good old-fashioned lover boy
Jan. 8th, 2024 10:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
semi_stableThe last thing that Bucky remembers with any clarity is the harsh burn of cheap whiskey in his throat as Steve walked away from him after another failed double date. Trying to set Steve up with girls made him feel a bit like Sisyphus pushing a boulder up a mountain, like he's a little insane, trying the same thing over and over again and hoping for different results.
He'd tried again, and really thought he had something this time. Brenda was a small bookish girl, with glasses and a bouncy red ponytail, and her friend Claire was known for being, well-- money spent buying her drinks wasn't going to go to waste, from what he's heard. Bucky had charmed them both into coming to the dance hall and then drug Steve along with a strong arm around his shoulders, like he had so many times before, but it didn't matter.
Steve's lack of confidence when it came to women was all too apparent, especially to the girls that Bucky tried to set him up with, and he always threw in the towel before anything could ever happen. For some reason, Bucky kept trying. He was Sisyphus and Steve's virginity was that fucking boulder.
Bucky would take it himself, except that wasn't an option. It wouldn't ever be an option, despite what his traitorous imagination got up to.
So, Steve left and Bucky drank. He danced with Brenda and with Claire, then drank some more. And then more, because he's twenty years old and what was left of his meager paycheck wass burning a hole in his pocket, and he doesn't have any damn sense yet.
That led to the present moment-- Bucky waking up in a very comfortable bed with a dull ache in his head and a mouth full of cotton. He groans and rolls away from the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, curling up under the covers to ward off the chill. He stays like that for a few moments until his eyes pop open and he pushes himself up onto his elbow, scanning the unfamiliar bedroom. It looks like something out of picture show, all plush velvet and gold accents, and Bucky frowns. As far as he knew, Brenda and Claire were working class like him. He'd picked them up at a brownstone just down the street, as modest and plain as his own home.
The bedding is plush and soft, and Bucky lifts the duvet to confirm that he at least has underwear on. It wouldn't be the first time that he's woken up somewhere strange after a rough night, but never somewhere like this. A glance next to him tells him that he didn't sleep in the bed alone, given the rumpled bedding and the dented pillow. He reaches out to put his hand on the sheets, finding them still warm, and then lifts his head when he hears approaching footsteps.
Morning afters are always kind of awkward and Bucky sighs, reaching up to scrub his hands over his face.
"Here we go."
He'd tried again, and really thought he had something this time. Brenda was a small bookish girl, with glasses and a bouncy red ponytail, and her friend Claire was known for being, well-- money spent buying her drinks wasn't going to go to waste, from what he's heard. Bucky had charmed them both into coming to the dance hall and then drug Steve along with a strong arm around his shoulders, like he had so many times before, but it didn't matter.
Steve's lack of confidence when it came to women was all too apparent, especially to the girls that Bucky tried to set him up with, and he always threw in the towel before anything could ever happen. For some reason, Bucky kept trying. He was Sisyphus and Steve's virginity was that fucking boulder.
Bucky would take it himself, except that wasn't an option. It wouldn't ever be an option, despite what his traitorous imagination got up to.
So, Steve left and Bucky drank. He danced with Brenda and with Claire, then drank some more. And then more, because he's twenty years old and what was left of his meager paycheck wass burning a hole in his pocket, and he doesn't have any damn sense yet.
That led to the present moment-- Bucky waking up in a very comfortable bed with a dull ache in his head and a mouth full of cotton. He groans and rolls away from the sunlight filtering in through the curtains, curling up under the covers to ward off the chill. He stays like that for a few moments until his eyes pop open and he pushes himself up onto his elbow, scanning the unfamiliar bedroom. It looks like something out of picture show, all plush velvet and gold accents, and Bucky frowns. As far as he knew, Brenda and Claire were working class like him. He'd picked them up at a brownstone just down the street, as modest and plain as his own home.
The bedding is plush and soft, and Bucky lifts the duvet to confirm that he at least has underwear on. It wouldn't be the first time that he's woken up somewhere strange after a rough night, but never somewhere like this. A glance next to him tells him that he didn't sleep in the bed alone, given the rumpled bedding and the dented pillow. He reaches out to put his hand on the sheets, finding them still warm, and then lifts his head when he hears approaching footsteps.
Morning afters are always kind of awkward and Bucky sighs, reaching up to scrub his hands over his face.
"Here we go."
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Date: 2024-05-07 02:44 am (UTC)He’s distracted by a shuffling of small dishes and he huffs out a laugh as he drops his hand, twisting away to reach out for the tray. He adds the berries and carries it over to the dining table, setting it near the head of it and then turning to look at Loki again, head tipped curiously to the side.
“I’m still not terribly convinced that this isn’t just some very nice dream,” he admits with a bashful laugh. “I’ll wake up at home any minute now with a kid kneeing me in the kidney.”