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It's late when they finally leave the club, and soon Bucky finds himself in the middle of the backseat of a stranger's car, squeezed in between Loki and Sylvie. It's a tight fit, but being pressed between the two people he loves the most is arguably Bucky's most favorite place to be.

All three of them are a little intoxicated, which is something of a rarity. Bucky had spent the night sneaking sips from a flask that Loki kept conjuring up. He must have been hiding it away with magic, because it certainly hadn't ruined the line of the obscenely tight black pants he has on.

Streetlights flicker through the windows as they pass by, the driver thankfully remaining quiet up front. Bucky has his good arm tucked around Sylvie's shoulders and his metal hand on Loki's thigh, fingers tracing along the inseam. There's a warm anticipation in the air, spicy like sweat and alcohol, and Bucky smiles to himself as his hand slides down the front of Sylvie's shirt, fingers tucked into the cup of her bra.

"So, am I just dropping you guys off and heading home?" Bucky asks in a low, playful voice, knowing full well that he's doing nothing of the sort. "Or did you have other plans for me?"

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Bucky Barnes

May 2025

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