Inspired By Taylor Swift Series

Gorgeous (Part 2) (Marvel)

Drunk Bucky really was being a jerk tonight.

"I think she's good," you imitate again. And he has to wonder why you're like this tonight? You don't drink and when you do you certainly don't get drunk. And you definitely don't get drunk and make fun of the way he talks. He also shouldn't care. He should go back over there and leave you alone. But damn, he was furious at you for making him feel this way. Then you touch his hand. The touch is only in passing, a fleeting moment that he's certain you don't even notice, just to get your confiscated drink out of his hand. But you should really think about the consequence of you touching his hand in a darkened room. Anger flickers across his face when he reminds himself that you're off-limits. You're not his. "I'm not. Go back to flirting with the bartender."

"Where's your boyfriend?" Bucky asks, mostly to keep reminding himself that you have a boyfriend. And it's definitely not him. "He needs to take you home."

"He's over there," you grumble, swatting your hand in the general direction of the dance floor as though you couldn't care less about him. "Doing...I don't know what."

"You want me to get him over here?" Bucky grits, his metal hand curling in jealousy-fueled anger.

He's jealous, he finally admits to himself, he can feel the envy coursing through his veins and he can't help but think that if he were your boyfriend, he wouldn't have left you sitting here alone all night.

Because there's nothing he hates more than what he can't have. And he can't have you. But your boyfriend must be a shitty one if he's left you here all alone all night. Simply letting people flirt with you.

Then you sharply turn back to him, "And he's not even my boyfriend. We went on a date. Once."

"Good," Bucky grunts, trying his very best to tame the smirk on his face. He grabs onto the bar top, holding onto it to ground himself from this emotional rollercoaster. Because now he doesn't have another guy to compete with, he's happy that you're single. But that's honestly a little worse, because there's no one to compete with. And he still can't have you. "He's too old for you."

He also ignores the fact that he's also too old for you. He's technically in his mid-30's, but he's 106 so there's no real reconciling that age gap. At least sober Bucky couldn't. Drunk Bucky definitely could.

"He's like 45."

He scoffs, sliding into the stool right beside you, He wondered why all night it was empty. In spite of the many people that came and talked to you, flirted with you, the stool remained completely, glaringly vacant the entire party. "Yeah, too old for you."

"Hah," you drunkenly laugh, the drink sloshing around in your hand, only a few drops spilling onto the bar. "What are you doing here? Go back to flirting. Or ignoring me."

He pries the drink out of your hand again. "I'm not ignoring you."

That was a lie. A bold faced lie even. He was ignoring you. He was ignoring you all night. He just couldn't bring himself to say anything to your face. Because look at your face.

"God," you groan loudly, though not loudly enough for anyone else to hear you over the thumping music in the background. "You ruined my life."

And for this first time tonight, he catches your eye. And you pause the drunken insults and he just looks at you for a quick, fleeting moment. For a moment, it's like you're both sober. The eye contact hitting him like ice-cold water.

Then you tear your eyes away.

"Because I took your drink?" he chuckles, his first real laugh of the night.

"Because I hate what I can't have," you easily reply, the words just roll off your tongue.

The drink, he thinks. You're just talking about the drink.

"And what can't you have?" he prompts, resting his elbow on the bar to lean further into you, a clear challenge forming on his expression.

But that wasn't what he meant to say. And there was the liquid courage he was looking for an hour ago making its ill-timed appearance. But what was that saying about a drunk person's word speaking sober thoughts?

"You're gorgeous," you blurt.

He chortles, the rollercoaster of emotions finally hitting its peak causing his adrenaline to surge. And he's not sure if it's the liquor or the compliment, but he feels his face warming, a light blush appearing on his cheeks. "And you're a flirt."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

"You know, there's consequences to your actions, should quit while you're ahead."

"Make me," you taunt.

Instead of saying anything, he stands up off the barstool, a wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Where are you going?" you ask, your words crisp and clear, your voice low enough for only Bucky to hear.

"I'm gonna stumble home to Alpine. Alone," he sighs, a mischievous smirk on his face. The liquid courage now seeping into every single one of his flirtatious words, he lowers himself down to your eye-line, so close he can feel your breath stutter before him. He whispers against your lips, "Unless you want to come along?"