet rooftop. The icy air feels good, helps calm him. He walks to the edge, content for now to just gaze over the snow-covered skyline. He breathes in the evening, losing track of time, lost in his own spiraling thoughts.
“It’s beautiful up here.” Bucky startles at your comment behind him. He turns to you as you make your way toward him, heels crunching in the light dusting of snow.
“What are you doing up here?” He asks. He’s nearly lost his breath at the sight of you.
“I saw you leave the party,” your voice is soft as you come to stand in front of him. You rest your hand on his chest, over his heart, and Bucky feels calmer than he has all evening. “You looked upset.”
Bucky swallows past the lump in his throat. He wants to look away, regain some composure, but you are standing too close and your eyes are too beautiful and he has lost all sense of being.
“Bucky…” your hand trails up from his chest to cup his jaw, rubbing soft circles with your thumb. “Talk to me.”
He would, if he could. He wants to; he needs to. You deserve to know how he feels, how he wants nothing in this world more than you. But time and time again his words fail him, and tonight is no exception. He watches as you realize he is incapable of speech. You take a step back, pulling him forward by his too-tight tie.
“Let’s not talk then.” You place your hands on his shoulders, brining yourself flush against him. His hands fall to your waist without hesitation.
“Dance with me… and pretend the world doesn’t exist”, you breathe, barely above a whisper. Bucky holds you close as you sway to your own music under the snowy sky. He drops his forehead to yours, steadying himself.
“(Y/N),” he ventures. He has to do this, he has to tell you. He can’t imagine living another night without you by his side.
“It’s okay, Bucky,” you whisper as you rock forward on your toes, lips just barely brushing his. “I know.” Your lips are soft and warm, even in the frigid weather. Bucky releases his hold on your hips to cup your face, running his gloved hands through your hair.
I love you, I love you, I love you,
Its all he can think as you kiss him senseless, breathing life back into him with every sigh. You pull away, lips pink and plump from his kiss.
“I love you, too, Bucky.”
