The Cocoanut Grove
Summary: Nestled within the iconic Ambassador Hotel lies the infamous Cocoanut Grove Club. In the 30′s and 40′s it was the place to see and be seen for starlets and celebrities. If you asked Bucky, he couldn’t give less of a damn. Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader Warning(s): Post-Endgame. Cursing. Kissing. Suggestive situations but nothing explicit. TW: Anxiety. Word Count: 3,231 Beta Reader: My darling honey bun, @supersoldiersruined-me Notes: Congrats @buckmesideways22 on 2k!!!! Prompt “You’re a slave to pleasure” is bolded. This is my first post-Endgame fic. Some of my favorite scenes in the movie The Aviator take place when they’re in this nightclub during its heyday. Something just made me want to write Bucky into the setting. I’m also obsessed with art deco elevators. We have a ton of them in Chicago and they always take my breath away.
Bucky’s eyes shoot a squinting glare at the offending object before him. His suit hangs freshly pressed on the cedar hangers in the closet. It’s a medium weight wool. Charcoal grey with subtle blue undertones. A quality garment to be sure; but he could think of nothing he’d enjoy less than putting it on right now. A monkey suit. That’s what they called it back in the day. He’d much rather continue the evening in his boxers lounging in his hotel room.
A knock on the door interrupts his staring match with the single-breasted monster. Before he can call a greeting down the short hallway, he hears the mechanical whirr and click.
“No room service, please. I put the do not disturb sign-”
“Put on some damn pants, Barnes!” Sam hides his eyes in horror and plops down on the bed as if he owns the place. “I don’t need to see your little soldat.”
Normally Bucky would shoot some equally snark laden comment back, but the stress of the evening has him feeling tongue tied. He chooses instead to pelt Sam a few times with the overstuffed hotel pillow before shuffling to the bathroom. His toes recoil at the sudden contrast between the plush carpet and the cool marble tile.
“Why are we doing this again?” He calls back into the bedroom. “Steve isn’t here to play dad and it’s not like…”
He was going to say it’s not like Tony is here to force us. Despite the time that has passed it still feels wrong saying the words out loud.
“Don’t even think about bailing. Fury and Pepper are downstairs already.” Sam must have been sent to prevent him from escaping.
Bucky looks toward the gilded art deco mirror and glares at his own reflection. He was doing a lot of glaring it would seem and the night had hardly begun.
There’s an array of products arranged on the tray with marble inlay in the same sunburst geometric pattern as the mirror. Surely Pepper’s doing. She’d sent over the suit as well. He picks up a glossy black tin which claims it’s hair product and smooths back his hair. His muscle memory from the 40’s helps him tame the brunette locks into something more manageable. Crap. His hair is too long to do the simple slicked back formal style he used to rely on. A good three inches of his brunette locks trail limp and awkward at the base of his neck.
Glancing back down to the tray for some help he sees a package of hair elastics. He snatches one off the package and begins again. He tosses his hair roughly and sections off enough for a small handful at the crown of his head. With rusty skills but determined focus he manages to tie the small section into a braid; securing it with the elastic. His heart clenches. Natasha taught him how to braid. He turns and looks over his shoulder to get a better look. It was shoddy work at best. He was certain she would make him comb out the braid and redo it neater, but she wasn’t here to scold him. He did it anyway to quell the voice in his head. It’d have to do.
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The Avengers compound in upstate New York had been rebuilt after the destruction and battle with Thanos. Most of the daily operations, training, and Avengers work was conducted there. Bucky split his time between the compound and the shared apartment he had with Sam in Brooklyn. Bucky belonged on the East Coast. It was in his blood. He’d made a home there with his therapy dog and Sam. Steve checked in when he could. Bucky took only the missions he felt were manageable. It was a good life.
He had been dragged west, away from that life, for a job in California a week prior. Something about a trafficking ring. When he had completed his final check in for the mission, Fury had sent him to 3400 Wilshire Boulevard. “Between Catalina Street and Mariposa Avenue” he remembers the text message had said.
Bucky assumed it was a safehouse where he could collect himself post mission, clean up, and catch a flight home. He couldn’t have been more wrong. When his cab had pulled up to the address, he double checked with the driver it was the correct spot. He stared at the pure white curved sign which read The Ambassador Hotel. Maybe Fury had wanted to treat him. The hotel certainly looked like an upgrade from some of the safehouses he’d stayed in. Doubtful. A bellhop politely tried to relieve him of his bags. Bucky began to protest (tug-of-war) with the man when he saw the familiar face of Pepper Potts hurry from the entrance.
“James! Fury said you were on your way.” She glances at the bellhop who still had his hands clasped on Bucky’s duffle. “Would you drop that? Was traffic bad?” He doesn’t remember what stuttered answer he gave her as he reclaimed his only piece of luggage.
Before Tony had gotten roped back in for the Thanos battle, he had purchased the iconic Ambassador Hotel from auction. The city of L.A. had planned to demolish the building and sell its lands to the highest bidder. Tony decided to snatch it up and renovate it back to its former glory. It was his passionate side project. Pepper was out west helping to promote and ensure the launch party went smoothly. That all sounded swell, but he still didn’t understand why he was there.
“Tin Man!” He hears the exclamation as Pepper leads him to the front desk. “Looks like they roped you into being another celebrity guest.”
“Who’s watching-,” he starts, thinking of his shaggy Newfoundland back home. The therapy dog accompanied him on as many missions as possible but this one hadn’t been suitable.
“Peter is pet sitting the beast.” He knew Sam’s comment was all in good fun, nevertheless his heart clenched thinking of their homey apartment. He would give anything to fall asleep with the weight of his mutt across his chest, both of them spilling over the sides of the sofa.
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Dressed in the freshly pressed suit, he continues to imagine home to calm himself while making small talk with Sam in the elevator down to the ballroom. The club is called Cocoanut Grove. Pepper had given them a tour earlier. The hotel and its club had been something of the hotspot back in the 30’s and 40’s. Names like Charlie Chaplin, Katharine Hepburn, Howard Hughes and Ginger Rogers were thrown around. It would appear those incredibly famous people had come to see equally famous people and be serenaded by musical guests like Sinatra and Bing Crosby. Bucky didn’t care. He didn’t care much for famous people then and certainly cared less for them now. Having to masquerade around as if he was one of them, simply because he was an Avenger, seemed laughable at best. Torture at worst he thought.
“Don’t get in your head, man. You’re such a stick in the mud when you’re in your head.” Sam nudges Bucky’s elbow a bit. Despite the teasing tone he knows Bucky is anxious. “We’re here to be seen. We don’t have to do anything. Have some drinks, eat some free food, have a good night. In and out.”
The doors to the club are coated in frosted glass etchings of palm trees and coconuts which surrounded the club name. The tropical theme was over the top if you asked Bucky. But he was happy with soft chenille blankets and some take out. The party’s luxe pre-war theme was a bit outside his current desires.
Walking through the doors of the club was like being zapped back in time. All the women wore beautiful, period appropriate frocks and gowns in silky metallic tones. Clusters of people gather under the curved arches of the ceiling. The floral motif on some of the walls make his head swim. He turns to look at the dining area instead. It’s dotted with small collections of circular tables in the sunken dining room. He and Sam make their way down the central staircase; Sam leading the way. Bucky thinks he hears Sam talking but he’s distracted. Women with ornate headpieces sit on large wooden swings which hang from the ceiling. Their swings trail shimmering tassels over the dining area like shooting stars. Everything is busy.
“I have someone I want you to meet.”
Sam can’t have said that. Bucky glares at the live band playing swing music at top volume. The large stage is framed by fake palm trees and a parquet dance floor. There’s the occasional flash and pop from the old timey photographers someone hired for the event. The cacophony of sounds has him on edge. All the noise must have distorted Sam’s words.
“Dude!” He wheels around. “I have someone I want you to meet!”
Bucky opens his mouth to protest but the woman is already standing beside his friend. Sam’s arm is slung over her bare shoulders. The emerald gown’s square neckline skims the underside of her clavicles. The moderate neckline is contrasted by an off the shoulder detail and a low drape of the silk down to the small of her back. Bucky finds himself jealous of Sam’s hand. He wonders how soft her skin would feel under the pads of his own fingers.
She brings her tumbler of amber liquid to her blood red lips with a sideways smirk. Could someone be jealous of liquid? Jealous of a glass?
Bucky was.
The flash of a pink tongue to corral a stray drop of bourbon from spoiling her perfectly painted lips had him hypnotized. He hadn’t heard her speak and he wanted to know everything about her.
Sam had made quick work of the introductions and sneakily exited. By the time Bucky had realized he’d been abandoned with the mystery woman, Sam was already across the ballroom shooting the pair finger guns and a wink.
“You always play the glaring stranger card or is that special for me?” He blinks. “The gaping mouth is a nice touch.”
The sound of her laughter rings in his ears. For those brief moments the pops and flashes of the camera, the bellowing swing band singer, and the muddled buzz of all the surrounding conversations dims. All the unpleasant sounds, smells and sights disappear. It’s just her. The gentle clink of the ice in her drink. A glint of light off her teardrop earrings. A waft of her warm enticing perfume. He comes to his senses.
“Sorry. I’m not a huge fan of events like this.”
“Me either. Tacky and overwhelming most of the time.” She interlocks her arm with Bucky’s and begins to walk the pair of them over to the bar. With her standing closer, he could detect more subtle notes in her perfume. Vanilla with a hint of citrus? “Tell me why you hate them and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“It’s an open bar?” He asks.
“Oh hush.” That giggle again. “Pick your poison, sir”
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since the introduction. He didn’t care. All the anxiety he had felt at the beginning of the night had made its exit. He felt light. No. Exuberant. It was her. It had to be. The conversation was flowing in a way which usually only happened after months of getting to know someone. Hunkered down in a secluded corner of the jade accented bar she had rid him of the usual walls he put up. The pair talked about anything and everything. He knew he should be introducing himself to people and making rounds if he wanted to do his job “correctly”. But he didn’t. Not if that meant prying himself away from her side.
She raps her knuckles to signal the bartender for another bourbon. While she’s waiting for her beverage, she unclasps her clutch and fishes out a gold compact. Bucky watches as she removes the pouf from the powder and presses away invisible imperfections in her makeup. Her middle finger swipes down the center of her cupid's bow to make sure her lipstick stays in the lines.
“You’re staring.” He should look away or apologize. The intoxicating proximity to this magical woman and his own drink have him feeling bolder than earlier in the night. “Though I suppose that’s an upgrade from the glaring I was getting earlier.”
“You are just hitting on all six cylinders, aren't you?” The last words are mixed with a grin and chuckle.
“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Barnes?” Her heavily charcoaled eyelids blink twice before she stares at him over the top of the compact. For a moment he thinks he’s in trouble. Too forward. “You wanna get out of here?”
He knew he didn’t want to leave her side, but the idea of this woman taking him up to her room nearly made him faint. Sam would never let him live that down. The armpits of his suit felt tight and too near his now damp skin. He wanted to respond but his mouth refused to make words.
“And we’re back to mouth gaping.” Her laughter brings him back to reality once more. “We don’t have to. But this schmooze fest is just beginning. It’ll go well into the early hours of the night. Thought I’d give you a chance to escape.”
Where did Sam find this woman, he wondered. She somehow made him oscillate between fumbling idiot and suave crooner the entire night. He wished he could say he hated it. Needing a second longer to collect his thoughts, he clasps her hand in his and abandoned the bar for the elevators.
The mirrored doors of the elevator close. He’s not sure how it happened but she’s nestled into his side. His palm rests on the gentle curve of her hip. The coolness of the silk doing nothing to quell the burning heat radiating off his skin. The two of them lock eyes in the golden reflection. Neither moves to press a button.
He slides his hand off her hip.
Silk. Silk.
Skin.
Both palms rest on the bare skin of the small of her back. If the skin there is any indication of how soft the rest of her is, he’s in for it. The two stand chest to chest with a sliver of space as a buffer. She leans towards the button panel trying to press the correct number.
“Nope.”
He playfully swats her hand away and punches the button for the second highest floor. She quirks her brow. From the number alone, she can surmise his room is far nicer than her own. Given his connections, it makes sense.
“Trying to impress me, Barnes?”
“Maybe a little.”
His grin is boyish and charming. His play for the button has closed any space between them. The swells of her breasts rub against his chest with each breath.
“I wanna learn what pleases you. I wanna learn everything about you.” His hands trace invisible patterns against her sensitive skin. The words are cheesy. Clearly a line well-rehearsed in a past life. The tone makes the emotions genuine and sinful. “Would you let me do that? Would you give me that job?”
His hand cups her chin waiting for a response. The sigh he lets out when she presses her lips to his tastes of bourbon and caramel. His calloused palms pull her into him now having his answer. Despite the renovations, the building is old and the elevator slow. Bucky’s grateful. When the elevator dings, the kiss has turned feverish and deep. He braces the door open with his metal arm and walks her backward off the elevator towards his room.
He fumbles for a moment, attempting to get the keycard out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket without his lips leaving hers. No such luck. He groans in frustration at the lack of her taste on his tongue. It’s mitigated by the pepper of nips and licks she places along his neck. He holds the card up to the sensor.
Flashing red light.
He slaps the card back against the sensor with more gusto. She sucks at a soft spot behind his ear. Tingles shoot down his spine. She had him ringing like a tuning fork.
Flashing red light.
“Sonofa-”
Lips never leaving his skin, she snatches the card from his hand.
Press. Green light. Click.
The two of them burst through the door ricocheting like a ping pong ball against the walls of the hallway. She shimmies his jacket off and drops it somewhere near the door. He’d have to dry clean it before returning it to Pepper. He’d feel guilty if she wasn’t occupying every damn thought in his brain. His shirt, along with his shoes, is thrown off in the living room of the suite.
Standing at the foot of the king bed her delicate hands rip his belt off and push his pants to the floor. She turns away from him. He’s confused. Has he done something wrong? Some invisible offense?
“The zipper, Bucky.” She hisses impatiently.
His fingers skim over her heated skin as the zipper glides lower. The emerald silk pools on the thick carpet. He feels like the wind is knocked out of him when she turns to face him once more. Her lingerie hugs every curve and dip of her body. He’s never seen something so sensual and enticing. She pushes him back into the rich duvet. He wants to devour her. He wants to study every inch of her skin and learn every sound he can pull from her.
He wants to stop.
She straddles his lap and grinds against him. The breathy whimper which tumbles from her lips almost makes him change his mind. He whispers her name into the shell of her ear.
“Darling…” It comes out choked and stifled. She stills her hips. “Can we pause.”
She rolls off of him and awaits an explanation. He can see the hurt in the depth of her eyes.
“I had an amazing time with you tonight.”
“But…?”
“No but. I don’t want tonight to just be tonight.” She meets his eyes. “If we continue how we were, I’ll never see you again. I want more than one night.”
Her lipstick is smeared but the grin is radiant.
“Can we order some room service, get comfy, and watch a movie?”
“You’re a slave to pleasure, Barnes.” She pecks him on his sensitive, love-bitten lips. “One condition… only underwear.”
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The heavy bedspread is littered with a large pizza, at least a dozen tacos, various confections, and a litany of other junk food. The opening credits of some movie are playing on the large screen. Bucky should be engaged in the plot. She’d promised him he would love the movie. Instead, he’s staring at her. Not glaring. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen something more beautiful. She’s surrounded by a nest of pillows. Her chandelier earrings still dangle on her ears and she’s clad in her strappy, lacy lingerie. Her makeup is a certified mess. She’s sipping the chocolate malt she had stolen out of his hands after he said it was delicious. This was a sight he could certainly get used to.
